His Reluctant Mistress

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It had been so for many years, but it still hurt.

They arrived at the door to her apartment long before she expected it. His conversation had been so soothing that she had lost track of time. The truth was that she had enjoyed it, once she had overcome her initial embarrassment at the violence of her physical reactions to him.

If only he had not made that horrid proposal. If only she had not rebuffed him so rudely!

‘Lord Leo, I must thank you again for your kindness. My coachman will take you back to the reception, of course. Or anywhere else you wish to go.’

‘Madame Pietre, it was recompense enough to have been able to enjoy your company for these few minutes. It has shown me what I have lost, as a result of my boorish approach to you earlier. I hope I may ask you to forget it.’

She knew she was blushing now. ‘If that is your wish, sir, I shall certainly do so. As I hope you will forget the terms of my reply.’

He said nothing, but the glow in his face suggested that he was more than ready to do so, and that some kind of peace had been restored between them.

Sophie waited. She assumed he would alight from the carriage and help her down.

He did not. He reached for her gloved hand and raised it to his lips. And he never took his eyes from hers all the while. The glow was even more intense. Burning.

Sophie knew she should snatch her hand away, but her body seemed to be frozen. She could not move a muscle. Their joining, even in such a very proper way, seemed special. And meant.

At length, Lord Leo gently returned her hand to her lap. Without a word, he sprang from the carriage and turned to help her down. He was attentive, but now no more than properly polite. The moment, the connection between them, had been that kiss through her glove, and the message exchanged when they looked at each other. That message was unmistakable.

He wanted her. And—heaven help her—she wanted him too.

Chapter Five

Leo took the precaution of alighting from the purple carriage two streets away from his lodgings. Jack might not know the owner of the opulent vehicle, but he would ask and ask again until he learned the truth. And then he would demand to know about Leo’s dealings with the Venetian Nightingale. Leo could not possibly admit that he had asked her to become his mistress.

Jack, knowing Leo’s ways with women, would suspect as much, the moment he learned that the two had been together. As it was, he had been roasting Leo about his unaccustomed celibacy ever since their arrival in Vienna. He had remarked on a couple of very pretty local girls, daughters of the bourgeoisie. ‘Their fathers are happy to sell their services, it seems. Provided, of course, that the buyer is a man of status.’

The thought of a man selling his own daughter made Leo’s stomach turn. He had known many women, in every sense of the word, but he would never be responsible for turning an innocent child on to the path of prostitution. If he was going to take a mistress, she would be from his own class, and a woman who was already well versed in the ways of dalliance. He was happy to wait until the right woman appeared. Or so he had thought.

Then he had seen Madame Pietre at that recital. All thoughts of pursuing any other woman in Vienna had vanished on the spot. His desire for the singer was all-consuming, in a way that Leo found totally new and more than a little disturbing. He was not used to losing control, not where women were concerned. With the Venetian Nightingale, he had no control left to lose.

He ought to hate her, to have been planning her undoing. She had embarrassed him deeply, after all. She had led him on, forcing him to name his price in the most sordid way. Then she had spurned his offer. With relish. And in favour of Verdicchio, one of the most self-seeking and untrustworthy men in the city.

Threading his way through the busy streets to his lodgings, Leo tried to fathom his own reactions to this extraordinary woman. What strange impulse had made him go to her aid? Why had he not simply stood on the sidelines watching her distress and enjoying the spectacle? He had a reputation for being fair and generous to women and to men, but not for being soft-hearted. Or weak.

He shook his head, confused. He had to admit he felt a strange magnetic attraction to Sophia Pietre. He had allowed that, plus some deeper instinct, to drive him to help her. Perhaps it had been the right course to take? It had certainly led them to some kind of understanding. And then that kiss… So chaste, yet so primitive. As if their naked bodies had touched along their entire length, in a lovers’ embrace. As if—

Good grief! He must be touched in his upper works to imagine such things. What he needed was a woman in his bed, a woman who was not the Venetian Nightingale!

Leo strolled into the tavern on the ground floor below their lodgings, knowing that Jack would probably have taken Ben there. Why go further afield when there was both food and wine to be had at the Gasthof Brunner?

His guess was right. Almost as soon as Leo entered, Ben jumped up from his seat in the corner, knocking over his chair as he hurried forward through the crowded room. He gave Leo a friendly slap on the shoulder, grasped his hand and shook it heartily. ‘Leo! I’m here at last. Good to see you.’

The young man’s good humour was just as infectious as Jack’s. They were a matched pair in temperament, if not in looks. In looks they could not have been more unlike. Jack was a younger image of their elder brother, Dominic, with dark hair, deep blue eyes and a lithe, athletic figure. Ben, by contrast, looked much more delicate. He had a shock of fair hair, light blue eyes and finely sculpted, almost feminine features. He was much the same height as Jack, but a lot slighter in build. And, being fair, he still had hardly any trace of beard, in spite of the four-and-twenty years in his dish. Leo smiled inwardly at that thought. Ben’s looks had been useful, many and many a time, for he was the only one among the Aikenhead Honours who could even begin to pass for a woman.

In the far corner, Jack had risen quietly and was setting the table and chairs to rights. He had long ago acquired the habit of tidying away his friend’s clumsiness.

Ben led Leo back to the table, which was covered with empty dishes. To Leo’s surprise, there was also a jug of the local beer. It was almost empty. ‘Beer?’ He looked enquiringly at his brother.

‘Ben was thirsty after his long journey. It seemed the obvious answer. Besides, it’s much better than the wine. Hadn’t you noticed how thin it is?’

Leo nodded slightly, but said nothing. It would not do for him to start insulting mine host’s wine. He did not want the tavern keeper to have any excuse to bar the Aikenheads from his hostelry. The nearest alternative was several streets away.

‘Won’t you join us, Leo?’ Ben lifted the jug, grimaced at the small amount remaining and waved it aloft, without giving Leo a moment to respond.

‘Aye, why not?’ he said, with a smile, pulling out a chair. They were right about the ale, which was generally excellent throughout Austria. The same could not be said for the wines in Vienna. They were so poor that Prince Metternich had set up a warehouse of imported wines to supply the foreign dignitaries.

A buxom maid set a huge jug of foaming golden ale in the middle of the table with a fresh glass for Leo. She cast him an extremely flirtatious glance from under her thick, blonde lashes, and bent forward to clear away the plates, ensuring as she did so that he had an opportunity to view the goods on offer. He deliberately kept his eyes on his companions. Tavern wenches had never been to his taste.

The girl had barely turned her back on their table when Ben’s excited voice broke into Leo’s musings. ‘What’s the news? Do we have a mission? Is there something for me to do this time?’

Leo couldn’t help but grin. Except when disguised as a woman, Ben had generally been the one who was made to stay behind to defend their hideout and their escape route. He had always longed to be truly in the thick of the action and intrigue. Perhaps now it was time he had his chance.

Leo raised an eyebrow at Jack, who shook his head. For some reason, Jack had not briefed Ben. Possibly because the two young men were instantly absorbed in exclaiming over the sights and pleasures of Vienna? Leo shrugged his shoulders. In Dominic’s absence, he was the leader of the Honours. This was a leader’s role.

In a confidential undertone, Leo swiftly explained how they attended as many events as possible in order to eavesdrop on the plots and plans of the countries represented here in Vienna. A number of local spies had been recruited, too, some of them servants in foreign embassies, others employed as watchers and followers. Finally, he ran through a list of the notables in the city, among the native Austrians and among the delegations from Russia, Prussia, and the lesser states.

‘You’ve left out one key player,’ Jack put in, eagerly. ‘The Venetian Nightingale, remember?’

Ben raised his eyebrows.

‘She’s an Italian opera singer, from Venice,’ Jack continued. ‘Ravishing voice. And an even more ravishing person.’ He put down his beer in order to shape an exaggerated hourglass in the air with both hands. ‘It seems the Russian Emperor is enamoured of her. We were hoping—At least, I was hoping that she could be persuaded to work for us. Pillow talk, you know?’

‘Keep your voice down, Jack! Remember who may be listening.’ Leo glanced warily over his shoulder. No one was within earshot.

‘Sorry, Leo.’ Jack, a little abashed, continued in a low tone, ‘I assumed that, after you sent me off, you were going to approach her. Did she agree?’

Leo swallowed hard, trying to control the mixture of anger and nausea that rose in his throat at the thought of Sophie Pietre sharing the Emperor’s bed. ‘What the hell did you think I was going to say to her?’ His voice was almost a snarl. ‘“Madame Pietre, I understand you are about to be bedded by Tsar Alexander. Might I persuade you to ask him a few political questions while he is distracted by your charms?” That the sort of thing you had in mind?’

‘Well, I—’

‘For heaven’s sake, Jack, will you never learn any finesse? If we are going to persuade her to work for us, we must first persuade her to make common cause with us. Why would she agree to work for our country, rather than her own?’

‘Money?’

‘You assume, I collect, that her services are for sale to the highest bidder?’

‘I—Well, yes, I do. She’s an opera singer. Opera dancers sell themselves. It seemed reasonable to assume that opera singers did the same.’ Jack smiled a little ruefully. ‘Am I wrong?’

‘Don’t believe you are,’ Ben put in. He took a large swig of beer and sighed with pleasure, relaxing back into his chair. ‘First-class ale.’ He set down his half-empty glass. ‘I know my experience is not as…er…extensive as yours, Leo, but I did know a couple of opera singers. Last year, in London. Sadly, as soon as the blunt ran out, they rather lost interest. But we parted on pretty good terms. I’m sure that, if I had access to the readies again, they’d be more than willing to keep company with me. Why should this Madame Whatever-her-name-is be any different?’

In truth, there was no reason at all why Sophie should be any different. Yet, in his gut, Leo felt, almost knew, that she was. He took a deep breath and frowned across the table at his companions. How on earth was he going to reply?

Jack’s suddenly serious voice intervened. ‘Leo, I’m sorry I was so boorish. I’ll do better in future, I promise. But I’ve had an idea.’ He lowered his voice even more. ‘We have at least two local recruits without enough to do. I’ll set them to following the Nightingale. Find out where she goes and whom she sees. If she has an assignation with the Russian Emperor, you’ll be the first to know.’

Leo felt his gut begin to churn.

Jack was looking more and more sure of himself. ‘We may even be able to bribe one of her servants. That would be the best of all, don’t you think?’

What choice did he have? The Honours were here in Vienna to provide Castlereagh with information. Jack was proposing a thoroughly practical solution. Leo managed to nod at his brother, hoping that his reluctance did not show.

Jack sprang up from his chair. ‘No time like the present. The sooner I set them on, the sooner we’ll discover what we need to know.’ He squeezed between the back of Ben’s chair and the wall, pausing only to say, ‘Leo will show you where we’re lodged upstairs. Quarters are rather cramped, I’m afraid, so you’ll have to share my bedchamber. The best bed is the one by the window.’ He grinned wickedly at Ben. ‘Yours is the other one.’

Sophie was revelling in being free of Verdicchio for the day. Once she reached Schönbrunn Palace, she would be able to relax a little. She would sing for the Empress Marie-Louise, of course, since that was why she had been invited, but she hoped that she would be able to enjoy the company of cultured women, too, at least for a little while. She so rarely had an opportunity to forget about the attentions of the many men in Vienna who were hoping to bed her.

The Tsar she could happily forget, for he was a man who took his pleasures easily, using his wealth and power to buy any woman he wanted. Lord Leo? Lord Leo was different. He was a rake, of course. Any woman of sense could tell that. And yet he had qualities Sophie did not associate with rakes. For a start, he had been kind to a woman who had gone out of her way to insult him. And then there was that kiss, burning through her glove…

Just the memory of it set her pulse racing. She glanced down at her gloved hand. The back of it felt as if it were on fire, and even hotter than it had two nights ago, when Lord Leo’s lips had touched her. Only her glove, not her skin, and yet that kiss seemed to have been burning its way through during all the hours since he had left her. She was tempted to remove her glove again, to check her heated skin. Would there be a mark now, an impression of his lips? It felt as if there should be.

She shook her head, desperately trying to dismiss him from her unruly thoughts. She must forget him. He was only another rake. She must not allow his practised charm to beguile her. She must concentrate on her work.

But the carriage was already bowling up the approach to the palace. It was utterly magnificent, much grander than she had imagined. In Vienna itself, the palaces and mansions were squeezed in among ancient rows of houses, but here, in the countryside, there were no such limitations. Schönbrunn was a vast, winged edifice of decorated stone, warmed by the late autumn sun, its myriad windows gleaming and sparkling like polished gemstones. In spite of its size, and the ornate rococo façade, there was something welcoming about it. Schönbrunn looked like a place designed for comfortable, family life. Probably just the home that Bonaparte’s wife needed for herself and her infant son.

The carriage drove through the twin obelisks marking the entrance to the parade court. It was making for the central grand staircase leading up to the pianonobile, but it soon turned aside for the small ground-floor entrance used by common visitors and servants. Sophie was used to such humiliations, but it still hurt to be treated like a servant. She alighted from the carriage with her head held very high, determined to do her best to behave like the aristocratic lady she truly was. A liveried servant led her through the bare stone hallway, explaining that her Imperial Majesty was engaged at present, but would receive her shortly. Would madame like to be shown to a saloon to refresh herself?

Sophie glanced round. The sun was shining through the rear doorway and the palace’s beautiful gardens looked most inviting. She had no desire to be made to wait in a room used by the senior servants. ‘No, thank you,’ she replied. ‘I have a mind to take a turn outside while the weather is so fine.’

For some reason, the gardens were almost empty, in spite of the fact that the people of Vienna were allowed to wander there at will. Sophie strolled through the great parterre, admiring the geometric patterns of the late summer flowers. She was tempted by the huge Neptune fountain below the Gloriette, but she dare not go so far from the palace. She wandered instead in the tree-shaded pathways at the edges of the parterre.

She had been outside for about a quarter of an hour when she heard a high-pitched cry. Was it her summons? Shading her eyes against the low autumn sunshine, Sophie scrutinised the alleyways carefully. Nothing.

But then another joyous shout gave her the direction. Over by the back of the palace, partly hidden by the columns supporting the first-floor balcony, she could see two indistinct figures, one of them very small. A child. He must be the young son of Marie-Louise and Napoleon Bonaparte and the centre of all that monster’s hopes. Should she approach him? He was hardly more than an infant, perhaps a little over three years old, but he might already have been taught to be as arrogant and imperious as his sire.