By the time they got there, it was still comparatively early for Vienna during the Congress celebrations and the Ambroses were not yet up and about. Richard led her into a small but cozy sitting room, off which were two doors. One, the Ambroses bedchamber, was still closed. Dunya followed Richard into the other which she pronounced both comfortable and delightful. In truth, she’d have found anywhere delightful with him.
Dropping her bag on the floor, Richard turned to her, unfastened her cloak and threw it onto a chair. Suddenly shy and unreasonably nervous, she walked to the window, which looked out onto the quiet, cobbled street. From there, she could also see the open cupboard that contained Richard’s clothes and a washing bowl and jug.
“I believe I’d like to wash and change,” she said. “I seem to have been wearing the same clothes—and the same dirt—for days.”
“I know what you mean. Carry on.”
Dunya closed the shutters on the window, and then realized she needed someone to unfasten her gown. She went back to Richard in the middle of the room, flushing. “Could you, please?” she asked, presenting her back.
Wordlessly, Richard unfastened the gown. The brush of his fingers against her skin made her shiver and yet spread arousing heat. Suddenly, she yearned to be kissed and caressed, and yet, perversely, was grateful he made no effort to hold her. She almost bolted back to the half-hidden cupboard, where, with the illusion of privacy, she let the gown fall around her ankles and used the cloth by the bowl to wash all over. Then, hurriedly, she pulled her chemise back on, and stared into his shaving mirror at her own half-frightened eyes that still shone with a rather hectic excitement.
What now?
“What did Vanya give you?” she asked, relieved to have found something to talk about.
“Look,” he said. “A rather fat wad of money.”
Since the invitation was there, it was easy to walk around from the cupboard. Richard had removed his coat and necktie, and stood in his shirt sleeves, gazing down at the money. He glanced up as she approached, though. She felt his eyes burn her skin as she kept her own firmly on the money.
“What shall we do with it?” Richard asked.
“I don’t know. But it’s a gift. We can’t give it back without hurting him.”
“We could keep it for taking a little house and feeding us on rainy days,” Richard said. “There may be a lot of those. I don’t quite know what I should do with myself now. I only ever wanted to be a soldier.”
“Aren’t you still a soldier? You seem to be able to fight better with one arm than other men do with two.”
“It’s difficult to load and fire a rifle with one hand, but maybe. Though there isn’t much call for us since peace broke out in Europe. And the Congress, against all the odds, seems to be keeping it. Peace may even be permanent.”
Dunya sat down on the bed. Slowly, she gathered the money into one neat pile, then split it in half. She laid one half on the bedside table nearest her and put the other half back on the bed.
“We could keep half to be sensible with. And with the other half, if you like, we could travel. Go wherever takes our fancy. And maybe, on the journey, you’ll find something else you want to do for living. Or discover that you’re still a soldier at heart.”
“Would you come with me?” he asked curiously. “If I went back and the army took me across the world, or to some hellish hole in Britain or Europe?”
“Yes,” she said simply.
A tender smile flickered across his face and he reached down, cupping her cheek. She turned into his hand, gasping because she was afraid, and yet wanted this intimacy with a strength that paralyzed her. He sank down on the bed beside her, and kissed her mouth with slow, growing passion while he caressed her face and throat.
She took his face between her hands, kissing him back with a shyness that faded into yearning.
“My wife,” he whispered against her lips in wonder. His hand caressed her shoulder and up and down her arm.
“My husband.” She smiled and kissed him, felt him gather the fabric of her chemise in his fingers and pull. Then, with one sudden movement it had gone, and she was utterly naked and vulnerable. Heat flooded her body as he gazed at her, and gently drew her down with him so that she lay on her back with him leaning over her, kissing her throat and lower.
His empty sleeve fell across her shoulder. Driven by curiosity, she unbuttoned his shirt.
He caught her hands. “You don’t have to look now,” he said unsteadily. “We can take this slowly, one shock at a time.”
For answer, she merely drew his shirt over his head. The stump of his arm was still bandaged after his recent surgery. She touched it, but was more distracted by the warm skin of his hard chest and the thick muscle of his remaining arm. In fresh wonder, she pressed her lips to each spot that caught her avid attention.
“You can’t shock me,” she said.
He smiled wolfishly. “I can try.”
As it turned out, he succeeded and she was quite wrong. But the shocks were sweet and addictive and ultimately blissful. And so hours passed before Dunya and her husband rose from their bed, happy to face together the consequences of their scandalous marriage.
Epilogue
They left Vienna only two days later, mainly because it was too difficult ever to be alone. Society flocked to the Ambroses’ rooms, to Vanya’s attic, and the countess’s apartment, in the hope of hearing a snippet of gossip, or even glimpsing the newlywed couple.
Eventually, with some relief, Dunya and Richard agreed that the best thing they could do for everyone’s sake, was to begin their travels immediately. Their first plan had been to sail down the Danube to Hungary, and the twin cities of Buda and Pest. But it transpired that Mrs. Fawcett had made one of her sudden expeditions there, taking her nephew and Jane Reid with her. So instead, they set out by coach on the first stage of a journey to Italy, leaving Maria and Jenkins to bring the bulk of their baggage later.
“It also gives Maria time to say goodbye to Misha,” Dunya said, leaning against Richard’s shoulder as their coach trundled out of the Viennese suburbs and onto the open road. “Perhaps he’ll even pluck up the courage to propose to her.”
Richard kissed the top of her head. “You think everyone should be married, now.”
Dunya smiled contentedly. After a few moments, she realized he was still gazing at her. “What?”
“At the inn, after my spat with Etienne, you said it had always been me, that after our first carriage ride to Vienna you hadn’t actually been trying to make him jealous.”
She twisted her head up to look at him. “You think I made that up? It’s true I kept to my plan until I saw his true colors at our ball. But when we spoke after that, by the fire—do you remember?—it came to me that it was always you I looked forward to seeing, not him. It was you I could talk to and laugh with, you I relied on. It was you I wanted to kiss me, not Etienne.”
“I can do that,” he said huskily, and kissed her mouth thoroughly enough to leave her breathless. “I have you alone now.”
“Mother seemed quite happy to wave us goodbye,” she remarked.
“She thinks we’ve disgraced her.”
“Nonsense,” Dunya said stoutly. “I’m sure she already sees our marriage as a good thing. Anyway, she has more to fuss over now. Anastasia has just discovered she is enceinte—which probably explains her wild mood swings! So Mother can fuss over her and look forward to the new baby instead and we—” She broke off, leaning forward to see beyond Richard. “Why are we slowing down?”
The answer to that became abundantly clear as the coach juddered to an abrupt halt amidst the startled neighing of the horses. An instant later, the door on Dunya’s side wrenched open and a large pistol pointed at her heart.
In shock, she gazed up into a masked face. Between the slits, unblinking blue eyes stared at her. Beyond this sinister figure, she could see another man on a horse, aiming a rifle at the coachman.
Richard lunged
forward, throwing his body over Dunya’s to shield her. But abruptly, the door slammed again and an instant later, the coach jolted forward and the horses broke into a gallop.
Dunya dragged her gaze from the open window to Richard as he eased himself off her.
“What just happened?” she asked shakily.
Richard rubbed the back of his head. “Rather who just happened.”
Dunya frowned. “You know him? Is that why he didn’t rob us?”
“I’ve no idea what the devil he’s up to. But he didn’t appear to be expecting us.”
The coach began to steady, presumably as the driver regained control of his horses. Whatever had happened seemed to be over.
“Who was he?” Dunya asked, more intrigued now than frightened.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Oh, but I do.” Sliding closer, she wound both arms around his neck. “How can I coax you to tell me?”
Richard’s eyes darkened. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
She did.
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Other Books by Mary Lancaster
VIENNA WALTZ (The Imperial Season, Book 1)
VIENNA WOODS (The Imperial Season, Book 2)
REBEL OF ROSS
A PRINCE TO BE FEARED: the love story of Vlad Dracula
AN ENDLESS EXILE
A WORLD TO WIN
About Mary Lancaster
Mary Lancaster’s first love was historical fiction. Her other passions include coffee, chocolate, red wine and black and white films – simultaneously where possible. She hates housework.
As a direct consequence of the first love, she studied history at St. Andrews University. She now writes full time at her seaside home in Scotland, which she shares with her husband, three children and a small, crazy dog.
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Vienna Dawn (The Imperial Season Book 3) Page 24