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‘I am going riding.’
Gibson’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline.
‘Have Jezebel saddled and brought round in ten minutes. And tell the kitchen that dinner is to be delayed by one hour.’
‘Very good, my lord. If any of your lordship’s guests should ask…?’
‘Tell them I have gone out. I am sure they will be able to find some means of diverting themselves until I return.’
Dinner was almost over when Leo made his announcement. ‘Afraid that some unexpected business requires me to return to London. I’ll be leaving at first light.’
His guests reacted with dismay. ‘But we’ve been here less than a week,’ one said, slurring his words a little.
Leo smiled round the table. ‘And you are all most welcome to continue to enjoy my hospitality until I return.’
The ladybird on Leo’s immediate right laid a caressing hand on his sleeve. ‘But it wouldn’t be the same without you, dear Leo. Who shall take charge of our frolics?’ She fluttered her long, dark eyelashes at him and gave his flesh a tiny squeeze.
Leo lifted her hand and set it gently on the polished wood table. ‘Have no fear. M’brother, Jack, shall act as host in my absence. He is fixed here until I return.’
‘Jack?’ The protest came from one of the older men at the far end of the table. ‘No offence, Leo, but I can give Jack the best part of fifteen years. As can others.’ Some of the other gentlemen nodded. ‘We didn’t come to The Larches to gamble with your madcap little brother. If you’re off tomorrow, then so am I.’ There were murmurs of agreement around the table.
Leo was not sorry. He would not show his friends the door, but he was heartily glad they had decided to leave.
‘Quite understand, of course, if you feel you wish to leave. And I cannot, at this moment, say how soon I might return. Apologies for that.’
‘Not your fault, old fellow. Business is business. Besides, the night is still young.’ The man got to his feet rather unsteadily. ‘Since this is to be the last night of one of Leo Aikenhead’s famous orgies, I give you a toast, gentlemen. To our next meeting at The Larches. To beautiful women and flowing wine.’
Chairs scraped across the polished wooden floor. The men raised their glasses to the ladies. ‘The Larches. To beautiful women! And flowing wine!’
By the time Leo returned, ten days later, it was impossible to tell that the house had ever been full of scandalous goings-on. Apart from Jack and the servants, the house was empty. Every bawdy ballad and erotic picture had been banished. The Larches could have been the home of the most upright of clerical gentlemen.
Jack was sitting soberly in the library, reading a magazine, when Leo walked in. ‘You’re back. Thank God!’ Jack sprang to his feet. Then he stood still. He did not ask the question that was clearly on the tip of his tongue.
‘I have brought your man, and some clothes,’ Leo said, looking Jack up and down. ‘My coat may be well cut, but on you it looks decidedly disreputable.’ Since Jack was of a much slighter build than Leo, it was hardly surprising that Leo’s clothes did not fit him. ‘I suggest you go and change. We can have a quiet dinner, and an early night.’
‘But aren’t you going to tell me what—?’
‘We have work to do tomorrow, Jack. The Foreign Secretary has ordered the Aikenhead Honours to Vienna. While Ace is in Russia, I am to take charge. I have already written to Ten. He is to make his own way to Vienna and join us as soon as he can.’ The Ace in the Aikenhead Honours was Dominic, the eldest Aikenhead brother. Leo’s codename was King and Jack’s was Knave. Ben Dexter, the fourth member of their spying band, codenamed Ten, was Jack’s closest friend. Unlike Jack, Ben did not gamble. His father had been killed in a duel following a quarrel over cards.
‘So we’re leaving immediately?’ Jack asked, puzzled.
‘Yes. As soon as may be. Castlereagh has already left for Paris.’
‘Oh. I see. But what about—? I mean—I can’t leave England if—’
‘Forget about it, brat. Your little Prussian friend took ship for Holland over a week ago, with all his winnings tucked safely in his pocket.’
Jack’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened.
‘And now, if you don’t mind,’ Leo said pointedly, ‘I should be grateful for the return of my coat.’
‘Again.’
Obediently, Sophie took a breath, braced her stomach muscles, and began again, humming the top three notes and then opening her throat to allow the volume to increase as she sang down the scale. Her head was buzzing from the humming. Very satisfying. Her voice was placed precisely as it should be.
‘Hmm. Good enough. Now, a semi-tone higher, if you please.’ Verdicchio touched a key on the pianoforte.
Sophie sang the scale. But she had to repeat it three times before her voice coach was satisfied. Then, gradually, he took her up another half-octave until she had reached the top of her range. The sound was good, and right in the centre of the notes. Sophia Pietre was famous as the Venetian Nightingale, the singer who was never shrill, and never sang flat. It had taken her years to perfect that round, gleaming tone. It had brought her wealth, and a certain notoriety. But she remembered, very well, what it had been to be poor, totally dependent on Verdicchio, and never sure whether she would be thrown out on the street for failing one of his interminable tests.
‘Sophie! Pay attention!’ He slapped his hand down on the keys, producing a loud, discordant sound.
‘I apologise, Maestro. I will do better.’ She swallowed. ‘What would you have me sing now?’
He took her through a number of simple ballads, of the kind she sang to entertain the guests at private parties. They showed off the range and colour of her voice, without overpowering the audience as operatic arias sometimes did. After the songs, Verdicchio insisted she rehearse two of the arias from the operatic role she was currently performing. Sophie did not need to practise them, but she humoured him, omitting only the highest notes, as he always advised her to do during practice. ‘Your top Cs, my dear Sophie,’ he used to say, ‘are diamonds of the first water. Not to be squandered. Only to be shared with those who are prepared to pay the price for them.’
He was nodding now. ‘Good, good. Excellent even. Your phrasing has improved here.’ He pointed to a passage in the score. ‘It makes the words clearer and the effect more emotional. You will have the ladies swooning in their boxes tonight.’
Sophie smiled. ‘Let us hope so. For we have only two more performances and no promises yet of any further roles. We live a very expensive life now, Maestro.’ She gestured round their rehearsal room which, at Verdicchio’s insistence, had been furnished with every possible luxury, just like the rest of their Venice apartment. ‘If I am not offered another role soon, we shall be hard pressed to pay the bills.’
‘You do have another role, my child.’
Sophie’s stomach clenched. How long had he known? Why had he said nothing until now?
‘You are to sing for a most august audience.’ He looked up from the pianoforte and smiled into her face. It was a sly, knowing smile. She distrusted it totally. ‘You are to sing at—But, no. Let it be a surprise. We leave Venice on Friday.’
Sophie opened her mouth to protest, but Verdicchio was no longer looking at her. He had turned back to the pianoforte and was idly playing a composition of his own, closely modelled on a Mozart sonata.
She bit her lip. After so many years, he still had her in his power. He controlled not only her career, but also every penny she earned, for he was determined that she should never be able to break free. He was succeeding. For now. The little cache of money she had saved was not yet enough to allow her to flee from him. But it was growing, week by week, and month by month. In another year, perhaps, she would have enough.
‘That was beautiful, Maestro,’ she said dutifully, as he played the final extravagant arpeggio and turned to receive her approval. She hoped he would not notice that she was avoiding his eye. ‘And our new home? I can wait until Friday to learn where we are going, if that is your wish. Though it would perhaps be profitable to allow me to mention our destination to some of my gentlemen admirers. They might wish to follow us, or even to provide a parting gift. Some of them, as you know—’ she lifted her left hand so that the diamonds at her wrist caught the light ‘—have been exceedingly generous.’
Verdicchio frowned up at her. ‘You may be right,’ he admitted at last. ‘The Baron especially. He seems to have more diamonds than an Indian nabob. It would do no harm at all, for our finances, if he strung a few more round your lovely neck.’
Sophie smiled to acknowledge his great wisdom, and waited.
‘Very well, my dear. You will not like it, I know, but the contract is signed. You are to sing before the crowned heads of Europe. At the Congress of Vienna.’
‘Vienna? No! Impossible! You know I cannot go there. Half the German aristocracy will be there. What if someone were to recognise me? I should be disgraced.’
‘You are a singer. So you are disgraced already. And no one will recognise you, in any case. As far as the world knows, you are Sophia Pietre, an Italian singer trained here in Venice, by a noted Venetian master.’ He smirked. ‘Why should anyone suspect otherwise? After all, you are a grown woman now.’
A grown woman, but in thrall to a monster since Iwas thirteen years old, Sophie thought. But she said only, ‘How then am I to account for my ability to speak German?’
‘You learned it here in Venice, in order to be able to sing the German arias of Signor Mozart, among others. And to converse in their native tongue with the German gentlemen who visit the opera. After all, you speak English almost as well as you speak German, and there are no English operas to perform.’
For once, he was absolutely right. She spoke four languages fluently: Italian, German, English and French. Her ability to speak German like a native probably would not betray the secret of her past. Probably.
But the thought of going to Vienna and meeting Emperors, Kings, and Princes, one of them the ruler of her own country, was more terrifying than the prospect of a whole life ruled by Verdicchio. For, if any of her countrymen should divine who she really was, even the most glorious voice in the world would not save her from ruin.
Chapter Two
Leo rose in his saddle and looked around him, savouring the warm late October sunshine and the glorious countryside around Vienna. It was very satisfying to have some solitude at last. The city was full to overflowing with incomers, many of whom were spending fortunes to impress the local populace and the visiting monarchs. Leo and Jack did not. They could not afford to live in anything like the style appropriate to their rank, for paying off Jack’s gambling debt had made money very tight. They had been forced to take cramped rooms above an inn, the Gasthof Brunner, a long way from the centre of the city.
There were picnics and dinners and balls and all sorts of extravagant entertainments every day, even on Sundays. Leo and Jack had had to divide their forces in order to attend as many as they possibly could, in hopes of picking up useful intelligence. In fairness, they had had some minor successes, and their contacts in the British delegation were pleased with the results so far. But Vienna society was a sore trial. So many petty aristocrats, some of them with their pockets even more to let than Leo’s, yet very quick to sneer at any man without a title.
As it happened, he and Jack did have titles. But they were also spies. So they had to be extremely careful not to be caught and expelled from the city. It had happened already to others. A suspected spy was simply summoned to the office of Baron Hager, the chief of police, to be informed that his passport was not quite in order. He was then invited to leave Vienna. Forthwith.
Very neat indeed. The Austrians were doing their very best to ensure that the Congress proceeded without embarrassment. Not that the Austrian Emperor Francis, or the other monarchs, were taking any obvious part in it. While their chief ministers met and plotted in deepest secrecy, the monarchs and their courtiers danced. Alexander, Tsar of all the Russias, was the most prominent of them all. The man seemed to need no sleep and to be able to dance all night, provided only that there were enough beautiful ladies to partner him. The Tsar was never seen to dance with an ugly woman, no matter how elevated her station.
Leo shifted in his saddle and stroked his gloved hand down his mount’s glossy neck. At least Jack had managed to locate a livery stable with excellent horses for hire. Leo’s bay gelding, Hector, was a very fine animal indeed, and Leo had soon established a rapport with him, using his few words of basic German.
‘I fancy I see an inn yonder, old fellow,’ Leo said thoughtfully. ‘A good gallop across this turf and we will both be able to rest and refresh ourselves.’ Hector’s ears twitched. He understood the tone of voice, if not the words. Leo stroked him again. ‘Good fellow. Nun,’ he said, touching his heel to the horse’s flank, ‘los!’
Hector responded by lengthening his stride into an effortless canter and then a gallop. Leo bent low over his neck, relishing the breath of the warm wind on his face and the power of the fine beast under him. ‘Sehrgut, Hector. Sehr gut.’ Responding, the horse laid his ears back and flew faster.
Hector was blowing hard by the time they reached the inn. It was a typical country Gasthof, with a steeply pitched roof against the winter snows, and flower-hung wooden balconies on the upper floors. The heavy door stood open into the yard where stable lads were bustling about, unhitching the horses from a fine carriage. It bore no crest, but its gleaming burgundy-purple paint-work, elegantly picked out with gold, suggested that its owner was a man of means.
Leo dismounted and passed Hector’s reins to the ostler. ‘Walk him until he cools and then see he has a good rub down. I shall be returning to the city in an hour or so.’ The ostler frowned in response. He did not move.
Leo swore inwardly. His German was not yet up to this. He explained again, in French. The ostler still looked bewildered.
‘Darf ich Ihnen behilflich sein?’ said a man’s voice from behind him. Then, switching to slightly accented French, ‘May I be of service to you, sir?’
Leo turned to find himself looking down at a much older man dressed in a coat of purple cloth over a purple velvet waistcoat embroidered with gold. Was this the owner of the carriage? Did he match his dress to the colours of his conveyance? He certainly looked extraordinary for, in addition to his splendid clothes, he had eyebrows as extravagant as a Prussian officer’s mustachios.
Leo hoped his smile did not betray his amusement at the thought. ‘Why, thank you, sir,’ he replied. ‘Most kind. I need to ensure the care of my horse.’
‘Pray allow me.’ The purple-clad gentleman translated Leo’s instructions to the nodding ostler. Hector was led away.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Leo bowed. ‘May I have the honour of knowing the name of my interpreter?’
The older man smiled up at Leo. ‘The Baron Ludwig von Beck,’ he said proudly, clicking his heels and bowing from the neck.
Leo returned the bow, in a rather more nonchalant, English fashion. ‘Lord Leo Aikenhead. Most grateful to you, Baron. My German is, sadly, not good. And I doubt that the man speaks English any more than French.’
‘Alas, no. He does not even speak German. Or not German that anyone from my country would recognise.’ He chuckled at his own wit.
‘You are not an Austrian then, Baron von Beck?’
‘No, indeed.’ There was more than a touch of hauteur in his voice. ‘I am a Prussian.’
‘I see. You are attending his Prussian Majesty at the Congress?’
‘No. I am simply returning from Italy. I have been there for some months, seeing the antiquities and buying art for my collection. And you, Lord Leo?’
Leo’s story had been very well rehearsed since his arrival in Vienna. ‘My brother and I have taken the opportunity of Bonaparte’s defeat to travel in Europe,’ he said smoothly. ‘We were planning to go to Italy, but all the world is in Vienna for the moment. Decided to indulge our curiosity and join them. For a few weeks, at least. Promises to be quite amusing, do you not think?’ Leo’s lazy drawl made it sound as if the brothers were a pair of rich wastrels with nothing to do but follow their latest whim. Unflattering, but necessary. While Vienna society believed them to be harmless gawpers, there was a good chance that people would forget to guard their tongues in their company.
‘No doubt. But you must not miss the sights of Italy, sir. You will find it most rewarding. For example, I have spent the last few months in Venice. A beautiful city, sir, beautiful. Have you visited it?’
‘Alas, no. Due to the recent…er…difficulties, it has not been possible. But we do hope to journey there. In a few months. Perhaps, Baron, you would do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me?’ Leo gestured towards the inn behind them.
Baron von Beck shook his head. ‘Thank you, Lord Leo, but I am afraid I must decline. I am expected shortly in Vienna.’
Leo did not press the invitation. The Baron was scrupulously polite, but there was something about his manner that jarred. Perhaps that stiff-necked pride? Whatever the cause, Leo had no desire to know him better.
The two men took their leave of each other and Leo entered the inn. There, to his relief, he discovered that the innkeeper had more than a smattering of English, plus adequate French, so it was easy for Leo to order a light meal and a bottle of wine. His host showed him into a private parlour where a bright fire was burning in the grate, in spite of the warm weather outside.
Throwing his hat on the settle, Leo sank gratefully into a cushioned chair by the fire and stretched out his legs towards the flames with a sigh of pleasure. A moment later, a pretty blonde servant appeared with his wine. She was wearing a plain gown with a very low-cut neckline that displayed her ample charms.
Leo mumbled his thanks in his best German. She was attractive enough, and he had enjoyed the view, but he had never yet had to resort to the servant classes to find his mistresses. He did not mean to start here in Austria, even though he was beginning to feel the lack of a woman in his bed. Still, there was yet time. Once he was more familiar with the ways of society here, he would be able to choose safely. He was not so desperate that he would put his mission at risk for a quick fumble in a dark corner.
The girl straightened and curtsied, saying something in a broad accent that Leo found totally unintelligible. It seemed that no response was expected, he was glad to note, for she turned and left the room.
Leo felt a sudden draught hitting the back of his neck. She must have failed to close the door properly. No point in calling her back. He rose to shut it himself.
Over the general hubbub of a busy posting inn, he heard raised, angry voices. A man’s and a woman’s. And the woman’s voice, though speaking in what might be German, contained an unmistakable thread of fear.
Leo flung the door wide and strode out into the corridor. Baron von Beck was gripping the arm of a beautiful young lady shrouded in a long, dark cloak, and trying to drag her towards the inn yard. Her hood had fallen back, exposing lustrous black hair, coiled at the back of her head. She was trying, vainly, to push him off with small, gloved hands. Her frightened protests were being drowned by the Baron’s angry words. And all the inn servants seemed to have mysteriously melted away.
Leo did not stop to wonder what might be going on. He simply seized Beck roughly by the shoulder. ‘You go too far, Baron,’ he snarled in French. ‘I suggest you let the lady go.’ When Beck made no move to obey, Leo tightened his grip and forced the man back against the opposite wall, holding him there with his superior strength. He would not free Beck until he was sure that the man’s cowardly attack would not be repeated. Behind them, the lady pulled her cloak more closely around her body, automatically putting up a hand to rub her injured arm.
The two men stared at each other in open hostility for what seemed a long time. For a moment, Leo fancied they were about to come to blows. He stiffened in readiness, but the martial glint soon faded from the Baron’s eyes, to be replaced by injured pride as he recognised that he was outclassed. Leo was relieved. The last thing he wanted was an unseemly brawl at a public inn, especially with a gentle lady as audience. He allowed the Baron to shake himself free.
‘You are very quick to judge, sir,’ Beck said haughtily, pulling himself up to his full height. ‘And on this occasion, your judgement is wrong. Quite wrong.’
‘Nothing justifies such brutal treatment of a lady,’ Leo growled, dismissing the man. He was no longer a threat. Leo turned back to give his full attention to the lady. ‘Perhaps you would like to sit by the fire to recover your composure, madame?’ he said, still in French. The lady looked darkly exotic. He imagined she was more likely to speak French than English.
She swallowed hard and put a gloved hand to her lips. Then she looked up at Leo with glowing dark eyes and nodded slightly.
Ignoring the Baron’s spluttering outrage, Leo ushered the lady into his private parlour and closed the door firmly. She stood for a moment, gazing round the empty room as if she did not know quite where she was. She looked ruffled, Leo decided, like a bird caught by the wind from an unexpected quarter. ‘Will you not be seated, madame?’ Leo pulled forward his own chair and was glad to see the lady smile at last. She was recovering some of her composure. Good.
With exquisite grace, the lady took Leo’s seat by the fire and accepted the glass of wine he offered her. ‘Thank you, sir. You have been most kind. Believe me, I am truly grateful to you for rescuing me.’ Her French was almost perfect, Leo decided. Almost good enough to pass for a native. Almost, but not quite.
She was looking around the room again, and this time there was the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks. She was becoming concerned to find herself alone, closeted with a man she did not know. Any virtuous lady would feel so.
Leo hastened to reassure her. ‘May I fetch your maid to you, madame?’
Her blush was subsiding, Leo was pleased to see. None the less, he kept his distance. She had been assaulted once already, and by a nobleman, too. He would not put her in fear of another such attack.
‘I…I am travelling with my uncle, sir. He is above stairs, at present. As is my maid.’
‘If you will give me your uncle’s name, madame, I will instruct the landlord to fetch him at once.’ Leo smiled across at her in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. She reminded him of a frightened doe, backed into a trap, her huge brown eyes wondering what dangers she must face next. Leo was a hunter, to be sure, and a connoisseur of beautiful women, but he liked them to come to him willingly, and without fear. He knew, instinctively, that this lady needed to be gentled. It would be a fortunate man who earned the right to unpin those tresses and spread them across his pillow.
Leo felt his pulse start to quicken at the thought of this lovely lady in his arms, in his bed. Definitely too long since he had paid off his last mistress. His body was starting to become as demanding as the Baron von Beck.
‘I would not have you disturb my uncle, sir. Indeed, if that gentleman has gone, I should prefer to return to my own chamber.’
Leo shook his head as she made to rise. The poor lady had escaped from the clutches of one man. Now she was doing her best to escape from the second, even though his intentions were purely honourable. Leo bit down on a smile at that. His body’s intentions were anything but honourable. Given the slightest encouragement, he would rip off her dark cloak in order to feast his eyes on the lush beauty that he sensed lay hidden beneath. But that would be a wicked way to respond to a virtuous lady. Especially this lady.
