Deadly Peril (32 page)

“This little boy is the Prince Viktor who has declared war against the new Margrave and himself the rightful successor to his father, Margrave Leopold?”

“The very one.”

Selina was up off the camp bed in a swish of her quilted petticoats. No longer able to sit still and in need of stretching her legs she paced the small space between Alec’s campaign chair and the barge’s low window, before finally coming to stand before him.

“Have you thought that if not for your affair with his mother, this civil war may never have happened? That you are the catalyst for why Viktor is at war with his brother? He wants to regain his birthright, and the only way to do so is to wrest it from Ernst! Oh, Alec!”

She did not add “how could you?” but she might as well have, such was the expression writ large on her beautiful face. Her reaction did not come as a surprise. He knew Selina, like himself, had a deep-seated sense of justice. So of course she would champion Viktor, the innocent party in this sordid tale. Naturally she would also identify with the little boy, betrayed by his mother and by him, his mother’s lover, both of whom did not think through the consequences of their actions, and also by his own father, who punished him to punish his mother’s infidelity.

Alec caught at her fingers and kissed the back of her hand, before looking up at her and saying resignedly, “The whole episode was certainly a low point in my life. Second only to being rejected as a suitable husband by your parents, and seeing you married off to Jamison-Lewis. And as you now know the sordid details of my brutalization at Castle Herzfeld, you can understand why I couldn’t care less about being discovered and disgraced. Men can recover from such tawdry scandals; some revel in the notoriety such an affair brings them. I did. For all of about five minutes. And then I realized what it meant for the Countess and her son. Regardless that she was a willing participant in our affair and knew the risks, she did not deserve such a public humiliation. And Viktor did not deserve to be punished for the sins of his mother. That I was the catalyst for this catastrophe was almost my undoing. And I was resigned to the punishment I received.”

“What happened to you?” she asked gently, caressing his square jaw with the back of her hand. “What did they do to punish you, my love?”

He drew her to sit on his lap, hands about her waist, and she put her arm about his shoulder and snuggled in.

“I returned to Castle Herzfeld, this time not as a guest, but as Ernst’s prisoner. To rot in the dungeons forever, as far as he was concerned. You see, the Court Chamberlain did not tell him the identity of the Countess Rosine’s lover. He withheld that information deliberately, so that when Ernst came upon the Countess in the gardens, the shock of discovering the identity of her lover would be acute. And it was. I was already the object of an unhealthy obsession for Ernst and his sister, so to discover me fornicating with the one woman they hated above all others, was the ultimate betrayal. They were demented with rage and determined to punish me, and badly.”

“But again you managed to escape, not only the dungeon this time, but Midanich. How?”

A rap on the wood paneling on the other side of the curtain, left Selina’s question unanswered, though she was one breath away from telling the intruder to go away. At the very least she wanted to ignore them, such was her need to hear the rest of Alec’s confession. But when the rap came again, and more insistent than before, her manners dictated otherwise, and she reluctantly got up off Alec’s lap. She brushed down the fall of her petticoats as Alec slipped the intaglio ring back on his finger and called for the visitor to enter.

Colonel Müller stepped into the private space and bowed and apologized for the intrusion.

“What is it, Colonel?” Alec asked in French, so that Selina would understand the run of conversation. “Has Madame Jamison-Lewis managed to keep me in conversation long enough that time it has sped by and we have arrived at Aurich?”

“No, M’sieur Baron. Unfortunately, there are many hours to the journey yet. I have come to inform you that we have left the protection of the city walls and are now out in open country. We must be ever vigilant. I have advised the passengers of this barge, and the next, to remain within the cabin at all times, unless absolutely necessary. One cannot be too careful, with rebels military and civilian reportedly seen in this vicinity just last week. But do not concern yourself, Madame,” he added with a short bow to Selina. “My men will guard these trekschuiten and your lives with their own.”

“I believe you, Colonel,” Alec stated with a smile. “Thank you. Now if you will both excuse me, I do believe I need to lie down before I fall, and have a few hours’ rest. We shall talk again very soon, Mrs. Jamison-Lewis.”

The Colonel bowed, and as he held the curtain up for Selina to pass out of the Herr Baron’s private room before him, Selina had no choice but to curtsey and take her leave. It was only when she was on the other side of the curtain with the other passengers that she realized for all the revelatory nature of their conversation, he had not told her the one thing everyone, from his valet to his uncle, wanted to know: How he had become the Herr Baron of Aurich. Given what she now knew, she was more baffled than ever.

S
EVENTEEN

A
LEC
SLEPT
, deeply and untroubled, for many hours. He was exhausted, the peacefulness of his sleep aided by having purged his soul to Selina, and by the gentle rocking motion of the barge as it was pulled slowly along the canal. And when he did dream, he dreamt of Cosmo and happier times.

A
ND
WHILE
A
LEC
dreamt of Cosmo, his best friend was dreaming of him. But his dreams were the stuff of nightmares. He woke with a start and sat up in bed, bathed in sweat, hands covering his face, fingers plying at his skin, frantically trying to remove the scold’s bridle that was clamped over his head. And while he struggled with the iron cage, his tongue, thick and heavy and dry, could not move, so he could not cry out for help. The more he panicked the tighter the bridle became until he was gasping for breath, fingers slippery and cold, head hot, the bridle bit protruding into his mouth pressing down so hard on his tongue that he gagged. But as hard as he tried to find the latch, as much as his fingers clawed at the metal cage, he could not remove the torture device Alec had forced him to wear.

It took him a full minute before he realized it was his own hands covering his face and mouth, and not an iron muzzle designed as a public humiliation for women who scolded their husbands. And Alec was not there, had never been there in his little room, and with every day that passed now, since attending the Margrave’s dinner, he very much doubted he would ever see his friend alive again.

Knowing he was not wearing a scold’s bridle brought a huge relief, but with this also came tears of frustration and fear. Not for himself, but for Emily and her companion Mrs. Carlisle. He lay back down amongst the tangle of sheets and hugged his pillow, filled with relief and recalling into his mind’s eye the Margrave’s dinner. That had happened three days ago and was the first time he had been outside his room in a month.

The dinner was in the castle’s oak-paneled banqueting hall, with its gilded beamed ceiling, gigantic central stone fireplace where lolled five faithful wolfhounds, and walls lined with all manner of medieval weaponry and portraits of past margraves in their military finery. Higher up, above the small gallery where a string quartet played out of sight, were the preserved heads of exotic beasts—elephants, bears, lions, antelope, rhinoceros, zebra, deer, wild boar—trophies of hunting parties, here in Midanich, and further afield in far-flung outposts of the Holy Roman Empire. The Margrave, his military commanders, closest male companions, and courtiers, sat at three long tables that lined all but one of the walls. Wives, daughters, and mistresses were not permitted at such dinners; all the servants, too, were male.

They ate off gold plate and drank from crystal goblets, as if it were a summer’s day and food was plentiful. Not, as the Court Chamberlain, seated farthest from his master, had counseled, in moderation for a long winter, and with a mind to the fact that the Castle was under siege.

Behind the tall-backed heavy chairs of the diners, the armed soldiers of the Margrave’s personal guard stood to attention. Their leader, Captain Westover, had pride of place behind the Margrave’s throne-like chair, with an ever-vigilant eye on those present, and not, like everyone else, on a scatter of carpets in the large void central to the room, where a troupe of travelling circus performers were entertaining. Illustrious host and diners were finding diversion in their antics, but were also bored by them, as the troupe had performed three nights in a row, and their routines were becoming as stale as yesterday’s bread.

Into this clamor and bright candlelight, wrists bound in front of him, Sir Cosmo was escorted. Unused to the loud conversation, laughter, shouts from the entertainers as they tumbled about, and the applause from their audience, Cosmo shut his eyes tight and did his best to fight the panic welling up within him. It had been such a long time since he had been amongst such a din that he wondered how he had ever survived the busy streets of Westminster and Paris. When he was taken by the elbow and marched to the center of the room he kept his head lowered, not because he had been ordered to do so, but because he was close to fainting.

The circus troupe scattered out of the way to allow for this newest and most intriguing form of entertainment. It was the sudden quiet and hushed conversation that had Sir Cosmo lifting his chin and blinking into the light. And when his surroundings came into focus he found himself standing only feet from the central table and its central figure, seated on a high-back chair and dressed in a dazzling frock coat of gold and silver thread. But it was not so much the magnificence of his attire which astonished Sir Cosmo, but the gentleman himself. He rightly presumed this to be the Margrave Ernst who had visited him in his room but whom he had not been permitted to look in the eye, and so had admired his thigh-high polished boots. From what his valet had confided about the Margrave’s inability to grow hair, and thus suffered from
the unspoken truth
, he was prepared to find him strange, perhaps hideous to look upon. Nothing was further from the truth.

The Margrave Ernst’s looks were in marked contrast to the fleshy, bushy-browed and heavy-jowled men sitting about him. He was fine-featured, with high cheekbones and a broad forehead. His eyebrows were pencil-thin. His large blue eyes were framed by blackened eyelashes and his rosebud mouth still carried the remnants of red lip paint. And if this were not enough to set him apart from his fellows, he was possessed of a peaches-and-cream complexion, lightly dusted with powder, which reminded Cosmo of his cousin Selina. And framing this beautiful face, for it was more beautiful than it was handsome, was a full wig of blond ringlets that fell to his shoulders and was threaded with silk ribbons and decorated with diamond clasps.

As if to convince himself here was a man and not a female parading about as a man, Cosmo glanced at the Margrave’s hands, for surely this would give away his sex if nothing else visible could. If he possessed the prominent Adam’s apple of a man, this was not on show, covered as it always was by the fine linen and lace of a cravat. But the hands of men were generally larger, the fingernails flatter, and the palms squarer than those possessed by a female. But again Cosmo was surprised, and confused. Ernst’s hands were long, the fingers tapered and elegant, and as they were covered in jewels and the soft lace ruffles that fell from his wrists, it was difficult to decide on the sex of such smooth white hands.

Sir Cosmo dared to stare openly at the Margrave, and Ernst stared back, as did all the men sitting around the three tables. It did not take Cosmo many minutes to realize that he was now providing the diners with their evening diversion. He was being appraised as if he were the latest zoological exhibition at the Tower Zoo, and all because of his beard and long hair. And when two of the courtiers sought permission to approach the prisoner, Margrave Ernst waved a languid hand in consent. A smile curved his lovely mouth, and his blue eyes never left Cosmo’s gaze for a moment.

Sir Cosmo forced himself not to flinch when the two courtiers dared to gingerly touch his beard, rubbing the short hair between thumb and forefinger and confirming to the assembled company when they returned to their seats that the prisoner’s beard was indeed as coarse as a man’s chest hair.

Cosmo did not understand the German tongue but whatever was said started up some heated discussion amongst the assembled company, though at no time did the Margrave add his voice. He took up his goblet and sipped, but his eyes remained on the prisoner. What could Cosmo do but remain silent and compliant? He had long given up the notion he would ever receive the consideration and standing a gentleman of his own country should be accorded, and would only ever be just another prisoner of war, and treated accordingly in this God-forsaken principality

So when the Margrave ordered the silk-covered rope to be removed from his wrists, and the prisoner be given a chair to sit upon across the table from him, it was only natural Sir Cosmo was wary. He hesitated to sit where directed until grabbed by the upper arm and pushed onto the chair by a soldier who then took up a position at his back. A plate was put in front of him and an empty goblet found and filled with wine. Servants were directed to bring across the platters of food, but when they were offered, Sir Cosmo waved them aside. The smell of such rich sauces and the look of large cuts of broiled meats churned his stomach. His usual prison diet was broth and bread, cheese, pickled herring with cabbage mash, and a sliver of meat once a week. So he was certain any other foodstuffs would not suit his delicate stomach and would make him instantly ill. But he did drink from the goblet, and the wine, his first in months, was liquid delight to his palate.