His Reluctant Mistress. Joanna MaitlandЧитать онлайн книгу.
especially. He seems to have more diamonds than an Indian nabob. It would do no harm at all, for our finances, if he strung a few more round your lovely neck.’
Sophie smiled to acknowledge his great wisdom, and waited.
‘Very well, my dear. You will not like it, I know, but the contract is signed. You are to sing before the crowned heads of Europe. At the Congress of Vienna.’
‘Vienna? No! Impossible! You know I cannot go there. Half the German aristocracy will be there. What if someone were to recognise me? I should be disgraced.’
‘You are a singer. So you are disgraced already. And no one will recognise you, in any case. As far as the world knows, you are Sophia Pietre, an Italian singer trained here in Venice, by a noted Venetian master.’ He smirked. ‘Why should anyone suspect otherwise? After all, you are a grown woman now.’
A grown woman, but in thrall to a monster since I was thirteen years old, Sophie thought. But she said only, ‘How then am I to account for my ability to speak German?’
‘You learned it here in Venice, in order to be able to sing the German arias of Signor Mozart, among others. And to converse in their native tongue with the German gentlemen who visit the opera. After all, you speak English almost as well as you speak German, and there are no English operas to perform.’
For once, he was absolutely right. She spoke four languages fluently: Italian, German, English and French. Her ability to speak German like a native probably would not betray the secret of her past. Probably.
But the thought of going to Vienna and meeting Emperors, Kings, and Princes, one of them the ruler of her own country, was more terrifying than the prospect of a whole life ruled by Verdicchio. For, if any of her countrymen should divine who she really was, even the most glorious voice in the world would not save her from ruin.
Chapter Two
Leo rose in his saddle and looked around him, savouring the warm late October sunshine and the glorious countryside around Vienna. It was very satisfying to have some solitude at last. The city was full to overflowing with incomers, many of whom were spending fortunes to impress the local populace and the visiting monarchs. Leo and Jack did not. They could not afford to live in anything like the style appropriate to their rank, for paying off Jack’s gambling debt had made money very tight. They had been forced to take cramped rooms above an inn, the Gasthof Brunner, a long way from the centre of the city.
There were picnics and dinners and balls and all sorts of extravagant entertainments every day, even on Sundays. Leo and Jack had had to divide their forces in order to attend as many as they possibly could, in hopes of picking up useful intelligence. In fairness, they had had some minor successes, and their contacts in the British delegation were pleased with the results so far. But Vienna society was a sore trial. So many petty aristocrats, some of them with their pockets even more to let than Leo’s, yet very quick to sneer at any man without a title.
As it happened, he and Jack did have titles. But they were also spies. So they had to be extremely careful not to be caught and expelled from the city. It had happened already to others. A suspected spy was simply summoned to the office of Baron Hager, the chief of police, to be informed that his passport was not quite in order. He was then invited to leave Vienna. Forthwith.
Very neat indeed. The Austrians were doing their very best to ensure that the Congress proceeded without embarrassment. Not that the Austrian Emperor Francis, or the other monarchs, were taking any obvious part in it. While their chief ministers met and plotted in deepest secrecy, the monarchs and their courtiers danced. Alexander, Tsar of all the Russias, was the most prominent of them all. The man seemed to need no sleep and to be able to dance all night, provided only that there were enough beautiful ladies to partner him. The Tsar was never seen to dance with an ugly woman, no matter how elevated her station.
Leo shifted in his saddle and stroked his gloved hand down his mount’s glossy neck. At least Jack had managed to locate a livery stable with excellent horses for hire. Leo’s bay gelding, Hector, was a very fine animal indeed, and Leo had soon established a rapport with him, using his few words of basic German.
‘I fancy I see an inn yonder, old fellow,’ Leo said thoughtfully. ‘A good gallop across this turf and we will both be able to rest and refresh ourselves.’ Hector’s ears twitched. He understood the tone of voice, if not the words. Leo stroked him again. ‘Good fellow. Nun,’ he said, touching his heel to the horse’s flank, ‘los!’
Hector responded by lengthening his stride into an effortless canter and then a gallop. Leo bent low over his neck, relishing the breath of the warm wind on his face and the power of the fine beast under him. ‘Sehr gut, Hector. Sehr gut.’ Responding, the horse laid his ears back and flew faster.
Hector was blowing hard by the time they reached the inn. It was a typical country Gasthof, with a steeply pitched roof against the winter snows, and flower-hung wooden balconies on the upper floors. The heavy door stood open into the yard where stable lads were bustling about, unhitching the horses from a fine carriage. It bore no crest, but its gleaming burgundy-purple paint-work, elegantly picked out with gold, suggested that its owner was a man of means.
Leo dismounted and passed Hector’s reins to the ostler. ‘Walk him until he cools and then see he has a good rub down. I shall be returning to the city in an hour or so.’ The ostler frowned in response. He did not move.
Leo swore inwardly. His German was not yet up to this. He explained again, in French. The ostler still looked bewildered.
‘Darf ich Ihnen behilflich sein?’ said a man’s voice from behind him. Then, switching to slightly accented French, ‘May I be of service to you, sir?’
Leo turned to find himself looking down at a much older man dressed in a coat of purple cloth over a purple velvet waistcoat embroidered with gold. Was this the owner of the carriage? Did he match his dress to the colours of his conveyance? He certainly looked extraordinary for, in addition to his splendid clothes, he had eyebrows as extravagant as a Prussian officer’s mustachios.
Leo hoped his smile did not betray his amusement at the thought. ‘Why, thank you, sir,’ he replied. ‘Most kind. I need to ensure the care of my horse.’
‘Pray allow me.’ The purple-clad gentleman translated Leo’s instructions to the nodding ostler. Hector was led away.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Leo bowed. ‘May I have the honour of knowing the name of my interpreter?’
The older man smiled up at Leo. ‘The Baron Ludwig von Beck,’ he said proudly, clicking his heels and bowing from the neck.
Leo returned the bow, in a rather more nonchalant, English fashion. ‘Lord Leo Aikenhead. Most grateful to you, Baron. My German is, sadly, not good. And I doubt that the man speaks English any more than French.’
‘Alas, no. He does not even speak German. Or not German that anyone from my country would recognise.’ He chuckled at his own wit.
‘You are not an Austrian then, Baron von Beck?’
‘No, indeed.’ There was more than a touch of hauteur in his voice. ‘I am a Prussian.’
‘I see. You are attending his Prussian Majesty at the Congress?’
‘No. I am simply returning from Italy. I have been there for some months, seeing the antiquities and buying art for my collection. And you, Lord Leo?’
Leo’s story had been very well rehearsed since his arrival in Vienna. ‘My brother and I have taken the opportunity of Bonaparte’s defeat to travel in Europe,’ he said smoothly. ‘We were planning to go to Italy, but all the world is in Vienna for the moment. Decided to indulge our curiosity and join them. For a few weeks, at least. Promises to be quite amusing, do you not think?’ Leo’s lazy drawl made it sound as if the brothers were a pair of rich wastrels with nothing to do but follow their latest