Vienna Waltz (The Imperial Season Book 1)

by Mary Lancaster

  And then the music, melodic, rhythmic and insistent, inspired her to recklessness. Or it might have been the novelty of the stranger’s embrace. She’d only ever waltzed with Michael and her sisters; it was much too fast a dance for a country neighborhood.

  “I’ve never waltzed in public before,” she said bluntly. “I’ll stand all over your feet.”

  “No you won’t,” he said with certainty, spinning her onto the dance floor.

  She gasped, more with fun than fear. His head lowered slightly. “The mysterious Mademoiselle Noire should not watch her feet as she waltzes.”

  “Gauche?” Lizzie suggested ruefully.

  His eyes lit with laughter. “Sadly. And then you don’t really want to draw attention to your outdoor shoes.”

  “Oh dear. You have found me out.” She squared her shoulders and confessed, “I wasn’t invited.”

  “You’re in good company,” he excused.

  “You, too?”

  “Sadly, I was bidden.”

  “Why sadly?”

  “Your way is more adventurous,” the stranger pointed out.

  “Aren’t you tired of adventuring?” she asked curiously.

  He blinked. “Why should you think that?”

  “Perhaps you have not been a soldier for very long,” she guessed.

  “Six years. Or is it seven?”

  “Really? Then you must have fought Napoleon.”

  “All over Europe,” he said flippantly. “And I see your reasoning. Maybe you’re right and I should settle down.”

  “Oh no,” she said with a quick frown. “Sometimes I wish I were a man and able to adventure about the world. Though I doubt I’d have made a very good soldier.” She sighed. “Women are so hemmed in with respectability. Unless they wish to be ostracized.”

  “It isn’t fair, is it?” he sympathized. “I’ve behaved badly all my life and no one has ever ostracized me.”

  “What did you do?” she asked, intrigued.

  He laughed. “I can’t tell you that.”

  She found herself returning his smile. “Because of my respectability?”

  “And what’s left of mine.”

  “But I’m the one intruding on the Emperor’s ball. Here, you are the respectable one.”

  His breath of silent laughter seemed ridiculously familiar, but she couldn’t catch the memory.

  “I never thought of that,” he said solemnly. “I shall tell all my friends. So tonight, the adventure is yours.”

  Reminded of the true purpose of the evening, she cast another rather guilty look around the riding school, searching for anyone who might possibly be Johnnie. Some plainly dressed man, hiding a hint of scruffiness beneath an all-enveloping domino. The trouble was, all the men she could see, including her dancing partner, wore their cloaks open, or even dangling off one shoulder like her current dancing partner.

  “Who are you looking for?” he asked. “Perhaps I can help.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Then it isn’t really your aunt.”

  “Not just my aunt,” she said cautiously.

  “I sense an intrigue.”

  She let out a peel of laughter. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t intrigue!”

  “Why ever not?” he asked outrageously. “It’s one of the more fun and comfortable forms of adventuring. I suppose it comes down to respectability again.”

  “I suppose it does,” she said with a twinge of regret. “Though to be honest, I’ve never yet encountered a man I wished to intrigue with.”

  “Mademoiselle, you cut me,” he mourned, drawing her hand with his to his heart in mock injury.

  She laughed. “No, I don’t. We don’t know each other at all.”

  “That is a large part of the fun in intrigue.”

  “I suppose you have a great deal of experience in that area,” she allowed. Behind the mask, she was sure he was a handsome man. He was certainly charming in some indefinable way she couldn’t help liking.

  He said, “I suppose I do.”

  Catching an unexpected note of genuine regret in his voice, she peered up at him more closely.

  He drew in a sudden breath. “Don’t do that or I’ll kiss you in the middle of the ballroom. Too blatant for intrigue.”

  “And for respectability,” she scolded, although she felt a flush rise through her body to her cheeks as her wayward mind wondered how it would feel to be kissed by a masked stranger. This somewhat unconventional masked stranger who continued to gaze down at her, a faint, incomprehensible smile playing about his lips. She wanted, suddenly, to look away, but refused to give in to such cowardice.

  Rather breathlessly, she said, “You should know I have no intention of either.”

  “Either what?”

  She lifted her chin. “Kissing or intrigue.”

  His lips curved. “You could try one and if you liked it, move on to the other.”

  Laughter caught at her breath, perhaps in shock. “No, I couldn’t. You’re forgetting the respectability.”

  “But I thought you wanted an adventure?”

  “Not like that,” she said with dignity, although she may have ruined the effect by adding, “And certainly not with you. I suspect you’re far too risky a proposition.”

  The smile died on his lips. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because after tonight, after this waltz, we’ll never see each other again.” She was too used to speaking her thoughts as they occurred; she hadn’t cleansed the unexpected regret from her voice.

  And he caught it only too clearly. She saw the leap in his eyes and it caused an immediate commotion within her, like a flock of butterflies rising in her stomach. Even though she recognized it for what it was: a rake’s triumph at the prospect of conquest. Worse, she couldn’t make herself mind.

  “Why should you think that?” he asked softly.

  She shrugged, striving for carelessness. “Because even if we do, we won’t know it. We won’t recognize each other.”

  “Of course we will. There’s an infallible way to ensure we do.”

  “What is that?” she asked unwisely.

  “No two people kiss the same way.”

  For the first time, she missed a step. Heat surged through her so quickly she was glad of the mask to hide her flushed cheeks. She tried to introduce a haughty lift to her eyebrows, but already his arm was falling away from her back. The music had stopped and before her rather dazed eyes, he bowed over her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers in the continental fashion.

  And then another voice intruded, speaking in jovial French. “Vanya! I might have known it would be you who finally persuaded the mysterious Mademoiselle Noire to dance!”

  Startled, Lizzie’s gaze flew to the man addressing her partner. She beheld, unmistakably, the Tsar of all the Russias, an unworn mask dangling from his wrist. Speechless, she sank into a deep curtsey. Any number of thoughts flitted through her brain, not least of them that despite her efforts at concealment, she’d been noticed enough to have a nickname coined by such an important personage. And yet, somehow more important was the fact that now she knew her stranger was called Vanya. It had a pleasing, exotic ring to it. It suited him. And like the tsar himself, the name had surely to be Russian.

  Mr. Vanya straightened and inclined his head smartly to his monarch. “Sire.”

  “Won’t you introduce me?” It wasn’t really a request. The tsar had commanded.

  “To the best of my ability in the circumstances,” Mr. Vanya said smoothly. “Sire, allow me to present Mademoiselle Noire. Mademoiselle, His Majesty, the Emperor of Russia.”

  “Enchanted,” the tsar said, smiling as she curtseyed once more. He even took her hand to raise her. “Perhaps I might hope for this dance.”

  He was, she supposed, dazzling, and she knew this was the most flattering invitation she would ever receive. And yet, all she could think of was how to get out of it. The evening was confused enough and she still hadn’t found Johnnie.

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nbsp; “Perhaps a later dance, Your Majesty,” suggested an aide in a green domino—surely the one who’d been dancing earlier with Minerva? Another aide, an officer from his fine moustache and fabulously braided uniform, stood on the tsar’s other side, his gaze locked in some kind of silent communication with Vanya. The civilian aide said, “Your Majesty is promised to the Queen of Bavaria for this one.”

  The tsar frowned, as if he was quite prepared to slight the queen for Lizzie’s sake.

  Mr. Vanya said, “Then I am saved. I promised to return Mademoiselle to her aunt, under pain of death.”

  It smoothed the Imperial brow. The tsar even laughed, as Vanya drew her aside, her hand through his arm.

  Behind them, the tsar said, “Who the devil is her aunt anyway?”

  “I’ve no idea,” his aide replied and laughter bubbled up in Lizzie’s throat.

  “Oh goodness, I almost had a tale to tell my grandchildren! That I danced with the Tsar of Russia!”

  “Now you have a rarer one,” Vanya said. “You refused to dance with the Tsar of Russia.”

  “No, I didn’t. You and his aide refused to let me. He is excessively handsome, isn’t he?”

  “So I’m told.” Vanya swerved in the other direction. “If we hurry, we’ll catch him before he reaches the Queen—”

  With a squeak of protest, she tugged him back toward the exit from the riding school. “Don’t dare!”

  “As you wish,” he said gravely.

  She eyed him with mingled amusement and disapproval. “Mr. Vanya,” she began.

  His black eyebrows lifted and her breath caught, carrying her on a quite different thread that led her back to reality.

  She said abruptly. “He called me Mademoiselle Noire. So did you. Have I been noticed?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “But why? People rarely notice me anywhere and this time I’ve gone out of my way to appear insignificant!”

  “I doubt the first is remotely true and in this place, where everyone is trying to be noticed by everyone who matters, trying to be insignificant is significant in itself.”

  “Wrong strategy,” she said ruefully, as they entered the covered walkway between the buildings. The cool air and the sweet scent of the orange trees were soothing. As, curiously, was the dark sky beyond.

  And then, coming towards them, she saw the unmistakable figures of Aunt Lucy and Minerva, escorted now by Uncle Jeremy. Lizzie gave a quick, instinctive tug to free herself and hide, but Vanya’s hand closed over hers in warning, or perhaps comfort. He was right. Rushing away would only draw more of the kind of attention she wished—needed—to avoid. She only hoped Vanya hadn’t picked up who she wished to flee from.

  Carefully, she kept her gaze on the end of the walk, on the ballroom ahead, as if searching for someone there, as her family advanced toward her. Her heart beat hard in her breast.

  As they passed, Aunt Lucy said pleasantly, “Colonel Vanya.”

  Oh no, he knows them!

  “Madame. Mademoiselle,” Vanya murmured with a polite inclination of his head and then they were passed. From the corner of her eye, she realized none of them had actually looked at her. Relief was intense and lasted the rest of the way into the ballroom. “There,” Vanya said. “People generally only see what they expect to.”

  She glanced at him with more than a hint of self-mockery. “Was I so obviously hiding?”

  “Only to me. Brazening it out is usually best. Although here in the main ballroom, there are other options, such as pillars. And alcoves,” he added, drawing back the curtain on one. It was empty and before she’d properly registered the fact, she found herself inside it. “Gather your breath,” Vanya advised.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You’re being very kind to me.”

  “No, I’m not. I have an ulterior motive.”

  “For what?” she asked.

  “Helping you gather your breath.”

  Lizzie said, “You know she’s my aunt, don’t you?”

  “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Why not?”

  “Do you know the story of Cinderella?” he inquired.

  Baffled by the change of subject, she blinked. “Pardon?”

  A smile flickered across his lips. “Everyone loves Cinderella. I’m just making conversation until you recover your breath.”

  “How poor a specimen do you take me for? I’m quite recovered from so minor a disaster.”

  “Of course you are,” he said, placing one finger under her chin and turning up her face, presumably to check for signs of the vapors.

  She began to laugh, to reassure him that she never, ever had hysterics, only for some reason the words stuck in her throat, and it seemed she had no breath after all. Vanya’s masked face dipped lower and his dark eyes, the texture of his lips seemed to enthral her. Certainly, she couldn’t seem to speak or draw back.

  At the last moment, she threw up one hand to ward him off, but it was too late. His lips closed on hers and, in shock, her defensive fingers curled instead on the braid of his uniform.

  It wasn’t a long or aggressive embrace. Perhaps it was his gentleness that confused her, because when he raised his head, she neither slapped him nor ran. Incurably honest, she admitted to herself that it had been a nice kiss and that she rather wanted another. Torn, she swallowed convulsively and his head lowered once more.

  This one was longer, sweeter, exploring her mouth, and when it ended, she touched his mask, the skin of his cheek, just because she wanted to, and lifted her face to be kissed again. A delicious sort of heaviness spread from her tingling lips through her whole body. Excitement, delight…and danger.

  “That’s enough,” she whispered against his lips.

  “No,” he said, releasing her. She thought his voice wasn’t quite steady, but that may have been the pounding of her heart distorting her hearing. “But it will do for now.” His lips curved. “You see? Now we’ll always know each other. When we meet again.”

  A choke of laughter broke from her. “We won’t, you know. Goodbye, Colonel.”

  As she reached up to pull back the curtain, forcing herself to think of Johnnie and the necklace, she suddenly froze.

  “She wasn’t wearing it,” she blurted. “Oh God!”

  She hadn’t stopped Johnnie in time. He hadn’t needed her to point out his victim. And now, she’d no idea where either the thief or the necklace was. She fled.

  Chapter Six

  Laughter shook Vanya’s body as Lizzie rushed away from him. But though he’d enjoyed himself so much, he didn’t actually want her to suffer. After a discreet moment, he strolled out into the ballroom and turned his steps back toward the riding school. Since Boris was on the “nanny” shift with the tsar, he was easy enough to locate.

  “Swap dominoes with me,” he said without introduction.

  “What? Why? Who are you hiding from?” Boris demanded, though he obligingly took off his cloak. “Countess Gelitzina and Madame Fischer were both glaring daggers at you on the dance floor.”

  “What the devil for?” Vanya asked, throwing his cloak to Boris and swinging his friend’s around his shoulder before striding off without waiting for an answer.

  On his way out of the riding school, he stopped a passing waiter. From his pocket, he took a pre-scribbled note and a handful of coins and discreetly passed them across the tray. “For Mademoiselle Noire, the mysterious young lady in black,” he said. “You know who I mean?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “Hurry, then.”

  As he found his way outside into the grounds, he threw his mask away and unfastened his regimental coat. Shrugging it off, he left it under a bush for either himself or Misha to find later. Then, with Boris’ domino covering his shirt sleeves, he moved around toward the front of the palace to wait for Lizzie. Ruefully, he acknowledged that he’d just endangered his own plan. By dancing with her, by forcing her to notice him, especially in such a way, he’d left himself open to recognition.

 
; It probably wouldn’t matter, of course. The disreputable Colonel Vanya could sell the necklace as easily as Johnnie could and it had been rather fun flirting with her on a more equal social footing. In truth, he rather wanted to remain Colonel Vanya to her, so that he could openly protect her, and perhaps put his arm around her in the hired carriage and kiss her a little more. Her kisses were sweet: a little shy, a little curious, with a latent passion he would be a complete cad to awaken fully. She was off limits and still he’d crossed the boundary. Or at least pushed it back a little.

  Johnnie would undoubtedly be best at this point, but he didn’t hold out a great deal of hope that he’d fool her just by wearing a different colored cloak. Even though she hadn’t recognized Johnnie in the masked and military Vanya, he was now, surely, rather more firmly established at the forefront of her mind.

  People were still milling about in the grounds—more illegal entrants to the ball, he presumed—as well as around the main entrance trying to bribe the doorman. It was easy to blend into the shadows. It reminded him of the rather deadlier games of hide and seek in the winter of 1812, when he’d led ambushes and sudden night attacks on the retreating French army.

  He drove the memories away, thinking himself into the slightly furtive role of Johnnie the thief. And yet, his whole mind seemed to be full of her, vivid and fun and totally unaware of her charm.

  She hurried out of the palace, drawing the hood of her cloak up over her head. She’d acquired a small carpet bag from somewhere; it hung from the edges of her cloak.

  He stepped out of the shadows, ridiculously tense as he waited for recognition to hit her.

  But she barely glanced at him as she hurried on. “Oh Johnnie, why didn’t you wait for me to point her out? I’d decided I didn’t want you to do it that way, but to rob the house, instead.”