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His Reluctant Mistress
Joanna Maitland


Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesLord Leo Aikenhead – renowned rake, skilled seducer and expert spy – has finally met his match. For opera singer Sophie Pietre may have the voice of an angel, but she will be no man’s strumpet – no matter how handsome he is! But these are dangerous times in Vienna, with betrayal and deceit round every corner.Sophie’s tempted by his offer of protection and – she can no longer deny it – even more tempted by the offer of a place in his bed…The Aikenhead Honours Three gentlemen spies: bound by duty, undone by women!




The Aikenhead HonoursThree gentlemen spies:bound by duty, undone by women!



Introducing three of England’s

most eligible bachelors:

Dominic, Leo and Jack

code-named Ace, King, Knave



Together they are



The Aikenhead Honours A government-sponsored spying ring, they risk their lives, and hearts, to keep Regency England safe!



Follow these three brothers on a dazzling

journey through Europe and beyond as they

serve their country and meet their brides, in

often very surprising circumstances!



Meet the ‘Ace’, Dominic Aikenhead,

Duke of Calder, in

HIS CAVALRY LADY



Meet the ‘King’ and renowned rake

Lord Leo Aikenhead, in HIS RELUCTANT MISTRESS



Meet the ‘Knave’ and incorrigible playboy

Lord Jack Aikenhead, in

HIS FORBIDDEN LIAISON


Joanna Maitland was born and educated in Scotland, though she has spent most of her adult life in England or abroad. She has been a systems analyst, an accountant, a civil servant, and director of a charity. Now that her two children have left home, she and her husband have moved from Hampshire to the Welsh Marches, where she is revelling in the more rugged country and the wealth of medieval locations. When she is not writing, or climbing through ruined castles, she devotes her time to trying to tame her house and garden, both of which are determined to resist any suggestion of order. Readers are invited to visit Joanna’s website at www.joannamaitland.com



Recent novels by the same author:



A POOR RELATION A PENNILESS PROSPECT MARRYING THE MAJOR RAKE’S REWARD MY LADY ANGEL AN UNCOMMON ABIGAIL (in A Regency Invitation anthology) BRIDE OF THE SOLWAY HIS CAVALRY LADY*



*The Aikenhead Honours




HIS RELUCTANT

MISTRESS


Joanna Maitland




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)



HIS RELUCTANT MISTRESS


Chapter One






The butler’s discreet cough interrupted what was promising to be a most rewarding encounter.

Lord Leo Aikenhead raised his head from the naked breast of the damsel sitting in his lap and swore fluently. She might be only a member of the muslin company, albeit a highly paid one, but even she did not deserve to have her charms exposed to the gaze of a disapproving servant. Unhurriedly, he began to restore a semblance of decency to her clothing, all the while keeping his back between his light o’ love and the butler. Gibson knew better than to gawp. He would wait by the door until Leo was good and ready to attend to him.

‘Have to excuse me, m’dear,’ Leo said at last, allowing a touch of regret to enter his voice as he retied the final silken ribbon of her bodice. ‘Much as I should like to continue our…um…conversation, I fear that pressing business calls.’ He put his hands to the girl’s trim waist and set her on her feet.

When she began to protest coquettishly, Leo looked up into her lovely face, spoiled now by the mulish curve to her mouth. ‘Go and find William,’ he said easily. ‘You know he’s been ogling you since the day he arrived. He’ll be more than happy to take over where I left off.’

She made no move to obey.

‘Go along now, do,’ he said, rather more sharply, giving her a friendly slap on the bottom. ‘He’s a better bet than I am, you know. Much more of a stayer. And richer, to boot.’

With a sudden giggle, the girl ran from the saloon.

Leo quickly checked the state of his own dress before turning to the butler, who stood impassively by the door, staring straight ahead. ‘You may cast off your puritan blindness now, Gibson. The young woman has gone. For the moment, at least.’

‘As you say, my lord.’ The butler’s tone was clipped.

Leo rose and walked slowly across to the fireplace. In the huge gilt-framed mirror hanging above it, he saw that, although his coat was surprisingly uncreased, his cravat looked as if he had been rolling around in bed. Pretty near the truth, too. He began to straighten it. In the glass, he could see that Gibson’s patience was under strain, for he was almost hopping from one foot to the other. Just what he deserved for that unwelcome interruption. Leo deliberately spent another thirty seconds carefully rearranging his cravat. Then he said into the mirror, ‘Well, Gibson?’

The butler did not make any apologies. He merely said crisply, ‘Your lordship’s brother has arrived. He asks to see you urgently. He is waiting in the small saloon.’

This time, Leo’s curses were even more choice, but he managed to swallow most of them. Leo’s elder brother, Dominic, Duke of Calder, had been sent to Russia on government business some weeks before. That left only Lord Jack, the youngest of the Aikenheads. He was an engaging lad, and both Dominic and Leo were very fond of him, but his scrapes were becoming increasingly expensive. Dominic and Leo, both older than Jack by more than ten years, had indulged their brother for too long, as both would now admit. Jack would soon be twenty-five, an age when he ought to be preparing to become master of his own estate. But he was still far from ready.

It seemed that life, to Jack, was one long, rollicking spree in which responsibility played no part. His problem would be gambling again, no doubt. Whereas Leo’s tastes ran to women—and lots of them—Jack had a fascination for the gaming tables. Sadly, and predictably, he tended to lose much more than he won. Well, if he needed yet another tow out of River Tick, it was perhaps time to refuse. Let the boy struggle a bit and get the feeling of what it would be like to drown before anyone threw him a lifeline. It really was time he began to grow up.

Leo started for the door. Gibson reached to open it for him, but Leo stopped him, slapping a hand flat on the panel. ‘How does Lord Jack seem on this occasion, Gibson?’

Gibson stared unblinkingly past his master’s shoulder. ‘Not…er…not precisely à point, my lord. As if he had undertaken his journey in some haste.’

‘Hmm. Has he not brought his valet?’

‘No, my lord. And no valise either.’

Leo grunted and flung open the door. If Jack had fled from London to The Larches without even taking the time to pack a valise, he was undoubtedly in deep, deep trouble.

His anger mounting, Leo strode down the corridor and into the blue saloon. ‘So you decided to come and join my little orgy after all, brat?’ Behind him, Gibson closed the door without a sound. ‘Good of you to favour us with your company. Planning to remain long?’

Jack jumped up guiltily from the wing chair by the fireplace. There was the beginning of a flush on his neck. He was wearing evening clothes, with silk knee-breeches and hose, and dancing shoes. Totally inappropriate dress for driving well over a hundred miles. Leo let his gaze travel disapprovingly over his brother’s dishevelled and grubby cravat, his creased coat, then on down to Jack’s feet and, finally, back up to his face. Jack’s mouth had opened, as if he were straining to speak. The flush had reached his cheekbones.

‘Valet abandoned you at last, has he?’ Leo said sardonically. ‘Can’t say I blame him. But we can’t present you to the ladybirds looking as if you’ve been dragged through a hedge, y’know.’

Jack’s jaw slackened and his mouth opened even wider.

Suddenly, Leo had had enough of playing games. ‘Oh, sit down, for heaven’s sake, and stop looking like the village idiot at the May fair. You’ve come hot-foot to The Larches, without so much as a spare cravat. So you’re in trouble again. I take it you were planning to tell me what you’ve done this time?’

Without waiting for a response, Leo crossed to the small piecrust table by the window, poured two large brandies and thrust one of them into Jack’s hand. Jack tossed it down in a single swallow and held out his empty glass for a refill. Leo said nothing. He set the empty glass aside and replaced it with his own full one. Jack barely seemed to notice the switch. Shaking his head, Leo took his seat in the wing chair opposite Jack’s and waited for the story to tumble out.

Jack sighed out a long breath, took a large swig of his drink, and then sat forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees, nursing the brandy balloon in his cupped hands as if it were his most treasured possession. He stared at the floor. ‘I’m in real trouble this time, Leo. I don’t think even you can help me out of it.’

‘Perhaps you’d best let me be the judge of that. Well?’

‘I…I played cards at one of the halls, after Lady Morrissey’s ball. With Falstead and Hallingdon and…and a host of other fellows. I was on a winning streak.’

Leo raised his eyebrows, but Jack’s gaze was still fixed on the floor.

‘I won nearly six thousand pounds, Leo.’ Jack looked up then. His eyes were shining. Then, as if a veil had descended, the light of triumph died. ‘But I…I lost it again. All of it. And more.’

Leo waited. Jack seemed to have shrunk in his skin. This was going to be very bad.

At length the silence was too much. Leo’s patience snapped. ‘How much?’ he snarled.

‘Thirty-two thousand.’ Jack’s voice was barely audible.

‘Damn you, brat! D’you intend to ruin us all? Even Dominic couldn’t lay hands on that much. And I certainly can’t. It’s more than three times my income.’

‘I’m sorry, Leo.’

Leo flung himself out of his chair, forcing himself to unclench his fists and to master the urge to plant his brother a facer. Jack deserved it, of course, but it would not do. Leo sucked in a deep breath and went to pour himself a brandy. He needed it now almost as much as Jack did.

‘Who holds your vowels? And how long has he given you to pay?’

‘Er…that’s the problem. It’s—’

Leo exploded. ‘Dammit, Jack, it is not the problem. You are the problem. You and your insatiable lust for gaming. You know you can’t afford it, yet you will persist. You are a fool. And a damned expensive one, too.’

‘I am sorry, Leo,’ Jack said again. He had not moved even an inch in his seat.

‘So who is this problem friend of yours?’

‘No one you know. One of the secretaries at the Prussian Embassy. He’s been summoned back to Berlin. To prepare for the Congress of Vienna, I understand. He’s leaving in two days’ time. That’s why I had to get here in such an almighty rush. I didn’t even have time to—’

‘And this secretary fellow expects to be paid before he leaves, I collect?’ Leo interrupted in icy tones.

Jack tried to reply, but failed. He nodded wretchedly into his brandy.

‘In other words, I have two days to come up with a fortune, or risk having the Aikenhead name dishonoured across Europe.’ It was not a question.

‘I’m s—’

‘Confound it, Jack, if you say you’re sorry just one more time, I’ll wring your miserable neck. Sorry? You don’t begin to know the half of it.’

Jack straightened in his chair. ‘I was going to say that I’m s-sensible of the wrong I’ve done the family, Leo. I will give you my word that I’ll never gamble again, if it will help.’

Astonished, Leo stared at his brother. Jack returned his gaze unflinchingly.

‘By Jove, he means it,’ Leo whispered.

‘I do,’ Jack said, with dignity. ‘And I will keep my word. Though it’s precious little consolation in the circumstances, I know.’

Leo fetched the decanter and added a generous measure to Jack’s glass. ‘You give me your solemn word never again to gamble more than you can afford to lose?’

‘I won’t gamble at all in future, Leo. Not even for chicken stakes.’

‘Don’t say that. I’m not asking for a promise that would be well-nigh impossible to keep. Especially given the fellows you run with.’

Jack dropped his gaze.

‘If you give me your word that you will not play beyond your own means, I will find a way of dealing with this little…er…inconvenience.’

Jack drew in an audibly shaky breath and looked up at Leo with glowing eyes. ‘I give you my word, Leo. You may rely on it. And I will find a way to repay you, I promise.’

Leo laughed mirthlessly. ‘I shall pretend I did not hear that last promise, brat. You know, and I know, that you could no more find thirty-two thousand pounds than you could swim to America. Now—’ he laid a friendly hand on Jack’s shoulder ‘—I suggest you go and get some sleep. I don’t want you appearing in front of my guests, male or female, until you are presentable again. At the moment…’ Leo looked his brother up and down and shuddered. He reached out to pull the bell.

Gibson appeared so quickly that he must have been hovering outside the door.

‘Conduct Lord Jack to a bedchamber, Gibson. And direct my man to provide whatever he may need by way of clothing. Lord Jack is extremely fatigued after his journey and will not be joining us again this evening. He will take a light supper in his room.’

Jack rose and straightened his back. He yawned theatrically.

Leo felt his lips twitch. It was very difficult to remain furious with Jack for long, even when he thoroughly deserved it.

‘If your lordship would follow me?’ Gibson said, opening the door for Jack.

‘Leo, I—’

‘Goodnight, Jack,’ Leo said harshly. Then, more gently, ‘Sleep well, brat.’

As the door closed behind them, Leo’s mask of control shattered. He knew that, if there had been a mirror in this room, it would have shown him the face of a stricken man. Thirty-two thousand pounds! What on earth had possessed the boy?

Leo began to pace, but the room was too small. He needed space, and air. He made his way along the corridor and out on to the terrace. Low laughter from the shadows announced that the terrace had become a place of dalliance. He tried his library. It, too, was occupied. For the first time in the ten years since Dominic had given The Larches to him, Leo regretted having invited his boon companions and their ladybirds to make free of his hospitality. It seemed that nowhere in the whole house could provide the seclusion he craved.

He returned to the hallway just as Gibson emerged from the back stairs. Leo raised an eyebrow.

‘Lord Jack is in the Chinese bedchamber, my lord.’

Leo snorted with laughter. The Chinese bedchamber had been a flight of fancy of a previous tenant and Gibson, it seemed, had been indulging in a spot of retribution on his own account.

‘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.

He needed to put even more space between them. He took a couple of steps towards the door and was pleased to see that she began to settle back into her chair. ‘Better that you remain here, madame, and compose yourself,’ he said gently. ‘You will allow me to summon your maid?’

This time, she nodded.

He put a hand to the door latch, waiting. His eyes remained fixed on her perfect oval face. He would not soon forget the image she made. There was a quality of serenity about her which touched him deeply.

‘Thank you, sir. Pray ask for Teresa, the maid of Madame Pietre.’

Ah! So she was Italian. Somehow, that pleased him. ‘At once, madame. I shall bid you farewell now, if you permit.’ He bowed and made to leave the room.

‘A moment, sir.’

Leo turned back. A tiny frown marred her white brow.

‘Will you not tell me your name? I would know to whom I am indebted.’

Leo smiled across at her. She was demonstrating a fine lady’s impeccable manners, now that the door was partly open. ‘Lord Leo Aikenhead, at your service, madame,’ he said, bowing as he would to a duchess. It seemed fitting.

‘You are an Englishman?’ She sounded more than a little surprised.

‘Yes, madame.’

‘An Englishman who speaks perfect French,’ she said, changing in an instant to near flawless English. ‘You will forgive me, Lord Leo, if I say that I am surprised to encounter such a man.’

‘And you will forgive me, I hope, Madame Pietre, if I express surprise that an Italian lady should speak my native language so well. After all, we have been at war with most of Europe for decades.’

‘That has not prevented some of your compatriots from making their way to Venice, sir. One learns to speak many languages there.’

Madame Pietre, from Venice. A pearl of a woman from the pearl of the Adriatic. The words came into his mind unbidden, but he knew instantly that he would always remember her in that way. She should wear a collar of priceless pearls around that swanlike throat, glowing against her skin.

Leo’s hand gripped the latch fiercely. His body was urging him to go to her, to lift her gloved hands to his lips, to discover, from the distance of a breath, whether her complexion was as delicate as it appeared, and her lips as luscious. His body was tempting him to treat this gentle lady as if she were a mere strumpet. He forced himself, instead, to bow in farewell. He was not a blackguard like Beck. He would not allow her extraordinary beauty to undermine his sense of honour.

‘If you will permit me, madame, I shall take my leave of you now. Your maid will attend on you in a moment.’ He forced himself to step out into the corridor and fasten the door behind him, leaving the lovely Italian alone with his wine and his fire. For a second, he leant back against the door and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Was that her subtle scent in his nostrils? It was so faint that he could not be sure if his senses were playing tricks on him. Yet he could almost have sworn that, for a fraction of a second, he had smelled the scent of a wildflower meadow in spring.

He berated himself for a numbskull. Even if his senses were right, it was of no import. She was Madame Pietre. Probably a married lady. And a lady Leo was unlikely ever to encounter again. No doubt she was bound for her home in Italy, while he was fixed in Vienna, probably for months. Just as well, in the circumstances, he decided. He could not afford to be diverted into wooing a virtuous lady from her husband’s bed. He had done it often enough, of course, when the lady was ready to be wooed, but it took both time and money, neither of which he had at present. He must take a mistress here in Vienna—his overeager reaction to the beautiful Venetian had amply demonstrated his needs in that direction—but he would content himself with one of the many courtesans in the city. In that regard, Madame Pietre was far above his touch.



Sophie held her breath until the door had closed firmly behind him. Then she raised her glass of wine with a slightly shaky hand and took a long swallow to ease her parched throat and racing pulse.

What on earth was the matter with her? Why was she reacting so to a man who was simply offering help to a lady in distress? Beck she could easily deal with. She had been a little frightened, to be sure, but only because she imagined she was going to have to cry out for assistance. That would have created a distasteful scene in a public inn and sullied her reputation even further. Her life was already difficult enough, for her would-be lovers assumed, as did all the polite world, that to be a professional singer was to be a whore. High class, perhaps, but still a whore.

Sophie had accepted jewels from the Baron von Beck, at Verdicchio’s insistence. As a result, the Baron believed he had rights over her person, even though she had twice rejected his advances. She had thought to be rid of him by leaving Italy. Was he following her to Vienna? She did not know, but their meeting had proved what she already suspected: the Baron was both dangerous and vindictive. He was now prepared to take her by force if he could. And if he could not, he was like to seek other ways of having revenge upon her.

Sophie shuddered and pulled her chair a little closer to the comforting warmth of the fire. If Beck were to be in Vienna while Sophie was performing there, it would be dangerous to go out alone or to have private meetings with gentlemen, even gentlemen like Lord Leo Aikenhead, whose motives had been of the very highest. His kindness had warmed her more than the fire.

The contrast between the two men was stark. Beck, as ever, had been immaculately and expensively dressed, but nothing he wore could give him the effortless presence of Lord Leo Aikenhead. It was not merely that Lord Leo was taller and of a more athletic build. Beck’s meanness of spirit was written in his features. Lord Leo, by contrast, had the open, easy air of a man who was respected by everyone. He would not need to assert his rank in order to be obeyed.

What was his rank? Sophie was not absolutely sure, but she fancied he was possibly a younger son. She had encountered quite a few such men over the years, all of them eager to know her better, and none of them plump in the pocket. There was no reason to suppose that Lord Leo was any different. Still, she could always make discreet enquiries of the embassy staff, and if—

Good grief! She was losing her wits!

She shook her head in an attempt to clear her unruly thoughts. Truly, she could not afford to allow Lord Leo’s attractive person to cloud her judgement. He was only a man. And she had long ago learned to be wary of all men, even men who rescued ladies in distress. Besides, she might never lay eyes on him again. He might not be going to Vienna. Even if he were, why should he attend performances by the Venetian Nightingale? He had the air of a man who took his pleasures outdoors, with horse and dog and gun, not a man who frequented salons and musical soirées.

She would do well to forget him. It was much more important to concentrate on saving enough to pay for her escape from Verdicchio. A little siren voice whispered that, if she had accepted the suit of one of her many admirers, she would have had money aplenty, and a protector against Verdicchio, besides, but she knew she could not do such a thing. Just the thought of being touched by them made her feel soiled. She had refused, thus far, to sell her body. She would not sell it now, when her freedom was almost within her grasp.

One day, perhaps, she would bestow it. But as a gift, a gift of love. And thus far, she had met no man worthy of that gift.

No, not even Lord Leo Aikenhead.


Chapter Three






‘We do have to go, Leo. Everyone will be there. Even the Russian Emperor is expected to attend.’ Jack’s lips twitched into a hint of a cynical smile.

Leo grunted. ‘If so, this singer must be beautiful as well as talented. His Russian Majesty is reputed to be something of a connoisseur of women.’

Jack pursed his lips. ‘I wonder, though. They call her the Venetian Nightingale. Sounds more like a ravishing voice but plain brown feathers, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Possibly. Shan’t know till we see her. What’s her name?’

‘No idea. The invitation just called her the Venetian Nightingale.’

‘Hmm. We’d best be on our way if we’re to catch any of this nightingale’s trilling, since the venue is half a day’s march from here.’ He shook his head in mock disgust. ‘Damned inconvenient to be lodged this far from the centre.’

Jack shrugged off the implied rebuke and crossed to the window to look down into the square below. ‘No sign of the carriage. What the devil is keeping the man? I ordered it for fifteen minutes since.’

‘Probably not his fault, Jack. With tens of thousands of visitors in Vienna, it’s sometimes impossible to move in the streets. And with a carriage…’ Leo shrugged and settled himself into the corner of the striped damask sofa, as if he suddenly had all the time in the world. ‘Pity we don’t have an attractive woman in the Honours,’ he said after a few moments. ‘Dominic always said we needed a Queen to stand alongside Ace, King, Knave and Ten. Now imagine if we had a Queen to pique the Russian Emperor’s interest. A little pillow talk might provide just the information we need at present. Don’t know nearly enough yet about what his intentions are.’

Jack turned back from the window. His face was full of animation. ‘What about this Venetian soprano, Leo? If she has the kind of beauty to attract the Emperor, maybe we could…er…enlist her services in our cause? She’s an opera singer, after all, so she’s more or less a courtesan. If she’s prepared to sell her body to him, perhaps she could sell his secrets to us at the same time.’

Leo ran his fingers over his chin and frowned thoughtfully at the empty fireplace. ‘Might work, I suppose, though we’d have to touch the embassy for the cash to pay her. Let’s look her over first.’

‘Don’t take too long about it, Leo. We might miss our chance. The Emperor is said to change his women as often as he changes his coats. You’d have to make sure you greased her palm before the Emperor started greasing—’

‘Point taken, Jack,’ Leo interrupted sharply, shaking his head as he rose to his feet. ‘A word of brotherly advice,’ he added, frowning. ‘I’ve a deal more experience with the fair sex than you do, you’ll admit. And I’ve found that it pays to treat them all as if they were true ladies. Even members of the muslin company. This nightingale of yours may earn her living on her back, but she has probably had no choice in the matter. If you took that silver spoon out of your own mouth once in a while, you’d have more understanding of how the less fortunate are situated.’

Jack coloured and hung his head a little.

Leo shook his head at his own outburst. Their lack of real progress here in Vienna was beginning to make him as surly as a bear. ‘Confound it, I’m beginning to sound as prosy as Dominic.’ He gave a snort of embarrassed laughter.

Jack grinned, his normal good humour quickly reasserting itself. ‘I’d rather take your advice than his when it comes to women, though. Not a good picker, our noble brother. Whereas you seem to stay on good terms with all the females you encounter, even your past mistresses.’

‘Not the same as picking a wife, brat, which I haven’t done and don’t intend to start upon. As for Dominic, I admit he made a mull of his first marriage, but this time may be different.’

‘This time?’ When Leo would not respond, Jack added, ‘Is that why he was so eager to be off to Russia?’

Leo pursed his lips. It was not his secret to share, though it sounded as if his slip of the tongue had simply confirmed what Jack already suspected. Sometimes brother Jack was too sharp for his own good.

Jack’s eyes widened. ‘So I was right. But surely Dom can’t marry a girl who’s served in the Russian cavalry? She’s probably warmed the beds of half the Russian army.’

‘You know, Jack,’ Leo said grimly, taking a step forward and gripping his brother’s shoulder tightly, ‘I doubt that. Very much. And if you have hopes of seeing your next birthday, I strongly suggest you forget any and all slights on that particular lady’s honour. Unless you fancy being on the receiving end of Dominic’s fists, or looking down the barrel of his pistol.’

Jack blanched visibly, then reddened. He looked incredibly young, Leo decided.

‘I’m sorry, Leo. I didn’t think. I—’

‘That’s your problem, Jack. You speak and you act without thinking of the consequences. Good God, man, you’re twenty-four years old. High time you learned some responsibility, don’t you think?’

Jack pulled himself very erect and looked his brother straight in the eye. ‘I gave you my word about the gambling, Leo. Do you doubt me?’

‘No, not on that,’ Leo said hastily, and in a gentler tone. ‘But on other things, you—It would be wise to be a little more careful, that’s all.’

‘And to grow up, I suppose.’

‘No need to get testy with me, brat. You know I have your interests at heart. As has Dominic. It’s just that—’ At the sight of Jack’s ever redder face, he stopped abruptly. He truly was turning into a miserable old greybeard. ‘Where the devil is that carriage?’ He strode across to the window and began to drum his fingers on the pane. ‘Damn the man. We’re going to be late.’



Sophie gazed round at the applauding audience, but she did not smile. She needed to maintain her concentration for this last aria. She had sung well, but this would be the pièce de résistance. The Russian Emperor, sitting in the front row, had been clapping enthusiastically so far. If she could truly impress him, she might secure an invitation to St Petersburg. That would be a godsend. The Russian capital was very rich, and a long way from the countries she so desperately wished to avoid.

Verdicchio looked round from his place at the pianoforte, waiting for her signal. The cellist and violinist were also waiting. She took a long, slow breath and let her eyes travel around the salon. She gave Verdicchio the signal and raised her chin, allowing the low, passionate notes of the cello introduction to flood her being with the essence of the music. After a few bars, the violin joined in, answering the cello like a bird fluttering over and under denser, darker branches. And then the pianoforte, soft and sonorous—

The noise of the door opening at the rear of the salon, and of raised voices, shattered Sophie’s concentration. How dare they? With a gasp of rage, she whipped round to reach for the glass of water on the table behind her, leaving the audience to gaze at her back. The music stuttered to an untidy stop.

After a few moments of breathing exercises, Sophie was once more in control. The commotion in the salon had subsided into silence. Slowly, majestically, she turned back to the sea of waiting, expectant faces. She refused to focus on any of them. Not even the Russian Emperor. Adopting her haughtiest posture, she gazed out over their heads and allowed herself to think only of the tragic heroine whose role she was about to interpret.

At her nod, the cello began to sing. And as the harmonies of the introduction rose and swelled, Sophie opened her throat and began her aria on a single, perfect pianissimo.



The brothers’ tardy arrival was the height of bad manners, Leo knew. Jack had been so sure they could slip in unnoticed at the back of the grand salon. He could not have been more wrong; their timing was as bad as it could possibly be. It seemed that the Venetian Nightingale had been just about to sing, though she had turned away so rapidly that Leo had not caught even a glimpse of her face. But her ramrod-straight back and stiffly held neck told the whole audience that she was absolutely furious about the interruption to her performance.

Leo held his breath, waiting for her to turn back to face the room. Beside him, in the back row of spindle-legged gilt chairs, Jack began to whisper something. ‘Stubble it!’ Leo muttered. Confound the boy, would he never learn?

The Nightingale had mastered her temper, it appeared. Very slowly, and holding herself with the pride of a queen, she turned, automatically arranging the flowing folds of her bronze-green silk skirts, while she gazed out over the heads of all of them. Diamonds glinted at her throat and on her wrists. The diamond drops in her ears sparked fire against the heavy black hair coiled against her neck.

Madame Pietre! His damsel in distress from the country inn!

She nodded to her accompanists like a duchess to a servant. Leo could not take his eyes from her. She was glorious. She was burning with anger. And she was nothing at all like the virtuous matron Leo had believed her to be.

Mad, confusing ideas tumbled through his brain. Perhaps she could indeed be persuaded to act the spy on behalf of the Honours? Perhaps that luscious body—which was every bit as delectable as Leo had imagined when he had first seen her wrapped in that plain cloak—had already graced the beds of half the crowned heads of Europe? Leo’s pulse began to race at the thought of this extraordinary woman in some lucky man’s bed. The rest of his body was responding, too. It was urging him to possess her, whatever the cost. He discovered, in that moment, that he cared not a fig for emperors and kings, or for whatever valuable information the Venetian Nightingale might discover by sharing their pillows. It was Leo’s pillow she had to share!

And then the Nightingale began to sing. Lord Leo Aikenhead, who had never cared above half for music, was instantly transported to a land of dreams, and ravishing beauty and of profound, heart-rending tragedy.



Sophie made a deep curtsy to the Emperor Alexander, as etiquette required.

He immediately took her gloved hand to raise her to her feet. ‘No, madame,’ he said in his immaculate French, ‘it is I who should bow to you. Such an exquisite voice. And such emotion. I swear that half your listeners were near to tears. I have never heard such a touching rendition of the tragic heroine.’

‘Your Imperial Majesty is more than generous.’ Her admirers in Venice had been gentlemen or aristocrats; never monarchs. Sophie smiled shyly up at the Emperor. He was much taller than she was, with light brown, slightly receding hair, fine side-whiskers, and a ruddy, cheerful face. The many stars and orders on his dress uniform caught the light every time he moved. Yet, in spite of that daunting splendour, he gave the impression of geniality. And he was showing knowledgeable appreciation of an artistic performance.

He shook his head, returning her smile. ‘No, indeed. Your singing, madame, has been the musical highlight of my visit to Vienna. May I hope to have the pleasure of hearing you sing again, on another occasion?’

‘I am engaged for a number of performances in Vienna, your Majesty. Perhaps your Majesty—’

‘Ah, yes. Yes, indeed. As you say, madame. But may I hope that there is still some free time, in your busy schedule of engagements, for performances to a more select audience?’

Sophie swallowed. Did he really mean what she suspected? He would certainly not be the first to try to turn a recital into a more carnal assignation. But he was the Emperor of All the Russias. A mere opera singer could not openly question his motives. ‘Maestro Verdicchio has arranged all my engagements, your Majesty,’ she said, a little uncertainly. ‘If your Majesty wishes, I could—’

He pursed his lips a little, as if trying to hide a smile, and reached for her hand once more, raising it for a gallant kiss. ‘I shall look forward to hearing more of that radiant voice. For the moment, madame, I must bid you adieu.’ With an elegant bow, he strode away to join his host on the far side of the huge salon.

The other guests, in deference to the presence of the Emperor, had stood at a discreet distance. Sophie now found herself alone. Little groups of aristocratic women were gossiping quietly, some of them nodding in Sophie’s direction. She could very well imagine what they were saying. It seems that his Russian Majestyhas decided to bed the Venetian Nightingale, just as hedallies with every other beautiful woman he encounters.

Sophie felt a tiny shudder run down her spine. How did one refuse an Emperor who had too much finesse to proposition a lady directly? If Alexander of Russia asked Verdicchio to organise a private recital for him, it would be a gross insult for her to decline.

‘Madame Pietre? May I compliment you on your magnificent performance?’ The low voice came from just behind Sophie’s shoulder. Something about it was familiar, as if—

For a second time, her hand was taken and raised to a man’s lips. He stood before her. Lord Leo Aikenhead. Her champion. And the man who had been troubling her dreams for more than a week. She could feel the colour rising on her neck. This man had thought her a lady, but now he knew what she was. Would she see contempt in his eyes? She did not dare to look.

‘You must be thirsty after singing for so long, madame. A glass of champagne, perhaps?’ With the ease of an old friend, he tucked her hand under his arm. ‘I saw that you were besieged by half the men in the audience, and then by the Emperor, but not one of them had the wit to offer you more than fine words. I am hoping that my more practical offering will encourage you to keep me company for a little.’ He drew her towards the side of the room where a waiter stood with a huge salver of champagne flutes.

She had misjudged him. He was still treating her as if she were a lady. Sophie allowed herself a tentative smile and relaxed a fraction.

‘Much better,’ he said gently. ‘If you will forgive my remarking on it, madame, you were as tense as a spring. I could feel it, even in your fingertips.’ As if to emphasise his words, he placed his free hand over her fingers for a second or two. It seemed to be intended as a friendly, reassuring gesture from a gentleman to the lady he was escorting.

But for Sophie there was nothing in the least reassuring about it. The shock ran up her arm like a stab of pain, so sharp that she almost gasped aloud. She should not have dared to relax, not even for a moment. Not with this man.

It seemed he had not noticed her body’s reaction this time. He had turned aside to take a champagne flute from the tray.

‘Try this, madame.’ He put the glass into her unresisting fingers. Then he caught up another for himself and touched it to Sophie’s. ‘To the Venetian Nightingale. Whose spellbinding performance has been a revelation to me.’

Sophie forced herself to nod in acknowledgement of his words. He was watching her carefully as he drank, his deep blue eyes scrutinising her face intently. What could he see there? Disconcerted, she took a large swallow of her champagne. Too large. The bubbles caught in her throat. She choked.

‘Water for madame!’ Lord Leo snapped to the waiter. ‘At once!’

The servant rushed to obey. Lord Leo set down both champagne flutes and led Sophie to an alcove at the side of the salon. She sank gratefully on to the red-velvet bench seat, her coughing now more or less under control. But when she tried to speak, no words came out.

Lord Leo looked round impatiently for the servant and almost snatched the glass from his hands. ‘There’s barely enough water there to wet the inside of the glass,’ he said testily. ‘Go and fetch more. Quickly now.’

Sophie drank it in long gulps. It soothed her bruised throat. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said, in something akin to her normal voice. Had she done any damage? Verdicchio would swiftly disown her if she could no longer earn enough to keep them both in the luxury he felt to be his due.

‘You permit, madame?’ Lord Leo indicated the vacant space beside her.

Sophie nodded. ‘That is the second time you have rescued me, Lord Leo.’

‘I think not, madame. On this occasion, I fear that I was the cause of your difficulty. Ah, here is what you need.’ He indicated to the servant that he should place a small table at Sophie’s hand and put the decanter of water within easy reach.

Sophie busied herself with refilling her glass, slowly, so that she had time to think. What did he want of her? At their first meeting, she had doubted that Lord Leo Aikenhead was a connoisseur of music. He had said nothing so far to change her mind. Mischievously, she murmured, without turning back to him, ‘That last aria was one I seldom perform in gatherings such as this. The heroine’s plight is so very tragic. Audiences seem to prefer the lighter pieces, as a rule. Is that your taste also, Lord Leo?’

His response was initially a little hesitant, but he soon recovered his normal confidence. ‘I must tell you, madame, that your final aria was more touching than any I have ever heard,’ he finished.

‘You are too kind,’ Sophie responded automatically. Was his compliment sincere? Rashly, and against her better judgement, she risked a glance up into his face to find those fierce blue eyes fixed on her with an intensity that was almost frightening. She found herself recoiling a little. The elemental force of him was too powerful to withstand. He was dangerous, and yet she was drawn to him. Too close and he would burn her up.

She must keep her distance from this man.

She set down her glass with a sharp click. ‘If you will excuse me now, sir, I think that Maestro Verdicchio wishes to speak to me.’

‘Stay.’ It was a low, almost animal growl.

He did not touch her or move to close the proper distance between them, but Sophie felt as if he had seized her and dragged her tight against his body. She could almost feel the heat of him prickling her skin. And yet they still sat half a yard apart!

‘Sir?’ She was hoarse all over again.

‘Madame Pietre, I must tell you how ardently I admire you. Your voice, your beauty.’ He allowed his gaze to roam slowly over Sophie’s face and figure. ‘You are exquisite. Incomparable.’ He sighed rather theatrically. Then he nodded dismissively in the direction of Verdicchio, who was talking too loudly to one of the Emperor’s entourage at the far end of the room. ‘I understand that you already have a protector. But I beg you to consider my earnest desire to know you more nearly.’

Sophie was incapable of speech. Hot anger was starting to boil in her breast. But she remained motionless, except for a single raised eyebrow.

He seemed to take it as an invitation to continue with his proposition. ‘I am fixed in Vienna for some time, madame. I would deem it an honour to be allowed to enjoy your company, and to serve you while I am here. Vienna has become something of a city of pleasure, has it not?’

There was now so much relaxed confidence in his face that she itched to slap him. It was clear in his eyes. They had become dark and limpid, full of desire. Not the slightest hint of wariness, or of doubt. He knew he was a personable man, and he expected Sophie to accept him as her new protector.

She swallowed and hardened her feelings against him. He was just like all the others. Worse, even. He had been prepared to consider her a lady, and to treat her as one, until the moment he learned that she was a mere opera singer. One song, one recital, and the last vestige of his respect for her had vanished. All he could think of was how to persuade this fallen woman into his bed.

Well, aristocrat or no, he was wrong, and Sophie Pietre was going to make him smart for his insolence. ‘Pleasure, Lord Leo, comes only at a price,’ she murmured silkily, looking up at him through her lashes.

‘Of course, madame. I had expected nothing less.’ He edged a little closer to Sophie. She could truly feel the heat of him now.

She retrieved her glass of water and took a tiny sip, holding his gaze all the while. ‘I am relieved to hear we are of one mind on this, Lord Leo. But you would not expect me to accept such a nebulous offer, I am sure. Even from you.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Did you have something more specific to propose, perhaps?’

This time he really did look uncomfortable, but he was equal to her challenge. He raised his chin a little, and named the price he was prepared to pay. ‘In addition,’ he continued smoothly, ‘I would of course provide you with all the luxuries such a beautiful lady could desire.’

She had expected him to suggest at least as much as the Baron von Beck. But this was not even a quarter of the Baron’s offer. In that instant, Sophie almost felt sorry for Lord Leo. He had made things so easy for her.

But then she looked into his eyes once more, and saw there the desire for possession that had inflamed so many of her suitors, not one of whom had cared for more than her body and an opportunity to slake his lust. She hardened her heart. Lord Leo was no different from all the rest. Just meaner, when it came to money.

She rose swiftly to her feet and gazed down at him, lifting a stern hand to prevent him from moving from his seat. She wanted him to remain there, below her, gazing up like a suppliant. She wanted this arrogant aristocrat to learn how it felt to be humiliated. ‘I thank you for your offer, Lord Leo. I do not stoop to call it insulting. That would demean both of us. Suffice it to say that, having heard the paltry value you set upon my company, I prefer to remain as I am. I was indebted to you before, I freely admit. But now, sir, I fancy that we are even. Goodnight to you.’ She dipped him a tiny, impudent curtsy and walked serenely away before he had time to utter a word.


Chapter Four






Leo marched straight out into the garden. The moment he was alone, he let fly with a volley of oaths that would not have disgraced the meanest soldier in the British army. He desperately wanted to hit something, or someone. Preferably Jack. If he had not had to mortgage The Larches and most of his annual income to pay off Jack’s debts, Leo would have been able to offer the Venetian Nightingale whatever she desired. As it was, he had insulted her by offering her a pittance. And, in revenge, she had made him feel like a worm, to be trodden into the mud under the heel of her shoe.

That did not lessen his unquenchable passion for her, though. If anything, it made his desire even stronger. He could not understand it. He had had many mistresses over the years, all of them quick-witted and a delight to the eye, but he had always remained in control of the relationship. Never before had his body reacted as if he were a green boy, lusting after his first woman.

What was it about Madame Pietre? He closed his eyes and pictured her. She had a dark, luscious beauty that made him want to put his lips to her skin as he would to a ripe, sun-warmed peach before biting into its sweet flesh. She was only an opera singer, yet there was a kind of nobility in the way she carried her head and in the way she spoke. She was intriguing, exotic, mysterious. And under that polite exterior, a passionate Latin woman lay concealed. He was sure that, as a lover, she would surpass any woman he had ever known. He had to have her!

He began to pace the rose-covered walk where his wandering steps had led him. There must be a way to reach her. Perhaps he could borrow money from—

‘Leo! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

Jack! It would be Jack. Just when Leo was ready to plant him a facer!

‘I can’t imagine what you’re doing out here on your own,’ Jack continued equably, apparently oblivious to Leo’s black frown. ‘I thought you’d be in the salon, toadeating the Emperor’s retainers.’

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.

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.

‘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.




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