The Nobleman and the Spy (13 page)

Karl tapped his fingers against the hilt of the ceremonial sword in the scabbard by his side. “You are serious. What form do you imagine such an attack would take? A shooting?”

“I"m not certain. Perhaps you"re not in any physical danger, but I overheard part of a conversation which seemed to indicate something would take place here tonight. Be on your guard.”

Karl nodded. “Thank you. I will,” he said sincerely. And then he realized why Jonathan had accepted his invitation to come tonight. The man was determined to keep him safe.

A frisson of happiness shimmered through Karl. Even if Jonathan considered looking after him a duty, his protectiveness was still touching.

“So you"ve kept your distance these past few days in order to better do your job. I appreciate your concern for my welfare. But I"d still like to spend some time together.” Karl pitched his voice low, although Cohen was nowhere near. “The moments we"ve shared continue to haunt me. Don"t you want more?”

Jonathan didn"t meet his gaze. He stared at the dark garden in which white flowers shone like stars. “I can"t afford the time,” he said, but Karl understood he meant he couldn"t afford the risk.

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Leaning nearer, Karl whispered, “Make time. Please.” He"d never begged for a man"s attention in his life, but Jonathan"s stubbornness was driving him to distraction. It was more than the man"s reticence that drew him. His rare smile and his serious view of life charmed Karl. Odd that the bright and vivacious young men whose companionship he"d enjoyed in the past hadn"t held such a spell over him.

Karl brushed the back of his hand against Jonathan"s, no more than that here in his uncle"s garden with a house full of people nearby. But the lingering touch was a promise of more. “Next time I send you a note, come to me,” he commanded.

Jonathan"s gaze slid from the flowers to meet Karl"s, a solemn stare that started a low-burning fire in his groin. “You should probably get back inside. Less chance of an attempt on your life in the midst of a crowd.”

“Ah, but you"re here to guard me. I"m sure I shall be perfectly safe,” Karl teased. Nevertheless he headed toward the open doors from which bars of yellow light shone, illuminating the fountain and a couple sitting on a stone bench, heads close together.

Despite his flippant tone, Karl was alert. His gaze swept the area, searching the shadows for a sniper. “Who do you believe means me harm?” he asked Jonathan.

“I couldn"t say. Tell me, what do you know about Volkovsky?”

Karl was good with names, and he"d heard that one before. “A man"s name, yes?”

Jonathan didn"t answer, but Karl could feel him waiting for more.

“I think he"s a Russian,” Karl said slowly.

“Do you know him?”

Karl shook his head. “Smelter mentioned him the other day. I can"t remember why.”

“Does he have anything to do with the duchies of Neuschlosswold-Binder or any member of the German Confederation?”

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They stepped into the room again, but no one noticed their appearance, so they had another few moments of privacy. Cohen lingered in the garden by a rosebush, watching but out of earshot.

“Volkovsky? Not that I know of. Why are you asking? Is he the one who"s been trailing me?”

“No.” Jonathan"s flash of a smile didn"t reach his eyes. “He"s not our man. I went to the East End and took a look at young Volkovsky. All burning eyes and an unkempt beard. He couldn"t follow the trail of a barn.”

Karl wondered why he"d brought up the subject of an obscure Russian student, but before he could ask, Jonathan continued, still talking low and quick. “I"d recognize the man who"s been following you if he is here tonight.”

“Describe him.”

“About my height and perhaps a stone heavier. Dark hair, gray eyes, no scars.

A slightly receding chin. He"s usually in the suit a well-paid London clerk might wear. But once I saw him in a dark green overcoat that looked Prussian made. No distinguishing features, unfortunately. He smokes a pipe with sweet cherry-flavored tobacco.”

Karl frowned, thinking. “He doesn"t sound familiar.”

“I"m fairly convinced your spy is a native of your part of the world. I never saw the face of the person he spoke with the other night—in German. But I heard the southern accent of your people.”

“Alarming,” Karl began, but at that moment a buxom lady had spotted them—

Miss Bettina Williams—and he had to turn his attention to her.

Jonathan"s description had given the situation an entirely new complexion.

One of his countrymen plotting something—who, why, and what were they planning? For now, there was nothing he could do but return to the party and be charming. But at least his eyes were open, and he was ready to react to anything out of the ordinary.

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Watching the gloriously attired nobleman Karl Johann Peter, Erb-Pfalzgraf von und zu Neuschlosswold-Binder, interact with his uncle"s guests, one would never guess the man felt any hint of danger. He appeared relaxed, jovial, and suave, yet with the slightest touch of reserve to indicate his noble status. Reese wondered if nobility learned from birth how to manage that delicate balance between gracious and distant. Karl was certainly an impressive sight to behold in this, his natural habitat.

The erbgraf kept Reese by his side, introducing him to this or that earl, lord, or lady, whom he"d only just met himself. It was amazing he could keep all their names and connections straight. But during a break, he leaned toward Reese to whisper, “I reviewed the guest list with Cohen ahead of time. See how knowledgeable it makes me look?”

Reese excused himself after a bit to complete his reconnaissance of the room.

He wandered unobtrusively among the people, listening and looking for anything out of the ordinary. He earned a suspicious stare from both Cohen and Dr. Smelter, but didn"t overhear or see anything unusual.

When it was time to be seated for dinner, Reese found his place at one of the tables from which he had a good view of the head table. Lord Merridew preferred this rather odd arrangement, reminiscent of a restaurant, rather than the usual one long table. Reese exchanged rudimentary pleasantries with his dining companions on either side, and then focused on watching Karl.

As one course gave way to the next, Reese took a few token bites of each but was far too tense to eat much. The feeling of impending danger made the hair on The Nobleman and the Spy

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the back of his neck rise, and he"d learned not to ignore such sensations. Sometimes his body almost seemed to signal him before events occurred. Reacting to that sensitivity had saved his life on more than one occasion. If he was honest, this inner sense had warned about the captain long before the truth came out.

Now, as they neared the end of the meal, Reese"s dread twisted tighter and tighter, as if nearing a climax. He felt positive something would happen soon. From the bit of conversation he"d overheard, there"d been nothing to suggest an assassination attempt. Those men could"ve been talking about a meeting that would take place tonight or a less deadly treachery something to do with undermining the erbgraf in a social way. It was even possible the supposed plan had been called off.

Yet Reese"s anxiety mounted.

He could no longer sit still. Excusing himself to his dinner companions, he pushed back his chair and rose. Rather than leave the room, he walked around the perimeter, staying close to the wall, earning a few confused glances from the servants but little attention from the guests, who were all engaged in conversation.

The din of their chatter filled the room.

Reese caught Cohen staring at him from his seat several tables removed from the main table. Reese tipped his head in a nod. Cohen frowned and stood.

Behind the head table, which graced one end of the room, was a large, multipaned window covered in elaborate swathes of dark green fabric held back by golden cord. The drapes pooled on the floor in rich swirls. Reese envisioned a bomb breaking through the glass and exploding in the room, but he could hardly clear the room on a hunch. And then he noticed a wire protruding from the drapery and a shape beneath the fabric—perhaps a box. A planted bomb.

He stopped doubting his instincts. Reese whirled around, and as his gaze met Karl"s, he shouted, “Everyone clear the room. There"s a bomb.”

His voice filled the room, cutting across the subdued murmur of voices like a whip crack. The assembled guests were struck dumb and for a moment sat in 90

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silence, all eyes turning toward Reese. For someone whose job was to never draw attention to himself, it was disconcerting.

“Get out,” he roared. “Now!”

The clamor of voices resumed as people questioned one another about what was happening, and a few rose from their seats. Like a brood of frightened hens, they clucked and fretted and required a bit more shooing to get them the hell out of the room. After a last glare at Reese, Cohen took over the task, directing dinner guests out the door.

Reese headed for Karl, determined to get him out even if the boxlike shape beneath the curtain turned out to be nothing. Karl was busy prompting the rest of the ladies and gentlemen seated at his table to move. He grasped the satin-clad arm of a plump matron and dragged her upright, then gave her a push toward the door.

Lord Merridew intercepted Reese"s progress toward Karl. “What is the meaning of this? A bomb, you say? In my house? That"s preposterous.”

“I assure you it isn"t, my lord. Please, trust me and leave the room.” Reese took the older gentleman by the arm and guided him away from the window.

Within seconds of Reese"s announcement, the room was nearly emptied. The guests at the main table were farthest from the door and straggled behind the others. Reese"s heart pounded as he pulled on Merridew"s arm and argued with the stubborn man. Finally he left the uncle to his own devices and dodged around abandoned chairs toward his primary objective. He"d nearly reached Karl when glass shattered as something crashed through the window. Reese felt two explosive blasts, one right after the other, almost before he heard them. The air thickened and pushed him like a hot hand on his back, throwing him straight into Karl. Reese wrapped his arms around the man and tackled him to the floor while flames roared around them. They landed halfway beneath the table, which shielded them from the worst of the concussive blast and the shrapnel raining down.

For a moment, Reese flashed back to the Crimea, landing in mud rather than on a Turkish carpet. And when he"d risen after that bomb blast, it was to find his The Nobleman and the Spy

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fellow soldiers dead and no time to grieve since there were dozens of foe coming at him.

Karl moved beneath him, and Reese rolled off him. “Are you all right?”

He nodded and coughed. The air around them was thick with plaster dust, which choked them both. Reese squinted against the haze of particles and put his hand over his nose and mouth to filter the worst of it.

Karl crawled across the floor to his uncle"s limp, dust-covered body. He stripped off his gloves, checked the man"s pulse. “It"s steady,” he said.

Merridew groaned and stirred, then lifted his head. “What happened?” Reese barely heard the words over the ringing in his ears.

“You"ve been hurt, Uncle, and the room is on fire. We have to get out.” Karl threw an arm around his uncle and hauled him upright.

“The bomb was meant for the erbgraf.” Reese panted as he propped up the big man on the other side. “We must go toward the back of the house. Don"t let the assassins know he still lives.”

Several menservants rushed into the room and began beating at the flames that engulfed the draperies. The smoke was remarkably thick, as if the fog had suddenly formed outside and entered the room.

“We"ll go to the smaller drawing room,” Karl said. “There are no windows.” The chamber next to the dining room was a perfect place to retreat and stay safe.

Karl began to close the door to the dining room. “Leave it open,” Merridew said in a loud voice. His hearing must have been affected too. “I shall need to see to my guests as soon as I"ve caught my breath, and I want to make sure the fire is put out.”

Reese and Karl led Merridew to a chair where he could watch the servants scurrying around the dining room. He sat down heavily and with a groan. “So you think this terrible thing was someone trying to get at young Karl, eh?” He grimaced as he touched the top of his head. His hair was a wild shock of gray dust. “Dash it 92

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all, yes. The count mentioned something in his last letter. He was worried about a threat from Volkobstan or something.”

“Volkovsky?”

Merridew nodded. “Yes. I think so. But truly, I must see to my other guests.”

He groped for his handkerchief and stumbled to his feet again, patting the white cloth over his face. “Where is everyone? I can barely hear.” He watched the servants beating at the last flickering flame on a burning chair.

“Wait a moment, please, my lord.” Reese gripped his elbow, and Merridew turned his attention back to him. Reese leaned close so the servants working in the next room wouldn"t overhear. “Should anyone ask, tell them the erbgraf seemed badly injured. You"ve had him carried up to your bedchamber and have summoned a physician. Don"t allow any of his servants to come to him, not even Dr. Smelter, since we don"t yet know who is involved in this conspiracy. I will summon Mr.