His Reluctant Mistress. Joanna MaitlandЧитать онлайн книгу.
knowing Leo’s ways with women, would suspect as much, the moment he learned that the two had been together. As it was, he had been roasting Leo about his unaccustomed celibacy ever since their arrival in Vienna. He had remarked on a couple of very pretty local girls, daughters of the bourgeoisie. ‘Their fathers are happy to sell their services, it seems. Provided, of course, that the buyer is a man of status.’
The thought of a man selling his own daughter made Leo’s stomach turn. He had known many women, in every sense of the word, but he would never be responsible for turning an innocent child on to the path of prostitution. If he was going to take a mistress, she would be from his own class, and a woman who was already well versed in the ways of dalliance. He was happy to wait until the right woman appeared. Or so he had thought.
Then he had seen Madame Pietre at that recital. All thoughts of pursuing any other woman in Vienna had vanished on the spot. His desire for the singer was all-consuming, in a way that Leo found totally new and more than a little disturbing. He was not used to losing control, not where women were concerned. With the Venetian Nightingale, he had no control left to lose.
He ought to hate her, to have been planning her undoing. She had embarrassed him deeply, after all. She had led him on, forcing him to name his price in the most sordid way. Then she had spurned his offer. With relish. And in favour of Verdicchio, one of the most self-seeking and untrustworthy men in the city.
Threading his way through the busy streets to his lodgings, Leo tried to fathom his own reactions to this extraordinary woman. What strange impulse had made him go to her aid? Why had he not simply stood on the sidelines watching her distress and enjoying the spectacle? He had a reputation for being fair and generous to women and to men, but not for being soft-hearted. Or weak.
He shook his head, confused. He had to admit he felt a strange magnetic attraction to Sophia Pietre. He had allowed that, plus some deeper instinct, to drive him to help her. Perhaps it had been the right course to take? It had certainly led them to some kind of understanding. And then that kiss… So chaste, yet so primitive. As if their naked bodies had touched along their entire length, in a lovers’ embrace. As if—
Good grief! He must be touched in his upper works to imagine such things. What he needed was a woman in his bed, a woman who was not the Venetian Nightingale!
Leo strolled into the tavern on the ground floor below their lodgings, knowing that Jack would probably have taken Ben there. Why go further afield when there was both food and wine to be had at the Gasthof Brunner?
His guess was right. Almost as soon as Leo entered, Ben jumped up from his seat in the corner, knocking over his chair as he hurried forward through the crowded room. He gave Leo a friendly slap on the shoulder, grasped his hand and shook it heartily. ‘Leo! I’m here at last. Good to see you.’
The young man’s good humour was just as infectious as Jack’s. They were a matched pair in temperament, if not in looks. In looks they could not have been more unlike. Jack was a younger image of their elder brother, Dominic, with dark hair, deep blue eyes and a lithe, athletic figure. Ben, by contrast, looked much more delicate. He had a shock of fair hair, light blue eyes and finely sculpted, almost feminine features. He was much the same height as Jack, but a lot slighter in build. And, being fair, he still had hardly any trace of beard, in spite of the four-and-twenty years in his dish. Leo smiled inwardly at that thought. Ben’s looks had been useful, many and many a time, for he was the only one among the Aikenhead Honours who could even begin to pass for a woman.
In the far corner, Jack had risen quietly and was setting the table and chairs to rights. He had long ago acquired the habit of tidying away his friend’s clumsiness.
Ben led Leo back to the table, which was covered with empty dishes. To Leo’s surprise, there was also a jug of the local beer. It was almost empty. ‘Beer?’ He looked enquiringly at his brother.
‘Ben was thirsty after his long journey. It seemed the obvious answer. Besides, it’s much better than the wine. Hadn’t you noticed how thin it is?’
Leo nodded slightly, but said nothing. It would not do for him to start insulting mine host’s wine. He did not want the tavern keeper to have any excuse to bar the Aikenheads from his hostelry. The nearest alternative was several streets away.
‘Won’t you join us, Leo?’ Ben lifted the jug, grimaced at the small amount remaining and waved it aloft, without giving Leo a moment to respond.
‘Aye, why not?’ he said, with a smile, pulling out a chair. They were right about the ale, which was generally excellent throughout Austria. The same could not be said for the wines in Vienna. They were so poor that Prince Metternich had set up a warehouse of imported wines to supply the foreign dignitaries.
A buxom maid set a huge jug of foaming golden ale in the middle of the table with a fresh glass for Leo. She cast him an extremely flirtatious glance from under her thick, blonde lashes, and bent forward to clear away the plates, ensuring as she did so that he had an opportunity to view the goods on offer. He deliberately kept his eyes on his companions. Tavern wenches had never been to his taste.
The girl had barely turned her back on their table when Ben’s excited voice broke into Leo’s musings. ‘What’s the news? Do we have a mission? Is there something for me to do this time?’
Leo couldn’t help but grin. Except when disguised as a woman, Ben had generally been the one who was made to stay behind to defend their hideout and their escape route. He had always longed to be truly in the thick of the action and intrigue. Perhaps now it was time he had his chance.
Leo raised an eyebrow at Jack, who shook his head. For some reason, Jack had not briefed Ben. Possibly because the two young men were instantly absorbed in exclaiming over the sights and pleasures of Vienna? Leo shrugged his shoulders. In Dominic’s absence, he was the leader of the Honours. This was a leader’s role.
In a confidential undertone, Leo swiftly explained how they attended as many events as possible in order to eavesdrop on the plots and plans of the countries represented here in Vienna. A number of local spies had been recruited, too, some of them servants in foreign embassies, others employed as watchers and followers. Finally, he ran through a list of the notables in the city, among the native Austrians and among the delegations from Russia, Prussia, and the lesser states.
‘You’ve left out one key player,’ Jack put in, eagerly. ‘The Venetian Nightingale, remember?’
Ben raised his eyebrows.
‘She’s an Italian opera singer, from Venice,’ Jack continued. ‘Ravishing voice. And an even more ravishing person.’ He put down his beer in order to shape an exaggerated hourglass in the air with both hands. ‘It seems the Russian Emperor is enamoured of her. We were hoping—At least, I was hoping that she could be persuaded to work for us. Pillow talk, you know?’
‘Keep your voice down, Jack! Remember who may be listening.’ Leo glanced warily over his shoulder. No one was within earshot.
‘Sorry, Leo.’ Jack, a little abashed, continued in a low tone, ‘I assumed that, after you sent me off, you were going to approach her. Did she agree?’
Leo swallowed hard, trying to control the mixture of anger and nausea that rose in his throat at the thought of Sophie Pietre sharing the Emperor’s bed. ‘What the hell did you think I was going to say to her?’ His voice was almost a snarl. ‘“Madame Pietre, I understand you are about to be bedded by Tsar Alexander. Might I persuade you to ask him a few political questions while he is distracted by your charms?” That the sort of thing you had in mind?’
‘Well, I—’
‘For heaven’s sake, Jack, will you never learn any finesse? If we are going to persuade her to work for us, we must first persuade her to make common cause with us. Why would she agree to work for our country, rather than her own?’
‘Money?’
‘You assume, I collect, that her services are for sale to the highest bidder?’
‘I—Well,