dropped you off, I have a few other places to visit.”
Kate began to quiver—with suppressed fury. “I am not a soiled evening coat or a broken watch chain to be tossed aside at your whim. We are partners, in case you had forgotten.”
He schooled all hint of emotion from his face. “Trust me, that fact has not slipped my mind.”
She recoiled as if the whispered words had been a slap.
“Look, I need to visit several taverns where the presence of a woman will draw unwanted notice,” he explained tersely. “There are contacts to be established with Lynsley’s local agents, in order to set up a channel of communication. Tomorrow will be soon enough to start stalking our quarry in earnest.”
“I see,” replied Kate.
“For the mission to succeed, you need to be alert and well-rested,” he added.
“Put that way, it is a perfectly practical suggestion.” The blaze of the torchieres did not quite reach her face. “Let us find a hackney to take us back to our rooms.”
Marco merely nodded, feeling too exhausted to risk starting another argument.
“Si, andiamo.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Trumpets blared, the brassy fanfare echoing the rattle of sabers and stomp of boots on the polished marble tiles. Resplendent in their fancy uniforms, the soldiers flanking the entrance portico of the Amalienburg wing of the palace snapped a welcoming salute.
“The King of Bavaria,” murmured Marco, identifying the rotund figure who waddled up the red-carpeted stairs.
“Is there a Queen of Bavaria?” asked Kate, craning her neck to observe the procession of gilded carriages lined up to enter the cobbled courtyard.
“Yes, of course. She attended the opening masked ball last week. But for the most part, the monarchs attend the parties without their wives,” he replied. “They prefer being free to flirt with all the beautiful women who come to such regal gatherings as these.”
Among other things, thought Kate rather acidly. No doubt Marco was regretting the encumbrance of her presence. A bride was simply extra baggage. An added weight, a dragging ball and chain to slow his footloose romping through the crowds of willing women.
Was it any wonder that English men referred to marriage as “getting legshackled”?
“Ready?” He slanted a questioning look.
Kate forced aside her brooding thoughts and lifted her chin. The Hofburg, with all its labyrinthine corridors and interconnected palaces, was an imposing sight in the twilight. But she had learned not to be intimidated.
“Yes, of course.”
Passing through the ornate portals, they made their way to the main ballroom, which was already crowded with guests. Her eyes flared wide and she sucked in a sharp breath, trying not to be overwhelmed by the sheer scale of grandeur. High overhead, immense chandeliers cast a brilliant light over the shining white and gilt paneling. Kate stared up at the sea of fire—she had been skeptical on hearing that it took over eight thousand candles to fill the tiered crystal, but now she could well believe it.
Gold, glitter, and glamour. Everything in Vienna was done to sumptuous excess.
Lowering her gaze did nothing to dispel the impression. The flutter of all the fancy plumage made her feel a little like a drab English sparrow flitting among a flock of regal birds of paradise. Her gowns were considered quite à la mode in London, but Continental fashions cast her in the shade.
She slanted a look at a trio of ladies to her left. Lud, if the décolletage of their dresses dropped any deeper, they would be in China, she thought. But despite the flagrant flaunting of flesh, there was no denying that the styles were elegant in the extreme. The colorful crepe outer dresses were complemented by a whisper of pastel satin underneath. Sleeves were long and edged with lace, or short poufs of silk paired with long white gloves.
Kate fingered her simple strand of pearls. All around, precious stones shone in the candlelight, their predatory gleam a mocking reminder of how much of an outsider she was.
“The Count de Ligne has described the ladies as looking like brilliant meteors when the dancing begins,” murmured Marco, eyeing the feminine fashions with obvious approval.
Seeing that jewels and ribbons threaded from the topknots of curling hair to the flounced hemlines, Kate could well imagine it to be true. “Yes, they must spin by in a blinding blur of light.”
“You need not worry about focusing on them,” he said dryly. “You need to be keeping your gaze on the men.”
“They are little better,” she pointed out. “Look at all the gold braid and gaudy medals. Lud, if they all