Contrary to the prevailing perception, Marco could exert a modicum of self control when he chose to. So, although the meal seemed to go on interminably, Marco made polite conversation with the two Spaniards and listened patiently to their long-winded assessments of European politics.
But it wasn’t easy.
His gaze kept stealing to the head of the long table, where Kate sat flanked by the Prussian colonel and Lord Tappan. A massive silver epergne filled with a profusion of exotic flowers obscured his view of her face. She appeared to be enjoying her supper partners, and yet, beneath her light smiles, Marco sensed lurking shadows. Secrets and lies. Not for the first time, he wondered about her past.
There was a mystery surrounding her, and for all his dissolute habits, Marco was very good at solving mysteries when he put his mind to it. Even Lynsley conceded that, when motivated, Marco was the best clandestine agent in Whitehall’s secret network.
Lifting his wineglass to his lips, Marco watched Kate slice off a morsel of roasted duck with a deft flick of her knife. The blade flashed, and for one mad moment, he was reminded of the sunburned harbor of Naples, where a notorious pimp had been found stabbed to death in an alley. Strange that the timing coincided with the disappearance from town of the female cutpurse known as Belladonna.
No, impossible. However, in his profession, coincidence always stirred suspicions.
Be that as it may, duty demanded that he concentrate his attention on the European diplomats. Whatever sordid secrets lay in Kate Woodbridge’s past, they were none of his concern. Leaning back in his chair, Marco saw that he was not the only one surreptitiously watching her. The duke’s gaze flitted to his granddaughter, and his normally impassive face betrayed a flash of mingled consternation and concern.
So Cluyne found Kate a conundrum, too, thought Marco.
As the final savories were removed, the ladies rose in well-practiced union and left the room.
The duke surveyed the remaining gentlemen and fingered his chin. “What say you to enjoying our port and cigars out on the terrace this evening. The night is mild and the skies uncommonly clear, so I think that the ladies would enjoy joining us with their tea. The gardens appear especially fine in the light of the full moon.”
A murmur of assent greeted the suggestion and the servants were dispatched to set up the tables and torchieres.
The party was soon reassembled outdoors and tea was served to the ladies while the gentlemen savored several excellent vintages brought up from the duke’s cellars.
“I daresay there will be many a lavish gathering in Vienna,” said Tappan. “It is said to be a city that loves a party.”
“A city that loves to dance.” Lady Duxbury looked up at the sky and heaved a theatrical sigh. “Imagine—moonlight swirling over the Danube and couples waltzing under the stars.”
“Mama say the waltz is very risqué,” murmured Lady Caroline.
“Pish.” Lady Duxbury waved off the comment. “Even the dragonesses at Almack’s now permit it.”
“I—I have never seen it done,” admitted Lady Caroline.
Rochambert smiled. “Come, there is plenty of space here on the terrace if we gentlemen shift a few of the urns. I should be happy to demonstrate the dance with Lady Duxbury, if His Grace does not object to an impromptu ball.”
Cluyne gave a nod. “I see no reason to spoil the fun.”
Even the dowager countess did not object, though she did summon her daughter to stand by her side. “You may watch Caro, but nothing more.”
Clapping her hands in delight, Lady Duxbury looked around. “And if we open the doors to the music room… Perchance does anyone know how to play a waltz on the pianoforte?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” volunteered Charlotte. Catching Kate’s quizzical look, she explained. “Remember, when I visited Helen Gosford at the beginning of the summer? She had a sheaf of sheet music sent to her by a friend in Vienna, and during the evenings we would take turns playing to entertain ourselves. I think I can remember one of the simpler tunes.”
“Merci, madame!” Rochambert gave her a gracious bow. “Music will make the experience even more enjoyable.”
He and several of the other gentlemen quickly slid the marble decorations to one side. Offering his hand to Lady Duxbury, the Frenchman led her to the center of the slates. Through the open doors of the music room floated the first lilting notes of the melody.
Marco had to admit the scene was wildly romantic. Flickering flames, a gentle breeze,