were such magnificent warriors, why wasn’t Napoleon exiled to Elba years ago?”
Marco chuckled. “A good question.”
As the orchestra began to tune their instruments, he took her hand and headed for the large central staircase that led to the upper galleries. “The opening dance is a polonaise. We’ll have a better vantage point from the balconies,” he said.
Recalling their moonlit waltz on her grandfather’s terrace, she looked down a little wistfully at the ballroom’s parquet floor. “Will we not be joining in the dancing?”
“The polonaise is a slow, stately procession,” he explained. “Protocol demands that only those of royal blood take part.” He twitched a sardonic smile as he accepted two glasses of champagne from a liveried waiter. “While the rest of us observe them in awestruck admiration.”
“It’s hard not be slightly impressed,” admitted Kate, feeling even more like an impostor. The wine prickled against her tongue. Champagne, silks, and jewels. Surely everyone around her could see through the thin disguise and tell she was naught but an uncivilized savage.
A trumpet blast announced the arrival of yet another sovereign. “Is that the Tsar of Russia?” she asked, watching a tall, blond gentleman dressed in dark-green military splendor enter the ballroom.
“Yes, behold Alexander the Angel.”
“He does look rather divine in his uniform,” she said.
Marco waggled a brow. “It’s said he gained so much weight partying on the way to the conference that he had to send to St. Petersburg for a whole new wardrobe.”
“Is everyone here as vain as a peacock?”
“Vanity is the least of the sins here in Vienna,” said Marco. “Come along.” He lowered his voice. “And remember to keep your eyes on the crowd rather than on the monarchs.”
Despite the admonition, Kate found it hard to focus on the faces. The opulent surroundings were a powerful distraction. Feeling as if she had been transported to a fanciful fairy-tale castle, she followed Marco up a magnificent carved staircase festooned with exotic flowers, trying not to gawk at the sumptuous red and gold velvet draperies hanging from the balconies.
Marco nudged an elbow to her side. “The men,” he murmured in a not so gentle reminder.
“Right,” she replied under her breath. Blinking back her schoolgirl wonder, Kate sharpened her stare.
Like the ladies, the gentlemen were dressed in a shimmering show of peacock finery. Swallowtailed coats, lacey cravats, and snug-cut trousers vied for attention with the martial display of medals and gold-braided dress uniforms. Already her eyes were beginning to ache from the glare of brass buttons and jeweled stickpins.
Concentrate, she chided, feeling a little light-headed from the cloying swirl of masculine scents. Macassar oil, musky colognes, perfumed hair pomades and waxes—females weren’t the only ones who spent hours preening before a looking glass. She had never seen such an elaborate display of facial hair. From pointed beards and muttonchop side whiskers to glossy mustaches whose curled tips defied the laws of gravity…
“Astounding, isn’t it?” said Marco dryly, following her gaze to a Russian nobleman. “To what lengths we will go to attract the attention of the opposite sex.”
Kate nodded, noting that he had no need to resort to such wiles. The simple elegance of his stark black and white evening attire only accentuated his handsome face and lean physique. He was a sleek panther prowling through a gilded jungle of colorful creatures.
But there was another predator on the loose, she reminded herself.
“La, Maaarcooo!” A trilling call came from one of the side galleries, the feminine voice mouthing his name as if it were melted toffee. “You naughty man! I heard you had arrived in town.” A tall, slender lady squeezed through the crowd and took hold of his lapel. Her raven-dark hair tumbled in artful curls from a topknot circled with a set of large rubies. The rich red color was mirrored in a stunning gown of crimson satin, which set off her ivory skin to perfection.
Pursing her rosebud lips in a provocative pout, the lady pulled him close and kissed his cheek. “Why have you not come to see me?”
Marco coughed. “Ursula, allow me to introduce my new bride. Katharine and I were married recently in England and have come to Vienna on our wedding trip.”
“Married!”
“Kate, this is Baroness Ursula Von Augsberg. An old friend.”
“Married,” repeated the baroness. There was a perceptible pause. “My poor darling!” Waggling a bejeweled finger, she added, “How many times have I warned you of the dangers of dallying with an innocent.” She gave Kate a cursory glance and then lifted her elegant brows in a