by Jane Ashford
If only they had, Gavin thought, another jolt of desire rocking him. If he had done as he wanted and let his hands rove, felt the silk of her skin once again, would she have responded as she had on the island? She wasn’t looking at him. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Slowly, Gavin reached out and pulled a twig from her hair.
She stood still. Her hands shook in the folds of her gown. He let his fingers brush her cheek, which blushed under his touch. “Laura.”
She looked at him then, her eyes clouded.
He must say something, he thought—the right thing, the thing that would dissolve the barriers separating them and open out the future. But he couldn’t think, much less speak. He was submerged in her beauty, the feel of her, the echo of words they had said, and not said, over the last few weeks. She took a step away from him.
“There’s a back gate,” she said unsteadily. “If we go out that way, perhaps no one will notice.” She began brushing at her dress again.
If they were blind, they might not notice, Gavin thought. How could any observer miss the rhythm that pulsed between them? But then, most people were blind to the important things. It was rare to discover another human being who could see.
* * *
Late the following afternoon, a servant knocked on Laura’s door with the information that she had a visitor. Downstairs, she found Annalise moving from foot to foot in one of the parlors. “The countess’s maid has just gone to his house,” she said as soon as Laura entered. “I ran to tell you.”
Laura’s pulse speeded up. This was the moment she had been waiting for, when her plan would show its merits and she would prove herself once and for all. She had chosen her target carefully. She had thought it through. She was ready. Giving Annalise an approving nod, she said, “Splendid.”
“Do we go there now?” replied the girl, obviously excited.
“Yes.” Laura hesitated. She could not go without telling someone, but anyone she told would ruin everything by trying to stop her. Biting her lower lip, she stepped into the front hall. “Is Mr. Graham here?” she asked the footman.
“He is out riding, miss.”
“Ah. Is Mr. Tompkins in his study?”
The servant shook his head. “He was called to the ambassador’s.”
This solved one problem, Laura thought as she returned to the parlor. But it raised another. She needed just enough time for her errand. Rescue that came too early or too late would be fatal. And she needed to leave now. Frowning, she cobbled together a plan.
“I will go to the house alone,” she said to Annalise. “You must search for Herr Graham, who is riding. You remember what he looks like?” She had made certain to point him out to the girl.
Annalise nodded.
“Send him after me. He will know what to do. As soon as you have done that, return here and ask for Mr. Tompkins. I will give you a note for him. Bring him to the house as well.”
“I will.”
Laura experienced a sudden qualm. “If you cannot find Mr. Graham…”
“I can find him,” promised the girl.
She had to, Laura thought, as she sat down to write the note for Tompkins. This had to work perfectly, or she would end up proving Gavin right rather than demonstrating her abilities. And that would be intolerable.
“You understand what you are to do?” she asked Annalise when she gave her the folded paper.
The girl simply nodded and slipped out the door.
* * *
Laura ran to her room and gathered the items that she had prepared for this moment. A few minutes later, she was in the street. She walked at a measured pace, hoping to show no sign of anxiety, though she felt a good deal.
All her preparations were in place, she thought. She had been over them a hundred times, and they were good. Mr. Tompkins would be impressed. Gavin—she stumbled over an uneven cobblestone—she couldn’t think of Gavin right now. She couldn’t be distracted by her feelings.
She walked along a row of shops and around a corner. The house was just ahead. Squaring her shoulders, Laura marched up to the front door and knocked.
There was no problem getting in, not even much surprise at the appearance of a solitary female. Which wasn’t a good sign, Laura thought, as she was ushered upstairs into a large reception room. This was going to require all her fortitude and skill. She fingered the object in her pocket for reassurance.
“My dear Miss Devane,” exclaimed Count Slanski when he came into the room. He was rubbing his chubby hands together and looking extraordinarily pleased with himself. “What a charming surprise. You have refused my invitations so often I had given up hope of your calling on me.”
Laura tossed her head and did her best to pout. “I have come only to tell you that I have discovered your false heart, Count.”
“False?” He put a hand to his breast as he circled closer.
It was too bad they had to converse in French, Laura thought, moving a little farther around a table in the center of the room. Things sounded more intimate in that language. But she had no Polish and the count no English. She blinked at him reproachfully. “All the time you were claiming to adore me, you really preferred someone else,” she accused.
“Who has told you so?” Slanski came closer. He moved very quickly for such a pudgy man, and he stayed between her and the door.
“It is well known that you constantly send gifts to Sophie Krelov. You have never given anything to me!”
“Sophie…?” The count looked startled.
“How could you be so fickle and cruel?” Laura added. She wanted to keep him from thinking too much, and she was counting on his stupidity. Slanski was by far the stupidest of the men Sophie had been cultivating, and thus the most likely to let information slip.
“What makes you think…?” he sputtered.
“Her servant comes here to fetch your presents,” Laura accused. “You are faithless!”
“No, no, not that at all. No such thing. Sophie and I are—”
“You admit it,” cried Laura. She clasped her hands and turned half away, gazing back at his round face from under her lashes.
“Sophie’s just politics. There’s nothing else…”
“Politics!” Laura gave him a searing look. “Do not try to confuse me. What politics could you and the countess—?”
“She has a scheme in mind,” Slanski interrupted, eager to redeem himself. “And it has possible…advantages for my country. So I have provided funds to support it.”
“Money?” It was a great effort to maintain her tone of reproach. She was about to find out the truth, and her heart was pounding.
“Others have done the same,” Slanski assured her. “It’s nothing personal. There is no one but you…”
“But what is it for?” Laura hoped she sounded bewildered and half persuaded.
“She is organizing an uprising—”
To Laura’s deep chagrin, his revelation was interrupted by a sound at the door. They turned to find Sophie Krelov’s maid standing there with fire in her eyes.
“D’anam don diabhal!” she cried.
They both stared at her. Slanski took a step backward.
“What is she doing here?” the older woman added in English. Seeing that the count didn’t understand her, she switched to French, “She is an English spy!”
Count Slanski gaped.
“You are a fool!” pronounced the maid. She turned to Laura like an avenging fury.
But Laura had taken this opportunity to remove something from her pocket. She leveled her pistol at them both.
Slanski looked astonished. “You have a gun,” he said, as if to verify the evidence of his own eyes.
“And I have spent a great deal of time learning to shoot it, so you needn’t think I won’t.”
“A gun,” he repeated incredulously.
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br /> She gestured with it. “Stand side by side.”
His dark gaze shifted to her face. He looked as if she had betrayed him. “You are a woman.”
And you are a half-wit, Laura replied silently. She gestured with the pistol again. She needed to work her way around them and reach the door. She had all the information she needed.
Slanski moved. But he kept turning his head to gaze at the gun as if he couldn’t maintain belief in its reality. Sophie’s maid, on the other hand, simply watched her. The ferocity of her gaze made Laura a bit nervous. She was thus only partly prepared when the older woman leaped at her and fastened both her hands around the gun.
They struggled violently for possession of it.
“Help me, you fool,” screamed the maid to Slanski. Jumping like a startled hare, he did so, and the two of them wrestled the pistol from Laura’s grasp.
The woman took charge of it, holding it aimed at Laura’s heart. She drew back the hammer and started to squeeze the trigger.
“What are you doing?” cried Slanski.
“She must be killed,” was the laconic reply.
“Are you mad?”
“She will betray us.” Her finger tightened.
“You cannot kill her here, now, in my house. Gunfire will bring every servant running.”
“Aren’t your servants trustworthy?” she asked contemptuously.
“Most of them came with the place!” Slanski replied frantically. “Put down the gun.”
She didn’t lower the pistol, but she eased the hammer back, frowning. “Send someone for Sophie,” she ordered.
As Slanski ran out to do so, Laura had the satisfaction of knowing that she had been right about this woman. She was no maid. The way she referred to the countess by name was evidence enough of that.
The count returned, panting, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “The footman’s gone for her.”
Laura ignored them. She was listening for sounds below. Surely Annalise had found Gavin by now, she thought.
* * *
“How could she have left without anyone knowing?” raged Gavin.
The two footmen standing before him visibly quailed.
“What’s your name?” he demanded.
“John, sir,” said one of the servants.
“Well, John, why did you let her go out alone?”
“But, sir, I…I only accompany Miss Devane when I’m summoned. I’m not aware of what she—”
“Your job is to keep her safe!” Gavin snapped. “And you’ve botched it.”
“She must have slipped out the side door,” put in the other footman, who had been stationed in the front hall. “Begging your pardon, sir, but the staff can’t be responsible if—”
“Who is responsible, then?” Gavin would have enjoyed finding someone he could blame. It would have been some relief to his feelings.
“Good afternoon,” said a calm voice from the doorway.
Gavin turned to George Tompkins, who looked maddeningly unconcerned. “You know that Lau…Miss Devane is gone?”
“It appears she left the house about three.”
Gavin swore. “I told her she was not to go out without me!”
Tompkins looked at the two footmen. “You may go,” he said.
They hurried out.
“She had some plan in mind, I believe,” he added.
Gavin couldn’t seem to think as quickly as usual.
“And she is a very clever young woman,” Tompkins added.
“She has not dealt with real villains,” he replied.
“We don’t know that she is attempting to deal with them,” the old man pointed out.
“Do we not?”
Tompkins looked concerned.
“She is alone,” railed Gavin. The word was like a knell.
“I believe I will send out some men to look for her.”
“I’m going,” Gavin assured him.
“It might be best if you stayed here. Others will search more efficiently.”
Gavin felt as if the blood might burst from his veins. “Do you doubt my abilities?” he snapped.
The look Tompkins gave him was kind. “I doubt your sensibilities. It is difficult to keep a clear head when one is deeply worried.”
“I’m not worried. I’m furious.”
“Even more so, then.”
“Do you intend to have me bound? Nothing else will keep me here.”
“It could be arranged.” Tompkins showed no reaction to the savage look that had made more than one bandit chieftain cower.
“Excuse me, sir.” The footman came only halfway into the parlor where Gavin and Tompkins were arguing. He looked as if he hadn’t wanted to come at all.
“What?” snapped Gavin, who wasn’t feeling very charitable toward footmen just now.
“There is a young person at the door. She insists upon speaking to you. She won’t see anyone else, and she won’t go away.”
Gavin was pushing past him before he finished speaking. He ran down the hall to the front door and confronted the girl waiting there. His hopes faltered when he took in her youthfulness and fresh open face, but he demanded, “Who are you? What have you to tell me?”
The girl looked uncomprehending, and his heart sank.
“You are Herr Graham?” the girl asked in German.
“Yes!”
“My name is Annalise. Fräulein Devane sent me to find you.”
“Where is she?”
She recited an address some distance away.
His horse might still be saddled, Gavin thought. He started to run for the stables. “Tell him,” he called over his shoulder to Annalise, gesturing at Tompkins, who had materialized in the hall.
It was one of the longest journeys Gavin had ever taken, despite his thousands of miles of travel. Try as he might, he kept thinking of Laura lying wounded, her life bleeding away. Every word she had spoken to him, every caress they had exchanged haunted him as he raced through the streets of Vienna.
* * *
“I cannot be involved with this any longer,” Slanski was stammering. “I did not bargain for anything like this. I cannot afford to—”
“Do be quiet,” said Laura and the other woman at the same moment. They exchanged a quick startled glance.
There it was, Laura thought, a stealthy sound downstairs. “What exactly is it that Sophie is planning?” she asked. She hoped to divert their attention and also to convince them that she did not know their secret.
The supposed maid gave her a contemptuous look.
“If you are going to kill me, there’s no harm in my knowing. And it would be rather satisfying.”
Slanski nodded as if agreeing with this argument and opened his mouth.
“Keep quiet, you imbecile,” said the other woman.
His mouth snapped shut.
Laura moved, drawing their attention to herself. In the next instant, Gavin erupted into the room, struck the gun from the maid’s hand, and trained his own weapon on the two of them. “Get the pistol,” he commanded.
Laura had already lunged for it. She felt much better when she held it trained on Sophie’s confederate once again. “You were rather slow in getting here,” she said to Gavin.
“Your young friend was slow in finding me.”
“I’m sure she—”
“Could we discuss this at a later time?” he replied through clenched teeth. “We should be going.”
“Oh…yes. Sophie is on her way.”
“Indeed?” Gavin was backing toward her, keeping his gun steady on their adversaries. “Will you move?”
Together, they made for the door. When they reached the corridor, Gavin turned and took her arm. “Run!” he said.
They raced down the stairs and into the entryway. When
Laura would have gone to the front door, he urged her in the opposite direction, heading for the back. But this did them no good. Even as they burst into the open air, they were caught and held by four very large men wearing Sophie’s livery.
The woman herself appeared behind them. “If you have hurt Bridget, I’ll kill you,” she hissed. She ran into the house.
“She’s going to kill us anyway,” said Laura. Gavin gave her an odd look.
Sophie returned with the older woman, but there was no sign of Slanski. “Tie them,” she said to her men, and Laura and Gavin were bound and gagged before being hustled into a carriage and forced down onto the floor for a very uncomfortable ride.
“We cannot take them to your house,” said Bridget. “They will be searched for.”
“I know exactly where I am taking them,” declared Sophie.
Seventeen
They clattered through the streets for nearly twenty minutes. Gavin fought to keep his sense of direction and feel in the sway of his body the turns they made. But being unable to see anything except the carriage floor and several sets of feet, he soon lost track. He could tell only that they were traveling into a poorer quarter of the city. The sounds and smells were clear evidence of that.
When the vehicle finally stopped, scarves were tied around their eyes before they were half carried, half pushed into a building and up several flights of stairs. The slam of the door and the sound of a key turning told him that they had been imprisoned. Immediately, he used his bound hands to tear the scarf away.
Laura was there, standing very still and seeming to listen intently.
His chief fear relieved, Gavin worked at the knot of his gag and soon had it off. The ropes on his wrists would take longer, but he was confident he could get them off as well. He had used his teeth for such a task before. Seeing that Laura was already at work on her own bonds, he began to examine their prison.
It was a small attic room with a slanting ceiling. The furnishings consisted of one dilapidated straight chair and a sagging wooden bedstead with a straw pallet flung on top. There were two dormer windows. He strode to one of them and looked out. They were four stories above one of Vienna’s less savory neighborhoods. He didn’t recognize the nearby streets, but the towers of St. Stephan’s could be seen in the distance. He could easily find his way back.