by Jane Feather
With a supreme effort, he broke free of the web her body was spinning around him, a web whose gossamer strands were made up of her scent, her taste, the lithe feel of her beneath his hands.
"Holy Mother! Enough!" He pushed her from him and ran his hands over his face, his mouth, tracing her imprint on his flesh. "What kind of sorceress are you?"
Cordelia shook her head, saying with soft wonder, "No sorceress. But I love you."
"Don't be absurd." He struggled to regain his composure. "You're a spoilt and headstrong child."
"No." She shook her head again. "No, I'm not. I've never loved anyone like this before. Oh, once Christian and I thought that perhaps we loved each other in that way, but it didn't last a week. I never wanted him to kiss me the way I needed you to. I know what I feel."
There was such calm conviction in her voice, in her eyes, in her smile. She looked as smug and satisfied and as sure of herself as any cat with a saucer of cream.
Leo laughed, thinking desperately that maybe tolerant amusement would puncture her intimidating self-possession. "You know nothing, my dear girl. Nothing at all. You're at the mercy of a host of emotions you don't as yet understand. They belong in the marital chamber and you'll understand them soon enough. I blame myself. I should never have kissed you."
"I kissed you just then," she corrected simply. "Because I needed to."
He ran a hand through his hair, disturbing the thick black locks waving off his broad forehead. "Now, listen to me, Cordelia. It was all my fault. I should never have teased you the way I did in the gallery earlier. I didn't realize, God help me, that I was playing with fire. But you must now put all this nonsense about love behind you. You're going to be the wife of Prince Michael von Sachsen. That is your destiny. And you will only hurt yourself if you don't accept it."
Cordelia tucked a loosening ringlet behind her ear. "Are you married?"
"No." He answered the simple question without thought. "Do you have a mistress?"
"Do I what?" The change of tack left him momentarily speechless, until he realized that it wasn't a change of tack at all.
"A mistress?" she repeated, tucking away another ringlet. "Do you have one at present?"
"Get out of here, Cordelia, before I really lose my temper."
"I wonder what that would be like," she said mischievously, then backed away as he stepped toward her. "Oh dear, I have made you cross. Well, you needn't answer me now I'll ask you again when you're more used to the idea."
She blew him a kiss, turned, and moved away into the darkness. He stood watching the glimmer of her ivory gown wafting as if disembodied until even that had vanished and he was left only with the lingering scent of her.
Chapter Three
Rain lashed the windowpane, and a chill draught set the flames in the hearth flickering. Prince Michael von Sachsen put down his pen and leaned toward the fire, holding out his hands to the warmth. April in Paris was not always a soft time of budding trees and nodding spring flowers; the wind and rain could be as raw as on any winter day.
He picked up his pen again and continued with his writing, covering the thick vellum page of the leatherbound book with a spidery sloping scrawl. At the end of the page, he laid down his pen. For twenty years he hadn't missed a daily entry: a scrupulously accurate accounting of his day, with every event, every significant thought punctiliously recorded.
He reread the entry before sanding the page and closing the book. He carried the journal over to an ironbound chest beneath the window. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked the chest's brass padlock. He kept the chest locked even when he was in the room. It contained too many dangerous secrets. He lifted the heavy lid and inserted the journal at the end of a row of identical volumes, each one with the year embossed on the spines that faced upward. His hand drifted over the spines. His index finger hooked the top of the volume for 1765, flipping it up. He opened it, standing with his back to the fire. The page fell open to February 6. There was only one line on the page: At six o'clock this evening, Elvira paid for her faithlessness.
The prince closed the book and replaced it in the chest. The lid dropped with a thud and he turned the key in the padlock, dropping the key back into his pocket. A green log hissed in the grate, accentuating the silence of the room, indeed of the entire house at this dead hour of the night. He picked up his neglected glass of cognac and sipped, staring down into the spitting fire, before turning restlessly back to the secretaire where he'd been writing his journal.
He opened a drawer and took out the miniature in its mother-of-pearl frame. A young, smiling face looked out at him. Raven black ringlets framed her countenance-fresh skin, large, deep-set blue-gray eyes, a turned-up nose that gave her a rather impish look.
Lady Cordelia Brandenburg. Aged sixteen, goddaughter of an empress, niece of a duke. Impeccable lineage and a very pleasing countenance… but one that bore no resemblance to Elvira's. Cordelia was as dark as Elvira had been fair. His gaze lifted to the portrait above the mantel. Elvira, just after the birth of the twins. She reclined on a chaise longue, clad in a crimson velvet chamber robe. Her voluptuous bosom, even fuller after the birth, rose from a lace-edged bodice. A rich velvet fold caressed the curve of her hip. One hand rested negligently in her lap. Around her wrist glittered the charm bracelet that her husband had given her on the birth of the children. At first glance an observer would miss its curiosity, but the artist had caught the bracelet's intricate design, a ray of sunlight throwing it into sharp relief against the lush crimson lap. Elvira was smiling the smile Michael remembered so well, the one that drove him to madness. So defiant, so derisive. Even when she was terrified and he could feel her fear, she gave him that smile.
How many lovers had she had? With how many men had she betrayed him? Even now the question twisted in his soul like a fat maggot. Even now, when Elvira was no longer here to taunt him with her defiance.
He looked down again at the miniature on his palm. He had coveted Elvira in the early days, but he would never expose himself to such weakness again. He would take this woman because he needed an heir. And he needed a woman in his bed. He was not a man who enjoyed paying for his pleasures; it left a sour taste in his mouth. This fresh young woman would arouse his flagging energies, would bring him pleasure as well as the fruits of her loins. And she could occupy herself usefully with the twins. Leo was right that they needed more complex schooling than their governess could provide. The prince had little interest in them himself, but they needed to be educated in the duties of womanhood if they were to make satisfactory wives. He was already planning their betrothals. Four years old was not too soon to make the most advantageous connections for himself. They wouldn't marry for another nine or ten years, of course, but a wise man prepared early.
He hadn't mentioned these plans to their uncle as yet. But then, it wasn't really Leo's business, although he'd probably consider that it was. He was as devoted to the children as he had been to their mother. Her death had devastated him. He'd journeyed from Rome to Paris in less than a week when the news had reached him, and immediately after the funeral had left France for a twelvemonth. He would say nothing about what he'd done or where he'd been during that year of grief.
Michael took another sip of cognac. Leo's besotted attention to Elvira's children was a small price to pay for his continuing friendship. His brother-in-law was a very useful friend. He knew everyone at court, knew exactly which path of influence would be the quickest to achieve any particular goal, and he was a born diplomat. He was an amusing companion, a witty conversationalist, a superb card player, passionate huntsman, bruising rider.
And the perfect choice to take care of his friend's wedding details. Michael smiled to himself, remembering how delighted Leo had been at the prospect of the prince's remarriage. Not an ounce of resentment that his sister was to be replaced, just simple pleasure in the prospect of the twins having a mother, and an end to his friend's marital loneliness.
Yes, Leo Beaumont was
a very splendid man… if a trifle gullible.
"Oh, Cordelia, I am so fatigued!" Toinette threw herself onto a chaise with a sigh. "I am so bored with listening to speeches, standing there like a dummy while they rattle on and on about protocol and precedent. And why do I have to play this silly game this afternoon?"
She leaped up again with an energy belying her complaint of fatigue. "Why do I have to announce in front of everyone that I renounce all claim to the throne of Austria? Isn't it obvious that I do? Besides, there's Joseph and Leopold and Ferdinand and Maximilian all in line before me."
Cordelia bit into a particularly juicy pear. "If you think this is tedious, Toinette, just wait until you get to France. The real wedding will be twice as pompous as all this palaver." She slurped at the juice before it could run down her chin.
"You're a great comfort," Toinette said gloomily, flopping down again. "It's all right for you, no one's taking any notice of your wedding."
"Yes, how very fortunate I am," Cordelia said dryly. "To be married in the shadow of the archduchess Maria Antonia and Louis-Auguste, dauphin of France."
"Oh!" Toinette sat up. "Are you unhappy that your wedding is to be so quiet? I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It must be terrible to have no one taking any notice of you at such an important time."
Cordelia laughed. "No, it's not in the least terrible. I was only pointing out the other side of the coin. In fact, there's nothing I would like less than to be the center of attention." She tossed the core of her pear onto a silver salver and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Oh, you have the bracelet back from the jeweler." Toinette caught the flash of gold in a ray of sunlight.
"Yes, and it's most strange." Cordelia, frowning, unclasped the bracelet from her wrist. "I didn't notice its design when I first looked at it, but it's a serpent with an apple in its mouth. Look." She held it out to the archduchess.
Toinette took it, holding it almost gingerly in the palm of her hand. "It's beautiful, but it's… it's… oh, what's the word?"
"Sinister?" Cordelia supplied. "Repellent?"
Toinette shivered, and touched the elongated serpent's head where a pearl apple nestled in its mouth. "It is a bit, isn't it? It's very old, I should think." She handed it back with another little shiver.
"Medieval, the jeweler said. He was most impressed with it… said he'd never seen anything like it except in an illustration in a thirteenth-century psalter. Don't you think it's strange if it's that old that it should only have these three charms on it? In fact, really only two if you don't count the slipper, which is mine."
"Perhaps the others got lost somewhere along the line."
"Mmm." Cordelia fingered the delicate filigree of a silver rose, its center a deep-red ruby. Beside it hung a tiny emerald swan, perfect in every detail. "I wonder who they belonged to. Where they came from," she mused.
"I expect it's very valuable."
"Yes," Cordelia agreed, clasping it once again around her wrist. "Part of me doesn't like wearing it and part of me does. It has a kind of ghoulish fascination, but I do love the slipper. Makes me think of Cinderella going to the ball."
She chuckled at her friend's incredulous expression. "Oh, I know I'm not a beggar maid rescued by a prince, but we are going to Versailles, which everyone says is a fairy-tale palace, and we're escaping from all this prim protocol, and my uncle will never again be able to bully me. We can dance our lives away if we want, and never again have to sweep the ashes in the kitchen… Oh, lord, is that the time?" She started, exclaiming with a mortified cry, "Why am I always late?" as the chapel clock struck noon, the gong resounding through the courtyard beyond the window.
"Because you think it's fashionable," Toinette replied with a knowing chuckle. "What are you late for this time?"
"I was supposed to be in the chapel at quarter to twelve to rehearse my own proxy marriage with the chaplain. And I didn't mean to be late. It was the bracelet that delayed me." Cordelia grabbed another pear from the fruit bowl and headed for the door. "I don't suppose it'll matter. Father Felix never expects me to be on time."
"Your husband might," the archduchess commented, checking her reflection in a silver-backed hand mirror.
Cordelia grinned. "My proxy husband or the real one?"
"Prince Michael, of course. The viscount is just a puppet."
"Oh, I don't think that's the case," Cordelia said consideringly. "Leo Beaumont's no puppet. Anyway, I'm sure he's not expected to rehearse too." She blew Toinette a jaunty kiss as she left.
She had seen the viscount only from a distance since the encounter in the orangery two nights earlier. Strangely, she'd enjoyed the distance. She'd hugged the thought of him as a deep and joyful secret, treasuring his image, which had filled her nighttime dreams and her waking internal vision. But she'd been only half awake as she'd watched him from afar, dwelling on this extraordinary, all-encompassing, totally engulfing love that had felled her like a bolt of lightning, made her so hot with desire she could have been in the grip of a fever.
Now she was ready again for the man of flesh and blood. Her body sang at the thought of being close to him, of feeling his heat, inhaling his scent. Her ears longed to hear his voice, her eyes to feast upon his countenance. This afternoon, at the renunciation ceremony, he would be beside her, in Prince Michael's place.
She pushed open the door to the chapel and entered the dim, incense-fragrant interior. "I do beg your pardon for being late, Father." She became aware of Leo Beaumont's presence even before she saw him pacing restlessly before the altar. Her heart jumped into her throat. "I ask your pardon, sir. I didn't realize you were to be rehearsing too."
"I understand from Father Felix that you've never been taught that punctuality is the courtesy of kings," Leo said acidly.
"Oh, indeed, I know it's impolite." She came swiftly toward him, her eyes glowing in her radiant face. "But I was talking with Toinette. My bracelet has come back from the jeweler and we were admiring it and the time just went somewhere." She held out her hand to him, her fingers closing over his.
Deliberately, he pulled his fingers free and instead picked up her wrist, holding it to the light from the rose window above the altar. As always, the bracelet's curious design disturbed him. The serpent that tempted and ultimately destroyed Eve. Sometimes he had thought Elvira had been the embodiment of Eve and that Michael had picked his gift with pointed care. He noticed that the jade heart was now missing. It had been the charm Michael had given to Elvira. Presumably, he'd thought it more tactful to remove it before passing on the gift to Elvira's replacement.
He became suddenly conscious of Cordelia's pulse racing beneath his fingers as they circled her wrist. Her skin was hot. He looked into her face, and she smiled with such seductive radiance, her eyes so full of joyous excitement, that he dropped her wrist as if it were a burning brand. For an instant he closed his eyes against the blazing force of her invitation.
"Well, now you're here, let's be done with this business. I've other things to do with my time." He turned brusquely to the altar. "Father, if you're ready."
The chaplain came forward with an eager assent. "It won't take long, my lord. Just to make sure that you're both familiar with the ceremony and the blessing of the rings."
Cordelia stepped up beside Leo. Her skirts brushed his thigh. She tilted her head to look up at him. "Don't be vexed, my lord. I'm truly sorry to have kept you waiting."
"It's not necessary to stand so close to me," he snapped in an undertone, taking a step sideways.
Cordelia looked hurt.
"I beg your pardon, my lord. Is something the matter?" The chaplain looked up from his prayer book, where he was searching for the relevant passages.
"No." Leo shook his head with a sigh. "Nothing in the world, Father." He stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the pulsing presence beside him. How on earth was he going to manage her on the long journey to Paris? Or did he mean, how on earth was he going to keep his hands off
her?
The ceremony was short, and Father Felix was only too happy to race through it when he realized the viscount's impatience and Lady Cordelia's restless distraction. He closed the book with relief after ten minutes. "That's really all there is to it. The blessing of the rings will take five minutes, and, of course, there'll be an address to the congregation. You will make your confession before the service, Lady Cordelia, so that you will be in a state of grace when you make your vows."
"And His Lordship too?"
"As this is a marriage by procuration, my lady, Viscount Kierston does not have the same obligations."
"Quite apart from the fact that I don't practice your faith," Leo stated. "Now, if you'll both excuse me, I have some business to attend to."
Father Felix offered a blessing and disappeared into the sacristy.
"Oh, no, wait!" Cordelia gathered up her skirts and ran to catch up with the viscount as he strode out of the chapel. "Don't go yet." She slipped her hand into his arm, pulling him aside into a small side chapel. "What a relief it must be not to have to go to confession." She took a bite of the pear she'd been holding in her hand throughout the rehearsal. "I tend to be rather forgetful when it comes to remembering my sins."
Her chuckle was so infectious that Leo couldn't help a responding smile. "Selective memory has its uses." He couldn't drag his eyes away from her little white teeth biting into the succulent flesh of the pear.
"I was wondering if loving could be considered a sin," Cordelia mumbled through another mouthful of pear. "I don't know why it should have happened that I love you the way I do, but it's a fact, and I don't really believe that God would frown upon it."
"Oh, in the name of mercy, Cordelia!" Leo jerked his arm free. "You don't know what you're talking about." He glared down at her. "And you've got pear juice running all down your chin."
"But I do know what I'm talking about," Cordelia protested firmly, searching through her pockets. "Oh dear, I seem to have mislaid my handkerchief. They're such juicy pears, you see."