a hand on the curve of her hip, Jackowski urged her into the shadowed corridor. “I can think of even more pleasant ways to bring the same sensation to your flesh.”
“Really?” she said coyly. It would serve Marco right if she let a stranger kiss her. Not that he cared what she did with other men.
Turning for the last set of rooms, Kate suddenly spotted a familiar shock of silky black hair amid the lush velvet draperies of the stairwell up ahead. The baroness was curling a lock of it around her slim fingers.
“Excuse me, but I must withdraw for a moment.” Thrusting her glass at Jackowski, Kate backed up a step.
“Allow me to come with you.”
“Thank you, sir, but a lady really does not wish to have a gentleman accompany her on such a mundane mission,” she said meaningfully. “The room is not far from here.”
He looked loath to let her go, but could hardly argue the point. “I shall wait for you in here,” he said, indicating a dimly lit side chamber paneled in mahogany. “Don’t be long, cherie.”
Gathering her skirts, Kate quickly turned down one of the many corridors, grateful that the low light hid her flaming face.
How dare Marco flaunt his infidelity so soon after their marriage?
Fury bubbled through her, fueled by the wine. A part of her was tempted to turn around and accost him. Oh, how she itched to slap the seductive smile from his wanton mouth. Her palms prickled, even as she realized how naïve her reaction would appear to the jaded aristocrats.
Sex was just a game for them. As for love…
Love was a laughable notion.
Kate slowed her steps and ducked into the shelter of the colonnaded archway leading back to the main gallery. The marble was cool and calming against her skin. Pressing her cheek to the fluted stone, she sucked in a deep breath, willing her heartbeat to come under control. How absurd that she had actually fallen in love with her husband. She must not let anyone know her pathetic secret. Discipline and detachment. Her years of vagabond adventures had taught her how to survive adversity.
After taking a moment more to collect herself, Kate was about to step away from the columns when a pair of gentlemen turned into the corridor. Heads bent together, they were talking in low, rushed tones. Something about their manner made her stay hidden in the shadows.
They paused, and one of them looked back over his shoulder.
“Relax. You’re as nervous as a virgin on her wedding night,” growled his companion.
“This is my first time engaging in…” The other man let his voice trail off.
“You’ve nothing to do, save to make sure the papers I gave you are placed on his desk.”
“Don’t worry. I shall play my part without fail.”
“I suggest you do.”
The voice was soft but menacing. And unmistakably familiar. The tiny hairs on the back of Kate’s neck stood on end as she inched forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the speaker’s face. Light from the adjoining gallery reflected off the pale marble archway, catching close-cropped brown hair and a long, thin nose in sharp silhouette.
It was him.
“Let us not dawdle,” went on the man she had seen at Lord Tappan’s estate. “Ellendorff is waiting for us in the refreshment salon.”
“Excuse me, schatze.” Kate touched Marco’s sleeve “But I must drag you away from your friend.”
He looked around, surprised. “Cara—”
“Do forgive me, Baroness.” Her grip tightened on his arm. “I’m sure you’ll understand.”
Marco slowly unwound himself from the baroness’s hand.
“I’ve seen him,” she whispered.
His senses came instantly alert. “Where?”
“He just entered the refreshment salon.” She quickened her step. “This way.”
As they slipped into the room, Marco immediately headed for the punch table and grabbed up two glasses of champagne. “Laugh,” he ordered, making a show of nuzzling her neck. “And look a little wobbly.”
No one paid them much heed as they staggered in a dizzy spin. Propping her against the wall, he asked, “Which one?”
“The brown-haired man in the group by the display of medieval swords,” she replied. “High forehead, angular nose, thin mustache. Dressed in the dark burgundy coat.”
“I see him.”
“Do you know who he is?” she asked, masking the question beneath a giggling laugh.
“No, but that should be easy enough to find out.”
Weaving his way back to the punch table, he sidled up to an officer of the Emperor’s House Guards. “The gentleman with the mustache, standing by the swords—is that Von Buehlen, the Bavarian minister?” he asked, exaggerating a squint.