The Secret Life of Lady Julia (25 page)

Chapter 42

D
orothea looked beautiful tonight, Stephen thought as he watched her at dinner. She’d planned a private supper in the small dining room, like the intimate parties she used to give when Matthew was alive. He hadn’t seen her sparkle so brightly since before her husband died.

He sipped his soup and looked up as Julia laughed at some comment Dorothea made to her, and his breath caught in his throat at Julia’s beauty. The two women genuinely liked each other, it seemed to him, and if all went well tonight at the French Embassy, he intended to formally ask Julia to marry him. If she succeeded, performed such an important service to Castlereagh and her country, no one would dare to call her a fallen woman.

He wondered if he should tell Dorothea of his plans to marry. Surely she wouldn’t object. He watched as his sister leaned over to speak to Peter Bowen, brushing his hand with her fingertips, their eyes meeting as they smiled at each other. He felt a frisson of irritation. Perhaps Dorothea should be speaking to
him
, but surely she didn’t intend to marry Bowen.

He watched the good doctor with narrowed eyes. If it did not go well tonight, he would be unable to marry Julia, but as long as Dorothea was traveling with him, her brother, he could make Julia his mistress, but that would be impossible without Doe. Julia turned to him and smiled, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight, and his heart turned over in his chest. Yes, he loved her. He smiled back, and wondered if she was nervous about the mission tonight. He most certainly was. He’d almost gone to a jeweler today, but hesitated. Tomorrow he’d buy a betrothal ring if all went well.

J
ulia’s pulse was racing. She barely tasted the soup. She was aware of Thomas Merritt’s presence across the table from her and of Stephen’s eyes on her. Were they thinking abut the mission that would take place later tonight? She laughed at something Dorothea said without really hearing it.

Thomas Merritt was watching her, his eyes roaming over her borrowed gown—yellow tonight. His expression was unreadable. He was staring at her as if she were a stranger. Had the tale she told at Prince de Ligne’s shocked him? He’d left the prince’s birdcage without even saying good-bye. Surely he would not hold her to his “condition” now. She looked at him, trying to read some clue, anything, in his eyes. There was none of the searing heat that had so stunned her that afternoon. He looked devastatingly male in his evening clothes, dark and dangerous, the way she remembered him. He trapped the light, held it.

In contrast, Stephen’s fair hair shone in the candlelight and his scarlet military tunic glowed like honor itself. She could read his thoughts easily enough. He didn’t approve of Dorothea’s budding romance with Dr. Bowen. Quite the opposite. Then his face softened as he looked at her, his eyes gleaming, his smile intimate and meant for her alone. It made her stomach tremble.

She looked away from both men, concentrated on going over the plan for the evening in her mind. She would attend the salon with Thomas by her side. He would be introduced as a new arrival from London, someone who had come with diplomatic papers for Lord Castlereagh and an old friend of Julia’s. When the party began, they would slip away to Talleyrand’s secret office. Thomas would pick the locks and take the documents. She took a long sip of wine, but it didn’t melt the knot in her throat. If they were caught—and her limbs trembled at the very idea—she would simply say she had wanted to show Thomas the paintings that graced the private little room, and the door had been open.

She wondered what the punishment was for espionage, and touched her neck.

She slid her eyes to Thomas once again, smiling now at something Dorothea was saying to him. Stephen was speaking with Peter Bowen.

Both men looked up at her at the same time. Thomas’s grin faded to something dangerous. Stephen’s smile flared as if the sun had just entered the room.

She had to remind herself to breathe.

J
ulia Leighton did not look capable of shooting a man, Thomas thought. Where on earth had she learned to use a gun? There were a lot of things about her he didn’t know. Right now she looked harmless . . . well, certainly not harmless to his self-control, of course. She was dressed in a gauzy yellow silk that brought out the gleam of her dark hair, the golden light in her hazel eyes, the creamy perfection of her skin. She was indeed a lady, to her long, delicate fingers, looking for all the world like she was meant for decoration, not spying or shooting or vanquishing burglars with warming pans. He had a hard time paying attention to anyone else in the room. He was aroused at the idea of the condition he had imposed on her. She’d fulfill it if he insisted. She was brave—but would she do so willingly, or in tears? He watched her lift a hand to her throat, caress it, and he imagined her hands on his flesh, and his on hers, raising soft cries of desire from those perfect pink lips.

Of course, if he—they—were caught stealing documents at the Kaunitz Palace tonight, if he managed to get it all wrong and failed her, he would do his best to make sure she got out safely. Ives would be waiting outside, hidden in the dark. He’d insisted that the major be there, just in case. Thomas wondered if Julia had a pistol strapped to her leg under her elegant gown or a sharp knife in her stays. He wouldn’t be surprised.

Then the door opened and everyone turned. Thomas’s gut tensed at the sight of Lord Charles Stewart’s all too familiar swagger. It was too late to hide and avoid the ugly scene that was about to occur. He could only sit quietly and wait for Charlie to notice him. His hands closed into fists in his lap.

This was going to be a disaster.

Chapter 43

“W
ell well, what have we here?” Stewart said. He was dressed in evening clothes, ready to go out, Thomas noticed, but he was already well past drunk. He leaned against the sideboard and regarded the assembled company from behind Thomas, who felt the man’s presence like an icy wave about to wash over him. “I came to see Miss Leighton. Her ladyship summoned me from my bed this afternoon.” He grinned. “Well, not my bed, but still—”

Stephen rose to his feet. “My lord, you are drunk, and there are ladies present. We can discuss this in the morning.”

Stewart didn’t leave, instead he began to circle the table, his footfalls soft on the carpet. Thomas felt his neck prickle.

“
Ladies
, Ives? I only see one, and a good evening to you, Lady Dorothea,” he said. He pointed at Julia. “Her ladyship has had quite enough of
her
behavior. She’s made a laughingstock of this embassy, shooting people in the park, and she is to be dismissed at once, without references. She sent me to see to it, now, tonight.”

He watched Julia color, turning scarlet. Dorothea gasped, and Stephen walked toward Charles, preventing him from reaching Julia. Good for him, Thomas thought. “
Lady
Julia received a commendation from Lord Castlereagh for her actions in the park, my lord. Have you spoken with him?”

“He’s closeted with Metternich again,” Charles said. “He’s leaving as soon as the great Duke of Wellington arrives to take his place. Her ladyship wants loose ends tied up before she goes, won’t have whores going around shooting people.”

Thomas was on his feet in an instant. His fist and Stephen’s hit Stewart’s jaw at the same moment, getting in each other’s way, making neither blow effective. Stewart staggered back, hit the sideboard, sending cutlery and crystal flying. He picked up a carving knife, and Dorothea screamed. Julia was on her feet, and Thomas wondered what the hell she planned to do.

“Charlie,” he said quietly. Charles Stewart turned and caught sight of him then. His eyes widened and he dropped the knife in surprise. As he stared at Thomas, Peter Bowen picked up the weapon, took it out of harm’s way.

“Tom Merritt?” Stewart said, and looked him over. “Tom Merritt, here?”

Thomas said nothing. His fist was clenched at his side. He’d dreamed of having Charles Stewart in front of him, thought of all the ways he’d kill the bastard.

Charles smiled slowly, the familiar obscene light filling his eyes. “Taken a wife lately, Tom? Who’s wife was she?” He laughed alone at the old joke.

“You were my brother’s best friend, Charlie,” Thomas said softly.

Charles smirked. “You could have told him the truth, but you thought it would be honorable to keep her little secret, didn’t you? D’you think I was the only one she was dallying with? Your brother married a whore, and when you refused her—you should have tried her, by the way. She was quite good in bed—well, hell hath no fury, isn’t that what they say? And who would believe a swive-anything lad like you would turn down a beauty like Joanna? Not your brother.”

The room was suddenly silent, fascinated. Thomas dared not look at Julia, or Ives, or anyone but Charlie.

Stewart lunged for the table, but only to grab Julia’s glass. He drained it at a swallow, the red wine dribbling down his chin to stain his cravat.

“This is not the place for this,” Stephen tried again, but Stewart turned on him.

“And how do
you
know the good viscount, Major Lord Ives? But wait, he isn’t a viscount anymore. He slept with his brother’s wife. Haven’t you heard the stories? He was cut off by his family without a penny, cast out for his sins, his name stricken and forgotten.”

Thomas felt every eye in the room turn on him. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been guilty. He’d woken up as his brother’s wife slipped into his bed, stark naked. And then the door had burst open.

“The vowel,” Thomas murmured now. “The money you owed me? That was it, wasn’t it? Why you did it?”

Stewart smiled. “P’raps. P’raps I just had had enough of your damned face, Tom. So had your brother, in fact.”

Stephen Ives had stopped trying to force Stewart to leave. He was standing, watching, listening. And Julia too? Shame and anger warred in his chest.

“What a fool!” Stewart said, coming close, breathing sour wine into Thomas’s face. “Get out. Her ladyship is a friend of your brother’s, Tommy lad. She won’t be pleased to know you’re here, under her roof.” He cast another look at Julia. “You can take that whore with you when you go.”

Thomas didn’t hesitate. He had defended Joanna, though his sister-in-law hardly deserved such chivalry. It hadn’t been his fault, but this time, with Julia—he hauled his fist back and planted it in the center of Stewart’s red face, putting all the force of two years of anger behind the blow. He heard the bone crunch, and Charles stared at him in dull surprise for an instant before he toppled like a fallen oak.

There was silence for a moment.

“Would someone please remove him? I won’t allow him to ruin my dinner,” Dorothea said tartly. “I daresay he’s fortunate that Julia does not have her pistol this evening.”

Thomas looked at Julia’s scarlet cheeks, watched as she forced a smile, saw the glitter of unshed tears in her eyes. He crossed and rang the bell. When the footman arrived, the man gaped at Stewart’s fallen form on the carpet. “We’re finished with this dish,” Thomas said, forcing a light tone, and Dorothea and Bowen raised their glasses in salute. Even Ives looked slightly envious. Julia looked thoughtful. He looked away. He didn’t want her pity. There would be worse to come.

Charles Stewart had to wake up sometime, and now he knew that Thomas was here in Vienna.

Chapter 44

J
ulia clasped her hands in her lap as the coach set off for the Kaunitz Palace, trying to appear calm, though her heart was pounding. She would need to be very calm indeed once they arrived at Talleyrand’s salon, try to look as if she did this all the time. They said Talleyrand could smell fear, taste weakness, and had not met an adversary he couldn’t best with a simple cutting remark, delivered with such wit that the victim didn’t notice the killing blow until it fell.

Across from her, Thomas and Stephen sat in uncomfortable silence. Stephen had changed into dark clothing, making him nearly invisible in the darkness, except for his blond hair. Thomas wore evening wear, well-cut and elegant, every inch the viscount he’d once been. He stared out the window, his profile lit by the lights on the street as they drove.

“Would you mind explaining what Stewart was talking about?” Stephen asked.

“Why do you wish to know?”

“I knew Edward Brecon. I had no idea he even had a brother.”

“He doesn’t.”

“What did you gather, Julia?” Stephen asked her. “I heard that Thomas was having an affair with his brother’s wife, and Stewart caught him and told Brecon, who disowned him.”

She didn’t get time to answer, but that wasn’t what she understood at all. He’d rescued his brother’s wife, saved her from disgrace of some sort. That part hadn’t surprised her.

“It’s none of your business,” Thomas warned.

“But it is, you see. This is a very important job, and I wonder if I can trust you.”

Thomas looked at him. “With Julia, you mean? She’s safe.”

“Are you sure? If anything happens to her, I’ll hunt you down and kill you, is that clear?”

They had both missed the point of Stewart’s unexpected visit entirely. He had come to remove her, on Lady Castlereagh’s orders. They were about to come to blows over her now, tonight, when tomorrow it wouldn’t matter.

“I plan to leave tomorrow morning,” Julia said to no one in particular, her voice cutting through the argument.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Where will you go?” Stephen asked.

“The Bavarian ambassador has offered me a place in his household.” She watched Thomas’s head turn toward her, but he didn’t speak, and his face was in shadow.

“Look, Stewart probably won’t even remember he spoke to you, or Lady Castlereagh, in the morning,” Stephen said. “He’ll wake up wondering how his nose came to be broken, and Lord and Lady Castlereagh will be gone within the week.”

“He’ll remember,” Thomas said softly.

“Will he? Last chance, Merritt, to tell your side of the tale,” Stephen said.

“I think it would be better if we concentrate on the business at hand, don’t you?”

“Those were some rather strong accusations. Did you really sleep with your brother’s wife?” Stephen asked.

“Does it matter?” Thomas replied. “It has nothing to do with stealing papers from an ambassador’s desk.”

Stephen laughed coldly. “You got caught. That’s what worries me. And I caught you too, breaking into the embassy.”

“Julia caught me, as I recall.”

She wished they would stop arguing. She had butterflies the size of vultures in the pit of her stomach.

They arrived at the Kaunitz Palace before Stephen could reply. He grabbed her hand as Thomas got out first. “Be careful, Julia,” he murmured. “Tomorrow this will be over, and we’ll talk then. I intend to ask—”

“Julia?” Thomas’s voice was sharp, and she turned to find him waiting to help her out of the coach, a gloved hand extended. She swallowed and set her hand in his, felt his fingers close. Stephen squeezed her other hand, and she was stretched between them for a moment before Stephen let go.

“I’ll be waiting. Keep her safe, Merritt, or I’ll hang you myself.”

Thomas didn’t reply. Instead he tucked her hand under his arm and turned away. “Are you ready?” he asked, and she swallowed. “Did you bring your pistol?”

She stumbled on the first step, and he put a hand on her waist to steady her, just as he had in her father’s ballroom. “I thought
you
might be armed,” she said.

“I? No. I find guns lead to trouble. Do you at least have a letter opener tucked into your garter, or a sharp hairpin?”

She glanced at him, saw the mirth in his dark eyes. He was doing it again, rescuing her from her emotions by being charming, trying to make her laugh, just the way he had at her betrothal ball. “I am told I have a sharp tongue,” she said.

He looked appreciative. “Dangerous indeed. Let’s hope you won’t need to use it.”

She took a deep breath as the door opened and they were admitted. She saw Thomas look around as the butler glided forward, his eyes pausing on each statue and painting. Was he considering stealing those too?

“Miss Lei—” she began, but he interrupted.

“Lady Julia Leighton and Viscount Merritton,” he said, and the servant led them into the brightly lit reception room and announced them.

“Julia!” Diana hurried across to kiss her on both cheeks before she slid an appraising glance over Thomas. “And who is this?” she asked archly.

“This is Viscount Merritton, an old friend from London. He arrived yesterday with some papers for Lord Castlereagh.” He bowed over Diana’s hand.

“I am most pleased you could join us,” Diana said. “A new attaché to the embassy. My uncle will want to hear about your journey. Did you stop in Paris?”

“Of course, my lady,” Thomas said.

“Then he will definitely want to hear any gossip you managed to overhear. He complains that official dispatches rarely contain the most interesting news from home.”

“Indeed, and often public opinion is the most important news of all, is it not?”

Diana laughed. “Oh, my uncle is going to like you very much!”

Julia saw no sign of the French ambassador. “He is finishing some letters and will join us soon,” Dorothea explained. “Come and meet our other guests.” She looked around the room. “Now where to begin? The three officers in the corner are discussing the strategy used at the battle of Jena. Dull to everyone but themselves. The ladies in the opposite corner are talking of Princess Bagration’s latest scandal of a gown, or her affair with the Tsar . . . Let’s see, there’s Count Razumovsky, the gentleman looking at the paintings. Do you like art, Viscount? He is quite a collector, and he was once the Russian ambassador to Vienna. Shall we start there?”

Julia felt her chest tighten. What on earth could Thomas Merritt have in common with Razumovsky? Yet within moments he was discussing the merits of Beethoven, Mozart, and Haydn, all of whom Razumovsky knew well, as if Thomas too had known them. He was charming and elegant. The gossiping ladies soon turned their attention on the handsome newcomer, casting coquettish glances at him and giggling together behind their fans.

She sipped champagne sparingly. They could do nothing at all until Talleyrand appeared. What if he was in his study, seated at the mahogany desk under the painted gazes of Pauline Borghese and Marie Louise? She felt a frisson of impatience, but Thomas laid a hand on her waist, lending her strength and patience as he steered her toward one of the magnificent landscapes in the room, following Razumovsky, who was comparing the work of French and English landscape painters. Thomas smiled down at her, and her heart leapt into her throat, and she had something else to occupy her nerves, the tingle that coursed through her veins.

“Ah, Lady Julia, how delightful that you could come this evening,” Talleyrand said, kissing her hand, his eyes bright on her face, and then taking in every detail of Thomas’s person as they were introduced. “I apologize for my lateness, but you are partly to blame, my dear. I just received a note from Lord Castlereagh, suggesting we meet.”

Julia swallowed. It was surely part of the ruse. Once Castlereagh held the stolen documents in his hand, he would cancel the appointment. Until then, he had no choice but to play Talleyrand’s game. She tried to look as if it wasn’t a surprise. He drew her aside to look at another painting, a portrait of the King of France as a young man at his brother’s court. “I must thank you for your invaluable assistance.”

She felt Thomas’s eyes on her, turned to see him watching her over the crystal lip of his champagne glass.

An hour later, as more guests arrived and the room became crowded, Thomas appeared at her side. “Everyone is watching you,” she murmured, feeling panic like sharp little teeth. “How can we possibly—”

He bent to whisper in her ear. “Laugh, Julia. Look into my eyes.”

His warm breath tickled, and he drew back and grinned at her, his eyes warm. She stared at him, felt her skin heat. “What are you doing?”

He stepped closer still, let his eyes fall on her mouth, and she felt hot color fill her cheeks.

“Flirt with me. No one will be surprised when we slip away to steal a kiss.”

She stared at him. She couldn’t seem to look away. “Have you lost your wits?” He was only looking at her, standing next to her, hadn’t even touched her but she was on fire with longing.

“Tell me what you remember most about that night.”

Stars.
In the champagne, in the sky, in his eyes, in her blood. “I can’t—” she managed.

He looked at the champagne in her hand. “You tasted of champagne when I kissed you,” he said. “I bet you’d taste of champagne now. Laugh, Julia.”

She was shaking, but she drew a breath and put on the performance of a lifetime, staring into his eyes, waving her fan coquettishly, fluttering her lashes. She reached out and touched his hand, and he drew a long breath that wasn’t entirely feigned. Her body buzzed with desire.

“Which hallway leads to the room he showed you?” Thomas murmured.

It was like a splash of cold water. “The door below the painting of the cavalier.”

He glanced over. “Ah, the one by David. Did you know it’s rumored that he is Talleyrand’s illegitimate son?”

“Really?” she asked as he led her toward it.

“Yes. Does that shock you?”

She managed to shake her head. How could she of all people be shocked by that?

“Many people have illegitimate children, but Talleyrand was once a Catholic bishop, before he became a diplomat.”

No wonder Talleyrand looked beyond her scandal!

They were under the painting now, by the open door. A long corridor led to Talleyrand’s private office. It was unlit tonight, a subtle warning to guests that it was off limits.

She felt Thomas’s hand on her elbow. “Come on.”

“Someone will notice we’re gone,” she said as they slipped down the hall.

“They will expect it. You’re an excellent actress. If Stephen Ives doesn’t propose tomorrow, you might consider a career on the stage, or perhaps hire yourself out as a Bow Street Runner, or even a professional assassin.”

“It may surprise you, Mr. Merritt, but I don’t actually enjoy harming people.”

He glanced at her. “Does that mean you’ll accept Ives’s proposal?”

She raised her chin. “Don’t be ridiculous. He would never make such an offer.”

He chuckled. “I thought women could read such sentiments in a man’s eyes,” he said. “Ives obviously has feelings for you. Will you say yes?”

“No,” she said. “I mean, I don’t wish to discuss it.” They reached the end of the tapestry. “We’re here.”
Thank heaven
.

She lifted the edge of the tapestry to reveal the door. He grinned. “Clever. But every inch of this hallway is covered with tapestries. Are you quite sure?”

She glanced at Joan of Arc’s woven face, gazing up at heaven. “Quite sure,” she said. He tried the latch, but the door was locked. “Can you open it?” she asked, glancing down the hall. She cursed the thick carpets. They would not hear someone coming. The rattle of the lock as he worked at it was loud in the thick silence.

“Hurry,” she murmured.

“Nervous, Lady Julia?” he asked. “And yet, you are without doubt the most daring woman I’ve ever met.” The latch opened with a click, and he glanced at her, obviously as surprised as she was. The dark room loomed beyond the threshold.

“I am not nearly as bold as you might think,” she whispered, hesitating.

“Nor am I. Let’s get this over with,” he said. “Our absence will assume scandalous proportions if we’re gone too long.” He stepped in and lit a candle.

The portraits regarded them with feminine surprise. Pauline Borghese stared at Thomas’s broad shoulders as he gazed around the room. Marie Antoinette smiled archly. Marie Louise appeared to be watching the desk in horror.

“There—” Julia crossed to the mahogany desk and tried the drawers. “It’s locked.”

He was looking at the paintings, but he came to her side. “Which drawer?”

“This one,” she said, aware of the closeness of his body, the warmth of his fingers as they brushed hers.

He began to pick the lock, his movements awkward, and Julia held her breath. “I used to take cigars out of a locked drawer in my father’s desk when I was a boy,” he explained. “He never suspected a thing.”

She glanced at the door. Surely they would be missed by now and someone would be sent to search for them. What was the punishment for espionage and theft? Would they hang her?