by Jane Ashford
The Pole bent to say something to Laura. She laughed in response.
It came home to Gavin suddenly that he could really lose her. Not to this jumped-up idiot, but there were other men in the world. And if not a man, then time and distance would separate them—or something worse. Gavin’s pulse pounded. He had to convince Tompkins not to send her off into danger.
But when he turned, the old man was gone.
The music was ending. But Laura’s partner was not letting her go, he saw. He was making some jest, but there was no doubt about his motives. Gavin strode over to them just as Laura slipped free of the idiot’s arm. “Miss Devane,” he said in a tone designed to convey all his objections, “may I have the honor of the next set?”
Ignoring his furious look, she nodded a serene farewell to her previous partner and walked with Gavin onto the floor.
“I will not always be here to rescue you,” he said.
“You didn’t rescue me. I was perfectly all right.”
“Indeed? Do you have any idea what that halfpenny ‘count’ had in mind?”
“Of course. But since he had no chance of getting it, I…”
The musicians struck up and Gavin pulled her into his arms with a bit more force than necessary. The relief of having her close, of feeling her safe, was extraordinary. With her scent drifting around him and her body moving in perfect rhythm with his, he almost forgot his complaints. The world seemed right in that moment. She was in her proper place, in his arms.
“How can Tompkins allow you to do this?” Gavin exploded.
There was a short silence. An echo of his irate tone seemed to vibrate between them.
“I suppose he trusts me,” said Laura quietly then. “As you apparently do not.”
“Trust has nothing to do with it!”
They turned in the dance, their bodies exquisitely synchronized. To Gavin, their rhythm was almost painful. “You could be deceived, or attacked. You don’t belong in this situation.”
She looked at him, her eyes wide, her skin pale as cream. The candles drew a highlight from her black hair. “Where do I belong?” she murmured, so softly he wasn’t certain he’d heard it.
Gavin felt something twist inside him. He was being pushed too far, he thought, and then wondered what the deuce that meant.
Laura drew in a breath as the dance made them sway together. “I can do this. It is perfectly reasonable that I should.”
Reasonable, thought Gavin. He clung to the word as a shipwrecked man might a floating spar. “Reason,” he echoed, “would suggest that things be left to me.”
“You got no information from Sophie,” she answered. “Whatever else you may have gotten.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Laura looked away from him. Her profile was lovely against the moving frieze of dancers. “It must have been a very…enjoyable assignment.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sophie,” she said baldly.
“She was hardly an assignment.”
“Ah.”
He didn’t like her tone. He didn’t much care for her expression, either. “Pryor did everything he could to keep me away from her.”
“Yes, he did, didn’t he?”
Gavin had forgotten the reason for Laura’s presence in Vienna. The general’s scheme seemed like something that had happened years ago.
“Rather like you are doing now, with me,” continued Laura.
The comparison was odious. “Nonsense! This is completely different.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew what I was doing!”
He saw by the flash of her gaze that he was getting nowhere. The music was ending. She would slip away from him again. “Laura,” he began.
He could see in her face that she meant to do exactly as she pleased, no matter what he might say, what arguments he might bring to bear. She thought she knew better. The recurring feeling of familiarity was there again, Gavin noticed. She reminded him of something—or rather, someone. What was it about her?
Laura’s gaze shifted to the crowd, she was clearly planning her next step.
And then, in one astonishing moment of clarity, he had it. She reminded him of himself, a decade ago, when he had embarked on his first real mission and discovered his true calling in the diplomatic service. He could see the same eagerness and focus vibrating through her. He knew that look of confident disdain and the qualms of doubt it hid so effectively.
Realizations cascaded like a row of falling dominoes, one after the other. Things she had said to him suddenly made sense. Invisible women, he thought. A decade ago he had felt, not invisible, but insignificant. Living under his father’s thumb, he had looked forward to a meaningless life, ruled by oppressive conventions and other people’s desires. And then he had been sent into exile, but instead of punishment he had discovered freedom—a way to use all his faculties and abilities, to have some role in the shaping of events.
He and Laura were kindred spirits. She had emerged from her own exile into the kind of liberty he had felt those years ago, with the same certainty that she was meant for this sort of adventure.
“Mr. Graham.” Something tugged at his sleeve. “Gavin!”
“What?” It was Laura.
“The music has stopped.” She was pulling out of his embrace, glancing here and there at the amused people around them.
Jerked back to reality, he let her go.
“I know what I’m doing,” she said. “Why can’t you give me credit for that?”
Hadn’t he spoken those exact words years ago to a panicked subaltern? Gavin wondered. He thought he had.
“I am not reckless,” Laura insisted.
Gavin nodded. That, too, he had said.
“I have thought this out very carefully.”
Nothing would stand in the way of what she was feeling, he thought, the excitement of those first days vivid in his memory. But she was a woman, he protested silently. And she was his.
“Can’t you acknowledge that?”
Not his, another voice reminded him. She had refused him. She would not listen, and she would not be stopped. He had never been so frightened in his life, Gavin thought.
* * *
“These are the ones the countess’s maid goes to see?” Laura asked Annalise.
The girl nodded. “And sometimes they give her parcels to carry back.”
“Large parcels?”
“No.” She made gestures in the air, indicating the size. “Like a cake, or a box of cigars from Herr Schwimmer’s.”
Laura studied the list Annalise had compiled. All of the men on it were also on the one Mr. Tompkins had provided, but Annalise’s was much shorter. “I would very much like to know what is in those parcels,” she murmured.
“Shall I steal one?”
“No!” She didn’t want to get Annalise in trouble. So far nothing she had done was illegal, and Laura wanted to keep it that way. She studied the list again, thinking about each of the men on it and what she had been able to glean about their characters from short conversations. It didn’t take long to make a decision. “This one,” she said, pointing to a name. “The next time the countess’s maid visits him, come and fetch me.”
Annalise nodded.
“You have done a very good job,” Laura added. As the girl beamed at her, she promised herself that she would do something for her when this was over. Perhaps Mr. Tompkins could find some work for her. “How is your brother?” she was moved to ask.
Annalise grinned. “Papa found out about his engagement and his plan to run a shop. He was so angry. But Heinrick stood up to him! He never did before. I think Papa liked that, actually. And now Papa pretends he has resigned himself.” She shrugged as if to say that she didn’t believe it.
“But he still does not let you he
lp him?”
The girl looked shocked. “I have not asked him, when he is in such a bad mood. Later, when Heinrick is really gone, we shall see.”
“You are a most intelligent young woman,” answered Laura.
Annalise grinned at her again. “I must get home.”
Laura walked with her out into the front hall. “Thank you, Annalise.”
“It is I who thank you,” was the reply. With a final grin and a wave, the girl departed.
Turning, Laura discovered Mr. Tompkins standing on the staircase watching her. She had to suppress a start. He was always turning up in unexpected places. And one never noticed his approach, only his sudden, penetrating presence.
There was a short, charged silence.
“Good afternoon,” Laura said finally, wanting to escape scrutiny. “I was just on my way to…”
“Are you confident you know what you’re doing?”
Laura flashed him a startled glance.
“I would be deeply distressed if you were harmed in any way,” he added.
She blinked. He spoke as if he knew every nuance of her plans.
“And yet I hate to discourage…initiative.”
She wouldn’t have imagined that anyone could appear kindly and implacable at the same time, Laura thought. She was strongly reminded of the tests of mental agility her teachers had subjected her to at school.
“So?” he said.
Laura swallowed. She took a breath. She was going to pass this test. “I am confident,” she answered, as steadily as she could. She made the mistake of meeting his gaze. It felt as if he looked right through her. When he finally nodded, she nearly sagged in relief.
He watched her a moment longer, then smiled.
She waited for him to say something else. But he didn’t. He let the silence stretch until she couldn’t stand it. “I’m a little tired,” she said. “I think I’ll go up to my room.”
Mr. Tompkins merely bowed. Laura took this for permission and fled past him.
He watched her climb the stairs, his smile lingering. Things were progressing very nicely, he thought.
Sixteen
Gavin leaned against the wall in the long salon where the English delegation to the Congress of Vienna was holding its final reception. Glass doors were open to the soft spring air. People were exchanging farewells; many of them were already packed and ready to leave the city, to return to their own capitals or to ride for the battlefield in the north. Decisions had at last been made, documents signed. All that remained was to defeat the military genius who had held Europe in thrall for years and caused this momentous meeting in the first place.
Gavin smiled briefly. Everyone spoke as if this defeat were simply a matter of time, but most would be barring their doors and waiting to offer their allegiance to whoever was the victor.
Part of him chafed at his distance from the coming confrontation and longed to be in France, gathering intelligence. But another, less familiar part, was fascinated by what was going on right here, in this room.
He watched Laura move through the crowd, speaking to some people, smiling at others, invisibly calculating friend and foe, useful and negligible conversations. He understood exactly what she was feeling and the thoughts that were running through her mind. He had been just the same in the early years, at once excited and careful, daring and circumspect. It was like spreading wings too long confined in a tiny cage, he remembered. The exhilaration was unmatched. Or, almost unmatched, he amended. He had since found something that was even more heady.
She was making her way back to him now, with some bit of information to share. She looked pleased and intent and ardent in her new role. It excited him to watch her, Gavin thought, although it terrified him, too. It was a shame that some of his former superiors would never know of this moment, he thought wryly. They would enjoy it so much.
Watching her, he remembered that feeling of having accomplished a mission—found the thing he was sent for, made the connection with a vital source. His pulse sped up as he knew Laura’s had.
This was bizarre, Gavin thought. He had trained himself to read the expressions and gestures of others. But he had never found himself feeling with anyone he observed. The link with Laura moved him in tandem with her.
For some reason, this brought to mind the questions she had asked him recently. Of course, many people had helped him over the years, Gavin thought. What had she meant? When he was small there had been nurses, tutors. His father had… For a moment, Gavin tried to tell himself that his father’s incessant criticisms had been an effort to help. But he didn’t believe it. The old man had wanted a way to a fortune, not a son. When he’d failed to marry an heiress, Gavin had become an outcast, banished from everything—and everyone—he’d ever known. And when he’d appealed to his sisters for aid, they had simply reproached him for incurring their father’s wrath.
An old pain stirred, but Gavin had long ago come to terms with it, and it was easily suppressed. What lingered—inexplicably—was the image of Laura’s face when she had asked the question. Something about it made him very uneasy. He was helping her, Gavin told himself. He didn’t need help—he’d found his proper—solitary—place in the world.
“Are you feeling all right?” asked Laura, joining him just then. “You look a bit bilious.”
She was always asking him how he was, Gavin thought. Untying him, advising him, whether he wanted advice or not. He felt an odd uncertainty, as if he had left some critical detail out of his calculations.
She took his arm and unobtrusively guided him across the room and out onto the flagstone terrace. “A Frenchman pulled Sophie this way,” she told him quietly. “He seemed quite agitated.”
Gavin’s attention focused immediately. “Who?”
Laura shook her head. “I didn’t know him.” As they walked a bit faster, she assumed a virtuous expression. “But you see I came to tell you at once instead of following them on my own.”
“Commendable.” He knew quite well that this was a mere sop to his strictures and that she would do precisely as she pleased another time.
The sprinkling of new leaves offered little concealment, but there was evergreen shrubbery ahead, and they slipped quickly into it. Sophie had apparently had the same thought, for they soon heard her voice ahead.
“We cannot speak of this here,” she hissed in French.
“The moment is come,” replied a man’s voice. “We cannot wait longer.”
“In one week,” said Sophie. “Everything is set. It will happen then.”
“You must be certain—”
“I am certain! And you must not speak to me again. There are watchers all around us.”
Gavin pulled Laura into the outer branches of the shrubbery.
“If I find anyone watching, I will kill them,” boasted the Frenchman.
“Put that away!” exclaimed Sophie. Her voice had risen, and it was more controlled when she added, “You cannot wave a pistol in such a place.”
“It is war now,” declared the man loudly. “I can do as I please. Bonaparte will crush these canaille and…”
His arm around Laura’s waist, Gavin pulled them still farther into the shelter of the evergreens. A twig snapped beneath their feet.
“What was that?” exclaimed the Frenchman.
Footsteps rushed toward them. In one smooth motion, Gavin crouched and folded Laura and himself into the heart of the shrubs that lined the path. Small sharp branches poked him from all sides.
“Who is there?” called the man. The shrubbery swayed as he beat it, and Gavin could see his feet quite clearly under the sweep of needles.
“Stop it!” hissed Sophie’s voice, far too close for comfort. “Do you want to attract every person here? You will ruin everything.”
There was a soft thud, and the Frenchman’s feet stumbled. Gavin dre
w Laura closer, and waited.
Another thud; Sophie was hitting her reckless ally, Gavin thought, trying to drive him along. There was a flurry of French curses, and then the feet retreated. He listened as the footfalls grew fainter, straining to determine whether it was one set or two.
A bird began to sing in the trees above them. The clink of glasses and the buzz of conversation floated on the soft breeze from the reception. Relaxing slightly, Gavin realized that Laura was trembling against him. In the same instant, his blood flamed with the feel of her, tucked into the curve of his body, pressed along every inch of him. His arms were laced across her chest, his cheek was pressed into her hair. And he didn’t want to let go. “It’s all right,” he murmured into her ear, which was only inches from his lips. “They’ve gone. There’s no need to be afraid.”
“I’m not”—her breath caught in a tiny gasp—“afraid.”
She shifted against him. Desire blurred his vision and tightened his muscles.
“We…we have to get out of here,” breathed Laura. She moved again.
Every fiber of Gavin shouted, “No!” But his throat was too thick with longing to speak. He let her struggle out of his embrace and push her way through the branches, and followed after a brief, titanic effort at control.
“Oh, God,” said Laura when he emerged beside her.
For a moment, he thought she would say that she wanted him as fiercely and inevitably as he wanted her. She would admit it, he imagined, and fling herself back into his arms.
“Do I look as dreadful as you do?” she said then.
Gavin blinked and forced his mind back from the far reaches of longing.
Twigs were stuck in Laura’s hair, which was falling out of its pins, and in the lace of her sleeves. Bits of dead leaves clung to her skirts, which also showed green stains from the moss they had crouched in. He put a hand to his own hair, brushing out bits of twig and needles.
“We can’t go back inside,” protested Laura. “People will think we have been…” She flushed and bent to shake out her skirts.