Christina felt her shoulder rudely nudged. Looking around, she found Dorothea, Countess de Perigord, Tallyrand's niece, standing beside her, also dressed in the black and silver of her quadrille. Leaning over, Dorothea hissed in her ear, “The sash, Christina.”
Blinking, she looked down at her hands and was almost surprised to find the black and silver waterfall of shimmering silk clutched in her shaking hands. Embroidered on one end was the image of a delicate silver lark, its emerald eye winking at her. Embarrassed at the attention directed at them, Christina thrust out the token and waited impatiently for Varek to take it.
With a slow, wicked smile, Varek raised his hand and his fingers closed about the silk, at the same time trapping her fingers in his firm clasp. “Thank you, my lady,” he murmured as he bent over and laid warm lips on her inner wrist.
She gasped as his tongue slowly stroked along the rapid pulse beneath her skin. Feeling as if she was about to melt into a puddle of singed butter, she snatched her hand away, leaving the silk fluttering in his fist. Holding her gaze with shameless audacity, he raised the token to his lips. She watched as those warm lips caressed the silver lark. She shivered. Raising her eyes, she was again snagged by his sensuous smile, lost to all sense of time and place. After he wrapped her token about his neck, he turned to leave and a cold fear gripped her heart.
Before she could stop herself she called out softly, “Varek.”
He paused to look back at her, and so did every person within earshot. Ignoring their curious attention, she stared into his incredibly blue eyes. There was so much she wanted to say to him. But she couldn't, and the vulgar display of curiosity around them had nothing to do with her hesitation. Finally she gave him a weak smile. “Please be careful. For me.”
A molten flame flared to life in the warm regard of his gaze and for a moment suspended in time, they were alone, the buzz of voices and the heated bodies far away. For one wonderful moment a tender smile softened his hard lips; then he had the impudence to give her a slow, wicked wink before strolling casually away.
The ladies around her immediately broke into titters and whispered exclamations, all the while their envious eyes traveled from her flushed face to the broad back of the archduke. Trying to tune out the fluttering hens, Christina turned to Dorothea, who was also watching Varek. “You are so lucky, Christina. Now that is a man!”
Christina's lips tightened in frustration as she ignored this naive comment. With as much courtesy as she was capable of at that moment, she commented, “I see we are of the same quadrille. Who else joins us?”
Forcing her covetous gaze from Varek, Dorothea turned around, and together they studied the milling ladies. Christina saw the Duchess of Sagan, Metternich's newest love, looking stunning in emerald green, her gown blazing with every jewel her numerous lovers must have given her over the years. She didn't know how the woman could walk without falling over and being crushed from the weight of the stones adorning every inch of flesh and gown.
Christina started as Dorothea grabbed her hand and pulled her through the milling women. She was surprised when they stopped in front of the dashing, if somewhat vain, Count Karl Clam-Martinitz. With a shy smile, Dorothea extended her tribute, which was accepted with a dazzling smile and a click of the count's highly polished boots. Curious, Christina looked from the blushing girl to the handsome young officer of the Austrian cavalry. Nothing of any meaning, other than the usual flirtatious amenities were exchanged between them before he was on his way to don his costume.
Christina cocked an amused brow at the Countess de Perigord. “Do I smell a romance in the air?”
Dorothea sighed extravagantly. “Isn't he lovely?”
Christina's lips quirked drolly. “What happened to Trauttmansdorff?” Not to mention the Count de Perigord, her husband.
Dorothea blinked at her. “Why, nothing. He is a delicious flirt, but there really was nothing between us. Now Karl, he is another matter.”
“Obviously.”
With a pretty pout, Dorothea turned on Christina. “Oh, look who is talking, you with that marvelous stud still panting after you. You always did have all the luck, Christina. Everyone says so.”
Luck! Christina didn't know whether to laugh, curse at the poor girl or just slap her silly.
Wanting to end this conversation, Christina hailed the Princess Esterhazy, who was also sporting the black and silver of their quadrille. As the lovely woman moved toward them, Christina was again almost blinded by the flash of jewels. She was beginning to feel like a veritable pauper, her dearth of jewels becoming more and more noticeable. Was she an embarrassment to the St. Pole family? she wondered in amusement, not displaying their wealth on her body.
With a wry smile, Christina watched the nervous fluttering of Hager's staff as they hovered anxiously behind the opulently bedecked Queens. Between these ladies, sporting the wealth of several nations on their bodies, and the noble spectators flashing their own private collections of treasures, Hager had his work cut out for him. The vast hall literally blazed with the refractions of diamonds, rubies and emeralds, a thief's paradise, to be sure. And that toad Hager was responsible for every last one of them. Christina smiled broadly at the thought as she was herded, with the other twenty-three ladies, onto their lavish dais amid the excited cheers of the spectators.
And now here she sat, hot, itchy and irritable. Used to the lighter, almost sheer fabrics and fashions of the day, Christina felt stifled and confined in the heavy folds of the seventeenth-century costume. How did one appear a dazzling Queen of Love and Beauty when one was sweating like a peasant in the fields? Feeling the stiff embroidery of her low décolletage digging into her breasts, Christina cast a furtive glance about her before, under the cover of her veil, at least the dratted thing was good for something, she shifted her bosom about. Then she cursed under her breath as a trickle of sweat slithered down between her breasts. Irritated, she squirmed about in her seat, wishing she'd had the sense to bring something as common and useful as a handkerchief.
Leaning over, she grumbled softly in Dorothea's ear, “I'll not be able to make it through this night....”
Excited, Dorothea cut her off. “Isn't it stunning, Christina? Just as we planned. Oh, it looks simply marvelous.”
For the first time, Christina looked past her disgruntled mood and really surveyed the hall. Even as irritable as she was, she had to agree with Dorothea; it was spectacular.
Amid the glittering crowds in the gallery, twenty-four Corinthian columns had been erected on both sides of the arena. Each column, in a princely display, depicted the coat-of-arms, weapons and mottoes of the twenty-four competing knights. Christina smiled as she read a few of the mottoes closest to her. For weeks she had sat through endless hours of debate as the ladies had argued over the French translations of the Latin inscriptions.
On both ends of the oblong arena had been erected two grandstands, extravagant with the goldembroidered cloth that draped the daises. The larger stage had been set with dozens of ornate chairs, providing for the comfort of the emperor and empress, their family and the honored sovereigns of Europe. The twenty-four Queens of Love and Beauty sat on the opposite dais. The mysteriously shrouded figures awaited, as did the spectators, for the arrival of the monarchs. In the arena beneath the royal grandstand a game of rings was being played out for the entertainment of the restless gallery.
Christina grimaced as she studied the turbaned heads of Turks and Moors, staked out in wax effigy on pikes around the arena. This little bit of morbid history had been the idea of several of the Germanic princesses. They had assured all the doubting ladies that the crowd would be more than pleased to see their ancient enemies used as targets in the games by the heroic knights.
While the hall reverberated with the applause and jeers of the spectators as they watched the horsemen tilting at the rings, Christina carefully inspected the layer of sand being kicked up beneath the horses’ flying hooves. It eased the dread gripping her hear
t to see the thick cushion of sand spread over the hard ground, for Varek had so recently recovered from the beating he had suffered only a few short weeks ago. A fall from his horse could only aggravate the internal bruising he had sustained. She was still angered over the fact that he was entered into the lists at all. It hadn't seemed to worry him at all that he would be riding against men who were many years his junior. But the archduke was known as one of the best horsemen in Europe. That was the difference between them, Varek saw it all as frivolous fun, she saw it as masochistic stupidity. She hoped he landed on his stubborn arse, to coin one of Sergei's more colorful phrases.
Again she quickly scanned the floor, reevaluating the thickness of the sand. Maybe it wasn't as deep as she had first thought, she fretted silently, biting her lip.
The blare of trumpets announcing the arrival of the royal highnesses startled her, and looking about her, she saw the assemblage rise to their feet. With a sigh of relief, knowing this fiasco would soon begin , and just as quickly end, she prayed, Christina swayed to her feet in the heavy costume. As if on cue, all the ladies swept the floor-length veils over their heads, displaying to the applauding crowd their splendid, glittering costumes. Christina thankfully breathed deeply of the somewhat cooler air as the crowd went wild, torn between the spectacle of glittering beauty at one end of the arena and their beloved majesties at the other. The cheers continued uninterrupted as the ornate chairs were filled with the sovereigns and other high-ranking personages of the Congress, who would be shaping the destinies of their world. The people's expectations were high, their trust absolute, and they made their loyalty more than apparent in the warm reception they gave to their prospective rulers.
When the royal dais was finally settled, there came another blare of the trumpets. Again the crowd went wild as the resplendent figures of the twenty-four knights, astride the equally resplendent Hungarian steeds, their ebony coats barely seen beneath the rich caparisons, thundered into the arena. Their entrance was accompanied by a rousing martial march played from the orchestra high in the balcony above the royal dais. Behind this impressive display of the flower of Europe's elite trotted twenty-four grooms, each carrying his master's banner, closely followed by dozens of equerries loaded down with the knights’ shields and weapons. Soon the arena was a hive of activity as the squires quickly found their places.
The knights also formed into four quadrilles, their colors matching to that of the Queen they honored that night. Except for the azure, emerald, crimson or black of their quadrille, seen through the slashed sleeves of their velvet doublets, the knights were dressed alike in medieval trappings. Dark, tight-fitted breeches hugged their muscular thighs, their lower legs encased in yellow boots with golden spurs. Also of the same brilliant saffron, their gauntlets were lavishly embroidered with golden thread and their broad-brimmed hats sparkled with diamond brooches sporting large plumes of their respective colors. The knights’ broad chests were protected with a silver and gold armor encasement that looked more like ornamentation than protection. Christina frowned when she looked at the flimsy piece of beauty covering Varek's torso. It appeared to have all the strength of papier-mâché to her critical eye. She swallowed as she remembered the sight of Varek's battered body lying helplessly before her. The damn fool!
All the ladies caught their breaths in awe as their gallant knights made their salutations before the royal dais, tipping their lances to the ground in honor and obedience to the lovely figures of the queens and empresses, receiving graceful nods in acknowledgment. Then, in pairs of two, the knights wheeled their horses about to thunder to the opposite end of the arena to give equal homage to their ladies. The crowds shouted their approval as each knight blew a kiss to his ladylove. Tied at each lean hip in a lavish bow, opposite the glittering hilts of their swords, were their ladies’ silken tokens.
Christina's breath caught in her throat as Varek reached down and his thumb sensually stroked the lark depicted on his token. Their eye contact was a brief clash of scorching emotions before he wheeled his horse around to fall into formation with the other knights as they cantered proudly about the arena twice amid the thunderous cheers of the gallery. Finally, each knight fell out of formation and retreated to where his groom awaited him.
Christina, her gaze glued to the tall, aristocratic figure of Varek, saw nothing else as he was made ready for the games to begin. Her hands fisted in her lap as she watched his broad-brimmed hat doffed and another ornamental piece of flimsy metal was placed over his golden head. When a flute of champagne appeared at her shoulder, she grabbed it and downed the cold liquid in one gulp.
“Are you all right?” the Princess Esterhazy asked, a perplexed frown wrinkling the flawless skin of her brow.
Distracted, Christina nodded as she accepted another glass.
Dorothea exchanged a puzzled glance with the princess over Christina's head. Both looked at Christina, wondering at the change in her usually cool demeanor. The viscountess looked positively frazzled. The young countess tried to wave the solicitous footman away as he approached to replace the empty glass in Christina's hand; however, the distracted lady was too fast for them. In trepidation the two ladies on either side of Christina frowned as she downed her third glass in rapid succession. Shaking their heads, the ladies turned back to the excitement of the festivities and promptly forgot the imbibing viscountess.
Christina, noticing her empty glass, looked about for the footman.
* * * *
Varek found himself watching Count von Serent, one of the rather more impetuous of the young Austrian nobility. He pondered the count's mysterious animosity. For weeks now von Serent had been goading him. Why, he hadn't the faintest idea. However, this evening the young count had made quite vocal his displeasure with Varek. Wracking his brain for some insult he might have unwittingly given the young man, he finally shrugged it off. Then he grinned when his answer was promptly forthcoming.
Across the arena, his former mistress, Sophy, leaned over the railing in a brazen display of upthrust breasts to throw a flower down on von Serent's upturned face.
So that is how the wind blows, Varek realized with a chuckle. Thank God! It had taken weeks, even after he had paid her a handsome endowment, to get rid of her and her possessive attentions. He had finally been forced to cruelty, having her physically removed from his residence. His ears still rang with the shrill curses the incensed lady had thrown at his head. And of course he placed the blame for the whole distasteful episode at Christina's feet. If she had never left him, he would never have been compelled to deal with the mundane problem of having to abide the tantrums of a mistress.
His grin died a slow death when the objects of his attention both turned toward him. Even across the vast width of the arena, their menacing expressions could be seen.
“So you see it too, your highness?”
He glanced down sharply to see Sergei standing at his knee. “What the devil are you doing here?” Varek grated out.
Sergei shrugged as he rechecked the richly tooled leather straps holding up Varek's silver stirrups. “Executing a favor asked of me.”
“What favor?”
There was a pause as Sergei continued with his inspection. Finally he looked up, his expression wary. It was obvious that Varek intended to hang on to his animosity against him. “Need you ask?” he asked wryly.
Varek's lips thinned to a tight white line. Looking up, he glared across the length of the arena at his irritating woman. He frowned when he saw her take another flute of champagne. That had to be her third or fourth. Since entering the lists he had kept an eye on her. Old habits died hard, or not at all, he was finding out.
His eyes narrowed on Christina as she drained another crystal flute. Christina did not hold her drink well; it went straight to her head, even after only a few. He had always been amazed at how quickly she could go from soberness to cup-shot to the inevitable after-effects in just a matter of a few short hours.
“I'd watch out fo
r von Serent. He's been glaring daggers at your back since you arrived.” Sergei interrupted his thoughts.
Varek shrugged this inconsequential annoyance aside. He had a bigger problem at the moment. His eyes narrowed as he watched Christina list dangerously to one side as she stood to reach for another glass from a bobbing tray just out of her reach. He sighed in relief when the princess grabbed hold of her and sat her back down into her chair. Any minute he expected to see Christina tip over the railing and end up sprawled in the middle of the games. “Get the hell out of here, Sergei,” he muttered, still frowning across the arena.
With a lopsided grin, Sergei stepped back, his arms flung out wide and his shrug apologetic. “Would that I could, your highness. However, as I said, I am doing a lady a favor. Never have I told her nay, and I'll not start now simply because I'm asked to do something that is not particularly appealing. Myself, I hope you land on your stubborn arse.” Then he bowed low without breaking eye contact. “Your highness,” he drawled in mock deference.
Varek couldn't help it. He threw back his head and roared with laughter. Even as betrayed as he felt by his childhood friend, Sergei could still make him laugh, most times at himself. Damn, if he didn't miss him! Losing Christina and Sergei in one fatal blow had been devastating. With a curse, Varek turned away from Sergei's engaging grin.
Just then the trumpets blared forth, announcing the starting of the games. With a sardonic salute to his traitorous friend, Varek wheeled his horse about and cantered back into formation.
Sergei's grin faded as he turned to watch von Serent move into position behind Varek; then he spared a quick glance at the woman who had been Varek's mistress. He had heard the rumors she was spewing about Vienna, and obviously young von Serent believed her lies of the abuse she had supposedly suffered at the hands of Varek. His hooded gaze studied the demeanor of Varek's former mistress as she closely watched Varek move about the arena. She didn't even try to mask the hatred twisting her face. Not once did she glance at von Serent.
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