His Reluctant Mistress

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.

Guilt-ridden and now thoroughly embarrassed, she could not think of a single thing to say to him. She berated herself for a coward. Either she must speak to him, or she must leave.

He should not have followed her. Considering how she had delighted in mortifying him, he certainly should not be looking to her comfort. But that stricken look on her face had hit him like a blow. She was suffering, and not from the heat. Why? What had been done to her? He was sure that she would never say, particularly not to him.

She was refusing to look at him. If she did not speak to him soon, he must leave. Just as he straightened to walk away from her, he noticed that her hand was shaking. She truly was suffering!

‘Madame Pietre, you need more than rest here to restore you. Will you allow me to summon your uncle? He should escort you home.’

She shook her head vehemently and murmured something incoherent.

Whatever the trouble that beset her, she would not share it with Verdicchio. Leo found he was glad. Verdicchio was a sly weasel, a manipulator of souls. If he was the Venetian Nightingale’s lover, it was probably because he had some hold over her. Gazing down at the lustrous ebony hair coiled against her delicate neck, Leo failed, yet again, to bring himself to think ill of her.

He felt an overpowering urge to protect her, in spite of what she was.

‘If you will not ask your uncle to escort you home, madame, perhaps you will allow me to do so?’ The words were out before the thought was fully formed.

Her head jerked up. She stared at him wide-eyed. Her lips opened a fraction, as if in astonishment.

Committed by his own words, and feeling suddenly glad of it, Leo gazed steadily into her face. He was determined to help her and, for some reason, it was vital that she should understand that.

‘Lord Leo,’ she said very softly, ‘you—’ She shook her head a little. ‘I do not know what to say.’

He took that as agreement. Giving her no time to say another word, he swiftly arranged for her carriage to be brought round. Unlike the Aikenhead brothers, the Venetian Nightingale could afford to keep her own carriage in Vienna, he discovered.

Seeing that her colour was beginning to return, he offered her his arm. ‘Perhaps you would like to walk a little until your carriage arrives, madame? Some cooler air will make you feel stronger, I am sure.’

He had made it impossible for her to decline, but she was clearly reluctant to take his arm, perhaps even to touch him. He cursed inwardly. Was it any wonder that he disgusted her? He was, after all, the man who had offered a pittance for the favours of the most glorious woman in Vienna. And offered it, besides, as if he were bestowing an enormous honour upon her. He had insulted her, and, in return, she had humiliated him. Which of them was the worse?

They walked, in silence, through apparently endless corridors hung with paintings. Leo tried to converse with her about them, but she simply shook her head, or closed her eyes or gazed at her feet. After only a few minutes, she withdrew her hand from his arm so that they were walking side by side, but separated by a small, daunting distance. Her meaning was very plain. She wanted none of him. His insult had been too great.

‘I expect that your carriage will be waiting by now, madame.’ He was trying to sound as normal as he could, but she was still refusing to look at him. She gave a tiny nod and allowed him to escort her to the entrance, where a footman waited with her wrap and Leo’s hat and cane.

Leo took the wrap himself and placed it carefully round her shoulders. He could not prevent his fingers from touching her bare skin. To be honest, he did not want to try. It might be the last time he was given the chance to do so. But the response horrified him. Her whole body shuddered as if she found him repellent.

He closed his eyes on that clear rejection. She wanted him to leave her. Now. But his body would not comply. He had never before known desire to possess him like this, but here, now, he had no time to worry at the cause. Leaving her was something that he could not do.

She was betraying far too much of what she felt. He would be able to read her, which would make her vulnerable to him, but her responses were beyond her conscious control. It had never happened before. Never. But with Lord Leo Aikenhead she was unable to maintain the icy-calm demeanour she usually adopted with so-called gentlemen. Perhaps it was because Lord Leo was a true gentleman? He had certainly been more generous than Sophie deserved.

At the door to her carriage, she turned and offered him her hand. ‘Lord Leo, you have been more than kind to a poor drooping female. I shall take your advice and return to my lodgings to rest. Pray believe that I am in your debt.’

‘Madame Pietre, forgive my presumption, but you cannot drive home alone. What if you were to be subject to another swoon? Since neither your uncle nor your maid is here to escort you, I hope you will allow me to perform that humble duty.’ He was smiling down into her eyes as he spoke. And his gaze was full of concern, and kindness.

It would be the height of ill manners to refuse his offer. Manners were part of a lady, as much as breathing. And in her heart, Sophie remained a noble lady. In such circumstances, she found it impossible to be rude to the one man who had come to her aid. ‘You are too good, Lord Leo. Thank you.’

He handed her up, ensuring she was comfortably settled on the seat with a rug across her knees. Then he sprang up himself, gallantly taking the forward seat so that he did not crowd her. Many another man would have insisted on sitting beside her, so that their bodies touched whenever the carriage swayed.

He gave the coachman the office. The carriage started forward, very slowly.

Sophie looked across at him in surprise.

‘I took the liberty, madame, of instructing your coachman to drive slowly. I imagined that a faster pace would be uncomfortable for you. Do you object?’

Sophie responded with a tiny shake of her head. His concern was all for her comfort. And if it meant that she would remain in Lord Leo’s company for rather longer than otherwise, was that such a hardship? He was a most personable gentleman—even if he did want to make Sophie his mistress—and now that their respective positions were clear, he would probably be good company. Provided he did not touch her again.

She wriggled back into her seat and fussed with the rug, trying to think of some innocuous topic of conversation. But her mind kept repeating ‘Touch me, Leo. Touch me, again.’ Her body had turned traitor.

‘This is a splendid carriage, madame. The purple and gold are most elegant. I admit that, the first time I saw it, I rather assumed that it belonged to—’ He stopped suddenly. ‘That is to say,’ he continued, in almost the same nonchalant tone as before, ‘that I thought it belonged to a gentleman. I must say that it is much more suited to a lady.’

Ah, yes. Lord Leo had clearly assumed it belonged to the Baron von Beck, probably because their colours matched. The very idea made Sophie want to laugh. Laughing at the Baron would be one of the best ways of mastering her fear.

She looked across at Lord Leo. She could say nothing, for he had been careful not to name the Baron, lest the memory embarrass her. But perhaps Sophie’s ardent look could show him how much she appreciated his tact and discretion?

He must have seen something in her face, for he smiled, though a little tentatively. Then, with another demonstration of his impeccable manners, he began to talk about the sights of Vienna and the various entertainments he had attended.

Sophie responded as best she could. Unlike Lord Leo, she and Verdicchio had been in the city for little more than a week. As a mere singer, she was not normally invited to the grandest events, which were reserved for the visiting monarchs, their retainers, and the exalted foreigners who filled the city. Sophie and Verdicchio could go only to the larger events that the common people might attend, on purchase of tickets. The message was clear. Sophia Pietre was not to be counted amongst the notables of society.

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.