Coronets and Steel (44 page)

The orchestra next played a local dance, which I recognized as a refined version of one played at Anna’s wedding. In the garden three or four young ladies partnered one another, splitting and reforming, to an admiring circle. The second verse had begun when a short, elderly Napoleon presented himself to me, asking with old world charm if her majesty Queen Maria Sofia would consent to dance with a mere upstart of a Bonaparte. I laughed and held out my hands, enthusiastic when I discovered that he was light on his feet, his grip gentle and impersonal.

Eleven o’clock came and went; when I spotted Robert on the prowl, I asked Napoleon for the next dance, though etiquette seemed to be that you didn’t dance with the same person twice in a row.

He hesitated—glanced at Robert bearing down on us—and then with a cordial smile held out his hand again. I relaxed and enjoyed the dance.

His French was good, his conversation centering on the delicate and peril-fraught hobby of growing orchids. He talked about kinds, colors, et cetera, as I listened politely, grateful that he’d rescued me from Emperor Octopus Hands. His politeness had extended into the detail of the enthusiast as I gazed past his shoulder for Alec, who I hadn’t seen for some time.

My gaze crossed Aunt Sisi’s once, and she nodded and smiled at me. Elegant and queenly, she was surrounded by a group of men who had to be Council Staff, wearing swallowtail coats and baldric-type sashes with medals pinned on that seemed impressively authentic.

As the next piece of music began—and Napoleon stayed with me—Alec reappeared in the ballroom. He moved at an unhurried pace among the guests, exchanging comments and salutations. He tapped my partner on the shoulder, and Napoleon gave way with a smile and an airy gesture.

Alec held out his hand, and I laid mine in his. Light, music, and air swept us into the center of the floor. Once again attraction flared between us, strong and bright as flame. I fought for equilibrium—grasped at humor. “Don’t tell me. You’ve been hiding in the card-room Aunt Sisi had opened up,” I said with fake asperity. “If so, better watch out for your feet.”

“All I’ve been playing is political pundit,” he returned—and paused, looking past my shoulder. I sneaked a look. A guy in livery waited a respectful distance away, but his body language was broadcasting loud and clear: Urgent Message Alert!

Alec shifted his attention back. “Don’t cripple me, please, at least not before I find out if you’ll save the Midnight Waltz for me. Unless someone’s beat me to it?”

“Midnight—oh, unmasking?”

“Unmasking,” he repeated, giving the word an entirely different meaning. Then I remembered old novels, and how unmasking at midnight had often meant a kiss.

“I’ll be waiting,” I said, and I was scarcely prepared for the power of the response. He said nothing, but I felt his reaction through his hands.

The music ended, and, with an unhurried gravity Alec raised my hands and kissed them, sending through me an anticipatory frisson. Then he bowed and walked away toward that side door, where not one but two of those messengers closed in around him.

I
WATCHED UNTIL he vanished into an anteroom, then turned toward the kaleidoscopic whirl of guests beginning another waltz. At the edge of the crowd was a still figure: I was caught by Aunt Sisi’s gaze.

She stood by the door to the punch room. The chandelier light reflected in her wide eyes. I wondered if I should go over to her and say something polite about how much fun I was having at her masquerade, or thank her yet again for the loan of the gown. Her steady gaze was unnerving. That and the stillness of her stance made me wonder if Alec’s gesture, so public, so deliberate, had made her angry.

Oh, right, Murray. He’s engaged to
her daughter.

But he didn’t mean it—it’s the night, the dance, the costumes
—All these excuses streamed through my mind, to vanish again into the night. He did mean it. I didn’t know what it meant for
me.

Then she smiled, her chin lifting. It was a triumphant smile, and she raised her hand in salute, the queen’s gesture. I flashed a smile back, relieved nothing was wrong, and glad she could enjoy the achievement of a successful ball. She’d certainly worked hard enough to bring it off.

She tapped her fan on the arm of one of those swallowtailed men, and included his buddies in her smile. I had to admire her skill in group management—in ten seconds flat, she was the center of their circle and had them all talking and laughing.

I turned away, spreading my fan and flapping it slowly. Bad news: I discovered that I was surrounded by von M’s. Good news: they were at a safe distance, each busy with a partner. Including Robert, actually dancing with his wife.

I wandered in the direction of the terrace, seeking cooler air—glad to have a breathing space—then spotted a familiar plume-hatted pirate making his way directly for me.

“Percy.” Cursing inwardly, I headed for the restroom. At least he appeared to have sobered up again, enough to walk straight—his stride increased and he neatly cut me off.

With a leisurely bow and a flourish of those ridiculous gauntlets, Percy reached for me.

“Pardon,” I began as he took my hand. His grip was firm; resisting the urge to yank my hand free (and cause everyone in the room to stare) I said, “I was on my way to the restroom.”

Percy didn’t answer this obvious lie. He slid the other hand around me and moved gently in place—step-two-three, step-two-three—the waltz time was irresistible, and he seemed to have lost his clumsiness. Maybe he’d switched to swigging coffee. Since the dance was half over, I shrugged and gave up—and with a sweep he whirled us out onto the floor.

How do you tell a guy you don’t know that when he’s sobered up he dances a thousand times better? Not only expertly, but with panache.

Percy headed straight down the middle, and everyone gave way before us. I became aware of his altered grip, his hand on my waist drifted up my back in a caress.

I looked up sharply—to meet the leering pirate mask, and to hear his breathing. He stepped neatly aside as the music dipped and he handed me in a twirl under his arm. Long years of training made my feet and body respond automatically, my skirts flaring. He promptly sped up.

I danced on my toes, my feet almost leaving the floor. A silent challenge had been issued, and I met it by matching his pace. When we reached the other side of the floor he whirled me into another turn, and when I came out of it, locked me against his lean body with unexpected strength. The stupid toy pistol jutted uncomfortably against my ribs as we spun into a series of tight turns.

Waltzing with Alec had been friendly, then romantic, then sexy. This dance wasn’t the least friendly, it zoomed past romance straight to sexy. Now I understood why people had spent all night waltzing a hundred years ago. If a drunken fumbler could exude this much firepower, maybe waltzing should be outlawed, I thought hazily as the world spun past. Gran must have danced right here with Armandros when she was sixteen—

I gave myself up to the giddiness this time, enjoying the melding of colors as the background whizzed past and we danced out onto the terrace, and into the cool night air. The music wound down to a close; Percy slowed. I blinked as the torchlit garden revolved gently. “Dizzy,” I murmured. “I think I’d better sit down.”

Percy took my elbow and guided me down a garden path. “Where are the benches?” I was glad to be outside. Not only was the air cooler, but I needed to make a quick adjustment to my gown before I experienced a serious costume malfunction.

He passed a couple of benches that had flirting couples on them, even though there was plenty of room. While he was looking around I gave my bodice a couple of surreptitious yanks and tugs.

We passed an empty bench, golden-lit through the window panes in the palace on the other side of the garden. And then the lit windows came to an end. We’d reached the side building, where plain doors opened onto modest parterres.

I was about to protest when he opened the first door we came to, leading into a dimly lit servants’ hall. My feathers brushed the low ceiling, and I clasped at them quickly, but too late: the waltz had loosened them, and they came off the headdress altogether. By then Percy had found the door he was looking for, and opened it. Assuming this was a lounge, I walked in.

To find an empty room.

“Hey,” I began.

“Hey what?” a laughing English voice answered.

I knew that voice, and it did not belong to Percy.

“Tony! What scam is this?”

The room was a parlor with a window giving onto a courtyard garden. As I glared at Tony, he gave a sigh of relief, yanked off the plumed tricorn, mask, and wig, and tossed them negligently onto the table. “Damn mask is hotter than hell. But it was worth it.” His smiling face was flushed.

“I’m so glad for you. Not.” I waved my feathers at the door. “Now, if you’ll kindly step aside . . .”

“I could listen to that accent of yours forever,” he replied, thumping his back to the door. “To answer your question: I wanted to dance with you.”

“All right, so you did. Let’s go back.”

Tony, convulsed with laughter, took a casual step toward me.

Gliding backward, I snapped, “What’d you do to poor Percy, mug him in the men’s room and pinch his costume?”

“Admit that you preferred me as a partner.” He spread his hands.

“Okay.” I shrugged. “Much. And now, if you don’t mind stepping out of the way so I can return to the ballroom—”

He pulled off one of his gauntlets. As he thrust it into a huge pocket of his pirate coat, I swept my skirts aside and ducked around him.

Or tried to. He stretched out an arm to block my way. “I did want to dance with you. I couldn’t resist. But I also had in mind some conversation.”

“About what?” I snapped with hostility, retreating into the room.

He slid back a lace-wristed pirate sleeve to look at his watch, then smiled at me. “I wondered if you have found your proof yet? I did promise to help you look, and I’d hate to duplicate efforts.”

“Haven’t had the time to finish.” I shrugged as I tossed the feathers onto the table beside his wig and mask. Instinct demanded I keep my hands free.

“Have you had the time to tell anyone of your search?”

Remembering my earlier mistake with him, I said promptly, “Sure! I blabbed about it to everyone. Um, except your relatives, on account of that bastard business. But I totally spread the word, because I knew my search would be quicker if I had lots of help.”

“Ah. Wise.” He grinned, and I couldn’t tell if he’d swallowed it. Once again he took a leisurely step into the room, between me and the door. “I wondered as well if, during your cozy moments alone with Cousin Alec in Ysvorod House, you taxed him with his keeping the Dsaret hoard to himself?” He sauntered toward me, one step, two.

“If you mean have we talked about it, sure,” I said coldly, backing away. “What about it? Did you want me to recite its history according to the Ysvorod School of Thought, as compared to the Revisionist von Mecklundburg version?”

“No, I want you to recite its location.” He pulled off the other glove, looked at it with his brows raised as if he could not believe he had been wearing such a thing, and thrust it into the pocket containing its mate. Then he took another step toward me.

“I can only tell you where it’s not, which is in the bank vault.”

“Everyone knows that. It’s also not at the palace, or the cathedral. Or in one of the old castle dungeons.”

“Probably not. But boxes and boxes of gold bars have to be hard to hide, and even harder to transport around without people asking what’s inside them and blabbing, so my guess would be they were taken to a Swiss bank, maybe before the war hit.”

“It’s in the country,” he said, unheated as always. “You’ll naturally be forming plans for a treasure-funded future—to which you are entitled. So am I! But if you do happen to find out where it is, there would be the problem of removal. I can help with that. So I propose that you and I split the proceeds equally.”

“But I don’t know where it is,” I repeated. “You have to be stupider than I thought to believe that Alec would blab it to me when—if—he’s kept his lip zipped all these years.”

“So Alec didn’t even give you a hint? No . . . ah, gloats? Say . . . offers?” He loomed over me, smiling quizzically.

“Offers?” His tone implied less of business dealings than of boudoir wheedlings. “I suggest you ask him.”

“I will, at the right moment,” he promised. “Soon, I trust. But I did want to give you the opportunity first. Because of your claim.”

“Meaning you won’t give me a share if I don’t spill the beans? Well, since I wouldn’t believe you even if I did know, it’s not exactly a loss.”

“But I’d keep my word. I always do. If I give it. Then there’s the alternative, you combine forces with me. We can talk more of that later, when you’ve had time to realize the many advantages—”