Tasha Alexander - A Fatal Waltz

“You’ll find, I think, that marriages invariably wind up tedious. Best that you learn that before you march down the aisle. I can see you’re pained now, but it will pass, especially if you keep yourself distracted.”

“You’re quite mistaken. I wouldn’t have agreed to marry if I thought the result would be tedious.”

“Is he amused by your naïveté, I wonder? Surely not. He’s far too sophisticated for that. You are quite pretty in an innocuous sort of way. I can see that he would find you attractive, even if he is used to someone more—” She paused and smiled. “Well, no need to discuss that.”

“No, there’s not. Will you excuse me?” I was not about to sit and listen to more of her nonsense. I pulled on my coat and went outside. The snow had stopped, and the sun had burned away the clouds, but the air was colder than it had been since I’d arrived in Vienna, and a wicked wind nearly knocked me over. Strong arms kept me from falling.

“You must be more careful, Lady Ashton.” Mr. Harrison’s hat was pulled low over his face.

“Let me pass,” I said. He gripped my arm tightly as he forced me across the street and into a narrow alley.

“I’ve been hoping to have a conversation with you. Your fiancé is asking impertinent questions.”

“Is he getting too close to the truth?”

He swung me around, slamming me into the wall of a building. “If anything interferes with my plans, he will suffer for it.”

“Unhand me.” I spoke through gritted teeth, equal measures terrified and outraged. No one had ever touched me like this. I could not help recalling the calm manner in which Herr Schröder had admitted to killing when necessary. Would Mr. Harrison do the same? Fear seized me.

He shook my shoulders. My head banged against the brick wall, and for an instant I could hardly see. “You will stop him.”

“You’re a fool if you think I could keep him from his duty,” I said, the very core of my body shaking.

“You’re a clever girl. Find a way to distract him, or he will be eliminated.” He shoved me against the wall again, then stepped away and brushed something from the sleeve of his coat. “I will be keeping a close eye on you. And don’t forget that I can reach you anywhere.” He flung a bullet at me and walked away.

I watched him go, but was unable to summon the courage to order any of my limbs to move and follow him. Instead, my knees buckled, and I sank along the wall until I was crouched in the snow, my teeth chattering uncontrollably, my breath coming fast and ragged, tears freezing on my cheeks.

“Emily!” Jeremy came racing out of nowhere. He lifted me to my feet, then tore off his gloves and wiped my tears with his bare hands.

“How did you find me?”

“I was looking for you in the Griensteidl. The countess told me you’d gone outside. What happened?”

“I—I—” I could not slow my breathing enough to speak.

“It doesn’t matter.” He embraced me, his arms clutching too tightly, and I buried my head in his chest. He smelled like tobacco and peppermint, and with my eyes closed, I could almost imagine I was a little girl, safe in my father’s arms. But then he pulled away, and looked at me with wild eyes. “Em…”

He kissed me, hungrily, with a raw passion that terrified and excited me. I had not the presence of mind to stop him.

“Bloody hell, Em, forgive me.” He pulled away, then closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. “You can’t forgive me. It’s unforgivable.” He rubbed his temples. “I only wanted to comfort you, I never meant—”

“It’s all right.” I was too overwhelmed to care, and of the affronts I had suffered that day, this was the least troublesome, at least for the moment. “Will you take me back to the Imperial?”

“Of course.” He hesitated before taking me by the arm, as if he weren’t sure whether he should touch me at all, and led me out of the alley, flagging down the first fiacre that passed. We did not speak until we’d reached the hotel and were standing at the bottom of the magnificent stairway that led to my rooms.

“It might be best if you took Hargreaves with you to meet Schröder tonight.”

“He’s working. But Cécile and I could—”

“No. You can’t go into that neighborhood unprotected. I’ll come.” For the first time I could remember, I saw no hint of laughter or joy in his eyes.

Jeremy escorted me to my suite ,insisted that I see a doctor, and waited, standing near the fireplace in one of our parlors, to hear the diagnosis. Satisfied that I was not seriously hurt—a mild concussion, but nothing to cause alarm—he left when the physician did.

The moment they were gone, Cécile rapped her fan on the marble-topped table that stood next to the chaise longue on which we were sitting. “This has become too dangerous. The man could have killed you.”

“He wouldn’t kill me. If I were dead, I couldn’t do anything to stop Colin’s investigation.”

“Monsieur Hargreaves would agree with me. No unnecessary danger, Kallista. We should leave Vienna.”

“Not until we’ve either found out who sent Lord Fortescue the warning or uncovered Harrison’s plot,” I said.

“Leave it to Monsieur Hargreaves.”

“No, Cécile. He’s been sent here for a specific reason. And though I don’t know the details, I do know it’s not to find information that can exonerate Robert.”

“He’s perfectly capable of doing that along with whatever his mission is.”

“But I’m perfectly capable, too. More than capable, in fact. And I like doing this, Cécile. I’ll be careful. There’s no need to worry.”

“You are taking Jeremy with you to meet Schröder?”

“Yes,” I said. “Although I’m not certain it’s a good idea.”

“What can that mean?” Cécile’s talent for picking up on any sort of romantic signals was unparalleled.

“Something happened after he found me this morning.” I described for her every detail of what transpired between us.

“Mon dieu! Well, I won’t have to worry about you then. He’s enough in love with you that he can be counted on to keep you from being harmed. Still, I’m going to accompany you as well. I’m curious about this anarchist. Any man with passionate beliefs is worth knowing.”

“I’d wager that he’s over forty, Cécile. He might even be fascinating. What would Klimt say?”

“Very little,” she said, smiling wickedly.

22 December 1891

Berkeley Square, London

Dear Emily,

I’ve been feeling vaguely useless, stranded here in London, unable to offer Ivy much in the way of comfort or relief, horribly jealous that you and Cécile are once again charged with the interesting tasks.

For once, I have an interesting tidbit for you: I’ve learned that the gun used to kill Lord Fortescue has been misplaced. It somehow never made it from Yorkshire to London. Suspicious? Of course it is! Disappearing murder weapons are always significant.

How was your intrepid friend able to persuade Scotland Yard to divulge this information? Mr. Michaels (who’s down from Oxford on the unlikely errand of Christmas shopping at this late date) is closely acquainted with a member of the police force who slipped and mentioned it when they were having a lunch that included several bottles of very expensive wine. Must be kept quiet, of course—it’s not something they’ve told the general public—but I thought you should know.

The weather is dreadful here, and Robert must be suffering more than ever in Newgate. Ivy is unwell—I think you know why—and though I know she’ll be all right, I’m worried, Emily. She’s gaunt. I know you are doing all you can, but I must implore you to hurry. Nothing is good here.