exclaimed softly, craning her neck as they rolled over the majestic stone bridge spanning the Danube River.
Kate was still wide-eyed as their coach lumbered past the Augarten, with its Baroque gardens, formal lawns, and shaded walkways. The horses made a sharp turn and then they were bumping through the narrow, twisting streets of the city center.
“That is St. Stephen’s Cathedral.” Marco pointed out the soaring limestone cathedral with its Romanesque towers and intricately patterned tile roof. “Its main bell is one of the largest in Europe and was cast out of cannons captured from the Muslim invaders in 1711.”
“Fascinating,” she murmured.
“And there is The Hofburg, the emperor’s palace,” he continued. “In Vienna it is simply called the ‘Burg.’ ”
Kate gasped. “Why, the place is as large as an ocean.”
“To my knowledge there are no sailing ships inside,” said Marco with a chuckle. “But the main courtyard was designed as a jousting field.”
She half-expected to see a battalion of armored knights come charging through the massive wrought-iron gates.
“The original structure dates from the late 1200s, but the Hapsburg rulers have added to it over the centuries. This is the medieval section, known as the Schweitzerhof. The entrance is named ‘The Gate of Virtue’—you can see the crowned Hapsburg eagle flanked by a pair of lions.”
Kate suddenly felt very provincial staring at the imposing walls. The city was an august crossroads of history, a place where East had met West since the dawn of civilization. With his noble bloodlines, Marco shared a common bond with its rich cultural heritage. While she was reminded once again that she was an outsider.
A nobody, really. No real roots. No real family. No real identity.
She had never felt so alone.
After turning onto the busy Kartnerstrasse, Marco rapped on the trap and called out an address to the coachman. The horses turned down a narrow cobbled side street and came to a halt in front of a small café.
“Wait here,” he said. “It’s almost impossible to find rooms in the city, what with half of Europe here for the conference,” said Marco. “But Lynsley said that somehow he would manage to get word to one of his operatives. Let us hope he has worked his usual magic.”
“He would need some special spell to give his messenger wings. Otherwise, I don’t know how anyone could arrive quicker than we did.” Kate stifled a yawn. “Lud, I could sleep on the cobblestones and wouldn’t care.”
Marco winced as he unfolded his legs. “I hope that the accommodations are better than that.”
They were. But only barely.
Lynsley’s contact was expecting them and had arranged for lodging on a nearby street. Kate followed behind as he led the way up a darkened stairwell and unlocked a garret apartment. The candlelight showed a set of small rooms that were cramped but comfortable.
“Sorry, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. The city is overflowing with visitors,” said their contact. “I’ve arranged for a maid and valet, and will have them start tomorrow morning. They each have a small room on the floor below.”
“I’ve stayed in far worse,” said Marco dryly. “We shall make do for now.”
“I shall help you bring up your trunks. After that, you won’t see me again.” Kate saw the man quickly pass a packet of papers to Marco. “You’ll be dealing with someone else. I imagine the details of making contact are spelled out in one of these sealed letters.”
Marco nodded. “I shall be back shortly, Kate.”
Spotting a pitcher and washbasin atop a painted chest of drawers, Kate splashed some cold water on her face and then kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the bed. She wiggled her toes, blissfully thankful for the dreamy comfort of the eiderdown coverlet and plump pillows.
Lud, she was sure she would sleep for a week…
“Sorry, but we have no time to lose.” The mattress shivered as Marco sat down on the edge of the bed. “We have invitations to attend the Duchess of Sagan’s salon tonight. It’s a regular gathering place for many of the most influential people in town, so we’d best go and see and be seen.”
“Right.” Kate scrubbed at her eyes, nodded mechanically. “Sagan,” she mused, thinking over the background information she had studied during the long journey from England. “The duchess is rumored to be Prince Metternich’s mistress, is she not?” The Austrian foreign minister was in charge of the conference. He was also a notorious womanizer.
“Yes,” he replied. “As is Princess Bagration, the lovely