Fates for Apate

by Sue London

  Seeing an opportunity, she strolled up to the refreshments table to intercept Hans Von Rosen. It would seem odd for her to approach him on the floor, but anyone might chat at the refreshments table.

  “Guten nacht, Herr Rosen.”

  He smiled and responded in perfect, if accented, English, “Good evening, Mrs. Appleton.”

  “I am surprised to see you here without Mr. Rokiczana.”

  He gave a dry laugh. “I think we both know that Mr. Rokiczana only comes to these events to see you.”

  George felt a myriad of reactions at once. Fear that their attachment had become too obvious. Pleasure that someone thought they did have an attachment. A sharp pain born of missing him acutely. She searched her mind for something appropriate to say.

  Von Rosen spoke again. “Don’t worry, I will not judge how you choose to spend your time. Although you might want to be more careful with how you pursue your lover. If I were your husband he would already be dead.”

  “He’s not my lover,” George whispered.

  “I’m sure that’s only a formality. Good evening, Mrs. Appleton.”

  Later that night George paced her bedroom, thinking over what Von Rosen had said. Was he warning her? Should she worry that Appleton would call Casimir out or do something drastic? Was Casimir avoiding her because he had already been threatened? She would go mad if she didn’t find out where he was, why he hadn’t come to see her. Before she could second-guess herself she dug out the dark trousers, hose, and tunic she wore to slip about cities unnoticed. With dark boots and a page’s cap she became unremarkably male in form. It worked well enough in the daytime to be nondescript, but at night it was almost like magic. She could slip from place to place with none the wiser. It was three, maybe four hours until dawn. She was fairly certain she knew where everyone in the Prussian delegation was quartered, thanks to her own research and what had been provided from the Foreign Office. She blanked out her mind and ran solely on instinct. She would find Casimir and she would find out where he had been for the past fortnight.

  *

  Casimir woke to what sounded like a rattle at his window. He sighed and turned over. Perhaps it was just the wind. When it turned to a definite tapping he sat up. It came again. Tap, tap, tap.

  Padding over to the window he saw a form, just the vague outline of a shoulder and head barely noticeable in the dark of the new moon. He drew back, startled. There shouldn’t be anyone at his window. Childhood stories flitted through his tired brain, but certainly there was a more reasonable explanation. The tapping became more pronounced. He lit a candle, almost dropping it when he saw the face in the window through the frost. He set down the light and struggled with the frost-warped window sash. Once he had opened a crack he heard Gina’s voice.

  “Let me in!” she hissed.

  “I’m trying. How did you get up here? This is the third floor, you know.”

  “Then let me in faster!”

  With a creak and groan the window was finally shoved up enough for her to wiggle through. Once her arms and torso were in he pulled her through the rest of the way. She was chilly and stiff from the cold, but he thought he had never felt anything as wonderful as having her in his arms again.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He heard Wladek stumble out of bed in the next room, saying, “Do you need anything, książę?

  “No, Wladek. Go back to sleep.”

  Casimir loathed letting go of Gina, but released her briefly to shut the door that connected with his kinsman’s room. While he did that she closed the window a good deal more quietly than he had opened it. Although he wanted very much to touch her again, he stoked the fire and lay on more logs first to help ward off her chill. At last they met in the middle of the room. Slowly, gently, he laid his palm on her cheek. She leaned into his touch, but her eyes were searching, looking him over as though she were worried. As though he had been the one climbing buildings and doing who knows aught else in the middle of the night in freezing temperatures.

  Finally, she spoke. “Where have you been?”

  His brows rose and his eyes swept her attire. “Where have I been? Where have you been?”

  She frowned at him. “Did Appleton threaten you? Tell me if he did and I’ll take care of it.”

  “I hesitate to ask what taking care of it means.”

  “Whatever is necessary.”

  “No, he hasn’t threatened me.”

  “Then where have you been?” Her voice was tense, nearly petulant. He wouldn’t give her the full answer, just the part she needed.

  “Avoiding this.” He captured her lips in a kiss. She was still shivering with cold and he drew her near. It didn’t escape his notice that his bed was so close. Certainly he should take her to the bed and warm her beneath the blankets. Beneath his body. But once he pressed closer, something poked him in the ribs.

  “Ow, what is that?”

  She stepped back and removed the surcoat she was wearing. Removing clothes? Removing clothes was good. Below that she appeared to have been wearing a bandoleer of knives.

  “What on earth is that?” he hissed. Growing up there had certainly been girls in his clan that learned to fight, but few of them had her confidence and none of them had been as well armed.

  She gave him a half smile as she set the bandoleer on the floor. “You didn’t want me to walk through the city unprotected, did you?”

  “I didn’t want you to walk through the city at all.” Now she only wore a simple dark tunic and trousers. Perhaps the bed wasn’t necessary. The rug in front of the fire would be fine. Or the chair. Wherever she wanted. It was hard to remember she was a married woman when the only reference she had made to the man in over a month was that she would “take care of it” if he threatened Casimir.

  She stood in front of him, still looking worried. “So you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine. Now can I kiss you again, or will other weapons start to poke me?”

  She stepped closer and whispered, “The only other ones are in my boots.”

  Wrapping his hands around her waist he pulled her closer still. She felt perfect. He leaned his forehead on hers and closed his eyes. “I can’t… I can’t be the other man. But I want you to know that I love you. I will always love you.”

  She framed his face in her hands. “You’re not the other man,” she whispered. “You’ll always be the only man.”

  It nearly broke his resolve, hearing her say that he would be the only man she would love. But he couldn’t have her share her body with him while she also shared it with another. While it belonged to another.

  She kissed him. A slow, sweet torture of a kiss. Together they sank to their knees on the floor. He had missed her so much. Her wit, her smiles, and, God yes, her kisses. Having her so close, so willing, and not being able to take her. This would go on his long list of grievances against God.

  It was as though they could go neither forward nor backward, so they stayed there on the floor, kissing, until the sun threatened the sky with dawn.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The next night, George stared out the window of her bedroom at the beauty of Vienna at sunset, and considered her life. When the sun began to rise today she had slipped out of Casimir’s lodgings and across the city to her own. She was ridiculously good at that sort of thing. Then she had taken to bed and claimed an illness. She planned to use that excuse for the next several days. And she did have an illness, it just wasn’t of the regular sort. It was an illness of the heart.

  Madame Blythe had tried to warn her. Perhaps if she had heeded the advice immediately she wouldn’t be in this position, but now she was compromised. There wasn’t anything that Casimir could ask of her that she would deny. Her lips were still swollen and raw from his kisses, but her body already ached from the absence of his touch. And although she knew she could deny him nothing, she also trusted that he wouldn’t ask for anything she wouldn’t want to give. He could have had her body many times over last night
. She wished he had. But he was stronger than that. More respectful than that. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t truly married, but it would be dangerous to break her cover. Even if Casimir didn’t mean to reveal her, he might. If he didn’t see her as another’s wife then his own behavior might become more proprietary. Everything could come into question. It was best to leave things as they were. But it was killing her. By inches, every day, it was killing her to lie to him.

  That made her laugh. She was Georgiana Lockhart! Hardly a day had gone by in her life that she hadn’t told some sort of lie. Not always a large one, of course. But many small ones. She was disingenuous in both her compliments and her complaints. She played the clown and made up stories to entertain herself and others. Sabre and Jack were used to it. Sometimes when she had a particularly boring day she would tell them about the incredible journey she’d had riding a tiger or flying to India on the back of a crane. She was incorrigible. She was clever and deceptive and had never, ever felt guilty about it before.

  Why did it have to happen now, during her first real assignment?

  Yes, she was heart sick. And she took to her bed in the hopes that rest would cure it.

  *

  Casimir had been to three entertainments and hadn’t seen her yet. Tonight was a masque, but he was still sure he would recognize her. Now after two hours, endless chatter, and too many glasses of tepid wine, he was ready to give up on finding her. At least at the masque.

  He counted the windows three times before knocking on the one in front of him. Hopefully Wladek’s information was as good as he thought. The curtain moved and he saw candle light.

  He tapped the window again. “Gini, let me in.”

  She unlatched and swung wide the window, forcing him to step back when what he wanted was to be closer to her. She stood there, looking at him with a wry smile. “You look dressed for a ball.”

  His clothing was a bit dramatic, with a bright red jacket and black half-cape. But it was far too cold to be standing outside in his formal clothing much longer. “I found you.”

  “And you didn’t have to climb a wall or anything.”

  “Yes. Lucky, since I’m sure these boots wouldn’t be any good for it.”

  She finally beckoned him inside. Rather than climbing to her, as she had to visit him, he had only to step in from the garden. While he closed and secured the window, she set her candle down on the bureau. She was dressed only in a chemise and wrapper. As soon as he had twitched the drapes in place he turned to gather her in his arms. She came willingly, he would almost say docilely. And his Gini was not, by nature, a biddable creature. But she smelled of orange blossoms and sunshine and this was the first time he had been able to breathe in a week. So he took a moment just to hold her.

  “Did you miss me?” he whispered.

  She made a noise that was too sad to be a chuckle, perhaps closer in kin to a sob. Her arms tightened around him. It was all the answer he needed.

  “I missed you, too.” He pulled away far enough to cradle her face in his hands and look into her eyes. “I was hoping to find you at the masque so that we could dance scandalously close together with no one the wiser.”

  “And how many women did you dance scandalously with while trying to find me?”

  “Are you jealous?”

  “Only if you don’t make it up to me by dancing with me now.”

  He stepped back to bow to her. “May I have this dance?”

  She curtsied prettily. “But of course, my lord.”

  Then he pulled her so closely that it would indeed be scandalous to dance. Each movement had them rubbing limbs together. It was a sweet, torturous friction.

  He sighed into her hair. “Whatever shall we talk about without fellow dancers for you to skewer with your wit?”

  “You don’t see other dancers?” she asked. “I fear you lack imagination.”

  “Indeed? Tell me who is here.”

  “The dancers are a pastel swirl. Who I notice is on the periphery. Von Rosen always watches us. If he would dance more often then perhaps he wouldn’t scowl so much.”

  “Hans? Hans doesn’t scowl.”

  “Perhaps it is only when we are dancing together. Watch him next time.”

  “Here I only had eyes for you, and you’re watching another man while we’re dancing?”

  She ignored his comment. “And what of Sims? He skulks about looking constipated. I’ve yet to determine why he’s even here.”

  Casimir laughed. “Little did I know you were curbing your tongue on the dance floor.”

  “Certainly you don’t want me to be a fribble.”

  “Thankfully, I think you’re incapable of being a fribble.”

  She pulled her head back and looked him in the eye. “Oh, I’m capable of it, but you seem so disappointed in me when I do it.”

  “Well, I am actively anti-fribble.”

  “That’s your political stance on it?”

  “Indeed. If you remain pro-fribble then I’m afraid there cannot be peace between us.”

  “I will kindly remind the gentleman from Prussia that I did not advocate a pro-fribble stance. I only answered his allegations of whether I can, or cannot, effect an attitude that would be remarked upon as being a fribble. How does the gentleman from Prussia answer?”

  When he didn’t immediately reply she crossed her eyes at him and he burst into laughter. God, how could he not love this woman? Appleton was a fool. A lucky, rotting bastard of a fool. That thought served to sober him quickly. “When we’re dancing do you look at your husband?”

  She frowned. “Appleton? Good heavens, no. There is a void in my vision wherein he resides. If you were to ask me to paint his portrait I would hold up the blank canvas and call it complete.”

  He stopped the subtle shifting that they were calling dancing. “I’m sorry, Gini. You deserve a happy marriage.”

  She pulled away from him. “That’s very kind, but you don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Yes, I do. You’re lovely and clever. You deserve a man who is worthy, who adores you. One who is more than a blank canvas to you.” He set his hand to her cheek and she closed her eyes to lean into it. She looked tired, pale, and fragile. He wanted to take care of her, have the right to love her. How he hated Appleton.

  *

  George leaned into Casimir’s hand and sighed in pleasure. It was difficult not to tell him that he was the only one who gave her what she needed. Things she hadn’t even known she needed before she met him. And more than a blank canvas? Her fingers had been itching to sketch him for weeks. A chance to paint him in oils would be the greatest bliss. Given that chance she would probably never tire of painting him in pose after pose.

  “That’s quite a smile. What are you thinking?”

  She opened her eyes and met his gaze. They stood there a long time, just looking their fill. His expression was sad and wistful and she wished that they could leave the Congress and just go away together. Somewhere new and different. Somewhere that they could just be themselves. A tropical island or a country where they couldn’t speak the language. Although Casimir did seem to speak a surprising number of languages.

  “I was thinking about how I would paint you.”

  The emotions that chased over his features were hard to follow, but it was clear that he understood the implicit meaning of her statement. He was more than a blank canvas to her. He took her lips in a sweet kiss.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  After Casimir visited her, his Gina returned to the evening entertainments. So long as they both attended, it seemed they had no excuse to visit each other’s rooms at night. It was as though they had a tacit agreement to mostly go on as they had before. Friends. They danced scandalously close at the masque balls. At other balls Casimir watched Hans, and the Prussian officer was indeed frowning whenever Casimir danced with Gini.

  Time slipped by. Winter gave way to spring and inexorably marched toward summer. Members of the delegations came and went.
Hangers on flitted at the edges of the Congress, some more interesting than others. For a while Appleton had a new friend, a man so plain and unassuming that he made John Howards seem dashing in comparison. The only thing interesting about the man was the ouroboros pin he wore on his plain brown jackets.

  If anyone had asked Casimir, he knew exactly how long it had been since he had last danced with Gini. Two days and three hours. And how long it had been since he had last kissed her. Four months and twenty days. Essentially forever.

  It was almost June and the Congress of Vienna seemed to be winding down to a close. He was going to lose her. Although he’d never really had her, he wasn’t prepared to lose her either.

  *

  George opened the packet of letters that Robert had forwarded. His simple cover note read, “Now is a good time for these.” Haberdashers letters. She’d thought that perhaps her friends had decided not to worry with writing to her up in Scotland since the post was notoriously spotty in the region where Aunt Martha lived. She should have known better.

  By the third letter her stomach was a queasy ball of dread. Both she and Sabre had missed Jack’s wedding. Poor Jack. The fifth letter made her laugh, as it was a sharply worded rebuke by Sabre that George had jolly well better march herself back down to London because she was obviously needed. Then the more sobering sixth letter from Jack informing her that Sabre had set her cap for a duke. A duke! That was their Sabre.

  Once she made it through the letters she read them all again and made herself a wreck of conflicting emotions. Then all she wanted was to go find Casimir and tell him about the news from her friends. Read the entertaining parts to him, and ask his opinion on the difficult parts. She covered her face with her hands. That was exactly what she needed not to do. It wasn’t fair to either of them to prolong this attachment. It couldn’t be. He was a gentleman in Prussia, with attendant duties and…