widow of a Russian hero who fell at the battle of Borodino. The princess is also quartered at the Palm Palace, where she entertains the elite with her parties. The two ladies are great rivals, and there is no love lost between them. It is said to be amusing to watch the different dignitaries arrive and choose which stairs to take.”
Kate leaned in to touch the dark stubbling on his jaw. “You had better shave.”
He flinched ever so slightly. “Oh, I shall manage without cutting my throat,” he joked. “I don’t need assistance in dressing. But I am sorry that you must fend for yourself tonight.”
Though she longed for a hot bath and a chance to stretch her stiff muscles, she shrugged. “I am fine.”
A tight smile tweaked his lips. “You have real bottom, Kate. Most females would be complaining bitterly at all the discomforts of the journey.”
“I’m used to it,” she replied. “I have endured many uncomfortable moments aboard a ship. There was the sudden storm where we nearly sank off the coast of Turkey, and the time the Barbary pirates chased us through the Straits of Gibraltar…” She let her words trail off. “But we must think of the present, not the past.”
His expression was inscrutable. “Correct,” he said in a clipped tone. “We have a job to do.”
A job, she repeated to herself. She must not forget that this was just another job for him.
“Congratulations on your nuptials, Lord Ghiradelli.” Prince Klemens von Metternich observed Kate with an appreciative gaze. “Your taste for beautiful women is well-known, so it’s no surprise that your bride is an English Diamond of the First Water.”
Marco took a sip of champagne to keep from snapping a warning to keep his hands—and his ogling eyes—aimed elsewhere. The Austrian foreign minister’s reputation as a rake was legendary.
“Yes, she is a rare jewel,” agreed Marco softly.
Seeming to read his thoughts, Metternich chuckled. “And you intend to guard your treasure carefully?” A well-groomed brow waggled. “Then you have come to the wrong city for your wedding trip. Vienna is a city of sybaritic pleasures, especially now. The sovereigns and diplomats of Europe have come here to make love as well as to make peace.”
Marco quaffed another swallow of wine.
“Territories will be traded, borders shifted,” added Metternich with a sly smile. “It is all part of the game.”
“Of course,” answered Marco with a careless shrug. He must remember to play along with the other rakes and roués, no matter that his first impulse was to bloody the prince’s aristocratic nose. So much for peace and harmony.
“I have no intention of initiating hostilities over a trifling trespass of boundaries,” he finished.
“Excellent. I see you already have a good grasp of basic diplomacy. I am sure you will have no trouble in learning all the nuances.” Spotting the Duchess of Sagan across the room, Metternich gave a graceful bow. “Excuse me. I must go greet our hostess. You are, of course, invited to the Emperor’s ball tomorrow evening at the Spanish Riding School,” he added, along with a lazy wink. “And naturally, so is your wife.”
Taking up a fresh glass of wine, Marco moved through the crowd, trying to quell his irritation. Myriad candles glittered in the crystal chandeliers, the smoke adding a dark undertone to the lush perfumes and spicy colognes swirling through the fleshy air. Gleaming jewelry, swooshing silks, predatory smiles—the room reeked of wealth. Of privilege. Of sex.
Suddenly feeling that he couldn’t breathe, Marco stepped into a shadowed nook and tried to clear his lungs.
“What brings you to Vienna, Il Serpenti?”
Marco looked around to find that an old crony from Milan had sidled up beside him.
“Pleasure?” continued Nacchioni as he brushed a bit of Ostrava caviar from his mustache. “If your snake is looking for a nice warm hole, you’ve come to the right city.” He waved his ivory spoon at the crush of colorful plumage, artfully arranged to show off every provocative detail of the feminine form. “Take your choice. The ladies are open to any suggestion.”
Fisting his glass, Marco replied, “Interesting.”
His erstwhile friend gave a slurred smile. “You have no idea how interesting. The problem is deciding which one to swive for the night.” A flash of teeth gleamed in the flare of the wall scone. “Though sometimes you can simply take two.”
Covering his disgust with a harsh laugh, Marco drained the rest of his drink. He felt dirty and depressed by the conversation. Had he really sounded as disgusting as that when