Fates for Apate Page 6

  Her thoughts stilled. What were his attendant duties? Once she thought about it, he had been no more forthcoming about his life than she had. That first night he had referenced himself as a gentleman. Other than that she really only knew that he considered himself Polish, not really Prussian. Much like her, his stories of childhood were carefully disconnected from a sense of time or place. Bloody hell, she had been so concerned about not having her own obfuscation noticed that she had failed to notice his. She ran her fingers over her friends’ letters, as though invoking their assistance. It’s time to think, ladies. What do I really know about him?

  Three hours of thinking later she could only come to one conclusion. He was a spy as well. Had she been playing him? Or had he been playing her?

  Two nights later she saw him across the ballroom with new eyes.

  The very best operator will never be noticeable, Master Dorchester had said. They are the most genuine. The most human. They may have been your best friend for years. Because if you are a good information source you really are their best friend. But they don’t value the same things from a relationship that most people do. Once you are no longer useful, they are done with you.

  Was Rokiczana a master operator? She had been searching her mind for anything that she might have said, or even hinted at, that would be worthwhile information for the Prussians.

  He saw her looking at him and smiled. Although her mind was still contemplating what it was he really wanted from her, she felt heat bloom in her chest from his attention. She had thought him attractive when she met him, but now he was irresistible. He had somehow become her ideal of attractive and that worried her. Madame Blythe had been correct. She should have run away the first time he kissed her. Far, far away. Now she had to worry that she had unwittingly betrayed the Empire. Or would. Or could.

  She turned to the refreshments table for a cup of Arrack punch. It wasn’t the best solution, but perhaps with enough of the sweet liquor in her veins she would stop obsessing and be able to make some progress.

  A hand touched her elbow. “What’s wrong?”

  He must have moved across the ballroom as soon as she looked away from him.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “I just received some correspondence from home.”

  “Bad news?” His voice was soft, intimate. Every tone suggested sympathy. But could she trust it? She looked up into his eyes. Warmth. Worry. Could it be feigned? She knew better than most how long people could live with lies.

  On the other hand, lies made people brittle, not warm. But Master Dorchester’s warnings about the best operators lingered in her mind. Her silence must have gone on for too long because he gripped her elbow more firmly and said, “Come.”

  She didn’t fight him as he led her around the periphery of the room and through the doors to the outside.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Casimir took Gina down the stone steps and out into the gardens, past the lights of the party. Once they were in sufficient shadow her pulled her close. How he had missed holding her like this. But rather than lean into his embrace as she had before, she remained tense. Not fighting him exactly, but not embracing him either.

  “What’s wrong, Gini?”

  “It’s nothing important, I just… I missed a wedding.”

  “Whose?”

  “A friend. One of my best friends. She had to marry suddenly in February and I wasn’t informed of it until today.”

  He regretted that he couldn’t see her face clearly in the pale moonlight. She sounded sad. Bereft. “I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

  She snorted at that. Where most women would cry, his Gini just became derisive. “Undoubtedly she will.”

  “So what’s truly bothering you?” She was quiet for so long that he began to doubt that she would answer him.

  “What will you do once the Congress is over?” she asked softly.

  Ah. This he could understand. He was also agonizing over the ending of the Congress and not seeing her again. “That’s hard to say. I don’t… I don’t really have anywhere to go. Well, that’s not exactly true. I have places I can go. Just no place that I have to be.”

  “You said you were a gentleman. You don’t have lands?”

  He gave a dry chuckle. “It’s complicated, but the short answer is no. I have people, but no lands.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I have to agree, but such is life.”

  “Then isn’t your place with them?”

  “Again, that is complicated.”

  “Do you have a wife?”

  He was confused by the question. Certainly after all this time he would have mentioned such a thing to her. Didn’t she know that? He could hear the thickness in his own voice, as he said, “No.”

  “Any family other than your mother and sister?”

  “Scads of cousins. What about you? Any family other than the ones you’ve mentioned before?”

  He saw her golden hair flash in the moonlight as she nodded. Again she lapsed into silence. Her mood was strange, but perhaps he should just be pleased that they had a few moments by themselves. It was hard to know how much longer they would both be here. Either he or Appleton could be told they were no longer needed at any juncture.

  It was greedy, he knew, but he had to tell her once more how he felt about her. Their feelings for each other were like a weight that they both bore, and each time he told her he felt like he gave her more of it to carry. But if he didn’t tell her then he couldn’t leave her, either. “Gini, I-”

  She cut off his proclamation with a finger laid across his lips. Then she finally slipped her arms around his waist and melted against him. He held her close and buried his nose in her hair. Perhaps she wasn’t one to cry, but before this was over he knew he would. Followed by a lifelong melancholy when faced with the scent of orange blossoms, golden hair, or a woman who gave a tart reply.

  “I don’t ever want to let you go,” he murmured.

  She nuzzled closer to him and gave a frustrated sigh. Feeling her breath on his throat, he closed his eyes and imagined how different things could be if she were free, if she could be his. It was devastating that he not only had to give up on everything he thought he was going to do with his life, he had to fall in love with a woman he couldn’t have.

  When she spoke again, it was so softly that he wasn’t quite she he heard her. But he would have sworn she said, “Don’t let me go.”

  *

  Three days later George received another, smaller packet. She read Robert’s note first. It simply said, “Return immediately.” Enclosed with it was an invitation to Sabre’s wedding. It gave her little more than a week to return to London. Sabre had of course enclosed a small note with the engraved invitation.

  You won’t disappointment me by missing my wedding.

  - S

  The Bittlesworths. Refreshingly direct and deadly serious. She began packing and warred with herself over whether she would attend this evening’s entertainment to say goodbye to Casimir. Wouldn’t it be easier not to say goodbye? Wouldn’t it be safer if he didn’t know she was leaving? She still wasn’t sure what role he played with the Prussian government. Surely they hadn’t wanted him to undermine the Russian-Prussian treaty over Poland and Saxony, but if he wasn’t working for Prussia then who was he truly working for? He had cited Poland twice as his main concern, but there was no king of Poland. Or duke. Or whatever it was they called their ruler.

  She had gone back and forth on whether to go to this ball and see Casimir so many times, that she sat in her finery in a darkened room late into the night. The indecision, the impending changes, had submerged her into a state of listlessness. She heard a tap at her window and all of her emotions burst in a maelstrom. Hope, fear, longing, a desire to escape. She could feel a sob building in her throat but resolutely choked it back. She walked to the window, back straight and head held high. She hadn’t sought him out, but she wouldn’t hide.

  Even though she h
adn’t lit a candle, he didn’t seem hampered by the dark. He slid in the window as quiet and sinuous as a cat, closing it softly behind him.

  “Is everything all right?” he whispered.

  “Yes, why?”

  “I was looking for you at the ball, I had a question for you.”

  He found her hand in the darkness and twined her fingers in his own. It would be so easy to step into his embrace. To let his warmth make her forget her own reservations and concerns. But she had come here to do a job, and she had done that job. It was time to go home and reap her rewards. And attend at least one of her best friends’ weddings. She pulled away from his grasp and found the matches to light a candle. Once she had that small light between them she saw his look of concern.

  She cleared her throat. “You wanted to ask me a question?”

  It took him a moment but he said, “Oh. Yes. A letter came in today that I thought you might be interested in. It is addressed to Herr Otto and is in English. It refers to shipping rights and transportation, but isn’t official British correspondence.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Well, I handle enough correspondence to know who it typically comes from. And the requests, the offers it lists? It is more something that would be from a brazen criminal.”

  “Does it purport to represent the British Empire?”

  “Not at all. But it lists agreements for transporting goods to British ports at a better than reasonable price in trade for access to ports along the Rhine and Main. Special access that one could assume was meant to subvert local oversight. Whether to avoid taxation or review of goods is the only question.”

  George frowned. “Yes, I should take that to… someone.”

  He stepped toward her again and ran the back of his fingers over her cheekbone. “All right. I’ll bring it to you tomorrow.”

  “It will have to be,” she paused as she heard her voice crack. “It will have to be early in the morning. I’m-” She stopped again as her throat seemed to seize up.

  He cradled her face in his hands. “You’re what?”

  She forced it out in a rush of expelled air. “I’m leaving for London.”

  Casimir was completely still for a moment, absorbing her news. His brow furrowed. “But your husband was at the ball tonight and there was no mention-”

  “He’s not my husband!” George stumbled back and slapped a hand over her mouth. As hard as it had been to say she was leaving for England, disavowing Appleton as her husband had popped out unbidden.

  “What?” Casimir’s voice was low, almost completely lacking in inflection.

  They stared at each other until she finally removed her hand and whispered, “He’s not my husband. I’m not married.”

  “That’s what I thought you said.” Within a moment he crushed her into his embrace. His kiss was fevered, possessive. She was still confused over what she wanted, what she hoped. But her body sang with joy to have his arms so firmly around her, his hand cupping the back of her head as he plundered her mouth. Her own fingers slid into his hair to hold him even closer.

  He broke the kiss, breathing hard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why? This is why.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I knew that you would be like this. Proprietary.”

  “Perhaps my English is failing me.”

  She snorted. “That’s doubtful.”

  He nipped her bottom lip. “Then talk sense, woman.”

  “I knew that without my purported marriage between us, that everything would change. Your attitude, your posture. You would have given us away within minutes.”

  “I can’t imagine what else we could do that would be more brazen than the flirtation we are already known for.”

  “It was clearly a flirtation, full of forlorn looks and sad sighing. But now?”

  “I wish you had trusted me. Here, watch.” He drew back and gave her a crestfallen look, followed by a gusty, despondent sigh.

  She giggled in spite of herself. “I don’t think they would have been convinced.”

  He kissed her neck and chuckled. “Trust me, I can convince anyone of anything.”

  Her heart stilled in her chest. That was what she was afraid of.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Casimir rested his cheek against Gina’s and waited for his world to right itself again. She wasn’t married to Appleton! His body’s reaction to the news had been immediate and overwhelming. Mine. An unquestioning and utter need to claim her. The reason she had given to keep the truth from him hadn’t made sense. No reason would make sense. He’d suspected she was an agent of the British Crown shortly after he had met her, and had been certain of it once she climbed up to his room. She had said she loved him. Hadn’t she? Well, perhaps not the exact words but he knew that she did. Now she was warm and soft, leaning against him. He never wanted to let her go. Wasn’t that what she asked of him when last they had been together? To never let her go? Knowing that no other man stood in the way, he could fulfill her request.

  His voice was husky from need and emotion. “So what’s this about leaving for London?”

  She sighed. Although not quite as gusty as his, it was far more despondent. “Another wedding, and I can arrive in time for this one if I hurry.”

  “I can’t leave yet.”

  “I’m not asking you to.”

  “Then what happens after? After your friend’s wedding and my time at the Congress has ended?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “May I join you in England?”

  She looked hesitant. “I don’t know if I’ll have another assignment.”

  He lazily traced a pattern on her soft cheek. “But if you are in England? May I meet you there? Court you? Ask your father for your hand?” Her expression was forlorn. He stopped sweeping his fingers over her cheek. If she wasn’t married then they could be together, couldn’t they? She could marry him. She loved him. Didn’t she?

  She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. “If I’m in England, yes.”

  A qualified answer. He drew back from her. He wanted to demand that she explain herself, but his emotions were too raw, all of the possibilities too new. If he let himself badger her then he might very well drive her away.

  He kissed her cheek. “I’ll bring you the letter in the morning.”

  She nodded, and although she kept her eyes downcast he was somewhat heartened that her fingers clung to him until he had slipped back out the window.

  *

  George didn’t think that she had ever dreaded a morning more. Today she left for England. She should be happy, the conquering hero returning to claim her share of the spoils. She should be excited to see what new adventures Robert might send her on. She should be delighted that she would be able to attend Sabre’s wedding, to see all of her friends again. She felt none of those things. Certainly her mind was full of what she should be feeling, but all she felt was a ball of sadness in her gut. It wasn’t Casimir. She refused to believe that one man, one person that she had no plans to see again, could overshadow everything else.

  She thought of Charlie Bittlesworth. There had been a time when she had fancied herself in love with Charlie. She had mooned over him for hours on end, wishing he would notice her, wishing he would see her in the way she wanted to be seen. Not as coltish, sarcastic little George, but as a woman. A desirable woman. The way that Casimir saw her. No! No, she wasn’t thinking about Casimir, she was thinking about Charlie. With his blond hair that was always disheveled enough to look dashing and just this side of disreputable. His laughing green eyes and ready smile. If her humor had the sting of the honey bee, his had always had the sweetness of the flower. Just thinking of Charlie made her smile. They had shared endless jests and jokes over the summers while they were growing up. Yes, she missed Charlie. But sitting here, thinking about him, she also knew that she missed him as a friend. She didn’t pine for him, she didn’t long for him. She would be happy to see him again. Once she
could reveal her travels she would tell him about seeing the Lipizzan horses at the Spanish Riding School. She would tease him, and he would tease her. Yes, she would be happy to see Charlie again. But she was, she knew, also very happy that he had never noticed her the way she had hoped. If she had been married to Charlie when she met Casimir it would have broken her heart.

  And, she had to admit to herself, if Casimir were manipulating her, if he didn’t actually care for her but was using her for whatever political ends he was seeking? That would cleave her heart in two.

  *

  Casimir found Gina directing the loading of her trunks on a rented carriage. Her traveling dress was sophisticated, the spencer dark and tight. His fingers itched to touch her. She had probably been correct. He wouldn’t be able to hide his desire for her.

  “Gini?”

  She turned and, upon seeing him, gave him a lopsided smile. “It probably wasn’t the best idea to do this in public.”

  “Saying goodbye?”

  She caught her bottom lip in her teeth and nodded.

  “Well,” he said, “we could always find somewhere less public.”

  Her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Casimir,” she admonished.

  He took her hand. “No, hush, it’s all right. You’ll be all right.”

  She pulled him into a tight hug. He was surprised but pleased. Then she whispered, “Inside pocket?”

  “The letter? Yes.” He felt her fingers pull the paper from his pocket and move to tuck it into the bodice of her tight spencer.

  She backed away and cupped his face in her hands. “After this, you’ll come to England?”

  He was relieved that she asked. Even if she still looked sad, at least she had asked. “Yes.”

  “What if I’m not there?”

  “Then I’ll wait.”

  “What will you do while you wait?”

  “Get to know your family, I suppose.”

  She rolled her eyes. “They’re abominable. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”