Vienna Woods (The Imperial Season Book 2)

by Mary Lancaster

  “If you know the steps and promise not to stand on my toes more often than I stand on yours. And you ask me civilly.”

  “Aren’t you promised for all the dances?” Michael asked with flattering astonishment.

  Esther spread her arms. “As you see.”

  “Will the crown prince call me out?” Michael asked with another grin, although behind the impudence was a gleam of hope.

  “Why would he do that?” Esther asked, fighting down the upsurge of guilt.

  “Aren’t you engaged to marry him?”

  “Hush, no such thing has been announced. Vienna just loves to gossip.”

  “That’s what my aunt said about Lizzie and Vanya. So, would you please dance with me?”

  “Thank you, I would be glad to,” Esther said gravely and stood up with him.

  The boy was about the same height as she and waltzed with a rather charming exuberance that would have been considered unsuitable in a grown man. Esther found it fun. In fact, it rather raised her spirits, which had up until then been haunted by a sense of disappointment in the absence of the police agent.

  Besides which, although Lord Harry was present, she’d given up the idea of handing over the documents in a public place. Given his unreliability last night, she wondered if he was the right person to have charge of them in the first place. Or Count von Meyer. She distrusted the Kriegenstein minister, perhaps even more than she distrusted Otto.

  As Michael swung her round in a manner more suited to a Scottish reel, she realized the bridal couple were no longer dancing.

  “Do you think Lizzie has gone?” Esther asked.

  “Yes, she and Vanya left before I spoke to you. I say, Miss Lisle, you dance terribly well!”

  “So do you,” Esther said generously as the music came to a close. She curtsied to him and he bowed, grinning.

  “Thank you,” he said fervently. “The best dance ever!” Although his curious gaze lit quite obviously on another acquaintance, he said politely, “May I escort you back to the general?”

  “No, I thank you, I shall find my own way.”

  Michael turned away, then glanced back at her, half-hopeful. “Perhaps we could have another dance later?”

  Esther laughed. “Perhaps.”

  As she walked toward her father and Juana, her gaze strayed once more to the door, where she saw Lizzie’s youngest sister hurrying out. The girl paused just outside the door and turned to her left, grinning with a sort of mischievous surprise, and just for a second, a man walked into Esther’s line of vision and moved out of it again.

  It was an instant’s glimpse, and yet Esther was sure it was him. Her heart beating fast, she swerved through the returning couples and skirted around the dance floor to the doorway.

  In the hall beyond, the girl sat alone on one of two velvet upholstered chairs placed against the wall.

  “Good evening,” the girl said with the same kind of friendliness as her brother.

  “Good evening,” Esther said, dragging her gaze back from the shadowy corners of the hallway. “You’re Miss Gaunt, are you not?”

  “I’m Georgiana Gaunt, but everyone calls me Georgi.”

  “I remember. I remember your dog, too!”

  Georgiana grinned. “Everyone remembers him! Don’t worry, he isn’t here. He’s causing havoc among my aunt’s servants. Are you looking for Lizzie? She and Vanya left.”

  “So I heard. No, I thought I glimpsed another friend with you and came to see if I was right. A gentleman.”

  The girl’s eyes widened. “You know Herr Schmidt, too?”

  Got you! Esther crowed internally. Herr Schmidt!

  “You probably know him differently,” Georgiana added. “We don’t think Schmidt is his real name.”

  Drat the man! Esther fumed.

  She sat down beside Georgiana. “How very odd,” she observed. “How are you acquainted with him?”

  “There was an accident,” Georgiana said vaguely. “It could have ended very badly for us—and him!—but it didn’t. How do you know him?”

  Esther smiled. “I don’t think I do.”

  Georgiana frowned, as though suddenly worried. “But you do know he’s with the Austrian police?”

  It was on the tip of Esther’s tongue to ask the child if Herr Schmidt had been inquiring about her, but she hastily swallowed the question back down. There were no masks today. He hadn’t openly attended the wedding, whatever his relationship with the happy couple. Metternich wasn’t here. Herr Schmidt could only have come to watch her. To make sure she had no secret meetings.

  Involuntarily, she clutched her reticule a little tighter.

  Did you come here to interrogate me? Or to protect Prince Metternich and his guests?

  It seemed she had her answer. And she didn’t like it.

  *

  Mrs. Fawcett was a kind hostess and seemed inclined to take Esther under her wing, now that, presumably, Lizzie was safely married. She accompanied the Lisle party towards the doorsteps to await their carriage. As the general handed Juana into the vehicle, several young gentlemen in masks and domino cloaks weaved their rollicking way down the street, en route, obviously, to some masquerade or other.

  “It was a beautiful wedding breakfast,” Esther told Mrs. Fawcett warmly. “The happy couple was clearly delighted.”

  “Well, they are both close to my heart for so many reasons. And what of you, my dear?” Mrs. Fawcett asked kindly. “When will you and the crown prince tie the knot?”

  “Oh, there is nothing decided,” Esther murmured, feeling fraudulent yet again. “There is not even an official betrothal. Give my best wishes to the new Lady Launceton, since I’m sure you’ll see her before I do!”

  Mrs. Fawcett pressed her hand and released her, and Esther turned to her father, who was waiting impatiently by the carriage door. Just as she started to walk toward him, a dark figure exploded out of nowhere, brushing past her at high speed.

  She gasped in surprise, stumbling back out of the way.

  “What the…,” her father began wrathfully, staring after the bolting figure.

  It took Esther a full second to realize the weight on her wrist was gone, that a tiny arc of gold-embroidered strap was all that remained of her reticule. It had been cut cleanly.

  *

  At the first turning, Zelig veered left, away from the masked, hallooing revelers who kept up their pursuit of the thief—in vain. Zelig halted in the shadow of a tree and Kai, an angelic, blond boy of fifteen, dropped the reticule into his hand.

  “Just as planned,” he said cheerfully.

  “And Lutz?” Zelig asked, already emptying the reticule and unfolding the papers. Impatiently, he tore the cover off the lantern at Kai’s feet and crouched down to examine what he had.

  “With Menno. Dietmar should have them by now.”

  Zelig nodded distractedly. “You’d better get off and meet with them. I’ll see you in a day or so.”

  “Very well,” Kai said reluctantly. “What are you going to do now?”

  Zelig didn’t answer for a moment. His attention was on the papers before him. Even before he’d deciphered the coded document, this find deprived him of breath. No wonder Esther had seemed to be warning him last night about some danger to Metternich. No wonder she’d been watching the chancellor so closely for so much of the evening.

  Forewarned was forearmed. He’d need the documents as proof, of course, for Hager if for no one else, but right now, he needed to know how far Esther was implicated. And he hated that his heart beat just a little faster.

  “I?” Zelig said, re-folding the documents and stuffing them efficiently inside the bag once more. “I’m going to return these, of course.”

  Kai’s mouth fell open. “Return them? Then why did we steal them in the first place? Did Lutz take the wrong thing?”

  “No,” Zelig said, pushing him toward the approaching cart, driven by Dietmar. “He took exactly the right thing.” He strode off, back the way he’d come.
When Mrs. Fawcett’s house came into sight, he broke into a run. He hoped Esther was still waiting there. But if not, he knew where to find her.

  Chapter Six

  Blood sang in Esther’s ears.

  “Stop, thief,” she croaked in unhelpful English and then more loudly, “Stop, thief! That man stole my reticule!”

  “The scoundrel!” snarled her father, raising his walking stick and preparing to give chase. But the masked young men were ahead of him, roaring and hallooing as if they were on a fox hunt as they pursued the miscreant.

  “We’ll get it back for you, ma’am!” one of them called over his shoulder in clear English accents.

  “Oh, dear God,” Esther whispered. There was no way she could catch the thief herself. She should never have lingered outside the carriage, giving the thief such a chance. And if she had to, she certainly shouldn’t have had the fat little reticule on such prominent display.

  “I’ve sent my footman after him, too,” Mrs. Fawcett said, coming back to take Esther’s hand. “He’ll make sure those louts bring everything back to you. Don’t worry.”

  She sounded so comfortable about the whole thing, that Esther was reminded to hide her panic. She shouldn’t be so upset by the loss of a frippery which contained no more than a few coins and a spare pair of gloves. In fact, she shouldn’t be allowing it the importance of waiting here for it.

  She swallowed, forcing herself to say lightly, “I particularly liked that reticule. It was new.”

  “Perhaps it can be repaired,” Mrs. Fawcett said optimistically. “My footman will bring it directly to me and I’ll send him on to your hotel.”

  “Very good of you, ma’am, very good,” the general said, shaking his head. “Dashed bad business. Thought Hager was doing an excellent job up until now!”

  “Well, there are so many police agents in the city, at least they’re likely to catch the miscreant and return your possessions,” Mrs. Fawcett said hopefully.

  Esther prayed quite hard that the English revelers and Mrs. Fawcett’s footman would find the reticule first, because if the police found it, she very much doubted they’d resist looking inside.

  While Mrs. Fawcett and her father amiably abused the criminals and the police indiscriminately, Esther began to contradict herself, drifting toward the conclusion that it would actually be best if the police did find the documents. Then at least, they would know about the threat to Prince Metternich’s life, which she hadn’t made nearly plain enough to him at the masquerade last night.

  Mrs. Fawcett tried to persuade them all to go back inside and wait for her footman in warmth and comfort, but the general vetoed the suggestion, with thanks, and at last handed Esther into the carriage beside Juana.

  Just as the door was closed, someone shouted in the street, and Esther thrust her head out of the window in time to see a man running toward their carriage waving something in the air that looked very like her reticule.

  “Oh, thank God,” she uttered, pushing open the door again and jumping down without the aid of the steps.

  She saw at once that the man was not Mrs. Fawcett’s burly footman, but one of the masked and elegantly dressed young men who’d first given chase. And by the light of the combined street and carriage lamps, her reticule still bulged.

  “Esther, what the devil now?” the general growled through the open carriage door.

  “Someone found it,” Esther called back, reaching out to receive the reticule from the man who approached her, breathing rather heavily. “Thank you, sir! I’m so grateful!”

  “It was nothing,” the man returned, and she froze with her fingers curling around the comfortingly stuffed little bag. Her gaze lifted to fine lips that bore traces of both humor and hardness, to cool, gray eyes and a silver mask which she was sure had once been Lord Harry’s. But the mask didn’t matter. She already knew his voice.

  The blood drained from her face so fast it was dizzying.

  He said, “I only wish I’d caught the rascal who took it. I left the others still looking for him, though, so there is hope.”

  He was talking for the benefit of the others, of her father glowering out the carriage door and Juana at the window, and Mrs. Fawcett who still hadn’t gone back inside, despite the cold.

  “Please pass on my gratitude to them also,” Esther managed. Drawing a breath, she steadied herself. “You must think me very foolish, but this is a favorite frippery of mine. It has sentimental value. How can we repay you?”

  He bowed and spoke in a much lower tone that only she could hear. “By allowing me to call on you.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice even further. “Seriously, I do need to speak to you very soon.” His fingers brushed the reticule she clutched to her breast. “About this.”

  Oh God, had he looked? Had he always guessed what she carried there, even at the masquerade last night?

  “Don’t worry. I will help you,” he breathed unexpectedly, just as her father interrupted with his thanks and a weary command to Esther to get back in the carriage so they could finally leave.

  Esther latched on to unreasonable hope amidst her confusion. “Come to the Imperial Hotel now,” she murmured rashly. “I’ll meet you in the coffee room.”

  Without waiting to see if he would agree, she turned away, babbling more thanks. The stranger pulled down the carriage steps for her so she could enter with more dignity than she’d alighted, then the door closed.

  “Honestly, Esther,” her father complained. “What a fuss about a dashed reticule.”

  *

  In her hotel room, Esther dismissed Gretel, and, with shaking hands, finally opened the reticule.

  As far as she could tell, all the documents, including the handwritten engagement of the assassin, were still there, still folded along the same lines. Relief buckled her knees and she sank onto the bed to refold them. So, it wasn’t those the police agent wanted to speak to her about. Perhaps it was just his excuse to meet her alone.

  Her heart gave a little ripple of excitement at this thought. She wasn’t really given to intrigues. Alan had been too honorable ever to meet her without her father’s knowledge, and a few sweet, stolen kisses was all she’d known with him. Her second betrothed had been more forceful, but the excitement of his courtship had waned quickly as she’d discovered his true nature. Otto had never even pretended. In fact, taken altogether, the sum of her romantic encounters had served merely to heighten her curiosity in general as to what the fuss was about. And for some reason, the Austrian police agent intrigued her most of all. Perhaps it was the mystery.

  However, as she leapt off the bed once more to fetch another reticule from the drawer, she acknowledged that she really didn’t know him and most certainly couldn’t trust him. Romantic interest in her was unlikely in the extreme and she would be unforgivably foolish to let a momentary attraction of her own influence her decisions.

  How come he’d been there just as the reticule had been stolen? Although, if he’d truly had anything to do with that, why had he given it back to her?

  Pausing, she stared at the folded papers and thought hard.

  Five minutes later, she left her room, a plump black reticule dangling from her wrist, a Paisley shawl around her shoulders, and walked swiftly across the hall and downstairs to the coffee room.

  At this hour, the coffee room was normally empty as most of the guests were either still out at their evening’s entertainments or already in bed. And fortunately, tonight was no different. If there were spies around, well, surely she was protected by the man she’d come to meet. When she opened the door, prepared to make an excuse and leave again if it was occupied, she saw only the gray-masked stranger, who turned from his stance at the curtained window to bow to her. His domino cloak still hung from one shoulder, giving him the air of a somewhat rakish reveler.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked humorously. “Are you afraid I won’t recognize you any more if you take off the mask?”

  “I’m being discreet,” he s
aid. “And in character. Perhaps you should wear your own mask.”

  “I can only stay for a moment,” she said, “before my maid comes back and misses me. What was it you wished to say to me?”

  Behind the mask, his gaze fell from her face to the bulge of her reticule under the shawl. Slowly, his eyes came back to hers. “You’re still carrying them, aren’t you?”

  While her stomach lurched with fear, she strove to keep her face neutral. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Have you any idea how easy it would be for me to take these papers from you? You wouldn’t even scream.”

  She took an instinctive step backward, and his lips curved. “Oh, sit down, Miss Lisle. I was merely making a point. Why should I steal what I’ve just recovered for you?”

  Warily, Esther walked forward once more and sat on the edge of one of the sofas.

  “On the other hand,” he said, joining her there, at an only just comfortable distance, “you should know that I’ve seen what was inside your reticule.”

  “I thought you were a gentleman!” she exclaimed.

  His brows lifted. “Whatever gave you that idea? I was almost sorry to discover they were not merely love letters addressed to you.”

  “They were not anything addressed to me,” she said stiffly. “Those documents are not mine.”

  “No, but they were in your bag. That’s why you were so upset at losing it and so pleased to get it back undisturbed.”

  She jerked her head away from him, trying desperately to think. “Apparently undisturbed,” she said bitterly. What did he mean to do?

  “My dear lady, compose yourself,” the stranger said impatiently. “I am not here to threaten you, arrest you, or whatever other infamy you are imagining. I came to help you.”

  She turned back to him in surprise. “You did?”

  “You have a low opinion of me, Miss Lisle.”

  “I have no opinion of you,” she corrected. “I don’t know you.”

  After a moment, he said, “We are allies, are we not, in discovering who shot Prince Otto?”