Portrait of Seduction @page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } Portrait of Seduction By Carrie Lofty Salzburg, 1805 Greta Zwieg forges masterpieces. With her copies on their walls and the original paintings safely hidden, the noble families of Austria can rest assured their treasures will survive Napoleon’s advances. But now Greta’s uncle is changing the rules, selling her counterfeits as originals. Greta abhors the deceit. Anxious for her family’s safety in a perilous time, she is nevertheless determined to put things right. Oliver Doerger is living a lie of his own. Acting as valet for his aristocratic half brother, Oliver thwarts an attempt on Greta’s life and is overwhelmed by the forbidden passion that flares between them. Although he’s not truly a servant, he is a bastard and a spy�"certainly no match for a woman of such exquisite quality. Though both fear discovery, they cannot resist each other. When the truth comes out, and the city falls into chaos, Greta and Oliver will be forced to choose: love or duty? 91,000 words May 2011 Dear Reader, I’ve always loved May, because it heralds the beginning of one of my favorite seasons�"beach season! I’m fortunate to live close to the Atlantic Ocean, so every year in May, I start dreaming about the sound of waves on the sand, dolphins swimming off the coast, and me, lying in a comfortable beach chair, with a frosty beverage in one hand and my eReader in the other. Part of the fun is, of course, planning what I’m going to load onto the eReader for my beach adventures. This month of Carina Press releases has provided me with plenty of reading material for my upcoming beach days�"not that I’ll be able to wait that long to read them (I do get sneak peek copies in advance, after all). So, with everything from fantasy, to mystery, to contemporary, historical and paranormal romance, it doesn’t matter what I’m in the mood for, Carina Press has something to help me while away the time until I can make my beach dreams a reality. I’m especially happy to introduce new novelists Maureen Miller, and her romantic suspense, Endless Night, and Diane Dooley with Blue Galaxy, a science fiction romance that’s out of this world (sorry, I couldn’t resist going for the corny joke). Of course, we also have several return authors as well, with sequels you want to be sure not to miss, including Tangled Past by Leah Braemel, South of Salem from Janni Nell, Portrait of Seduction by Carrie Lofty, Maria Zannini’s Apocalypse Rising and Three Wishes from Jenny Schwartz. These books are only a sampling of the tremendous lineup we have for May, so I hope you’ll be sure to take a look at all of the releases, as well as taking advantage of the weekly sales offered on the Carina Press website. And whatever you choose to read, may it help take you one step closer to your own summer getaway! We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to [e-mail]. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page. Happy reading! ~Angela James Executive Editor, Carina Press www.carinapress.com www.twitter.com/carinapress www.facebook.com/carinapress Dedication Eeny, meeny, miny�ŚKeven. Acknowledgements I’d like to express my heartfelt appreciation to Ann Aguirre and Cathleen DeLong, who offered me the appropriate mix of praise, bullying and encouragement as I completed this novel. I also owe my sanity to the likes of the Word Divas and the Broken Writers. Thank you for being the best support network a gal could want. Many, many grateful thanks to my editor, Deb Nemeth, for once again making my work shine. Contents Copyright Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Epilogue About the Author Chapter One Leinz Manor, Outside of Salzburg July, 1805 Little more than an hour remained for Greta to dress for an opera premiere she did not want to attend. She hastened down the long corridor that connected the east and west wings of Leinz Manor. Even without slowing she could pick out the flaws in the paintings that adorned the walls. A shade of violet containing too much blue. A brush stroke too thick with paint. A horizon line three inches too low. For Greta, it was a hall of near misses. Had she been allowed to put the evening’s remaining hours to their best use, she would be painting. The Leinz collection contained two more originals she had yet to copy, with orders waiting from three other noble families. Accompanying Uncle Thaddeus and her cousins to the opera did not play to her talents. As always, however, her guardian got what he wanted. He was intent on displaying his daughters, Theresa and Anna, with Greta as their chaperone. He believed a little time spent in good company would do wonders for his girls�"especially if that company meant Ferdinand, Grand Duke of Salzburg. At the sound of hammering, where each staccato strike echoed down the corridor, Greta frowned. She turned a corner and found two workmen pounding nails into a slim crate designed for shipping works of art. �śPardon me,” she said. �śWhat are you doing?” The men paused in their duties and bowed. One removed a nail from between his teeth. �śAt His Lordship’s command, we’re boxing this painting.” The ivory-flocked wallpaper was brighter in the rectangle of space where her copy of Titian’s Ars Moriendi once hung. Greta had thought the copy suitably convincing, but perhaps not. No matter her long nights of frustrated work, she had never been able to match Titian’s ethereal blues. In the end she had taken her uncle’s advice�"good enough will do. Had he changed his mind? Had he decided to return the original to its rightful spot? She had never known him to be so finicky. But she stopped herself from asking. No one but her uncle’s trusted attendant, Herschel, knew of the forgeries. The originals had all been padded and packed into a windowless room in the manor’s east wing. Every other servant believed that Greta was merely cleaning the masterpieces, one by one. �śI don’t understand,” she said. �śWhy?” �śIt’s to be shipped to a buyer in Vienna.” �śA buyer?” She quickly hid her frown. These men would not find such an arrangement amiss. �śWould you open the crate for me?” The men traded curdled expressions. Her younger cousin Anna, barely fifteen, claimed that Greta could be charming and sweet if she tried. Finding the proper motivation to make the effort, however, often proved elusive. This was motivation enough. Just what was Uncle Thaddeus intending? She found her prettiest, most convincing smile and dusted it off for the men. �śI know my request makes more work for you, but I love this painting so dearly. I should like to see it one last time.” She ducked her gaze, then brought it back to each worker individually. Her eyelashes might have fluttered but she would never admit it. �śBitte.” Neither servant moved. Greta’s unheeded request lingered in the still air of the corridor. If only she had bothered to learn their names! A personal appeal might be beyond refusing. The man who had yet to speak was the first to move. He grabbed a long metal wedge and pried open the lid. His partner shrugged, joining him to lift the heavy wooden slats. When the crate lay open, she knelt along the gleaming white marble and found where she had painted her initials into the texture of the bare tree trunk. Her secret stamp of ownership. �śAnd you’re certain this painting�"this very one�"has been purchased?” The hitherto silent man spoke. �śHis Lordship pointed to it himself, Fr�ńulein Zweig.” Greta nodded. Now that she had confirmed the truth, she stifled the urge to find her uncle and force an explanation. She stayed, if only to make it appear worth the trouble of having opened the crate. The colors�Śshe could hardly bear looking at it. Too shrill. No subtlety. As always. Disgusted with the shoddy result of so much effort, Greta rose and thanked the men. Then she hurried to her uncle’s study. Upon being granted permission to enter, she closed the door and faced a nobleman no less intimidating for his short stature�"or for being her uncle. �śMy lord, you’re selling my copy of the Titian?” Thaddeus, the Pfalzgraf of Leinz, raised a neatly groomed gray eyebrow. He set his quill aside and folded his fingers on the desk. �śShouldn’t you be dressed for the opera?” �śYes, I should be.” Greta’s toe tapped compulsively. Her nerves were absorbed by the heavy woven silk rug. �śBut this�ŚI deserve an explanation.” �śNiece, I hardly think that my business affairs are of your concern.” �śThat painting is mine!” Her uncle blinked. Greta’s stomach turned over. Entirely bald, his features pronounced and his demeanor graceful, Thaddeus stood from his desk. He had never harmed her�"not directly�"but she always found him menacing. His personality dominated any room. There in the cramped study, its shelves lined with countless books and the air thick with mold, ink and leather, he might as well have been a giant. �śI believe you were fairly compensated.” Only the way his eyes pinched at the corners revealed his gathering temper. Greta tensed her hands against her abdomen. �śOf course I was.” She had never dared to press him this far, not on any issue�"more satisfied with rebelling in quiet ways. The stress of it made her fingers tremble and her throat burn. �śYou’ve been more than generous in extending your household to me. But I should simply like to know what will become of it.” �śI believe it will hang on the walls of Rothenberg Manor outside of Vienna. But truly, they could use it to light a bonfire and I wouldn’t protest. They’ve paid us handsomely for it, Margaret.” She cringed at his use of her formal name. He was the only one who ever used it. �śAnd they know it’s a copy, yes?” Thaddeus smiled tightly, nothing more than a fold of skin pulling up toward his left cheek. �śLet’s just say that their using it as kindling is exceptionally unlikely.” �śThey believe it an original? That was never part of our agreement.” �śWhat I do with the copies you produce is not your concern.” �śBut that’s fraud!” He walked to within arm’s length. �śI did not hear you say that, Margaret. You will not even think it. Am I understood?” Whatever flash of bravery she had mustered fled like a mouse from a hungry cat. �śYes, my lord.” �śI’ve made you a promise, which I plan to fulfill. By the end of the year you will be married to a man befitting your station as my niece�"no matter my sister’s folly in bringing you into this world.” He tipped her head, examining her with the thoroughness she applied to her paintings, and with as little delight. �śUntil that time you will do as you’re instructed.” �śYes, my lord.” His pinched mockery of a smile deepened. �śGood girl. Now you have�"” he checked the pocket watch at his waist fob, �ś�"less than thirty minutes before our coach will depart for Salzburg. I do hope your maid can make you presentable on such short notice. Go.” Greta bobbed a curtsy and fled. Almost blindly, her knees like mist, she sped through the manor toward her rooms. He was selling her copies as originals. Why? Had financial matters become so strained as to require deception? Fear clawed up from her belly. But whatever his reasons, he had renewed his promise�"she would be married before the end of the year. No longer would she need to paint forgeries to earn her keep. With the right man as her husband, she could concentrate on her own artistic visions. As she rang for her maid, she clung to that promise. Maybe this year he would keep it. Oliver Doerger had attended more than a dozen operas in his twenty-six years, but he had never sat in the audience to soak up the spectacle. Yawning, he glanced around the cramped anteroom. Opera was not to be seen, it was to be heard in all its muffled glory. Or such was the case for Oliver and the thirteen valets who kept him company. That he was not, in fact, a valet held little importance. The pretense had to be maintained. On that night, as an unseen soprano’s voice wavered high above the servants’ hushed conversations, Oliver was not charged with collecting secrets or scouting political interests. His task was much more serious. Hearty applause, dulled by the thick walls that separated the anteroom from the concert hall, marked the end of the first half. The valets scrambled up from their bench seats and eliminated all traces of merriment or fatigue. Shoulders braced and spines straightened. Clothes were hastily smoothed. Men who had just been enjoying an hour’s relaxation�"napping, swapping gossip, sharing snuff and nips of whiskey from concealed flasks�"transformed back into servants. Oliver watched with detached appreciation even as he executed the same subtle adjustments to his clothing and demeanor, tugging on the wig he detested. They filed silently out of the anteroom and waited in the heart of Grand Duke Ferdinand’s palatial Residenz. On the other side of the wide corridor, ladies’ maids emerged from another discreet door. Oliver wondered if the atmosphere in the maids’ anteroom was equally lax during their hours of waiting. Most likely. One green girl had yet to erase a smile from her fresh, pretty face. The woman next to her elbowed her in the ribs, banishing whatever personality the girl had inadvertently displayed. Over four years Oliver had seen this transformation repeated too many times to count. He was probably alone in that he was always impressed. Bathed in the subdued chatter of cultured voices, the opera’s esteemed audience emerged from Carabinierisaal�"the palace’s largest hall. Men wore impeccable suits and women mingled in exquisite evening gowns. Oliver smoothly traversed the crowd before falling into step behind Lord Christoph Venner and his wife, Ingrid. Like any good valet, he endeavored to remain invisible until called for. �śMeine Liebe,” Christoph said to his wife, �śthere’s Lady Mayr.” Ingrid glanced over her shoulder and smiled. �śIf you require a private word with Oliver, you have only to say so.” Christoph, as tall as a man could be without appearing peculiar, was not built for levity. The trait simply had not been included in his anatomical composition, which made the smile he reserved for Ingrid all the more intimate. �śI would like a private word with Oliver.” Her husband’s opposite in every aspect of temperament, Ingrid beamed. �śOh, Venner, look. There’s Lady Mayr. I would be remiss if I didn’t pay my respects.” Christoph bowed over her gloved hand and kissed it. �śEnjoy yourself, meine Liebe.” After Ingrid had slipped into the crowd of perfume, silk and gossip, Christoph led Oliver to a secluded corner of the wide, echoing hall. �śAny sign?” �śNone,” Oliver said. �śIf anyone intends to act on those threats against Duke Ferdinand, I haven’t caught word of it.” �śGood.” In a rare show of temper, Christoph muttered a clipped string of curses. �śWhy Ingrid insisted on coming out tonight, I’ll never know.” �śOf course you do. She’s bored and stifled.” Oliver would describe his half brother’s features as hawkish, except when emotion filled his deeply set eyes and dragged him back toward Homo sapiens. Right now that emotion was panic. �śI can’t help wanting to protect her,” Christoph said. �śAnd the baby.” Nodding his sympathies, Oliver allowed his gaze to drift over the mingling guests�"out of habit, but also out of respect. Ingrid’s two miscarriages weighed heavily on Christoph. Now six months pregnant, further along than she had ever achieved, Ingrid became happier with each passing day. The esteemed Lord Venner, a man used to bending the world to his authority, grew ever more anxious. Not to mention the issue of Napoleon. The British and the Austrians had only just entered into a fresh coalition against the self-styled French emperor, which meant Salzburg would inevitably feel the pinch of those warring powers. Soon. The timing of potential hostilities and Ingrid’s final few months with child could not have been more menacing. �śI cannot abide being here when she should be resting,” Christoph continued. �śAnd with the potential of violence against the duke, no less.” He accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and sipped. Oliver wanted a drink, too, but he would have to wait until the second act. The necessity of maintaining his guise as Christoph’s valet meant behaving as such in every respect. There was no better way to glean secrets than to be invisible�"secrets that could impact the future of the Venner family and the whole of Salzburg. �śNext time you could bring the entertainment to her,” Oliver said, �śbut you’d have to let her plan a party.” �śPart with sanity or money. You know I dislike such choices.” �śI cannot shelter you from the truth, no matter how distressing.” Christoph lifted one wickedly arched brow. �śAnd here I thought I paid you well enough.” �śNot that well.” They had only been on speaking terms for a little over four years, but now Oliver could hardly imagine life without the brother he respected above all other men of his acquaintance. He had no one else, not after years in the Prussian army. Not after his wayward youth. That no one actually knew they were brothers was of little importance, not when he enjoyed the security and purpose inherent in his position. A young woman in Ingrid’s circle caught Oliver’s attention�"caught it and held it. Her well-proportioned figure was wrapped in a comely silk gown of deep shimmering blue. The high waist held her full breasts up to be admired. White lace trim fell toward the floor along a series of pleats that made the most of her diminutive height. But no matter how decadent her body, her face was even more arresting. Oliver had believed such melancholy banned in good society. Christoph cleared his throat. �śDo you recognize her?” Shaking his head, Oliver was unable to speak. Why did she appear so sad? �śShe’s the Pfalzgraf of Leinz’s niece. Those are his daughters there with her.” Christoph finished his champagne and, with no waiter nearby, handed the empty glass to Oliver. �śI was at Leinz Manor last month to solicit funds for the city defenses. Leinz introduced me to all three, who were in the midst of planning a mid-August ball. He seemed rather too eager to get them off his hands.” That prodded Oliver from his reverie. �śAren’t most fathers these days?” Napoleon had declared himself Emperor of France only seven months earlier. Few leaders and even fewer ordinary citizens doubted that his armies would soon resume their bloody plunder of the Continent. Women were entering the marriage market at younger and younger ages, and with even more urgency. �śMargaret Zweig is her name, but she’s called Greta.” �śShe’s divine,” Oliver said. �śIndeed.” At his brother’s subtle humor, Oliver tightened his fingers around the stem of the champagne coupe. He could no more approach a woman like Greta Zweig than he could ride a hobbyhorse to the South Pole. Which would be his more repulsive attribute�"that he was a bastard or a spy posing as a lowly valet? Neither would recommend him to a lady of quality. Oliver indulged in one last look at the delicious young woman. Piles of blond hair sat on her head like a supple crown. Pale skin smoothed over plump cheeks and an elegant throat, down to where shadows formed in the deep hollow of her cleavage. He licked his lower lip. And yet he was still drawn to her eyes, to her strangely detached expression. He inhaled sharply and let the breath out in a huff. Enough of this. Soon the intermission would end. Soon he would be back among the loose-limbed servants and their gossip. He had his duties: to protect the only family he had left and to investigate rumors that had crept through the city’s guts for weeks. He and his brother had worked tirelessly to position Christoph as one of Duke Ferdinand’s primary political confidants. The duke’s future would determine that of their family. To lose their new leader to assassination would be the foul end to two years of subtle labor. Beyond that, all of Salzburg was already jumping at Napoleon’s shadow. Another assassination attempt against the duke could completely topple public confidence. �śEnjoy the rest of your opera,” Oliver said, smiling as he issued an efficient bow. Christoph rolled his eyes to the ceiling, as if beseeching patience from the highest possible authority. His lack of appreciation for the arts was legendary in a city that defined itself by a zealous commitment to music. �śI endeavor merely to stay awake.” A flicker of movement in the shadows bristled the hairs on Oliver’s neck. He handed back the champagne coupe. Christoph frowned. �śWhat is it?” �śGo. Stay close to Ingrid.” Oliver edged along the outer wall of the hall. The figure had ducked into an alcove, one that faced where Duke Ferdinand stood in a loose knot of attendants. Enjoying the burst of aggression in his veins�"such a welcome change to restraint, manners and one particular sad-eyed woman�"Oliver closed in on the alcove. At the mental count of three he ducked inside and lodged his forearm against a stranger’s windpipe. The man gurgled. His face purpled, almost obscuring his unexpectedly familiar features. Oliver’s heart thudded twice. His stomach tied into a hard knot as old, old memories assailed him like a hard wind. �śKarl?” He released the pressure only slightly. �śMy God, Karl, is that you?” �śYou should see your face, Oliver,” the man choked out. �śYou look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Chapter Two Oliver staggered back and smoothed a shaky hand over his mouth. A flashing line of memories stretched out before him. Karl, stuck on the highest limb of a decrepit old crabapple tree. Or polishing the brass buttons of his army uniform, never in his life so dignified or dashing. Or ragged, thin and unaccountably chipper during that hellish winter campaign. He had smiled as he said goodbye. �śSave me a few sausages and a piece of torte” had been his parting words, knowing full well that supper would again consist of melted snow and soggy, mealy biscuits. �śKarl,” he breathed. �śYou’re not dead.” Karl smiled, that same broad and guileless expression of his youth�"although a few wrinkles around the eyes showed his age. �śNot dead in the least, mein Freund.” The joints of Oliver’s shoulders and hips still carried the excited flush of having cornered his suspicious target. Hot, rubbery aggression drained away, replaced by joy. His best friend. Alive! Oliver wanted to embrace him and give him a few hearty smacks on the back, but they were in the middle of Carabinierisaal. �śYou certainly caught me out,” he said with a slight bow. �śA thousand years and I never would’ve thought to see you here.” �śI always did enjoy when I managed to surprise you�"rare day when it happened.” Karl stepped away from the wall and rubbed his throat. �śAlthough I did pay for it.” �śSorry about that.” Oliver smoothed his hand along the back of his neck. Napoleon in the flesh would have been less of a surprise. He wanted to forego his disguise and flag down the nearest waiter. Although champagne might have been a cooling relief, he was in the mood for a snifter of brandy. But why had he assumed the worst of his old friend? For years Oliver had been blessed with an uncanny ability to detect lies. The flicker of an eyelid out of time with its twin. The subtle twitch of a lip. The flutter of a hand along a throat drawn taut with tension. All read to him like words across a page. He had seen something untoward in Karl. But what? His clothes were neat and well tailored�"impeccable, really, if a bit dandyish. His hair was combed straight back and secured with a ribbon. Always long-limbed and trim, he was a collection of sharp angles like broken twigs. His thinness aside, he seemed entirely recovered from the heinous conditions of that long-ago winter camp. Recovered�Śand flush with funds. �śYou’ve done well for yourself,” Oliver said, still unaccountably tense. �śI’ve never seen you looking so smart.” Karl straightened the knot in his green silk cravat. �śI was meant to wear clothes such as these. Only took me a few years to deduce how to acquire them.” �śI wouldn’t have cared had you worn sackcloth and ashes. It’s good to see you, Karl.” �śAbout that�ŚI wish you wouldn’t call me Karl any longer.” �śNo?” The smile was gone now. Karl’s lips tightened but still his eyes darted and bulged ever so subtly. He appeared guilty. For assessing his friend in such a cold way, Oliver felt as disgusting as a speck of gristle on a mustache. But professional habits would not be quelled. Neither would his gut reaction. �śBecause,” Karl whispered, �śI’m known here as Baron Mathias Hoffer.” �śBaron?” The word echoed off the ceiling frescoes. Oliver glanced around, conscious once again of their very public locale. From across the crowded room�"only the collective noise of which obscured Oliver’s gaffe�"he caught Christoph’s stern half frown, the one he wore when disappointment was imminent. Oliver inconspicuously grabbed Karl’s arm and edged him back into the alcove. �śA baron? Are you mad? You’re the son of a weaver and a blacksmith.” A curiously blank expression erased all traces of the friend he had known. �śAnd you’re the son of a reprobate Vizegraf and a scullery maid.” Karl flicked the topmost brass button of Oliver’s livery. �śYet you’ve done well for yourself, too.” �śI’m a valet. I’ve done nothing so grand as to assume a title of nobility. How do you expect to accomplish such a scheme?” �śAt this moment, by convincing you to keep your mouth shut.” �śSo you can perpetuate such a deceit?” �śI’m not asking you to introduce me to anyone of good standing, although I wouldn’t refuse the courtesy. Just let me see this through.” Older, uglier memories resurfaced. Karl Schulz had never shied from even criminal behavior. For that matter, neither had Oliver. Lying. Theft. Violence. There had been a time when none of it scared them�"or satisfied them. Seeing Karl again filled Oliver with a hot dread of the young man he had been, and a reminder of how hard he worked to keep that angry, aimless past behind him. But could he say the same about his old friend? If Karl had come to Salzburg with the intention of affecting a noble lineage, then he might be none so well off as Oliver had assumed. The clothes, the boots, the expensive cologne he wore�"all could be stolen goods. �śNothing good can come of whatever you’ve planned,” Oliver said. Karl’s dark brown eyes tightened. The lines framing his compressed lips become more pronounced. �śYou owe me.” A shiver jostled down Oliver’s backbone, a faint echo of the violent tremors that had tortured him for two months. No matter how debilitating that illness had been, he always considered himself fortunate. Karl was the one who had suffered. �śNo one,” Karl said, his words low, �śnot even your haughty half brother, should remember me. Not here. Not dressed like one of his own. All you have to do is let me play my game�"and I’ll play yours.” He grinned. �śA valet to your brother? Hardly.” An usher chimed a brass bell. The opera was about to resume. Oliver’s thoughts were so tumbled that he almost missed a strange glint of candlelight off metal. He followed it to a man who, though nondescript and replete in evening finery, showed all the physical signs of impending violence�"posture defensive, eyes rapidly shifting. Bodies blocked his way but he was a mere ten feet from Duke Ferdinand. Abandoning Karl, Oliver slipped past a trio of elderly gentlemen. His skin tingled and his respiration surged, yet his thoughts were calm as he moved toward the duke. He knew from experience that the duke’s guards were on the lookout for masked marauders in rags, not elegantly dressed gentlemen. And to start a panic now by shouting an alarm might afford the man a chance to escape�"or to strike. So Oliver pursued. Quietly. He had almost doubted his natural gift but the facts proved him right. Karl had been acting in a suspicious manner. That uncanny talent for detecting falsehood in the faces of others had served Oliver well for years. He hoped this was another such moment. The suspicious man was nearly to his apparent target. Only Duke Ferdinand’s thick ring of admirers blocked the way. Oliver neared to within two body lengths. His heart mimicked the steady beat of a horse’s galloping hooves. He pushed past a stylish woman who gasped and then cursed with the practiced skill of a sailor. Another two parted in advance of Oliver’s pursuit. The man was raising his arm, taking aim at the back of the duke’s head. Oliver shoved forward and knocked the pistol upward. It discharged with a sharp crack. Patrons and servants alike screamed. Some ducked. The bullet struck the ceiling fresco, releasing a shower of plaster. Oliver yanked the pistol from the man’s hand. The weapon skidded across the marble. Two swift jabs to the assailant’s kidneys had him doubled over and groaning. Oliver swept his boot from left to right. Momentum propelled the man to all fours. But with surprising swiftness and strength, he leaped up and twirled the dress cape from his shoulders. The heavy fabric briefly obscured his movements. When Oliver could see once again, his breath shuddered. The stranger had produced a knife and was clutching young Greta Zweig against his chest, hooking her arms behind her back. The lush breasts Oliver had admired now huffed in a faltering rhythm. Her eyes widened to nearly perfect circles. Her lips parted and shut like those of a gasping fish. The would-be assassin held the knife to her throat. Waves of prickling heat spilled over Greta’s skin. The cavernous splendor of Carabinierisaal melted into streaks of black, gold and white. Although her lungs pumped, she couldn’t catch her breath. The air stank of gunpowder. Her feet must be on the floor but they felt as distant as stars and as numb as flesh in a freezing wind. Wake up! No number of frantic shouts in the wild of her brain banished the cold sliver of sharpened steel. Her captor’s whim would determine the span of her life. Whoever he was, his irregular exhalations brushed her nape and behind her ears�"a startling intimacy. If she never learned anything more about him, she would know his hot and rasping breath. Hundreds of people had filled the hall. Now few remained, having hustled away after the lone gunshot. Abandoning her. Greta freed a strangled sob. The knife pressed deeper. Into the tense quiet came a man’s words. �śLet the Fr�ńulein go.” Greta searched for the source. The gentle baritone was steady and strong, when she felt fashioned of nothing more substantial than wisps of wool. No bones remained in her body. No muscles. Just a terror so bright as to blunt every sense. She could only hope that the man who spoke was well-armed and merciless�"an avenging angel come to save her. She could muster no greater courage than to pray. �śHarming her will only make the outcome worse for you,” the voice continued. Greta blinked and inhaled, forcing her vision to clear. A slim, athletic man neared. He wore oxblood-colored livery and a powdered wig. A valet? He could hardly be the one who had spoken with such command. But there was no one else. The remaining attendees, their faces contorted, had shuffled into far corners to look upon the scene as if from behind glass. Greta envied their security but also their view of her attacker’s face. Would seeing him worsen her spiking fear or relieve it? Would an ordinary countenance�"any other than the devil himself�"do her fears justice? Only the valet remained. He was joined to Greta and her captor in a most unusual trio. Bent forward slightly, he had the posture and poise of a predator. But his hands were empty. No weapon. No readied fists. He kept his palms up and forward. �śShe’s no part of your fight, is she?” he asked. �śThe duke is a minion of that butcher, Napoleon!” The flat edge of the knife nestled deeper against Greta’s throat. She winced. �śThen you have that blade pressed against the wrong neck.” �śI want out of here alive!” �śWe may be past that now.” �śGive me a guarantee or the girl dies.” Greta jerked and tensed, but his free arm yanked hers higher. Bone gnashed in her shoulder. Hot panic made her skull feel stuffed. �śPlease, don’t kill me,” she whispered. �śHold still,” the valet said. �śDon’t fight.” Although he flicked his gaze toward her, he kept the bulk of his attention on the stranger. Was he closer now? She could hardly trust her vision, so badly did she want that to be true. �śMargaret?” came another plea from the crowd. This one Greta recognized instantly. �śDear God, let her go!” �śStay out of this, my lord,” said the valet. �śI’m the Pfalzgraf of Leinz. I’ll pay any sort of ransom.” �śQuiet!” screamed her captor. �śJust let my niece go,” Uncle Thaddeus said, more desperately now. �śI beg of you.” Greta closed her eyes and imagined that her uncle begged because he cared. But another motive for his desperation seemed more realistic. Could it be that he merely feared the loss of his most prized asset? Her blood spilled in Carabinierisaal would mean no more forgeries. �śMy lord, please step back.” The trim valet’s command was surprisingly firm�"firm enough that Thaddeus obeyed. Greta had never heard a servant speak to a nobleman with such force. But then, she had never been in a position where a life was nearly forfeit. Her life. At that unforgiving thought, all color slurred to black. Her eyes lolled closed as she welcomed the soothing darkness. The stranger scooped the young woman over his shoulder before she reached the floor. Sweat glossed his face as he slowly retreated toward the backstage entrance. Guards had closed around Duke Ferdinand and the other aristocrats. Oliver had never worked with an audience, yet here he was�"the only man with the opportunity to set this right. �śYou can still save yourself.” He pursued with one deliberate step, then another. �śNo!” Greta’s captor kicked open the stage door and crossed the threshold. �śYou think this can all be over but it won’t end. Our so-called leader is from Tuscany. What can he know of Salzburg? What loyalty will he have to us? He’ll sell the city to Napoleon!” His rant had the effect of further isolating them from the rest of the crowd. The hall was all but deserted now. Everyone else had backed away with shuffling steps. Oliver certainly did not mind additional distance between that knife and other innocent people. But if the man locked the door, he would be out of sight backstage with his hostage. While the knife was still in play, Oliver could not attack. Their only chance�"a miserably slim one�"was to continue talking. A flurry of activity filled the hall with the rattle of metal. Oliver flicked a glance to his left. Ten of the duke’s armed guards charged as if into heated battle. �śNo!” Oliver’s shout went unheeded. The guards continued their boisterous show of utterly useless military precision. The armed stranger slammed the door shut. �śYou idiots!” Like a horse out of the gates, Oliver bolted toward the main entrance to the opera hall. He sped past slack-faced ushers and row after row of gleaming gilded chairs. Upon reaching the stage, he took two stairs at a time and ducked behind the red velvet curtains. A stagehand shouted at him. Oliver veered left, flinging aside ropes and leaping over a prop dinghy. Two women dressed as pirates, complete with eye patches and tricornes, yelped and scattered as he barreled past. Just which opera had this been? That same unseen soprano was running through her scales. Although melodic, her strident repetitions bled into the remoteness of a dream, loosely keeping time with Oliver’s rushing exhales. There�"a flash of blue and lace. Oliver lunged, grabbed an arm, pulled. The failed assassin screamed as his shoulder dislocated. He tripped, dropping his insensate cargo. Greta grunted but did not rouse. Using the heel of his boot, Oliver stomped on the hand holding the knife. Another gratifying scream. Fingers splayed, twitching and useless. But the man was not finished fighting. He was more like a frothing animal now. He grabbed Oliver’s calf and bit the flesh just above his kneecap. Wincing, Oliver kicked hard. The toe of his boot found the underside of his attacker’s chin. He dropped his knee to the man’s breastbone and landed two quick punches�"to the ribs, to the nose. His opponent gurgled and choked. For no longer than a blink, Oliver was eye-to-eye with him. �śIt will happen,” the man whispered. �śThe duke will betray us to the French.” He stretched for the knife. Oliver kicked it away, then grabbed the man’s head. Although a primal impulse urged him to do deadly violence, he simply banged that captured skull against the floorboards. Frantic eyes rolled closed. Oliver used the knife to cut a length of rope from a stage pulley and secure the stranger’s limbs. That done, he dashed to Greta’s side. He gently sat her upright. �śFr�ńulein Zweig? Can you hear me?” Nearly translucent lids fluttered as she revived. Then she graced him with the color of her eyes�"a bright startling blue. But Oliver could not indulge, not when blood oozed from her neck. He quickly stripped his cravat and dabbed two inches of marred skin, marveling at his renewed surge of outrage. While Greta’s blue eyes studied his face, he tied the cravat into a makeshift bandage around her neck. �śOliver! Where are you?” �śBack here.” Christoph appeared with two of his own personal guards, not those armed gorillas from the duke’s ranks. His brows lifted as he took in the scene of Oliver’s success. Then to his guards he said, �śI want this man jailed and watched at all times. He’s to be held for questioning.” After peeling one of Greta’s gloves down to the wrist, Oliver checked her pulse. Steady and strong. He smoothed loose strands of hair back from her flushed cheeks. Christoph knelt beside them. �śHow’s your damsel?” �śStill with us. Where’s Ingrid?” �śIn our coach on her way home.” Oliver only nodded. He was fast becoming incapable of doing much more, not with the threat subdued and Greta tucked trustingly in his arms. He had retaken her wrist. Her pulse tapped an echo of her heartbeat against his fingertips. Was that more blood? He looked closer at a splotch of red on her skin. But it was more than red�"also blue, brown, bright white. Paint? Greta’s eyes widened. Her lips parted on a quiet inhale. Oliver surreptitiously rolled the glove back up her slender arm. Warm flesh. Woman’s flesh. And he was covering it up. What kind of torture was that? But he received a reward of sorts when relief slid over her panicked features. She relaxed against his body. �śMargaret! Thank God!” Lord Leinz pushed through the backstage obstacles. �śAre you well? Margaret?” �śMy lord, she’s endured quite an ordeal.” Oliver consciously tamped down on his violence�"that part of himself that was no valet. �śSpeech can be the last faculty to recover after trauma.” Leinz exhaled heavily. �śYou have done my niece and my family a wonderful service.” �śThe honor is mine, my lord.” Oliver inclined his head by way of a bow. Moments later the nobleman had spirited her away. Oliver remained sitting on the floor with his forearms draped over his knees. A shiver worked across his shoulders. She was gone. �śHe invited us to dine at his estate,” Christoph said, �świth you as his guest.” �śI’ve been invited to Leinz Manor? Hardly what I expected.” Christoph offered his hand to help Oliver up. �śNor I. The man is a practiced snob. He can barely call Ingrid �Śmy lady’ without choking on the words.” But Oliver was nearly beyond hearing. A thrill shot up to his sternum, one that had nothing to do with having achieved such heroics�"and everything to do with seeing Greta again. Maybe, in the hours between now and then, he would find a means of restraining his sudden fascination. Maybe. Chapter Three He would arrive in little less than an hour. That man. That valet. Greta rubbed a rose-scented cream onto her hands and wrists, trying to smooth skin perpetually roughened by paints and turpentine. Light from the setting sun slanted across her vanity table, refracting through the dozen tiny bottles and glass pots she rarely used. The bevel along the bottom of the mirror caught the yellow light. The ray of sun moved slowly from right to left. The color deepened to blood orange until the angle became too extreme and the glass once again reflected her bed draped in heavy navy curtains. Soon their guests would arrive. Greta would dine with the man who had saved her life. The cream stung the tiny cuts on her chapped hands. She concentrated on rubbing it into each finger, down to the nail, hoping to avoid the curious sense of disappointment that slunk alongside any thought of Oliver Doerger. But it could not be avoided. She was disappointed. For a few endless and terrifying moments, he had been the most astonishing man in Europe. Unruffled, hypnotically assured, he was the epitome of a brave and selfless gentleman. Yet he was no gentleman. Waving her hands to cool the perfumed tingle, Greta wanted to dissipate her nerves as easily. A week had passed since that knife gouged her throat, yet the memories were equally thick and potent now�"maybe more so. While mixing paints and priming a canvas for her latest copy, she had been harassed by the potential for bloodier outcomes. Her torture. Her death. Marie, her maid, arrived to help Greta dress for the evening. The older woman’s fastidious fussing provided a blessedly ordinary distraction. Undergarments and curls, to start. Then a high-waist gown of royal purple, edged with cream-colored Belgian lace as fine as a spider’s web. Greta critically eyed her figure in the mirror, yanking her bodice upward�"to no avail. Marie only came along and tugged the meager swath of fabric back to its proper fit. �śMarie, you know I cannot stand to be�Ś” She glanced down at the considerable swell of her breasts. �śTo be exposed this way.” �śYou look marvelous, Fr�ńulein Zweig. Do not hide what God so generously provided.” Grinning, Greta pulled gently on Marie’s earlobe. �śAnd don’t you tell your mistress what to do.” The freckled maid only smiled, then eyed the white linen bandage that circled Greta’s neck. �śBut what shall we do about this?” Greta touched the physical reminder of her ordeal and could not suppress a shudder. Her vision blurred, as if on the verge of fainting once more. Had she ever been so scared? Ever? Memories of Herr Doerger’s features helped banish her grim imaginings. She remembered his icy blue eyes most clearly. He had been in complete control of the entire situation�"at least, she had believed as much. That belief had been her buoy. Valet or not, she wanted to see him again. And that meant going down to dinner, no matter the state of her injured neck. �śWhat about your mother’s pearl necklace?” Marie asked. Wear Mama’s necklace? Greta had never dared. The lustrous pearl choker had been Mama’s present from Uncle Thaddeus, her brother, on that last Christmas spent together as a family. Papa had been so terribly angry. His present of a gold charm looped on a leather cord had seemed paltry in comparison, yet Greta still wore the charm on her ankle. It was the more precious gift. For ten years the necklace had sat wrapped in velvet in Greta’s jewelry armoire. Only when she was feeling particularly morose did she pull it out to look, touch, remember. What might have happened had Uncle Thaddeus been less critical, or Papa less proud? Would her parents still live and breathe? Marie had been there too, gazing on the priceless pearl necklace. She must have remembered it was the only piece that would sit high enough on the neck. �śGet it, please,” Greta said softly. To distract herself she pulled on her evening gloves, the purple of which did not exactly match her gown. No one else would notice but Greta did. Color was as important to her as the selection of the proper word was to a poet or finding just the right vibrato was to a violinist. �śHere,” Marie said. �śAllow me.” Her voice was hushed and gentle, as if she understood the necklace’s significance. It was discord and pain. It was long-ago history. And it was staggeringly beautiful. Greta returned to the vanity table and removed the bandage. She swished a few errant curls away from her nape. With deft fingers Marie secured the gold clasp. The pearls tingled with cold. That sensation banded Greta’s neck so uniformly that she did not feel pain from her injury. Her fingers trembled as she touched the priceless piece, but her gloves prevented her from appreciating the smooth luster. How Mama had smiled�"and then cried�"when she opened that square black box trimmed in crimson velvet. Had she suspected the anger to come? The heartbreak? She had not even tried it on, not that Christmas morning. Not ever. �śThank you, Marie. That will be all.” She bobbed a curtsy. But rather than leave, she leaned nearer and tightened a hand on Greta’s shoulder. �śYou look wondrous.” And then she was gone. Alone, her stomach unquiet, Greta walked to her adjoining studio. Normally she wanted nothing more than to stay in her studio to work. But for once she did not delay out of regret�"only out of trepidation. The prospect of seeing Herr Doerger again set off volleys of cannon fire beneath her sternum. Such a striking man. What would it be like to sketch him? To paint him? No, she needed to approach the next few hours with a different tilt of her brain. Herr Doerger had behaved with strength, speed and confidence. But he was still a servant. His manners and untrained conversations would reveal him as such. She would fasten to those flaws, the same flaws Uncle Thaddeus had always unearthed with such precision when discussing Papa. After taking the deepest breath she could manage, Greta went downstairs and found her uncle alone in the drawing room. �śAh, there you are,” Thaddeus said, with the barest hint of censure. �śLate, but not nearly so late as your cousins.” He finished a brandy and crossed to greet her with a peck on the cheek. His eyes lit upon the decadent necklace. �śHow wonderful, Margaret. So good that you could make use of it. Your mother would be delighted.” Greta’s queer sense of disquiet resurfaced. She was betraying Papa by wearing the one piece of jewelry he had hated so fiercely. Mama would not have been delighted at all. The pearls seemed to tighten against her windpipe�"a genuine choker. �śI’m glad you’re not displeased.” �śNot at all, meine Nichte.” He looked far younger than his forty-five years when he smiled, no matter his baldness. The opening of doors and a flutter of voices marked the arrival of their guests. Tall and imposing, Lord Venner loomed like an austere shadow beside his fair-haired wife. Lady Venner’s smile was the midday sun, her hair flaxen and flawlessly arranged. While her uncle made small talk with the tall nobleman, Greta said, �śWelcome, Lady Venner. We’re so pleased to have you here.” �śPlease, call me Ingrid.” They exchanged two kisses. �śOtherwise it’ll be Lady This and Lady That all evening. I haven’t the span of attention required for such verbal acrobatics.” Greta smiled, taking an instant liking to the petite woman. They stood nose-to-nose in height, but whereas Greta always felt ungainly, weighed down with too many curves, Ingrid had the body of a ballerina�"no matter the delicate condition her gown so artfully concealed. With a pair of exceedingly youthful giggles, Anna and Theresa descended the central staircase like princesses�"for they were princesses within their father’s estate. Separated in age by a mere thirteen months, they could have been twins for how closely their fair coloring and slim figures matched. They were young, charming and well-bred. That they were also nearly destitute could not be discerned by the lavish silks and velvets that swathed lithe bodies on the cusp of womanhood. Greta smiled and kissed their cheeks in greeting. As always she admired their beauty and poise, but their shared lives held no excess of intimacy or warmth. Greta had her painting. They had each other. But they were family, bound by a loyalty that was Greta’s only true sense of home and belonging. �śAnd where is the man of the hour?” Uncle Thaddeus asked. Greta tried to chastise herself for imagining a note of sarcasm in his tone, but she could not deny what she heard. He had used that exact timbre when speaking of Papa. �śI’m here, my lord,” came that beautiful baritone. Greta would have recognized it anywhere. But she might not have recognized the man himself. Rather than his exacting livery, Herr Doerger wore an impeccable coat of deep forest green. He had left his wig at home, revealing very short, very neat hair the color of raw umber. Buff trousers almost indecently outlined the long muscles of his thighs. High black boots had been polished to a radiant shine. A stark white cravat accentuated the golden warmth of his skin, which in turn dragged her attention to blue eyes shining nearly silver. But more than his faultless ensemble, something about his posture demanded respect and attention. Here was a man without fears. His proud shoulders and loose, relaxed limbs declared as much. Herr Doerger smiled and inclined his head. �śForgive my lateness, bitte. I usually assist Lord Venner’s driver, Heinrich. He’s getting on in years and cannot conduct the horses as he once did.” Although Lord and Lady Venner’s expressions did not alter with that news, Greta watched her uncle’s pasted-on friendliness slide away. �śHow�Śhelpful,” he said. �śBut I am glad you were able to find a tailor at such short notice. I quite forgot you might be unprepared for a formal evening. Now, shall we adjourn for dinner?” A valet. A servant. Nothing more. Back teeth set together, Oliver watched Greta take her uncle’s arm and turn for the dining room. Whatever flash of sizzling appreciation he had seen in her eyes became a memory. �śThat wasn’t the cleverest way to begin a conversation,” he murmured to Ingrid. �śThe truth doesn’t have to be clever,” she said, ever the equal of her husband’s diplomatic skills. �śAnd he was unbearably rude.” �śI doubt I’ll be able to escape that, this evening.” �śHave you a clean handkerchief?” He pulled one from his breast pocket. His face flamed as Ingrid used it to wipe a few spots of mud from his lapel. Oh, fantastic. �śStop worrying,” she said. �śYou’re perfectly groomed.” Christoph made a grunting noise. �śAnd nervous.” �śYou sound amused, my lord,” Oliver said. �śI am,” he replied without a hint of his professed humor. Although he wanted to punch his half brother’s arm, Oliver refrained. Not even Ingrid knew the truth of their paternity. She accepted a great deal of familiarity and fondness between them, but any more would raise suspicions in even her trusting mind. Instead he took Christoph’s words and dour expression for what they were. A warning. Pull it together, man. Oliver retrieved his handkerchief with a thankful smile to Ingrid, then followed the pair into the dining room. Pull it together, indeed. Had he played at being Christoph’s valet so long that the nuance of other roles slipped out of reach? Once, long ago, he had been able to slip unseen into so many forbidden realms, even dining at his father’s table during a lavish banquet. No one had thought to question his presence. Perfectly attired and affecting Christoph’s elegant manners, Oliver had enjoyed the thrill of being taken for an equal. But that was before his years in the army, before attempting to put right the follies of his youth. Now, eating in the kitchen and sharing a cheroot with other servants were far more familiar acts than dining among Salzburg’s elite, especially when his hosts already seemed to regret their unusual invitation. For the briefest moment Greta Zweig had looked upon him with unrestrained interest. But that fiery interest had disappeared in a blink. Perhaps a week was enough time for gratefulness to wear thin. Although Oliver tried to ignore the slight, it sizzled like a live coal in his chest. He took his seat�"next to Ingrid, across from Fr�ńulein Zweig. Leinz sat at the head of the lavish table, while Christoph appeared most uncomfortable flanked by Anna, Theresa and their matched worshipful gazes. An elaborate centerpiece extended floral arms out from its place of honor. Crystal candlesticks alternated with clustered summer bouquets. White taper candles deepened the intimacy of their gathering. Oliver needed to concentrate his attention on the outlying shadows to catch the hasty movement of servants as they brought the first course. He knew, intellectually, how little attention was paid to the men and women who served their masters in silence, but being on the genteel side of the divide proved striking. They literally faded into the background. Conversation stayed firmly in neutral territory�"the topics of weather, fashion, literature and shared acquaintances all navigated without issue�"until Lord Leinz finished his second course. �śI have no wish to cause my niece more distress,” he said, �śbut your behavior at the opera was most remarkable, Herr Doerger. Most remarkable.” �śDanke, my lord.” �śAnd how was it that you were able to act so decisively? Had you some training?” �śI was in the service of the Prussian army for a number of years.” Leinz took a sip of red wine. �śWe are indebted to your skill and quick thinking, then.” �śI confess, my lord,” Oliver began, flicking his gaze to Greta’s. He hoped to judge her interest in the exchange and, more gallingly, to make a good impression on her. Ridiculous and idiotic. But his tongue continued as if it were a stranger to the concept of dignified restraint. �śI confess that I gave the matter little thought. I only acted to do what I could for Fr�ńulein Zweig.” �śAnd good thing you did.” Leinz raised his glass. �śOur dear girl is returned to the bosom of her family, and one less madman roams the streets of Salzburg.” �śYour pardon, my lord, but I hardly think he was a madman. His actions were too calculated. Only when his plan went awry did he behave in a desperate fashion.” Christoph discreetly cleared his throat. The sisters’ limpid eyes, darkened by the candlelight, widened. Ingrid concealed a smile behind her napkin, and Leinz set his emptied wine glass on the table with more temper than grace. Oliver realized his error. So preoccupied by the would-be assassin’s final whispered warning, he had mulled those events ever since. That Oliver had come to certain decisions regarding the man’s mental health would find scant welcome at a mannerly supper. Neither were such opinions expected from a valet, no matter his suit of fine clothes. Greta stared at him. She touched the four strands of radiant pearls at her throat, pearls that surely hid evidence of the attack. �śYou are saying, Herr Doerger, that he was justified in what he did to me?” Had he heard her speak before? Yes, but her words had been pinched gasps, strangled with fear. Her voice, in truth, was melodic and light�"nearly childlike, but with an undercurrent of strength. But for her to misunderstand him so completely stole much of its charm. �śI had no thought to suggest anything of the sort, Fr�ńulein Zweig. Nothing he did can be excused.” He wanted to press on and win his point. Without understanding the man’s motives, how would they learn to prevent future attacks on the duke? But he had already said too much. �śForgive me if my words caused you distress.” He shrugged but the gesture felt more like a flinch. �śI am, after all, out of my element.” Leinz grunted his agreement. The sisters had the nerve to titter. And the third course was served. Oliver made no more attempts to join the renewed flow of conversation. It was safer that way. Even Leinz must have decided the evening would speed along more quickly without further engaging Oliver. The food came and went, orchestrated by servants whose faces blended into sameness. Oliver wanted to be done with the whole farce. So I can go back to my other, more comfortable farce. He glanced up to find Greta’s eyes still keen, still watching him. Good God, she was lovely�"utterly beautiful, all softness of coloring and fullness of flesh. Her breasts tempted him especially, speeding the flow of his blood. A man could feast on such bounty and never ask for meat or wine. But her eyes, a deep clear blue like an Alpine summer sky, held equal power�"less primal, more complex. Those eyes held secrets. Following dinner, the men adjourned to the library for cigars and brandy. Oliver did not smoke, however, and he did not want to tempt fate with strong drink. �śWould you mind terribly, my lord, if I walk the halls instead?” He appealed to the man’s palpable snobbery. �śI am unaccustomed to cuisine so rich and plentiful. My apologies.” Leinz waved an idle hand, then returned his attention to the nearby brandy decanter. �śOf course, my boy. Beyond this door and to your left is our art gallery. Enjoy yourself.” On his way out, Oliver heard Leinz’s final words on the subject. �śA little culture for the lad.” Closing his hands into fists, Oliver resisted the bone-deep urge to slam the smoking room door behind him. But that restraint was much easier than identifying polite dinner topics. He had been playing the part of a servant so long that swallowing his anger came almost automatically. Twenty minutes later he stood before the eighth painting down a seemingly endless hallway of artwork. The walls were thick with them, like bark covering a tree. Who still displayed their paintings with such bravado? Christoph and Ingrid had shipped all their finest works to the north, where relatives in the principality of Anhalt-Dessau kept them for a fee. Preparations for what everyone assumed would be renewed French hostilities extended even to silverware and spare bolts of fabric. Leinz’s collection shouted arrogance. Oliver continued his perusal, aimlessly lingering over shapes and color, when a scent caught his attention. He cocked his head and inhaled slowly, trying to identify where he had encountered its like. Linseed oil, used in mixing paint. Like the scent of Greta’s hair at the opera. Yet he was alone in the corridor. Leinz had been right about his lack of culture. What Oliver knew about art could fit into a spoon with room left to sweeten a demitasse of coffee. He leaned nearer to the large landscape and breathed in once more. The linseed smell was stronger there. He gouged his fingernail into a particularly heavy brush stroke. Rather than flake away, the paint stuck under his nail. Fresh. Oliver frowned. Copies? Just how many in that hallway were forgeries? Upon hearing a gasp, Oliver turned and dropped into a defensive stance. Greta Zweig stood ten feet away. Her gaze alighted on him�Śthe painting�Śand his hand. Yes, her hair had smelled of paint and her hands had been stained by color. Some of the secrets in her eyes, it seemed, would be easier to discern than others. He sketched a shallow bow, never removing his gaze from her startled face. �śYou do very good work, Fr�ńulein.” Chapter Four Greta had expected to be able to escape unnoticed. Back to her rooms. Back to her work. But the long corridor that housed her most valiant attempts at mimicking the masters was not deserted. Herr Doerger’s cool gaze proved even more unnerving there, at a respectable distance, than it had been across the sumptuous dinner table. He had been out of his element then, stiff and wary. Not that she could blame him. Anyone might be under Uncle Thaddeus’s scrutiny. Now even the few yards between them were too scant a barrier. He saw right through her�"no, into her. His limbs had loosened. His body seemed more at home while standing or, as he had at the Residenz, stalking. Leinz Manor was clearly her uncle’s domain, but Greta still felt proprietary. She had lived within its walls since the age of ten. It was her home. Yet Oliver Doerger studied her so intently as to make her want to back down. Back down from a servant. Greta sniffed. She could never maintain a lady’s hands nor hold up her end of a good round of gossip, but she could put an insolent servant in his place. The way he was staring at her was certainly�Śinsolent. �śKindly remove your eyes from my person.” Doerger did nothing of the sort. He smiled�"slowly, taking his time in mocking her request�"as his gaze sauntered down to her bodice. She was probably doing him a great favor in breathing so rapidly, but her outrage only increased with every passing heartbeat. He closed the distance between them. �śNo.” �śNo, you won’t avert your inappropriate gaze?” Doerger shook his head with that maddening slowness, as if chastising a child. �śNo, the correct reply should’ve run along the lines of �ŚWhat work are you talking about, Herr Doerger?’ But you knew very well what I was referring to.” Greta tongued her chipped tooth. He raised his right hand and showed her the paint wedged beneath the nail of his index fingernail. �śJust how recently did you finish that one? A week ago? Maybe two?” �śYour disrespect is unconscionable. What, exactly, are you saying?” �śI’m saying that you are quite a talent, Fr�ńulein.” She scowled. �śAs if you would know anything about these paintings.” �śA mere servant, yes.” His smile was quicker this time, more spiteful. �śBut be careful the assumptions you make.” �śOh, and I suppose you spend your evenings studying the differences between Bosch and Bruegel?” �śWouldn’t it twist your head in knots if I did? But the subject at hand is not how I make use of my nights.” �śAre you accusing me of something, Herr Doerger?” �śAccusing? Hardly. That might perhaps imply criminal behavior. I was simply attempting to solve a puzzle.” He turned away as if the matter were settled. Hands clasped at the base of his back, he slowly walked back toward her newest copy, Jan van Goyen’s North Dune Landscape at Dusk. Her attempt at his famous skies was a pallid one, but the overall composition produced a certain easy grace. She considered it her finest attempt yet. But her attention was drawn to Doerger’s long legs. The military-style boots and close-fitting buff trousers added a greater impression of power to those strong, lean limbs. Greta knew enough about human anatomy to understand the remarkable beauty of his body, enough to imagine the privilege of sketching such an impressive male figure in the nude. She inhaled softly, startled. Her thoughts had little to do with being caught out by Oliver. Instead her mind had dragged her toward far more carnal considerations, toward the mysteries that works of art could not solve. But he remained a threat. For the sake of her family and her future, she could not be revealed as the artist. Not now. Perhaps not ever. If she expected to marry well, she needed to remain perfectly respectable. Painting was bad enough. Being associated with her uncle’s scheme to sell the forgeries as originals could prove ruinous. Greta’s future, as well as the futures of her cousins, depended on success in this secret venture. �śWill you tell anyone?” she asked to his proud back. He turned his head until it was perfectly in profile. His nose was too sharp. His brow was too severe. And almost all his arrogance resided in the defiant tilt of his chin. �śWhy should I not, I wonder?” �śFor chivalry’s sake?” He huffed a jeering laugh, one that would have been a strong rival to any her uncle produced. �śChivalry? I’ve already done quite well by you on that score.” Fresh visions of knife blades and red velvet stage curtains hastened her heartbeat. She threaded her fingers together at her waist and squeezed, grounding herself in the tight pinch of fabric at each knuckle. A heavy swallow reminded her of the pearls she wore and the slice she’d endured. �śYes,” she said softly. �śYes, you did.” �śAnd all without a thanks.” He was facing her once more, his expression stripped of teasing and impertinence. He merely seemed�Śdisappointed. Greta chafed at the idea of him thinking her ungrateful�"or worse yet, unmannerly. Although why she cared about the opinion of a servant was beyond her. Because he saved my life. �śYou make it difficult to want to extend myself once again,” he said. �śEven a man in my position has his limits.” A man in his position. A servant. Why was that so difficult to remember? Perhaps because he held himself with more confidence than anyone she had ever known, no matter his station or occupation. Only at her uncle’s dining room table had he seemed divested of that singular certainty. Maybe that was why she had believed herself momentarily immune to his appeal. There, it had been easier to put him in his proper place. �śDo you want my thanks?” she asked. �śNot so much that I’ll ask.” �śNo, you’ll simply dance around the topic until I feel guilty enough to indulge you.” �śDo you feel guilty?” �śOf course not.” His expression slid toward a polite sneer. �śOf course not,” he echoed. �śWhy would you?” Greta swallowed again. �śSo I suppose that answers the question as to whether or not you’ll keep my secret.” �śWe’ll see.” He shrugged, hands still clasped behind his back. The pose accentuated the thrust of his chest. The tapering lines from his wide shoulders to his waist formed a strong V. Greta found herself memorizing those lines as if to sketch him later. She shook her head to banish the reflex, but details crowded into her brain�"the contrast between his full lower lip and facial bones as rigid as wrought iron, the spiky softness of his dark gold hair, the unnerving way his eyes bored into hers while the man behind them maintained a cool distance. No, she would never be able to capture all of that. �śWhat do you mean �Śwe’ll see’?” �śNo sense in revealing a secret when there’s nothing to gain by it.” �śTypical,” she said with a twitching exhale. �śServants gathering tidbits to use later.” �śSo you’ve noticed that, have you? Even on those human beings you try so hard to ignore�"eyes and ears. Imagine that.” �śYou’re mocking me.” �śCompletely.” Voices reverberated from the far end of the corridor, the opposite direction from the rooms where Uncle Thaddeus and his guests gathered. Members of the household staff, then. She should abandon the scene and retreat to her rooms. To endure further conversation at the hands of this stranger was asking for ridicule. But he knew her secret�"the secret that had been gnawing at her insides for years. That alone was a thrill. As her technique improved, she grew ever bolder with slipping her initials into the swirls and brushstrokes. It was irrational and even dangerous, she knew. Yet Greta had wanted more than forgeries, more than being an invisible means to an end. She wanted to be seen. And Oliver Doerger saw her. �śQuickly,” she said, motioning with her hand. �śCome with me.” Without waiting to see if she was followed, Greta hurried toward the north end of the corridor, which opened onto a terrace. Her slippers made no sound on the polished marble, but perhaps she simply could not hear her hasty steps over the rush of blood in her ears. He was a chivalrous man. He had demonstrated as much. All she needed to do was thank him in a way that convinced him of her sincerity. Maybe then he might consider their tally even�"enough to beg him to keep her secret safe. When she reached the terrace, Greta slipped outdoors and sucked in a fast breath. The July evening had turned brisk, almost chilly. A slight breeze lifted the fine hairs at her nape and pushed others across her brow. Her upper arms sprouted a hearty crop of goose bumps. Doerger peeked his head through double doors comprised of eight panes of leaded glass. Her earliest memories of summer months spent here at Leinz Manor had been of those doors, sitting on the terrace and watching the play of color as the sun moved. Now her gentle childhood memories would be forever altered. Doerger’s lean body eased through the portal and into the quiet evening. No candles gilded his handsome features. Instead the silver moonlight stripped his skin of pigment and softness, emphasizing each hollow. Even his hair conspired to keep her attention. Neatly trimmed, it was the perfect frame to accentuate the symmetry of his handsome features. He grinned and closed the door. Greta retreated a step. No matter his good deed and educated speech, he was still a stranger she had invited onto a moonlit terrace without a chaperone. If her uncle or her cousins thought to check in on her before they retired to bed�Ś But she needed to do this. She had to convince him to keep her secret. �śWhat do you want?” Doerger glanced back toward the doors, then put a finger to his lips. �śShh.” �śWhy? You have no reputation to lose.” �śNo, but I do have a considerable position within Lord Venner’s household. Would you have me risk that?” He smiled when she frowned. Yes, he had won the point, but she did not relish handing him his victory so easily, no matter how small. But he thoroughly confused her. A gentleman on a terrace with a young woman risked nothing other than developing a reputation for rakishness. The woman alone faced debilitating scandal. A servant, however, risked dismissal, a loss of status and the possibility of never finding suitable employment again�"even criminal charges. Greta shivered. �śThen why did you follow me? I could cry out for my uncle this instant and see you carted away.” �śThat would assume you’re a better liar to him than you are to me.” He leaned against the manor’s outer wall, arms crossed. The finely tailored coat strained to accommodate his lounging frame. Greta wondered how a servant had acquired such a luscious suit. �śI doubt that somehow.” �śThat doesn’t explain why you chose to follow me.” �śI’m curious what you’ll do.” �śDo?” �śTo secure my secrecy.” He skewered her with his maddening gaze, the one that promised to read her as easily as crisp broadsheet. �śThat is why we’re here, yes? You’ll beg�"no, probably not. You’ll cajole and wheedle. That sort of conduct, I’d wager, is more in keeping with your pride. But you’re not the sort of girl who practices such things.” �śNo?” �śNo.” He stepped away from the wall. Greta averted her eyes, looking out over the measured exactitude of the formal gardens. Hedges of exacting heights. Statues at pleasing intervals. The arrangement suited her sense of order but none of her interest. These arrangements were for show. She wondered what the head gardener might produce had he not been held to her uncle’s fashionable expectations. But none of her habitual observations belied the hurried rhythm of her heart or the parched burn in the back of her throat. She feared this man�"not as she had her attacker at the opera, but as she feared her own deeply buried disposition. Dangerous. Selfish. Restless. �śNo,” he continued softly, so near now. Every lash cast a long shadow across the crests of his cheekbones. �śYou spend too much time in your studio, don’t you? You leave the cajoling and wheedling to your cousins.” �śHow would you know?” �śEyes and ears, remember?” She shook her head sharply. That had not been her meaning. Servant or not, nobleman or not, few thought to look upon anything but her womanly figure, let alone with such intensity. Could he really assess so much about her�Śand so quickly? He was as intriguing as he was frightening. �śSo if verbal persuasion will prove ineffective even before I begin, what remains? Do you need money?” Doerger grinned as if indulging a poor joke. �śProbably less than you do.” �śYou are impertinent.” �śNot to those of my acquaintance who hold sway over my quality of life.” Greta flinched at the implication that she meant nothing to him, when he and his daring rescue had come to dominate her thoughts. Did he peer into everyone as deeply? Imagining that sharp, intimate gaze turned on another woman was enough to rouse her reckless impulses. She wanted to stand out, to make him remember her as clearly as his memory would revisit her. �śWhat will it take?” she whispered. His smile became more subdued. That keen silvery gaze fastened on her mouth. �śWhat damsel wouldn’t reward her protector with a kiss?” Oliver could have been handed a hundred years�"a millennium, even. No matter. Understanding his actions would never come clear. He was practically backing a Pfalzgraf’s niece against the wall of a terrace. The dance pulsed between them so naturally, as old as man and woman and time. She retreated. He pursued. A bright, snapping energy had been building between them, maybe since he had held her trembling body, her tears wetting his neck. That moment had been soaked with fear and relief. This was deeper, more pleasurable. More risky. Christoph would forgive him a great deal, but just how far did their clandestine family bond extend? Probably no further than Oliver’s conscience would permit. At the moment, however, he could depend on no such honor. Lush summer scents lent those suspended seconds a dreamlike beauty. Too much. Too perfect. Oliver took a step, then another, easing nearer. Greta was breathing through parted lips, a soft huffing sound. His own blood was running so fast as to cloud his ears like the aftermath of fireworks. She could tell him no. He had every intention of stopping before that necessity, but she could utter the word whenever she chose. Not only desire but curiosity made him stay, to see how far she would take this game. She tucked her arms behind her body and leaned lightly against the terrace wall. It would have been a coy pose had she dipped her chin or fluttered her lashes, but she kept her gaze level. A dare. So Greta Zweig was not one to back down from a challenge. He’d assumed otherwise, drawing on the memory of her fainting at the opera. But that was life or death. This was arousal and a forbidden closeness, and she seemed more than up to the challenge. Moonlight wove silver silk through her hair. Pale breasts thrust forward with each shallow breath, pillowed and gathered together by the low bust of her gown. Oliver’s fingers jerked as if he had touched a flame�"just the idea of touching her body made him react. Dimly, in some fast-deteriorating center of logic, he realized he was taking stock of her in the crudest, greediest manner possible. She stripped him of pretense. He was a man. That was all. With Greta, that was all he wanted to be. Her gaze wavered, sliding sideways. She turned her head ever so slightly. Her jaw lay exposed beneath the moon’s glow, which turned her skin as lustrous as her pearls. �śYou may kiss me.” Her words were hushed, but oh, the permission she granted�Ś Oliver smelled her first, that stinging bite of linseed layered with a rose-petal fragrance. Then he felt her�"heat, the elemental awareness of one human body humming against another. Even more than normal, his senses clamored for detail. Next was touch. He was thankful to have left his gloves off after dining. Nothing separated his flesh from hers as he circled a thumb over the plump top of her cheek. �śYou’re certain?” �śYes,” she whispered. �śIf it will keep my secret.” He froze. He exhaled a slow breath. For a moment he had let himself forget that she had not lured him out-of-doors by choice. His fingers were stiff as he forced distance between his hand and her cheek. �śYour secret’s safe, Greta. You have my word.” �śBut�Ś” She blinked rapidly as if awakening from a dream. �śOur kiss?” Oliver grinned. Man and woman and time�Ś �śWe can still kiss,” he said, the words low and husky. �śBut if we do, it’s because you want to.” He returned to her, framing her face with both hands. Because the shadow of his own body draped her features in blackness, he angled her face ever so slightly�"back into the light, back to where he could admire her. The chances of ever revisiting such a moment were impossibly small. He wanted it perfect. �śNo obligation?” she asked, her voice soft. �śNone.” His assurance sank into her like water into sand. He could see her mind working, digesting, testing each possibility. Leaning nearer, mere inches from her mouth, he breathed in her sweetness. She was opium smoke and wanderlust and a fever for gold. Deep obsessions. �śSay it.” He stroked her bottom lip with his thumb, dipping inside just enough to touch a bit of her wet warmth. �śSay �ŚKiss me, Oliver.’” She trembled. �śKiss me, Oliver.” He closed his mouth over hers, capturing the last syllables of his name. In the face of his hard, hammering anticipation, he worked like a fiend to keep the touch gentle. Light. Only with his tongue did he dare for more, slipping along the soft fullness of her lower lip. She tasted of sherry, tasted of salt. Her little moan was punctuated by her hands gripping his forearms. The heat of her gloved palms was nothing to the heat of her mouth, but her fingers tugged, gratifyingly frustrated. Retreating but a little, he breathed roughly through his nose. �śMore?” Greta did not reply with words, only rose on tiptoes to meet him once again. Misjudging their heights, she slammed against him, their teeth pinching tender skin. Down went patient caution. Oliver slid his hands beneath her underarms and pulled her torso flush. Her bones were dainty, such a petite little body, but her curves promised resilience. The breasts he had imagined every night since the terror at the opera molded against his chest. Her moan was louder now as her tongue chased into his mouth. Dizziness clouded over his best intentions. Sex became a crystalline purpose. How easy it would be to lift her skirts, part her legs, fill her until they both groaned. Beneath the passion, however, he sensed her youth and her inexperience. She kissed him with vigor but no skill. This was the kiss of an untutored girl. As much as her desire flattered him, Oliver fought to stop. From a deep, distant corner of his brain he dredged the resolve to let her go. It was a slow process. Loosen his arms. Retrieve his tongue and lift his head. Ease her back toward the wall. Finally he found each of her hands with his own, unclenching her fingers from his coat sleeves. �śGreta.” �śHmm?” �śHurry to your room now. No one can see you this way.” �śWhat�Ś” She licked her bottom lip, which was deliciously swollen. �śWhat way?” He nuzzled her neck, just below her ear. �śAs if you’ve been kissing a servant out on the terrace.” The truth of it iced over her features. She touched two fingers to her mouth then hastily smoothed the hair his eager hands had mussed. That fluttering panic was back. Her eyes darted all around, wide, searching. �śThere’s no one here,” he whispered. �śBut you must hurry.” She slipped past him and made for the doors. Only within a few feet of safety, back to her world, did she stop. She pulled her shoulders straight, nearly a perfect imitation of the haughty nobleman’s niece she was. Nearly. The passion they had so briefly indulged still sparked and blazed in her eyes. �śOliver?” He turned his eyes away, focusing on a patch of rough mortar rather than her mussed, moonlit perfection�"anything to keep from calling her back. She would come back, no matter her panic. He knew that. Knew it. A rush of power surged in his blood, almost more powerful than his desire. When he was able to trust his voice once again, he said, �śYes?” �śThank you. For all of it. I�ŚI will never regret that.” Oliver frowned. She continued to surprise him, to the point where comprehending her might not be possible. But such was a puzzle for another time. He steeled himself for one last cherished look. �śI’m glad. Good night, Greta.” Chapter Five Greta had primed her latest canvas with gesso by midafternoon. Her arms ached, as did her back. Preparing to paint could hardly be considered a mentally demanding task, but her whole body suffered. She and her uncle had long ago agreed to value secrecy above speed, which meant she employed no assistant. The only concession Thaddeus made toward the process was to have canvases stretched onto frames by a craftsman in Salzburg. Greta could not manage the task on her own. But every other step, down to grinding her own colors, was hers to complete. She loved every minute of it. Sometimes she wondered if her painting was simply a grandiose excuse to play with the tools of her trade. She could spend hours ordering and re-ordering her brushes, arranging them by color or thickness or length, depending on her mood. Cleaning their horsehair bristles was not a chore, nor was oiling their handles. She could tell a quality canvas by combination of touch and smell. The right one for each project was different, needing more texture or less. Charcoal and sharpeners, thinners and glorious blocks of pure pigment�"her hands needed them, needed their ritual and potential. Only two days on from kissing Oliver Doerger, she settled down to mix a new batch of raw umber, nearly the same shade as his deep gold hair. She could never truly fathom where her mind went, once submerged in the peace of her preparations, but the terrace, where moonlight bathed her body and Oliver’s arms kept her safe, had become a most engrossing destination. She could paint when faced with such a delicious distraction, channeling it into pure inspiration, but enduring the frustration of yet another copy hardly seemed bearable. But Anna and Theresa expected her for coffee. Their plans for a ball at Leinz Manor, one themed as a summer retreat to the countryside, would accept none of Greta’s demurrals. She ducked out of her apron and washed her hands in a basin of tepid water, taking the opportunity to cool her flushed cheeks. A quick check in the mirror revealed splatters of gesso on her forehead and in her hair. After a little huff of frustration, she did her best to neaten her appearance. The girls had already been served when Greta arrived at the solarium. �śOh, there you are,” Anna said. The older of the two, she was quieter and more thoughtful�"not that anyone would accuse her of a retiring personality or a serious mind. Simply by benefit of contrast with her sister did Anna present the more sensible nature. She patted the seat next to her. �śCome. Sit. You look a fright.” Greta did so with a slight smile. Why did she bother? Unless she set her mind toward making her appearance the sole focus of each morning, she would never meet with her cousins’ approval. But such was not her goal, and she cared too much for them both to resent their determinedly inward-looking perspectives. After all she was hardly any different, consumed by painting rather than fashion and society. The girls made a show of attempting to correct Greta’s more conspicuous failings, and she made a show of implementing their advice. That no one ever emerged from the encounters entirely satisfied was hardly the point. Some languages would simply never be translated. �śWe were just looking over the menu for the ball,” Theresa said with a little bounce in her seat. �śThree weeks away and so much yet to do!” She buttered a thick piece of bread and eyed it hungrily, but took only mincing bites. If habit served, she would leave exactly half of the bread uneaten on her plate before starting in on a piece of torte or a wedge of melon. Greta always felt like a naturalist observing a rare species of bird when she watched her younger cousin eat. �śIt’s hardly so much as you think,” Anna said. �śWe have the situation in hand, as always.” �śYou say that but it never turns out. You’ll order the wrong flowers again.” �śThey weren’t the wrong flowers! Chrysanthemums were perfectly appropriate for Fasnacht,” Anna said, referring to the Carnival ball they’d hosted earlier in the year. �śIt wasn’t my fault you deemed them vulgar.” Theresa set aside her half-eaten bread. �śBut I get to choose the flowers this time. You promised.” �śBut we were talking about the menu.” With a little pout Theresa slumped back in her chair. The most skilled toddler would never match her expression, most likely for wont of practice. Anna gave her sister what passed for a censorious frown, which Theresa ignored�"out of design or inattention Greta could never be certain. The girl was positively childlike. She spoke at length�"at interminable length�"about finding the right husband. Greta could not help but worry how Theresa would fare in marriage. How would such an empty-headed angel endure managing a household, bearing children, submitting to a man’s demands? She closed her eyes, recalling the feel of the wall at her back and Oliver’s chest pressed flush to hers. He had been all strength, all male. Submitting to his demands had been all too easy. �śWhat do you think, Greta?” Anna asked. �śOh, no. You know I’m not one for taking sides between you.” She poured a cup of coffee and served herself a piece of Linzertorte. Apricot jam and almond slices were probably the devil’s tools because Greta would do unconscionable things for just a taste. For a flickering moment her mind glanced into the dark places where she had ventured with Oliver. Desserts could not compare to sweet, forbidden kisses. Her hand slipped. The torte landed half on the plate. �śHonestly,” Anna said. �śWhat a mess.” Greta licked her thumb. Taste and memory fused on her tongue, turning the sunlit room sultry. �śBut it would suit Theresa. Only half a piece.” �śTrue,” Theresa said with a giggle, �śbut you’re the only one who would eat it off the tablecloth.” Greta used a fork to scoop it onto the delicate bone china plate. �śWhy waste something so lovely?” The sisters exchanged meaningful glances, which read along the lines of �śPoor cousin.” Greta only smiled. She so enjoyed teasing them. It was only right with how they looked on her, not as an unsightly mistake, but as a gown from two seasons past. Such a gown would do in a pinch but was good for little else. By contrast she considered them both hair ribbons on a carriage horse�"the least material but most eye-catching feature. Plus, the familiar tête-� -tête with her cousins was more comforting than returning to thoughts of Oliver. Two days, two nights�Śshe had been haunted ever since. He was a valet. A servant. Greta’s father had been a respected classics professor, so well educated and successful, but even that considerably less glaring discrepancy in status had brought about Uncle Thaddeus’s quiet wrath. He had needed years to extract his sister from her morganatic marriage, but he had succeeded. He always had his way. And that success had meant their destruction. Her parents had been strong, even stubborn people�"qualities they had unwittingly passed on to their only daughter, no matter how she tried to curb them. Only by their example had she developed a better sense of preserving her own safety and sanity. Consequences could be avoided by being flexible�Śand occasionally furtive. Her mother and father hadn’t survived Thaddeus, but Greta was determined to do just that. As such, contemplating any relationship with Oliver beyond the kisses they had already shared was pure folly. She was lucky to have escaped that brief, luscious encounter without any lasting harm. Everything she had ever learned about decorum and station and a person’s proper place forbade what she had done. Yet molten thoughts insisted on continuing their kiss to a conclusion she had no firsthand experience in picturing. They had only just started when he had managed the gentlemanly course of action. But how would it feel? How would it end? A man and a woman. Coupling. Against a terrace wall. Her skin rippled with sensation. Oliver’s mouth on hers had been decadent, like apricot torte and rich, dark coffee. Lying in bed at night, she had not needed many minutes to begin imagining how his mouth would feel on the rest of her body�"even exploring her own, as she pictured him doing. She had wanted him to stoop to how she imagined servants behaved when not under the scrutiny of their employers. Rougher. More primitive. More animal. She might have joined him. Doing so would have been the ultimate dare. I dare you, world, to see me for who I am and what I truly desire. With her gaze she followed the angle of the windowsill to its vanishing point, all the while admitting the ridiculous, wayward nature of her fantasies. Indulgence by moonlight would only mean regret and mortification come morning. No other outcome awaited such an encounter, and she had been lucky. He had promised to keep her secret. He had taken nothing more than a kiss. Oliver Doerger was a good man, no matter his low rank. She needed to leave him at that. �śAnd then there’s always Baron Hoffer,” Theresa said. Greta blinked. The sun had changed angles on the leaded glass, casting a new shade of yellow across their afternoon respite. The girls had moved on from the menu to the guest list, leaving Greta to wonder how long she had indulged in illicit daydreams. �śWho?” Anna asked. �śBaron Hoffer. He’s newly arrived from somewhere in Prussia. I heard from Eliza Schau that he’s very handsome and quite well-heeled.” Anna wrote the man’s name on a list that had grown longer than her forearm. �śWhere does he live?” �śHow should I know? Is there a place called Hoffer?” Theresa shrugged. �śSimply put his name on the invitation and let the postmen figure it out. That is their job.” �śOh, you can be so very thick,” Anna said with a wave of her fine-boned hand. �śGreta, you will be attending, surely?” Greta nodded. �śAnd I’ll even have Marie help me dress.” Relief slid across Anna’s pretty features. She had remarkable green eyes, but perhaps that was because they were so large and brilliantly colored in such a small, pale face. One could not help but notice them. �śI’m glad of it. Poor Marie really must tire of waiting for you to ring her.” �śI’m sure she has other duties to attend.” Anna frowned slightly, as if she had never considered the question. In truth Greta had hardly ever ventured near the subject of servants and the lives they led outside of duty. Oliver Doerger had needled her with the possibility that she was missing out on a great deal. �śPardon me, Fr�ńulein Zweig?” One of the workmen who had boxed up her copy of Baptism of Christ was standing in the doorway. He was fingering the brim of his flat cap, his eyes shifting nervously over the scene. Greta took a breath. Something was not right. �śYes? What is it?” �śBegging your pardon, but could you show me which painting this is?” He held out a slip of paper. �śThose silly paintings,” Theresa said. �śYou’d think they were diamonds for the fuss you make over them.” Greta dabbed a napkin at the edges of her mouth. �śMore true than you know.” She forced her feet and knees and legs to lift her to a standing position. Uncle Thaddeus was doing it again. He was selling another painting. She wondered if she could get to a washroom before that wonderful torte emerged once again into the world. Only the servant’s anxious expression and his extended slip of paper grounded her. To anyone else she must appear the strangest creature. �śExcuse me,” she said. Taking the paper, she nodded for the man to accompany her. The long corridor felt especially chilly after having spent the previous hour in the solarium. Here there were no windows to let in the late summer sun, only paintings that chided the effort she had expended. When she was out of sight of her cousins, she dared open the slip of paper. Pieter Casteels’ Peacocks in a Green Landscape. Her steps faltered. The man with the flat cap took her elbow and steadied her before releasing his grip. No flicker of warmth. No spark. Greta took some comfort in that observation. At least she was not so bored or depraved as to find all servants arousing. Just Oliver. But this�Ś Hurried steps came to a stop when she reached Peacocks. Here she had managed to get the color exactly right�"turquoise and azure, emerald and a lush, beautiful crimson. The only problem had been with form. Her peacocks were fantastic creatures but without a semblance of weight. They looked flat. Bored, even. �śHe’s selling this one, isn’t he?” The man made a noise in his throat. �śDid he mention to whom?” �śNo, Fr�ńulein Zweig.” He would not meet her eyes. �śWere you told to keep this information from me?” �śThat’s right. But�Ś” He swallowed. �śBut I cannot read, ma’am.” �śThere’s no shame in that.” She handed back the slip of paper. �śWhat is your name?” �śThomas, ma’am. Thomas Beltzer.” �śThank you, Thomas. You needn’t mention any of this to His Lordship. Go about your business, bitte.” He bowed but Greta was already turning away. The gesso on her latest canvas would be dry soon. She could start work once more. But for the first time in her life, the prospect of beginning a new painting held no joy. Oliver rolled his shoulders as much as he could manage without appearing improper. The briefing with Grand Duke Ferdinand’s representatives was taking far longer than anyone had predicted. Additional security measures had been proposed, revised and ultimately discarded in favor of new ideas. Since the assassination attempt, the grand duke, his mistress, Maria Lucca, and his children had fled under heavy guard to a retreat in nearby Berchtesgaden. Changes would need to be approved and implemented before he returned. Christoph had once said that all politics was about territory. Physical territory such as kingdoms and castles, wives and cattle�"obvious enough. This slothful, well-mannered discussion, however, was about the territory of duty and favor. The palace guard, city managers and even the outlying barons wanted their say, and all wanted to blame someone else for the breach in security. And underneath their posturing and bickering remained a stark yet unnamed fear. None of these petty concerns would amount to a blessed thing if Napoleon marched through. Four hours into the endless rounds of talk, Oliver’s feet were numb from standing along the wall with the other aides. He could concentrate on little else, not even the enigmas of Greta Zweig and Karl Schulz. His eagerness to once again see his friend had of yet come to naught. Karl, or Baron Hoffer, kept no known address in the city, which niggled Oliver with another bout of suspicion. He was going to have to dig a little deeper. But later. Catching Christoph’s eye across the huge oval table, he almost grinned. His stalwart brother was the soul of patience, but even he was in the midst of stifling a yawn. Forty-five minutes later they emerged from the stately splendor of the Residenz, the duke’s palatial home. Like boys ready to make mischief at the end of an interminable school day, they strode south through the Dombogen�"the towering two-story marble arches that led to Domplatz. Oliver nearly hopped as he walked, so keen on seeing the sun again. Mountain air touched his face, a sweet reminder of life outside agendas and haggling. He felt alive, free�"unaccountably so. That feeling of freedom was welcome, but it also reminded him of his youth, of near scrapes and misdeeds. The more respectable choice was to keep his impulses close. At that moment, however, still haunted by moonlight and wide blue eyes, he could not muster the strength to care. �śGuter Gott, Herr Kleinmayrn is a nuisance,” Christoph said. �śI never thought he would stop talking.” �śIf he only tried varying the pitch of each syllable�"not by much, mind you�"he would increase the effectiveness of his arguments by half.” �śI find myself wanting to agree with him just to shut him up.” Oliver grinned. �śA subtle tactic on his part, if that brings him success.” �śWhat? He saps opponents of their will to breathe? Quite a keen political adaptation.” �śI’m simply glad to feel my feet.” Christoph looked his way, his hawkish features softening slightly. He shook his head. �śI don’t know how you do it.” The uncharacteristic acknowledgment was as welcome as it was gratifying. �śThank you.” And then he was Christoph again, the stern-faced Lord Venner who all but a few believed to be the full measure of his personality. �śNow what did you find out?” �śUnfortunately very little.” Oliver ticked off a list on his fingers. �śKleinmayrn’s granddaughter may or may not be in a delicate condition by a second cousin who visited last month. And expect an invitation to Baron Reitzweller’s second wedding.” �śTo Lady Georges?” �śYes, still running from Napoleon’s blacklist and willing to bed a man three times her age to do so.” �śI don’t like it,” Christoph said. �śWe spend hours dancing around what no one dares speak. If the French head eastward, they will retake Salzburg. There is no escaping that fact. We’re a mere bump in the road to Vienna.” Oliver frowned at his brother’s slight edge of temper. �śWhat are you thinking, my lord?” �śWe must have other preparations in place. Contingencies.” �śYes. And soon.” They turned the corner into Kapitelplatz, where vendors had set up stalls along the perimeter. Flowers, fruit, vegetables and fresh pastries created a wildly sweet atmosphere. Oliver’s stomach moaned, his hunger a renewed ache. �śMe too,” Christoph said, his gaze fastened on a nearby array of roasted meats. But only a few hundred feet from home, they pushed on. Their strides consumed long lengths of Kapitelgasse. Oliver liked the feel of his muscles after hours of inactivity, as if his body had been reanimated. Maybe he and Christoph would find time later that afternoon to take up their foils and spar. Such activity was most welcome after tedious days. �śOh,” Oliver said. �śAnd on a lighter topic, Arie and Mathilda De Voss would like permission to debut their new sonata at your residence.” �śWhy didn’t they just ask Ingrid?” �śThey did, and she heartily approved. But it will involve several hundred people in the ballroom. They insisted on garnering your approval too.” Christoph smiled tightly. �śI do so admire a sensible couple. Very well.” They arrived at the townhouse, a sleek marble structure that towered four stories above the street. Each row of windows was smaller than the one below, creating the illusion of even greater height. Christoph had come to own the building upon marrying Ingrid. Their union, when discussed by the strictest social matrons in Salzburg, was still a scandal, but Oliver viewed it as the oldest sort of match�"influence meets money. Few seemed to realize advantages gained by each. Christoph’s good sense tempered his wife’s tendency toward caprice, while her verve ensured that he would never dry up and float away out of pure loneliness. Oliver had known him before Ingrid, back when he was miserable company. Oliver’s habit of late had been to scrutinize successful marriages, picking apart their matched components to understand the whole. It was either that or sink into his own little well of loneliness, one that had deepened on the evening he met Greta Zweig. It was probably nothing more than contemplating what he did not have, coupled with the fact that it had been months since last taking a lover. Three hours in the arms of a widow from Burgundy had been a delightful diversion, but Oliver was beginning to crave more. He could not decide whether to credit or blame Greta for that, if at all. As Ingrid greeted her husband in the townhouse’s foyer, Oliver had to look away. A surge of envy shook him from hair to heel. He took Christoph’s coat. �śYou two look as if you watched puppies drown all afternoon.” Ingrid’s hand cupped the back of Christoph’s neck. �śNothing so diverting, meine Liebe.” �śOh, you’re terrible. Come in. Eat.” Christoph let himself be led down the corridor. �śMy office in one hour, Oliver. We’ll look at all the possibilities.” Ingrid cleared her throat. She clasped his hand in hers, her expression soft and inviting. �śMake that two hours,” Christoph said. Oliver tightened his grip on his half brother’s discarded coat. �śYes, my lord.” He looked down to find that he’d crumpled the wool lapels. Another chore to attend�"and how fantastic to be one of his own making. But no number of chores, especially not attending to Christoph’s garments, seemed likely to banish his unusual melancholy. He begrudged his brother no happiness, but that did little to produce an equal measure of happiness for himself. To simply disappear with Greta for two hours and indulge�Śwhat would that be like? To be able to do so without fear or censure? He laughed softly to himself, wondering if he would find her nearly so attractive if she weren’t forbidden fruit. At least he was sensible enough to speculate. Maybe there was hope for him yet. And maybe he needed to head down to the Stadttrinkstube, the city drinking rooms, to indulge in a dose of female company. But he knew he would not, at least not that evening. The books he had requested from the university�"ostensibly on Christoph’s behalf�"had arrived early in the morning. Greta had thought him an uneducated servant. On the subject of art, at least, she had been frustratingly accurate. Her forgeries could be the worst in the history of larceny and Oliver would never know. Through the years he had taken to remedying such deficiencies once he recognized them. This task took on the added imperative of being about Greta. He would not be so ignorant if they ever met again. Oliver was just about to find his way to the kitchen, his stomach still a knot of hunger, when the butler ushered two workmen into the foyer. �śWhat’s this?” Oliver asked. Hans, the sixty-year-old butler, was a grave character. His demeanor was dour enough to trump even Christoph’s. �śA delivery for Lady Venner.” The workmen placed the thin, flat crate on the floor. Oliver asked for the delivery papers. A quick glance over the docket proved his suspicions, that the crate contained a painting. A painting delivered from Leinz Manor. �śWell, well,” he said under his breath. Ingrid must have done a little shopping, perhaps while Oliver was so intriguingly engaged on the garden terrace. But thoughts of Greta roused his suspicions. �śWhere shall we direct it to be delivered?” Hans asked. He always spoke in the third person, which never failed to strike Oliver as comical. Only, his laughter was nowhere to be found just then. �śTo Lord Venner’s office. Don’t tell Lady Venner of its arrival just yet. He’ll want to surprise her.” �śYes, Herr Doerger.” If it proved to be a forgery, Oliver would need to inform Christoph. He had made a promise to Greta, one he planned to keep if at all possible, but first and foremost his loyalty remained with his family. Chapter Six For the second time in nearly a month, Oliver was in a carriage bound for Leinz Manor. Only this time he traveled with Karl. He also did so without an explicit invitation. Karl�"or rather, Baron Hoffer�"had been invited. And, when Oliver had finally located his friend in a temporary lodging across the Salzach, the so-called baron had been in need of a valet. �śThis must be your brother’s doing.” Karl sat on the velvet bench across from Oliver. Again his clothing and bearing bespoke a man who should be welcomed into any respectable household. And again Oliver could see flashes of a wild blacksmith’s son in Karl’s every movement, in his restlessness and an ambition that practically seethed from his pores. �śI cannot imagine him lending us a carriage for anything other than official business.” �śHe has his reasons,” Oliver said. �śBut please do not ask me to discuss them. Suffice it to say that this arrangement benefits all parties. Does it not?” An animalistic grin split Karl’s face. �śI get to arrive in fine style and treat you like my personal servant all evening? Yes, it does indeed suit.” �śYou take too much pleasure in that prospect, mein Freund.” �śToo much?” Karl straightened his cravat. �śNo, I like to think of it as just enough.” A game. A game. The phrase kept repeating in Oliver’s mind. Karl was up to something, his dark eyes on some objective that remained just out of sight. But Oliver had more pressing concerns to investigate. His secret study of art books had been more than just a boon to his pride. He strongly suspected that the painting Ingrid had purchased was another of Greta’s copies. Accepting commissions for copies was one consideration�"a fair occupation with a long history. As long as there were wealthy people, there would be a market for ways of protecting that wealth. But peddling fakes was unacceptable. Christoph had not been pleased with the news. �śFind out,” he’d said. �śBy whatever means you deem necessary.” So after a few tactful inquiries, traded for favors and goods, Oliver had located Karl’s whereabouts. Securing him an invitation had been easy enough to acquire�"apparently Leinz’s daughters had already been trying to determine his whereabouts. That revelation bedeviled Oliver too. Just how was his old friend managing to ensconce himself so quickly into polite society? One carriage and one valet later, the mysterious Baron Hoffer had been ready for the ball. The horses’ harnesses jangled as the carriage came to a stop. �śWe’re here,” Karl said, his grin almost manic now. �śYou and me, Oliver, at Leinz Manor. It’s what we’re due.” �śHardly. We’re both here under false pretenses.” A dark scowl flashed over Karl’s features. �śMost men come to power under false pretenses.” And with that his darkness dispersed. He slid a preening hand down the back of his hair and nodded to the door. �śLead on, my dear valet.” Oliver studied the man for a moment longer, but none of that acid returned to his demeanor. Karl was a puzzle for another time. Until proved otherwise, he would simply assume his old friend was as capricious as always, with nothing more sinister than his ruse underway. No, on that evening Oliver needed to concentrate on uncovering a different fraud. Greta. Her name blinked to life in his brain like flint struck in the pitch black. He would see Greta again. He would confront her. Again. This time, however, he had no designs on claiming a kiss. If his suspicions were correct and the painting proved a fake, he would read it on her face and demand a refund. For his sanity’s sake, then, he would be done with Greta Zweig. Oliver opened the coach door, hopped down and pulled the steps into place. Karl descended like the baron he was supposed to be, all fine manners and disdainful glances. But there was little to merit his disdain. The manor was beautiful. Cauldrons of light emblazoned Leinz Manor in warm hues, banishing the early evening dusk. Freshly cut flowers in bouquets as large as the span of a man’s arms filled waist-high stone vases. Everywhere there was movement and laughter. Servants slipped in and out of view in the precise ballet of expectations. Drivers moved their empty carriages along, ladies’ maids made for the rear entrance, and valets exchanged snuff and liquor, milling in the driveway as soon as their masters disappeared indoors. Karl made for the front door and Oliver followed, his head swimming with dissonance. On his last visit he had been an invited guest, a man of sudden esteem after saving Greta’s life. Now, in his powdered wig and livery, as unobtrusive as he could manage, he was just another servant. Normally that suited him well. He and Christoph depended on his being taken for granted. On this night, unaccountably, his pride stung. Why was he denied the opulence of such an occasion? His father had done the misdeed that resulted in Oliver’s bastardy. And yet Oliver was the one shut out of that privilege, that whole other life. No wonder Karl had been tempted to skirt every measure of propriety and claim it for his own. He would probably fare better by breaking the rules than Oliver ever had in obeying them. No. He was through with trying to get ahead that way. �śBitte,” said one of the two matched doormen. �śYou know the way of it. Around back with you.” Oliver jerked to a stop. He had been ready to follow Karl inside. An unforgivable slip. He took one last look toward the glittering cavern of riches on the other side of the threshold. There would be dancing, flirting, laughing. Oliver wanted to be a part of it. Karl threw him a grin over his shoulder. Two women draped in pearls had already affixed themselves to his arms. He offered a little nod and turned away. Disgusted with himself, Oliver apologized to the doormen and spun on his heel. He was going to use the back door. And he was going to get his head in order. Remember your duty. Distressing how often he was having to prod himself with that reminder. Ever since seeing the Venners’ coach arrive, Greta had been looking for Oliver. Only she had not been prepared for how difficult it was to pick him out among the clutch of liveried servants. She had been hoping against hope that he would attend, although many obstacles stood in the way of such an outcome�"Lady Venner’s delicate condition first among them. But arrive he had. Now the question was what Greta would do about it. She stood on the middle steps of the central staircase, overlooking the guests as they began to pair up for the evening’s first minuet. Her fingers tapped without pattern against the balustrade. An unnamed discontent had been building under her skin for weeks. First it was her uncle and the ordeal with selling her forgeries. Their disagreements only served to underscore the aggravation of hiding behind other artists’ works. She wanted to create from scratch, not just copy. Obligation meant she was bound to continue, but for how long? Until they had amassed security enough to survive the oncoming conflict. Even women of the highest breeding managed to find oblique ways to discuss their fears. The scarcity of goods and the bland nature of this year’s fashion novelties stood in place of their real concerns, that Napoleon planned once again to lay waste to Europe. Greta’s place was to help make sure that the Leinz family would endure. And then there was Oliver’s kiss. She touched her gloved thumb to her lower lip, then rubbed harder to push past her numb frustration. He had woven a twitching restlessness into her body, one that time had only intensified. She wanted more�"more of him, certainly. But more greedily, she wanted more of how he made her feel. His embrace had turned her to fire and steam. She had become a goddess. To say she was tempted to renew such feelings was a vast understatement. The dark currents running inside her would not be slowed. She felt powerless to resist the pull of curiosity. Was this how her mother had felt? Was this why she had chanced such an unequal marriage? Greta snapped away from those thoughts. She wiggled her toes in her satin slippers and took a deep breath. She could hardly be found guilty of mimicking her parents’ foibles. All she wanted was another few kisses. Her uncle did not control every aspect of her life. In this she felt the pull of quiet rebellion�"claiming something for herself. Marriage would come soon enough, to someone Thaddeus deemed suitable. All the more reason to find Oliver. Now. Under the pretense of checking on the staff, she slipped away from the ballroom. Tension squeezed at the base of her neck and down her spine. By the time she reached the kitchen, her steps were stiff and her limbs as rigid as metal left out in the rain. But among the servants, at least, she had status enough to wield a little authority. The kitchen was crammed with maids, footmen, coach drivers, valets and servers. Some were there to work, obviously struggling to get on with their responsibilities in the face of so many interlopers, but they laughed along, smiling at newcomers who idled and exchanged food and gossip. For some of them, this would be the closest they came to the evening’s entertainment. Greta slipped inside and stood to the left of the main pantry entrance, simply watching the interactions she had never thought to consider. One maid tickled the back of a groom’s neck with a lace handkerchief. The head cook, Frau Grieg, argued with a younger woman about the soup stock. Three footmen stomped in with a rush of fresh summer evening breezes. They grabbed a loaf of bread and hurried back outdoors. Humid, fragrant steam over the cooking pots swirled in their wake. Moments passed, hypnotizing Greta. She began to see past the uniforms to the people beneath, oddly aware of handsome men and very pretty girls. She had simply never thought to look. For how long had she been missing out on such drama? On whole lives? The realization left her oddly distressed by her lack of awareness. The flush of her cheeks was surely shame, because if it wasn’t shame, she would have to admit to a much dismal emotion�"envy. But none of the men was Oliver. �śCan I help you, Fr�ńulein Zweig?” asked one of the cook’s many assistants. Greta shook her head. Any artificial authority she imagined had dissipated. Her throat clenched tightly at the thought of how out-of-place she must appear. She was an intruder. �śNein, dankt. Guten Abend.” Back in the ballroom she found only the sorts of faces and finery one could expect at a nobleman’s fête. Plainness was bolstered and beauty amplified by jewels and silks. Another grating minuet began. Men and women paired together, some with more enthusiasm then others. Anna had found a tall gentleman with graying hair, while Theresa was dancing with an Austrian Hussar in full uniform. Greta should be dancing too. She should be spending time nearer to her uncle so as to receive fortuitous introductions. How could he match her with anyone if she did not stick near his side as a reminder? But she turned away from the music and candlelight and swirling couples, intent now, desperate now, in her search for one particular valet. An idea occurred to her as to where he might be. She wove through the partygoers and young men holding trays of food and wine. Descending from the ballroom and leaving the west wing, her breath accelerated. Sweat gathered along the creases of her palms, beneath the gloves that still did not match�"this time a deep rose gown paired with satin a shade too pale. Her anticipation became a weight caged in her chest, as if her heart had been replaced by a cannonball. Only, her heart was beating much too loudly, too heavily, to be made of iron. Straining, pulsing, its rhythm was completely out of keeping with the light exertion of merely walking. She turned the corner and stopped short. Oliver stood at the exact center of the manor’s central corridor, leaning against the wall. He presented such an incongruous picture, his arms crossed, his posture lax, while clad in the staunch formalwear of his station. Images of the first moment she had seen his powdered wig and oxblood livery flashed behind her eyes. Back then, on the verge of saving her from an armed attacker, he had been such a contradiction too�"calm voice, deceptively relaxed posture and deadly skill. She made a strangled noise and reflexively touched the healed cut along her throat. He turned. An expression she could not interpret warped his features, turning him into even more of a stranger. He pushed away from the wall with negligent ease, as if this hallway belonged to him and he could take all the time in the world. A hundred guests were packed into the ballroom one floor above them, but they were alone. Greta touched her neck once more before proceeding. Her body moved as would a toddler struggling with the demands of balance and gravity. She could claim no grace, no certainty, only a breathlessness that was so out of keeping with any feeling she had ever known. Closer now, with only the four-foot width of an Old Testament scene between them, Greta inclined her head. Oliver bowed. �śGood evening, Fr�ńulein Zweig. No dancing for you?” �śNot tonight, no.” �śI would, if you wanted to.” She tipped her head. �śWould do what?” �śDance with you.” �śOh!” She glanced up and down the corridor as if his bold words would suddenly conjure an audience. �śDon’t be absurd. You know that’s impossible.” �śFew things are.” His penetrating stare was back in force. Pale, pale eyes shone silver beneath the nearby wall sconce, while that flickering flame cast warm colors over his skin. The contrast was delicious. But then, he was unequaled at bringing contrasts together into an exhilarating whole. He was a servant, yes, but Greta’s heart beat so stridently that he might as well be the master. �śI am not dancing with you, Herr Doerger.” �śOliver, remember?” �śI do. But liberties were taken when we last saw one another.” �śLiberties you do or do not intend to repeat?” The satin of her gloves made the slightest noise as she tightened her fingers. His eyes shifted, absorbing even that tiny movement. Did the man miss anything? She had never been so thoroughly observed. So�Śabsorbed. She was accustomed to taking that liberty as an artist. What purpose did his constant vigilance serve? �śWho are you?” she asked, surprising herself. �śOliver Doerger.” He took a step closer. �śValet to Lord Venner.” And another. �śAnd the man, I think, who gave you your first proper kiss.” Face aflame, Greta turned away from him and faced her copy of Joachim Patinir’s Landscape with Christ. �śOr we could avoid the issue and consider the Dutch treatment of skies,” he continued, regarding the same painting. �śWhat’s your opinion�"are they genuine or painted from imagination?” �śHow did you�Ś?” Oliver raised his brows. �śI told you not to underestimate me.” Greta focused on the painting, noticing how subtly she’d managed the variations of color along the horizon. A quiet pride lit her chest. That had turned out more agreeably than she’d remembered. �śI like to think they’re real, and perhaps they really appear as such in the Netherlands. But their use of color is generally so striking. It shows off the contrasts between each color�"blue with orange, yellow with purple.” �śNearly too perfect to be genuine.” �śExactly.” �śAs opposed to Neuwirth. He wouldn’t know contrast if it bit him on the foot.” �śOh, absolutely,” she said with a laugh. Only then did she realize what had happened. She blinked up at Oliver, utterly flabbergasted. She poked and prodded with her gaze, but he gave up nothing. He could either harbor the world’s best rounded mind, or he had studied. Greta could hardly tell which was more impressive. �śAnd what shall we debate next time?” he asked. �śDa Vinci’s study of the male form.” She clapped her hands over her mouth, face burning again. The words had been blurted without thought. Oliver only smiled. �śIf I must.” Again Greta scanned the corridor. They were so public. Anyone could turn the distant corners and catch them together. Her nipples tightened beneath her confining bodice. She must be a hideous reprobate to find excitement in such a scenario, but her body told no lies. �śYou make me speak out of turn,” she whispered. He had bridged the span between them. She could hear him breathing quietly out of his nose. �śI think you enjoy it. Just like that kiss we shared.” �śThat was to keep you quiet.” �śNot so. There was no fine, remember? You gave that gift to me freely.” A quick glance up and down his long body reaffirmed the garb of a servant. The wig, pulled back into a neat ponytail and tied with a black ribbon, added a strange sort of softness to his features. And mystery. What else was he hiding? She had seen him in the clothes of a gentleman�"and in her dreams, as he kissed her, he wore those same garments. To find him back in uniform made her slightly nauseated. Indulging in a moment of recreation in his arms, no matter how brief or harmless, was simply not an easy prospect�"not with such glaring reminders. Yet her desire would not ebb. Eagerness gathered in her blood, wanting to see him stripped. No barriers. No distractions from flesh touching flesh. A heavy swallow caught in her throat. Every inhale reacquainted her with the spicy warmth of his essence. �śI remember,” she whispered. �śI’m glad of that.” Also wearing gloves, he touched her chin. More blasted barriers. But not where his mouth met hers. Snapping energy tingled between their lips. Greta almost cried out at that touch, surprised by how shocking it was all over again. He eased against her with a steady pressure. Instinctively she knew to angle her head. Oliver took the move for the invitation it was. His tongue slipped across her bottom lip, then inside. Greta held tight to the sleeves of his uniform, her mind going fizzy and hot. Her body throbbed with its own drumbeat. Only the stiff resistance in Oliver’s arms, in his neck and back, kept her from sinking completely into the kiss. She pulled back. His face was as unyielding as his posture, playing tricks on her mind. Surely he wasn’t the same man who had just initiated such a dangerous kiss. �śWhat is it?” she asked. Oliver cleared his throat. �śI believe I may have to go back on my promise regarding your pursuits.” Her knees lost their constancy. She was still holding his sleeves, a grip she tightened as she asked, �śWhat do you mean?” �śLady Venner bought a painting from Lord Leinz when we were last here.” �śWhich painting?” she asked in a tense whisper. �śA landscape full of peacocks.” Greta closed her eyes, closed him out. No, no, no�Ś �śIt’s beautiful.” His breath touched her, petting the strands of hair that lay across her forehead. �śI have never seen such colors. Last night I couldn’t sleep, knowing I would see you again. I went to Lord Venner’s study and opened the crate, just to study those colors.” He cupped her nape. �śI’m fascinated by how you see the world.” She could hardly know whether to be appalled at this turn of events or warmed by his praise. Both, perhaps. Her body still hummed and jittered from that brief kiss. �śHow did you know it was mine?” �śA guess. I needed to see your face when I asked.” He would be able to feel her heavy pulse beating against his palms, even through his gloves. Heat gathered between her legs. She emptied her lungs so as to take another deep breath of him. Lord above, she had never felt such a rush. They were poised on the verge of another kiss. She needed that release, an end to the dreadful hammering of her heart. �śYour face, Greta.” He touched his lips to her forehead. �śYour face gives away so much.” And then she was free. He pushed away from her. Greta clung to the wall for support. She could not breathe nor hear, her senses abandoning her as surely as had Oliver. What had happened? Her dizzy brain found no answers�"only a renewal of his stern expression. �śHaving your uncle make deals on your behalf is a wise business practice, Fr�ńulein. You would never be able to convince anyone.” Fear and a powerless rage replaced her desire, although the effects on her body were closely related�"the breathlessness, the tight limbs, the need to take those violent sensations out on someone else. She needed to, lest the disappointment crush her to the floor. �śI had nothing to do with it,” she said tersely. �śI create the copies. What Uncle Thaddeus does with them once I’ve finished is beyond my control.” �śA clever justification. It must make your burden of guilt much easier to bear.” �śI have no guilt.” �śA lack of conscience might help there as well.” �śA lack of�"” She flung herself away from the wall. �śYou have some nerve. I could have you thrown out this moment.” �śThen do so.” He crossed his arms once again. Where was the deferent servant he was dressed to portray? Greta only saw a man whose body projected confidence from every angle, every strong line. A man who determined when and how she felt desire. �śBut in this instance, I believe earning my silence will be a better decision than provoking me to reveal what I know.” �śYou’ll never be believed.” �śNot directly. But Lord Venner places a great deal of trust in my judgment. If he learns of my suspicions, there will be no saving you.” He stared, dragging out the threat. �śDon’t force my hand, Greta.” �śSo, more blackmail then? What will it take this time, I wonder?” Even as she formed the taunt, she knew that provoking him in this other, more intimate way was unaccountably dangerous. Part of her was already prepared to surrender what he might demand. Oliver held his tongue, simply watching her. As she did when interacting with her uncle, Greta closed off vulnerable places. Hid them. Pretended they never existed. To let Oliver see her fear or�"even worse�"the full extent of her curiosity and darkness would give him even more power. �śI only want Lord Venner’s money returned,” he said at last. �śI�ŚI can’t do that. My uncle won’t permit it.” �śFind a way to convince him. The alternative won’t be to either of your liking.” He dropped his implacable stance and took her hands. Staring at where he petted a thumb over her inner wrist, she wished she could feel his skin�"even as she hated the power he wrested. �śDon’t,” she forced out. �śBitte. Don’t.” �śGreta, I never intended to reveal your secret. I gave you my word. But any deceit against my employer must be redressed.” He exhaled. For the briefest moment, he lowered the mask of detachment that shaped his features. Greta saw fatigue in the tight lines on either side of his mouth, in the puffed skin beneath his eyes. Perhaps he really had been up the night before, unable to sleep, staring at the colors of peacocks. The intimacy of that image and the intimacy of their clasped hands�Śshe had believed the danger restricted to matters of her reputation, or even her virtue. There was even more danger in caring. �śI’ll speak with my uncle. I promise.” �śDanke, Greta.” �śOliver?” came a man’s voice. Greta jumped back. Her first and only thought was that no matter who walked down the long corridor, at least it had not been her uncle. �śMan, where have you run off to?” �śI’m here, Baron Hoffer.” At the stranger’s approach, Oliver offered a slight bow. His efficient demeanor was back at the fore. �śHave you met Fr�ńulein Zweig?” The baron joined them in the center of the corridor and bowed over Greta’s hand. He was not as tall as Oliver, and far thinner. Cheekbones like knife edges jutted out above deep hollows, but he was otherwise a rather handsome man. Thick dark hair was gathered at his nape and equally dark eyes shifted endlessly�"the opposite of Oliver’s steady regard. �śA pleasure, Fr�ńulein. Are you a guest?” �śNo,” she said, retrieving her hand. �śLord Leinz is my uncle. Now if you’ll both excuse me, I must retire for the evening. It was a pleasure to meet you, Baron Hoffer.” Greta turned away. Forcing her feet to walk rather than run was one of the most difficult tasks she had ever managed. Baron Hoffer. Who was he? Would he reveal what he had seen? And why did his face strike her as familiar? No matter. She had to get back to her room, to her studio. There she would be safe, at least for the night, even if disappointment would surely keep sleep at bay. Come morning she would have to confront her uncle, all the while praying that Baron Hoffer, whoever he was, proved as circumspect as a certain valet. Chapter Seven Karl’s grin bordered on a leer as he watched Greta flee. �śPlease tell me you’re on some mysterious errand for Lord Venner.” Oliver, too, watched her go. This was a bad turn of events, he knew, even as he regretted such a hasty end to their stolen moments. His blood pulsed like a tide. �śAnd why would I do that?” Karl snickered behind his hand. He reeked of perfume and smoke, and his hair had been tousled as if by a winter’s gale. �śBecause the idea of you wooing a Pfalzgraf’s niece while wearing that livery is simply too ridiculous.” Old memories of being taunted for his bastardy turned Oliver’s hands into rock-hard fists. Never good enough. Not ever. To hear that mocking reminder from his oldest friend cut his pride even deeper. The worst of it was the truth of Karl’s words. For a few minutes, holding Greta’s hand, Oliver had felt like a man�"a man whose interest in a particular woman extended beyond pleasantries, or even business. No matter how ridiculous, his proposition had been genuine. Intoxicated by the strange scent of her hair, that combination of roses and linseed oil, he had wanted to take Greta in his arms and dance. Or at least kiss her until they were both gasping. Breaking off their embrace for a second time had made his limbs shake. �śSo? Was I interrupting matters of great political import?” Karl staggered slightly to the left. He gulped out a laugh. �śOr something more personal?” Oliver bit his back teeth together. The impulse to knock that smug expression off Karl’s face was strong and unexpected. As more time crept between the present and those moments with Greta, the more foolish he felt. Had he been trying to intimidate her because of the forged painting, or because he desired more from her? Both. �śLeave it go, Karl.” �śNo, I don’t think I will. For all my fine garments, I’m still just a man who derives an inordinate amount of pleasure from the folly of others.” �śI’m struggling to recall�"were you always this long-winded? Or is that part of your new incarnation?” �śAll new! Do you like it?” �śNot in the least.” �śAh, well. It’s not meant for you, I suppose.” Karl staggered again, leaning heavily on the wall with a sloppy attempt at remaining vertical. �śGentlemen speak as if others will hang off their every utterance, no matter how inane.” �śA fine choice of words.” Oliver forced the violence out of his body. Whatever needed to be accomplished with Karl, it would wait until the man was sober. �śYou’ve had a few this evening, haven’t you?” �śPartaking in the privileges of, well, privilege.” �śWhy are you doing this?” �śBecause it’s diverting.” Karl stood so near that Oliver could smell brandy on his breath. He tugged on Oliver’s lapels, then smoothed them back into place. �śAnd because there’s no one to stop me.” His slipshod expression hardened. �śIs there?” This was different, a bitter shift. Did Oliver need to defend himself against a man he once would have died to protect? Would he need to defend Greta against what Karl had surely seen? Close bodies. Whispered words. So much could be made of such a scene�"all of it to her detriment. �śIs that a question or a dare?” Oliver asked. �śHmm�Śboth? I’m curious which will prove stronger�"your sanctimonious character or your loyalty to Venner.” As boys they had frequently sparred, more out of boredom than hostility. When not lifting jewels off unsuspecting ladies at a ball or stealing papers from his father’s office to burn, Oliver had directed his restless rage toward Karl�"and had come to expect the same treatment in return. Fights had been part of their tumultuous friendship. He had not yet adjusted to the desire to do Karl genuine harm. �śAnd now you’re threatening me,” he said. �śNo, just the neat little arrangement you have with your, ahem, employer.” �śNo difference. You know that.” They held one another’s gaze for a thick, hard-edged moment. Any hiss of movement would be invitation enough for Oliver to take his frustration out on Karl’s face. Blood speeding and muscles tense, he needed a release. But again came that knowledge he would be doing so because of Greta. Because of his pride. Oliver unclenched his fists and put three feet of distance between them. He called on that source of strength that made submission possible, always recognizing when one step backward actually worked toward advancing his ends. �śI’m not going to fight you, Karl. Not here. Not when you can barely stand.” �śFight?” Karl beamed. �śOh, do loosen up.” All antagonism slid away. He cuffed Oliver on the shoulder as would a boy at play. �śSo serious in your old age.” �śForgive me, Baron Hoffer,” Oliver said, his voice fat with sarcasm. �śI’m finding you very difficult to read this evening.” �śAnd that frustrates the hell out of you. Acknowledged.” Karl yanked on his cravat as if flinging away a snake. �śNow, if you’re all finished playing state secrets, can we go home?” �śNaturally.” Hoping to keep from causing much more of a scene, Oliver began walking toward the exit, pleased when his friend followed. �śUnless I could make the Venners’ town home my new residence,” Karl said with a wistful grin. �śAll the better to secure a more lasting arrangement with an obliging female. My flat is, well, a little humble. Hardly fitting.” �śI won’t vouch for you with Venner.” �śBut I’m harmless and I’m entertaining.” �śNeither of those words apply at the moment, Karl.” �śI said�"” he put a heavy hand on Oliver’s shoulder, �ś�"don’t call me that.” Oliver bunched his lips together to keep from speaking his mind. What would he say? Perhaps that the man in front of him more closely resembled a ghoul than a dear friend. �śNow, what do you think? Back to the town home?” �śI told you. No.” �śAh, well,” Karl said with a shrug. �śIt was worth a try.” �śI’m glad you understand me.” �śBut then, I wonder what all his political cronies would think if they learned what your real duties entail, all intrigue and keeping secret stock of the town’s finest.” He turned surprisingly sober eyes on Oliver. �śAnd your true relationship.” �śSo, we’re back to threats now.” �śYou must understand my position, Oliver, mein alter Freund. I have this role I’ve created,” he said, waving his hands down at his expensive garments. �śBut I need a little more. Legitimacy.” He snickered, his eyes tightened to slits. �śYou know all about needing legitimacy. A few weeks as Lord Venner’s guest would do just the trick.” Oliver shook his head, his shoulders suddenly heavy. His tongue felt too large for his mouth. �śDon’t ask it of me.” �śOnly this. And then you won’t ever need to see me again. I’ll vanish�"disappear from your life.” He rocked on his heels, catching his balance with a hand on the nearest wall. �śSome rich widow will fall in love with me and that will be that.” �śAnd you really expect to be able to accomplish such a ruse?” �śIt’s nothing so nefarious, Oliver. Just trying to change my stars. You can understand that, I’m sure.” He laughed a little. �śRemember how we used to dream of the future?” �śI remember us doing all we could to wind up under a jailer’s watchful eye.” Karl seemed to ignore him. �śBut after the war�"God, I couldn’t remember how to dream. This�Śhelp me have this.” His expression softened, no pretense now. Oliver saw the young man he had once believed to be his best friend in the world. He hardly knew what to think of Karl Schulz now, but their shared past was still robust. Although he knew that reference to their wartime experiences was well-timed, like a trump card revealed at just the right moment, Oliver could not deny its power. He owed Karl his life. That responsibility sat like a troll on his back, a nagging burden that would not be denied. Oliver exhaled and shifted his shoulders, readying to bear that burden a little longer. �śI’ll think about it.” �śThat’s enough.” Karl’s earnestness melted into a smile of drunken triumph. Oliver had not suffered nausea for a very long time. But he did throughout the ride back to Salzburg. Greta cut a piece off a large hunk of umber and placed it in her mortar. Seated at her window bench, she settled into the task of pulverizing the pigment. The umber cracked into a half dozen smaller rocks beneath her pestle. Soon she developed a steady rhythm, able to stare out the window as her hand pushed and crushed. The muscles in her arms and upper back ached, but the steady task was a mindless one. She was able to float out of her studio, taking in the lush beauty of that brilliant summer day. The gentlest breeze brought the fragrance of honeysuckle and roses and warm loam, doing battle with the linseed oil stink of her studio. The inevitable loomed, however. Soon. Soon she would need to speak with her uncle. She switched sides, enduring the clumsiness of her left hand in order to give her right a rest. Pigment powder fluffed out of the little stone cup, smudging her apron. And still the problem of her uncle remained. The longer she put it off, the tighter her chest became. She could hardly approach the thought of it without suffering that electric jolt of fear. He would dine at midday. He would take his afternoon walk. He would read his correspondence and play checkers with Anna and take his supper in the dining room. If she let the day pass without speaking to him, she would suffer the same torture again on the morrow. How had such a coward lived twenty years? By keeping in Uncle Thaddeus’s good graces. She pushed the pestle with even swifter strokes, the muscles of her arm turning to hot lead. At last it was entirely pulverized. She added the pigment and the linseed oil to a bowl and began again, mixing, mixing. She had no say over her life or her fate, but she could make those two disparate ingredients yield. When the umber paint was an ideal consistency, she set it aside and rolled her shoulders. Her hands cramped, so she bent her fingers backward against her thighs, pacing the studio. Go now�Śor go in an hour? In an hour. She glanced at the mantel clock, giving herself an ultimatum. At two in the afternoon he would be sated by his midday repast, taking in the air in the garden. Could he really be angry with her amidst such a setting? Rather than answer that question, she covered the umber and found her sketchbook. To paint now, in such an agitated state, would only mean frustration. Instead she vented, using paper and charcoal as her weapons. The mindless state of creation was all she desired. Minutes passed. Longer even. She could not tell, so lost in the world of her art. Page after page. Sketch after sketch. Only when the clock chimed four did she jerk out of that haze. Her backside was numb and her neck stiff. After a few blinks, licking dry lips, she looked down at the sketchbook in her lap. Oliver’s eyes stared back. She uttered a little gasp. She had captured him exactly�"so exactly that a shiver of awareness trailed down her back. His eyes were slightly narrowed, the line of his brow tugged down in that unnerving way. Scrutinizing. The arrogant jut of his chin contrasted with the hint of a wig she had sketched away from his temples. Greta smoothed a thumb over the top of his cheek. Rather than reveal heat, her caress only fouled the cool paper. The charcoal smudged, rubbing into her dry skin. She thrust the sketchbook aside and wiped her hands along her apron. She was obsessed, acting a fool. There was no future in even a playful, harmless infatuation. And if she delayed speaking with her uncle, she would suffer the consequences of Oliver’s keen intuition. The sketchbook landed at an awkward angle, its pages bent. She stooped to retrieve it and return it to a high shelf, but another drawing caught her attention. She carefully studied her portrait of Baron Hoffer. Yes, the brow was just right, as was the set of his dark eyes�"a little too close together and a little too narrow to be considered handsome. The sneer, too, touched her with that ethereal sense of life she was sometimes able to give her creations. The sneer was genuine. And familiar. She framed the drawing with her hands, angling the L-shapes of her thumbs and index fingers. The same niggling tickle of recognition slithered over her senses. She understood the impulse to place a name, face and moment of acquaintance, but she could not fathom her unease. Baron Hoffer. No matter the deep push into her memories, she could not remember having heard of him before her cousins’ conversation. They considered him a fine catch�"by rumor, mostly, because they had not met him before the ball. The mantel clock chimed half past four. She exhaled, no longer able to delay the inevitable. The mystery of Baron Hoffer would simply have to wait. After removing her apron and tidying her appearance, she traversed the manor’s many halls until she found Thaddeus in his study. She huffed a tight breath. If she had found him at two as she planned, this would all be over and done, accomplished in the garden rather than in his study. Books, dark furniture and the lingering scents of leather and pipe smoke marked his territory. The whole manor was his, but no room more so. Even her cousins never dared conversation with him there. Whether that made Greta brave or foolish she did not know. She rapped gently on the open door. �śUncle? May I speak with you?” He looked up from a ledger and nodded. �śOf course. Come in.” She closed the door behind her, quickly sending up a prayer as it snapped shut. The seat of her chair sank deeply under her weight, making her feel even less significant in the presence of her uncle’s intimidating demeanor. She laced her fingers together in her lap, looking down at her stained cuticles, searching for the voice that would not come. �śMargaret?” �śYes, my lord?” �śWhy are you here?” She screwed up her courage along with her mouth. When paint dried on the hairs of her arms, she simply yanked it off. Painful. Necessary. Quick. This was no different. �śMy lord, did you sell my copy of Casteels’ Peacocks to Lady Venner?” �śYes.” He set aside his quill. �śAm I to take it that you disapprove again?” �śMy lord, yes, but for a different reason.” �śAnd what is that?” Oliver, her brain shouted. He found me out. He sees me and he sees what I do. Why was he the only one? �śI have it under good authority,” she began slowly, �śthat Lord Venner has reason to doubt its authenticity. He is displeased.” Thaddeus’s face pulled into a scowl. Slim white eyebrows drew together. �śGo on.” �śThey would like the cost of the painting adjusted accordingly, or the original offered in its stead.” He began with a slow nod. Then, inexplicably, his twisted mouth eased toward a smile. It held no mirth; that would be as unlikely as fairies flying in from under the door. No, his smile said that he and his darling niece shared a secret. Greta shivered. �śI see, Margaret,” he murmured. �śI see what you’re trying to do.” �śMy lord?” �śIt makes sense, in a way. I almost admire your ingenuity.” He appeared as if he had just learned the solution to a troubling puzzle, but Greta could claim no such assurance. �śMy lord, I don’t understand. Bitte�Ś” �śYou did this, didn’t you? You decided, all on your own, that selling the copies was an affront to your sensibilities. You could not divulge what you know, not directly�"not without angering me. So you informed the Venners.” He stood from his desk and closed a folio of papers, taking the time to neaten the edges before filing them away. With a sure hand he smoothed the back of his bald head and continued that infuriating nod. He removed his pipe from its cedar box, then packed and lit the tobacco. Each action was done with calm precision, accentuating his hold over the situation. Over Greta. Her breath came in shallow, fiery bursts. Fury warred with terror as she waited�"a rabbit who feared a fox, yet knew enough to hate being mocked in the moments before death. �śIt must have been that valet,” he said. �śAm I right?” Greta lost the ability to speak and was thankful. Oliver had said as much, that she was a terrible liar. Now she could not lie because she could not form words. Breath and tongue and vocal chords seized, hardening like mud in the sunshine. Did Thaddeus know? Had Baron Hoffer said something? Upon finding her right heel tapping up and down, up and down, she pressed her hands against her knee. The close, dark study began to close like twilight over a garden. �śHe would be the perfect man to deliver any insinuations,” Thaddeus continued. �śThe merest hint of the truth would be enough to rouse his suspicions and tell Lord Venner. Suddenly�Śno more forgeries sold.” �śI didn’t�"” �śAnd a pretty girl like you�"you would be believed. A moment alone with a young man, perhaps a smile or two.” He skewered her with a harsh look. �śMore, perhaps. You are, after all, your mother’s daughter.” �śMy lord�"” �śQuiet, child!” He grabbed her upper arms and hauled her out of the chair. Shoved hard, she tripped over the leg of the chair. The jolting crack of her backside against the floor stole her breath, replacing all sensations with pain. She tasted blood where molars had sliced her tongue. Greta cowered, not even brave enough to look up at her uncle as he loomed high above. She saw his shoes. She was so low as to stare at his shoes. I will hurt one of us before suffering this again. The words trembled through her like an earthquake. But she did not move. Thaddeus knelt, taking hold of her chin with tense fingers. �śIf you ruin this, Margaret, I will have no recourse but to send you from my care. Permanently. You will be alone. You will be at the mercy of whomever deems you worth a charitable glance.” He sniffed. �śThink of your mother and how long she lasted. Consider how she looked at her funeral. Is that what you want?” Still mute, her head throbbing with violence and fear, she could only shake her head. �śThen you will do your duty to this family and continue your work. Look at me.” Greta dragged her gaze away from his polished black leather shoes. He was placid again, his anger now a memory and a few bruises on her backside. �śI will contact Lord Venner and deal with this quietly. I will explain that these were personal copies for our own family collection, that it was an honest mistake. Whether he wants the original or his money returned means nothing to me.” He released her chin, then helped her to stand. �śBut this is the last time I will forgive your disobedience. Do you understand me?” Dizzy, disoriented, she merely nodded. She hated herself for being so incapable. Her mother had fought back, as had her father. And look what became of them. Greta wanted to live. But that meant living according to the terms set by her uncle. Feeling so trapped filled her eyes with hot tears. �śSoon this will all be over,” he said, as softly as a father lulling his newborn. �śIf I have my way, Anna and Theresa will be married by the end of the year. Their futures will be secured, safe and far from the potential for invasion. Don’t you see that, Margaret? I do all of this for the safety of my family. Do you?” �śI see,” she rasped. �śAnd that includes you, meine Nichte. You will be safe too. Soon. We just need a little more time to bring it about.” Her neck was so stiff that it felt broken. But she nodded anyway. �śYes, my lord.” �śGood.” He returned to the barrier of his desk. Their confrontation�"their strange closeness�"was done. �śNow, Herr Weiser will be here this evening for supper. Please make yourself look presentable.” Greta’s throat grated as if each inhale gulped down shards of a broken mirror, but she managed to ask, �śHerr Weiser?” Thaddeus tipped his head, his expression perturbed as if reviewing a well-known fact. �śThe man you’re going to marry.” Chapter Eight If she thought about how many lies she had told and how many simpering smiles she had needed to force, Greta would lose her nerve. Instead she stepped out of the Leinz carriage with her head held at a proud, stiff angle. Little over a month had passed since her angered encounter with Uncle Thaddeus. Little over a month since meeting the man he intended her to wed. The sharp edge of a shiver worked up her spine. To say her uncle’s selection had been a disappointment was a compromise of sorts. Her heart demanded words with more vigor and punch, while her mind acknowledged that she hardly knew the man. Perhaps, with time, she might learn to�Śappreciate him. However, actually desiring him�"either his company or his physical attentions�"would not be borne. A chill sweat coated her skin at the thought. But she was not yet wed to Herr Weiser. In the meantime she had other plans, which included the goal she had so daringly achieved. She was in Salzburg once again. More specifically, she and her cousins had arrived at the Venners’ town home. After a few whispers in their ears, Anna and Theresa had been more than willing to propose a trip into Salzburg. A few more whispers had fostered the possibility of staying with Lady Venner as she entered her confinement. All had been willing and happy with the arrangement, and if they had noticed Greta’s hand in the planning, no one said a word. Greta followed her cousins down the walkway toward the Venners’ sumptuous four-story town home. In her mind she heard a ticking clock. Her time was so very limited. She had three weeks away from her uncle. Three weeks free of thoughts about Herr Weiser and his matrimonial prison. Three weeks to indulge in Oliver. And indulge she would. The early September evening was a torture, buffeting Greta with an unusually hot wind that matched the sizzle in her blood. Her skin pinched too tightly around her body. She wanted to bust out of it and be free of the way it kept her tense and small. Oliver’s hands, his mouth�"he would drag her out of this numbness that bordered on pain. Then she would marry Herr Weiser without regret, securing herself a safe future. If she proved very lucky and very bold, she might learn what to do to keep such a man pliant. Painting had been and always would be her passion. She was prepared go to great lengths to keep it part of her life. After all, she had no future with Oliver. Not outside of the next twenty-one days. Her art would be enough. Two footmen, their faces gilded by outdoor sconces, opened the doors to the town home. A tall elderly butler stood at the threshold to greet Greta and her cousins, with Lord and Lady Venner just behind. �śOh, I’m so glad you’re finally here!” Ingrid offered affectionate embraces. Her delicate condition had added a beautiful color and plumpness to her cheeks. Greta was surprised by how much more stout and healthy she appeared. �śI’ve been counting the minutes since I awoke this morning.” �śWe’re grateful for the invitation, Lady Venner,” Anna said with practiced ease. �śAnd again, I insist�"please call me Ingrid. I simply won’t stand on formality when we’re to spend so many days together.” Ingrid and the cousins continued to chatter about the trip in from the country, but Greta lost her grasp on the conversation. She had noticed, instead, the twin lines of servants that stretched into the building’s interior. Female servants flanked the right side, all lace caps and stridently white aprons. The younger the girl, the more nervous her fingers. Opposite them, to Greta’s left, waited the male staff, from the butler on back to�ŚOliver. Again he wore his wig and livery, bringing to mind their meeting at her uncle’s manor. Only then he had struck a negligent pose�"power and grace and masculine confidence. Now he stood like a soldier at attention, his shoulders thrust back and his chin slightly lifted. Greta could only stare, tracing the strong line of his throat. The irrational urge to trace that corded strength with her tongue made her mouth dry up. A tight pressure built low in her torso. His kisses and too many nights of decadent, erotic dreams had taught her what that feeling was. Desire. Though he had not turned his head or shifted his formal stance, he slid his gaze sideways until it locked with hers. Those pale eyes gleamed with a fire she could not begin to understand. Was he happy to see her there? Embarrassed? He was a man of untold skill and no small measure of pride. Perhaps that pride would rebuff any of Greta’s plans for seduction. An attack of nerves turned her knees to warm jam. What was she doing? What idiocy made her think she could go through with this? Her whispers and suggestions had all been to seduce a servant. What gall. What unfathomable boldness. That sort of confidence belonged to her uncle, not her. No, that was a lie. She had simply buried her confidence for too long. Thaddeus had made meekness and doubting herself second nature. �śOf course, we selected the very best rooms for you,” Ingrid said as they neared the end of the servants’ lines, neared Oliver. �śYou simply must see the view of the interior courtyard. It’s breathtaking this time of year.” Anna and Theresa kept their heads tipped toward one another, following Ingrid’s chatter like kittens after an evasive moth. Greta was simply thankful for their leisurely pace. Her limbs felt as if they were crumbling with each small movement. �śAnd a few introductions, I think.” Ingrid indicated a pale, pretty young woman standing opposite Oliver at the end of the women’s line. �śThis is Klara, my lady’s maid. If you need anything at all, Klara should be the first you call.” Klara bobbed a little curtsy and smiled. She wore a bright yellow dress that lent a healthy glow to her skin. The lovely linen material should have told Greta that Klara held a position of authority in the household, but she could hardly think for knowing Oliver stood a mere yard away. The skin behind her ear tingled, as if he had touched where her hair swept up from her nape. Surely he was staring. But she could not turn her neck. Every joint had fused. �śAnd of course you remember Oliver, Lord Venner’s valet.” �śOh, the boy from the opera.” Theresa giggled behind her lace evening glove. �śWhat a difference a proper suit of clothes makes!” Heat shot across Greta’s face. She chanced a glance at Oliver. His neutral expression had not shifted, but he was looking very intently at Theresa. �śIndeed, my lady. I am in disguise.” Anna joined her sister in a small fit of giggles. Greta caught the discomfited expression that Ingrid passed back to her husband. Lord Venner appeared far more riled than Greta would have guessed. Did he take umbrage about a slight to his valet? Was such a reaction normal? �śAnd you, Fr�ńulein Zweig,” Oliver said, his words low and intimate. �śI trust you are well?” �śQuite.” Before she would stop herself, she touched the raised sliver of skin on her neck where her wound had healed. Oliver’s pale blue eyes followed the movement�"all very polite and impartial, like his expression. Until he dropped his gaze to her bosom. The heat of the evening, not to mention her untoward intentions, meant Greta had removed her lace fichu. Although still decent, she felt stripped. Exposed. Her intentions lay as bare as the damp skin of her cleavage. She inhaled deeply. Heat blazed across Oliver’s expression, as blatant as a torch at midnight. Whatever doubt she might have had sputtered to nothingness. She had come to seduce a servant. That was still what she wanted. Now it was simply a matter of finding the strength to take what her body demanded. �śHerr Doerger,” she said. �śCould you help with my trunk?” Oliver blinked. The heat was gone, replaced by a shiver of something dark�"maybe resentment, maybe disgust. �śOf course, Fr�ńulein. My pleasure.” Pleasure. Oh, yes. Greta almost laughed�"it was either that or collapse under the choking heat of her anticipation. Oliver repeated his bow. The duke himself would not receive a more practiced display of humility. But inside he was seething with an embarrassment he rarely suffered. It was one thing for Greta to see him lined up with the other servants, as anonymous as a bit player. But it was quite another for her to treat him like one. Somewhere along the brief course of their acquaintance, Oliver had come to want one thing. Just one, because he wouldn’t dare demand more carnal rewards. He wanted Greta to see him as a man. Wig and livery and manual labor did nothing to further that end. Along with a young man named Michael, he hauled Greta’s trunk up the primary staircase and down the corridor to her room. With every step his mortification increased. He should hardly feel shame at doing his job�"a good, honest, respectable job by any estimation. But for the first time in too long, he wanted to be more. For her. That his infatuation could descend into such ugly emotions only added to his anger. Each footfall was agony, as if he strode across bright blazing coals rather than the tasteful woven runners Ingrid had ordered from Turkey. Once in Greta’s room, she barely acknowledged their presence before turning to stare out the street-facing window. Oliver wanted to slam his end of the trunk against the floor but resisted. She wanted to treat him like the servant he was. Very well. He would have no hand in giving her the satisfaction of seeing his discomfort. After nodding for Michael to depart, Oliver cleared his throat. �śWill there be anything else, Fr�ńulein Zweig?” She did not reply, only swallowed. Oliver watched the muscles move beneath the skin of her throat and found himself gazing lower, lower, to the swell of her breasts in profile. The way she hugged herself thrust them higher, her cleavage accentuated by flickering shadows from the nighttime street below. He licked his lower lip and clenched intertwined fingers behind his back. Every pulse of energy in his body was devoted to wanting�"and standing clear. Greta maintained her silence. When his humility had stretched to its very limit, pride in shreds, Oliver turned to go. He should have known better with a wealthy nobleman’s daughter. Fickle and centered only on her own needs, she was playing games with the hired help. But he was finished giving her more notice than their acquaintance merited. �śHerr Doerger, a moment?” He stopped with his hand on the door latch. But he hardly trusted his composure enough to face her. Although he warranted much of the reproach for allowing Greta to play him for a fool, Oliver found her much easier to blame. �śJa?” �śShut the door and come here. Bitte.” Oliver did as he was told, only because he wanted privacy when he hissed invectives. Long strides whisked him across the room until he had backed Greta against a wall. She pressed against the wallpaper, hands behind her back. Luminous eyes as blue as a lake in summer stared up at him. Her lips parted. Fire shot from Oliver’s temples to his groin. A path of tense, hot, selfish desire burned him on the inside. �śYou wanted me, Fr�ńulein?” �śYes,” she whispered. The barest sheen of sweat glistened along the fine hairs of her upper lip. �śYes, what?” �śYes, I wanted you. I still do.” Oliver jerked, as if her quiet words had been an unexpected peal of thunder. �śQuit your games. You’ve only just arrived and I won’t stand for weeks of this nonsense.” �śNo nonsense,” she said. �śNo games.” With deliberate slowness she shoved away from the wall and pushed his chest with flattened palms. Oliver retreated a step, his head buzzing. She followed. A quick flick of her wrist and his wig hit the floor. �śGreta!” Reflex found his hands on his own hair, smoothing what he knew would be a flattened, sweaty mess. She met him there. Her fingers twined with his, not to smooth the disarray but to make it worse. She dragged his face closer. �śI’m here for three weeks” was all she said. Then she kissed him. Oliver grabbed her shoulders just to hold on to something. But even her supple arms might be the stuff of dreams. She was pushing her lips flush against his. Pure fantasy. Only her little moan made it real. Recovering from his shock, he circled his arms around her upper back and pulled her close. Their bodies fit as tightly as their mouths. Firm. Perfectly matched. Oliver pushed deeper, meeting her tongue with his. She moaned again, welcoming, opening, giving the gift of her sweet taste. Their previous kisses had been an orchestra tuning before a performance. This was heat. This was indulgence. Oliver stroked down her spine. He clutched handfuls of fabric and woman. Greta’s hands still played in his hair, then ventured down to his cravat. Another clever tug and his neck was bare. She abandoned his mouth. With very little skill but a heart-stopping amount of enthusiasm, she scattered kisses and bites along his jaw, down his throat. He could only tip his face toward the ceiling, his eyes closed, his body a fire stoked to dangerous levels. The teasing nip she gave his earlobe dragged Oliver back to that strange reality. He had to stop. If he did not, his next act would be to nuzzle the tempting flesh of Greta’s cleavage. From there he could make no promises of gentlemanly behavior. He splayed his fingers along both sides of her face and pulled her clear of his throat. �śGreta,” he breathed. �śStop now. Stop. What is this?” �śI told you.” Her cheeks were flushed pink, her lips swollen. Oliver nearly succumbed to blatant invitation in her wide, shadowed eyes. �śI have three weeks.” �śWhich means what, exactly? Because I cannot fathom what you’re about.” �śDo you need to?” She slid her hands along the outside of his hips, around toward his backside. �śFor this?” �śGuter Gott! You’re serious!” Oliver held her at arm’s length and let go. He looked away. A neutral spot of light on the pale carpet was a much safer prospect than acknowledging her greedy expression. Dizziness and pure lust surged along his body. His cock ached. �śOnce these three weeks are over, I return to Leinz Manor. My uncle has a man picked out for me. I’m to be wed. Did you know that?” Pinching his eyes shut, Oliver found no relief�"only ghastly images of another man’s hands on Greta, on her skin, on those breasts he wanted so badly to taste. His curiosity would not be quelled. �śWho?” �śHerr Lionel Weiser. Do you know him?” The images in his mind worsened. Weiser was a snake, interested only in collecting political favors. A woman like Greta was his perfect social match. A step up, certainly, but not out of the reach of money and the right favors. For Oliver’s sanity, the match might as well have been forged in a circle of hell. Fleshy hands now�"Weiser’s beefy hands and his wiggling jowls, trailing over Greta with the assurance of absolute ownership. �śWhy are you doing this?” He could either keep talking or be sick. Or kiss her again. The possibilities mixed like molten glue in his stomach. �śI’ve always been destined for a marriage of my uncle’s devising. I don’t mind that so much, especially if it means a safe future. I could do much worse.” She had calmed now, her voice even. Oliver risked looking at her again, glancing sideways like a child afraid of an attic’s dark corner. Her angelic face had been filled with lust for him. Now she was harder. Determined. �śBut I will not go like some lamb to slaughter,” she continued. �śI intend to enjoy myself for the next few weeks, away from Herr Weiser and my uncle.” �śAnd that means crawling all over me?” Small and seemingly too soft to imagine, she held her ground. Her chin tipped up. �śYes.” �śThen you’ll marry Weiser? What about your painting?” �śMen can be manipulated. Am I right?” Oliver lifted his brows. It was as if he spoke to another woman altogether. �śYes.” �śGood. Then while I’m enjoying myself�"with you�Ś” She paused and met his gaze. �śYou can teach me what will make my future husband most amenable to my requests.” The room had become too dark, too close and far too sweltering. Oliver ran both hands through his messy hair and shook his head. �śYou cannot possibly be in earnest.” �śI am.” �śWell, I am too. Last I checked, Lord Venner was my employer.” Greta blinked. The fight and sensual spark in her eyes dimmed. �śYou�Śyou’re refusing me?” �śAm I�"?” He pounded a fist into his palm and tried his hardest to keep his voice down. The rush of blood in his ears made it impossible to tell if he succeeded. �śAm I refusing you? Shall we consider the state of your request? You want me to set aside every scruple so that I might embark on a three-week sexual escapade with my employer’s aristocratic guest. I’m to risk my livelihood and forsake my pride. And I’m to do so in the name of equipping you with the wiles you’ll need to turn that whale of a man into a compliant husband.” She dipped her chin. Her shoulders lifted on a shaky inhale. �śI think about you constantly,” she whispered. �śI thought I could go forward with my uncle’s plans if I had�Śwell, if I had a few moments just for me.” Oliver’s equilibrium had gone missing when he entered her room, and she was making it impossible to hope for its return. Such a strange woman. So bold and yet so scared. She was the living embodiment of her forgeries�"beautiful, undeniable, but still in hiding. I’m in hiding too. For both their sakes, he had to do more than simply end this one encounter. He had to stop it from becoming a temptation they would repeat. She risked her reputation, her future and her family if she insisted on dallying with a servant. He risked his brother’s regard and his place within Christoph’s elite political circle. Oliver might never be legitimate, but he still liked to think he was in charge of his destiny. That destiny would be forfeit if he ruined Leinz’s niece. And in a deeper, more vulnerable place, he knew he would never be able to indulge in such a woman�"only to hand her over to another man. To do so would make her a whore and him a heartbroken fool. �śGreta, look at me.” She kept her head bowed, forcing him to lift her chin. �śWhat we desire hardly matters. Neither of us is in a position to act. Tell me you understand as much.” She barely nodded. That would have to do. Risking another minute in the company of her sweet warmth and shattered expression would be his undoing. Chapter Nine Despite her inauspicious encounter with Oliver in the initial moments of her arrival, Greta settled into her stay. She and her cousins broke their fast with Ingrid, visited the city’s breathtaking cathedrals and eerie catacombs, and took supper with the Venners, always joined by wealthy and influential guests. Everyone came to Ingrid Venner, it seemed, because she could not much venture out. And as much as possible, Greta tried to avoid Oliver. He made it easy, because he seemed to be avoiding her too. While following Anna and Theresa to the drawing room after the evening meal, Greta’s cheeks flamed at the thought of the inadvertent way she had insulted him. Her blush recurred so often that it felt stitched into her skin. How selfish she had been, her impulse unforgivably reckless. Oliver’s decision not only demonstrated his honor but saved her from a potentially ruinous fit of pique. She had tried to behave outside herself and take a chance. That it produced such a dissatisfying, downright embarrassing result should not have been a surprise. Art was her talent, not acting on selfish whims. But she could not deny a hard, simple fact. Oliver made her want to be selfish. Just once. It wasn’t to be. While the girls and Ingrid played cards, Greta set up the portable easel she had brought from Leinz Manor. At least she was among company that expected no other behavior from her. Ingrid, in fact, had seemed quite enamored of Greta’s love of art. That did not stop her, however, from gently teasing when the clock struck ten. �śI don’t expect you’ve heard a word of our chatter in the last two hours,” she said. Greta yanked herself out of the scene she’d created. �śPardon? Were you speaking to me?” The cousins tittered behind their hands of cards. Ingrid only smiled. �śI was going to say that your discipline probably saved you from having to endure a great deal of silliness on our parts. May I see your work?” Nodding, Greta stepped away from the easel and canvas. She wiped her fingers on a piece of cloth, examining the painting. So far she had only roughed in the structure of the terrace adjoining her uncle’s manor. There were rigid rows of sculpted hedges, bathed in the moonlight that had so colored her first kiss with Oliver. She had to look away, suddenly embarrassed by her choice of subject matter. She hadn’t thought, only painted�Ś �śLovely.” Ingrid’s voice was tinted with genuine delight. �śAre these on your uncle’s grounds?” Greta licked her lower lip. �śYes, out on the terrace.” �śTruly lovely. Very good work, my dear.” A yawn crept up on Ingrid so quickly that she could not stifle it. Her smile was sheepish afterward. �śOh, my. That was quick. One minute, energy enough for any task. The next, exhausted. I must bid you all a good evening.” Upon returning to her work, Greta did not realize when Anna and Theresa had retired as well. They would certainly tease her for that come morning. But the terrace looked good. Nearly right. It would take days to give it the depth and texture she recalled, but the bones of the composition were solid. A sound made Greta turn. Oliver stood in the doorway to the drawing room. He still wore his livery, but it seemed a sleepy version of his usual perfection. Wig, cravat and coat were all missing. The collar was open, revealing the hollow at the base of his throat. Of course, she had barely noticed when her cousins said good night, but at the slightest noise from Oliver, she behaved as if the fire brigade barged through. �śOh, pardon me,” he said. �śDidn’t mean to disturb you.” She hastily set her paintbrush aside. �śYou didn’t.” His eyes looked silver in the soft evening candlelight. He glanced at the easel. �śWorking late?” �śI�Ś” She glanced at the mantel clock; it was half past midnight. �śI hadn’t realized the hour.” Rather than run away in terror, as Greta expected him to do, Oliver cautiously entered the drawing room. �śSpanish technique?” �śWhat?” �śYour interpretation of the terrace. It’s not typically feminine. Almost grim.” He shrugged. �śReminds me of El Greco.” Greta remembered to blink and close her mouth, though neither was easily accomplished. �śI hadn’t done so with conscious intent.” But he was not wrong. Looking once again at what she’d rendered, Greta found darkness in her moonlit scene�"more shadow than light. Perhaps because that kiss, although wonderful, had been the beginning of something far murkier. �śHow did you�Ś?” she began. �śKnow El Greco? Recreational reading, I must admit. I must also admit that I did it just to catch you by surprise.” �śYou speak in jest, but such behavior only turns my thoughts toward challenging you in return.” Oliver slumped onto the nearest chair, a richly upholstered wingback that accommodated his languid sprawl. Greta swallowed. She had never seen him affect such a slipshod pose. Neither had she ever seen him fatigued, but he revealed as much with a modest yawn. But his easy bearing, coupled with her teasing line about challenging him, only returned her to endeavors he had rightfully deemed inappropriate. The challenge would be keeping her sudden embarrassment from leaving her tongue-tied. She should apologize�"apologize for believing him just like any other servant, any other man. But those words would not come. She was too terrified of insulting him again. The idea of further lowering herself in his estimation would not be borne. �śDon’t let me interrupt,” he said, filling the silence. �śIn fact, I should like to see you paint.” Watch me paint? Unfathomable. It was too private�Śtoo intimate. The alternative, however, was losing him to boredom or the inevitability of sleep. �śI can leave if you’re uncomfortable with the notion,” he added. �śI wouldn’t mean to impose.” Or lose him to chivalry. She should have known. Oliver’s tone of voice, however, said he was enjoying their quiet interlude very much. Greta was too. She loved the casual way he lounged, so different from when he was on duty. But still he watched and studied her in that familiar way, as if trying to saturate his senses with his impressions. �śI don’t know if I’m uncomfortable or not. I’ve never painted with an audience. Stay if you like.” So he did. Dare offered. Dare accepted. She had thought that would be the way of things between them, in a physical sense, but this substitute would have to do. �śI do miss my brushes,” she said, almost to herself as she strove to concentrate. The smallest round brush she had was not small enough. She arranged them, then arranged them again, expecting him to tease as her cousins invariably did. But Oliver remained quiet and still, his gaze lighting fires along her nape. �śI couldn’t bring them all, of course. But it’s like venturing forth into the world wearing uncomfortable shoes.” Strong masculine laughter filled the drawing room and settled under her sternum. �śWhat else are you missing from your studio?” �śMy oils. I generally do not care for watercolors, but they are more portable.” �śAnd more acceptable?” �śFor cultured young ladies? Yes.” He was simply too handsome�"too present�"to successfully ignore. Not that she even wanted to. �śI’m afraid oils are far too messy. Best reserved for a serious artist.” Oliver’s expression sharpened. �śYou’ve been told that before. Often, I suspect.” �śIt’s of no consequence.” �śBut you prefer oils? Why?” �śMon corps respire la forte couleur.” �ś�ŚMy body breathes with strong color,’” he said, his smile very slow. �śYou’d better not let anyone else hear that.” Greta turned away from his intense regard and knowing smirk. The back of her neck itched with a furious blush. Again. She’d done it again. If anything, she was further away from impressing him than ever, and at this rate, she would never find the nerve to apologize properly. �śJust paint, Greta. I’ll endeavor to stop taking you by surprise.” With long strides and gulping breaths, Oliver headed out of the town home toward Waagplatz. Greta had been in residence for six days. He swore that his skin felt different, more sensitive, knowing she slept under the same roof. Having managed to avoid her during the day, he continued to watch her paint in the evenings, trapped in a cage of his own making. She wanted him. That much was gratifyingly obvious, to him if to no one else. So he sat and watched her, evening after evening, as she recreated the terrace at her uncle’s manor. Four nights now. He was becoming obsessed. The only things he could claim with complete certainty were that he went to bed alone and he did his best to avoid her during the day. At least his obsession would be known to no one else. There would be no avoiding her on this day, however. Arie and Mathilda would debut their new composition, and most of Salzburg’s elite had confirmed their attendance. Oliver’s responsibilities under such circumstances were more akin to a regular valet than a covert informant, which meant helping present the Venners in the best light. All would be well�Śafter a few moments to breathe. Striding toward the center of the city, he smacked his thigh with his palm. He did it again, enjoying the sting. A trio of nuns, perhaps down from the Nonnberg convent, averted their eyes as he passed. To all the world he was a servant. But what he would do to Greta if she were his�Ś? Obedience was no natural state for him. He had learned as much, sometimes painfully, in the army and ever since. The desire to dominate Greta, to make her see him for the man he was, to lead in their mutual pursuit of pleasure�"he could not think for all the ideas his hunger inspired. She had invited him to take the lead. He’d been strong enough to resist. But for how long? Three weeks promised to drive him to the brink of sanity. The city drinking rooms, known as the Stadttrinkstube, were packed full even at midday. His eyes needed a few moments to adjust to the dim interior. The smell of human sweat became a nasal assault, mingled with sweet pipe smoke, greasy food and the tang of liquor. He found a seat in a corner and smiled at the pretty waitress who approached. Her answering smile offered more than beer and lunch. Frustrated and still shivering with lust, he patted his lap. Before he could blink he was holding her waist, breathing her sticky warmth. �śGuten Tag, Herr Doerger.” Oliver grimaced. In the hierarchy of servants, he might as well be a prince. But at that moment he merely craved a little mindless anonymity. He scraped the wig off his head and grinned as the waitress ruffled his spiking, sweaty hair. Her laughing wiggle tempted him to close his eyes and enjoy, but all he could imagine was Greta’s fingers raking his scalp. �śWhat’s your name, Fr�ńulein?” �śEliza.” �śVery pretty.” �śAnd what can I get for you?” Her words were breathy. �śYou can get us both a stein of beer,” came Christoph’s voice. �śOh!” Eliza clambered off Oliver’s lap. She bobbed a quick curtsy and departed, leaving Oliver with a throbbing headache and a fleeting view of her swishing hips. He thumped his fist against the table. �śI didn’t ask for company, my lord. And I had planned to order a great deal more than just a beer.” His back as stiff as if dining with the grand duke, Christoph sat at the table. �śI thought I heard you say you were taking a walk.” �śI walked here, didn’t I?” Christoph tisked twice, his gaze taking in the state of Oliver’s hair. �śIngrid was worried enough to send me after you.” �śI don’t need a keeper.” Even to his own ears he sounded like a petulant lad, but that awareness did nothing to curb his mean temper. He was beginning to doubt his own chivalry. What would it have mattered had he indulged in Greta’s standing invitation? Why deny them both? Any of their nights alone in the drawing room would have provided the opportunity. Because she was a nobleman’s niece, no matter how thoroughly the memory of her supple waist and�"oh, sweet Christ, her breasts�"tempted him to forget honor. She was an innocent, a curious innocent. It would be such a delicious and simple undertaking, but one he could never undo. Christoph leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his gaze digging deep. When Eliza returned with the beer, he did not move. She scurried away without a look back. Had he been any other man, Oliver might have fidgeted. But he knew Christoph like he knew himself. Perhaps better. �śOut with it,” he said. �śThen�Śwhat do you need?” �śWhat?” �śYou said you do not need a keeper. What do you need?” Oliver took several long swallows of beer. His brother rarely ventured near personal topics. His ability to swim in such murky waters was always suspect. �śI need to get drunk and take that woman to bed.” �śThe former will make the latter more difficult.” �śGiving pointers on vice? Save your breath.” �śVery well.” Christoph flipped two gold florins on the table and stood. �śGet sotted before noon. Take a doxy upstairs. But I have two things to say before you do.” Oliver rolled his fingertip around the edge of one of the coins. �śWhat?” �śIf you think the better of it, I should like your assistance this afternoon. I’ve received a request from a Baron Hoffer to meet with me.” The center of Oliver’s stomach froze into a cold lump. �śGo on.” �śI should like to know more about him. And I should like you there with me when he comes to visit.” Christoph shrugged his sharp shoulders, a gesture that always seemed forced. �śI’ve been distracted of late because of the duke and because of Ingrid. You catch what I miss.” Oliver dropped his head. Damn you. �śAnd if I decide to stay here with the beer and the doxy?” Christoph nodded to the wig, which sat on the bench like a white dog’s pelt. �śThen I want you looking presentable before you return home. I don’t pretend to know what ails you of late, but you will not worry Ingrid. I won’t stand for it.” He made it to the front door before Oliver shoved his disturbing temper back into a box in his chest. Only grief came from being unreliable or selfish. And if his suspicions were correct, Karl was planning something inappropriate, maybe even illegal. If Christoph went into such a meeting believing Karl a fellow nobleman, he could be drawn in to whatever that plan might be. Christoph was not a gullible man, nor was he particularly trusting. But he relied on Oliver for a reason�"a second pair of eyes, a second set of ears, a second intellect to unravel thorny problems. Oliver could not very well do his job if he bathed his brain in booze. He struggled back into the hateful wig, pressed the gold coins into Eliza’s hand and kissed her cheek. �śTake care, Fr�ńulein.” He stepped back into the spiteful sunshine. The gulps of beer had done little to blunt his senses. Christoph was waiting there. �śNot a word,” Oliver said. The older man nodded, a neutral gesture. But his brow softened slightly and the skin at the corners of his eyes relaxed. Relief. They set off for the Venners’ town home. Greta was one matter, a fantasy he could not allow to become real. But Karl? He had never anticipated being forced to choose between the two men�"one joined by blood, one by friendship and an old obligation that Oliver could never repay. Christoph remained silent, leaving Oliver to wonder just how much his brother had guessed of his problems. But short of a direct question, he was unlikely to find an answer. All he could do was present a good face and hope these matters became easier to balance. Soon. They arrived at the townhouse. Each window had been opened to usher even the most reluctant breeze indoors, but the air was hellishly warm. The entire residence was a bustle of activity as every free hand helped clean and cook for that evening’s concert. Oliver swallowed the bitter beer taste at the back of his tongue. He should have been here, helping, making Ingrid’s job easier�"or at least behaving in a way that did not require being fetched home by her husband. The butler, Hans, closed the door behind them and offered to take Christoph’s coat. �śNo, danke,” Christoph replied. �śHas Baron Hoffer arrived yet?” �śYes, my lord. He awaits you in the library.” �śWe’ll have coffee there, bitte.” Oliver nearly smiled past his discomfort. So bound to tradition and appreciative of routine, his brother would take afternoon coffee in the middle of a volcano. And he would be honor-bound to accept the request of another nobleman, especially if that request was as easy to grant as providing a few weeks’ shelter. Karl�"whatever he had planned�"would take that inch of kindness and stretch it into something unclean, perhaps even illegal. Standing there in the sweltering foyer, Oliver felt guilty for putting such faith in his assumption. But suspicions about his friend remained firm and unchanged. As Christoph turned to climb the stairs to the library, Oliver took his arm. �śA word, my lord?” �śCoffee, Hans,” Christoph said, dismissing the butler. When they were alone, he nodded once. �śGo on.” �śThis will go better for us all if I tell you what I know, and then you see him alone.” Sharp eyebrows lifted. �śTell me.” �śHe’ll ask you for lodging.” �śAnd you are certain of that?” �śI am.” �śYou know him. From before that night at the opera.” �śHe and I served together.” Moments dripped between them, as pronounced as the tick of a clock. The itchy, hot wig seemed to melt and fuse to Oliver’s skull. �śConsider everything you know about him and about the people living here,” Christoph said at last, his words smooth but firm. �śHow shall I frame my reply?” �śI�Ś” Oliver shifted to stand as if at attention. �śDeny his request, my lord. Trust nothing he says. But�Śas a personal favor to me, please offer him a place at tonight’s recital as a show of goodwill.” �śWill you tell me what this is about?” �śNot yet, my lord. Let me do what I can. In the meantime, mention nothing of my advice nor my suspicions.” He paused. �śPlease, Christoph.” In an unaccustomed display of agitation, Christoph drummed his fingers against the wooden balustrade. �śVery well. I’ve already squandered too much time on the subject. Go find Ingrid and lock her in her bedchamber if she’s in any way exerting herself.” �śYes, my lord.” Christoph strode up the stairs, his profile carved of marble. Oliver remained on the bottom riser, his heart beating madly. In trying to navigate a path between two allegiances, he had done neither justice. Karl would blame him. Christoph would lose faith in him. But he could do no less by either man. He chafed his palms over the back of his neck and exhaled heavily. A few days. He had a few days to figure out what Karl planned. A few days to keep his growing obsession for Greta under tight control. A few days�Śbut then what? Chapter Ten Caught up in the air of excitement building in the Venners’ residence, Greta did what she could to assist in the preparations. That Ingrid kept telling her to relax while waddling through each chore on her extensive list seemed entirely in keeping with the woman’s temperament. But Greta helped anyway, much as she did whenever Anna and Theresa handled arrangements. There was a certain sort of peace in being able to help someone else realize an artistic vision. Canvas, sonata, social engagement�"they all started as ideas in an eager mind. In the kitchen, maids in matching starched white aprons assembled floral bouquets from a mass of bulk flowers that had been delivered early that morning. Ingrid said she’d selected these three young women in particular because of their talents for arrangement. Greta had to agree, admiring their work. Each bouquet was a study in contrasts, without ever veering toward garish. Untutored though they probably were, the maids created masterpieces of balance, color and texture. Greta would have enjoyed painting any one of them. She took another batch of flowers into the great hall where massive stone vases waited to be filled. Only a dozen more to go. Male servants, not yet formally dressed for the evening, still wore the standard household uniform, all sumptuous gold and oxblood. They arranged chairs into rows of twenty each, separated by a central walkway. Others climbed high ladders to replace candles in the chandeliers and to polish the brass. None of them was Oliver. But Greta checked anyway. She turned to fetch another batch from the kitchen when the sound of a violin stopped her progress. Just beyond the great hall, from a small room that appeared to house family portraits, came the deliciously dark strains of music. Greta felt drawn to it, pulled, until she stood outside the ajar door. They must be the musicians, Arie and Mathilda De Voss. He sat with a cello while she stood with a violin, both of them playing now. Together they made magic. Goose bumps raised on Greta’s arms as she stood soaking in the sound. She closed her eyes. Music followed her, animating the colors and forms, shapes and textures she conjured. If her paintings could one day touch people the way this music moved her, she would consider her career a success. But more than their music, the De Vosses radiated closeness. They shared the same rhythm, the same breath, the same artistic vision. That was enough to bring tears to Greta’s eyes, no matter their creation. �śBeautiful, isn’t it?” Greta opened her eyes to find Ingrid Venner standing at her side, also visibly affected by what they heard. Herr Weiser was with her. �śIndeed.” Greta’s voice cracked. It was the first time she had seen him since the introductory dinner at Leinz Manor. �śAnd Herr Weiser, I didn’t know you were here.” �śI arrived just this hour, on instruction from your uncle that I should be your companion this evening.” Being hirsute and portly, he did not look capable of affecting a sharp, neat appearance, no matter the value of his clothes. But he had not even changed from his travel clothes. A faint sheet of sweat lined his forehead. The cravat he wore appeared far too tight. �śHow thoughtful of him.” Ingrid wore a smile that completely hid any sarcasm, but Greta was convinced of its existence. Weiser grinned as if the idea had been his. His gaze loped between each woman before settling, seemingly irrevocably, on Greta’s décolletage. She rued the square neckline of her gown. No garment could be modest enough when suffering his overt interest. Oh, why him?? Why did his appreciation make her skin creep and itch, while she relished such attention from Oliver? Although Herr Weiser was not ideal, he could offer a rare combination of security and freedom�"such was the power of a solid fortune. But did his interest have to make her so dreadfully embarrassed? Something about it was unwholesome, no matter the little time they had spent in one another’s company. Greta decided the best way to combat her intended fiancé was to pretend he wasn’t there. To Ingrid she asked, �śHow do you know this evening’s performers, my lady?” �śMathilda De Voss is my dearest friend. For all intents we were raised as sisters. She ran my father’s household before her first marriage.” Ingrid’s smile tipped toward nostalgia. �śAfter she was widowed, she came to live with Lord Venner and me.” �śI’ve heard she’s quite the talent,” Weiser said. �śAnd a great beauty.” Ingrid canted her head. Light refracted through her diamond earbobs and shimmered across her plump cheeks. �śShe would say she’s entirely too ordinary to notice, which is, of course, utter rubbish�"especially when she performs with her husband.” �śIs he as frightful as everyone says?” Greta asked. �śAbsolutely.” The teasing glint in her eyes made Greta smile. And as if on cue, a grumbled male curse came from inside the small practice room. The language was similar to German, but Greta could understand only its frustration. Mathilda De Voss’s violin screeched, the musical interlude coming to an end. �śBest I’m here, then,” Weiser said, �śto protect women of quality from such eccentricities.” He extended a hand toward Greta. �śShall we, Fr�ńulein?” Greta blanched. She felt trapped in ways that extended well beyond that moment. �śYou go on, Herr Weiser.” No longer teasing or warm, Ingrid’s words were an undeniable command. �śFr�ńulein Zweig and I still have work to attend. Brandy and refreshments await you in the billiards room. Excuse us, bitte.” Without rushing, she took Greta’s hand and guided her down the corridor. Greta could not help but admire the easy way she had of navigating her domain. Smiles for various servants. Kind words. No haste. The aura of her determination, however quiet, was obeyed by all. Busy men and women parted to let her pass. Greta wondered if this was in deference to her delicate condition, but she could imagine no situation in which Lady Venner failed to get her way. �śYou looked ready to be sick,” she said when they reached a secluded corner. �śI thought I would give you the chance to do so privately.” Greta hugged her elbows. �śNo, I am well.” �śIs it Herr Weiser? Has he done something to give you offense?” �śYou won’t be deterred in anything, will you?” Greta said with an edgy laugh. Then she bit her bottom lip. �śForgive me, my lady, I didn’t mean to be impertinent.” �śI’ve asked that you call me Ingrid.” She smiled. �śAnd I certainly wouldn’t be so obtuse as to mistake a compliment for impertinence. Now, tell me.” �śHe’s caused me no offense.” �śOther than take an excessive interest in how you so nicely fill your bodice. I’d like to say it’s a credit to God’s design and the skill of your dressmaker, but I owe Herr Weiser no such generosity.” She seemed to wait for Greta’s unavoidable giggle. �śI won’t pry any further. Mathilda always goes on about how I pry. Just know that Venner’s man, Oliver, will be lurking all evening. You say the word and I’ll have him affect a much less dramatic rescue than at the opera.” Greta’s heart fluttered. �śOh?” �śHe’s very good at coming up with reasons for�Śwell, for anything. Polite reasons. For example, if I cover a yawn with the back of my hand rather than my palm, he’s to swoop in with some pressing concern and whisk me away. Very useful when dealing with more tedious guests.” �śHe’s around?” Greta tried for nonchalance. �śPerhaps I failed to recognize him.” �śThat would bother you, wouldn’t it? Not recognizing him?” Greta could hardly breathe. She felt naked, exposed, caught in Ingrid’s keen blue gaze. �śI wouldn’t want to be rude. He did save my life.” �śNaturally. I don’t know where he is now, but during the performance he’ll be in the high gallery that lines the ballroom. Usually on the east side, but why I can hardly deduce. He and Venner rather enjoy all of this society subterfuge. It spoils his fun if I know where he’s lurking.” �śThey’ve had good reason to be cautious, on occasion.” Greta reflexively touched the scar on her neck. Ingrid nodded and curled a hand low across her stomach. �śWhich is why I now find other subjects for teasing.” �śMy uncle�Ś” She stopped fussing with the draped fabric at her hips. Ingrid had invited the confidence, and Greta wanted to accept her offer. �śMy uncle intends that I shall marry Herr Weiser.” �śAh.” �śThe match is a decent one.” �śOn paper.” �śYes,” Greta said with a sigh. �śOn paper.” �śAll the more reason to summon Oliver if you need him. You’re not a married woman yet.” She gave Greta’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and departed, providing no opportunity to ask her to clarify that enigmatic statement. Greta feared she knew exactly what was meant, as well as its absolute impossibility. �śA word, good sir?” Oliver, standing outside Ingrid’s bedchamber in the midst of searching for the irascible woman, turned at that familiar voice. Karl leaned against a wall some three yards down the corridor. A shiver of foreboding wiggled up Oliver’s spine. �śYou shouldn’t be here,” he said. �śThis floor is reserved for family and guests staying overnight.” �śAnd indeed, I am neither of those. You saw to that.” �śYour pardon?” Karl pushed away from the wall, his garish purple velvet coat a strong contrast to his pallor. �śMy appointment with Lord Venner went none so well as I’d hoped. I had been in mind of at least a little more civility, but the man fairly treated me with a most chilly disregard. I’d say his manner bordered on, dare I say, suspicious.” �śCan you wonder at it? You appeared out of nowhere and asked favors of a man whose entire life is steeped in the knowledge of noble associations.” �śAnd you made certain he smelled the stink of my father’s smithy long before I even opened my mouth.” �śThat’s not true.” Oliver kept his hands clasped behind his back. The aura of strangeness around his old friend was like the stillness of a pond laden with algae�"unnatural, cloying, and concealing all that existed under the surface. Suspecting Karl of underhanded dealings was one thing; suspecting him of genuine madness made Oliver’s breath come up short. �śI only advised him against presenting you with too many favors.” �śYou say as much with no regret. A fine thing, mein alter Freund.” �śI have interests in this household to protect.” Karl removed a case from his coat pocket and took out a fresh cigar. He lit it with the sloth of a man who had all evening to do so. �śNone of which include me.” Smoke slunk into Oliver’s lungs, making him cough delicately into his gloved fist. �śI’m afraid not. Now, let us return to the public rooms. Surely the concert will begin soon.” But Karl did not move. His eyes narrowed, partly obscured by the silvery trail of his exhale. �śI did not come here for the concert, Oliver, and you know it. I’ve come to express how terribly disappointed I am in your conduct. Is this the thanks I get? Is this the welcome back to your acquaintance that I deserve?” Oliver’s old gratitude turned into a heavy weight on his shoulders. �śI owe you my life. I would have died that winter without your dedication and aid. But that does not mean I’ll force others to help me repay such a debt.” �śSuch a debt cannot be repaid, so don’t bother with the attempt. Do this out of friendship. Your word on an evening like this would make for a most profound welcome among Lord Venner’s acquaintances.” �śI told you no, and I meant it.” Oliver lowered his voice, leaning nearer. �śI have some money saved, if that’s what you seek. Such funds might properly see you on your way.” A glint of something sinister flashed in Karl’s eyes. �śAnd then your conscience would be clear? How fortuitous for you.” �śYou helped saved my life and I’m eternally grateful. What has my conscience to do with it?” �śApparently nothing at all. No matter, my dear Oliver. And I don’t need your savings. I’ve just about paved my own path, even without you.” �śWhat does that mean?” �śIt means I have ways of operating that require none of your airs and graces.” �śOr the law, I suppose.” �śDear Oliver.” He crushed the cigar on the cream-colored runner. �śTo be burdened with your upright sensibilities�"what a tedium that must be.” �śOne you’ve never endured.” Thumbs on his lapels, Karl rocked back on his heels. �śNor do I intend to. Why should I, after all?” �śOh, pardon me.” Greta stood at the near end of the corridor, dressed for the concert in an exquisite gown of golden yellow. Karl smirked. �śI suppose it’s your turn to interrupt us, Fr�ńulein? Turnabout’s fair play.” �śFr�ńulein Zweig, we were just adjourning for the public rooms. Will you accompany us, bitte?” She passed a cautious look between them. �śOf course.” With the grace of a princess she glided past, her neck graceful, her shimmering blond hair a crown. Oliver motioned for Karl to follow, which he did. That smirk still twisted his sharp features. Downstairs, where guests were just beginning to arrive, Greta took her leave. Oliver wanted to watch her go, wanted to see if Herr Weiser awaited her somewhere. But he knew that in such a situation, Karl was a threat to them both. He kept his expression neutral and his gaze averted. �śI shall take my leave of you too.” Amusement flooded Karl’s wild eyes. �śThere are too many fine people with whom I should become better acquainted. Perhaps that lovely creature in yellow, most of all. I wonder�Ś” �śWhat?” �śI wonder if she knows the wild boy you used to be.” �śI ask that you leave Fr�ńulein Zweig alone.” �śHmm, and I too asked for favors I didn’t receive either.” He accepted the offer of wine from one of the wait staff. �śGuten Abend, Herr Doerger. May we meet again under more auspicious circumstances.” �śVery well.” Oliver offered a formal bow, his mind made up. �śGuten Abend, Baron Hoffer.” When Karl had disappeared into the crowd, Oliver turned and quickly wound his way through the manor’s many passages and rooms. Finally in the foyer he found Dieter, a household guard Oliver trusted as being both the most effective and the most discreet. �śCome with me,” he said quietly. Guests continued to arrive. Although the autumn evening was brisk, their talk and warmth made the foyer into a stifling box. Dieter left his post, following Oliver without a word. They climbed to the arcade above the ballroom. Oliver nodded down toward where row after row of chairs were filling with Salzburg’s finest. �śDo you see that man in the purple velvet coat? I want him removed from the premises. Discreetly.” Dieter, a man as large as he was loyal, stood straighter. Oliver craned his neck to look the man in the eye. �śI’ll do it straight away, sir. Thank you for relying on me.” �śI only do so because you are worth relying on. Do whatever you can to keep from upsetting Lady Venner and her guests. Go now.” Oliver remained fixed in that spot, cloaked in shadow, as Dieter made his way downstairs and into the crowd. His bright shock of white-blond hair was easy to follow, as were his wide, intimidating shoulders. Dieter found Karl, spoke to him, and escorted him out of the ballroom. Karl glanced up. Although Oliver was certain no one could see him at that angle, Karl seemed to know exactly who had ordered his unexpected exit from the reception. He tossed a mock salute toward the arcade. Oliver slumped against the nearest wall. The breath he exhaled was particularly heavy and hot. How had this happened? He had just ordered his best friend politely dragged out of the Venners’ home. But although the reflex to refer to him as such remained, Karl was no longer his best friend. He was unstable, untrustworthy and privy to more than his share of secrets. The man had become, quite frankly, a danger. A wave of regret hit him hard in the chest. The friend he’d thought returned to him after such a long absence�"back from the dead, it had seemed�"was once again gone from his life. He was surprised by the urge to mourn. The long night stretched ahead of him, already tainted with unexpected grief. Chapter Eleven Greta searched the lovely, glimmering ballroom for two very different faces. One was Oliver. On such a night he had to be nearby, perhaps in the upper floor arcade where Ingrid had indicated. The other was Herr Weiser. After speaking with him earlier in the afternoon, she had done well to prepare for meeting him again, this time in public. If she could learn to enjoy his company, she would be better able to imagine living the rest of her days as his wife. That had been impossible thus far. No matter the advantages and safety such a union would provide, she still felt like a horse at auction�"one that had never known the freedom to run. She would have run with Oliver. She would have done whatever he commanded her to do. Only, he had asked her to stop. For that she owed him her thanks. And an apology. No matter how mortifying, he deserved to hear how sorry she was for her behavior. She had avoided such a conversation for too long. Greta pressed her palms one over the other at the base of her throat. Never before had crowds affected her, but terrifying memories of the opera grew more ominous when combined with heat, nerves and the crush of well-heeled guests. She gulped a breath of air soaked with perfume and sweat. Flames on the chandeliers’ candles blurred together into streaks of jittery orange. Herr Weiser caught her eye across the densely packed room. He wove through rows of chairs and mingling attendees like a ship coming into port. �śGuten Abend, Fr�ńulein Zweig.” �śAh, � Herr Weiser. I trust you’re enjoying the festivities?” �śIndeed, indeed.” He grinned broadly. Greta could only think of a dog being scratched on the head�"a dog with no great intelligence. �śWe could, however, skip the performance.” �śPardon me?” �śWe were privy to their rehearsals. Surely it will be nothing but a repetition of what we’ve already witnessed.” He extended his arm. �śCome, let us take in the nighttime gardens instead.” �śI�Ś” Greta searched the room for a distraction. Any distraction. Theresa and Anna stood a few yards away, keeping company with Ingrid. But she knew no one else. No one else would see her plight. Forcing strength into her backbone, she faced the man who still awaited her affirmative reply�"one he would not receive. �śI would be terribly disappointed to miss such a show, Herr Weiser. We hardly heard any of their performance. Bitte.” She took his arm and inhaled in such a way as to hold his attention. �śLet us go sit.” He licked his upper lip, which was already lined with a stubborn new growth of hair. �śOf course.” The swish of Greta’s silk gown as she walked sounded overly loud, each step dragging her reluctant mind and heart toward the inevitable. The soles of her feet had gone numb within her satin slippers. Herr Weiser beamed as he sat, patting the chair beside him. He actually had lovely teeth and clear, bright skin. As Greta arranged her skirts, she tried to determine the source of her discomfort. Yes, he stared at her until she wanted to scream from embarrassment, but that differentiated him but a little from most men. The De Vosses took the stage amid a crowd that cheered with gusto. As during the rehearsal, they did not touch but a quiet sort of energy shimmered between them. They were poised to play for an assembly of several hundred, but the way they watched one another suggested far more intimacy. Rather than clap with the rest of the audience, Herr Weiser took Greta’s hand. By doing so he inadvertently solved the mystery of her dislike. In all ways he acted as if she were already his property. Her time and attention, not to mention her body, were already his. Presumption fostered an enmity in her that far outpaced what he deserved. Oliver never presumed. Far from it. He was caution personified. She pulled her hand free under the guise of joining the applause. A shiver of awareness gathered along her temple, her cheek, her jaw. Ever so subtly, she turned toward the high gallery Ingrid had indicated. A man in livery stood back from the railing, his face swathed in shadow. Unlike Ingrid, however, Greta was in no position to signal for a fortuitous rescue. But that did not mean giving up without a fight. If the De Vosses could create intimacy out of nothing, she could too. She forced the tension from her tight shoulders. Herr Weiser presumed to own her, but in Greta’s imagination, she waited for the music to begin with a very different man at her side. Before the night was through, she would do something, anything, to be alone again with Oliver Doerger. At the very least, she would apologize. At best she would convince him to reconsider. The furtive sonata fit Oliver’s mood, prompting him to wonder which dark paths Mathilda and Arie had traveled to bring their new composition to life. He watched them, having noticed months earlier that they never looked at one another while they worked. Perhaps they did not need to. It still struck Oliver as odd, probably because he was constantly aware of how expressions silently communicate. But separated by a curtain�"or even blinded�"they would have performed the same way, joined by their music. Heat from that intimacy prickled along Oliver’s forearms and up the sides of his ribs. He and a few hundred other guests were intruders in their private show. Alone in the upper gallery, he permitted a private show of his own. First it was Greta. Her lips had parted, only just, and her eyebrows stretched toward her hairline. The muscles of her cheeks had gone slack, creating a picture of rapt wonder. She breathed in shallow bursts, which had the effect of lifting and lowering her breasts in a quick rhythm. Hands that might have otherwise been tense or agitated sat primly folded in her lap. She did not move. Music, it seemed, had rendered her a statue of soft flesh. Or it could have been the man at her side. Herr Weiser, the next part of Oliver’s show�"the villain of the piece, who had also noticed her fluttering breaths. The De Vosses merited hardly a glance, his attention repeatedly drawn back to Greta. Thick-set and dressed in an excellent suit, Weiser fit neatly into a wartime world that was increasingly able to accept men of money into the ranks of the elite. Oliver had half the lineage necessary for such acceptance. Not enough. The sonata concluded with a soft, melancholy flourish before fading to silence. Raucous applause filled the ballroom, as Oliver knew it would. He had yet to attend a De Voss concert that was received with anything short of rapture. Only now did the two performers exchange satisfied glances�"again, too intimate to be witnessed. Oliver turned away and bowed his head. The slide toward madness must feel this disorienting, as old beliefs slipped out of reach. He had believed himself a very different man, a simpler and more contented man. But Greta was making a liar out of him. A very poor one. Duty-bound to continue his vigil, he returned to his post. He wondered if any of that evening’s guests were aware of the preparations being made, right at that moment, for the advent of war. The Venners’ preparations had begun in earnest�"plans and contingencies, all undertaken with Christoph’s eagle eye toward the safety of his family. Oliver only hoped that the rest of Salzburg was half as prepared, and that its leaders would be able to mount an adequate defense for those who were not. Arie De Voss stood as stiffly as ever as he and Christoph conversed on stage. Only when his patron returned to sit beside Ingrid did Arie address the crowd. �śUnder threat of odious financial reprisals,” he said gravely, �śI have been instructed to follow that rather somber debut with a livelier tune.” He bowed deeply toward Ingrid and her stone-faced husband. �śOur patron’s wish is our command.” A slight smile gave away his amusement. Oliver concealed his own smile behind a loose fist. His brother was well and truly terrified for the safety of Ingrid and their baby. Although Oliver shared that concern, he was not so far gone as to dictate which music might best influence their well-being. Christoph was a man vastly unfamiliar with helplessness. �śMy lady,” Arie said to Ingrid, �śI wish you health and all the happiness I’ve not already claimed for myself.” Although Ingrid laughed, Christoph looked ready to order the composer keelhauled. Arie made a deliberate show of arranging the cello between his knees, then winked at Mathilda. The two were off like a shot, performing a flouncing, airy tune that simply begged for dancing. Some people clapped, while more ambitious couples toward the rear of the ballroom moved chairs aside and indulged in the urge to move. And Oliver hovered above all of it�"all the merrymaking, all the humor. He felt more than heard someone at his back. There stood Greta, mere yards away. A glance back down upon the ballroom revealed her seat empty. Herr Weiser absently patted his knee in time with the music as he craned his neck, his quarry lost. A shy smile edged her lips. �śDid I surprise you?” �śYes,” he said, embarrassed at having been caught out. But he was also flattered. And terrified. And fighting with every breath not to gather her close. The unexpected grief that lingered after his confrontation with Karl left him vulnerable to such impulses. �śThat doesn’t happen often.” �śIngrid let me know you were here. Something about house intrigue and how she yawned.” He smothered a grin. �śSomething like that.” �śYou do your masters credit.” Despite how his pride shied from the reminder of his status, Oliver absorbed the comment as it had been intended�"as a compliment. �śDanke, Fr�ńulein.” �śShall we have that dance now?” �śThat�Ś?” Whatever confidence she had mustered to seek him out seemed to falter. At her stomach she knotted and untangled her fingers�"a revealing show of turbulence. �śWe spoke of dancing while at Leinz Manor,” she said. �śBut I don’t suppose it’s appropriate.” �śConsidering our stations?” �śNo, how I behaved upon your arrival.” She started to take a step closer, then froze. �śI never meant to offend you that way. Honestly. What I proposed was�Śreckless. Dangerous, even.” A sharp sound in her throat might have been a strangled laugh. �śI was so intent on building up the nerve to go through with it that I forgot.” �śForgot?” �śThat you’re a person too.” Her simple statement kicked him in the chest. �śSo at last, I wanted to tell you I’m sorry, and to thank you for thinking for both of us.” Thinking? How could he think at such a moment. Her eyes were wide and vivid, catching candlelight and turning it to fire. The enchanting woman he had observed from on high for hours was standing a few short paces away. Yet he remained motionless. Flirting with her and gently pushing against propriety had been a much safer prospect when she resisted. And still he was drawn to her agitated fingers. She was none so bold as she seemed to think. A practiced seductress, perhaps one with experience in singling out a servant for special attention, would do so with far more confidence. Greta’s body practically hummed with uncertainty. That mollified him somewhat. During moments of their acquaintance, he had feared that dallying with lesser sorts provided her a measure of unhealthy entertainment. He had no appetite to be used. But wanted? Genuinely wanted? That was an altogether different consideration. Oliver stepped away from the railing. He could send her running, this time for good, if he pressed firmly enough against her sense of propriety. Such an undertaking, if properly accomplished, would keep them both safe from temptation. �śYou’re here now, Greta.” Rather than touch her hair or still her hands, he slid his palms along the soft curve of her hips. He squeezed, then edged her the few steps back to a small reading room. He would never be so far gone as to risk their discovery. �śWhat do you want us to do?” A tight swallow contorted the line of her throat. �śBecause we can dance if you like.” He leaned nearer and brushed his lips against the apple of one cheek. The merry music continued, but his pulse outstripped its quick rhythm. He moved in a slow, deliberate counterpoint to the demands of both. �śOr perhaps you still have something else in mind?” She smelled of rosewater and a hint of sweat. The air in the gallery was warm, almost roasting�"amplified by the currents surging between their bodies. �śAnother kiss, perhaps?” He squeezed her hips again. �śHere?” Fair skin was hot beneath his lips as he kissed her other cheek. �śOr here?” Electricity snapped between them as their mouths met. But Oliver did not linger. He had his sights set on the destination that tempted him so relentlessly. This was no longer about teasing Greta into backing down. Perhaps it never had been. This was about claiming something special, something of his own�"something no other man had yet tasted. He trailed the tip of his tongue along her collarbone. She breathed without rhythm now, just jerking bursts of air. Those anxious hands gripped his shoulders, kneading, digging deeper. �śHas anyone else kissed you here, Greta? Or lower?” She did not answer with words�"only tipped her head back to rest on the wall, offering the most magnificent view. Just for him. Greta had only wanted to see him. Just an innocent conversation to reaffirm the apology she had delivered earlier. But as she gave Oliver silent permission to continue his exploration, she admitted that this had been her fantasy. She sought him out because resisting was intolerable. Curiosity had blossomed in her blood, winnowing into her bones and igniting her flesh. Now Herr Weiser, if indeed he would become her husband, would not be the first man to kiss her breasts. That privilege belonged to Oliver. She gave it to him freely�"and greedily. He sloped the angle of his neck, his back, until the warm rush of his soft exhale brushed the notch between her collarbones. Wet and hot, his tongue made contact. Greta opened her mouth on a silent gasp as her limbs loosened and melted. And still Oliver was there, holding her hips, pinning them against the wall with the wide spread of his fingers. He pressed closer. His pelvis cradled hers as he dropped feathering kisses down and down. She had seen him violent and she had seen him subservient. Now he was both. She felt it in the hard ripple of muscle beneath her hands. His shoulders were tight with a fierce tension that matched her anticipation�"powerful, exciting, barely restrained. But still his kiss remained soft as a morning mist. His sharp exhales caressed her more aggressively than his lips. The waiting and wanting drew forth a quiet, strangled sound in her throat. He huffed a low chuckle and floated back up, placing a kiss over her voice box. �śShhhh,” he said against her skin. Goose bumps trailed in the wake of his every touch. Releasing his hold on her hip, Oliver traced the lacy hem of her bodice with his forefinger. Back and forth he petted with deliberate slowness. The rough edge of the lace rubbed her sensitive skin, focusing her awareness there�"right where he touched. Nowhere else existed. He slipped his finger beneath the lace and tugged down ever so slightly. Air brushed against her exposed nipple, then his rougher skin. Greta pushed her head back against the wall and bit the inside of her cheek. If she cried out, she could be discovered. She would be ruined and Oliver would suffer horrible consequences. Running crossed her mind. Back away. He would stop. Oliver was a good man. Of that she had never had a doubt. Instead she clutched his nape. A shudder rippled across his back. He lowered his head the remaining few inches. His tongue followed the same path as had his fingertip. Greta swallowed a groan as that fiery wetness trailed across her skin. She ran her fingers up, climbing his neck, up beneath his wig. His hair was damp. Tunneling her nails down to his scalp, she closed her eyes and pulled him closer. He flicked his tongue lower, swiping one exposed nipple. The surprise was too much. Greta gasped, a hissing rush of air. He clamped her mouth with his palm and kissed her in earnest, taking her nipple into his mouth. His tongue, that maddening slick heat, swirled over her sensitive peak. She arched back more deeply, offering more. Needing more. Oliver nudged his hips against hers. The hard length of his member pushed where she ached�"such a restless ache�"as if the swaths of fabric separating them were but a simple nuisance, as if they would consummate their reckless gamble in mere moments. A pang of panic dragged her back to that little reading room, back to the merry music just reaching its crescendo down in the ballroom. She froze in his arms. Fear iced over the sweet pleasure until she could no longer breathe. He was the one who saw her clearly when no one else did. That he noticed the sudden shift in her mood came as no surprise. She had that much certainty in him, which was both ludicrous and heartbreaking. To find such a man and be unable to claim him seemed an impossible cruelty. Tears burned as she fought to open her eyes. Opening them would mean seeing him and having to refuse him. The soft torture of his lips and his tongue ended. His hips retreated. He pressed his forehead against her shoulder, his body softly quaking. Greta petted the back of his neck, as if her soft touches could be apology enough. �śDon’t do this again,” he whispered harshly. �śI won’t trust myself if you do, and you shouldn’t either.” Greta managed courage enough to look upon his face. Grim lines bracketed his mouth. His lips glistened�"damp and slightly swollen. In his eyes waited a sharp emotion that was neither pain nor anger. He seemed almost�Śresigned, as if this was the end he had anticipated. A torrid flush covered her from her stomach to her hairline. He nodded once toward her bodice. Greta glanced down and her embarrassment trebled, if that was possible. Her turgid nipple poked out from the lace trim. His hands had inflicted untold creases in the sleek folds of her evening gown. She was so stunned by the evidence of her folly that she could not move. She simply stared at the proof of what she had done. What she had wanted. What her body wanted still. Oliver cleared his throat�"a stripped and raw sound. A few efficient movements later and he had made her decent again. �śDo you understand me? Never again.” His voice broke. �śI can’t.” �śNeither can I,” she whispered. Her heart pinched so tightly that she feared being able to remain conscious. It hurt. Facing him caused her a breathless pain she had never known, one she feared never being able to completely assuage. Her limbs like lead, she slowly lifted her hand. Oliver flinched when she pressed her palm against his cheek. She could risk no more. Greta jerked her hand back and spun away. Her chest seemed too small to provide the air she needed. Feet numb, knees wobbling, she made her retreat. But even then she knew that some part of her would remain in that room with Oliver. Chapter Twelve Greta lay awake long after the Venners’ home had gone silent. She had undressed reluctantly, like a child resisting the command to bathe. Her body had felt too tight and cumbersome. Every button and layer had challenged her ability to coordinate thought and action. But still she could not sleep, no matter the heavy, dark fatigue pressing in on all sides. All her thoughts were of Oliver�"his voice, his taste, his damp skin. Had he been any less honorable, or had she been any more brave, the mystery of lovemaking would be solved. Despite the titters of friends and the gossip of married women, the actual mechanics escaped her. He had been aroused, so hard and hot. Beneath the light counterpane, she shifted her thighs against the ache that had not subsided. She pictured famous nudes, with Michelangelo’s David returning most forcefully to mind. The arrogance of his causal posture had aroused her the most. That a man could simply�Śstand there. Hip cocked. Torso fluid. Muscles defined yet loose. Imagining Oliver that way was startlingly easy. He had that confidence, and he certainly had that physique. But the details of how man and woman fitted together still eluded her. He would have pushed inside her, right there against the wall. It seemed impossible. And yet some untutored part of her clamored for more�"no matter the fear, the risk, the potential pain. Oliver. She still trusted him with a fervor that should have been frightening. But she had never had anyone to believe in before. No one had ever bothered to be her champion. The night air was oppressive, stingy with its wilting breezes. She flung back the coverlet and swung her feet to dangle over the edge of the high bed. The bare wood floor offered only momentary relief, cool against the soles of her feet when she slid down. What she wanted to do, what she could do�"she had no notion. Normally on a restless night she would begin painting, something of her own creation. Her best work emerged in the early morning hours, before the household had awakened, before she applied herself to the next work to be copied. Instead she lit a candle and found the sketchbook she always kept among her private possessions. The light was poor and her fingers sweat as she gripped the charcoal, but at least the restlessness might have an outlet. Voices outside the door pulled at her attention. Deep male voices. Speaking in hushed, curt exchanges. They sounded worried. Drawn by concern, Greta ignored the heat and pulled on her robe and nightcap. She opened the door but a crack and peered out into the corridor. �śDo you think she’ll come?” Venner asked. Oliver stood before him, hands clasped behind his back. Although he still wore his livery, he had opened the coat and undershirt at his throat. His wig was gone. Thick, light brown hair�"hair she’d clutched at with eager fingers�"barely graced his ears. Both men wore tension across their shoulders, their builds and postures appearing almost identical when obscured by shadow. How odd that master and servant would grow to resemble one another. �śOf course she’ll come,” Oliver said. �śIngrid is her best friend. I shall ride out for her straight away.” �śI think it would ease Ingrid’s mind, don’t you?” Venner swore softly and began to pace. �śCalm yourself. Babies are born every day. And besides, this may work to your advantage.” �śHow so, man?” �śFleeing Salzburg, if it comes to that, will be easier to manage with an infant than a woman so near to term. Here, now, at least she’ll be safe and well looked after.” Greta hardly made a sound, but she must have done something to alert Oliver. He turned. A smile greeted her first, then a frown. She should have been pleased that his first reaction was positive, but the pace of its retreat was crushing. �śFr�ńulein Zweig, sorry to have disturbed your sleep.” I wasn’t sleeping. I was imagining you nude. She licked her bottom lip and forced a smile. �śNo bother. Truly. Is Lady Venner well?” �śThe midwife has yet to arrive. I’m just off to fetch Frau De Voss.” �śWould you stay with her?” Venner asked. He seemed as surprised by the request as Oliver, his brows drawing together in a way that was nearly�Śanimated. �śBitte, she puts up a brave face, but I cannot help but think she’ll fare better with a woman’s company.” Greta was taken aback but honored by the man’s request. She tightened the robe’s ties. �śCertainly, my lord. Anything I can do.” �śI’ll return within the half hour, my lord.” Oliver issued his master a curt bow and turned to go, briefly stopping at Greta’s side to whisper, �śDanke.” She nodded, dumbstruck anew by his appearance. Not the perfect valet, and not the awkward but exceptionally well-groomed man who had dined at Leinz Manor, he had a wildness in his eyes. The color was high on his cheeks. But then he was gone. Greta could only stare in wonder, her heart a horse at full gallop, as he took his leave�"long strides with powerful legs, his back straight and proud. �śFr�ńulein?” Greta blinked and found Lord Venner watching her with an intensity she would have expected from Oliver. He flashed his gaze toward where Oliver disappeared down the stairs, then offered his elbow. �śThis way, bitte.” �śYes.” She took his elbow and inhaled. �śYes, of course.” Ingrid lay in her bed propped by at least a dozen pillows. She was flushed and sweating, her hair plaited over one shoulder, but otherwise she seemed the same energetic, playful woman who had organized that evening’s concert. �śOh, Greta, did they wake you? I’m ever so sorry.” �śNo, in truth. I was�Śrestless this evening. I’m here to do what I can to help.” �śMuch as the men like to pretend otherwise, this is not a military operation.” She smiled indulgently at her husband. Lord Venner lingered in the doorway like a cat waiting on the occasional scrap from a butcher. �śOliver has gone to fetch Mathilda. She’ll be here any moment.” No matter her apparent effervescence, Ingrid sighed and leaned a little more heavily against the pillows. She curved her hands around the round bulk of her stomach where it shaped the counterpane into a hill. �śGood,” she whispered. �śGood. Mathilda will be here.” Venner shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again, before finally entering his wife’s bedchamber. Face etched with unmistakable concern, he crossed the room and dropped a kiss on Ingrid’s forehead. �śI’ll send her and the midwife in as soon as they arrive. You will let me know if you need anything. Anything, Ingrid.” Greta studied the lace cuff of her nightgown, so intense was his emotion. �śI’ll be perfectly fine,” Ingrid said. The tremor in her voice hinted otherwise. �śMy lord,” Greta said. �śCount on me, bitte. I will inform you of her least little whim.” �śAh, see, mein Lieber?” The woman found a reserve of strength to reassure her distressed husband. �śShe’s a wonderful girl. And she knows I’m prone to little whims.” Lord Venner nodded once and departed. The curve of his shoulders revealed the world’s worth of worry he carried on his back. When the door had closed, Ingrid let out a long exhale. �śOh, I love him. But I’m awfully glad he’s gone.” Greta covered a giggle with her fingertips. �śWhy?” �śHe’s not a good worrier. It suits him terribly ill. If I’m to endure the next few hours, I need encouraging thoughts and at least the pretense that all will be well.” She took Greta’s hand and smiled softly. �śI’m sorry you were dragged into this. Truly I am. But I’m also very glad you’re here.” �śGive it no thought. I insist. You saved me from a long night of drawing by very poor candlelight.” �śWhatever were you�"?” Her hand seized, gripping Greta’s fingers with crushing force. Eyes wide, mouth open, Ingrid went rigid all over. She wrapped her free arm around her distended stomach and hunched over it, as if the baby were already born and in need of cradling. The cords on her neck stuck out as the pain swallowed every ounce of the woman that had been Ingrid. All Greta could do was hold on. When the pain had passed, she urged Ingrid to lie back against the pillows. Then she went to find a washcloth and water. She applied the wet cloth to the back of Ingrid’s neck. �śOh, dear,” the woman whispered. �śThis is not going to be easy. I keep telling myself that women have been having babies for hundreds of years, but that doesn’t change how it happens.” Greta could only marvel at the whole situation. Earlier that night she had been trying desperately to imagine the actual mechanics of lovemaking. Here was a woman who had not only shared marital pleasures with her husband, but had conceived a child. The distance between them seemed impossibly far. Greta was not her cousins, of course�"and she was astonishingly glad they remained asleep thus far�"but she hoped she did not come over as a silly girl. In this, in doing right by the woman who had offered such kindness, she wanted very much to be helpful. Another pain racked Ingrid, who cried out sharply. Greta was there, holding her shoulders, enduring the sharp squeeze of desperate fingers on her forearm, praying for the safety of mother and child. �śOh, God,” Ingrid sobbed. �śLook.” The bed linens were soaked with blood. Oliver could hardly remember the last time he rode a horse in the city. The walks were pleasant enough, and rarely did situations require such haste. But from the Venners’ townhouse he urged his mount to pell-mell speeds. He ripped past the Rathaus and up Getreidegasse, vaulting off at No. 26. It seemed a lifetime ago that he first accompanied Mathilda to that pokey little flat on the third floor. Now he took the stairs two at a time. He banged on the door to the De Vosses’ studio. �śMathilda! Open up!” Pacing his way through the next few seconds, he dared consider the worst. He would return and find Christoph a destroyed man, his wife and child dead. Oliver’s heart rate still thumped and thudded after the breakneck ride, and a hideous sort of worry did nothing to ease it back to normal. He reached out, still bent over, and thumped on the door with his fist. �śMathilda!” Locks scraped in their tumblers. Arie De Voss appeared in the doorway wearing a robe and wielding a heavy iron candlestick like a club. �śGoede God. Oliver!” �śIngrid’s having the baby. I need Mathilda.” Arie’s surprise was brief. �śCome in.” He swung the door open and tossed the candlestick into a corner, where it landed with a massive thud. �śDress quickly, Tilda. It’s Ingrid.” Now the waiting would really begin. Oliver hadn’t known Ingrid to dress in under an hour’s time. �śSit, mijn vriend,” Arie said, his hand on Oliver’s shoulder. �śI’ll get you a drink.” Oliver slumped onto a musician’s stool, the only furniture in the sitting room other than a heavy wooden chair behind Arie’s desk. Nothing much had changed about the flat�"still disorganized and spare, still littered with the tools of the couple’s trade. But someone had repainted the walls a becoming shade of yellow. Curtains adorned the window that overlooked the street. A brightly colored rug covered the floor. Mathilda, of course. She had made the man and his space her own. Arie handed him a glass of some manner of liquor. Oliver tipped it down his throat. Even as he did, he noticed that the composer, once a notorious drinker, sipped only water. �śDanke.” �śHow long?” Arie sat opposite. His hair was its customary mess, but the lines of tension and displeasure�"from the concert, but also from his turbulent first years in Salzburg�"were distant memories. He looked�Śsatisfied. With a muffled groan Oliver realized that he and Mathilda had probably been celebrating their evening’s success. He wiped his mouth and exhaled heavily. �śAbout an hour after the last guest departed.” �śAnd how early is she?” �śJust under four weeks,” Mathilda said. She stood in the doorway to the bedroom, fastening a cape over her shoulders. Barely dressed by formal standards, she wore a plain brown muslin gown and carried her first husband’s medical bag. Her hair was swept back from her face and secured with a ribbon. Oliver managed a relieved smile. She remained one of his favorite people, and her efficiency in a crisis was only one reason. �śCarriage?” she asked. �śHorseback.” �śYou two go ahead,” Arie said. �śI will pack a bag in case Tilda needs to stay and then follow in a Fiaker.” Mathilda crossed the room and gave him an uncompromising kiss. Only when Arie eased her back and wiped her cheeks did Oliver realize she was gently crying. �śYou’re splurging on a hired carriage,” she whispered. �śNow I know this is grave.” �śGo now, mijn liefde. All will be well.” With a nod and another swipe at her cheek, Mathilda faced Oliver. �śI’m ready.” They bounded into the still, humid blackness. Oliver grabbed the reins of the horse and gave Mathilda a boost. She surprised him again by hauling her skirts out of the way, then throwing her leg across to sit astride, just behind the cantle. Within moments they were racing back down Getreidegasse. Oliver concentrated on the streets. Though devoid of people, they could yet be treacherous with loosened cobblestones. The last thing he needed was a nasty spill, but fear and concern urged him to greater speeds. The head groom awaited them when they arrived. He grabbed Mathilda with his blunt, work-roughened hands and delivered her safely to the ground. Worry etched his face, adding ten years. Oliver’s chest felt stuffed full of hot coals. Everyone knew what this night meant to the master and mistress of the house. Everyone knew what horrors could visit them by first light. He shoved those thoughts out of his mind. Enough with the worst possibilities. Now it was time for the best�"Ingrid and a new baby, both healthy. As he grabbed Mathilda’s hand and ran with her through the open front door, he pinned that image to the forefront of his mind. No less than all of them happy and safe. Surely Oliver had been gone a year. Greta looked up from the bedside. Klara, Ingrid’s handmaiden, ushered Jutta inside and quickly shut the door. Jutta carried a pot of boiling water, her hands wrapped in towels and her face flushed from the steam. �śOver there.” Greta nodded to the washstand. She turned her attention back to the midwife and her patient. Ingrid was wilted, sweating, exhausted. Her water had broken but her body had not fully opened. She could not yet push. The strain of fighting that urge was quickly depleting her. Greta grabbed the nearest damp rag and spun it in the air, cooling it. Then she patted Ingrid’s face, neck and upper arms. The laboring woman had abandoned her nightgown and wore only a shift, which was plastered to her breasts with water and sweat. Never�"not ever�"had Greta seen anyone in such a state of wild nudity, but nothing existed beyond their quest to bring that babe into the world. As another labor pain eased away, Ingrid collapsed back onto limp pillows. Her breaths were shallow and quick. But her respite would be short-lived, as her pains were coming steadily with less than a minute between. The midwife, a woman of roughly fifty years with stark white hair, shook her head slowly. Worry waited in eyes that had been calm. Greta had never felt so helpless and forlorn. She swept the damp hair back from Ingrid’s face, admiring her bravery but fearing that it would not be enough. The door opened with a crash. Jutta and Klara gasped from their place by the washstand, but Greta could have shouted out of sheer relief. �śMy dear Lady Venner, how dare you start without me?” �śTilda,” Ingrid breathed. Mathilda De Voss shut the door, a medical case in hand. She quickly washed her hands and hurried over to the bed. The same worry filled her eyes, but she radiated a determination that convinced Greta all would be well. Soon. If she had to, Mathilda would good-naturedly berate her best friend to health. Ingrid weakly held out her hand. Greta eased out of the way as Mathilda took her place. �śI’m here now.” Mathilda pressed the offered hand to her cheek, then gave it a squeeze. �śTell Christoph�Ś” �śOh, no you don’t. No goodbye talk. How far along is she?” The midwife stood away from the bed and wiped her hands on a cloth. �śAlmost wide enough, but the baby is facing her spine.” �śWell, we can’t let her come into the world face down, can we?” �śHer?” Ingrid said, her voice a whisper. Greta grabbed a cloth from the basin of clean, cool water and pressed it against the woman’s mouth. So prostrated, her grace and elegance gone, she sucked greedily. She was breathless when she had finished. �śPlease let it be a boy so I won’t have to suffer this again.” �śNonsense. It will be great fun to see Venner spoil a little girl.” Mathilda wrapped her arm around Ingrid’s shoulders and hauled her into a seated position. �śCome now, dearest. On your knees.” �śWhat? Why?” Ingrid’s head lolled forward. She cried out again as another pain claimed her. �śI need to push.” Greta watched in fascinated horror as Ingrid’s stomach muscles bunched and wiggled. Surely this could not last. �śNo, no pushing,” Mathilda said. �śNot yet. Over on your knees�"there you go. Greta, be a dear and help me.” Together they positioned Ingrid, who continued to cry and gasp, on all fours on the mattress. �śNow make fists and push here, along her lower back. Push hard.” A strong impulse to flee grabbed Greta by the throat. This was not her fight. She was a guest in this home, not a midwife’s assistant. But the selfish urge was like the flash of a spark from a night bonfire�"bright, then gone. She stepped up to the bed and pressed the knuckles of her fist against Ingrid’s lower back. Watching Mathilda, imitating her, she pushed and kneaded, digging deep. �śSurely, this must hurt,” Greta said. Ingrid’s groan, however, sounded distinctly like relief. �śDon’t stop.” �śIt eases the pains,” the midwife said, �śbut will stall her labor.” �śShe needs it stalled if the baby isn’t ready,” Mathilda replied sharply. �śCheck her, bitte.” Greta’s wrists and forearms began to ache, but she knew it was nothing to what Ingrid endured. She gritted past the discomfort, pushing with bruising force until red welts marred Ingrid’s flesh. Another pain contorted those muscles. Ingrid gasped, then screamed. With nothing else to do but pray, Greta threw her weight into her work. �śThe baby has flipped!” The midwife’s worry was replaced by relief. �śShe’s ready.” �śThat’s it, dearest. See? A trick I learned when helping J�źrgen deliver Lady von Trammel’s first.” �śOh, was she ugly and hysterical?” Ingrid gasped as she lumbered onto her back. �śFantastically so.” Mathilda grabbed one of her hands and nodded for Greta to do the same. �śAre you ready, Ingrid? Let’s have done with this. Your young guest here is worried sick. Now�Śpush!” Chapter Thirteen Oliver was going to take a hammer to Christoph’s kneecaps if the man did not stop pacing. He leaned back against a settee in the drawing room, watching the frantic nobleman chew the length of the room with rhythmic, ceaseless strides. �śSit, brother. I’m begging you.” �śNein, danke. I claim the right to go mad in my own fashion.” Oliver shrugged. �śWith responsibility, my lord, comes privilege.” The mantel clock chimed five in the morning. Although gritty fatigue itched behind Oliver’s eyes, his several attempts to nap had come to naught. News. Soon there would be news�"news that would irrevocably alter the lives of those in his tight, tiny family. Christoph stopped, his face to the closed door. Slowly, with measured deliberation, he eased onto his knees and knelt his head in prayer. Helpless. So ridiculously helpless. Oliver was a servant but, like Christoph, he was used to being able to act. Seeing his brother�"his friend�"so supplicated was a quiet, intolerable torture. To love a woman as much as Christoph loved Ingrid�Śwhat would that be like? At the moment, that emotion appeared a torture as well. Volunteering for such heartache was as foolish as charging an entrenched line of cannons. The good and bad walked together. It seemed a challenge only meant for the strongest, and yet countless people stepped forward each day�"to fall in love, to comfort one another, to bear the trials and the tragedies. Oliver, for all the cloying pity he felt for his brother, felt distinctly left out. He imagined Greta then, as his mind had been repeatedly wont to do. In his mind she was nude, entirely nude, and lounging across a mattress strewn with disheveled bedding. She was pregnant, her full breasts even more lush. She cradled her belly with a look of wonder�"eyes soft, mouth easy and loose. Lieber Gott, what a sight. What pride he would feel to gaze upon such a sight. What love. What absolute terror. He snapped his head up and surged off the settee. Hauling his brother to his feet, Oliver said, �śCome with me.” Christoph shrugged away. �śStop.” �śAbsolutely not. This way.” He dragged Christoph down the corridor and down the stairs. Past the kitchen on the other side of the interior garden and its open arcade, they entered a room designed for the practice of swordplay. After lighting two lamps, Oliver grabbed the nearest foil. He thrust it into Christoph’s hand and found one for himself. Without waiting for a reaction, he attacked. Christoph shed his momentarily startled expression, catching Oliver’s blade and repelling the advance. �śThis won’t help.” �śQuiet. Just fight.” With a curse that slid toward a growl, Christoph obeyed. He lunged deeply, nearly catching Oliver in the thigh. They traded parries, circling each other in the shadows. The tinny click of metal against metal filled the gaps left by their erratic breathing. Soon Oliver’s heart was racing for better, more purposeful reasons. How astonishing to let go of that worry and trade it for hard physical exertion. Every time a thought of Ingrid or Greta crept back, he attacked anew. He used a brief lull to strip his soaked shirt. Christoph did the same, looking wild and unleashed�"no longer the starched nobleman. �śAnd one day you’ll return the favor to me,” Oliver said, panting. �śUnderstand?” �śYou’ll have to grow up or no woman will have you.” Oliver spun, then swiped his foil to the side. �śYou don’t seem at all upset to have me at your beck and call.” �śI already have a house full of servants. I took you on for a reason.” He jabbed straight ahead, meeting nothing but air as Oliver twisted away. �śSo you could make something of yourself. But hiding isn’t a profession.” �śYou arrogant sod.” �śJust truthful.” Christoph’s face pulled into a tense frown. He thrust downward and caught Oliver’s blade. �śYou’re a Vizegraf’s son, for God’s sake.” �śHis bastard, you mean.” �śHis mistake. Not yours.” �śEasy for you to say, my lord. You were never forced to bear our father’s mistakes like a brand.” �śNo, only his responsibilities.” Foils tangled, they shoved and jostled using brute strength. Sweat dripped into Oliver’s eyes but he would not relent. He would not be beaten. He would not let this be another moment where he got the short stick. Christoph’s grip slipped. With a cry he stumbled backward, lost his balance and hit the ground. Rather than jump up and resume, as Oliver assumed he would, he slumped over. His shoulders shook. A strangled moan again ripped the night silence. �śShe cannot die.” Oliver staggered back. First he let his arm drop until the tip of the foil raked the floor, then his head dropped back. He gulped a heavy swallow and stared at the ceiling, all fight gone. His breathing was just enough to mask his brother’s quiet sounds of distress. But what now? Liquor? A blow to the head? What else could he do to drag Christoph through these hellish hours? �śOh!” Oliver jerked his head level. Greta stood in the open doorway. She no longer wore a robe, and the cap was missing. Her hair was a fierce tangle. Blood stained the front of her nightgown. But her expression�Śher expression was a wonder of pure joy. �śIt’s a boy,” she breathed. Oliver’s knees went soft. Thank you, Lord. Christoph jumped up. He pushed past Greta and tore out into the corridor, bellowing his wife’s name the whole way. �śYou were fighting?” came Greta’s quiet question. Feeling kicked in the chest, Oliver exhaled heavily. �śAs a distraction. He’s not used to being powerless.” Her soft, wondrous expression had not eased, but her gaze had settled on his bare chest. The wonder turned to blinking, wide-eyed surprise. Too much. Oliver crossed the room in four long strides. He gathered Greta into his arms and bent her body to his. Before thought returned, before good sense could ruin the moment, he kissed her. Her gasp and brief tension melted away. Every muscle in her body relaxed. He felt hard and drained and half-crazed, but her welcoming heat brought him back to center. She tasted only of Greta. Hot. Salty. A furious pulse thumped in his ears and in his cock as his body channeled aggression and worry into passion. Seeking more, he pushed his tongue deeply into her mouth. He guided his right hand down her side and back up to her breast. Never had he dared�"until that moment when he claimed a full, lush handful of her bountiful flesh. She moaned into him, all words abandoned, only urging him on. Her hands slipped along his bare shoulders. When she could find no purchase along his slick skin, she dug deep with her nails. She was so soft. His head buzzed with taste and feel and the intimate sounds of their kiss. Greta slid her hands down his bare chest, gouging and testing along the way. The scrape of her fingernails across his nipples made him suck in a harsh breath through his nose. He kissed her harder, tightened his hand. She reached his waist, then continued around until she grabbed his buttocks. Oliver’s thrust came without thought�"she beckoned and he answered. The dance was an easy one, gaining speed with every shift of his hand against her breast. Only a scant layer of wash-softened cloth separated his skin from hers. But her nightgown had been covered in blood. Ice seized in Oliver’s veins. He tugged his mouth free and caught Greta’s face in his hands. �śJesus,” he gasped. �śForgive me.” He planted one last kiss in the middle of her forehead, grabbed his discarded shirt, and tore after Christoph. Oliver had just finished buttoning his shirt when he reached the hallway outside Ingrid’s bedchamber. Mathilda emerged, quiet as a whisper. She reminded him of a victorious soldier�"bedraggled, exhausted and utterly triumphant. That did not preclude him from needing to catch her as she sagged. �śEasy.” He helped her to the floor. �śRest here. Shall I get you water?” She waved him off. Her head slumped back against the doorjamb. �śNo, I’m well. Honestly.” �śAnd Ingrid?” �śAlso well.” A tired smile turned up her lips. �śThe bleeding stopped. She’s conscious and trying to nurse the babe. He’s small but�Śperfect.” �śThank God.” �śAmen,” she said with a choked sob. �śOliver, I have never been so worried.” �śNeither have I, but we had nothing on Venner.” �śPoor man. Perhaps now he can breathe again.” �śOnly as long as it takes to realize he has a newborn to fret about.” Mathilda chuckled softly. She heaved a deep sigh and laughed a little louder. Oliver could practically see her regular geniality and resolve seeping back into her. �śWould you like to hear something remarkable?” she asked. �śHmm?” Her reply came as a whisper. �śYou’re an uncle.” A fierce pain tensed in his chest as the words hit him there, right over his heart. An uncle. �śAstonishing,” he said. �śTruly.” Mathilda was smiling at him. He blinked and realized what had transpired. For more than a year, she had been the only person to suspect his relationship to Christoph. He had revealed a little too much one evening, hoping friendly conversation would dispel some of her anxiety about Arie. Now, once and for all, he might as well have painted the fact of his bastardy across the nearest width of wallpaper. �śI won’t say a word. You know that. I’m simply glad I could be here and share that wonder with you, if only for a moment.” He kissed the back of her hand. �śThank you. And for their sakes.” �śShe’s my best friend. No thanks required.” The bedroom door opened. Christoph had donned a shirt, open at the neck, and carried what had to be the world’s smallest human. �śCome in. Come meet Franz.” Oliver awkwardly pulled to his feet, his gaze riveted to the tiny swaddled bundle. He followed Christoph back into Ingrid’s chambers. Jutta and Klara tried to sweep past, their chores finished, but Mathilda stopped them. �śIf I see either of you working for the next two days, I’ll be most displeased. Go rest. You did beautifully.” The girls bobbed curtsies. Their weary smiles were bright nonetheless. Mathilda added, �śOliver, that goes for you too.” �śBack in my house for three hours,” Ingrid said tiredly from her bed, �śand she’s already telling the servants what to do.” �śShall I ask them to return so you can give the order?” But Ingrid’s eyes had drifted shut. Oliver grinned at Mathilda and moved more deeply into the room. As hot and stuffy as the rest of the house, it in no way hinted at the miracle that had just occurred within its walls. Jutta and Klara must have done a fine job of righting the place after the birth. Clean sheets, clean nightgown, fresh pillows�"as if Ingrid had simply lain on the bed and awaited a delivery from some benevolent woodland fairy. But the circles under her eyes and her chapped lips said otherwise. He found the baby again, so tiny in his proud father’s arms. Christoph could not have appeared more changed. A grin Oliver had never seen shaped his face. �śYou’re calling him Franz?” Oliver asked. �śFranz Ludwig Venner.” �śYour grandfather’s name.” Christoph raised an eyebrow. �śThat’s right. Would you like to hold him?” �śPassing off your duties so soon?” His teasing, however, vanished as Oliver took the newborn boy. Practically everything he had ever carried weighed more than the little babe, all squished features and bright, rosy skin. Franz rested quietly. His eyes were tight slits surrounded by puffed, prominent eyelids. He had Ingrid’s perfect bow of a mouth but Christoph’s serious brow. �śWhere’s Greta?” Ingrid asked softly. �śI should like to thank her.” �śTruly,” Mathilda added. �śThe midwife’s composure was nothing to Greta’s.” Ingrid struggled to sit up, only managing the task when Christoph offered his strength. She nestled along his side, using his shoulder as a pillow. �śShe did not deserve to be so abused by her hosts while here for a visit. I was so scared, but she made me laugh. Kept me calm.” She yawned as if it were the last yawn any person would ever take. �śWhere is she?” �śI know not.” Oliver returned his attention to baby Franz. �śI left her in the training room.” �śThe training room?” Mathilda’s eyes narrowed. �śIs that where you were? Whatever were you doing there?” He shrugged. �śDoing my job. Our lord and master needed a distraction.” �śA�"?” Ingrid sat up and looked squarely at her husband. �śYou sparred as a distraction?” Christoph kissed his wife’s crown. �śI did.” �śYou ridiculous man. It’s a good thing women have the babies.” But her rueful comment did not overcome a hitching sob as she buried her face in Christoph’s chest. �śI should go find Arie,” Mathilda said quietly. �śHe’ll be anxious too.” But before she departed, she pulled the swaddling back from Franz’s face and sighed�"just a little sound to remind Oliver that she had yet to bear children. How bittersweet such a moment must be. He had been trampled by the evening’s emotions, but his were nothing compared to the others’ stakes. �śI’ll go with you.” He returned the sleeping child to his mother. �śIf I see Greta, I’ll tell her of your appreciation. But she’s probably returned to her room. It’s nearly dawn and no one slept.” �śOf course,” Ingrid said dreamily, her attention snared once again by her fair-haired son. �śShe really was a dear, Oliver. So good to me. Never complained or thought of herself.” Although it warmed him to hear Greta so well spoken of, Oliver could not overcome the feeling that Ingrid was suggesting something in offering such praise. He stood away from the bed, hands clasped behind his back. �śI’m gratified to hear your guest was such help, my lady. But why tell me?” Ingrid may have been fatigued and wilted, but her eyes still held a vibrant twinkle. �śShe’s practical, good-natured and unassuming. Sound familiar?” �śSound�Ś?” He bit his teeth together. All muscles froze in place. Christoph and Mathilda exchanged frowns before turning the full force of two powerful intellects on Oliver. �śYou will look in on her, won’t you?” Ingrid asked. �śI would so appreciate it.” Oliver bowed stiffly. �śOf course, my lady. Congratulations again to you both.” Legs hot and numb, his neck flushed, he turned for the door. Perhaps Mathilda followed but he was beyond hearing or seeing. As if controlled by wires and fate’s relentless puppeteer, his body moved him down the corridor and up the stairs, toward Greta’s room. Chapter Fourteen Greta dried her skin and slipped into a fresh nightgown. She efficiently plaited her hair, then secured it to the crown of her head. Even with the windows open, her room was unbearably sticky and stuffy for September. What she would not give for a cool breeze. But as the sun began to gently lighten the dawn sky, she knew it was not to be. The day would only grow more oppressive. Not that she intended to venture out-of-doors in the near future. She had packed a small canvas and a stash of potted paints among her personal belongings. Her plan was to sleep until noon, request a little food to be sent to her room, and spend the rest of the day painting. She deserved as much after such a trying twelve hours, the likes of which she had never before endured. She spread her washing cloth out to dry and extinguished the room’s lone candle. Deep blue shadows still dominated the early, early dawn, but a glimmer of yellow and a stroke of fiery orange caught a pane of glass in her east-facing window. The eerie light turned her counterpane a fierce white. She was weary, exhausted even, but the sight of her bed did not stir thoughts of sleep. The dramatics of Ingrid’s delivery still ignited her mind. Seeing Lord Venner so affected by the birth of his son and the safety of his dear wife cut straight to Greta’s heart. How would it feel to be so cherished? So beloved? She tried to imagine it of Herr Weiser but found only dread at the thought of his leering stare. The idea of being desired by such a man was fairly simple to formulate. Being adored by him, however, seemed as unlikely as sprouting wings and flying across the Alps. But Oliver�Ś The concern he consistently showed his employers would surely translate to tenderness and affection for a family of his own. And his stare was quite the opposite of dreadful. It was magnetic�"icy blue and clear, yet so full of secrets. He had looked at her in the training room as though he required her permission to take his next breath. As she turned down the coverlet, Greta decided that fear had to be at the heart of her fascination. Nothing else explained why this one man, a servant of all people, had captured her imagination so thoroughly. She was afraid of her uncle. His expectations. His decisions regarding her marital future. What if life as the head of a new household offered no additional freedoms�"only new duties? Especially sexual duties. She might never paint as she wished, bound instead to a man who would expect her to be pliant. The burden of keeping so much of herself concealed was beginning to flay her sanity into little strips. So she was bored. Restless. Frustrated and scared. And when a handsome, heroic man swept into her life and quite literally saved her from a grisly end, she had become enamored. It was all too simple and childish, really�"the dreams of a young girl. Yet her heart was breaking at having to push them away. Emotion born of too little sleep and too much sentimentality stung her eyes. She rubbed them with the heels of her hands, succumbing to a yawn. Perhaps she was ready to sleep after all. Her looping misgivings would be less frantic, less dire when she awoke. A knock sounded at her door, so quiet that she assumed her mind was playing tricks. But two shadows wavered in the crack beneath her door. Feet. Perhaps something was amiss with Ingrid? Her throat closed with worry. She crossed the room with trembling knees and opened the door. �śIs everything all�"?” Oliver stood in the corridor, a single lit candle in his hand. The colors of fire turned his face to bronze and cast his features in high relief. He had donned his shirt once again, but the collar gaped open, revealing the strong line of his throat where it met his chest. She breathed his name. Then in a whisper, �śIs it Lady Venner? Is she well?” �śPerfectly well.” He, too, used the quietest possible voice. The hour was still early, and they could not be seen together. An errand was an errand, but Greta wondered if the undercurrents of their relationship would be visible to all. �śGood. I’m glad.” His gaze had yet to waver from her face. Greta could not endure the scrutiny, looking instead at the bare wooden floor of the corridor. �śLady Venner sent me to look in on you,” he said. �śShe wanted to be certain that you did not suffer any ill effects.” With surprising boldness, he finished that sentence while walking forward, edging into Greta’s space. She backed into the room. Oliver closed the door, shutting them in together. And still he stared at her with an intensity that was sure to melt her bones. �śSo did you? Suffer any ill effects?” �śNo,” she whispered. �śI’m glad to hear.” He blew out the candle and set it on the nearest table. Dawn darkness turned him into someone else entirely, all mystery and authority. �śAnd from finding Lord Venner and me in the training room. Any lingering effects?” His Adam’s apple bobbed. Greta took comfort in that scant sign of vulnerability. They were alone in her room. She wore only a nightgown. Any discovery would mean scandal and ruin. At least he was not so untouched by those facts as he otherwise appeared. �śYes, actually,” she said, her mouth dreadfully dry. �śThose memories have lingered quite intensely.” �śTell me.” Every inch of her skin tingled and snapped. Her breasts still felt full, eager for more of what Oliver had wrought. How could she describe the effect of his appearance? Her legs shook, buffeted once again by the image of Oliver stripped bare to the waist, his torso gleaming with sweat. He had the most lovely thatch of hair on his chest. It swirled around his pectorals, framing flat nipples with a dark border before plunging down his ridged stomach muscles. She had only managed the briefest touch, but she wanted to feast. She wanted to trace each whorl, memorize each defining shadow. �śThat is hardly appropriate,” she managed to breathe. �śI know.” �śYou said we should stop.” Oliver reached to take her hand but hesitated. Their fingers were mere inches from touching. He smelled unlike any man she had ever been near. No perfumes or powders, just clean and elemental, vital and strong. She wanted to bury her nose in the crook of his neck and taste the salt of his skin. �śI know what I said.” He finally twined their fingers, their palms pressed tightly together. �śI am not a libertine, nor do I generally put my own desire first. But missing such an opportunity�Ś Greta, I would regret it for the rest of my life. I am fascinated by you.” Her breath stopped. Hearing him speak aloud his desires had frozen logical thought. She tightened her fingers. More, her mind shouted. Tell me more. �śI’ll leave now, if you ask me to.” His mouth was near enough to brush the bridge of her nose. �śOr I can stay.” She licked her lip. �śStay.” He closed his eyes and exhaled. When he opened them again, he revealed such an expression of longing that Greta’s knees nearly buckled. She wilted toward him, neck tipped back, leading with her bust. Oliver groaned. He pushed her hands behind her back and dipped his head. When warm, firm lips touched her throat, she was lost. And she reveled in it. Oliver skimmed his mouth down along her skin, nuzzling the edge of lace along the high collar of her nightgown. Greta’s world had gone dark, her eyes drifting closed on the waves of gathering pleasure, but bright lights fired off behind her lids. Oliver scooped her into his arms, adding to her dizziness. She gasped, then laughed into his chest. So warm and solid. He held her closer and she burrowed into his strong torso, still wondering how far he would let this go. A detached place in her brain made a promise. She would enjoy these moments. She would savor them and hoard them for the day, not so long from now, when being cradled by Oliver Doerger was no longer a prospect. And in the meantime, she would speak her mind. She would do what she wanted. She would not be a shy, intimidated fool who swallowed her own tongue at the faintest hint of displeasure from others. If he wanted to be with her, he would be with the woman she had always hidden�"brave and curious, honest and strong. Such a promise. One she made herself honor straight away. �śWhat are your intentions, Herr Doerger?” He still held her, their breaths mingling, their mouths so near to touching. �śMy intentions?” �śYes. Are you here to kiss me until your conscience makes you stop? Or are you here to show me how a man and woman fit together?” She traced the shell of his ear. �śOliver, I’ve been so curious.” He lifted his brows in silent reply. �śAll of my art books and pictures of sculptures by the old masters�"they tell me so little.” �śYou know the male form. That’s more than most gently bred young women.” She smiled sadly. �śOnly half of me is gently bred, mein Lieber. I want to talk about seeing you in the training room.” �śOh?” Slowly, with infinite patience and muscled arms that remained sure and steady, he lowered her onto the bed. The sheets and counterpane were cool compared to how hotly her skin burned. She stretched fully, amazed by the way his gaze absorbed every movement. There was power in being able to command such attention. She could get tipsy on that alone�"the thrill of being the center of his world, no matter how briefly. �śTruly, marble sculpture does not do a man’s physique justice. When I saw you earlier, you were just so�Śhairy.” Oliver pressed a fist against his grin. �śI’m not that bad.” �śNot bad. But not marble and stone, either. You looked breathless and hot. Utterly alive.” She inhaled, pressing on. �śI wanted to touch you. I still do.” �śGreta�Ś” �śAnd if the masters got the vitality of a man’s body wrong, then it leaves me to wonder what else they botched. Books of poetry, even descriptions of the sex act itself�"I have to assume it must be experienced to be understood.” Although astonished at how giving herself permission to speak freely had produced such scandalous words, she felt freer for being able to say them, to speak her fantasies aloud. Oliver’s avid stare and parted lips said he did not mind. �śI don’t want that first experience to be with Herr Weiser.” She looked down to where her hands clasped together on her stomach, so nervous that every inch of her shook. Still, he deserved to see her earnestness. Gathering a fortifying breath, she met his avid stare. �śOliver, I want it to be with you.” Right or wrong, Oliver could not leave. Speaking was impossible as he regarded the exquisite woman stretched out before him like an offering to a wanton god. He was throbbing�"so tense and hard all over. But she was softness. The curves of her bosom and hips were draped in the clinging white fabric of her nightgown, outlining yet concealing the flesh he ached to touch. Her reclining pose was innocently provocative. She could be a woman on the cusp of sleep, and yet her simple declaration still lingered between them. He swallowed and unclenched his fists. He had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Greta. What sort of man would he be�"or become�"if he indulged in such a treasure? Oliver wanted to find out. He thawed his frozen limbs and eased onto the bed, facing her. They did not touch, but the heat of her hip nestled against his. Greta’s eyes were heavy-lidded. She had tucked one arm above her head, which had the effect of pulling the nightgown more tightly across her breast. Had he already been her lover, he would have leaned over and kissed her firm nipple through the filmy white cloth. �śYour virginity,” he said, his voice surprisingly rough. �śGreta, that is a precious gift.” �śWhich is why I want to give it to the man of my choosing.” Her expression was as soft as her body, devoid now of anxiety or doubt. She was all calmness. Part of him envied her composure, but it also poked at his pride like a dare. He vowed that she would be none so calm once they began to make love. He needed a reward for falling so far, and that reward would be her sighs and moans and breathless cries. �śThere will be repercussions.” She grabbed his arm and tugged, hauling him down. Oliver found himself lying along her body, their faces mere inches away. Laughter reverberated from her chest into his. �śDon’t force me to plead, Herr Doerger,” she whispered. Oliver kissed the place where her upper lip curved in the center. Then he kissed the lush softness of her lower lip. Her gentle sighs warmed his skin, while her hands gripped his shoulders. �śIf we do this, Greta, you will plead. You’ll beg me never to stop.” �śI had no notion that you think so highly of yourself.” �śI don’t.” He pressed away from the bed and started on the long row of buttons trailing from her neck to her bellybutton. One by one, he revealed her lustrous skin to the gathering dawn. �śBut consider what you know about me, ja? Let the facts suggest the outcome.” �śYou’re observant.” That gave him a smile. �śI am.” �śYou’re thoughtful.” �śWithin limits.” Upon finishing the last button, he trailed two fingers down the path of parted fabric. Her skin was fire beneath his touch. Goose bumps followed his caress. �śYour body, for example, is more than enough to render me entirely dumb.” Greta giggled, then shivered as he stroked her once more. �śYou serve Lord and Lady Venner faithfully, which suggests patience and selflessness.” �śInfinite stores.” �śI like the sound of that. If I were to describe the perfect lover, I would place those two qualities at the top of my list.” �śMy selflessness only goes so far, Greta.” He replaced his fingers with his mouth, starting at the base of her throat. Each tiny kiss was so restrained when compared to the driving desire pounding through his veins. �śI intend to pleasure you, but I also intend to enjoy it a great deal.” �śBut, my dear man.” She caught his face in her hands, just when he had reached the promise of her bosom. He let her guide his gaze back up to her eyes. �śThat’s how it should be.” A tension in his chest eased. He had not realized how tightly wound he had become�"not just his sexual desire, but by expectations of his own flawless behavior. He was the more experienced of the two when it came to sexual escapades. Greta, however, was the one propelling this seduction. �śYes, that’s how it should be.” He opened the loose folds of her unbuttoned gown and revealed the breasts he had dreamed of for so long. Full and firm, they were tipped by pale pink nipples that matched her fair coloring. She took quick shallow breaths, but she did not cover up or shy away. Pride swelled in Oliver’s chest, appreciating her trust. �śSo beautiful,” he whispered. Shifting his weight to his elbow, he used his free hand to cup the weight of one generous breast. Greta leaned into his touch, fraying his control. He flicked his thumb over her tight nipple, then took that glorious bud in his mouth. Her gasp shot a hot bolt of desire down the front of his torso, settling in the thick pulse of his erection. Arching now, Greta offered him more�"more of the soft, resilient curves he had desired since first setting eyes on her. So long ago, that terrifying night at the opera. He pushed the thoughts away and tightened his hold on Greta’s lithe body. She fit against his chest with the precision of a lock and key, urging him to imagine other ways they would fit together. Oliver returned his attention to the bounty she offered, nuzzling the slope of one breast as he journeyed to the other. He teased her with nipping, open-mouthed kisses. Eager feminine hands slid across his hair. He used his own hands to find her waist, her hip, her backside. Nothing about her was less than breathtaking, all soft and warm�"urging him to claim more for himself. When he was dizzy on her scent, he returned to the warm welcome of her mouth. A dark place was taking over as he deepened their kiss. He let go, thrusting his tongue into her sweetness, catching her moan. The fire sparking between them made him bolder. The heat in her room was nothing compared to how she teased him with such an elemental flame. Greta arched her head back into the pillow, offering her neck. Again he trailed hot kisses down toward her breasts, but he kept traveling now, skimming his lips along the gentle curve of her stomach. He flicked his tongue into the shallow well of her bellybutton, relishing her giggled exhale. Even from there he could smell the warm scent of her arousal. Tempted, he smoothed his hand up her leg, his finger brushing the inside of her thigh. He petted, soothing, his hands working in patient circles, until all her flinches eased away. �śOpen your knees,” he said against her stomach. Only the slightest hesitation denied his request before her legs slowly parted. The trust she placed in him kept his mind steady. Her virginity truly was a gift, and he planned to return it in kind with pleasure she would never regret. With sure, steady strokes, Oliver eased his hands up toward the apex of her thighs. He kissed her stomach, watching the muscles bunch and quiver with every touch, and closed his hand over her womanly center. Simply cupping that warmth was enough to make his head spin, especially when Greta met his touch with the slightest thrust of her hips. A whimper choked out of her throat. He wove his hand beneath her nightgown, just skin against skin. This time when he reached her core, he slid his fingers in the slick proof of her desire. She tensed, then melted into the mattress with a groaning sigh. Oliver was hard, deliciously hard. He lifted his head and focused on the pleasure spilling across her relaxed features. Every clench and twitch of his fingers as he circled her tight nub reflected on her face. She opened her mouth, then bit her lower lip. �śLook at me,” he whispered. Again, she did as he commanded. Oliver’s cock hardened even more, his arousal thriving on her willingness to obey his orders. What sickness was it that he needed to control her, just this small measure? He circled his thumb over her most sensitive spot. �śI want you to see who’s touching you.” Wide green eyes were luminous in the early dawn. The light was gentle over her skin, rendering her utterly flawless. Angelic. He kept stroking, working faster now, daring her to look away, to deny what they both wanted from her innocent body. But she never did. Greta held his gaze, even as her legs trembled and quick breaths animated her beautiful breasts. Only then did Oliver realize how trapped he was. Nothing had changed, and he doubted it ever would. He was the one touching and exploring, issuing sensual commands, but his dear Greta was bewitching him as thoroughly as the most practiced seducer. He was her servant. His reward was witnessing her pleasure, knowing he was the only man to have touched her this way. Her eyes drifted shut once more, as the muscles of her neck and shoulders tightened. She thrust her hips more forcefully now. Oliver’s fingers were slippery, his strokes faster. He leaned near and captured a nipple once again, circling his tongue over that tight bud in time with his thumb. She laced her fingers at the base of his skull and held him close. His name became a breathless chant, urging him to work faster, to apply more pressure. He gave himself over to the wonder of her intense arousal. Thought and action�"all centered on Greta and her satisfaction, until she flew apart with a silent scream. Oliver pulled her close, holding her as her body trembled. Power surged through him. He had pleasured women in the past, but no encounter affected him so deeply. This was Greta. His Greta. And he was hers. Chapter Fifteen Greta smiled against Oliver’s hair as the dreamlike haze receded. She was limp, sweaty, astonished. And most surprising of all, she wanted more. The beauty of that moment was, she knew, a mere prelude. The mystery of how man and woman joined yet awaited her. But oh, his talented hands and wicked tongue. Even now, her knees splayed and her nightgown a wrinkled debauchery, she blushed at the sweet torture he had inflicted. She had tried picturing such deeds, but with, by comparison, a complete lack of imagination. The reality was simply�Śwonderful. �śWe’re not finished, are we?” she asked. A smug masculine chuckle was his reply. She liked the idea of being able to make him behave like an arrogant rake. The intimacy of it was almost heartbreaking. Perhaps he had loved in the past, but he was no casual lover. She trusted in that implicitly, and the knowledge made her want to be bolder, to take chances. She wanted to drive him to distraction. She feathered her fingertips along his temples, back into his short, damp hair. �śI’ll take that as a no.” �śWe can still stop.” The look on his face, however, proved how hard that was to admit. �śI already told you, I have no intention of stopping now. If anything, I’m even more determined to continue.” Greta slid her hands down his arms, frustrated by the cloth that hid his stark, masculine beauty. �śAnd I want to see you.” Oliver stood away from the bed. She moved to cover up in his absence, but he said, �śNo. Don’t move.” Greta smiled. She almost wanted to disobey just to force him to retaliate. The idea of Oliver losing his temper was unbearably exciting, if only because she suspected how much work it would take to achieve. But he was so good, so upstanding, that any wrong move might banish him entirely. She wanted what he could offer�"what he could teach her�"and that meant slow moves. What a strange scenario, where the virgin was the one to coax and beguile. She was amused, but more than that, she was painfully aware of how much she coveted his attention. What would it be to win the heart of such a man? The thought left her cold. She was giving him her virginity. Any other notion was as dangerous as it was fanciful. She focused instead on Oliver as he disrobed. Images of how she had caught him in the training room fused with the present. First his shirt. He pulled the fine lawn over his head. Strong, defined muscles along his back stretched, then bunched. No inducement could have convinced her to look away, not when such masculine perfection stood so nearby. He was a sculpture brought to life, but with the imperfections of a man. A scar no longer than her little finger edged along his right ribs. He had a tiny mole on his lower back, just above the waistband of his trousers. The skin of his forearms and neck was slightly darker. And oh, the perfect dusting of hair along his chest. He stood there and accepted her perusal, much as she had. What creatures they were, assessing one another with such blatant curiosity. But Greta could not help how strongly his gaze affected her. She wanted to stretch and pose�"a reward for how desired he made her feel, with nothing more than the sweep of his icy blue eyes. Perhaps he felt the same reaction, because he tossed the shirt aside and offered the slightest grin. �śLovely,” she said. �śBut you seem intent on keeping me curious.” �śTrousers next?” �śBitte.” His grin deepened, again lighting Greta with a distinct sort of pleasure. She was getting him to come out and play. There had to be medals and commendations to reward such a feat. Oliver reached for the front trouser buttons. No matter his reticence, his fingers worked with sure, steady purpose. At just the thought of how those same fingers had touched her, Greta shifted her legs, amazed by the greed she yet felt. There was something missing, something he had yet to give her. She kept her gaze trained on him as he slid trousers down his lean hips, knowing that what her body desired waited for her there. That same smug chuckle was her first clue that she was staring, her jaw slack. She shut her mouth and tried to lick her lips, but no moisture remained. The sight of him, fully nude, standing in her room like a fallen god, stole whatever of her manners remained. She should not have been embarrassed for staring, not after all they had already shared and how wantonly she stretched across the rumpled counterpane. But her cheeks flamed. The skin between her breasts felt overly sensitive, as if burned there by the summer sun. He was simply�Śmagnificent. Pectorals, shoulders and abdomen were shaped by hard-edged muscle. His thighs were also lean and powerful, dusted by hair a shade darker than that on his head. But her shameless gaze kept returning to his rigid manhood. Surely he was too big. Surely. �śYou seem surprised,” he said, his deep voice infused with a teasing note. She had been so proud of making him drop his guard, but that teasing was harder to endure when it was at her expense. Suddenly very aware of how little she knew�"and how little she controlled in this situation�"Greta took a deep breath. Of late she had discovered only one way to endure her fears: to confront them headlong. �śI am.” She shifted on the bed until she was kneeling. If his nakedness was a dare, he would not be the only one to throw down a gauntlet. Quickly, as if the move did not leave her breathless, she shucked her nightgown. The slack-jawed look on Oliver’s face was her reward. �śBut I don’t take dares lightly. You’ll have to be careful.” �śReally?” He approached the bed with measured, almost arrogant steps, then stopped her hands in the process of unbinding her hair. He took over those duties with deliberate care. �śWhat would you do if I told you to kiss me?” �śI would do it.” �śNot my mouth.” His gaze flicked down to the thick thrust of his manhood. She felt as if he had lit a fire too near to her face, so strongly did a blush sweep over her. Again she licked her lips, only to find her tongue parched. Oliver groaned. He was staring at her mouth. Greta smiled, hoping she appeared confident, not pushed to the very limits of her boldness. �śIf you insist. I quite enjoy when you tell me what to do.” �śWhy?” �śBecause you seem so reluctant. And because I know you have both of our pleasure in mind.” �śThen we’ll save such a dare for another time.” He leaned forward and brushed the softest kiss along her brow. With a gentle tug, he strung her unbound hair down over her shoulders. �śI want inside you too much to delay.” A surge of renewed arousal dampened the slick, tender skin between her legs. She gasped softly as he pushed her shoulders back, then pinned her against the mattress. His knees forced hers apart, first one, then the other. For a half second she feared he was simply going to plow into her, no preamble, no consideration. Perhaps he had used up all his patience by pleasuring her with his quick fingers. And perhaps she was childish for being disappointed, but the reaction would not be helped. �śLook at me,” he said. She did, fearing what she would find in his expression. She needn’t have. His teasing smile had returned, the one that said he knew exactly what she had been thinking. The need was still there, like a bright blue flame banding his fathomless pupils, but he remained the man who cared for her, whose gaze made her feel safe and protected. His cheekbones seemed stronger, more pronounced in the strengthening daylight. He swallowed heavily, which lifted and lowered his Adam’s apple and tensed the skin at his temples. �śYou have the soul of a wicked man in there, somewhere.” �śAnd you sound inordinately proud for bringing it out in me.” �śWhat woman wouldn’t be?” She pressed her palms against his chest, digging her fingertips into the hair that so tempted and intrigued her. He remained braced above her, his strong arms maintaining a scant few inches between their naked bodies. Exploring him, tracing every ridge and plane, she tried to memorize how powerful�"how beautiful�"he was. But she feared her memory, let alone her artistic skill, would never do him justice. He was simply too perfect. �śShall I tell you what to do?” �śYes, please,” she said. �śTouch me.” �śI am touching you.” �śDown there,” he said, the words rough. �śTouch my cock. I want you to know how I feel. I want you to know exactly what awaits you.” �śOliver�Ś” �śDo it.” Greta bit her lower lip, stifling a smile. His command shivered just under her skin�"the way his voice broke, so tense and clipped. She wanted more. She wanted to see how far she could push him. Leaving the glory of that astonishing chest, she trailed her right hand lower, and lower still. But she did not touch him. She let her fingers hover just beyond where the firm, swollen head pressed up toward his bellybutton. �śDon’t make me force you,” he ground out. �śI’d like to see you try.” He grabbed her wrist and yanked her hand into place. Greta sighed, so deliciously aroused, as she closed her fingers around his hard, throbbing rod. He could be pushed and provoked. Although she must be irredeemably debauched for coveting such a thing, she enjoyed knowing exactly how much he needed her. No polite initiation now. Not now. So she did not stroke or squeeze, no matter her curiosity. She simply touched, using the lightest possible caress. The pulsing life in him lit fireworks in her blood. She worked to trace every unique vein. No number of hours spent studying her art books, and no attention to the details of fine nude studies�"none of which her uncle knew she possessed�"had prepared her for the vital, hard power of Oliver’s erection. Nor had she understood the power she could claim by holding him. Every shift of her fingers and each slide of her palm elicited tiny reactions from him, from a tight hiss to the tendons in his neck tensing. He pumped his hips gently in time with her hesitant stokes, until she caught the rhythm. He would do that to her�"inside her. She was going too fast. How on earth could she possibly think of teasing him, when she barely understood the mechanics of what was about to transpire? It was all just a trick she played on herself to pretend she was courageous. When a drop of moisture eased from Oliver’s organ, she released him and tried to scoot back toward the headboard. �śI�"” He caught her thighs and dug his fingers into her flesh. �śYou’re not going anywhere.” Those imprisoning hands pulled her back down, until she lay flat on the mattress. �śI’ll stop if you truly want me to, but think first, Greta.” He slicked the damp hair back from her cheeks. �śDo you trust me?” She shouldn’t. Not really. Yet not once in his company had she ever feared for her safety. In fact, she rarely felt safer than when they were together. Memory dragged her back, inevitably, to the night when he had saved her life. Perhaps she would forever be tainted by those few heart-stopping moments, giving Oliver more authority over her mind and heart than he deserved. But it could not be helped. He was her champion. �śI do trust you.” She forced her limbs to relax. �śI�ŚI’m not as brave as I wanted to believe.” �śOf course you’re brave.” He circled his palm over her hip until the tension dissipated. �śIt takes a great deal of courage to want something for yourself. That’s what this is and you know it�"something we want, just for us.” She did not resist when he brought his mouth back to hers. The process of sinking into such an intimate caress�"tongue and lips and the gentle nip of his teeth�"was far easier than thinking. She closed her eyes and savored the sensations, how they magnified down through her body and pooled between her legs. His knees had opened hers again. But rather than panic, she found herself growing eager once again. The way he had touched her was wonderful. She knew there was more. More he could show her. Oliver swept the hair away from her neck and kissed her there, suckling the sensitive skin above her collarbone. She shivered, then gasped against his temple when his fingers once again found her core. Torture. Pure, beautiful torture. He circled and curled, mocking her need for harder pressure, faster tempo. �śOliver,” she gasped. �śBring your knees up.” That demanding note was back. How? How was he able to drag forth such debauched yearning with just the pitch of his voice? But she did as he demanded. She dragged her knees up, feeling entirely too exposed. Every inch of her was available for Oliver to see, to touch, to taste. �śLook at us, Greta,” he said. �śLook down.” The embarrassment was almost too overwhelming but she did it. His thick manhood was poised just above her center. Then, with a single forceful thrust, he was inside her. Greta cried out as a sharp pain shot out through each nerve. Using low, soft words, Oliver whispered against her ear. His hand was on her mouth, his breath warm and reassuringly steady against her cheek. Only the taut, bulging muscles of his upper arms and back revealed what the stillness cost him. The pain receded, but he yet waited. The intense pressure was unspeakably strange. All she could think was that the mystery had been solved. Now she knew how man and woman fit together. What she hadn’t expected, however, was the curious satisfaction of being filled. It wasn’t an invasion or a violation. It was�Ścompletion. She had been empty and now she was not. Oliver, so big and strong and wonderfully hard, was her tutor, her partner, her lover. But still he did not move. Greta grew impatient. The fullness changed again, teasing her with hints of pleasure. It felt right, but it also felt good. Experimentally, she wiggled her hips�"just a little. She opened her eyes to find Oliver smiling. Sweat dotted his brow and upper lip, but he had managed to conjure an encouraging smile. For her. Whatever panic and fear had briefly raised their hideous heads were ancient history. She wanted him half-crazed, and she wanted to go there with him. �śIs that all, Oliver dear?” �śHardly.” She tensed her pelvis. The minute shift of his hardness, deep inside her, was a sweet mockery of pleasure. Oh, how she wanted more. �śProve it.” His smile turned feral. He growled against her neck and began to move. Gently at first. Then with more urgency. Greta’s breath caught as fiery sparks shot up her spine. Everything�"sun and moon, day and night�"radiated from where they joined. Something was building, gathering, pushing her toward an end she only dimly suspected. �śHook your ankles,” he said in her hair. �śHold onto me.” Yes. Tell me what to do. She obeyed without hesitation, finding the pleasure even more intense as she crossed her ankles behind his back. She dug her fingers into his shoulders. Every thrust was a force of nature now, driving into her. Greta closed her eyes and sank into the pillow, into the mattress, as Oliver filled her over and over. His breath was coming fast, the sweat on his back something forbidden and divine. The chest hair that had so fascinated her brushed against her nipples, abrading them with every thrust. It was too much. She floated, far outside herself. Even grabbing his muscled buttocks and clenching her thighs did nothing to keep her grounded, until, with one more deep, penetrating thrust, she burst into a million pieces. Oliver felt her climax with such intensity that he was nearly dragged along with her. The twisted ecstasy on her face, the tight gasping noise in the back of her throat, the way her intimate muscles clenched his shaft�"there was no holding back. He buried his forehead in the pillow, nestling his face alongside her neck, and thrust. Each went deeper, pushed harder. Finally, when he could bear no more, he clutched at his presence of mind and withdrew. Braced on one elbow, with Greta’s legs still clinging to him, he took hold of his slippery cock and stroked. The release he had long denied himself crashed down like a blinding avalanche. He swallowed a groan as shudder after shudder overwhelmed him. When the strongest aftershocks subsided, he collapsed on his side. His breath came in great heaving gulps, his head spinning and his body shaking. Greta laughed�"that sweet laugh that sounded far less serious than she actually was. �śI’m glad you thought of that.” �śWhat?” �śWhere to, ah�Śfinish.” Oliver pulled the crook of his elbow away from his eyes and tilted his head. She was staring down at her stomach�"at the evidence of his release. �śOh, God.” Mortified, he jumped out of bed and grabbed his discarded shirt from the floor. �śForgive me,” he said, caressing her bare skin with the well-washed fabric. She stilled his hand. �śYou’re embarrassed?” �śOf course I am. I�Śdamn.” Head bowed low, he turned his back. �śI don’t often take lovers, but I’m careful when I do.” Obsessively careful, in truth. He had never once spilled his seed inside a woman. �śBut I’m grateful, you see. I was not in my right mind to be responsible.” Half disgusted with himself, he tossed the shirt away. �śYou were a virgin and I�Śyou shouldn’t have had to endure that�Śmess. Not the most dignified, is it?” �śThe alternative could have produced a child.” A child. A child with Greta. To hold his own son as proudly as had Christoph. What kind of strange bliss was that, blossoming in his chest at the thought? �śYes,” he said simply. �śThen everything happened as it should.” She continued to stare at him, which was doubly unnerving. Oliver wasn’t used to being observed, let alone by such an inquisitive mind�"one that seemed able to peer deeper into his motives. No matter his desire to become, one day, a respected husband and father, he could not stomach the idea of accidentally fathering a bastard. His youth had been too degrading and thorny to bear repeating. He had wanted to stay sheathed in her tight warmth for his climax, and the alternative had not been particularly dignified, but he was unable to permit himself a more selfish, dangerous release. Greta’s mouth was shaped with the slightest smile. �śYou are such a wonder.” �śMe?” �śYes, you. That was�ŚOliver, that was incredible.” She looked up and down his chest, her smile turning wicked. �śYou’re incredible. I had the most delicious idea that you would be.” �śI know what ideas you had.” �śI have more, if you’re curious.” He shook his head, bewildered by her cheek. Teasing glimpses of her playfulness seemed more frequent of late, as if the woman he had first met was a disguise. Now every word was filled with meaning that hinted at their intimacy. She was opening for him, in more ways than her virginity. �śCome here,” she said, extending her arms. Astonishing. A virgin but a few minutes ago, she reclined on the rumpled counterpane like the most practiced pleasure-seeker. Her nudity, it seemed, affected her not at all, whereas Oliver was finding the task of maintaining eye contact a taxing challenge. Her skin, her heart-stopping body�"some distractions were simply too overwhelming. Little red bite marks along her shoulder and the upper swells of her breasts reminded him of how he had behaved. Shame and greed warred within him. But he could not deny her simple request. He flung the blankets back and nuzzled down into the softness, her arms around his neck. Laying his weary head alongside hers on the pillow was the most natural, most extraordinary act. �śYou are,” she repeated. �śSo proper and devoted. I have thought about you for weeks and longer. I wanted to know how it would feel to be in your care. Now I know. And it’s a wonder.” Oliver swallowed the tight lump in his throat as he traced the inward dip of her waist. He tightened his hold on her body, so perfectly curved to his, and forced a shaky exhale. Having known there would be consequences, he was stricken to learn that one of them was entirely unexpected. He felt possessive. More than that, he felt drawn to her in ways he had never experienced with another woman. Rather than liberating him, their encounter bound him even more tightly to this woman who could never be his. �śAnd then you disappear, back inside yourself,” she whispered against his temple. �śOliver? Tell me?” �śI’m glad you enjoyed it.” �śI can hardly believe that’s what you were thinking.” �śThat doesn’t meant it’s untruthful.” �śVery well.” She snuggled more deeply into his embrace. �śI’ll let it go.” �śDanke.” �śOn one condition.” Oliver stared up at the ceiling where the sun had made a bright yellow field out of the white plaster. �śWhich is?” �śYou must tell me something real, something about you.” Very little. The impulsive reply struck him as particularly harsh in light of Christoph’s words in the training room. Was he hiding? It hardly felt like hiding, when so many of the family’s unseen responsibilities fell to him. Or perhaps his pride had simply been wounded. He shouldn’t need recognition. That was not his ambition. But the need was there nonetheless. Perhaps, in the end, that was why he came to Greta and indulged their desires. Her appreciation practically beamed from each pore. �śI am proud of the work I do,” he said. �śI know you are. It shows in how stubborn you can be.” �śStubborn?” Feeling as playful as he might ever claim to be, he skittered his fingers along her ribs and tickled until she was gasping with laughter. Her face turned against the pillow, she smacked his chest with clenched fists. He grabbed her hip and squeezed. Her giggles turned to a throaty moan that tugged arousal back to life. She rolled onto her stomach so that he had a perfect, priceless view of her spine, buttocks, and beautiful thighs. Oliver turned toward her and petted the smooth length of her. �śI’m not stubborn.” He kissed between her shoulder blades. �śI’m dedicated.” Greta flopped her head sideways, her tangled hair half obscuring her cheek. �śBut why? Why the Venners? It’s an admirable thing�"almost beautiful. But how did you come to know them?” �śAccident.” Not wanting to lie, neither could he reveal the truth. �śOur families knew one another in Anhalt. When I left the army, I needed employment. My mother had worked for Venner’s father, so I knew the family. He was readying a move here to Salzburg, and he needed a valet willing to go with him. I fit the bill.” �śHe’s a good man, isn’t he?” �śYes. I�ŚI admire him a great deal.” Wearing that brazen smile once more, she arched her back so that her shapely buttocks rose slightly off the bed. �śI think I’ll stop now.” �śStop what?” he asked, his mouth dry as parched summer earth. �śTrying to drag information out of you. That was probably the most revealing thing you could’ve shared. I’ll stop while I’m ahead.” �śYou’re beautiful.” Her smile burst into a full-fledged grin. �śOh, well, we could continue in that vein, if you like.” �śI believe I will.” Dragging his palm up her body, from the top of her thigh to the lush swell of her backside, he petted every inch. �śI’ve dreamed of you, of seeing you this way.” �śYou’re one for daydreams?” �śOn occasion,” he said in all earnestness, although he knew she was teasing again. �śBut not with any thought they might be real one day.” �śAnd what did you do in those daydreams?” Rather than reply with words, he leaned over and kissed one of the two little divots along her lower back. Such perfect dimples, like guideposts to the perfection of her buttocks. She arched again, wiggling up to meet his kiss as he opened his mouth, tasting, exploring her once again. The knowledge that it would never be enough was only just sinking in. �śIs anyone expecting you?” she asked. �śNo. Mathilda gave me the day off.” �śShe can do that?” �śOld habits. She used to be in charge of this household.” �śWell, good. I don’t want to share you just yet. And I don’t want to give this up before we must.” �śBecause we must.” He half wished she would contradict him. As impossible as it was, the sentiment would be a pleasure to hear. Instead Greta sighed and swished a lock of hair out of her eyes. She regarded him steadily as the air between them thickened with resignation. �śYes, we must. But not yet.” She licked her lower lip and stretched her arms above her head, hugging the pillow. Like a cat in the sun, she seemed utterly relaxed. But Oliver was far from it. The inevitability of reality coupled with the lithe length of her naked body. He wanted her again. He feared he would always want her. �śTell me what to do,” she whispered. The dare, the desire, the playfulness in that single sentence gave him the strength of a dozen men. He would enjoy Greta while she was still his, even if that meant no more than the next few hours. Oliver knelt on the bed, positioning himself between her legs. Power surged through him�"power and lust like he’d never known. �śUp now, Greta. On your knees.” Chapter Sixteen Greta sat at supper two days later, unable to concentrate on a single thing. Not anything. Words floated in and out, like pests to be ignored. Mosquitoes. She could only think of Oliver and the breathtaking hours they had shared in her room. No one had missed them. Ingrid and the new baby were at the heart of every discussion. In light of that miraculous occurrence, the whereabouts of an exhausted houseguest and a faithful valet hardly seemed important. Since then she had painted. The urge to take brush in hand had been nearly overwhelming. So many emotions did battle within her, all of them requiring expression. Mortar and pestle, sharpening knife, charcoal�"handling each and applying them to new works was soothing. And then there was his note. Although he merely passed her in the corridor before supper, Oliver had managed to slip her a tiny piece of writing paper. She had yet to find a private moment with which to read it. Instead she wore one edge to a soft pulp where it waited, hidden in a skirt pocket. What would it say? Had he suffered too many regrets? That seemed heartbreakingly likely, considering his upstanding nature and their unequal status. But what if he wanted to join her once again, to make love as if the rest of the world had fallen away? The idea of Oliver taking such a bold initiative did not ring true. Greta longed for that sort of sweeping, romantic spontaneity, but she knew the man who held her fascinated. Spontaneity was, in all likelihood, beyond his capacity. But the note�Śthe note remained. Memories fused with possibilities until every other word or concern became yet another cruel delay. �śAnd then we’ll greet Father when he arrives,” Anna said. That jerked Greta out of her haze. �śUncle Thaddeus is coming here?” �śIn three days,” Theresa said. �śIsn’t it wonderful? He hasn’t been to town in months. We can take him to all the events�"concerts and plays. Even the church services are so much lovelier than at home.” Oh, no. That would not do at all. If anyone could see�"or, more accurately, sense�"what Greta had been doing, it would be her uncle. Thaddeus would know she had fallen. One look and he would see the ruinous truth. He would compare Greta to her mother and drag her back to the manor, using her talent to keep her bound to the family. Not fair. She felt like a child for even thinking the words, but she could not make them stop. It’s not fair. She looked down at the cold summer soup, which had been so refreshing and flavorful only moments before. Now it simply looked congealed, dotted with the lumps of pureed vegetables. If she managed to keep from crying at the table, she would consider it a hard-fought victory. After supper, she joined the cousins in the drawing room, but the conversations were as stilted there as at home. Greta itched to paint but had to make do with her sketchbook. She huddled into an overstuffed chair, her knees drawn up to her chest. The fine charcoal pencil flew across the page as she gave vent to her frustrations. Not Oliver. She dared not draw him with such potentially curious company. Instead she drew scenes from the opera�"the crowd backed away from where she had been captured, the backstage area littered with props and pulleys. Just out of sight in each scene would be Oliver. But he was there, making each scene a little less terrifying. Only when her cousins were happily ensconced in their embroidery and gossip did Greta dare slip the note from her pocket. His tight handwriting was nearly too small to read, as if he were whispering in print. Come watch us practice. Training room, 9pm sharp. Hide in the arcade. Greta’s hands shook. She tucked the note back into her pocket and conjured an exaggerated yawn. With deliberate care, she closed her sketchbook and used a cloth to wipe the charcoal from her fingers. The actions briefly roused her cousins from their shared world. �śTo bed so soon, Greta?” Theresa asked. �śI’m afraid I must. These last few days have been terribly taxing.” Anna lowered her needlepoint. �śIndeed! I truly cannot fathom how you managed.” Greta shrugged, quickly glancing at the mantel clock. Ten minutes till nine. �śI did what needed to be done. And as my reward, an early evening or two isn’t really too much to expect.” �śOf course not,” Theresa said. �śOh, and did you see Lady Gepple’s pelisse? The hem was trimmed in six inches of lace.” �śHow gauche.” �śEntirely.” With the slightest shake of her head, Greta left her cousins to their chat. Her heart was racing, so that even her mumbled �śGute Nacht” sounded half a city away. She could not feel the slip of paper in her pocket, but it was there nonetheless, like a brand against her leg. He was being bold�"the boldest she could ever expect from such a quiet, steady man. The thrill was almost too much to bear. He would have thought through the possibilities a hundred times, perhaps rewritten the note over and over as he struggled for the right words. In the end he had settled on simplicity. She would either be there or she wouldn’t. As she trailed silently down the corridor, she imagined the torture of his expectation. Upon reaching the ground floor, she slipped through the shadows and kept close to the walls. If anyone discovered her, she was simply a confused houseguest. Anna and Theresa still had difficulty finding their way through the labyrinthine manor to their fourth-story bedchambers. She took each step with as much confidence as she could muster, no matter the way her knees wobbled. Oh, but what he had done while she was on her knees. The power of each stroke, the greedy drive of his body into hers. She still had bruises on her hips where he had gripped. The next morning, she had stood in front of her full-length mirror, completely nude, searching for all the ways she must have changed. The changes were all internal, as if each organ and bone had realigned, but the physical reminders were plain along her skin. Walking more quickly now, she found the door to the training room. A quick glance up and down the corridor revealed no one. The nearby kitchen still hummed with activity, along with laughter and the occasional clanging pot. But she was alone. Without a candle, all she could do was feel her way. She opened the door, pushing with fingers that felt like limp noodles. Working from memory, she recalled the stairs at the back of the room. External fires streamed in through two banks of rectangular windows, creating a glimmering path along the padded floor. Fearing she would be caught in the middle of such a display, Greta kept to the shadowy edges. She had just reached the staircase leading up to the arcade when male voices echoed from out in the corridor. Panic surged and gave her legs strength and speed. She took the stairs two at a time, her skirts bunched in sweaty fists. But oh, even as she panicked�"this was fun. Candlelight flickered along the floor and walls. Greta ducked down and practically crawled to where a stack of boxes provided adequate cover, almost as if they were there for just such a purpose. With no time to speculate, she settled in and found the perfect little gap. From there she had an unobstructed view of the training room floor. He must have known. He must have wanted it this way. Goose bumps sprinkled along her scalp and down her spine. She grinned to herself, sharing the anticipation Oliver must surely be feeling. Two days. Two days and he had not yet gone mad. That seemed a minor miracle, considering how often his thoughts strayed toward Greta. Her laugh. Her smile. Her naked body and the silky smoothness of her skin. Oliver had fallen into the trap of infatuation, and he had no intention of extricating himself. Not yet. The pain was too greatly mingled with pleasure. He followed Christoph into the training room and schooled his features. If Greta proved the secret daredevil he knew her to be, she would be up in the arcade that bordered the facility. Sometimes they used the space to instruct the male servants on defensive techniques. Once or twice a year, they held an in-house tournament to help combat winter restlessness, where the men of the Venner staff fought for pride and personal victories. Even a few old grudges were played out in a way that helped diffuse tension. The process had worked in the army, and to Christoph’s surprise, Oliver had been able to implement it successfully here as well. He never fought harder than during those tournaments, knowing that his high position in the household made him a target. But now he intended to fight bloody hard. Christoph had been insufferable. He doted on Ingrid with the persistence of a mother hen, but with no such efficiency. He was underfoot with the staff and driving Ingrid to distraction. The idea that she was well�"safe, happy and healthy�"had yet to sink into his hardheaded brother’s mind. Or more likely, into his heart. The time was right to call him on it. And he would do it with Greta as his audience. With a quick glance toward the boxes he’d stacked, he caught the barest glimpse of blond hair. So�Śshe had come to observe the sport. The idea had occurred to him after what she’d confessed in bed. Watching him, studying him, had been arousing for the keen-eyed innocent. Never had he known a woman outside of a bawdy house to admit such a thing. Rather than simply sneak into her room once more, Oliver had decided to give them a little prelude. If all went according to careful plan, this would be but a beginning to their evening together. Greta’s uncle would arrive in just a few short days. Then life would return to normal. Oliver would force it to, out of sheer will alone. He would pick up the pieces after she left, but not a minute before. �śTake up a sword, my lord,” Oliver said. �śWe’ve all had enough of you lately.” Christoph scowled. �śYou have some nerve.” �śNo one else does. You’re a father now. I still congratulate you. I thought seeing her through the birth would be enough, but your worry is suffocating everyone.” He sloughed off his coat, tossed his wig aside, and undid the two buttons at his throat. After a quick check of the armaments, he picked a slim, precise foil with a gold finish. �śIt ends here.” �śYou arrogant bastard.” �śTesty, my lord.” Oliver nodded to the wall of swords. �śLet’s go.” His strides stiff, Christoph grabbed the nearest weapon, hardly offering it a glance. He met Oliver in the center of the small arena. �śIs this more of your helpful remedy?” �śNaturally. Just doing my job.” �śHardly. You’re trying to prove a point, just because�"” Oliver shook his head sharply. �śIt’s no longer two in the morning, my lord,” he said under his breath. �śThe walls may have ears. Just fight.” He raised his foil and lunged. Christoph took the blow and sank into his stance. Again they circled one another, but the wariness and fervor they had shared on the night of Franz’s birth was gone. The timbre was different. Oliver was reminded of the years they had spent as young men, always aware of one another, always in silent competition. He’d never known whether his unacknowledged half brother would vouch for him or turn him in. Christoph had never taken part in Oliver’s misdeeds, but on occasion he had turned a blind eye�"perhaps playing out his own quiet rebellion against their father. Now Greta was watching. Oliver wanted to be better than his brother, even though she would never know the truth of their relationship. The valet could beat the master. She thought him practical and dependable. Fine. He also wanted her to think him desirable and strong. His foil swished through the air with a slick hiss. He caught Christoph’s weapon, the metal squealing as they clashed. The air in the training room was warm. Sweat soon adhered his shirt to his chest. Panting, his thighs aching, Oliver kept pushing, forcing Christoph once again to lose himself in the relative ease of physical work. God, it felt good. Better than worry and want. Better than hot, restless dreams that left him hollow. A slicing pain cut down the outside of his bicep. He hissed, glancing to where a trail of crimson stained his white shirt. �śYou’ll pay for that.” �śHardly,” Christoph said. �śNo, I’m in earnest. Some fair compensation is in order.” Christoph actually laughed�"or some twisted noise that counted as his laugh. Months could go by without hearing it. �śYou already earn too much.” He lunged again, forcing Oliver to leap backward, his torso arched to avoid the slashing blade. They fought in earnest now, giving and taking with grit and fire. Oliver’s throat burned. His right arm throbbed and shook. But he kept fighting. He could feel Greta’s eyes on him, her avid interest lighting into his blood like fine cognac. Finally he scored a slice of his own, catching Christoph on the shoulder. �śWe’re even,” the man gritted out. Oliver simply stood in the center of the arena, stance solid, chest upthrust. He hauled the shirt off his back and swiped it along the tip of the foil. After tossing it aside, he stared his competition in the face�"those ice-blue eyes so like his own. �śAgain.” Greta had long since bit down on the pad at the base of her thumb. It was either that or gasp at every near miss, every clean lunge, every moment when Oliver battled like a medieval warrior. She understood it all now�"why he had wanted her to be here in hiding, bearing witness. She actually admired his initiative, surprised by his daring. Her thanks and appreciation would be in order later. Concealed by the boxes, she edged a little nearer the railing. They were both shirtless now. Though slightly shorter, Oliver was more beautifully muscled than his master. They were a study in subtle contrasts. Venner was elegant and long-boned. His every move seemed thought-through, as if the action needed permission. Oliver, however, sank into every movement. He seemed a dancer, flowing from step to step with practiced ease. And dear Lord, he was even more attractive to her now than he had been days ago, weeks ago. Now she knew how he tasted, how his body moved over hers, how he sounded as pleasure consumed that active, intense mind. The room was too hot. The men had been able to strip down to their bare skin, but Greta had no such option. She was aroused and uncomfortable, squished between two crates that would be waist height had she been standing. But she would not budge, not while there was still such a show to be witnessed. The men grunted and hissed, fighting one another as if the future of the Venner line depended on it. Neither gave ground, until Greta was sure one of them would be seriously injured. That fear only heightened her unbearable interest as she watched each spin and thrust. She pushed damp strands of hair back from her forehead and gulped a mouthful of thick air. In her heart, she kept saying Oliver’s name over and over, a silent chant for her champion. Finally Venner held up a hand. He had doubled over, bracing his elbows on his knees, his back puffing up and down with each heaving breath. �śEnough.” Oliver dropped his foil and clapped his master on the shoulder. �śNice work, my lord.” �śYou meant it tonight.” Venner straightened, massaging his lower back. �śWhy?” Greta might have imagined it, but she thought Oliver glanced up toward her hiding spot. �śBecause you didn’t learn the first time,” he said. �śIngrid is fine. She’s made it through the worst, and she’s healthy. Happy, even. Soon she’ll be fit to travel, if needs be, and young Franz strong enough to survive such a trial. But believe me, none of the rest of us are fine with you forgetting your place.” �śAnd what’s that?” �śAs head of this household, my lord.” �śIn other words, get myself in order?” Oliver laughed. Sweat gleamed off his chest, gilded by the room’s few candles. �śExactly.” �śI hope it’s a lesson we won’t have to repeat.” �śAfraid, my lord?” �śA little. You were ferocious.” Lord Venner picked up his shirt, then offered his hand to his valet. �śAgain, you have my thanks.” The men shook hands, then Oliver stepped away and bowed. The image of him behaving so formally while so indecently clad did ridiculous things to Greta’s heartbeat. She couldn’t take in enough air. The room was dizzying, but it had only a little to do with the intense heat. �śAt your service, my lord,” Oliver said. Venner strode out of the room with a slight decrease in vigor, but he wore a smile Greta had never seen. Perhaps Oliver had truly been able to accomplish two tasks at once�"alleviating his master’s apprehension and showing off. She nearly snickered at the idea of such efficiency, which was well beyond anything she could ever manage. Such a strange, remarkable man. She heard a sharp exhale. The room dimmed. Two more candles were extinguished until only a single flame remained. �śYou can come down now,” Oliver said, his voice so low and calm�"at odds with how he had appeared while sparring. Greta forced her legs to stand, no matter their trembling. A surprising ache still pulsed between her thighs. She had not expected to be sore, but she was�"one more reminder of how irrevocably she had been altered across these last few days. She wanted to make love with Oliver again. The idea that her body might not be able to fulfill what she needed so badly was quite a disappointment, especially after his display. She pushed away from the boxes as would a ship leaving a safe harbor. Nerves assailed her�"genuine apprehension. Again. She was not used to being so off balance, even though she knew Oliver would never consciously hurt her. The sheer power of the emotions he evoked and nurtured within her were enough to leave her trembling. So very loud in that quiet, open space, the top stair squeaked as she descended. She gripped the handrail with all her strength, pulled toward him. He held the lone candle. Deep shadows painted his body in all the more intimidating relief. Desire kept her moving, and she could only pray for a modicum of grace as she did so. His arm was still bleeding, just a little. She stooped and picked up his shirt. �śQuite the show,” she whispered. With the gentlest stroke, she dabbed away the blood. Oliver did not hiss or flinch. He simply watched her with that unnerving stare. �śYou enjoyed it?” �śI did.” �śGood.” He stilled her hand. �śBecause there’s more.” Chapter Seventeen Oliver checked the corridor, then led Greta quickly out the rear door Ingrid would have used to stroll the gardens. The servants never used that exit, and Ingrid and Christoph were, of course, unlikely to journey out-of-doors at that hour. Only Mathilda might be taking a stroll, but her discovery of Oliver’s love affair with Greta did not intimidate him. Mathilda was reliable, and when it came to keeping secrets about romantic trysts, she actually owed him a favor. �śWhere are we going?” Greta whispered. His shirt front flopped open at his throat. Sweat was drying on his clothes and on his skin, but it did little to cool the way her voice turned his blood to lava. She was making him bold�"practically making him a fool. Or else he was finally permitting himself such folly after years of rigid propriety. Either way, he enjoyed a broad smile as he led her into the walled garden. �śYou’ll see.” The night was still�"still in only the way a muggy September evening can be, perched on the edge of autumn. Few people in Salzburg would think to complain. Winter would return all too soon. The heat and the privacy of those neatly kept shrubberies practically invited a secret tryst. �śHere,” he said. His fingers still twined with hers, Oliver led her to a bench behind a pride of topiary lions and two dwarf cherry trees. Wrought iron would be none so comfortable, but he had wanted to prove something, both with the training room display and this show of boldness. He could be daring too. Oliver sat on the bench and, without preamble, pulled Greta onto his lap. �śI’ve been waiting all day for this.” �śSo we can move along to da Vinci and the Italian masters?” �śYour study of the male form?” �śIndeed.” He leaned back along the bench, his arms stretched wide. �śI’m all yours.” With an impatient sound, she yanked off his shirt. The scratch on his arm stung, but he needed to ground himself. That flash of pain did nicely. They stared at one another for the span of three frantic heartbeats before Oliver kissed her. He was not kind or patient, not this time. She knew exactly what awaited them. The pressure of making her first time special was no longer a factor. So he indulged. He claimed her mouth as if that swordfight had been for her hand. The excitement of that conflict�"a friendly sparring match that retained, as always, the thrill of genuine competition�"still raced and bubbled inside him. He was the warrior, and Greta was his hard-fought reward. She tightened her fingers on his chest muscles, testing his resolve. Oliver would not flinch. He closed his eyes, sank into their kiss and absorbed the drug of her rough curiosity. But he was in no mood to be passive. She was a challenge. Every kiss could be taken deeper. Every touch could be more wicked. Never one to think of himself as a thrill-seeker, he grinned as he nipped her bottom lip. Yes, she was like a drug. Lungs and heart and blood demanded more of her honeyed taste. His cock strained against his trousers, right where her bottom wiggled and shifted in his lap. He stroked her tongue with his and grasped her outer thighs, pulling her to straddle him. �śI don’t believe you will.” Her whisper was a damp breath against his ear, just before she took his lobe into her mouth. Oliver tugged her gown’s laces until the rich fabric of her bodice gaped open. �śNo?” �śAbsolutely not.” She arched against him as he scooped out her delectable breasts, baring them to the waning moon. Her skin was so lustrous and pale that it glowed in that eerie evening light. Oliver licked one nipple, then the other, relishing Greta’s low moan. �śYou think me so proper,” he said. �śI know you are.” �śCare to wager?” �śNo, because I would find myself in the unfortunate position of wanting to be proved wrong.” She pulled his head down to her breast, clutching his hair as he sucked and kneaded that full flesh. �śBesides, you planned all of this. Just like in the training room.” Oliver smiled against her throat. �śOh, dear. Have I been found out?” �śAnd I’d wager you scouted this location.” �śI was hoping to appear spontaneous.” Rather than tease him, as he might have expected, Greta pushed her fingers into his hair. �śThe thought counts for more. You are very good to me.” �śNo, in this instance I’m being rather selfish.” �śOh?” �śI want you,” he said against her lips. �śAnd I wanted to impress you.” �śYou impressed me. You surprised me.” She kissed the bridge of his nose. �śAnd you have me thinking the most delicious thoughts.” �śThen lift your skirts, meine Allerliebste.” My very dearest. She shivered in his arms, her eyes dark with desire and shadows, but her hesitation was impossible to miss. �śI�ŚI want to. But�"oh, this is embarrassing. I’m not quite up to it.” Wishing for better light to see her expression, Oliver tilted his head to the side, reading her, trying to see into her. He nodded and forced his breathing to calm. He was not upset. Absolutely not. �śI understand.” �śNo, I don’t think you do.” Greta kissed along his jaw, then found his mouth again. �śMy dear boy, I’m sore.” �śSore? Oh, damn. Forgive me.” �śI’m sure under any other circumstances, I would be perfectly fine. And appreciative of your�Śendowment. But not just yet.” Wanting to laugh but fearing he would slip a little closer to madness, he took a deep breath. She had been a virgin and they had made love three times. She should hardly be walking, let alone straddling his lap. The fact he missed that possibility entirely seemed a grave error. He had been so looking forward to renewing their tryst. Another part of him, however�"that barbaric part she was so fond of prodding�"was quite pleased by her praise. His body was an accident of birth, but he loved how much she appreciated it. �śYou look wondrously disappointed,” she said. �śLook at you. So lovely.” He cupped her breasts, relishing the weight of them in his palms. �śWhy wouldn’t I be?” �śSurely there are�Śother ways?” �śIndeed.” �śThen you really will need to try a little spontaneity.” �śYou first or me?” She giggled. �śYou.” �śWhy?” �śBecause I cannot seem to get enough of you. Tell me.” Oliver swallowed. Eyes luminous, lips parted, she was utterly shameless. But what he knew�"what he relished�"was that she had never shown this side of herself to anyone. The miracle of her sensuality was his alone. For now. Anger and a fierce possessiveness made his body shake. This was not forever. Never could be. But she awaited his command, and he dearly wanted a release from this exquisite torture. �śGet on your knees.” She slithered off his lap, her mouth bowed by a nymph’s smile. Oliver balled up his shirt and gave it to her to shield her knees from the damp grass. Then he relaxed against the bench. The idea alone of what was to come was enough to make his pulse surge. An evening breeze brought the scent of grass and water from River Salzach nearby. This was Eden, and at his feet knelt a woman as tempting as Eve. �śOpen my trousers,” he said. Greta’s fingers made quick work of his buttons�"those eager, talented fingers, so clever and sure. His erection pushed free of the restraint, pulling a quiet gasp from them both. �śI have a very good idea of what you want,” she said. �śBut I want you to say it.” �śWanton woman.” �śTell me.” �śPut your mouth on my cock.” She closed her eyes and shivered. Then she did exactly as she was told. Her fingers had nothing on how eagerly she used her mouth to drive him mad. Oliver gripped the wrought iron until the need to feel her heat was too much. He closed his palm around the back of her neck as fire licked up from his groin. Leaning his head back against the bench, he pumped gently in time with the strokes of her tongue. So wet and hot. So damn beautiful to watch. He threaded his fingers into the loose hairs along her nape and thrust. �śDon’t stop,” he ground out. She obeyed again, thrilling him with such power. Her pace quickened. She took more of him. Her hands gripped him at the base, stroking in time, until he could no longer hold back. Oliver’s climax hit him like slamming into a wall. His whole body jerked, lifting his hips off the bench. He clenched his teeth together to silence his cry of ecstasy. The world of that gated garden slowly returned, as did the knowledge of what they had just done. She had taken him to completion using her mouth. He did not know whether the mortification or the pleasure would kill him first. But nothing about Greta’s expression showed the least distress. She straightened, still on her knees, and licked her bottom lip. �śWell, now,” she whispered with a grin. �śThat was an education.” Greta could not imagine how she looked, kneeling there with her gown and hair disheveled, but she was � potent. Formidable. The side of her that had always demanded more from life was, at that moment, sated. Her body was tight and aching, but her mind was quiet. This man had taken something for himself. Pure, selfish pleasure. She wanted to give them both honors for such an unlikely turn of events. After he returned the favor. �śYou shouldn’t be the one looking so satisfied,” he said. �śBut I am.” She crawled back up to his lap and snuggled against his bare chest. He smelled of man�"this one man who made her blood race. �śI’m the inexperienced one, and yet I would wager piles of gold that you’ve never done that in a moonlit garden.” Oliver chuckled softly against her temple. �śYou would be right. Now you have another choice.” �śHmm?” �śHere or indoors?” �śVery interesting.” While she enjoyed the thrill of being outside, Greta was nearly overcome with curiosity about his quarters. She imagined it orderly and neat, of course, but she dearly wanted to know more about him. Mementos? Photographs? Books? Which details would tell her more about Oliver Doerger? �śCan we go to your room?” His hands stilled their petting along her lower back. �śYes,” he said, although the word seemed dragged into the night. �śGood. Off we go, then.” Greta turned in his lap and presented her laces. He did them up with the efficiency of a ladies’ maid, peppering kisses along her nape. As much as she enjoyed teasing him, provoking him, pleasuring him, she put no sensation above how dearly cherished he made her feel. Unexpected tears pricked behind her eyelids at the thought of being able to keep such a miracle for herself. The Venners had each other, as did the De Vosses. Greta would have some benefactor such as Herr Weiser, but she would never possess this wonder of being so adored. With her gown in order and Oliver dressed once more, she jumped off his lap and began walking toward the house. He followed with silent steps, although she could feel his agitation at her back. They could not afford to be caught. That much she knew. But she was feeling reckless and aroused�"half crazy for wanting from their affair what she could never have. Oliver caught her hand. �śUp to the fourth floor. Third door on the left. Follow me in a minute.” He strode into the townhouse without a backward glance. Greta stood in the entrance to the garden. Her body still buzzed with unresolved desire, but that wasn’t what had her in such fits. This hadn’t been how she should feel. Seeking pleasure from Oliver had been a simple game. A challenge. And as she’d hoped, an education. But a weight in her chest was steadily stealing her composure. After what seemed like a lifetime, she made her way indoors and found Oliver’s room. Every step threatened to bring the whole household down around her. Don’t get caught. Just�Śdon’t. Even as she dared to wonder what would happen if they were. Her uncle would be notified, and her place in good society made tenuous. Heart beating like mad, she wondered if such misbehavior might mean avoiding a marriage to Herr Weiser. Only the knowledge that Oliver might lose his job kept her from wishing for such a radical scenario. He valued his status with the Venners too much�"and worked too hard to maintain it�"for her to jeopardize that. Her hands trembling, she knocked oh-so-softly on his door. He was there in an instant to let her in, a heavy sigh of relief pushing out of his beautiful chest. �śYou keep putting that shirt back on,” she said. �śI do not approve.” Oliver offered a lopsided grin, the one he shared when he was embarrassed but secretly pleased. She dearly loved being able to drag that mix of emotions out of him. �śThis is my room, so I can dress as I please. Take it off me.” �śYou’re becoming quite adept at giving me orders.” �śI have no difficulty giving us what we both want.” Greta stripped him of his shirt and walked her hands down the ridges of his stomach muscles. �śWonderful,” she breathed. She kissed him on the chin, then turned away. No matter her desire, which had backed gently away from its frenzy, she wanted to explore his little cave of a room. Furnished with dark woods and dark fabrics, it was a wholly masculine space. The overstuffed chair by the fireplace seemed large enough to accommodate his wide shoulders and long legs. Beside it sat a stack of books and a sheaf of papers. She recognized the topmost book as the artist’s compendium she had mentioned during their first night together. �śHomework?” she asked. Oliver crossed the room with quick strides, attempting to shuffle the stack out of sight. But Greta was faster. She snatched the sheaf of papers and held them to her chest. �śDon’t,” he said. �śTell me what they are or I shall be forced to look.” �śGreta, please.” He hung his head, then peeked up at her from beneath his lashes. �śJust�Śoh, never mind.” Unbearably intrigued, she opened the pages. His neat, tight script lined each one. The entries were dated, beginning with his dinner at Leinz Manor. The first read, Greta mentioned Bruegel and Bosch, and was followed by a lengthy explanation of each artists’ major works, styles and contributions. Beneath that was a list of their students with their accomplishments and styles, and so on. The level of detail astonished Greta. She turned the page until she found an entry dated from the night of the Leinz ball. Greta said she studies da Vinci�"and the whole process started again. �śWhy?” He rubbed his forearm. His pale eyes revealed a wildness she had rarely seen from him. �śYou assumed ignorance because of my employment. I wanted to prove otherwise�"even if that meant a bit of study.” Why she should become sentimental over such stark, businesslike notes was not strictly obvious, but it cut to her heart. No flourishes. No descriptions of their stolen moments. He was simply a man trying to educate himself, because of her and her wretched assumption. She had never been able to claim such influence over another living soul. She closed the pages of notes and tenderly laid them on the side table. �śForgive me,” she whispered. Strong arms closed around her, supporting her just when she needed that closeness. �śThere is nothing to forgive.” �śNo, that’s not true. All this time I’ve been so wretched. I’ve never known anyone like you. To bury yourself in these books�"why? So you might one day engage me in conversation again? Who does that?” �śA man with too much pride.” His rueful tone dragged a sad laugh out of her chest. �śHardly. A proud man would denigrate a subject he knew nothing about, not try to orient himself within it.” �śI was lacking. Now, perhaps, I am not. And besides, I enjoyed the idea of surprising you.” She laughed again with more vigor. �śMore surprises through careful planning?” �śYou cannot say I’m not consistent.” �śThe very picture of consistency.” Only then did she realize that she still stood in his arms�"his bare arms. If ever there had been a male body made for admiring, it was Oliver’s. She traced the elegant line of his triceps. She walked slowly, so slowly, around to see his back, and thrilled when he stood straighter, his shoulders thrown back. Such a modest man should not enjoy being scrutinized so closely. Perhaps a touch of vanity was due such a marvelous physique, and she quite liked the idea of Oliver possessing such a delightful flaw. Hands flat, she ran her palms down his back, along the bones of his spine, the angle of his clavicles, the curve of his ribs. Never had she wanted the tools of her craft more, if only to sketch him in broad, quick strokes. The idea of drawing his naked body while he watched�"with all the intensity he had employed when observing her paint�"was nearly as arousing as touch. �śWe should have gone back to my room,” she whispered. �śWhy?” �śBecause I should like to draw you.” �śMaybe one day.” But even as he said it, the grave timbre of his voice gave away the truth. There would be very few days between them. So few moments remained. Greta swiped the tears from the corners of her eyes and returned to face him. �śOr maybe not,” she said. �śMaybe we only have tonight.” �śIt’s more than I ever expected.” �śWhat, so we should be grateful? We sneak around like criminals just to carry on a conversation. It’s not fair. I�"God, I feel like a child but I cannot help it.” He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head against his shoulder. �śBe grateful. But know I feel the same way.” �śDo you?” �śGreta,” he said softly. �śI would offer for you if I could. You must know that.” Breathing became impossible. She hung onto him with all her strength, kissing his throat and his proud jaw. His words were an aphrodisiac, his essence like the strongest wine going straight to her head. She kept kissing him until his hands were a vise, holding her firmly against his hard body. She kept kissing him to stop from pleading. Ask me, Oliver. Dare me. But that was impossible. Utterly impossible. She had known it from the start. So she asked for the one thing they both could offer without reality intruding. �śIt’s my turn, isn’t it?” Chapter Eighteen �śCome in.” Oliver opened the door to Christoph’s office. �śYou wanted to see me?” The esteemed Lord Venner appeared as neat and stiff within the confines of his private business retreat as he did any other time. Even Oliver could not maintain his public facade so well. Christoph sat behind his desk, his papers and pens aligned with a fastidious precision that any military man would have admired. He folded his hands. Oliver braced for whatever might require such a formal meeting. Business? Politics? Or, as his tense gut feared, Greta? �śI have received a correspondence I believe you should see.” Christoph retrieved a letter from beneath a paperweight. �śRead this.” Still uncertain as to the nature of the meeting, Oliver did not feel comfortable enough to sit. He stood ramrod straight as he obeyed. Damn you for this, Karl. He frowned. �śHe’s been claiming that you’ll pay his expenses?” �śIt does appear as such.” Apparently, secrecy and warnings were not going to be enough. Oliver took a deep breath, his chest tight. �śI’m sorry for this, Lord Venner,” he said, reverting to formal address without thought. He was too embarrassed, too angry to do any less. �śI can only ask that you cover the bill until I can make good on his debts.” �śIs that what you propose?” �śYes, my lord.” �śVery well.” Oliver tipped his head to the side, as if listening. He saw no deception in his brother’s familiar face, but he knew enough to suspect this was not the end of the matter. �śIf that will be all?” �śNo, I don’t think so.” Christoph matched him, second for tense second, as they took the measure of one another. �śI will cover his debts with no expectation of repayment from you, but only if you tell me your connection to the man.” Ah, so that was his true price. The meeting was not, in fact, a particularly friendly one, but Oliver took the liberty of sitting. If he planned on journeying back to those days in the winter encampment, he would need to sit. �śWait.” Christoph stood and retrieved a bottle of cognac from a high shelf. He poured two generous glasses and handed one across. His own portion of liquor was downed, surprisingly, in a few swallows. Oliver nearly smiled. �śI had no idea.” �śNever underestimate the demands of my position.” �śYou know I don’t. But perhaps I overestimate your ability to weather those demands without assistance.” �śI wonder occasionally at the veracity of my bad habits had I remained a bachelor.” Christoph sighed and settled back into his chair. �śGo on, Oliver. Please.” After a few hearty slugs of his own, Oliver asked, �śDo you remember the blacksmith on your father’s manor?” �śOur father’s manor.” �śHe never claimed me. I don’t claim him either.” �śYou do have his stubbornness. But yes, I recall the man.” �śHis son was Karl Schulz, my best friend growing up.” Recognition lit Christoph’s face, followed then, quite obviously, by memories of all the misdeeds Karl had committed. Oliver too. �śHe was not the best influence on you.” �śOr I on him, I suppose,” he said with a shrug. �śEither way, we did not have much else. When I joined the Prussian army, I was not surprised to find him at my side, though how he came by his commission I never learned.” �śYou mentioned as much the other day when he appealed for aid, that you had served together. Do you owe him some manner of debt? Is that what this is about?” �śI’m afraid so. I fell ill during my third winter of service.” Inhaling, he looked out the far window. What had been, until then, a great adventure turned terrible that season. Killing had not been Oliver’s forte, but theft and deception�"those were his specialties. He had been gratified by how well he could employ such underhanded skills toward a legitimate cause. Until that winter had changed everything. �śPneumonia is no small matter on the battlefield�"poor conditions, rotten food, exposure to the elements. I know I’m alive now only because of Karl’s dedication to my recovery. We were besieged. He was my nursemaid, my entertainment. No one else had the patience or time. As I said, we had little other than our friendship. I know I would’ve been lost without him, so perhaps his motivation was similar.” Oliver remembered coughs that brought up blood and shakes so bad that he vomited. The cold had been never-ending, convincing him he would never be well, never be warm. Hell, he’d determined, was as chill as ice. And Karl had been there through it all, urging him toward health. �śIn mid-March, I was finally on the mend. It felt�ŚGod, it felt like waking from a months-long nightmare. I still wasn’t well enough for a full assignment, but I was well enough that Karl was ordered back to his regular duties.” Save me a few sausages and a piece of torte. And then he was gone. �śHe was sent on a reconnaissance mission that never returned. Months went by. I only learned later that he had been caught behind enemy lines and detained by the French in a camp for prisoners of war.” Oliver itched beneath his wig, damning the hateful thing for the hundredth time. �śI tried to find him after the war, but he was gone. Nowhere. I never got to thank him, nor to say good-bye.” Christoph refilled Oliver’s glass but left his alone. �śAnd this Baron Hoffer ruse?” �śThe first time I saw him again was there at the opera. He told me he was trying to change his stars. Part of me thought he deserved the opportunity, after having suffered so much.” He drank another gulp of the cognac but set the rest aside. Never one for strong drink, even in his youth, his head was already foggy. �śBut I know where my loyalties are, Christoph. I wouldn’t do anything to endanger you, Ingrid or the baby.” �śAnd you think he could be dangerous.” �śI didn’t�Ś” Oliver stopped himself. I didn’t say that, he’d been ready to say. But right from the first, he had been suspicious of Karl and his methods. More than just the unlawful nature of it, Oliver feared the creeping madness that gleamed in Karl’s eyes. Their confrontation at Leinz Manor had been uncomfortable�"two friends who suddenly found themselves radically out of step. But their argument on the night of Arie and Mathilda’s performance had rubbed him with an edge of genuine violence. �śI think his time as a prisoner has altered him,” Oliver said carefully. �śHe’s not the friend I once knew. I wouldn’t have vouched for him back then because I knew full well his lack of scruples�"and I matched his disregard for propriety.” Christoph almost grinned. �śThat you did.” �śBut now we don’t even have friendship in common. He’s quite changed. More than that, his plans have me worried.” �śWhat plans?” �śHe has a flat, but I’ve also learned that he rents a small storage room above a glassmaker’s shop. I don’t like it.” �śI can get members of the duke’s guard to look into it.” Oliver held up two hands, warding off the suggestion. �śLike they helped save Greta? I require no such assistance.” �śThen what are your recommendations?” Back on firm ground now�"just Lord Venner and his trusted man. Oliver much preferred that arrangement to prickly trips back through time. The past was gone. It shaped how he thought and how he tried to behave now, but it could not be changed. �śKeep the staff on alert that he should not be admitted,” Oliver said. �śI will learn what I can about his intentions.” �śAnd these bills? Shall I pay them?” �śBitte,” Oliver said. �śTo honor the man who saved my life. But make it clear to the shopkeepers that this is a one-time favor. Otherwise, I’m afraid his lack of principles would take advantage indefinitely.” �śDone.” Christoph penned himself a note, his scrawled handwriting at stark odds with every other aspect of his neat character. �śNow, we must meet with the duke’s cabinet after Mass.” �śOn a Sunday?” �śFerdinand returns to Salzburg shortly, on the assurance that Napoleon is on his way. We must take stock of how many Hussars are at our disposal.” Oliver was gratified to move on to subjects of a less personal nature. �śHow soon?” �śWeeks, but perhaps less. It all depends on what sort of army we can raise. Even a small defense force may make them reconsider outright occupation�"or send him on to more appealing targets.” �śIt’s not going to be enough. You know that. Members of the council will drag their feet, unwilling to offer up any more than is absolutely necessary.” Christoph rubbed his eyes. �śWe have to try.” �śAgreed. But I must suggest that we continue preparations for the worst.” �śAgreed. Oh, and Lord Leinz is arriving on Sunday. He will be taking the women home midweek, hopefully somewhere safe and far away from here.” �śGreta too?” Oliver realized his mistake too late. Naturally Leinz would take Greta home. And Oliver had no genuine reason to refer to her by her given name, let alone care about her comings and goings. �śYes,” Christoph said slowly. �śFr�ńulein Zweig too.” �śOf course.” �śIs there something else you should tell me, Oliver?” That was why his brother was such a fantastic politician. His starched professional nature gave way to a moment of endearing personal entreaty. Who could resist? Oliver could. He stood and offered a formal bow. �śMy lord, I’ve already taken up too much of your time. Guten Tag.” Greta loved the Dom. The largest cathedral in Salzburg, it seated thousands of parishioners comfortably and boasted room enough for a choir, organ and full orchestra, conducted that morning by none other than Arie De Voss. And the color�Ś! She gazed up at the stained glass in rapt fascination. This was her third Mass in the beautiful place of worship, but she would no more tire of it, ever, than she could capture its grandeur. At the massive altar, the bishop delivered his sermon, but Greta’s mind was elsewhere, his words only a steady droning behind her exploration of the Dom’s artwork. Shape and texture, color and light�"she opened her mind to absorbing as much as she could. Theresa nudged her. �śHymn,” she whispered. Greta grabbed a hymnal and opened to a random page, but soon her gaze was drawn back to the carvings and stained glass. She rationalized that she was paying homage to God by best appreciating the magnificent achievement His servants had brought into being. She was on the end of the row�"all the better to admire the nearest bank of windows. In the shuffle of standing for the hymn, someone tapped her elbow from behind. But no one was there when she turned. Everyone in the row behind her now stood, their voices erupting in song. Then she saw him. Three rows back. Oliver. �śI need air,” she said quietly to Theresa. Not giving her cousin the chance to reply, Greta returned her hymnal to its holder and walked down the outside aisle toward the main entrance. Voices swelled in strong, lush harmonies at her back. She kept walking, hoping Oliver was at her back too. What would they do? What could they do, with only a few stolen moments? Greta smiled. She had ideas, at any rate. On silent feet she proceeded to the main doors, which stood far opposite the altar. Everyone’s attention faced forward toward the bishop. She hurried on until she emerged into the cloudy midmorning air. Oliver stood just outside, standing at attention as smartly as a military man. Greta was so happy to see him�"their unexpected tryst�"that she nearly rushed to him. Only, the sight of her uncle stopped her cold. �śFr�ńulein Zweig, His Lordship asked that I retrieve you from the Mass,” Oliver said formally, his gaze somewhere in the middle distance. He was not the man she adored but once again a means of enacting another’s bidding. Greta’s heart had jolted from one surprise to another. Then her spirits simply sank. She, too, was transformed in an instant into a whole other person. From Oliver’s daring clandestine lover to Thaddeus Leinz’s dutiful, cosseted niece. Had she been offered the choice, right then, as to who she wanted to remain forever, she would have been torn in two by the lives they stood to provide. �śUncle Thaddeus,” she said, recovering her voice. She dropped into a curtsy. �śHow wonderful to see you again, my lord. Your daughters will be pleased as well. Shall I fetch them?” �śNo. Let them take in the rest of Mass. Thank you, lad,” he said to Oliver. �śThat will be all.” Greta steeled herself against the desire to bid Oliver goodbye, or at least snatch a backward glance. Her uncle was too perceptive and would catch any such gesture. Only out of the corner of her eye did she see his stiff return to the Dom. �śCome, Margaret. Walk with me.” Forced to the man’s will by long habit and obligation, Greta did as she was told. Someday, she feared, she would not. And then the path of her future days would change forever. The uncertainty alone of facing such a change was enough to keep her strides in time with his. �śI trust you’ve enjoyed a pleasant stay?” �śYes, Uncle. It’s been most eventful.” �śAnna wrote to me about your assistance with Lady Venner’s, ah, time of need.” Greta covered a smile with her gloved hand. Euphemism always served when it came to matters of pregnancy and childbirth. �śI was happy to help her after the kindness she’s shown the three of us.” �śI’m glad you feel the slate is clean.” �śPardon?” �śYou’ve done your part, which, though unnecessary, is actually quite a boon. Now, when you hear that inquiries have been made into your cousins’ marital futures, all because of this fortuitous connection with Lady Venner, you won’t feel as if she’s been ill-used.” Greta grimaced. The inference there seemed to be that she was overly sensitive to such things as favors and fairness, which balled her free hand into a fist. �śI’m pleased that they will be well looked after,” she managed to say. �śAnd Herr Weiser was most pleased with your time together, although he did seem disappointed that the event did not allow you more time together. What was it�"at some concert?” Had he been in touch with everyone who might be able to report Greta’s activities? �śYes, my lord, at a sonata hosted by Lady Venner.” �śShe has a great deal of influence for being born a commoner.” �śBut if it suits our ends, Uncle�Ś” �śIndeed, quite right. I suppose the same can be said of Maria Lucca.” Greta frowned slightly, missing the leap he’d obviously made. �śThe duke’s�Ścompanion?” �śThat’s right. She’s purchasing your copy of that one by Benjamin Block. The one of the Ansbach nobles. They were relatives of hers, apparently, although I can hardly believe the connection.” He sneered in such a way that ruined whatever good looks he could boast. Greta only saw the profile of a man who had no notion of what he was enacting. Maria Lucca buying a forgery. Dear God, what a disaster! �śNow,” he said firmly, but with a strangely solicitous air. �śI took you into my confidence because I want to propose a truce. The money secured by this sale will be enough to ensure the girls will marry well, and that Herr Weiser accepts your hand.” �śMy lord, may I suggest�"” �śIn return, I would appreciate if you do not whisper to the servants about this exchange. The painting has already been delivered to her residence. She wrote to me personally about how pleased she’ll be to have it in her collection when she returns to the city.” He shrugged casually. �śAirs and graces aside, she’s ensured that all will be well for our family.” For all her turmoil, Greta’s heart still twisted. He was stubborn and decidedly unethical, but he intended only the best for his daughters�"and maybe even for her. That he went about it with so few scruples and so little regard for their emotional well-being seemed almost secondary when confronted with his earnest worry. But even her unexpected sympathy for his position did not ease Greta’s flood of dread. Because there was still the issue of Maria Lucca. The rest of their walk passed as an achingly slow torture. Uncle Thaddeus continued to talk about the architecture and the inadequacies of newly titled citizens who held sway in this reprobate new world. Greta’s ability to understand his words, however, dimmed as she plotted and fretted and feared. Was this a new skill she had developed, the ability to endure the impossible? Because what she faced was impossible. A trap closed around her, one to which her uncle was not privy. He escorted her back to the Venners’ residence. �śI’ll be staying as a guest of Count Peltzer at his town home. I’ll come for you and the girls on Wednesday when we’ll return to Leinz with Herr Weiser.” �śWednesday,” Greta said tightly. �śSo soon?” �śIt’s no longer safe to linger. Anyone with means should be out of harm’s way as soon as possible, lest we find ourselves at Napoleon’s mercies. We’ve worked too hard for that.” He patted her arm. �śWhy, Margaret, you look exceptionally pale. Whatever is the matter?” �śUncle�Ś” She clasped her laced fingers so tightly that pain shook through her knuckles. �śI wish you would reconsider this deal with Maria Lucca. The woman is a known connoisseur of art. Surely my copies are none so good as to fool an authority on the matter.” �śAn authority? Hardly. She will see what she wants to see, just as she does with her own so-called lineage. The duke’s attentions have her thinking far too highly of her redeeming qualities.” An angle of sunlight glinted off his bald head as he shrugged. �śYour work is well enough for the likes of her.” Greta swallowed past a gritty lump of frustration. He never took her seriously, not even on the one topic where she might claim some conviction. Perhaps it was best to admit that he never would. But she had to try one more time. �śSir, I insist. This will do nothing but undermine our family name. I assure you, Maria Lucca will realize that painting is not genuine�"and then all we’ve worked for will be threatened. Surely you can see that!” �śI can see that you are overwrought.” His frown tightened over the threat of a scowl. �śI suggest you go rest.” Whatever kindness might have lurked in his concern was nothing to her heartsick disappointment. He spoke to her with the same condescension he had always used like a weapon against her mother. Greta found herself replying as she remembered from years past, with enough deference and gratitude to end the conversation�"because he was beyond listening to reason. �śDanke schoen, Uncle Thaddeus. I think I will.” The Venners had already returned from Mass. Anna and Theresa bounded down the corridor to their father. Greta wondered, then, if the wall between her and her cousins had been built because of just such a scene. The girls loved their father without reservation. They had none of Greta’s resentment, none of her memories of how his influence and might had ruined her parents. On the issue of Thaddeus Leinz, she and her young cousins would never be reconciled. Finally held by the privacy of her room, she confronted the facts. She would leave on Wednesday. The span of her time remaining in Salzburg could be realistically measured in hours�"mere hours before she and Oliver would never see one another again. Now, added to that heartbreak, her uncle did not suspect the danger in which his scheme had placed the family. Soon she would be discovered. Oh, very soon. And it had nothing to do with informing Maria Lucca. Thaddeus’s fraud would be uncovered and the family reputation would suffer. Her cousins would never marry respectable men, and Herr Weiser would certainly rescind his proposition. Greta would never be able to paint again. Anyone with the slightest knowledge of Salzburg society�"the society her uncle blinded himself to out of pure snobbery�"would have known of Maria Lucca’s affinity for art. A forgery billed as an original would be discovered. Greta knew it, dreaded it, as she wiped her tears with a handkerchief. The light had faded toward dusk when she finally calmed. The idea that had come over her was so daring and dark that she hiccupped in fear at the mere thought. Maria Lucca had a painting she should never see. That meant Greta would have to take it back. Chapter Nineteen She waited until just after midnight before climbing out of bed. Greta reached the windowsill and looked down to where the gated garden rested in dark tranquility. She found the spot where she had knelt between Oliver’s legs. A rush of warmth and need made her shake. But even Oliver, for all of their unexpected passion, could do nothing to make this right. She placed her palms against her heart and pushed. It beat even faster beneath that pressure. Her paintings had always been such a source of joy, but now they were set to cause her misery. The quiet remained unbroken. She found her pelisse and pulled it on, just as the clock struck a quarter to one. Her idea was reckless and terrifying, but she needed to try. For her cousins and for her own reputation, she would get that painting back. On silent feet she crept out of her room and down the main stairs. She felt unbearably conspicuous, but using the servants’ stairs would have been even more perilous. The staff was more likely to be up and about at this hour, perhaps even scurrying off to a quiet rendezvous. She knew a little more about their secret lives now, how the obscurity of their work often gave them more freedom than she could even dream about. If she were a ladies’ maid, she would marry Oliver Doerger. A real maid would probably shear Greta’s hair for coveting such circumstances. The goal was not to idolize their lives. Far from it. But Greta could not help but envy any woman who could claim a legitimate opportunity to make Oliver her husband. The wood railing was cool under her fingertips as she hurried toward ground level. She exited through the garden door Oliver had used, knowing the front door would be guarded. No one could see her. Once outside, she continued past the topiary lions to the locked gate at the rear of the garden. She hoped her letter had got through to Baron Hoffer. A harsh laugh pushed into her throat. Baron! He was Karl Schulz, who had once been employed among her uncle’s kitchen staff. She knew she had seen that face before. Only his appearance at the De Vosses’ recital had spurred her memory to match familiar features with a long-buried name. Why he had come to Salzburg posing as a nobleman was only beyond her with regard to details. He had been a climbing, grasping man even as a servant, dismissed for altering shipment records�"and pocketing the difference. That he was trying his hand at his own sort of forgery came as no surprise. Greta squeezed her knuckles until they popped. Perhaps that was why she so disliked her uncle’s scheme. Forging his paintings had been her means of contributing to the family’s safety. His decision to sell them as originals lumped her in the same category as people like Karl Schulz, who used trickery to advance their stations. She wanted to be known as an artist, not a swindler. A rustle beyond the gates made her heart leap. Shrinking into the shadows, she pulled her dark pelisse tighter around her body. Then she waited. �śI don’t know why you’ve summoned me,” came a man’s voice, �śbut I never decline an invitation from a lady.” Karl’s face appeared between the upright metal bars of the garden gate. The bars mimicked those of a jail cell, which struck Greta as rather appropriate. �śYou got my letter, then?” �śI did.” He leaned casually against the gate as if he had no fear of discovery. But why should he? He had come dressed as a commoner. �śYour clothes are none so sumptuous as I remember them, Baron Hoffer.” �śWhy waste the effort on a woman who knows the truth?” �śMore like, why risk being caught out in a situation that risks your disguise.” �śThat too. I imagine you should’ve taken similar steps, or would your uncle approve of you meeting a man in the middle of the night?” Greta’s stomach clenched as if she had been force-fed spoiled beef. �śSince you’re here, you understand the nature of my letter.” �śI read well enough to recognize blackmail, even when written in a woman’s fine hand. So what do you require of me, Fr�ńulein Zweig?” �śI need the name of someone who would be willing to steal a painting.” Karl blinked and straightened. Greta was oddly amused that she had taken him by surprise. �śWell, well. That’s quite a request.” �śIndeed. But I’m sure you can accommodate me.” �śOh?” �śYour, shall we say, lifestyle at present suggests a certain level of deceit�"false patents of nobility and family trees, that sort. So I assume you have connections with less savory folks than do I.” �śShall I be flattered or insulted?” �śBe practical. Give me the name of someone I can use and where to find him.” With unnerving calm, his surprise apparently exhausted, Karl stepped to the gate and held the bars. �śWhy don’t you ask Oliver?” Greta frowned. The idea of asking Oliver for such a favor not only made her nausea worse, but it was utterly laughable. �śPerhaps I would if I thought he might know such people.” �śI wasn’t suggesting that he would know criminals.” Karl grinned with such malice that Greta shivered within her pelisse. �śI meant you should ask him to do it.” �śWhy ever would I do such a thing?” �śBecause he’s very good at whatever he sets his mind to. And at one time, many years ago, that included criminal enterprises.” The air left her lungs in a heady rush. �śNo,” she whispered. �śI don’t believe it.” That vicious grin intensified. �śBelieve it, Fr�ńulein. Your dear Oliver is one of my oldest friends. He and I�"well, we share a few particularly sordid years. Ask him how he wound up in the army. You’ll be surprised by his reply. That is, if he decides to trust you with the truth.” �śGive me a name.” �śI just did.” �śAnd I tell you I won’t believe it!” Her whispered hiss likely echoed no further than a few feet, but Greta flinched at how loud it sounded there in the night-quiet garden. Karl chuckled softly. �śPoor girl. Was he very good for your first time?” �śI won’t listen to this.” �śI think you will. You’re a curious thing. Ask yourself what sort of valet can do what he does. Ask yourself why he was able to save your life without so much as breaking a sweat.” �śHe was a soldier.” �śAnd before that he was a thief. Army life beat a healthy dose of respectability into him, but don’t let appearances fool you.” He glanced down at his simple garb. �śYou saw through me. I wonder why he’s been able to fool you so completely.” At Greta’s inability to speak, he produced another low, chilling laugh. �śI’ll bid you gute Nacht,” he said. �śWhatever blackmail you’d intended to leverage against me will now be, I assume, reconsidered? You wouldn’t want anyone to know what I do about our dear Oliver’s past, nor about�"what was it? A painting you intend to steal? That wouldn’t do at all.” He bowed formally and turned on his heel. Greta slumped against the gate, slowly sinking toward the dirt. All strength had seeped out of her. All certainty. Oliver was a good man. The best she had ever known. Karl Schulz was a lying, conniving bounder who was perpetrating a grand ruse. She should no more believe him than she should be there in the garden in the middle of the night. But Oliver had never added up properly. Something about him always struck her as out of step with the picture he presented to the world. And the fact of Maria Lucca remained. Greta was no closer to solving the problem of that forgery than she had been at the start of this sordid conversation. She was still sitting on the ground, her body trembling, when a familiar pair of boots stepped out from behind a dwarf cherry tree. Oliver held his wrists behind his back to keep from leaping toward the gate and grabbing Karl by the throat. All this time he had been careful, upstanding, decent. That a man could come along and threaten that carefully maintained life struck him as some strange divine justice. The sins of the past would not be quiet. But he had held still, flaying himself with the disbelief and outrage in Greta’s voice. She could not even entertain the notion that Karl spoke truthfully. They were half-truths steeped in bitterness, but Greta did not know that. Now he had two difficulties to confront�"explaining his past and figuring out why she met with Karl in the middle of the night. Both would alter, perhaps forever, his tenuous relationship with the woman he loved. Love. With a whispered curse, Oliver hung his head. How had he let this go so far? He loved Greta Zweig, only realizing it now when fate was prepared to send them spinning away from one another�"without even the comfort of a few unblemished memories to keep them company. All they had shared would now be tainted. She was a wreck, huddled on the ground, her forearms draped over trembling knees. �śI’m glad he’s gone,” Oliver said quietly. �śI should like him gone too, if he knew something incriminating about my past.” Crossing the distance between them took nerve and concentration. �śAsk me what you want to know. But understand if you do, I may ask a few questions too.” �śSuch as?” �śIf I were to guess, I’d say it had just gone three in the morning. Why were you out here meeting the esteemed Baron Hoffer at such an hour?” �śBaron? Don’t perpetrate his ruse for him.” Oliver had not heard their entire conversation. He had been awake, pacing his room, before sensing her footsteps in the corridor. �śHe told you?” �śNo, I told him. He worked last summer in the kitchen of my uncle’s manor. I only just recalled where I’d seen his face.” She tipped her head back, meeting his gaze squarely. �śIs he your friend? Are you here planning some criminal scheme against the Venners?” He should have known how much her suspicion would hurt, but suggesting that his past had fingers long enough to sully his family was too much to endure. �śI care very deeply for them both. Everything I do, all of my energy, goes toward repaying their kindness and show of faith.” �śAnd you want me to believe that?” �śYes.” Greta sniffed. Her wide eyes shone with an unnatural brightness. �śTell me.” Weary, resigned, Oliver sat heavily on a cobblestone some two feet from Greta. She flinched and dragged her knees tighter toward her chest�"a subtle act to slice at his heart. Only now did he realize how deeply he cared for her, when she was ready to treat him as a criminal. Perhaps, at the very least, he could explain. �śI was a�Śa wild young man. All of the forthrightness you tease me about now�"these were hard-won victories over how I once behaved. My father was a man of some importance, but I was born a bastard. He never acknowledged me or my mother.” The simplicity of such a sentence struck him as painfully comical. Even after all these years, he could not face that truth without heartache. To be fathered by such a coward. Oliver bit his molars together, shoving away the hurt. �śSo I did what many a lad would do in such a situation. I broke every rule and made sure he knew it.” �śYou say that as if it’s some justification.” �śPerhaps. But realize that I take full responsibility for what I did. After a time, I was more than aware of right and wrong, then went out of my way to make trouble anyway.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. �śI started stealing things from his home. Tokens, at first�"pieces of him. Just to prove that I could. When I’d learn he was furious at missing a book or a cigar box, I congratulated myself. I was winning, you see. Then it became a matter of striking out against his friends, too. Anyone I thought harbored a kind word or thought for the old man.” He chanced a quick look toward Greta. She was no longer quite so distant, her body leaning nearer as if in anticipation of his next words. Before he lost his resolve, he pressed on. �śBut then he began to punish the household staff.” A chill shivered across his shoulders as he recalled that horrible time. He had been a young man lost. �śMy father made public spectacles of the servants he suspected of the thefts�"jewels and such. They were humiliated, or dismissed without a letter to recommend them. I couldn’t let them take the punishment.” �śYou revealed yourself?” �śI did. I returned all of the items and stood before him, ready to accept whatever consequences my behavior merited.” Oliver exhaled heavily. He wanted very much to take Greta’s hand but he did not dare. Not yet. �śI fully expected to be jailed for the crimes. Perhaps it was a general sense of mercy, or perhaps a nod to the paternity he never acknowledged, but he gave me a commission to join the Prussian army. I took it, eagerly, and said good-bye to my mother. She passed away the following year, and my father a few months before I returned to civilian life.” �śYou never saw either of them again.” He needn’t have fretted about taking Greta’s hand because she reached for him. Palm to palm, fingers twined, her gaze fixed on his face, she silently urged him to continue. �śKarl was not wrong,” he said. �śMy illicit skills were very useful to my commanders. I was a spy and reconnaissance expert. But I never forgot the humiliation of having to admit to my father what I had done, and I never forgot his unexpected moment of kindness in handing me a profession.” Oliver shrugged, shifting the heavy weight of his past. He had worked too hard to escape; he would not be dragged back. �śAfter the fighting concluded,” he said, �śwhen I had the opportunity to join Lord Venner’s household, I vowed to do my duty by him. I would not succumb to the anger of my youth. Not again.” Greta smoothed the fine hairs along the back of his hand. �śAnd that’s what makes you so stubborn now?” He was about to take offense when she flashed a shy smile. �śYes,” he said. �śAfraid so.” �śAnd how did you know this man, Karl?” �śHe and I grew up together, got into trouble together. When I joined the army, he followed me. He didn’t have anything to gain by staying. We were very close but got separated during the war.” No matter the relief of unburdening himself of certain past events, Oliver could not give voice to his complicated relationship with Karl. The key was to keep Greta away from him. With her head bent low, she was shaded by evening shadows and the drape of her unbound hair. Desire and a deeper, more terrifying regard turned her to a living goddess. But she was here in the garden after dark, consulting Karl for some reason. He did not enjoy the idea of her thinking badly of him, but neither did he want to consider her in an inauspicious light. �śWhy are you out here?” he asked. �śWhy Karl?” The tips of her hair trembled. Otherwise she held perfectly still. Even her fingers had stopped their anxious petting. �śI needed his help.” �śHelp?” �śI said I recognized him from my uncle’s staff. I assumed he might know someone who�Śwho could help me.” �śYou’re not telling me.” �śUncle Thaddeus sold a forgery of mine to Maria Lucca.” �śTell her it’s a forgery.” Greta shook her head violently. �śThere won’t be any need. She’s a renowned connoisseur of art. She’ll spot it as a forgery straight away. As the duke’s mistress, she has influence enough to ruin my family. My uncle will never forgive me if my cousins are unable to marry well.” �śThe fault is his.” Anger made his voice more harsh than he had intended. �śHe should’ve learned his lesson in trying to cheat Ingrid.” �śHe should have but he didn’t. I�"Oliver you must believe that I argued against it. I fought him, and I never fight him. Not outright, at any rate. But it’s too late. The painting has been delivered to her private residence, displayed in her great hall.” �śAnd she’s returning from Berchtesgaden with the duke.” �śYes.” That one word was nearly a sob. �śAnd so I asked Karl for a name. Someone who could retrieve that painting.” �śRetrieve? You mean steal.” �śYes.” �śAnd what name did he give you?” Greta bit her lower lip. Then she met his gaze squarely. �śHe said I should ask you.” Oliver blanched. This was going to end badly. He knew it. But he could no more deny her in distress than he could have permitted that knife-wielding madman to hurt her at the opera. �śHe’s right,” Oliver said quietly. �śAsk me.” Chapter Twenty Morning came and went with Greta in a nervous stupor. She tried to sketch but kept breaking her charcoal. Fiddling with watercolors became more of a frustration than a release, so she spent hours arranging her meager selection of brushes and pots of paint. Sometimes it was easier to play with the tools of her trade than to dare tackle a new creative work. The tools did not invite criticism, not like she did her own feeble attempts. The urge to pace�"even run�"overrode all thought. Maria Lucca would arrive within the next two days, with rumors abounding that Napoleon would soon follow. French armies invading Salzburg. Again. Greta tried to reprimand herself, that the fates of entire countries were far more important than her relatively petty concerns, but she found no comfort there. The advancing French assault only strengthened the need to keep her family safe. Anna and Theresa needed wealth and respectability, yet they only possessed half of that important combination. Without their respectability, they would never marry well�"trapped in the path of oncoming armies. The two problems bound up within her mind so tightly that a headache followed her through the whole morning. Until a missive arrived. She was sitting in the salon where Ingrid had promised to put in an appearance. The sketchbook in Greta’s lap remained closed. She simply tapped her fingers against the arms of the chair, needing an occupation but finding no concentration. Anna and Theresa were writing letters and sharing quiet words. Greta watched their bowed heads, how the sunlight caught silver-blond strands of hair in elaborate coiffures. She envied them their innocence. They knew nothing of fear or anxiety. They knew nothing of feeling as if grave mistakes already tainted the present and blackened the future. The footman who entered was nearly anonymous in the Venner family livery, but Greta had taken to finding the human being beneath the costume. In an odd way, she felt compelled to�"if only to constantly honor Oliver and the fact he was very much his own man, no matter his lower station. �śThomas, isn’t it?” �śJa, Fr�ńulein Zweig,” he said, a slight frown edging across his brows. �śThat’s right.” She accepted the letter, proud that her hands barely shook. �śDanke, Thomas.” He snapped a quick bow and hurried out of the salon. Anna and Theresa both tittered before returning to their correspondences. Weary of such game-playing, Greta did not wait to open the letter. Her heart thumped painfully at the sight of Oliver’s unmistakable script: Your room. Now. The painful thump of her heart transformed into a racing pulse. He had an answer for her. But the power of those three simple words had her thinking of how thoroughly he commanded her sexually. She was no longer an innocent like her cousins, but she had discovered something far more important. Desire. She desired Oliver Doerger like she had never wanted anything in her life�"not even painting. Her feelings for him were pure inspiration, untainted by the criticism she leveled at her work. She stood and stuffed the letter in a skirt pocket. �śI have a headache, my dears,” she said in all honesty. �śI believe I shall retire to my room.” �śOf course,” Anna said with an absent wave of her quill. �śYou look rather dreadful. Do get some rest.” With her customary chagrin, Greta shrugged off her cousin’s tactless yet honest comment. Having been out in the garden for most of the dawn’s early hours, huddled with Oliver against the garden gate, had not done wonders for her appearance upon waking. Her body was weary and her limbs leaden. Even her face felt overly haggard. Stiff legs carried her up the stairs. The doorknob turned beneath her fingers, despite a creeping numbness. Maria Lucca. Napoleon. Forgeries. Oliver. Too many tricks and troubles blunted her senses until nothing made sense. She entered the empty, sunlit room and hastened to draw the shades. Oliver cleared his throat. Greta whirled, her hands flying to her throat. A little squeak slipped free. Standing beside the bureau, Oliver was as at home in shadow during the day as he had been at midnight. He stepped away from the bureau with almost negligent movements and locked the door. There he stood, watching her in a way that reminded her of their initial meetings�"so intense, so piercing. Greta wanted to turn away but did not. She had grown so very fond of being scrutinized by his perceptive gaze and sharp mind. He allowed no pretense. �śI’ll do it,” he said. Hardly in control of her senses, she blinked twice and shook her head. Surely he had not said those words. Surely he was above the criminal enterprise she had proposed. In the garden, his face had frozen over with a stony coldness as he’d offered himself as a candidate. Give me till morning, he’d said. I’ll have an answer then. Greta found herself approaching him, slowly, steadily, as if walking toward a trapped predator. Such an animal could lash out at any moment. Oliver, for all his goodness, was a tough man to bend. This request, she feared, would do more than bend him. He would break, and what they had�"no matter how brief and illicit�"would break too. �śWhy?” she asked. �śToo many reasons, none of them good.” He touched her face, the softest of caresses. �śBecause I’m good at dangerous work. I’m good at keeping secrets. And part of me�"damn, I’m still trying to prove myself to you.” �śI�"” Greta swallowed thickly. �śI shouldn’t have asked it of you.” �śToo late now. I am a man indebted to too many. To my father�"right old sinner he was. To Karl. To Venner.” A tick along his jaw was her only indication of Oliver’s building temper, until he squeezed his powerful fingers along her nape. He dragged her face closer, breath heating the scant space between their lips. �śMaybe for once, no matter how selfish, I want someone to be indebted to me.” �śYou don’t mean that.” �śI think I do.” A wave of panic cooled her skin and froze her bones. This was wrong. She was asking too much of him, like dragging an angel down to earth. �śDon’t do this, Oliver. Please. I’ll take the blame and�"Uncle Thaddeus has influence. We’ll be fine.” �śTonight,” he said, his mouth a grim line, �śmeet me in the garden. We’ll exit through the rear gate and have done with this.” �śWe?” �śI’m not going on my own, Greta. You need to show me which painting is the danger to you.” He edged closer, brushing his lips against her temple. �śAnd you want to, don’t you?” �śWant to sneak into a woman’s house and commit a crime?” �śExactly. You’re such a strange woman, meine Allerliebste. So reserved and quiet, and yet underneath it all, such a wild streak. That’s why you came to me, all persistence and curiosity. That’s why I found it so easy to become obsessed with you.” Greta’s knees had gone liquid. She curled her fingernails into his biceps, wondering when she had thought to grab hold of him. But he was not wrong. The terrible restlessness that had haunted her since childhood continued to do so, urging greater and greater risks. It was no longer enough to secretly mark the forgeries as hers, or to silently rail against her uncle. She needed more. She needed Oliver and the excitement of testing her own nerve. Robbing Maria Lucca�Śshe shuddered a long exhale at the thought. �śI’ll go with you,” she whispered. Oliver caught her against his chest and kissed her hard. His tongue plunged into her mouth, pushing, invading. Greta looped her forearms around his neck and succumbed. His passion was nursed by anger, and maybe even by a possessiveness that gave her another private jolt of pleasure. To be his woman. God, what a challenge. What a thrill. Without another word, he backed her against the room’s outer wall and turned her to face it. Rough, demanding hands lifted her skirts and kneaded her backside. Arousal swept over her like steaming hot water. �śI’ll do this for you,” he rasped. �śAnd you’ll do this for me.” �śWillingly.” A low growl in his throat made her shiver. His fingers found her most secret folds, stroking and caressing with ever more insistence. From behind, he nestled his pelvis against her and lifted her hands above her head. She was pinned between the wall and Oliver�"between his frustration and his desire. With one sure stroke, he pressed his thick, hard shaft inside. Greta bit her forearm to keep from crying out. No matter her confusion and fear, she gloried in having so much influence over this indomitable man. It was only right, she thought as her climax thundered nearer, because he owned her too. Oliver should not have been surprised to see how well Greta could make herself inconspicuous in the deep evening gloom, but he was. She had a knack for making him feel more foolish and more painfully alive than he’d ever dared. He had stepped into an abyss where her hand was the only thing left to hold. They slid along the blackened streets. Greta must have obtained a mourning gown, because she was draped from crown to foot in varied black fabrics. He had traded his livery for clothes more befitting a chimney sweep. He had not been so poorly clad since he was a youth, which was fitting because he had not undertaken such a foolhardy enterprise since those wayward days. Why? He kept asking himself that. Why? Why now, and why with this woman? Perhaps Christoph had been right: he had been hiding for too long. But that still did not satisfy him. Coming out of hiding was a far, wide distance from breaking into the home of the duke’s mistress. They rounded Waagplatz, staying out of the sight of the Stadttrinkstube. Too many servants and other curious folks might recognize Oliver�"and recognize Greta as being too fine a lady for the likes of him. �śThis way,” he said. Pushing his body through a narrow Durchg�ńnge, he slipped away from the noisy tavern and onto quiet, deserted Goldgasse. There they walked single file against the pale buildings. Oliver’s heart was a constant thunderclap, beating again and again behind his sternum. Danger. Thrill. He was a demented man to be smiling in the face of this intrigue. Greta pushed against his back when he came to a stop. He was briefly distracted by the feel of soft, warm woman. Tightly wound nerves sizzled throughout his body. At least he was honest enough with himself to know that, with regard to Greta, desire motivated his decision-making. He was thinking with his pride and his cock, which meant no thinking at all. Reflex, however, had yet to fail him. He pushed an arm back across Greta’s torso, angling her to better fit into a sliver of shadow. Two tipsy burghers stumbled past, their voices raised high in song. Greta’s pulse matched his own as they waited, neither seeming to breathe. When the drunken men had made their way south, Oliver took his lover’s hand once again. They hurried on toward Maria Lucca’s town home on lower Getreidegasse. �śShe’ll have guards,” he whispered, assessing the five-story structure. That was a great deal of territory to search. �śI can distract them.” �śHow?” �śRinging the front doorbell. A woman in distress, this late at night?” �śAbsolutely not.” �śYou’ll be better able to sneak in without me dragging my gown in through a window. Or I can stay out here.” Both ideas were tempting. To leave her outside on the street, normally unconscionable behavior for a man of any good repute, seemed positively honorable now. She would be out of harm’s way. But a very wicked, very dark place in his soul demanded that she be there with him. Of all things, this was an adventure. Like their insane flirtation and their dangerous love affair, they were in this together�"if only because her eyes were bright and her cheeks had flushed pink. �śYou’re enjoying yourself,” he said, aroused by her eagerness. �śYes, I am. What my life has been, Oliver�"you have no notion.” �śYou could be ruined.” �śNot my first concern.” She leaned in close and licked his earlobe. �śYou should know that by now.” �śYou’re a madwoman.” �śFinally. Now let me do this.” Dreams occasionally took on this same cast, like moving through tar and being unable to get free. Time had closed in on itself so that Oliver could no longer see his way back to a moment when anything was certain. That seemed the luxury of another man, one who carelessly took it for granted and called it boredom. He was anything but bored now. �śGo, then,” he said. �śI’ll slip in and find you.” �śHow?” �śI haven’t the foggiest.” He grabbed her shoulders and dragged her close. A deep breath filled him with her warm essence. A tilt of his head touched his mouth to hers. Lightning sizzled across their lips, burning away the last of his caution. He was a lost man, because he would do anything for that kiss. �śGo.” Rather than slink toward the door, as Oliver had expected, Greta took off at a full run. She slammed against the townhouse door with the whole of her body, then pounded with both fists. �śHelp!” Seconds passed slowly before the door jerked open. �śHelp me,” Greta panted. Her bonnet and mourning veil sat at a crooked angle. She had cast off one shoe and clutched it like a weapon. �śBitte, I beg you. A man! He attacked me!” Oliver did not wait to see the outcome of her ruse. Made of shadows and smooth steps, he slipped behind the townhouse. A kitchen window was low enough and large enough to serve as his entryway. Calling on old, old skills, he silently lifted the pane. His breath came in shallow puffs but his hands remained steady and calm. He had experienced the same reaction during wartime too. No nerves. Just the calm of being able to do his job well. He hoisted up and swung his legs in. A large butcher’s block was positioned just below the window. On it rested pots and pans and a series of knifes. All would make a terrible racket if he knocked them over. Patiently, he moved each piece of cookware to either side until he had cleared a path through the middle. With one foot, he tested the block’s stability. The wood neither creaked nor shifted. He was still cautious, however, as he stepped onto it. One catlike jump later and he was on the kitchen floor, crouched low. After an indulgent second to get his heart rate back under control, Oliver crept through to the laundry and found a spare livery. He quickly donned a coat and trousers over his plain clothes. From down the hall he could hear the echoes of Greta’s theatrical sobs. He wondered whether waking the whole house was part of her plan, although with Maria Lucca still out of the city, her staff would be minimal. With any luck he would simply be mistaken for another member of the household�"at least at first glance. His loose disguise could endure no further scrutiny. Oliver slipped up the servants’ stairs that led from the kitchen, moving silently toward the middle of the building. If this townhouse was structured like the Venners’ at all, he would find the great hall on the second or third floors�"the public rooms. Door after door, he checked with a patience that belied how tightly his nerves stretched. Any minute he expected a thundering call from the guards in the floors below. Intruder! We have an intruder! His patience paid off when he silently opened the door onto a massive art room. Christoph and Ingrid used a comparable space for their ballroom, but perhaps Maria Lucca had no such need. She could, after all, host elaborate balls at the duke’s Residenz. She filled her own home with artwork, not people. With the room located, Oliver pulled a burlap sack out from inside his shirt and slipped back downstairs to find Greta. Greta grew more worried with each passing moment. A stern-faced butler named Georg seemed the least likely to believe her story. The other three men, all former soldiers if their bearing and brawn were any indication, appeared all too happy to believe creeping marauders roamed the streets, ready to attack young widows. �śWe’ll check the boundaries of the property. You stay here.” �śOf course,” she breathed. �śDanke schoen.” But the butler stayed. He eyed Greta with a narrow, intense stare. �śWhat did the man look like, again?” �śThe streets were dark, sir. All I recall clearly is that his shirt was filthy.” �śAnd you were walking alone at night?” �śComing back from midnight Mass, sir. I pray for my husband’s soul every night.” She was really praying for deliverance. Her brain screamed promises she knew she would never keep. Promises about being a good girl and never taking such chances again. Hands too quick to see looped over the butler’s head, covering his face with burlap. Greta’s heart leaped into her throat and stayed there, even after she recognized the attacker as Oliver. The two struggled. Oliver leaned his weight against the inside of Georg’s knees, forcing them to buckle. Less than a minute passed before he had the man incapacitated. He tied rope around the butler’s neck, securing the burlap in place. Greta could hardly believe what she witnessed, even as his strength, speed and skill reminded her of those frantic moments in the opera. No, she had been frantic. Oliver had been the same as now�"perfectly in command. Calm. And lit up from the inside by the contest. But what had she done? She had led Oliver to this place, where shoving a butler into a closet was just another step toward achieving an end. Greta had already been nauseated with fear. Now regret churned in her stomach as well. Oliver held out his hand. �śCome now. Quickly.” They were past the point of turning back. Clasping Oliver’s fingers and following him into the dark corridor, she could only hope he would forgive her come morning. Chapter Twenty-One Together they stood at the threshold of Maria Lucca’s art room. Greta knew she should move forward. This was the easy part. Simply slip inside and take back the offending forgery. But her toes were roots growing into the carpet. Much like realizing how much wrong she had asked of Oliver, she was struck in the face with the desperation of her actions. All this to protect her uncle, her cousins, their family future. Even knowing the stakes was not enough to quiet the harping voices. Scandal. Jail. Life as she’d hoped it would be�Śall at an end before the sun rose on a new day. Only Oliver’s whispered command gave her the strength to take a step. Strange, but she exhaled with a renewed sense of calm. Oliver had far more to lose. Yet he was there with her. No matter what happened in the minutes, hours, days to come, they shared these moments. That, coupled with the love they had made, meant Greta’s memories, at least, would never be void of excitement. Selfish, wicked girl. She entered the great hall. Darkness made it impossible to discern the boundaries. Walls could be ten or a hundred feet away. Only an intangible sense of vastness told her of its size. The space no more felt like a closet than Oliver’s hand felt like a broom handle. �śStay here,” he said softly against her nape. �śWe’ll need light.” His hand had been her only measure of safety. Then he was gone. It was a supreme test of Greta’s nerves to stay exactly where he left her. She concentrated on keeping her breath low and quiet, avoiding thoughts of what would happen if someone discovered her whereabouts. A flicker of light preceded Oliver’s return. He held a small candle, one no bigger than his pinkie finger. The tiny flame wavered with his every step, but it was enough to create a halo of light around his torso and face. �śQuickly now,” he said. �śWhich one?” Greta followed him to the nearest wall and stayed close behind as they made a quick survey of the room. She needed only a few glimpses of color and form to know that each painting was exquisite, priceless, and certainly not her ill-fated forgery. Her heart pounded and her palms grew damp as they turned the last corner. Still nothing. �śIt’s not here,” she said. �śUncle said it would be here.” �śWe’re running out of time. We have no way of continuing a search.” Greta’s throat closed. She had been able to hold off complete hopelessness with the idea that finding the painting would make this risk worthwhile. But to come away empty-handed? �śIt must be somewhere.” Oliver snuffed the candle with his fingertips. �śI’m sure it is. But this is a bad idea gone very wrong. We must get clear.” He took her arm, pulling her back toward the doorway. A noise in the hallway changed his course. They shuffled quickly to the nearest wall and pressed close, deeper into the shadows. Voices carried down the corridor. One she recognized as Georg, the butler. �śWake the others, then check upstairs. They have to be here somewhere.” Oliver left her alone in the dark once again. She listened with every measure of concentration but could find no trace of his silent footsteps. Georg held a candle in front of his chest as he entered the great hall, but again Oliver was there. He grabbed the man from behind and clamped a hand over his mouth. Whatever hold he used must have been incapacitating because the butler did not struggle. �śWhere is the painting newly delivered for Maria Lucca?” Oliver whispered. �śIf you call out for help, I will be forced to break your leg.” A low grunt dragged Greta’s attention to the pressure Oliver applied with the sole of his boot against Georg’s lower calf. Any sudden move would snap that bone. Oliver slowly loosened his fingers until the butler could speak in a muffled voice. �śA painting?” he asked. �śIs that why you’re here?” �śWhere is it?” �śIt was retrieved by a man from Leinz Manor two days ago. That’s all I know.” �śThen I’ll be leaving now.” He forced the man to his knees and pressed a knife against his nape. �śKeep your eyes forward. Don’t move.” Oliver motioned for Greta to go. Carefully, silently, she stayed close to the shadows lining the room, out of Georg’s sight. Quiet footsteps might ensure that Maria Lucca’s people thought Oliver worked alone. She tried to swallow but her throat was too dry. When she reached the door, she checked the hallway before quickly slipping outside. Oliver pushed Georg until he lay face-down on the floor, then snuffed the candle and exited. Faster than she thought possible, Greta fled down the corridor and down the stairs. Soon Georg’s voice boomed after them. He shouted to the other members of the household staff, his footsteps pounding after them. Greta had no notion of where she ran, but soon Oliver took the lead. Had he ever been in Maria Lucca’s home before? He seemed to know exactly where to go. Left, right, right again�"she could only trust that he knew the way out of her monumental folly. �śHere.” He tugged her arm and dragged her into a tiny crevice between two kitchen cupboards. She thought it must be a dead end, but soon he had opened a window above her head. �śIs that how you got in?” �śNo, we’re improvising. You out this way. I’ll meet you on the side of the Rathaus that faces the river. We’ll retrieve the horses from Venner’s stables and ride to your family estate tonight.” �śTonight?” �śWe need to find that painting, yes? And it’ll be best if neither of us is in town come morning. We’ll sort the details later.” He bent at the waist and threaded his fingers together, forming a step for Greta. �śOut. I’ll be right behind you.” Greta planted a silent kiss on his forehead. Without another thought, she boosted up to the window. Her dress was a nightmare of fabric catching on the sill, but soon she freed herself and wiggled outside. Only when she was halfway out did she realize how completely she had trusted Oliver. The window could have been four floors above the ground and she would have gone anyway. The drop was not a long one, but she landed on her rear in a clump of rhododendron bushes. The perfume of their crushed blossoms clouded around her as she assessed her body for damage. A quick glance up toward the window showed no sign of Oliver. He said to meet him, which meant he likely had another exit in mind. If anything happened to him�Śif he were caught�Ś The nausea that had churned and bubbled in her gut became nearly too much to bear. She swallowed and swallowed, pushing hard against her stomach to staunch the urge to gag. �śSuch a fool,” she whispered to herself. But she could not stay. Oliver could take care of himself. He was the most capable, resourceful man she had ever known. Fleeing the scene as if that would banish her regrets, Greta crawled out of the bushes and ran into the night. Her footsteps and her erratic breaths were the only sounds at that hour. She did not stop until she slammed into the north wall of the Rathaus, her lungs pumping with furious vigor. She turned and pressed her back flat against its stucco surface. A few more steps. Just a few more. She found a few stacked crates. Insects, rats, even beggars�"nothing scared her. Not after what she had just done. She snuggled into a dark corner, her heart finally crawling down out of her throat. Now she simply had to wait. She would wait for Oliver to meet her. And if he did not appear? She cried into her hands�"quiet, racking sobs. Something terrible had happened to her. A quest for a little more excitement in her life had turned into a farce unlike any folly ever committed by a human being. He had to make it out. He had to make it out so she could apologize. Oliver slipped under a table and through a narrow opening between two chairs. There he crouched low, his respiration and heart rate steady. What was this wretched delight surging to the tips of each finger and the end of each toe? Surely he was the most ridiculous hedonist who had ever drawn breath. Only an idiot craved the vividness of such a moment. He waited until the nearest thump of boots against marble raced out of earshot. He had doubled back through the kitchen, hiding now in the servants’ dining area. Crawling another few inches, he was back within sight of the butcher’s block. The open window above it waited for him. The bright blaze of a torch�"three torches, actually�"along the outer garden wall kept him still and silent. He wanted to escape, but he was not willing to do so at the expense of assaulting anyone else. What he had managed against the butler, restraining him without hurting him, was not something he would be able to infinitely repeat. Stealing a forgery was one thing, but doing someone genuine injury on Greta’s behalf was a line he would not cross. He would be patient and clever. Escaping could be done without the need for violence. But patience was not a luxury when he heard the braying of two hounds. A spiking chill shot up his spine. He thrust the fear reaction to a corner of his mind, then shuffled in a half crouch toward the servants’ stairwell. Up he went, floor after floor, until he reached the topmost level. They would be expecting him to escape through a ground-floor window. Oliver had other plans. After prying open a half door that led to a small room, he found what he was looking for: a panel in the low ceiling that led to the roof. First he stripped the borrowed livery. Then he undid the latch, used the nearest chair to boost himself up, and breathed the fresh air of an early-autumn Alpine night. Stars above his head shone with the brightness of Roman candles against a pure black backdrop. He inhaled, then slid onto his stomach. With the access door closed behind him, he kept low against the roof and headed south. The span between Maria Lucca’s residence and the nearest building was only a few feet. He sprang across the chasm, his legs propelled by the heady rush of the evening’s close calls. He crossed another roof, then another, as he ran along the row of town homes. How he would get down remained a mystery but he kept moving, away from the searching servants. Any insomniac who happened to look out his window at that hour might catch the silhouette of a man running across the rooftops. Oliver smiled to himself at the thought, wondering when, exactly, he had lost his mind. Perhaps at the opera. Perhaps when he’d first kissed Greta. Most certainly when he’d taken her virginity. Another closely packed building. Another chasm. But between the buildings climbed a sturdy carpet of ivy. A trellis that had perhaps once supported flowers had been overrun by the woody vines. He tested the ivy, then turned onto his belly. A few attempts in the thick blackness finally yielded a firm foothold. Knowing the trellis or the ivy vines could give away at any moment, he kept hold of the roof and closed his eyes. One deep breath. He let go. The trellis held. He moved quickly, shimmying down the untrustworthy supports. Barbed leaves cut his hands. A splinter jabbed into the meat of his palm. But he did not stop. The momentum of his rapid downward climb kept him focused on the task of descending. No stopping. No doubts. A piece of the trellis gave way beneath his boot. He shifted to the left, but the stumble tipped his balance. Although he managed to descend another few feet before gravity took hold, he still fell from a story and a half. Cobblestones knocked the wind out of him. His ankle turned beneath his weight. He winced and gritted his teeth. The night was still remarkably quiet, and he could no longer hear hound dogs over the rush of blood in his ears. He pulled himself up and gingerly tested his ability to walk. Yes, he could walk, but running to the Rathaus was out of the question. That need for patience again. He had not thought of himself as an impatient or impetuous man for years. Discipline had guaranteed good results�"respect and stability. Perhaps Christoph had been right. He was hiding, not just from the world but from his true nature. He liked this, pain and grunting, shuffling steps and all. The sun had barely started to lighten the sky when he made it back to the center of town. Just the barest touch of the approaching sunrise reminded him of the morning he had come to Greta’s room. The thought of her waiting against the Rathaus wall kept him walking, even when the agony of each step made him lightheaded. �śOliver!” Greta’s whispered shout cut through the fog. He blinked, then closed his arms around her shoulders. She was already there against him, holding him. �śLieber Gott, I was so worried!” She tried to pull him out of the street, but he hissed and stumbled against her. �śWait,” he gasped. �śYou’re hurt?” Oliver only nodded. With a determined expression, she became his shoulder to lean on as they limped back toward cover. Sweat slicked the skin down his back. His knees wobbled like an hour-old colt. Greta helped him sit against the wall. �śYou wait here,” she whispered. She brushed a kiss against his forehead, just as she’d done before climbing out the window. �śI’ll bring the horses.” �śNo, it’s too dangerous.” �śYou said we need to leave town, and I agree with you. We must get to Leinz Manor and find that painting. My family and the Venners will make up some story concerning our whereabouts.” �śBut Maria Lucca’s men are back there, looking for us.” �śI’ll be quiet.” He grabbed her hand before she could flee. �śBitte, don’t go.” �śCan you walk? Run? Make it out of town of your own power?” The excitement of their adventure and Oliver’s escape was beginning to fade. Pain had taken its place. He sighed heavily. �śNo.” �śI’ll be back in ten minutes.” She was gone. Oliver could only watch her go, her black pelisse blending with each shadow. He leaned his head heavily against the wall. The bite of mortar and brick against his skull took his attention away from the throb of his ankle, so he pressed harder. How long had she been gone? How long could he sit there until some early riser spotted him? He closed his eyes, distracting himself with images of Greta stretched nude atop her counterpane. She was a witch, surely. Just the thought of her grabbed his insides and twisted. Even with the sizzling pain of his ankle, he was fool enough�"crazy enough�"to think that the regard in Greta’s eyes would be worth any risk. The steady clop-clop of approaching hooves brought him around. The sky was lighter now. He blinked against the brightness even as he pressed deeper into the dwindling shadows. But he needn’t have made the effort. The horses were in Greta’s care. A look of triumph shaped her features as she rode sidesaddle, leading Oliver’s stallion by its reins. Pride helped him stand, then climb atop his mount. �śYou’ll be all right to ride?” she asked. �śWhether or not I am, we should go.” Although Oliver turned toward the Staatsbr�źcke, one of the bridges leading out of the Old Town, Greta made no such motion. �śWhat is it?” �śOliver, please stay,” she said, her voice strangled. �śGo home to the Venners. I know the way to Leinz Manor and can investigate the painting. I�ŚGod, I never should’ve asked you to do this. Think what could have happened!” �śBut it didn’t.” �śThat’s no excuse. I asked you to take an unforgivable chance. But now�Śnow you can go home. Forget any of this happened. I’ll be well. I promise.” Her voice had gained strength with every word until Oliver heard the unspoken message. Go now. Go home and forget me. He wanted to. Sanity would be a cool, welcome breeze on a blistering day. The truth of it, however, was none so pleasing. He would ride back through town, limp up to his room, and make up some story about his night’s adventure. Venner would narrow his eyes and try to stare the truth out of him, but Oliver would resist. Then he would go about his daily routine until the end of his days. Or he could ride free and swift across the countryside with Greta Zweig. �śI have no one to look after me at the Venners’ home.” His mouth quirked around an unexpected grin. He was in no mood to give up playing just yet, even if it cost him every last scrap of sanity. �śNo one to�Ś?” She tipped her head to the side. �śOf course you do.” �śNot the way I deserve to be taken care of�"not after what I went through this evening.” Her confusion gave way to a smile of understanding. The mischief and daring was back in her eyes. �śYou are a ridiculously foolhardy man.” �śOne needs to be to keep up with you, meine Allerliebste.” Greta turned her horse toward the east, toward the bridge. �śI refuse to feel guilty about this whole escapade if you refuse to listen to good sense.” �śAgreed.” Oliver adjusted his seat and nickered to his mount. �śWe can be there by midmorning.” �śAnd once we’ve found out what happened to the forgery, I’ll make good on my promise.” �śWhat promise is that?” �śYou do need looking after, Herr Doerger.” She tossed him a heated glance that had him thinking about all the ways she could tend to his tired body and restless, fevered mind. �śAnd I fully intend to do so.” Chapter Twenty-Two Despite how fatigue made her inner eyelids feel blistered, Greta kept her own counsel with regard to their pace. Oliver withstood it. So could she. She kicked her heel into her horse’s flank, holding tight to the reins and her balance as they sped along a country road. The sun was at full brightness now but remained hidden behind an eastern peak. The air had lost its early-morning vapor. Wind licked through her hair and across her ears, rushing in time with the horse’s strides and her own heartbeat. How many times had she painted, lost in the moment? She had done so countless times, but always her most creative phases happened when her mind was happily gallivanting elsewhere. No critical voices then. No doubts. And during those moments of creativity, she had often imagined just such an adventure. Galloping at full speed. Escaping danger. Testing her mettle against unpredictable circumstances. Only, she had never found the boldness to imagine running free with a partner. Oliver was with her now, more vivid and more potent than any possible dream. He had taken so many chances�"all because of her. Yet something about him felt different now. He grinned into the eastern sunrise as he urged his mount to faster speeds. Her quiet, stalwart protector had hidden layers too. Greta could do nothing but match his abandon and keep pace. She wanted to think her emotions were born of relief, nothing more. If Oliver volunteered, over and over, for such daring deeds, then she needn’t hold tight to guilt. He was equally as culpable if he kept refusing to walk away. But in the back of her mind, Greta knew she was using him abominably. He remained a servant. She remained a nobleman’s niece. No matter the cravings of her body and her heart, she could not give Oliver the reward he truly deserved for his devotion. Taking her daydreaming to that extreme would only result in heartbreak. This was just for the moment. Their moment. And once her family’s future was secure, Greta would follow through with her original plan. Marry well. Paint. And count herself lucky to have lived such an adventure, even if only for a night or two. The road grew steep as they neared the crest of another hill. Oliver glanced back, his face alight with pure excitement. He looked innocent, carefree, boyish. The tension around his eyes and in the tight set of his mouth had eased, although she suspected the pain would return in force once they reached their destination. Sunlight glinted off his burnished gold hair, which shone almost red in the morning light. �śAlmost to the top,” he called back. Side by side they crested the hill together. Greta inhaled sharply, overwhelmed by the beauty of that spectacular scene. The sun gilded every rooftop and river, each tree and pasture. Nothing was ordinary, not at that moment. It was all golden and bright. �śI’ve never seen a sunrise like this,” she whispered. He reached out and took her hand, then kissed her knuckles. �śNeither have I.” Rather than indulge in her cloying melancholy, Greta grabbed the reins. �śReady?” �śReady for what?” �śHa!” She kicked her heels. The horse shot down the hill. It took all her skill and concentration to stay on its back as it sped faster and faster. Exhilaration became a physical thing�"her skin more sensitive, her body lighter, as if she could float away from the earth. Living was not living without moments like these. She had been somnolent for too long. Oliver came alongside her, his mount at full gallop. �śHa!” he shouted. The race was on. Greta did her best, urging her horse to greater speeds, but her skills were no match for Oliver’s expert horsemanship. His body moved in perfect time with every jolting, springing hoof beat. His head barely bobbed, no matter the terrain. Surely his ankle must be killing him, but still he persisted. Greta laughed into the wind. Mild-mannered valet�"not entirely. His thirst for adventure seemed to match her own, at least now that he’d given himself permission to indulge. With her lungs nearly bursting and her backside unforgivably sore, she pulled up on the reins and slowly, slowly urged her horse to give up the race. She had brought it to an easy canter by the time Oliver noticed. He had reached the bottom of the hill, turning back to judge the extent of his victory. Cheeks flushed, eyes wild, he had changed out his boyish look for that of a rogue. He could be a highwayman or a cavalry leader�"the soldier he once had been. Greta could hardly breathe for how powerfully she wanted him. �śI thought I had competition there for a moment,” he said. Goodness, he hardly sounded winded. �śYou did. But I’m no horsewoman.” �śYou could’ve fooled me. I would’ve thought you an excellent rider.” Greta frowned slightly, trying to remember when he would’ve seen her atop a horse before. But his devilish smile and teasing eyes said he was no longer talking about horsemanship. He licked his bottom lip, looking her up and down. �śYou are most depraved.” Her words were quiet, as if someone along that deserted road might hear. �śIf so, you’ve brought it out in me.” �śThen perhaps we should no longer associate. We’re a poor influence on one another.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. �śTo be certain.” �śThen why are you still smiling?” �śWhy are you?” Laughing now, Greta fought a battle with her desire and lost. They had come so close to misfortune, felled by her foolish idea. But now they were free and clear, alone in the morning countryside. She wanted to strip him bare and see the sunlight on his skin. The rays would gild every firm muscle and glint along his body hair. Pagan gods had nothing on such a man, aroused and proud. The decadent turn of her thoughts filled her body with sexual heat. �śYou should get off your horse,” he said quietly. Greta jerked her gaze back to his face. Surely�Ś But the teasing had gone. Any heat in her body, any decadent, wild ideas in her mind�"she saw them reflected in his hungry expression. �śNo,” she whispered. �śWe cannot.” �śOh, no?” She had yet to disobey him when they played their games. The thrill of taking orders from a servant had yet to lose its potency�"even as her conscious mind balked at the wrongness of it all. But her body had no such qualms. She wanted Oliver Doerger to tell her what to do, how to behave when they came together. But for his sake she could resist. �śI know you’re hurting,” she said, glancing down at his bad ankle. �śWe’ll regret it if we do you further injury.” �śI want you.” His pale blue eyes never wavered. Greta let out a shuddering exhale. He was making this impossible. But she remembered how frightened she’d been, waiting for him to escape, how terribly she’d felt by mixing him up in her scheme. She could be strong�"stronger, even, than his desire. �śYou have no notion of how I love hearing that. But Oliver, I promised. I promised I would tend to you once we reach the manor. Bitte, let me keep it.” He bit his teeth together. His fists tightened around the reins. �śA bath,” she said, pressing the advantage. �śA massage. All you could want. I�ŚI simply cannot stand the thought of doing you more harm.” Oliver grunted something harsh and guided his mount sharply toward the east. His back was tall and proud. His legs were long and his thighs muscled. Greta did not hasten to catch up, enjoying her view. Yes, she thought. A bath and a massage. She owed him that much. Oliver hardly noticed his ankle for the remaining duration of their journey. His arousal was far too distracting. He had been prepared to jump down from his horse�"his ankle be damned�"and drag Greta behind the nearest obliging thatch of shrubbery. Every time the incredulity became too much, he recalled that they had already dared such intimacies out-of-doors. Somehow that knowledge gave him permission to indulge. She was a wild woman, and he was a wild man when they were together. Shame and disbelief had become all too easy to ignore. Leinz Manor loomed ahead of them, slowly coming into view with each of the horses’ weary steps. Only then did Oliver realize their predicament. �śGreta, I’m a servant. What are we going to tell the people in your household?” �śI don’t plan to tell them anything.” She tossed her hair, which caught the sunlight and shone pale gold. He wanted nothing more than to tangle his fingers in those strands and tug, baring her neck. Kissing her there would only be the beginning. �śYou are my guest. With Uncle Thaddeus gone, there will be no one to contradict me.” �śAnd later? When he finds out?” A flicker of panic crossed her sweet features. �śMaybe by then I’ll have figured out how to stand up to him. Finally.” Oliver could no more interpret that statement than he could tear his eyes away from her beautiful face. Damn, he was smitten. Utterly entranced. He had once teased Christoph for falling so completely under Ingrid’s spell, and he had pitied Mathilda when love for Arie had dragged her across muddy, rain-drenched miles. He shook his head. They would have a good, long laugh at his expense if they knew but a fraction of what he’d already done for Greta. He followed her to the manor and waited as surprised-looking grooms took their horses. Just like the first time he had visited her family home, Oliver entered by the front door�"only now he wore garments more akin to those of a chimneysweep and walked with a limp. The staff averted their eyes and hastened to welcome Greta. Oliver was left with the task of simply�Śowning the moment. He assumed his brother’s confident gait, shoulders back and head lifted. He was a pretender in all things. This was no different. Only a few minutes passed before Greta had taken him through the spiraling, looping corridors of the ancestral mansion. Her agitation seemed to grow with every turn, to the point where he felt compelled to take her hand. �śLater I can make inquiries as to who retrieved the forgery from Maria Lucca’s, and why,” she said. �śBut for now I want to make sure the original is safe. At the very least I’d like to have it available to send should she wonder where her painting has gone.” �śYou think she might?” �śIf the decision to revoke the bargain was my uncle’s.” �śThat’s what you hope, isn’t it?” Greta shrugged, then looked away. �śHe’s never taken my opinion into consideration on this matter. Why would he now? The original will be in storage.” Oliver shelved thoughts of kissing. �śCan you get in?” �śYes, but I’ve never been there on my own.” �śVery well. But first I must send word to Lord Venner as to my whereabouts. This�Śabsence will be too long to simply ignore. With tensions as they are in Salzburg, I want him to know where he can find me.” �śYou will be careful in what you reveal?” �śAlways,” he said with a tight smile. �śAnd you should consider letting your uncle know, too. I’d rather not have the authorities assuming you’ve been kidnapped.” After penning the necessary missives, he limped behind Greta to the east wing where they stood before a plain door. She pushed it open, wincing as the hinges protested with a strident squeak. Inside she quickly moved to the right and pressed a panel that blended perfectly with the cream floral wallpaper. Who needed a key when disguise was the measure of protection? Oliver stopped for a candle, then ducked into a long corridor that sloped downward to a hidden safe room. The air was cool but not cold. �śAre we underground?” �śJust barely. It was thought that such a design would protect the paintings even if the manor were burned.” �śYour uncle designed this space, didn’t he?” �śHe owns so many fine pieces,” she said, nodding. �śHe knew it would be a means of securing our future if we could hide it well enough. Only after I showed an aptitude for forgeries did he see an application for such talent.” She sounded tired, maybe even weary of revisiting the topic, but Oliver was eager to hear more about her past. �śI suppose I should be grateful. After all, he would never have spent so much on my tutors had it been simply for my benefit.” He stopped her, gently, and turned her to face him. �śWhat would you paint? On your own?” A sad smile graced her bow of a mouth. �śAnything I wanted.” She turned back to the task. Every inch of floor space along the rear of the room was lined with crates and boxes. Oliver found a low stool and took the weight off his ankle, knowing even his hastily learned art lessons would be no use in helping her search. �śIf the painting was newly returned, it should be somewhere near the front.” Greta nodded and continued looking, peering beneath dozens of protective pads and into buckled crates. Finally she exhaled. �śHere it is.” Holding the candle high, Oliver approached the find. Grim-faced men and women in formal dress crowded together for what had to have been a tedious family portrait. �śCertainly not the painting I would’ve imagined for a duke’s mistress,” he said. �śHer lineage, apparently.” She leaned nearer. �śWait, bring the candle here. Closer, bitte.” Oliver obliged. A shiver of foreboding crept over his skin. �śThis is my copy.” Flipping the crate lid, Oliver read the stenciled writing. �śThis came from Maria Lucca. This is the copy that was returned.” �śBut�Śwhere is the original?” �śIs there someone we can ask?” �śHerschel, my uncle’s assistant. But he’ll alert Thaddeus.” Oliver stood and looked over the room stuffed with priceless art. �śIt must be in here, ja?” �śI would have agreed with you, but now I don’t know.” �śWe can look.” �śOliver, that will take hours. You�Ś” She looked down to where her fingers twisted into a ball. �śYou don’t have to. This isn’t your problem. I�ŚI never should’ve involved you.” He touched her chin. �śI’m here because I want to be,” he said softly. �śAll of it. You did nothing to force me.” �śThis isn’t the first time I’ve tried to turn you away, but you refuse. Why?” �śRefuse you? I don’t know if I can.” Greta pressed into his embrace and buried her face against his chest. Savoring the gift, Oliver laid his cheek atop her crown and held on tightly. They stood that way, motionless. The passion of their criminal evening and cross-country escape was a memory now, replaced momentarily by a sweet and tender affinity. He did not know which he would choose if forced to pick only one. �śAll right,” she said. �śWe’ll get to it then. You find a place to sit.” �śSit?” �śI won’t have you injure your ankle further on account of the search. I’ll order a little food. Then we’ll find this bloody painting.” Oliver did as he was told. Although he helped when he could, he accepted that his limitations and lack of knowledge about art were two distinct hindrances. He was left with the task of drinking good strong coffee, sampling a plate of cold meats and pungent cheeses, and watching Greta work. She was more methodical than he’d imagined. Perhaps her energy suggested wildness. Her attention to order and logic, however, was most impressive, like watching her prepare to paint. Despite the coolness of the room, she wiped sweat from her brow. The curves of her hips and bosom seemed even more extreme in the flickering candlelight. Outside it was full day, but that windowless hideaway nearly erased such knowledge. Soon the pile of paintings left to check dwindled. Greta found three more of her copies. The corresponding originals were nowhere to be found. A subsequent hour spent searching the manor from root cellar to attic revealed nothing. �śWhat does it mean?” she asked, angrily pushing damp hair from her brow. �śAll right. So perhaps your uncle sold them.” �śBut why? If he was willing to sell forgeries, why part with any of the originals? He knows how valuable they’ll be once people have money and the freedom to be opulent once again. The time to sell a masterpiece is not when Napoleon is charging across nations.” �śSo if we assume your uncle is more sensible and shrewd, that leaves two possibilities. First, that he has a few select originals in hiding somewhere else.” �śI suppose. But you have no idea how he behaves, Oliver. Shoes in a line, sorted by color and age. Desk papers sorted by alphabet and date. He likes his systems, and he loves that this room was his design. It just doesn’t feel right to think he would have a second hideaway.” She slumped. �śWhat’s the other possibility?” �śNo. It’s all about the investment.” �śThen when would he ever realize they were gone?” �śYears from now, perhaps, after the fighting stopped.” �śBy which time the discovery of your copies would mean the thief makes a clean getaway.” �śStolen, then.” The words hung heavy in the still air. Dark circles lined Greta’s lower lids, reminding Oliver that neither of them had slept. He curled a hand around the back of her nape, gently massaging with his thumb. �śLet’s find out what time it is and get some sleep. Worst case, we ask Herschel or even your uncle. If the paintings have been stolen, he’ll have to be notified.” �śThat means revealing what we’ve done.” �śDon’t worry about that now.” He stood and kissed her slowly, softly. She tasted of coffee and sugar. Oliver wanted more than just a taste, but his ankle was a flaming horror. And he was tired. Wearily tired. �śFor now, we need sleep.” �śI’ll ask the housekeeper to arrange you a room.” Disappointment hit him harder than he might have imagined. The meager reserves of energy in his body drained out through his toes. �śVery well.” Greta found a wobbling smile. �śAnd then I’ll tell you how to get from your room to mine.” Chapter Twenty-Three Greta slumped onto her bed. The familiar smells of linseed oil and canvas swirled in the air. She was home. She was a vastly different woman than when she’d left, but the comfort of her own apartments remained a blessing. She wanted to get up, to wash, to prepare herself for Oliver’s arrival. But the effort seemed too great. Floating on a cloud of exhaustion, she did not even fight the weight tugging at her eyelids. The bed was simply too lovely. When she vaguely heard the sounds of Oliver’s arrival, she could only manage a dreamy smile. The sound of a door closing brought her to full wakefulness. She must have fallen asleep in earnest, because her tongue tasted wretched and the sky was dark. �śGreta?” �śIn here,” she called to Oliver. �śGreta, what happened?” The note of alarm in his voice wiped away the last vestiges of sleep. Her back ached. Her bottom was incredibly sore. She hauled herself off the bed, lamenting the smell of her own sweat. Oliver stood in the studio that adjoined her bedroom. He was surrounded by dozens of her paintings�"paintings that had been shredded and scattered around the floor. Greta gasped. She stumbled forward, her legs numb. �śWhat�Ś?” �śHow did this happen?” he asked. �śI�Ś” But the words would not come. She collapsed to her knees before a particular favorite. Although painted from her memories, she had always imagined it a faithful likeness of her mother and father. The work had been slashed with a blade. Strips of canvas fluttered as she picked up the frame, her hands shaking. A sob tore free of her chest. �śWho�Ś?” Oliver joined her on the floor. He set the painting aside and pulled her face away from that hideous sight. �śGreta, look at me. Was the room like this when you came up here?” �śNo! Of course not!” �śDid you hear anyone come in?” �śI�Śyou did.” She dared meet his stern gaze. �śDidn’t you?” �śNo. I couldn’t chance meeting you during the day. Your maid, Marie, made that very clear.” �śBut there was someone here. I heard them. I thought it was you.” The set of Oliver’s jaw became more tense, more taut. �śSomeone broke into your room and ruined your work�Świth you asleep in the next room?” Cold sluiced over Greta’s skin. She sagged, slumping from her sitting position. Oliver’s sure hands helped guide her to the floor. Only then, lying at eye level with the wood, did the enormity of the crime hit her. Ten years of work. Every mistake and every triumph. The complete record of her progress as an artist. Each had been ruined with equal callousness. Oliver had left her and was moving around the rooms, but Greta could hardly see anything beyond her tears. Great heaving sobs launched out of her chest. Part frustration, part fear, part blinding anger�"she could no longer hold it in. She cried until her throat burned and her lungs ached. Everything she had ever completed of her own imagination, her own initiative, all destroyed. No amount of crying would ease that hurt. When she despaired of being comforted ever again, she felt Oliver’s arms close around her. He pulled her onto his lap and held her, tightly at first when she needed something solid to fight. Then his touch became gentler as her fervor ebbed. Soon he was stroking her hair, stroking her cheek and neck. All she could do was lie there, limp, spent, buoyed by the man who had come to symbolize such strength and surprise. �śI searched the rooms,” he said at last. Ah, she thought. He had left her to cry, but for a reason. She never should have doubted�"not of Oliver. �śAnd?” she croaked. �śI found a Prussian army knife on your vanity table.” He swallowed so loudly that she heard it. �śGreta, it was Karl’s. The design of it matches what we were issued upon accepting our commissions.” �śHe would do that to me? To my paintings?” �śWhen we were younger, ruining property was his means of garnering attention. He still wants something from me.” In the palm of his hand he revealed a slip of paper. �śHe wants to meet me in Salzburg in three days.” �śTo what end?” �śI know not. Perhaps more of this contorted charade. But Greta, he will pay for what he’s done here. I will make sure of that.” �śPromise?” He helped her to a sitting position, despite how her spine seemed made of wool. �śLook at me. I�Ś” His voice broke off with a hitch. He looked away, his mouth tight. Greta pushed past her hurt and grief. She found the resolve to sit up of her own volition, then snuggled closer to him. But she kept enough distance to see his face�"needed to see his face. �śWhat is it?” �śI would break into houses for you, apparently. I would conceal your uncle’s money-making schemes. I would make love to you with no possibility of a future. All of these things I never thought I would do. For you.” He shook his head. Greta laced her fingers together at his nape. His breath, so agitated and warm, caressed her cheek. �śBut protect you? Keep you safe? That was instinct from the first moment I saw your face. Now, to see you hurt this way�Ś I cannot imagine leaving that unanswered, no matter the perpetrator. Greta, I’m so sorry.” Heat, a wondrous heat, bloomed beneath her sternum. She needed to swallow a few times before she found her voice again. The emotion swelling inside her was simply too much to readily overcome. �śYou blame yourself? For this?” �śNot for the crime. But you were asleep in the other room. He’s so altered that I hardly know him anymore. He could’ve just as easily slit your throat as one of these paintings.” Reflexively, she touched the healed slice on her neck. Black spots cluttered her line of sight, blurring her image of Oliver’s fraught expression. �śI don’t know what I would do if something had happened to you.” He kissed her, so softly. �śI love you.” Greta clutched the muscled solidity of his back and shoulders. He loved her. God, what would she do with that knowledge? Their circumstances had not changed. His admission made her strong, but strong enough to defy her uncle and all of good society? She had never fancied herself that sort of fighter. So she thrust it all aside. She could not answer his declaration with one of her own, nor could she push him away�"and reclaim an appropriate distance from this handsome, gallant servant. Instead she opened her mouth, tasting the salt of his skin. He tensed, but not for long. Her tentative kiss become more certain, more frantic. Needier. She might have died in her sleep. Oliver could’ve been caught or killed on her foolhardy mission. It was all too much. She dug her nails into his biceps, then found his mouth with hers. Their kiss was an explosion, not a tentative hello. Tongues met, thrusting and dueling. The heat between them ratcheted to a quick boil. Because on top of the terrible possibilities that hadn’t come to pass, he was still not hers to keep. Oliver stretched back along the paint-stained floor. He dragged Greta with him, his moan filling her mouth. The blunt hardness of his erection nudged her hip. Greta’s arousal, banked throughout the long and exhausting day, flared to life. She had teased him and hid with him and raced him. Now she straddled him, yanking her skirts up to her thighs. She dove back down for another kiss. Threading his fingers into the hair at the base of her skull, he twisted. The clench of soft pain felt good�"so good. It was a biting distraction from all the genuine pain still awaiting her. She trusted Oliver so implicitly that the rough treatment became a further arousal. Not daring to question such a strange perversion, she simply groaned as he twisted again. With eager hands she unbuttoned the dirty black shirt that obscured his perfect torso. One button popped free and pinged across the floor. Soon he was naked from the waist up. Such a beautiful man, so alive, so perfectly symmetrical. His hands gripped her thighs, her backside. The sensations blended with the visual feast he presented. Greta kissed him again, tasting, exploring, before traveling down the strong line of his jaw, his neck, his chest. �śI want inside you,” came his harsh words. The vibrations rumbled under her lips, down into her throat. She leaned forward, permitting him room enough to fit the large, firm head of his cock against her entrance. Oliver stilled. Their eyes met. Greta did not look away, no matter the blush flaming across her cheeks, as he slowly, achingly pushed inside. She gasped and he moaned, until he was buried to the hilt in her welcoming body. The waiting was too much. Filled, utterly filled, Greta shifted to find relief from the building tension. Oliver clasped her outer hips with the wide span of his calloused hands. He gripped so tightly that the muscles of his arms and pectorals tensed, standing out in glorious relief. Strong and sure, he guided her movements�"up and down, sometimes grinding in a circle, until she caught the delicious rhythm. With her palms spread flat against his tight abdominals, Greta made good on the vulgar comment he had said with such a straight face. She rode him. She took the full, wide length of him with each plunge. Her breath came in fitful gasps as she tossed her head back. The tension built and built until a scream perched at the back of her throat. Oliver grabbed her shoulders and brought her low across his chest. He circled her torso with his vise-like arms, thrusting upward. �śNot a sound,” he whispered against her ear. �śCan’t�"” �śNot a sound, Greta. Hold it in.” Her teeth sank into the resilient flesh of Oliver’s shoulder. She did as she was told, no matter how much she wanted to scream and shake. To her surprise, the pleasure intensified. It had nowhere to go, gathering and throbbing from her core until it burst over her in a blinding rush. Oliver awoke to find his arms empty. He and Greta had struggled back to bed, their bodies satiated and limp. The pain in his ankle was all the more potent after the last tremors of his climax had faded, but Greta had helped him with silent patience. She had undressed him, bathed him, rubbed his aching muscles�"just as she promised. He remembered drifting off to sleep with the image of Greta in his mind, her back turned as she washed herself, as if overcome by a modesty their lovemaking should have burned away. She had slipped into bed beside him, her body fitting his with sensual ease. But now she was gone. That realization roused him like the alarm of a fire brigade. He sat up in bed, swinging his legs over the side. Sheets twisted and tangled around his thighs. He thrust them aside and prepared for the lance of pain when his bad ankle took his weight. �śNo, don’t,” was Greta’s soft command. Wearing a green wrap, she was sitting cross-legged on a nearby bench. Her sketchpad lay open across her lap. Charcoal smudged her fingertips and the apple of one pale cheek. Her hair remained a tangle of silken blond ringlets, cast artlessly over one shoulder. She was safe. Oliver slumped back against the pillows, his arm flung over his eyes. But the images followed him there, even with his lids pinched shut. Slashed paintings. The door left cracked open. A knife laid with perfect precision among the bottles and bobbles atop her vanity table. His mind was not so kind as to leave him with those nightmarish possibilities. Even though he knew, in his gut, that Karl had been up to his old, destructive tricks, he could not deny the vividness of his imagination. Oliver could have returned to a ruined studio, only to find Greta soaked in her own blood, stretched lifelessly across the bed. The image slammed into his chest, right over his heart. He had told her that he loved her, and she had not found the courage to return those words. But Oliver had no regrets. Finding her dead, with those words of love never said aloud�"that would have been beyond regretting. That would have poisoned a very dear part of his soul. Never one to believe in wars that could not be won, no matter his experience to the contrary, he refused to allow himself any more time to indulge in morbid fantasies. Greta was alive. She was as alive and vibrant and maddeningly sexy as ever a woman could be. And he would make Karl pay for the hurt he inflicted. He dragged his arm away from his face and sat up, his whole body aching from their shared passions. It was a beautiful ache. �śYou snore,” she said with a smile. �śI do?” �śJa.” Oliver smiled. �śI’ve never stayed with anyone long enough to learn that.” Greta stopped sketching and tipped her head. �śHave you been in love before?” �śNo.” �śAren’t you scared?” �śTerrified.” �śYou never seem it.” �śDiscipline.” He turned on the bed and grabbed a nearby blanket to cover his nudity. �śSpoil sport,” she said, her grin playful. �śYou’re covered.” �śI was sketching you.” �śMay I see it?” Greta shrugged and pushed heavy hair off her shoulder. �śDon’t expect much.” He edged off the bed, but she stopped him before his foot touched the floor. �śI’ll come to you,” she said. Sitting side by side on the bed, Oliver could smell the soap she had used to wash. His mouth watered as if she were a succulent meal for a starving peasant. But he set aside the lustful reaction to concentrate on her work. Greta laid the book across his lap, then looked away. He found himself staring at sketch after sketch of his nude body. Perhaps she had moved the sheet, or perhaps he had tossed in his sleep, but the sheet had slipped to a rather revealing angle. She had rendered the line of his thigh where it met his hip and the line of his torso. On another, she had drawn just his hand. Another was a detail of his mouth, nose and eyes. In each one, Oliver saw the flashes of genius that made her such a vibrant artist. Every stroke of charcoal had life. Movement and breath. There was no other way to explain it. But he also saw a woman who thought rather highly of her subject. He could not believe he was that handsome. Her bias made him a god. He set the drawings aside, his heart full for reasons he could not articulate. She had not said that she loved him, but those drawings felt like just such an admission. �śYou have a remarkable gift.” She laughed softly. �śYou were a very patient subject.” �śI’ll repeat the favor every night, if you wish.” �śI may take you up on that.” As if realizing the implication of her words, Greta took her sketchbook and stood away from the bed. He watched her progress as she entered the adjoining studio. Only then did he see that she had stacked her ruined canvases against the far wall. He took a deep, pain-laced breath at the thought of how difficult that task must have been to perform. All her work�Śruined. Oliver winced as he stood, but the ankle felt much improved. The swelling had reduced. He carefully made his way to the studio, pausing to lean in the doorway. �śOliver? My uncle will be returning tomorrow.” �śTomorrow?” She met his gaze, her eyes bright and glassy. �śHerschel said his plans remain unchanged. He’s bringing the girls back here.” So it would be over. Soon. All this feeling, all this wonder and freedom�"tomorrow it would end. He crossed the room, his ankle a mere nuisance compared to his need to hold his woman. He gathered Greta into his embrace, clinging to her as if he had the right to do so. She looped trembling arms around his waist, her cheek pressed flush against his bare chest. �śWhat do you want?” he asked against her temple. �śWhat can I do?” �śNothing, I’m afraid. This will be between me and Thaddeus. There won’t be any avoiding his disappointment in how I’ve behaved with you.” She signed heavily. �śAnd of course he’ll have choice words about my parents.” He guided her to a bench and urged her to sit in his lap. She was warm, soft, beautiful. And she sat with him as if it were the most natural act. �śYou’ve mentioned your parents before. Will you tell me? What happened?” �śYou always seem as if you know everything,” she said with a rueful little smile. �śI assumed you would’ve learned by now.” Oliver acknowledged the gentle reproach in her words, knowing she was nearly right. He could have learned. But part of his regard meant restraining the impulse to pry into her secrets. �śI wanted to hear it from you, if at all.” She released a slow exhale, then tugged the fallen blanket around them both. �śMy mother was supposed to marry a minor nobleman who had a great deal of money.” �śThis already sounds familiar,” Oliver said, his throat filling with tiny daggers. �śYes, it does. Perhaps that’s why I resisted so long. I knew history was repeating.” She closed her eyes, then nodded as if giving herself permission to continue. �śShe was in love with a professor. He studied theology and music and astronomy. A brilliant man. He was actually my uncle’s tutor for a time, which is how they met. So when my grandparents died, she defied her brother and married against his wishes. I suppose she thought she could resist his will, even if she might not have resisted her parents.” A professor. Not exactly a socially repulsive position. Oliver wanted to crawl out of his own skin and become someone worthy of her affection, if only to keep her from further pain. But he could not. He was still obligated to Christoph, to the deception from which he had not yet extricated himself. So he simply smoothed his palm over her upper arm, silently urging her to continue. �śUncle Thaddeus made their marriage a nightmare. He belittled my father at every opportunity, pointing out his lack of breeding and etiquette. He gave her expensive presents that my father had no hope of affording. My mother was�Śto be kind, she was not the most constant woman. Sometimes she would defy him and refuse the gifts, or cry, but she never once asked him to stop. Every gesture became a competition. The strain of it�"I remember feeling that strain even as a child. I never wanted to be in the same room with both men, as if I would become their battleground too.” She shivered, her eyes distant. �śEventually it become too much, I think. My father determined to be free of all contact and financial support. Mother�Śshe didn’t go with him. I never knew why, although Thaddeus has always claimed it was a weakness in her character, that she could not follow through with the daring she had perpetrated.” Oliver tucked her close, his lips against her temple. �śFather went to live in Salzburg on his own and died three months later of pneumonia. Mother was devastated. I don’t believe she ever recovered. She blamed herself, except for one terrible row when she blamed my uncle. He was so incensed, he threw her out of the manor. I never saw her again�"not until the funeral a year later. She had been�Ś” Her voice broke. Oliver tightened his hold, but no caress could protect her from the memories. �śShe had been living rough, used by men. Thaddeus insisted that the coffin remain open so I could see what her defiance had wrought.” �śMonstrous,” he whispered. �śAnd you’ve been living with his scorn ever since? Accepting the brunt of his displeasure?” �śHe never leveled it at me directly,” she said. �śOnly little snubs against my father, or unflattering comparisons to my mother’s flighty nature. Eventually, when my penchant for painting came to light, I saw it as a means of earning his acceptance. Maybe even his affection.” She lifted her head to look at him directly. �śI’ve been a fool, haven’t I?” Oliver smoothed the hair back from her wet cheeks, his heart full. �śWe all are, it seems, when it comes to the need to belong.” Chapter Twenty-Four A messenger arrived the next day, bearing news for Oliver. He read the letter, absorbing its message, even as he tried to find his way clear of the mess he had made with Greta. Shoving the folded paper into his coat, he watched her prepare her paints and materials�"the simple, contented joy he had learned to need as much as her smile. She wanted to finish a painting of him before her uncle returned to the manor. Oliver had heard the unspoken message�"before they would separate. He had declared himself. She had refused to return his feelings, at least not aloud. After learning her parents’ past he could hardly blame her too stridently. But a very selfish part of his heart, a part he was not used to acknowledging, wanted more than a hint of feeling, and certainly more than just sex. For too many weeks he had imagined her body naked beneath his. That was no longer enough. He was being unreasonable and fanciful and all those other foolish emotions he could hardly merit, but he loved her. He wanted Greta. All of her. �śI have to return to Salzburg,” he said. �śMmm?” �śGreta.” She blinked and looked down at the mortar and pestle in her hands. Once again, every brush was lined up with care along a paint-stained worktable. He got the impression that she would organize those stains if she could, so precisely did she approach the tools of her craft. He could watch her work for hours, watch the magic she could render on canvas. But that would wait�Śor it would never be at all. �śThis letter is from Christo�"from Lord Venner.” He grimaced inwardly. A valet never referred to his master by his given name. Had he become so comfortable with her that he could indulge in such a slipup? �śNapoleon’s armies are within sight of Salzburg, with an ultimatum to surrender. Venner is working with the duke to negotiate terms, but he needs me there to help prepare for a possible evacuation. With that and Karl’s request to meet, I must return.” She nibbled her lower lip. �śIs there no one else to take your place?” �śYou don’t want me to go.” �śNo.” Oliver tried to keep his smile in check�"a difficult task. �śTell me why.” �śBecause I have much more enjoyable uses for your talents.” �śI’m in earnest, Greta.” �śAs am I.” She stood from the bench and wiped the pigment off her fingers. �śMy uncle is returning. I want you here.” �śIf I stayed, would you admit to him that we’re in love?” Her silence stretched until it became a razor against Oliver’s skin. He should not have pressed. Pressing would only reveal answers he did not want to know. �śI told you about my parents for a reason,” she said, eyes averted. �śI hoped�ŚI hoped you would understand what stands in our way.” His temper was building at a speed out of keeping with their conversation. But it was more than this one moment. It was months of wanting and receiving less in return. He knew she still needed time. She was young, privileged and bore the burden of her parents’ example. No matter how much he craved it, he could not imagine her abandoning an entire life for him. But neither could he deny Christoph’s request, nor his need to finally finish matters with Karl. He stood and crossed to the window, looking out over the immaculate Leinz grounds. �śWe would not have to have anything more to do with your uncle. He would not determine any more of your future.” �śYou would work for Venner.” �śYes,” he said with as much pride as he could muster. Her doubtful tone, however, made that difficult. Not for the first time, he wanted to admit his parentage. The words formed in his brain. His tongue even prepared to say them. But he could not. Still too much depended on secrecy. Christoph’s negotiations would affect the safety and security of the entire city. He needed Oliver to be as dependable and as invisible as ever. To be sidetracked with the scandal of having an illegitimate brother as an incognito household spy�"a man caught seducing Thaddeus Leinz’s niece�"would waste valuable credibility. And time. They were running out of time. More selfishly, he wanted her to take a chance. On him. No promises and no discussions of his parentage. �śYes, that is what I’m saying. We would make our own way. You would be able to paint. The Venners would always be able to provide me with a good living.” He met her gaze squarely, his heart in his throat. �śWe would be together.” �śMy parents thought the same thing, but my father died. What was left for my mother, then, but living under Thaddeus’s auspices? And in the end she didn’t even have that!” �śI won’t let anything happen to us. You wouldn’t be left alone.” Greta swallowed. She turned to her row of paintbrushes and reordered them, this time according to the thickness of the handle. �śYou cannot promise such a thing, Oliver.” �śBut you want me to stay. Why? So you won’t have to choose?” She blanched. �śAh, that’s it, then,” he said. �śI stay here like a dog, always at your beck and call. Your secret. Was that always part of the thrill?” �śDon’t be absurd.” �śI’m not. You were perfectly fine taking risks with me, as long as you never had to face the ultimate risk�"telling your uncle the truth.” �śYou don’t know what he’s like!” �śI’m sure he’s terrifying.” He crossed to stand nearer, even daring to take her hands. His temper said that was hardly a brilliant idea, but he needed to touch�"as if that contact might be the key to convincing her when sincerity failed. �śI’m sure that to you, standing up to him will be one of the hardest tasks you ever undertake. But you’re a woman bent on taking chances. Wouldn’t this be worth the risk?” Greta looked into Oliver’s eyes of clear ice blue and felt her insides crumble. Take a chance. On them. Why did she hesitate? The warmth of his hands enveloping hers was suddenly too much. She let him go. �śI cannot,” she whispered. The brightness and fire in Oliver’s ardent gaze slipped away. �śDo I get a reason?” None of the reasons in her mind made sense. He was a valet. That was the most prominent. They would always be poor. Every connection she had to good society would be severed forever. Her cousins would never be able to speak to her again. What if she did not realize what she had until it was gone? What if her dalliance with Oliver was passing fancy? Her parents had demonstrated what a stalwart love was required to beat back such censure�"one they hadn’t always shared. She feared that, when put to the test, her feelings for Oliver would not hold true. Nor would his love for her endure. To tell any of that to Oliver? It all seemed paltry and insulting. But in her mind and in her heart, they were overwhelming. Panicking and so terribly afraid, she took a deep breath and lied. She lied to the man who could detect any falsehood. �śI don’t love you.” He blinked. �śYou don’t.” �śI’m sorry, Oliver. I�Śwhen faced with the bare facts of how we would live�"I’m sorry.” She wanted him to do that magic trick of his, where he could tell at an instant whether someone was being deceitful. She wanted him to see right through her, to drag her away. Her uncle could never accuse her of her mother’s folly. She could have Oliver without needing to make the hard choice. But he simply closed his eyes. Maybe even his skills failed when his heart was breaking. �śAre you leaving, then?” �śI must,” he said, his voice wooden and deep. �śWhat will you do?” She twisted her fingers into knots. Even now she had no notion of how she would explain that to Thaddeus. �śI’ll tell him about the paintings and�Śhe’ll look after me.” �śAs he always has.” An uncharacteristic bitterness tainted his words. �śBy what, marrying you to that whale Weiser? You’re a coward, Greta.” �śYou can say that, but you have everything to gain by being with me!” His jaw locked. �śWhich, by contrast, implies that you have so little to gain by being with me.” �śThat’s not fair. You know the way of the world.” �śI knew this would be difficult for you�"for both of us. But I never imagined it would take this turn.” �śWhy not? Did you really expect that I could abandon my entire life to be with you?” �śYes,” he said. �śI thought you could.” Greta choked back a sob, wanting to call him back as he collected his meager possessions. Boots. Hat. Overcoat. A hundred times in those few seconds she tried to find a way around the maze. But no. She was still too scared. She, Greta Zweig, had always wanted more adventure. And when faced with the biggest adventure of all, she backed away in complete fear. Oliver paused in the doorway. He turned slightly, so that the sharp line of his nose was in perfect profile. Greta found herself trying to memorize his dear features�"this time for the last time. �śLock the door behind me. No one but your lady’s maid until your uncle returns. Will you give me that, at least?” �śI will,” she said, then watched in stunned shock as he walked out the door. Greta lived in agony for nearly twenty hours. Every waking moment forced her to revisit the argument. Sometimes she wondered why she let her fears drive him away. Sometimes she could hardly breathe past the terror. Oliver would never hurt her on purpose�"she knew that like she knew his taste. But where would she be if anything happened to Oliver? To defy the rules for love was one consideration. Facing the world on her own was quite another. If the days were agony, the hours of evening were unimaginable nightmares. Every kiss, every touch, every breathless cry returned as an intimate torment. Sleeping beside him had been a comfort even more precious than the way he pleasured her. The soft rumble of his laughter, when humor caught him by surprise, was just a memory. The true, honest companionship he offered without demand left a void in her heart. The fierce, protective shelter of his unselfish love was gone. So she waited. Sitting in a window seat that overlooked the grounds, she waited for her uncle. His carriage was in the courtyard. The grooms were already unbuckling the horses’ harnesses. Soon he would barge up those steps and she would need to tell him. But tell him what? Standing away from the window, she looked at her half-finished painting. It was Oliver standing in the corridor downstairs, exactly as she’d seen him the night of the ball. The livery clung to him like a cage, a most uneasy disguise for the gracious, clever man beneath. He was singular. Alone. Reserved, yet so enticingly composed within himself. Even when Greta had barged into his life and ruffled his calm, he remained Oliver. Dear God, I love him. A knock at the door shocked her into uttering a little squeak. She loved him. Now, when he was so far away, when she could no longer beg his forgiveness or declare her feelings�"now she realized the truth. Another knock, this time more insistent. �śMargaret, open this door,” said her uncle. With one last look at the painting, she blew her rendering of Oliver a kiss and tossed a tarp over the easel. �śComing.” She hurried to the door and sucked in a quick breath. Thaddeus stood in the doorway, his arms crossed and a frown heavy on his brow. His bald head shone with a glimmer of sweat. �śYou will explain yourself, young lady.” �śCome in, uncle.” Her fingers danced with nervous energy as she waved him inside. But oddly enough, she was no longer frightened. She had sent Oliver away. No other moment could be so terrible. This was nothing�"nowhere near so heartbreaking. �śI am happy to see you safely returned. How are the girls?” �śThey’re downstairs. But you will explain why you left Salzburg. This instant.” He stood in the center of her studio like a thunderstorm gaining furious strength. Only one other time had she seen him so terribly riled�"on the day when their last terrible fight had sent Mother away. Father had been dead, but Uncle Thaddeus had sent her out into the world with nothing. Righteous anger straightened her shoulders and made her spine into a strong column. What right had he? By what right had he made her parents so miserable? And by what right did he claim ownership of her skills, her loyalty, her future? Her future belonged to Oliver. She knew that now. But she had to be smart, knowing Thaddeus already assumed the worst about her character�"and knowing that Herschel had likely already informed him of Oliver’s presence. If she confirmed the worst voluntarily, she might be able to escape most of the humiliation. Maybe breaking with her uncle and her cousins wouldn’t have to be permanent. �śUncle, I know you will be�Śoh, God, you will be so disappointed with me.” �śI’m not surprised.” �śI came here with a man. With that valet who’d saved my life.” His face darkened to an unbecoming shade of pink, all the way over his bald crown. �śYou idiot girl. How could you be such a simpleton? You’re no better than your mother. Worse, even.” �śLeave Mother out of this.” �śI will not! Is this how my generosity is repaid? By a niece who invites servant trash into her bed?” �śRepaid? I believe my work for these last few years has been payment enough. But that wasn’t enough for you, was it?” �śI have told you before,” he said, advancing on her. Greta backed away but was stopped with the workbench at her back. �śMy business is none of your concern.” �śOh, isn’t it?” A remarkable calm had overtaken her. She felt steady and sure, even in the face of his glower. �śI wonder what business you could conduct without my forgeries to sell. And if you’re not careful, you won’t even have the originals to sell after the war.” �śWhat?” �śIn the basement. In storage. Someone has replaced four of the originals with my copies. Someone, my dear uncle, has been stealing from you.” A tick in his right cheek intensified. �śI don’t believe you. This is some ruse to distract me from how you’ve behaved.” Greta stepped away from the table, toward him, daring him to stand in her way. �śYou’re the one who’s short four masterpieces. I, however, am the person who’s short ten years’ worth of work.” She pushed past and walked to the pile of shredded canvases. Rage and frustration overtook her so strongly that she kicked the nearest one. A pile of three ruined paintings tumbled to the hardwood. �śDo you see these, uncle?” Her voice threatened to break, but she swallowed down the hurt. �śMy life’s work. I know you hardly thought much of my creations, but I was proud of them. Someone broke into my room and ruined them, while I slept on the bed. If you were at all eager to catch those responsible, you would be pointing your anger at anyone else but me.” �śI don’t believe you,” he said with far less conviction. �śDon’t, then. I hardly care. But now I want you out of my rooms.” �śYou have no right to tell me what to do, Margaret. This is my house.” She smiled sadly. �śThat’s what you told Mother. You might not think I remember, but I do. I wonder, do you blame yourself at all for what happened to her and my father?” �śOf course not.” �śNo, of course not. I doubt a man could stay sane after ten years of blaming himself for his sister’s unhappiness. Her death. Easier, I should think, to simply make it her fault.” �śYou insolent�"” �śAnd to keep blaming me for events and impulses that created me. I am not my mother.” �śYou may as well be. You’re an ungrateful, spoiled girl, just like she was�"a waste of opportunities and connections. I’m only grateful your influence hasn’t ruined your cousins’ chances. If you expect a fortuitous marriage now, you’re an even bigger fool than you are a slut.” �śDanke schoen, Uncle.” �śFor what?” �śFor providing for me all these years. You didn’t have to, and I’m grateful.” She let out a long exhale. �śAnd I’m grateful that you’ve just made it very easy for me to finally choose.” �śChoose? Choose what?” �śI love Oliver Doerger.” She stood straighter. �śI’m going to find him before it’s too late.” Chapter Twenty-Five Oliver fought through two days like a man in pitched battle. He fought in the duke’s cabinet, supporting Christoph in any way he could, and he fought the memories of Greta and her rejection. The two were not allied purposes. In fact, each made the other more difficult. �śNapoleon is less than three days away,” Christoph practically shouted at a cabinet member. �śHow much more appeasing do you think you can muster in three days?” �śThere’s no use in appeasement now.” The duke looked more weary, more haggard, than Oliver had ever seen. His words were hard to gauge for truthfulness because fatigue made his mouth sag, obscuring any possible lie. �śWe have no time. And the funds we have in reserve will never be enough to turn the armies away.” Christoph seemed ready to do violence. Oliver had never seen his brother so angered. �śWe’ve spent the last three weeks doing all we could to mollify the little butcher. And now you say there was never any use?” The duke raised an eyebrow. �śOf course there was use. We all have time now.” �śTime?” �śTo leave.” �śThat knife-wielding madman was right,” Christoph said. �śYou had no intention of protecting the citizens of Salzburg. From the start you intended to flee when the fighting began.” �śI’m from Tuscany, Lord Venner, and here at the invitation of Napoleon himself. What loyalty do you believe I have for this city after so short a span? You overestimate my sense of civic pride.” �śI’ve been a citizen for less than five years.” Christoph’s voice was as rigid as steel. �śYet I’ve worked to try and keep us all safe through invasion and change of government. My family is here, but I had been prepared to stay. To resist, if need be.” He swallowed. �śI see I’m alone in that.” �śYes,” said the duke. �śYou are. Everyone with the means of doing so will be gone from the city in mere hours. Don’t be a fool, Lord Venner. I hear you are quite fond of your wife and child.” Oliver grabbed his brother’s right forearm, holding him physically in check. �śWe should go.” The ministers hastily packed their papers and donned their hats. The whole room took on an air of frightened immediacy, as if Napoleon’s troops were storming the city walls at that very moment. But with the duke’s true intentions revealed�"so bluntly stated�"a flood of selfish interests quickly overwhelmed duty. Oliver dragged Christoph down the corridor and out into the sun. Life carried on as normal. A street vendor offered cinnamon-roasted almonds. Three drivers offered the use of their Fiakers, but the brothers kept walking at a pace akin to a run. The Dom was quiet on a Friday at that subdued afternoon hour, but people mingled outside. Some ate fruit and cheese. Some played dice games at the base of the Hofbrunnen fountain. Everything was far too ordinary in light of the chaos they knew was coming. �śWhat needs done before we go?” Christoph asked. �śMuch. You’re really going through with this?” �śI hate it. You know that. But I cannot risk injury to my family. Those with means will leave. Those who cannot will suffer. I�"” His voice became strangled. The agony of his decision went against his every civic impulse, but Oliver knew Christoph could not endanger Ingrid and Franz. �śWhere will we go?” Christoph pulled up short on the north side of the Dom, his cheeks defined by severe shadows. �śWe?” �śOf course I’m coming with you.” �śAnd what of Fr�ńulein Zweig? You love her, don’t you?” Oliver should not have been surprised. �śShe turned me away. She’s staying at Leinz Manor.” A hard swallow nearly choked him. �śWhere she’ll be safe.” �śI’m sorry.” Uncomfortable with Christoph’s show of sympathy, Oliver looked away. �śLet’s go. And answer my question, ja?” �śWe’ll go to Anhalt. Father has a cousin who will offer us shelter.” �śAnd Salzburg?” �śWe can do little in three days, not after so much apathy and so many delays. But we can fight from other territory. This is not the end, even if it feels bloody well close.” They arrived at the Venners’ townhouse, throwing the doors open. Oliver took charge right away. �śHans, Klara,” he called to the two nearest servants. �śPrepare the household for travel. Essentials only.” �śSir?” Klara said, her eyes downcast. �śWhat is it?” �śFr�ńulein Zweig is upstairs in her guest room.” A stunned moment of silence layered over the foyer. Christoph raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Oliver’s heart thundered in his chest. She was here? His feet had motivation of their own as he tore up the stairs. Two flights later, he pounded on the door to the room she had occupied. Even when Greta opened it and stood smiling in the threshold, he could not believe what he saw. �śHello, Oliver.” He swept her into his arms, twirling once before settling into the serious business of holding her close. �śWhat are you doing here?” �śI lied,” she whispered against his neck. �śI lied to you, and I’m sorry. I love you. Bitte, forgive me. Forgive me, mein Lieber. I�ŚI was so frightened of what might happen, but after you were gone�"knowing you were gone and I’d been the cause was much more horrible.” Oliver sucked in her words like a dying man at a desert oasis. Greta. Greta here, in his arms, declaring her love. The nightmarish afternoon had turned to heaven in an instant. �śAnd your uncle?” She pulled back to look him in the eye. �śI stood up to him.” �śAh, my brave girl.” �śI didn’t feel brave. Not at first. But he went too far, Oliver. He called you names, and me, and mother. I could see him for the first time, like a spoiled child who wasn’t getting his way. Maybe that’s why mother finally stood up to him, there at the end�"not out of guilt or pain, but just for once to see him sputter.” Oliver petted blond silk back from her temples, framing her face. He leaned in, so slowly, for a kiss. Maybe he was giving her permission to have one last bout of second guesses, but she met him more than halfway. Her hands shoved under his infernal wig and pushed it away. Oliver backed her against the doorjamb, lost to a happiness he could never have imagined. A feminine murmur interrupted their reunion. Suddenly aware of their visibility there in the doorway, Oliver pulled away from Greta. Ingrid stood a few feet away, her arms cradling baby Franz. �śForgive me, my lady.” Oliver tugged the hem of his livery coat. �śDid you say something?” �śI said it’s about time. Welcome back, Fr�ńulein Zweig.” Greta’s cheeks were bright red, but she had reclaimed that daredevil wonder. It shone from her eyes like a beacon at midnight. �śDanke, Lady Venner.” �śIt’s Ingrid, remember? We’re all family here.” She skewered him with a meaningful look. �śIsn’t that right, Oliver?” He was still reeling from Greta’s presence and their blood-boiling kiss. Now it seemed that Ingrid was urging him to admit to a fact that she should not know. But soon Christoph joined her, his hands protectively around her shoulders. He nodded once. Bowled over by too many changing moods, Oliver shook his head. �śAre you sure?” �śWhat will it matter now?” Christoph asked. �śWe’ll be in Anhalt soon, among our people. You included. We can start afresh.” �śOur people? Family?” Greta flashed her eyes between all three, her face a picture of confusion. �śOliver, what is this about?” He took a deep breath. �śLord Venner is my half brother.” Greta tried to find humor or jest in the words�"as if Oliver or Venner could joke about such a thing. But their expressions remained perfectly sober. Only, Oliver’s eyes held a hint of expectation. Of hope. �śGo on,” she croaked. �śI was born five years after Christoph. Born a bastard. Our father never claimed me, nor did he care for my mother after she got with child.” The shame in his voice was too much to bear. Pieces aligned, particularly his care in keeping her from becoming pregnant. He had not wanted history to repeat. �śAnd this was the man you stole from? You said he was an important man.” �śYes. A Vizegraf.” A Vizegraf’s son. She pulled away, squeezing the doorjamb with shaky hands. �śYou made me believe you were a valet. All this time, tearing myself up about your lack of station.” �śWhat station? I’m a bastard, Greta. The only reason I have a roof over my head now is because of Christoph.” It sounded so strange hearing the nobleman’s given name coming from Oliver’s mouth. She glanced between the two men and saw what her artist’s eye had noticed but disregarded. The same strong cheekbones, the same full lower lip. She recalled the swordfights when they had dueled, how even their movements were mirror images. Grace and power, muscles matched by parentage, not just training. She had been distracted by Venner’s dark hair and olive-tinted skin, and by her own firm belief that Oliver was of inferior birth. But how could she have known otherwise? He had been a lie from the first moment they met�"in all but his instincts as her protector. �śWhy the disguise?” �śNo one else knows.” Oliver glanced at Lady Venner. �śUntil about two minutes ago, I didn’t even think Ingrid knew.” �śChristoph told me.” Ingrid smiled gently. �śHe said something about how it was time you stopped hiding.” Venner made a noise in his throat. �śHigh time.” Ingrid skewered her husband with a warning look �śWe’ll leave you two alone, then.” Oliver nodded, then urged Greta into the guest room and shut the door. �śI still don’t understand,” she said. �śYou could have told me.” �śNo, I couldn’t.” His hands stroked her upper arms, soothing and distracting when she needed all her wits. �śI am more than a valet. I am his eyes and ears. If the other politicians knew his own half brother was his servant, they would have realized how great my loyalty is to this family. As it was, we’ve learned a great many useful facts over the years when people tried to tempt me away from his service.” So again they were separated by his responsibilities, only he was no mere servant. Serving Venner in some secret capacity had been more important than doing what he could to keep her. She pushed against his sternum, surprised by the betrayal lodged there. �śEven when faced with losing me, you chose your duty? You chose them?” �śThey’re my family, Greta. Please, say something.” His eyes turned soft, almost pleading. �śI�Ś” She loved Oliver Doerger, no matter his status. Otherwise she would not have stood up to her uncle. The circumstances of his birth were of little consequence when it came to the decision her heart had already made. That sense of betrayal, however, fused with her blood. He had been willing to let her go rather than betray Lord Venner. Had he offered his suit as a Vizegraf’s son�"even as a bastard�"he might have been able to convince her uncle. But he had chosen to let them both suffer in silence. Perhaps it was only just, considering how she had lied to him at the manor, sending him away in heartbreak. �śI don’t know what to think,” she said. �śYou could’ve told me. Just me.” �śYou have no idea how many times I wanted to, especially when I knew what stood between us.” You loved them more. But she didn’t dare speak the words. She should be grateful, thankful, happy for the future they could claim now without reservation. How could she expect him to suddenly turn away from his only blood relative? That she had managed to do so against Thaddeus hardly seemed a fair comparison, since she had never cared for her uncle. He was still looking at her with such hope. Greta dove into his arms and held on tight. None of it matters, she told herself. She had bid her uncle goodbye, and now she had Oliver. They were safe. They were together. They could make their fledgling love work. �śI’m sorry,” he said against her temple. �śYou must believe me.” �śI do. And I’m sorry too. I thought for certain you would see that I was lying when I said I didn’t love you.” He pulled away, his hands framing her face once more. �śSay it now.” She stifled a smile. �śI don’t love you.” �śLiar.” He was still grinning when he kissed her. Greta accepted the sweet invasion of his tongue. Their kiss was enough. Their love was enough. It had to be. The Venners would take her in and they would all be together, far away from this place. When another strong dose of fear congealed in her stomach, she unbuttoned Oliver’s coat and shirt, right down to bare skin. They had a little time. By then, she hoped, she would be able to set aside the last of her doubts. Oliver awoke in Greta’s arms. He looked up at an unfamiliar ceiling and at the sun tinting the plaster with early-morning colors, then at her sleeping face nestled against his shoulder. Apprehension made his heart thump. They would be found out. But the memory of how their evening had ended, with Oliver revealing the truth, helped orient him once again. He still should not be in her bed, not without offering for her. Soon, though. Soon they would leave Salzburg and Oliver would propose properly. The promise of such a future soothed him until that waking apprehension was a distant quiver in his blood. He slowly eased strands of hair away from her cheek, from her forehead, until he had a clear view of her flawless profile. Her nose was pushed against the muscle of his upper arm, but the rest of her face was relaxed, peaceful, beautiful in the cradle of sleep. He dared not even consider the series of events that had brought them both to such a moment. To look too closely at their history would reveal all the little turns and twists that could have kept them apart forever. Even as his body stirred to life, intent on enjoying Greta once again, Oliver knew his affection for her had changed. She was no longer an obsession or a curiosity. She was his love. The proof of it was in his heart, which seized at the thought of awakening to a morning�"any morning for the rest of his life�"and not finding Greta at his side. �śSuch a gift,” he whispered, softly kissing her forehead. But the sweet, rose-tinted scent of her hair did more than comfort him with the reality of her presence. He inhaled deeply, then again, drawing her inside. The echoes of her soft cries made him close his eyes, savoring the wonder of her passion. She liked to tease him until his only goal was making her gasp, loving her harder, more intensely, until her giddy smiles turned to moans. Mere seconds passed before his cock was fully rigid, eager for her wet, welcoming body. He shifted slightly so that her breasts pillowed against his ribs. With his hand at her hip, he began swirling languorous circles along her bare skin. The curve of her backside was warm beneath the coverlet, warm and perfectly rounded. He decided that the dip along her lower back was surprisingly erotic. Not so obvious as her other attributes, that valley was exceedingly intimate territory. No other man had ever touched her there. No other man ever would. Floating on the sparkling heat of his early-morning arousal, Oliver thought the first distant rumble must be thunder. But the second�Ś His memories of Greta’s lovemaking were replaced by far worse, far more distant images. Cannon fire and explosions. Men’s bodies ripped to pieces. He tensed and jerked upright in bed. Greta stirred, her sleep-drenched face a picture of confusion. �śWhat is it?” �śBe still,” he said. She did as she was told but with a frown. Oliver absorbed one more long look of her glorious nudity. He grabbed his trousers and kicked into them, abusing the garment as if it were responsible for cutting short a morning full of such potential. The nearest window was open just a crack. He pushed the glass panes as wide as they would go and stuck his head out-of-doors. �śOliver, you’re scaring me.” Another rumble of thunder. But it was not a storm approaching. The faint, hair-raising whiff of gunpowder on the breeze said as much. �śYou must get up, Greta.” The back of his throat stung as if he had been inhaling that acrid stench for weeks and weeks. Once he had. As a soldier there had been times when he despaired of ever taking another clean breath. �śThe estimates were wrong. We do not have three days to evacuate. Likely we only have hours.” �śNapoleon?” Her eyes were impossibly wide�"so much confidence and spirit in her suddenly rendered terrified. Downstairs, the first stirrings of the Venner household still maintained the regular cadence of an ordinary morning. He envied them these moments of ignorance. Oliver grabbed his shirt and tugged it on. �śYes, meine Liebe. It’s Napoleon. The French are here.” Chapter Twenty-Six Salzburg was in chaos. The streets pulsed with fear-stricken citizens running and pushing their way through. But Oliver had little time to consider the state of the city, let alone the meeting he had been set to attend with Karl that morning. �śGet the horses ready, now!” He had managed to hold his temper until the latest bomb made the chandeliers rattle. The closeness of the advancing army seemed to strike the servants dumb�"with fright, with curiosity, with surprise. They stopped and stared at one another, slack-jawed, every time another cannonball hit its distant target. The troops were still over the mountains. They had until nightfall at least, but everyone behaved as if Napoleon himself was ready to charge into the foyer. But what time was that to move an entire household? Only the most prized family heirlooms could be saved. Getting them packed and stowed would take time. Choosing which members of the staff would stay and which would go�Śthat would be agonizing as well. Nobles such as the Venners were at grave risk of outright execution by Napoleon’s bloodthirsty troops. Everyone else, however, stood a good chance of surviving the siege and occupation to come, but that did not account for the potential violence of bored soldiers and stray munitions fire. Any servant who stayed might die. The weight of that choice�"one he continued to put off�"was stealing his patience and tact. On the verge of letting loose another tirade against a slothful groom, Oliver felt a hand on his sleeve. He turned to find Greta standing there, her face a picture of composure that his guts dearly envied. �śOliver,” she said, her eyes and voice steady. And that was enough. She was like a stiff drink, warm and soothing. He had once believed her a wild woman�"she still was�"but for him she was a calming reminder. Each task in its own time. How did she know to do that? How had he survived for so long, needing that understanding but doing without? Oliver gripped Greta’s cool fingers and kissed the back of her hand. �śDanke,” he whispered against her skin. She offered a forgiving smile, then glanced toward the portmanteau tucked into a nearby corner. �śI’ve packed. I have nothing more to do. How can I help?” �śGo to Ingrid, bitte. The nanny is gathering things for Franz, but Ingrid will need help directing the other packing. Valuables and such.” �śWhere is Lord Venner?” �śAt the Residenz, making one last attempt to stave off the inevitable. We received word two hours ago that an emissary from Napoleon’s people had arrived to talk terms.” �śTerms?” �śOf surrender.” The little color in her cheeks drained away. �śWill that prevent the city’s destruction?” �śIt did last time.” He remembered the fear and panic that had claimed the city when Napoleon’s troops occupied Salzburg less than five years earlier. At that time, nothing had required Oliver’s attention other than earning a secure place with his bachelor half brother. Now he and Christoph both had more to lose. �śWe cannot rely on that happening. We must be on our way to Anhalt by dusk.” After a quick glance around, Greta stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. �śThe Venners are in good hands. I’ll do what I can.” She turned and hurried up the stairs before he could even offer his thanks. Oliver prided himself on being able to read even the subtlest expressions, but the resignation�"a resignation that bordered on sadness�"in Greta’s eyes was beyond his comprehension. Something was troubling her and had been since his confession. There was a tension between them now that had not been apparent before. Greta stuffed a blanket around a painting and carefully wedged it into an overstuffed chest of valuables. �śI doubt we can fit any more.” �śYou’re right. Seal it up, bitte.” With Franz on her shoulder, Ingrid bobbed up and down as she assessed the small stack of possessions. Three chests, two soft-sided bags, and a few assorted swords and larger antiques sat in the middle of her bedroom floor. �śThis is ridiculous,” she said with a sneer. �śWhat does it matter? Enough now, Greta, my dear. They’re just things.” �śBut they will smooth the way to safety.” Ingrid made a sour face. �śIf Venner’s relatives won’t take us in, I’m not sure I want to associate with them. But I suppose I cannot be picky.” Another distant explosion was enough to make the glass windowpanes shudder in their casements. Franz, who had been nearly asleep, bellowed with all his might, although his newborn lungs did not produce much by way of volume. Ingrid closed her eyes and tried to soothe him. Greta stood away from the locked trunk, her own knees unsteady. Salzburg. Under attack. She had lived through the last occupation in the relative comfort of her uncle’s manor. The plight of the people in harm’s way had seemed so distant at the time, when Thaddeus’s coffers had been plentifully stocked. He had simply paid the French to bypass his estate. But the move had bankrupted him, save his collection of artwork. Now there would be nothing to stave off occupation. No matter their differences, she hoped her forgeries would do their job. If he could safeguard the originals through the war, Thaddeus might still be able to marry Anna and Theresa to suitably wealthy and influential husbands. If not, Greta might never see them again. But she could not assume that responsibility. Thaddeus was their father. She had done all she could to give him the resources to secure her cousins’ futures. Now she had her own future to think about. A future with Oliver in Anhalt. Lord Venner appeared in the doorway. Ingrid rushed into his arms. She babbled an update on the household’s readiness�"or lack thereof�"while he held her and little Franz, his expression crestfallen. �śWhat of the emissary?” she asked at last. �śNo terms.” Ingrid shook her head. �śWhat do you mean, no terms?” �śThe emissary said that the French are not prepared to offer any terms. They will occupy Salzburg.” Greta tried to breathe past the buzz in her ears. �śWhat about the duke? Surely he would use his influence with Napoleon.” �śOh, hello, Greta,” Venner said, only just realizing her presence. �śNo, I’m afraid Ferdinand already has plans, none of which involve remaining here to bear the brunt of Salzburg’s troubles. He’s packing his family for Vienna, then on to Tuscany.” Long-ago memories of that night at the opera returned in force. Greta touched her throat with one hand and reached out for a washstand with the other, steadying her balance. �śSo that�Śthat man was right. The one who attacked me.” �śHis acuity does not excuse his actions, naturally, but yes.” Venner’s face appeared far older than his years. The fight for his city was over. �śHe was right. And now we are left with no option but to flee. No aristocrat will be safe here.” A trio of burly men, their faces limed with a sheen of sweat, knocked and asked permission to enter. Oliver followed them into the bedchamber, directing their strong backs and arms. �śThese, Ingrid?” he asked. �śJa.” Her voice caught on that single word. �śGood. Then with the four of us, we can fit eight more people in the carriages.” �śEight? That’s all?” Oliver shrugged, his expression apologetic. �śWe only have so much room.” �śForget the trunks, then,” Ingrid said. �śThe bags and this chest. That’s all. Everything else of value was shipped on to Anhalt weeks ago.” Venner frowned. �śYou’re certain?” �śNow we can fit ten people, yes? Maybe eleven?” His gaze intent, Oliver seemed to make some silent calculation. �śI’ll see what I can do.” �śGood.” �śAnd I’ll ride on horseback,” Greta added. Venner and Oliver both grunted their protests, but she remained adamant. �śThere’s no need for me to take up one of those spaces. If the goal is to get out of the city, then why not?” Oliver still appeared uneasy with the offer. The lines around his mouth were tight, his eyes narrowed. �śFine. But I’ll ride too.” Oliver coughed as he stepped outside. The streets were even more crowded by the afternoon, when the stink of gunpowder was a low, heavy cloud over the valley. Memories of war clawed over him so that accomplishing the simplest tasks became a matter of navigating two different crises�"one from years ago, and one in the hectic present. �śThey’re doing it for show,” Oliver muttered as he boosted into his horse’s saddle. �śThey have so much ammunition that they can try blowing up the mountain, just to terrify everyone.” �śIt’s working,” Greta said. The skin along her cheekbones was a sickly shade of light gray, tight and waxy with fear. �śHow did you stand this as a soldier?” �śI could shoot back.” He glanced uneasily at the main carriage�"one of two in their small procession�"as it lumbered forward. �śAnd I didn’t have quite so many people to worry about. Just myself and whichever man was crouched in the mud next to me. Open the gate!” A lad of no more than ten hauled on the wrought iron gate until it gaped open. He stood silently by as the carriages rolled past. �śMikel,” Oliver called to him. �śNow find your mother and take cover.” Greta turned her head to follow his departure. �śWhere will he go?” �śHis mother is a seamstress with a family on Judengasse.” Oliver took one look back at the Venners’ empty home. They had managed to cram Christoph, Ingrid, baby Franz, and twelve people into the carriages, with another six armed men on horseback to keep them safe. Their mounts would serve as replacement horses along the journey to Anhalt. Everyone else had abandoned the manor. They would stand a better chance of avoiding plunder and violence if they stayed with common folk. �śOliver, there’s nothing more you can do.” �śAnd that’s a terrible feeling.” He squeezed the reins in frustration. But Greta was right. He could do nothing more. His job now was to see the carriages and their precious cargo out of the city. �śYou ready?” Greta nodded once, then urged her horse forward. Oliver tapped his heels into his mount’s flanks, moving alongside her in the packed streets. Carriages lined Kaigasse. People, their backs and arms laden with possessions and small children, filled in every cranny of space. The Venners’ vehicles had progressed only the length of three houses. With patience and slow moves, Oliver drew his horse even with the rearmost of their family guards. �śDieter, I’m going on ahead to help clear a path. Will you stay with Greta, please?” The guard’s white-blond hair looked almost ghostly as the air thickened with smoke. �śOf course, sir.” �śGood. Greta, I won’t be long.” He put more urgency into his command of the horse, forcing the animal’s body through the crowd. As the weakened autumn sun shone down on desperate faces, the push of bodies was nearly too much to overcome. But Oliver continued on. He fought to the front of the Venners’ lead carriage, greeting two more of their guards with a grim nod. �śSlow going, sir,” one said. �śI can see that. Do what you can to clear a path farther ahead. I’ll stay here.” �śYou armed, sir?” the other asked. Oliver patted his hip where his muzzle-loading pocket pistol rested heavily. He had not worn it since surviving combat. He certainly had no desire to use it, there among Salzburg’s anguished citizens, but he would not leave his people unprotected. �śI’ll be fine. Go now.” He watched as the two large men fared better at shoving a little distance between bodies. God, it ripped at his heart. These people had so little. It seemed wrong to try and shove carriages down such a street. But the future of his family depended on getting clear. He had little of Christoph’s faith that their relatives in Anhalt would offer sanctuary without being reimbursed. In an odd way, at that moment, he could understand Thaddeus Leinz’s desperate actions. What would he risk if he had daughters to protect? What decisions would he make, perhaps later to regret? Probably too many, but immediate threats crystallized what was important. A cannon fired with a tremendous boom�"a mere mile away, if that. The blast rumbled the ground and blew out the windows of two nearby buildings. Women screamed. Two horses reared up on their hind legs, scattering the crowd. A scene that had been polite chaos turned ugly. Two men fought with bloodied fists, although Oliver hadn’t been privy to the scuffle’s origin. Every inhale of gunpowder shuttled him back to distant battlefields. �śSir!” One of the guards had turned back. �śA carriage with a busted axle is blocking the way.” Oliver was off his horse in a blink. He rounded up four of the guards and handed the horses off to one of them. �śThe rest of you, with me.” They shoved through the crowd and came to the carriage, a grand vehicle with gilt trimming over black lacquer. Its occupants were still inside. �śOut! Now!” Oliver yanked open the door. When the startled couple and their servants would not exit, they were none-so-kindly assisted by the Venners’ guards. �śYou’re blocking the way for the entire street.” �śWe were waiting for our man to return with the tools to fix it.” Oliver recognized him as a banker named Klaus Jensen. �śHerr Jensen, your man is probably across the Salzach and halfway to Vienna by now. We must get this carriage out of the way.” Without waiting for a reply, Oliver and the other men worked on moving the vehicle to one side of the road. His head hurt, as if he’d run for miles in the blazing heat without a single drink of water. His back ached and his arms screamed for mercy, but he worked as fiercely as the guards who’d all been hired for their brawn. Urgency was like a potion making him stronger and more determined. Slowly, with patience and brute strength, he and the men shuffled the carriage on a lazy diagonal toward the right side of the road. Almost immediately the glut in the street eased. The larger vehicles were able to cut through with room to spare, and the people calmed with more space between shoving bodies. Oliver pushed back toward the lead carriage, only to find it had moved past. That alone seemed a victory worth celebrating, but he would save all such sentiments for when they were safely across the Salzach. With only two main bridges to cross the river, their struggles with cloying crowds were far from over. He caught up with the second carriage and looked around for Greta as he remounted. She was nowhere to be seen. �śGreta?” Another cannon blast rocked the afternoon air. People on foot crouched low, shielding one another. A chunk of brick from a listing overhang dropped to the ground, shattering. More screams, like the braying of animals just before slaughter. Oliver kicked his mount into motion, making an awkward circle of both carriages. The street was madness, compressed on all sides by too many buildings, bodies and nerve-shredding explosions. To lose only one person to such a scene was probably fortunate, when it had the potential to swallow up whole families. But that one person was Greta. When he found Dieter, he shouted, �śWhere is she? Fr�ńulein Zweig?” The man’s round face turned an unhealthy gray color. �śShe was just here, sir!” �śWhen?” �śWhen you were moving the carriage. She was here beside me, watching too. I remember that, sir.” �śDamn,” Oliver said under his breath. �śYou saw nothing else?” Dieter shook his head, then started among their party to seek information. Something cold crept up Oliver’s spine. Whatever had happened was not Greta’s doing. She was reckless, but she knew to keep herself safe. With him. �śSir?” Dieter’s face had taken on an ashen tinge. �śJutta says Fr�ńulein Zweig was arguing with a man.” Oliver’s pulse jumped. �śAnother man?” �śYes, sir, and the man she described�"sounds like the man who was at the concert. The highborn fella with fancy clothes you had me�Śhandle.” Karl? Bloody hell. He swiveled the horse away. With her name a chant in his mind, Oliver pushed toward the lead carriage and pounded on it. �śVenner!” Christoph poked his head out the open window. Sweat covered his flushed face�"probably the only time he had ever ridden in the coach packed to bursting with people. �śWhat?” �śI can’t find Greta.” Even saying that was difficult, admitting the extent of his terror. But seeing that fear reflected on Christoph’s face was more than he could stand. �śYou’re sure?” �śI’m sure. I’ve been all around the carriages. I�ŚI think Karl has her.” �śKarl?” �śBaron Hoffer.” The choice was so clear. His brother’s family, the best friend of his youth, or the woman he loved. Oliver’s heart was being yanked into pieces over such a decision, but he could make no other. Greta’s words came back to him. Even when faced with losing me, you chose your duty? You chose them? Maybe that was why she had held back. He had become obsessed with her, had taken mad chances for her, had fallen in love with her. But he had yet to prove that she was first and foremost in his life. And Karl�"their showdown had been months in coming. There would be no more holding back. If he hurt Greta�Ś But Oliver shoved the thought out of his mind. He faced his brother and tipped his chin toward the interior of the carriage. �śTake care of Ingrid and that little man of yours. I’ll meet you in Anhalt. Promise.” �śWhere are you going?” Although Christoph asked the question, his expression said he knew the answer�"and approved. Oliver settled his hat more firmly on his head and gripped the reins. �śI am going to find her.” Chapter Twenty-Seven Greta heard the cannons crawling nearer with every booming explosion. But she could not see a thing. Karl, the so-called Baron Hoffer, had hauled a burlap sack over her face. She could no more determine where he’d taken her than she could escape. Her hands and ankles were bound and looped together behind her back. If she could breathe, she’d scream. Terror, however, had stolen her voice, her wits, her hope. No, she had a little hope left�"that Oliver would notice her absence and come find her. That hope, however, was harder to nurture as the explosions grew louder and her limbs went numb. Where would he look? How would he even know that his old friend had captured her, when simply getting lost in that mad crowd was the more likely conclusion? And a dark, niggling doubt said he would not leave the Venners. He loved her, but how much? No. She had to believe. She held tight to that fact as she waited for Karl to make a mistake. The man returned from wherever he’d gone, his shuffling, stumbling steps indicating that he remained half-inebriated. Greta held wholly still, not daring to breathe lest he carry out whatever plan he’d hatched. Not knowing what lay in store was the most dreadful part. He could intend anything. Anything at all. She stifled a shiver. If he freed her hands�Ś �śThere you are, pretty.” The slur of his words was stronger now. Another bomb blast shook the building. The hollow feel of the movement suggested they were on a second or third floor. God, how was she going to get free? Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe Napoleon’s men would storm the city and find her the victim of some unknown crime. Oliver would never locate her in time. Rough hands hauled her upright, bending her ankles back at an odd angle. Greta cried out. Karl only laughed, which suggested that he had no fear of being discovered. Her spirits sank even deeper. He yanked off the sack, grinning, his face mere inches away. �śThere you are.” Although her ankles burned, Greta was grateful for the gulps of cooler air. Sweat made her hair stick to her cheeks and neck. Her gown felt like it had been adhered to her body with wallpaper paste. �śWhat do you want?” �śWant? Not so much, young Fr�ńulein.” �śYou have no right to hold me here.” She tugged surreptitiously at the ropes but they budged not a bit. �śProbably not.” His grin widened. �śBut here you are nonetheless.” �śLet me go. You know my uncle is a wealthy man. You’ll be paid whatever you ask.” Karl laughed outright. He stood away from her, dusting his hands as if touching her had been a foul experience. �śI very much doubt that. He’s nearly destitute and we both know it.” �śHe has other assets.” �śPaintings, perhaps?” Something about the mischievous glint in his eyes sent a shiver down Greta’s back. �śAmong other things, yes.” �śBut I wonder, would he want you back? Your work for him is finished now, and you’ve been�Śshall we say, compromised.” Karl’s gaze crawled down her body. �śWas he good, Fr�ńulein? Our dear Oliver?” That shiver turned into a full-on shudder. His expression, his posture�"he reeked of lunacy. Greta had never felt comfortable around him, but now he seemed stripped of any semblance of humanity. �śOliver will know where we are,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. �śOh, I’m counting on it! Although, forgive me if I don’t believe you know where we are.” He walked across the room to a collection of items hidden by a tarp. Greta took the opportunity to assess her surroundings, but Karl was right. She did not know their location. The room was neither large nor small, neither elegant nor impoverished. It was simply a room, one with a high ceiling and four windows. The sun shone through those windows, indicating they faced west. No candles or lamps could be seen. When the sun set, they would be alone together in the dark. She did the unthinkable then. She willed Napoleon’s troops to hurry. Karl whipped the tarp up and away, revealing a sizeable collection of vases, trinkets, clothes, a jewelry box and a stack of canvases. Some of the canvases remained in frames but others had been rolled. He picked up one of the framed paintings and brought it to where Greta sat half-propped against the wall. �śNow, my pretty, who painted this?” Greta recognized the piece as one from her uncle’s collection. �śIt’s mine. I painted it.” �śLiar.” He said the word so softly that it almost sounded like an endearment. �śTry again.” �śIt’s a Murillo. Bartolomé Esteban Murillo.” �śCorrect! Very good.” �śYou stole it from my uncle.” �śIndeed.” �śHow?” �śEver notice how little mind some masters pay their servants? Perhaps you were guilty of such neglect too, before Oliver taught you what flesh and bone lives behind the uniforms.” �śYou worked for him. Last summer.” �śTrue. And you wouldn’t believe how easy it can be to tempt fellow servants into revealing a household’s secrets.” He rubbed his chin. �śIn that way, you must admire Venner’s scheme with Oliver. To have a servant in your ranks who you trust never to be corrupted? What an asset.” Greta worked at the ropes, but they only wore away the skin of her wrists. She felt blood. �śSo you bribed my uncle’s staff and stole them. Did you steal the rest of that pile as well?” He set the frame aside and crawled, slowly, very deliberately, toward Greta. His face shone with an unnatural fervor. �śI did,” he whispered, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. �śIt’s amazing the leeway a host will give a man of quality�"unfettered access to very lucrative rooms. Baron Hoffer has been busy this summer and will emerge from this war a very wealthy man.” �śIf you escape. Napoleon’s men will be here any moment.” �śDon’t be so hysterical, my dear.” He straightened her legs, then straddled her. She had a nauseating view of his groin. �śWe have time. See, I didn’t have the chance with you that I wanted in Leinz Manor. That was a warning. Today, however, is all about taking action.” Greta swallowed, refusing to look up, refusing to look where he wanted her to. But he grabbed her face and forced her head up. �śYou ruined my paintings.” �śI wish I could call you a clever girl, but I left behind so many clues.” �śDid you retrieve the forgery from Maria Lucca’s as well?” �śI did. Your fool uncle nearly managed to ruin everything with that mistake. I decided to correct it. But I wouldn’t have gone to the trouble had I known Oliver actually intended to go through with becoming an art thief.” He traced her bottom lip with his thumb. �śAh, dear Oliver. Imagine what he would’ve felt had he come up to your room, expecting to find his woman warm and waiting�"only to find you dead. I suppose I regret that, in a way. Now I have a few moments with you, yes, but he may never see your body when I’m through. Or will the bombs get to us first?” �śWhy?” she rasped. �śYou have the paintings. Why do this?” �śBecause I want to. Because, after all this time, I’ll hurt him as he deserves to be hurt.” �śOliver?” �śBrat bastard that he is, yes. Had he helped me with the Venners or another family, none of this would be happening to you, my dear. I would’ve been married to some wealthy widow, happily on my way to the life I deserve.” He slid his palm around to the base of her neck and gripped her hair, holding her head firmly in place. �śBut he was too good for that, even though he’s hardly more worthy than the rest of us commoners. He owes me, Greta. But now I have your paintings, and I’ll soon have you.” Her mind had gone hazy with dread. She could only slump there, bound, her hair like reins leading a horse. Limbs that had once tugged against binding ropes had gone numb. But when Karl dipped one hand toward his trouser buttons, the fear burned away in a blinding white light. She used all her might to ram the top of her head into his crotch. Karl groaned. The force of her attack propelled him off balance. His fingers, however, were still tangled in her hair. He took a chunk with him when he fell. Despite the burning pain and the numbness in her limbs, Greta pushed away from the wall. She slammed her shoulder into the area around Karl’s right kidney, then righted herself and prepared to land her knee against his windpipe. He grabbed the ropes binding her arms. A hard yank upward held her still. �śBitch,” he snarled. He yanked again. Greta could either stand or suffer her arms being pulled out of socket. Her legs would not cooperate. She fell back to the ground, her knees connecting sharply with the wood floor. Something in her shoulder popped. Karl grabbed her by the back of the neck, forcing her forward. She sprawled on her stomach. His weight pressed her hard against the wood floor. His hands were on the backs of her calves. He tugged the hem of her dress up toward her spine. Cool air shivered across her bare thighs. �śA valiant effort, Fr�ńulein.” His breath was a moist blast of heat on her cheek. �śOne I do hope you’ll continue. This will be a delight.” Oliver looked over the scrawled note he’d found among Greta’s slashed paintings. At the glassmaker’s shop, it read, in addition to the date and hour of the proposed meeting. That time had come and gone, but perhaps the location remained the same. Whatever purpose Karl intended would soon be revealed. With blood and breath pumping in unison, he began the short but fraught push across Residenzplatz. It was all he could do to keep his temper in check as worried families and terror-stricken nobles fought for their few inches of space. Another cannon blast rocked above the human din. They were so close now. A reflexive worry made him think of Christoph and Ingrid. He could almost envision their harried push across the Salzach. But his brother was strong, smart and exceedingly protective. Oliver’s commitment now was to his own heart�"to Greta. His face was covered with sweat and his shirt soaked through as he reached the Dom’s high towering walls. A whole other town square separated him from his destination. He kept a feeling of calm high and center in his mind. Steady going. Keep moving. Compared to Kaigasse, where so many nobles and wealthy burghers made their homes, Judengasse was relatively quiet. Not everyone, it seemed, was fleeing to the east side of the river. Their lives had not changed much for better or worse since Duke Ferdinand came to power three years before. Why would it change much now, if Napoleon installed a new leader? Oliver guided his horse past the groups of gossips. He came to the glassmaker’s shop and tied the animal to a post. A woman in a red apron stood outside smoking a rolled piece of tobacco. Her smile was youthful and welcoming, but her teeth were tinted an ugly yellow. �śWell, hello,” she said. �śI need to get into the storeroom above your shop.” Before the woman could protest or decline, Oliver dragged a bag of florins out of his pocket. He simply handed them to her, then stalked into the shop. �śStairs are in the back on the left,” she called as he pressed on. His doubts were compounding now. What if she wasn’t here? What if Karl had already harmed her? He shoved that possibility aside as he climbed upstairs. The muffled sound of a struggle urged him to action. Oliver drew his pistol from its holster and kicked the door in. What he found�Śhe had never seen anything more hideous. Karl, his trousers gaping open at the waist, knelt over Greta. She was bound. Her backside had been bared. Oliver aimed the gun and fired. The bullet pierced Karl’s right shoulder, just above the lung. The force of it spun him back and away from Greta. He rolled to face the ceiling, hands clutching his wound, blood and curses oozing out of him. Oliver had his sword in hand as soon as Karl hit the floor, bypassing Greta in favor of checking the fallen man for weapons. A few quick seconds later, Oliver was satisfied. Karl was unarmed. Resisting the urge to kick the man in the head, Oliver returned the pistol to its holster and his attention to Greta. Tears had made a wet mess of her hair. The bright blue eyes he adored so much were rimmed with red. A new surge of anger made his hands shake as he covered her nudity. The ropes took longer than usual, he knew, because his fingers refused to cooperate. Numbness made each knuckle clumsy. The raw red scrapes on her wrists and ankles inspired a killing rage. Freed, she dove into his arms, saying his name over and over. �śI knew you’d come.” Karl’s breath was choppy. Perhaps that bullet had found his lung after all. Oliver could not find it in himself to be sorry. �śI only hoped it would be later.” �śWhy do this?” Oliver asked. �śWhy hurt an innocent woman?” �śDo you remember that winter, Oliver?” Shivers and hunger, pain and hopelessness. Of course he remembered. It was one of the few things he had ever actively tried to forget. But some events became as much a part of a body as bone and skin. �śYou know I do,” he said. �śThen you know why I wanted to hurt her.” Oliver shook his head sharply. �śExplain it to me and I’ll send for a doctor.” �śAt this hour? With the little French butcher on his way? Unlikely.” Karl’s eyes had started to glaze over. �śYou really don’t know.” Greta had dragged her head up from Oliver’s chest. She pushed the tangled hair out of her face. �śWhat is this about? What happened?” �śHe stayed behind, my lovely.” Karl coughed and sputtered as his breath became less dependable. Blood dribbled from one corner of his mouth. �śOn that last mission. You were still too sick. I had to go alone.” Oliver frowned. Could it be? �śIf you’d gone with me, I wouldn’t have been captured.” Another wracking cough. �śDo you know what I endured in that prisoner camp? Two years of hell.” �śYou blame me for that? Karl, I was ill. In bed. Fighting for my life. That you and your team were captured was no fault of mine.” �śYou weren’t there for me! Just like you’ve abandoned me now!” �śI’m sorry.” Oliver’s voice was tight like a vise. �śI’m sorry you were captured. I’m sorry that whatever you endured in prison turned you into�Śinto this. But I will not bear the burden of your agony. And I certainly will not allow you to hurt Greta, some warped means of punishing me.” �śYou were never who you claimed, you know.” Karl was becoming more pale by the second. His legs twitched. �śYou ran around like a commoner, like the rest of us. Now look at you. You’ll take your place with Venner and marry this strumpet and forget about me. Traitor,” he spat. The scream of another whizzing cannon blast cut through the tension. Greta flinched in Oliver’s arms. �śWe’re going,” Oliver said. �śAnd you’re wrong. I won’t forget you. I will simply try to forget what you’ve become.” He stood and slowly helped Greta to her feet. �śNumb,” she whispered. �śLean on me.” He took the slight weight of her body against his own, grateful beyond belief that he had arrived in time. They were halfway to the door when Greta made him stop. �śThe paintings,” she said. �śPaintings?” �śThe missing originals. He had them.” She crossed the room with staggering steps. Her arms were not steady enough to hold what she found there. Oliver bundled the dozen rolled paintings in the nearby tarp, securing it over his shoulder. There was no time to free the rest from their frames. Oliver looked upon his dying friend once more. Karl’s eyes lolled back in his head. But then he blinked once more and turned the full force of his mad hatred at Oliver. �śGood-bye, Karl.” �śBurn in hell, mein alter Freund.” Turning away, Oliver promised himself he’d mourn later. Right now he had to get Greta out of the city before it crumbled. They emerged into the semi-darkness of late afternoon. Greta coughed on the stink of gunpowder, so potent now. Her feet were shredding with pain as circulation returned. But Oliver�ŚOliver held her upright and urged her to keep moving. �śThe horse is gone,” he muttered. But he didn’t stop moving. He turned them toward the river, where people still surged over the inadequate bridges. She felt as if her mind had left her body. It was hovering somewhere over the water, watching as she and Oliver maneuvered through the crowd. A deep coldness crept up from her fingers and toes. Soon she was shaking so badly that she could not walk. �śGreta?” How had she wound up sitting on the pavement? �śGreta, look at me.” Oliver’s warm hands framed her face. His icy blue eyes were distant, mesmerizing stars. �śGreta, stay with me, Liebe. You’ve weathered a great shock.” Her teeth chattered. �śWas�Śso�Śscared.” �śI know you were. I know.” He pulled her close against his chest. His heart beat steadily, quickly. She concentrated on that speedy rhythm, but it seemed too fast, too far away to follow. Darkness lined the edges of her eyes, pushing inward, until it blotted out the yellows and oranges of sunset. What was the use of a blind painter? Better just to sleep. At first she could not make sense of his words. Oliver’s voice was just another part of a dream. But he kept talking. And soon his words cut through her fog. �śWhen I went back to where you’d been�Śand found you gone�ŚGreta, I cannot tell you how I panicked.” The darkness had receded, only just. She gripped the open fabric of his shirt. A huge explosion ripped to life only a few buildings away. The force of the cannonball tore apart a town home. People screamed as rubble rained into the street. �śCan you walk?” Oliver asked, his expression determined. �śI know it will be difficult, but I need you to do this.” She nodded. She would not die. Not now. With Oliver’s help she made it to her feet. Dizziness still washed across her vision, but she blinked it away like the last wisps of sleep. She clung to Oliver’s arm and followed his every move. Little hidden alleyways, back gardens and crevices between homes ushered them toward the river. More cannon fire, lobbed from the south, hurtled onto hapless buildings and screaming people. Bits of debris showered through the air, stinging Greta’s cheeks and arms. They reached the river. The nearest bridge was half a mile north and almost entirely impassable. �śWe’ll never make it that way,” Oliver said. �śWe have to try.” An explosion was near enough that heat climbed up her back. He took her hand and ran. They headed north, no matter how hopeless the bridge appeared. Greta sent up a quick prayer and gripped Oliver’s hand all the tighter. The sky was beginning to darken. Every flare of munitions turned the night into a warped, flame-colored version of day. The push onto the bridge took all Greta’s strength, all her resolve, but she could not stop. They were so close. She caught Oliver’s eye and offered him a tired but determined smile. Greta had never been so fatigued, so weary, so utterly drained. Every bone was made of glue. Her head felt too light, as if it might float away and leave her that melted creature she’d been when collapsed on the pavement. Oliver held her. She leaned her back against his chest. Their bodies staved off the evening chill. Together they stood like that, overlooking the city from high atop a nearby mountain. Fires dotted the streets. Explosions continued to buffet the helpless buildings and the people huddled inside. Exhaustion shook her shoulders. They had made it out, but what of those left behind? Had Oliver made any mistake, she could be one of them�"bound, raped, left for dead in that anonymous storeroom. Even Oliver’s strong arms, the solidity of him, could not stave off a shiver. �śOliver!” came a man’s voice. Atop his horse, Venner galloped toward them. Oliver shouted his brother’s name and raced toward him on foot. The men met on the slope of a hill, where Venner dismounted. They exchanged a fierce embrace. Oliver’s smile was bright and wide. �śVerdammen Sie, I’m glad to see you.” Venner pointed up the road he’d traveled. �śThe carriages are two miles farther on the road toward Linz. I came back in the hopes of finding you both.” �śWorried about me, brother?” �śIntolerably.” Wearing a frown, Greta walked to meet them. Oliver scooped her into his arms and twirled her around. �śEverything’s all right,” he said. �śThey’re all safe.” It couldn’t be�Ś �śYou�Śyou didn’t know where they were?” More soberly now, Oliver regarded her with those clear, perceptive eyes. No painter, no matter how masterful, would ever capture that shade of blue. �śAs soon as I discovered you missing, I left them to find you.” After a painful swallow, she touched his cheek, his mouth, his hair. �śDear God, you chose me.” �śAnd I’d do it again.” Delight unlike anything she had ever felt threatened to make her giddy. The Venners were safe. They had all escaped the city. And Oliver�Ś �śYou chose me,” she whispered again. His mouth opened but he did not speak. Instead he kissed her�"such a gentle, unimaginable sweetness. Greta did not urge him toward a deeper intimacy. Not then. Not when the simple touch of lip to lip was more pleasure than the entire whole could summon. �śI love you,” he said. �śI put you second to my duties because I knew what loving you would mean. I would have to admit to my past, admit who I am. Maybe I would even have to live up to something greater than I’ve grown comfortable being. My family will always be very important to me. They’re all I’ve had for so long. But Greta�Ś” His voice broke. He kissed her on the temple and held her in trembling arms. �śI don’t know how I would’ve survived had Karl�"” �śShhh.” She covered his mouth with her fingers. �śDon’t. Please. Leave all of it in that room. I never want to go back there, even in memory.” Rather than revisit those terrible moments, Oliver gathered her close and held her tightly. Her champion and protector. The man she loved and who loved her in return. No reservations now. No doubts. Venner gently cleared his throat. When Greta emerged from the shelter of Oliver’s embrace, she found Venner looking out across the river, his attention carefully averted. �śThe guards have orders to continue on to Anhalt without me come dawn. We must hurry to catch up.” Oliver’s frown showed his concern. As always. It warmed her heart, making her the safest woman in the world. �śGreta, do you think you can make it?” �śWe can make it, mein Lieber.” She smiled softly. �śJust promise we’ll be together.” �śI promise.” Epilogue Principality of Anhalt Two Months Later The sounds of an orchestra tuning shouldn’t have been enough to make Oliver’s mouth go dry, but it did. For years he had endured the terrible sounds of battle, and for years after that he had crept through the shadows to keep the Venners well-positioned. Nothing should frighten him now. Yet he knotted his fingers behind his back, barely staving off a nervous jitter. Around him men in formal attire smoked fine cigars and swirled cognac in crystal glasses. They smiled and talked, lounged and laughed. Men of privilege, wealth, influence. Oliver had to stop himself from cringing, or asking outright, �śWhy am I here?” This was his life now. He wondered what the valets were doing. Where were they congregating, sharing stories and the rare plug of tobacco? They would be tucked away in some little anteroom, like he had been on the night of that fateful opera. Only now, instead of a soprano’s soaring voice echoing through the walls, it was a twenty-piece orchestra. Christoph slid into place beside him. He wore a most uncharacteristic grin, one that actually turned his lips fully upward. Funny how he still managed to look grim and stern, despite the smile. �śYou look uncomfortable,” he said. Oliver squelched a reflex to check his livery for correctness, from the proper alignment of his coat buttons to the perfect placement of his blasted wig. He wore no such uniform now. Instead he sported a brand new suit that was worth more than he’d made during all four years in the army. The cravat was so starched and precisely tied that he wondered how he would remove the thing. After all, he had not been the one to tie it. Oliver had a valet of his own now. He had felt the same way about the cravat he wore as a bridegroom. But Greta had managed to remove it with her usual aplomb and enthusiasm�"using only her teeth. His own grin sprang to life, surpassing even that of his teasing brother. �śRather uncomfortable, yes. The wedding was one thing. But this�Ś” He waved his hand discreetly toward the assembled peers and nobles. �śThis feels much more conspicuous.” �śProbably because your wedding was attended by only six people, including one fussy newborn.” �śProbably.” He had been a married man for all of five weeks. The idea of Greta well and truly sleeping by his side every night�"as his wife, no less�"still humbled him with a flushed sort of pride. His chest could not help but swell, and his body jerked to life. He loved her more than was sane. Which explained why he had agreed to this particular torment. �śIt’s not truly necessary, you know,” Christoph said. �śThere is no need to lead the first waltz of the evening. Cousin Ludwig will not mind if you decline. I know for a fact his oldest son is quite eager for the privilege with Lady Hildholtz.” �śTrue,” Oliver said under his breath, �śbut Lady Hildholtz is quite eager to spend time with his younger brother.” �śFact?” He merely shrugged. �śSome habits die hard. But shall I always be burdened by such honor?” �śI don’t see why not. The alternative is telling Greta that you’d rather back down from your promise.” Oliver could think of no more effective threat. Greta had her heart set on leading the first waltz, since having been asked to do so by Count Ludwig’s wife. �śTo celebrate you and your new husband,” she had said. He would have preferred, of course, to remain a quiet new addition to the family. Christoph had proclaimed him his brother, which silenced any overt discussions of Oliver’s parentage, but what if the stigma remained? What if he was never truly accepted into this world of finery? He feared ever being able to give Greta the life she deserved. No matter that he had become Christoph’s paid political advisor, part of him remained the hurting, thieving boy who’d been called before his father in shame. Marrying Greta, in some small way, still felt like deception. He feared the worst of Karl’s last sputtered accusations. �śLook around you,” Christoph said solemnly. �śLook.” The men in the smoking room chatted among themselves. No one paid them any mind. �śYou know how Lord Brunnen came into his title.” �śBy blackmailing his mistress’s father, yes,” Oliver said in a low voice. �śAnd Baron Wiltheizer.” �śBy selling the most exquisite cakes in Vienna and winning the heart of a widowed baroness with an uncontrolled sweet tooth.” �śSo tell me you don’t belong here. Our father was our father, Oliver, and he was wrong to treat you and your mother as he did. But it’s time to put that all behind us.” He leaned nearer, his expression serious. �śI’d be bored to pieces without you.” �śAnd ill-informed to boot.” �śExactly.” The doors to the ballroom opened. The count’s majordomo cleared his throat. �śMy lords and distinguished guests, the ladies await your company for the first waltz.” Oliver’s hands began to sweat. He surreptitiously wiped them on his trousers as his pulse raced. The battle he’d nearly won against doubt turned swiftly in its favor. But he had to let go�"of his father, of his past, of Karl’s ruined mind and sad fate. All of it. Then he saw Greta. She stood in the middle of the ballroom, alone, wearing a dress of the deepest midnight blue. The golden brilliance of her hair was piled in elaborate drapes and folds atop her head, with some gently touching her cheeks. She was smiling at him. She held out her hand. Oliver had no will�"not of his own, anyway. His will was dominated by the need to make this woman smile, to keep her happy and safe. Whatever hesitation he’d had about stepping out of the shadows faded for the last time. He loved her more than fear or pride or the history that picked at his confidence. Who was he to deny her what she wanted? And as she smiled in that devilish, teasing way of hers, it was obvious what she wanted. Her husband. He tugged the hem of his coat and tossed his brother a grin. The space between Oliver and Greta yawned open like a walk to a guillotine, but his long strides quickly consumed that distance. Taking one gloved hand in his own, he bowed formally and kissed her knuckles. When he straightened, he stood very, very near to his wife. The midnight blue gown perfectly presented her cleavage, which sent a rush of blood to his gathering erection. Rather than suffer that particular embarrassment, he took her in his arms, pulling her close as the music started. �śOh, my,” Greta gasped, her eyes widening. �śThe fault is entirely yours.” �śNo, blame my seamstress and my maid.” �śThey are merciless.” �śBut I am not. Dance with me, Oliver, my love, and you will be amply rewarded.” �śDone.” On the next count of three, they began. Oliver had never needed to learn to dance, but Greta had done her best to offer him private lessons. That each lesson had degenerated into naked romps�Śas love-smitten newlyweds, they could not be held accountable for their actions. �śAre you wearing gloves for any particular reason?” Greta screwed her pink lips into a frustrated pout. �śI was working late on my painting.” �śThe one of Salzburg burning.” �śIt’s the end of an era. I want to get it just right. Perhaps no one else will ever see it, but I need to do this.” After the French stormed in, Salzburg had been occupied for months�"with Duke Ferdinand having taken refuge in Vienna. A series of negotiations to end hostilities meant the city was handed over to the Austrians. Just like that, hundreds of years of independence came to an end. All the work to protect the city and its citizens had come to naught, a fact that still sat awkwardly on Oliver’s shoulders. But he knew he had to let it go. The whims of powers far greater than his had been in control. He focused instead on his wife. As always, loving her and keeping her safe came as easily as breathing. That was an obligation he would happily undertake for the rest of his life. �śI know I should take more care,” Greta continued, �śand Maria keeps complaining that I don’t leave enough time to prepare, but�Ś” �śBut you get inspired.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. �śPrecisely. No one understands me like you do.” With the trust of an innocent who had never been disappointed by her champion, she laid her head against his chest as they waltzed, lost to each other. Oliver finally released the breath he’d been holding. If ever he belonged anywhere in this world, he belonged right there, at that moment, dancing with his wife. �śDo you recognize the orchestra leader?” Greta asked, her voice almost sleepy. He required two turns before he caught sight of the conductor. Oliver would know that crazed hair anywhere. Arie De Voss. And at his side, as always, with a violin tucked under her chin, was Mathilda. �śThey made it out of the city,” he said, more than relieved. �śThey had been in Vienna for a concert. Ingrid contacted them and brought them here, just as she did with my cousins.” As if the mention of her name summoned her to the dance floor, Ingrid tugged Christoph into place. More couples followed. Soon the ballroom was filled with swirling, twirling partners, their steps guided by music. Oliver touched his forehead to his wife’s, overcome by emotion. It would take time but he would belong. Already he belonged to the people who mattered most. The rest would accept him in time, or they wouldn’t. It mattered little when compared to finally claiming the woman he loved. �śThank you,” he said. �śFor this.” �śYou’re welcome. Although if I could find a way to save your life a time or two, that might help me draw even.” �śDo not worry on that account, meine Allerliebste. You’ve given me this life�"a life out of the shadows, one filled with people who care for me. Filled with your love. Greta, for that I’ll always be grateful.” About the Author Born in California, raised in the Midwest, Carrie Lofty met her husband in England�"the best souvenir! After earning her master’s degree from Ohio State University with a thesis on Old West legends, she was excited to learn that other parts of the world have history, too�Śand then set about researching it all. Two precocious daughters and half a dozen moves later, she and her husband have settled just north of Chicago. Aside from maintaining an active presence with the Chicago North and Wisconsin chapters of the Romance Writers of America, Carrie enjoys science fiction movies and TV programs, jogging along Lake Michigan, Shakespeare, time spent with friends, and any opportunity to belly dance. RT Book Reviews declared of Carrie’s 2008 debut novel: �śLofty writes adventure romance like a born bard of old.” She also wrangles the talented authors of Unusual Historicals, a blog she founded in 2006 to celebrate historical romances set in unusual times and places. With Ann Aguirre, she co-writes hot ’n’ dirty apocalyptic paranormal romances as Ellen Connor. CarrieLofty.com | EllenConnor.com http://www.twitter.com/carrielofty http://www.facebook.com/AuthorCarrieLofty http://unusualhistoricals.blogspot.com Where no great story goes untold. The variety you want to read, the stories authors have always wanted to write. With new releases every week, your next great read is just a download away! Keep in touch with Carina Press: Read our blog: www.CarinaPress.com/blog Follow us on Twitter: www.twitter.com/CarinaPress Become a fan on Facebook: www.facebook.com/CarinaPress ISBN: 978-1-4268-9156-4 Copyright © 2011 by Carrie Lofty All rights reserved. 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