Joanna Maitland - His Reluctant Mistress

Leo did not dare to speak, lest he ring a peal over Jack’s head. The boy had apologised, more than once, for the straits they were in. It would be dishonourable to blame Jack for Leo’s unaccountable passion for the Venetian singer.

‘Ben has arrived at last. I thought you’d want to know at once.’

Leo took a long breath and sighed it out, forcing his mind back to their mission. Action would drive out his demons. ‘Where is he?’

‘At the embassy. They told him where to find us. His messenger arrived here not five minutes ago.’

‘Excellent. We can certainly use his help, though we shall be even more cramped with three of us, plus the servants, in those poor rooms.’

‘He can share mine. And he has brought two servants, so he must be more flush in the pocket than we are.’ Jack grinned sheepishly. ‘His grandfather must have franked him for the trip. Otherwise he’d have been walking all the way.’

Leo smiled back. Poor Ben was kept on a very tight leash, even though he was heir to his grandfather’s title. Perhaps he had dropped a hint or two about the importance of his journey to Vienna? Old Viscount Hoarwithy might have been willing to fund a discreet mission on behalf of the British government. Leo sincerely hoped that was the case. If Ben had arrived in Vienna without any blunt, the Aikenhead Honours really would be in the suds.

‘I suggest you go back to the embassy and look after Ben. Buy him a decent supper. I’ll join you both later. There is one more person I need to see.’

Jack grinned, delighted to be let off the leash. He wasn’t yet very practised at extracting information in social gatherings, so he should really stay to learn, but that was the last thing Leo wanted. He was desperate for one more sight of his lovely Nightingale. And, if he was going to be following her like a stallion after a mare in heat, he certainly didn’t want his sharp-tongued younger brother to know of it.

Verdicchio smiled smugly. ‘Major Zass, the Russian Emperor’s aide-de-camp, has asked that I arrange a private recital for his Imperial Majesty. I have accepted, of course. The fee is very generous.’

Sophie said nothing. The generosity of the fee depended on which services it was intended to cover.

‘What is the matter with you, girl? This is the Emperor of All the Russias! After this, you will be the toast of Vienna.’

Sophie nodded obediently. Verdicchio was right, in some ways. She probably would become the toast of the city. Unfortunately, the toast might have nothing to do with her talent as a singer.

‘Then you do accept? Sophie?’

‘Of course. I will perform at a private recital for his Russian Majesty. That is to say, I will sing for him. I take it you will be accompanying me?’

‘Er…the final arrangements are yet to be made. I imagine that I will be invited to act as your accompanist.’

Without an accompanist, she would refuse to perform at all. She had absolutely no desire to find herself alone with the Emperor.

‘Come, let me introduce you to Major Zass.’

Sophie shook her head. ‘There is no need. I know I can trust you to agree all the details on my behalf, Maestro.’ She touched his arm lightly.

He smiled again, his momentary flash of temper transformed by her flattering words.

‘If you will excuse me now, Maestro,’ she said, returning his smile, ‘I shall be in the retiring room. One of those clumsy young bucks stood on the hem of my gown, and I need to have it pinned up.’ She did not wait for his reply. She simply walked quickly out into the anteroom and towards the stairs.

There were knots of men talking quietly in corners and in groups around the centre of the room. They might have been plotting—many certainly looked like conspirators—but they were probably only gossiping. Vienna was alive with gossip, especially now that it was so full of foreign royalty. She determined to ignore them all and lifted her skirts to make her way through them.

A single name, spoken almost in a whisper, rang in her ears like a death-knell.

She caught her breath. She could not have heard aright. Surely, it was impossible? But she had to be sure. She continued serenely across the room to the foot of the staircase, then turned suddenly, as if she had forgotten something, and made her way back to stand behind a pillar, a yard or so away from the two men in Prussian uniform whose voices had caught her attention.

‘Yes. Killed in a duel. Must have been at least six months ago.’

‘Von Carstein? You are sure?’

‘Absolutely. Heard it myself from one of the seconds.’

‘And so who inherits the title?’

The first man laughed. ‘Why, no one. Nothing to inherit but a pile of debts. If the old man hadn’t been killed in that duel, he’d probably have blown his brains out. He had too much pride to face the world as a penniless wreck.’

The second man grunted. ‘I agree. We are well rid of him. He was a disgrace to our class.’

‘Aye. I heard it said that he sold his daughter to pay his gambling debts.’

‘Truly? He was a blackguard, but surely even he had too much sense of his own rank to do such a heinous thing?’

‘It was only a rumour, my friend. Nearly fifteen years ago. Didn’t believe it myself. He had no son, of course. Only the one daughter. She probably died. No doubt some malcontent concocted the rumour to blacken the Baron’s name.’ He chuckled. ‘Not that it needed much blackening. He managed that very well for himself.’

‘Mmm. Perhaps it would have been different if he had sired a son.’

‘Aye, a man needs a son. A nobleman, especially. Daughters are useless. And a burden besides.’

Sophie could not bear it. Her legs had turned to water beneath her, and she had to lean against the pillar for support. She must get away from these men, from their hateful words. She staggered a few steps towards the shadows.

‘Madame Pietre? You are unwell. Allow me to help you to a chair.’

Lord Leo! Dear God, why did it have to be Lord Leo, the man she had insulted? Sophie nodded dumbly, wishing him away. She did not dare to raise her eyes to his face. Let him continue to think she was merely a weak woman, fainting from the heat. If he looked into her eyes, he would read how her soul had been seared by that casual dissection of the truth about her family.

Lord Leo took her weight on his arm and gently led her across the floor to the relative seclusion under the staircase, where a number of chairs had been placed. He guided her into one of them and stood alongside, waiting for some kind of response from her.

Sophie’s whole body tensed. What could she say? She knew she must still look quite horror-struck. Desperate, she clasped her hands in her lap, focused her gaze upon them, and began to practise the breathing exercises she always used to calm her nerves before walking out on stage.

The familiar routine was balm to her shattered senses. In moments, she was almost back in control.

‘I am afraid we are all suffering from the heat here, madame . It is no surprise that you were overcome.’

Sophie nodded slightly, still not looking up. She would not tell a direct lie. Not to this man. She had already done quite enough to humiliate him. So why was it that he, of all people, was now prepared to treat her with kindness? In rejecting him, her pride had spoken, and loudly. Her purpose, to make him suffer as she had been made to suffer, had been achieved. Why then did she not feel triumphant? Was it because her conscience was troubling her? After all, he had only assumed, as all society did, that Sophia Pietre was for sale.

Her actions had been vindictive and dishonourable. However low Lord Leo’s opinion of her, it was deserved. And it was nowhere near as bad as Sophie’s opinion of herself.