A Sister's Quest (13 page)

Trying to remember what he had said, she wished he had warned her that he needed her to translate before he had started talking. She smiled tightly as Monsieur Bontretemps bowed over her hand, but concentrated on translating from French to German and back as the two men chatted about people and places she did not know.

When Monsieur Bontretemps laughed suddenly, she tensed. Had she made a mistake?
Impossible!
French and German were the simplest languages for her.

Michelle relaxed when, with a grand motion, he took a glass of wine from a passing tray and offered it to her. “For your excellent service, mademoiselle. Listening to your sweet voice speaking words that were far less lovely is a pleasure.”

“You are very kind, sir.”

“Not kindness, simply the truth. Where did Count Vatutin find a gem like you?”

Glancing at Alexei, she hesitated. She could not ask him now what he wished her to tell about her past. Why hadn't she thought of asking him on the way here? The safest thing to say would be the truth. “I was teaching languages. When Count Vatutin asked me to accept the position he had to offer, I was delighted to do so.”

The diplomat rumbled with laughter, and she flushed. How could she forget that she was rumored to be more than an employee to Count Vatutin? When a hand settled on her arm, she looked at Alexei, who was smiling. He apparently had been honest when he told her that he understood more French than he spoke.

“If you will excuse us, Monsieur Bontretemps,” he said in slow French, his accent nearly obscuring his words.

“Certainly.” The round man laughed again. “If I had such a flower to savor, I would not waste my time speaking to an old toad.”

Michelle smiled uneasily in reply before Alexei led her across the room. He nodded to some of the people they passed, but did not pause. When he reached a window bench, he sat her on it. He glanced about, then lowered himself next to her.

“Don't stop me,” he said in a hiss.

“Stop you? From doing what?”

“This.” In spite of his hissed warning, she gasped as he pulled her against him. He whispered against her ear, “Put your arms around me,
Liebchen
. Damnit! You are supposed to be in love with me.”

“But here?” Every lesson that Frau Herbart had taught about how to act in public rang through her head, keeping her from softening against him.

“Most especially here.”

Michelle nodded, trying to ignore the ache within her. She would have gladly gone into his arms if his embrace was genuine. She hated this hypocrisy.

He leaned his forehead against hers in a very intimate pose. “You did well.”

“I am sorry I am so slow.”

He chuckled. “If you mean your interpreting, I assure you that I think you are doing well. However, your hesitation lends credence to the tale that I keep you with me less for your interpreting skills than for other, more pleasurable skills.”

When he ran his fingers lightly up her back, her heart quickened. She fought to ignore the pleasure as she fired back, “You are enjoying the ruin of my reputation far too much.”

“'Tis the only thing you have allowed me to enjoy.” Again he gave her no chance to answer as he went on, “However, as difficult as that makes our situation, I suspect it is for the best that the rumors about our love affair are only rumors.”

“For the best? Do you believe that?”

“I must.” His grim expression returned as his name was called in a strident voice. He glared at a man wearing a bright red cravat. “Stay here,
Liebchen
. I can deal with Stolz alone. Until later …” He strode into the crowd.

Folding her hands in her lap, Michelle wished she could be as sure of his opinion as he was. She scolded herself. Why, the single time he was being sensible, did she want to argue with him? Why, when he was doing as he should, was she so tempted to throw aside caution for just one more kiss?

Michelle remained on the window bench and watched moonlight inch across the guests. It leached color from the gentlemen's coats and from feathers piled high on a lady's head.

“Is there a reason why you are hiding here in the shadows, Fraulein?”

She turned to see a man standing to her right. His blue eyes regarded her with obvious interest as he pushed aside his dark hair and smiled. The cut of his clothes was elegant, from his black coat to his white breeches and the dark blue sash cutting across his chest. He wore some sort of medals sewn to his coat, but they dimmed in comparison to the gold fringe on his sash and the gold rings on his fingers.

Wondering who he might be, she said quietly, “I am watching.”

He chuckled. “Anyone in particular?”

“No.”

“You sound as if you are bored, Fraulein.”

She smiled, charmed by his puppylike friendliness. “Not bored. I like to watch people. We are very interesting.”

Sitting next to her, he scanned the room. “Yes, we are, aren't we? Can there be many collections as odd as this one? Enemies who are now friends trying to remain allies while we carve Europe as if it were a game bird.”

“Yet no one seems in a hurry to do anything.”

His laugh surprised her. “You must be recently arrived in Vienna.”

“A little over a week ago.”

“I thought so. Once you are here awhile longer, Fraulein, you shall learn that the only way this Congress moves is slowly. Have patience. The line of history is woven an inch at a time.”

“It just seems that there is more of entertaining than meetings where something might be accomplished.”

“You are correct, but then, Fraulein, that is the way of the world.” His smile returned. “I trust you shall not find me too bold if I ask you a personal question.”

Michelle wanted to ask what, but said, “No, of course not.”

“Would you tell me your name?”

She almost laughed. After their conversation, she had expected a query of a different type. “I am Michelle D'Orage.”

“A lovely name for a lovely lady. Are you French?”

“I live in Switzerland, sir.” She saw no reason to reveal more.

“Switzerland? Then your home is not far from Coxe-Saxony-Colburg.”

“Is that where you live, sir?”

He smiled. “Yes, Fraulein D'Orage. My home and the home of many of the guests here tonight.” He motioned toward the table, where small frosted cakes were being replenished. “May I suggest we make our selection while there is still a choice?”

“Thank you.” She glanced about the room, but Alexei was nowhere in sight. “And will you tell me your name, sir?”

He smiled at her, as if he were amused. “Would you be averse to calling me Bartholomew? I know I am presumptuous to ask you to be so informal on such short acquaintance, but, as I am one of your hosts, indulge me.”

Unsure how to react to his charm, she decided to enjoy it. He offered his arm, and she put her hand on his velvet coat. She noted an emblem on his sash, but could not read the tiny print.

When he led her toward the table, she noted four men following. Uneasily she watched them as Bartholomew selected two plates and began to heap them with cakes.

“Bartholomew,” she said softly.

He smiled. “Did you want one of the pink ones instead of the one with green frosting?”

“Those men … they are watching us.”

“Of course,” Bartholomew said, selecting another cake. “They are from my country, and they are curious about the beautiful woman who is sharing dinner with me.”

“Do not let me keep you from—”

He laughed again. “Michelle—if I may be so bold as to use your given name also—I would prefer to talk with you just now.”

“They are with your delegation from …”
Oh, no!
She had forgotten which country this man represented. Her thoughtlessness could be construed as an insult. That could make problems for Alexei.

“Coxe-Saxony-Colburg,” he replied. “The name is long and resembles other German states. As to the men in question, yes, they are with the delegation. Shall we return to your window seat? I would like a chance to continue our conversation.”

Michelle nodded, guessing Alexei would look for her there. As she sat and nibbled on a delicious cake, she discovered Bartholomew had a delightful sense of humor as he repeated gossip about the guests. The tales of infidelity and flirtations and arranged marriages made the gloriously dressed people far more human to her.

“And why are you here?” Bartholomew asked abruptly.

“I was hired by Count Vatutin to act as an interpreter during his time in Vienna,” she said, stiffening as she noted a slight shift in his tone.

“So I had heard.”

Michelle's fingers clenched on the plate. She was certain, because he was so conversant with
on-dits
, that he had heard as well that she was Alexei's mistress. Even though she wanted to tell him the truth to salvage her reputation, she knew she could not. A promise must not be broken, even when it was a mistaken one. She should have anticipated what would happen by agreeing to that charade instead of letting Alexei seduce her with promises of adventure and the delight of his kisses.

Not looking at Bartholomew, she added, “I had been teaching foreign languages.”

“You were a teacher?” His smile returned as he regaled her with stories of how he had plagued his tutor. He banished her disquiet as she laughed at his tale of putting cheese in the cracks of his tutor's fireplace stones so it would reek throughout the room.

She said, “Your teacher must have had far more patience than I.”

“But he was far less delightful to look at, Michelle. But it is better that he was my tutor, for how difficult it would have been to learn anything when I would have wanted only to regard your loveliness.”

She lowered her eyes, for the effusive compliment bothered her. When he put his fingers beneath her chin, she pulled away. His touch did not send that mind-draining thrill through her, as Alexei's did, and she must not allow such intimacy with a man she had met only an hour ago.

“I have embarrassed you,” he said, his tone rueful. “'Twas not my intention.”

“You are very kind.”

“And you are very beautiful.” He took her hand between his. “If I may, I—”

“Ah, here you are,” intruded Alexei's voice.

Jerking her hand out of Bartholomew's, Michelle leapt to her feet as Alexei walked toward them. She heard a clock chime midnight, and she was astounded. She had not realized she had talked so long with Bartholomew.

“Alexei,” she asked, “do you know—”

“We have met.” A haughtiness entered Bartholomew's voice. Taking her hand again, he bowed over it. “Michelle, I trust I shall see you again.”

She glanced at Alexei and away when she saw his amused smile. “Mayhap we shall meet at another soirée. Thank you for a pleasant evening, Bartholomew.”

“My pleasure. Good evening, Vatutin.”

Silently Alexei nodded. When Bartholomew joined a conversation not far away, Alexei offered his arm to Michelle. He remained quiet as they collected her coat and bonnet. Each time she started to speak, he shot her a look that warned her to silence.

A slow fury built within her. She had done nothing wrong but enjoy Bartholomew's company after Alexei abandoned her to speak with others. Had he thought she would sit and speak to no one without his permission?

Snow twirled in a lazy pirouette as Alexei led her out into the cobblestone street. White covered everything, save for the tracks left behind the waiting carriage. A hush unlike any she had experienced since they left St. Bernard's had settled on Vienna, which slept beneath its snowy blanket.

Inside, the coach was damp and cold. When Michelle sat, a chill billowed out to encase her legs. She shivered as fatigue assaulted her.

Alexei stretched his legs out on the opposite seat. Too tired to admonish him, she simply stared at his boots.

“And to think,” he said with a chuckle, “that I was worried about finding you a husband when this was over.” He yawned broadly and stretched his arm along her shoulders. “You are doing quite well by yourself, Michelle.”

“Bartholomew was being kind because you left me alone.” She drew her shoulders in to avoid his fingers drooping against them. His touch made it difficult for her to think of anything but how much she wanted to be in his arms.

“Bartholomew?” He laughed again. “I thought I heard you call him that, but I was sure I was mistaken. How can you be so naïve?”

“Just because he was kind to me when you vanished, you do not need to insult him. He was being a gentleman.”

“You really don't know, do you,
Liebchen
? You did not suspect anything unusual when no one approached you and a quartet of burly men followed everywhere you went?”

“What should I have suspected?”

“That your friend Bartholomew was our host Prince Bartholomew of Coxe-Saxony-Colburg.”

“
Prince
?” she choked out.

“You should be proud of yourself. Not many schoolteachers make a conquest of a German prince.”

Michelle pressed her hands to her mouth. She had spoken all evening to a
prince
? She tried to recall what she had said to him.

“Do not be so concerned,
Liebchen
,” Alexei continued. “You did nothing wrong.”

In the thick twilight in the coach, she could discern very little of Alexei's expression. Slowly her fingers rose to the rough sculpture of his face. As they moved along his cheek to the thick obstinacy of his eyebrows, she discovered he was not smiling. Her hand slipped up into his hair, wishing she could tell him with her touch what was thudding in her heart. That he was not amused by her
faux pas
offered her some solace.

“He is a prince,” she whispered, “and I treated him like … like—”

“A person?”

“What can I do, Alexei, if I meet him again?”