The Makeshift Marriage Read online

  It was not politely said and she was suddenly angry. She may have been guilty of reprehensible behavior a little while earlier, but her crime had not been deliberately committed and it ill became the likes of Sir Nicholas Grenville of King’s Cliff to behave as if it had! “I will endeavor to disturb your meal as little as is humanly possible,” she said coldly, turning her attention to her breakfast and, as she thought, ending the conversation with the last word.

  The last word, however, was to belong to him. “You will not disturb me at all for the moment, Miss Milbanke,” he said, getting to his feet, “For I am about to leave you in sole possession of the table. Good day to you.”

  She did not deign to reply or even to look up. He may have the looks of an angel, but his disagreeable manners damned him in her eyes! The word ‘gallant’ was probably not in his limited vocabulary! Still, no doubt his dear mama adored him! Laura spread marmalade on her toasted bread as if it offended her. Then she took a long breath. This was foolish; she had not come to Venice to be immediately put out by a toad like Sir Nicholas Grenville! She had come to enjoy herself, and enjoy herself she would!

  The marmalade had a pleasant sharpness that went well with the coffee. Thoughts of Sir Nicholas receded over the horizon and she contemplated instead the delights that lay before her. She looked around the room, the ceiling of which was so high that it took up two whole floors of the building. Immense chandeliers glittered in the smoky atmosphere and the red and gold decorations were elegant and pleasing. Gradually, however, she became uncomfortably aware that she was being observed. It was a disturbing sensation, one which made the hairs at the nape of her neck prickle a little and sent a cold shiver down her back.

  She turned sharply in the direction of that steady gaze. Among all those white uniforms there was one of a completely different hue, and she wondered how she had not noticed the tall, dark hussar before. His jacket was dark green, his tight breeches a bright crimson, and the fur-trimmed pelisse fixed casually over one shoulder was of the same dark green as the jacket. Black and gold braiding sparkled impressively and a red shako bearing the Austrian oak-leaf emblem lay on the table before him. He smiled at her in a way she found offensively forward and she looked coldly away to signify her disapproval. He continued to stare disconcertingly at her, a touch of amusement on his thin lips. His face was dark, as were his peculiarly intense eyes, and there was an ugly scar on his cheek.

  Her heart almost stopped when he stood, for she thought he was about to approach her, but instead he left the busy dining room, his tall, imposing figure drawing mixed glances from his fellow officers. He did not speak to any of them, nor they to him, and the atmosphere in the room lightened noticeably with his departure.

  Soon afterward, Laura left the dining room herself. She had forgotten the hussar, but then suddenly he was in the doorway before her and she almost collided with him. He must surely have been waiting there for her, although he managed to make the encounter appear to be accidental.

  With a gasp she stepped back from him, her blue eyes wide and startled.

  He bowed, smiling at her. “Entschuldigen Sie bitte, gnädige fräulein,” he murmured.

  “The—the fault was entirely mine, sir, for I was not paying attention.”

  “Ah, you are English…. Forgive me, dear lady, for barring your way.”

  His deep voice disturbed her as much as his burning gaze, and she muttered something hasty and unintelligible before hurrying past him and up the sweep of the grand staircase. As she went, though, she knew that he was still watching her, and the conviction that he had lain in wait for her grew with each step she took. Out of his sight, she halted at the top of the staircase to look back down at him.

  A sardonic smiled touched his thin lips and he tossed a coin lightly into the air, catching it deftly in a way that suggested he had found the answer to some irritating problem. Then he turned on his heel and left the hotel. She heard him calling a gondolier before the doors closed loudly behind him.

  She stood there a moment. She was afraid of him. There was something devilish about him and she knew instinctively that he was a man to avoid at all costs.

  Chapter 3

  The sun was high in the heavens when Laura emerged at last from the hotel to commence her first day of sightseeing. Her green parasol twirled gaily and a floating veil of embroidered net was draped over her satin bonnet. The perfume of orange blossom was strong from the small trees in their terracotta pots on the hotel steps and she remembered how cold it had been when she had left England and how the catkins had been the only color in the hedgerows. Spring had barely begun at home, but here it was well on the way to summer—

  An old man called a ganzier held a gondola alongside for her, and she was mindful of the guide book’s advice and took care to drop a coin into his outstretched hand. Realizing that the zentildonna was English and not one of the loathed Austrians, the gondolier grinned broadly at her, waving away the guide book she held. In halting English he promised that she would not need it, for he would show her all the many sights of the most beautiful city God in all His wisdom had ever created!

  Smiling, she sat back on the black leather seat beneath the gondola’s curtained felze. The little wrought-iron holder, which the night before had held a little light, now held a posy of fresh flowers, and the gondolier was already humming to himself as he poled his craft through the crush by the famous hotel. She felt sure now that she was in a dream, as indeed she supposed she was, for had she not dreamed of this moment every day since finding the book in her aunt’s library?

  At last the gondola was out on the shining water and Venice began to unfold before her. The pale gold and ocher reflections of the marble palaces shimmered in the dazzling water and the continuous lap-lap of the small tide against the gondola served to make everything seem even more dreamlike. Not even the relentless decay that pervaded everything could detract from the city’s unique charm. There was the infinite arch of the brilliant azure sky above and the mirrored shades of the water beneath—and in between the beauty that was Venice….

  She noticed incongruous things as well as the magnificent sights. The gondolier pointed out the Doge’s palace, but she noticed as well the bright red valerian growing in crevices, the flower heads so heavy that sometimes they bent to touch the rippling water. She was shown the Rialto Bridge, but glancing up at an open window she saw a tiny canary hopping from perch to perch in its gilded cage. The gondolier pointed away into the distance where stood the white marble gazebo where the tyrant Bonaparte had like to take his coffee, but in another window she saw a bowl of orange marigolds. Time passed swiftly, and even had this one morning been her only time here, she knew already that she had been right to squander her meager inheritance upon this journey. Saving it all would never have given her as much exquisite pleasure as this lazy excursion in a gondola.

  It was almost three o’clock in the afternoon before she realized that she had not taken her luncheon, and so she asked the gondolier to take her back to the hotel. He gave a disparaging sniff and remarked that he could not understand anyone wishing to take an Austrian meal when there was good Venetian fare to be sampled.

  She smiled. “I am sure the Hotel Contarini serves excellent food.”

  “Certainly. If you are an Austrian.” He removed his hat and placed it reverently against his chest. “As I swear upon the Blessed Virgin. Contarini serves only sausages, pickles and cold cabbage.”

  She laughed then, for she was certain that such mean fare would not find favor with the well-fed officers she had seen at breakfast. However, the hotel dining room would undoubtedly mean that wretched band playing again, and that would surely jar upon her after having savored Venice all morning.

  “Tell me then,” she said at last, “if you were going to eat now, where would you go?”

  “Fontelli’s,” he said promptly.

  She wondered slyly if he had an arrangement with the proprietor of Fontelli’s but perhaps she was being a l
ittle unchristian. “Very well, I too shall eat there,” she said.

  He beamed at her and turned the gondola. Her conviction that he did indeed have an arrangement with this particular eating house deepened when he took a very circuitous route through a great many narrow side canals before at last poling his craft toward some steps by a bridge. Some women were opening shellfish there and a crowd of beggars swarmed forward as the gondola nudged the steps. The gondolier leaped ashore to help Laura disembark and then turned to wave the beggars away imperiously, singling one out, however. He was a tall, burly fellow who did not look in the least as if he needed to beg for his livelihood, and Laura guessed that he and the gondolier were well acquainted. Was this play reenacted time after time, she wondered? No doubt they had an interest in the prosperity of Fontelli’s!

  The gondolier assured her that her new guide would look after her and that when she had eaten he would conduct her to another gondola. Thanking him, she paid the not-too-exorbitant price he charged, and then left the steps with the beggar. She felt a moment’s trepidation, for she did not know where she was going, but soon the uncertainty vanished as once again the magic of Venice folded over her. They walked up a narrow, busy street where there were stalls with colorful awnings, selling everything from stewed pears to grilled fish. Women sat on their doorsteps chattering loudly to one another as they peeled vegetables or mended garments, and there were children excitedly playing skittles down an alley. On the buildings that overlooked the street, there were strange carved heads. They had been much in evidence since she had left the hotel that morning, and now they seemed to watch her progress still, their lips drawn back in a snarl which should have been menacing and ferocious, but which in Venice was nothing of the sort.

  At last her guide led her into a small square, one side of which seemed to be entirely taken up by an eating house. It was crowded and obviously very popular with the Venetians. The beggar ushered her into a seat, accepted the coin she gave him, and then retreated to a shady corner at the far end of the square to wait for her. She sat there a little uncertainly, glancing at the several dishes being consumed at other tables. She did not recognize any of them and so felt a little foolish as a smiling serving girl appeared by her side. Taking a deep breath, Laura pointed at the next table where a well-to-do gentleman was eating something with obvious relish. The girl beamed and nodded, and a short while later a bowl was placed before Laura. It contained a dubious-looking piece of meat floating in what appeared to be a thin black soup. Her appetite dwindled as she stared at it.

  “Fraulein, I do not think you will enjoy what you have ordered.”

  She knew the voice even before she looked up into the hussar’s dark eyes. He stood there with his hands on his slender hips, his pelisse swinging as he placed one shining, spurred boot on a chair and leaned forward, smiling down at her. How could it possibly be coincidence that brought him to this very place at the same time as her? She believed in coincidence, but after her experience in the hotel that morning, she doubted very much that this was any such thing. It seemed only too likely that he had been following her, and as she looked up into his dark eyes she knew that her suspicion was correct. She felt cold suddenly, and more than a little frightened.

  He glanced at the bowl. “It will not be to your English taste, I think.”

  “Why?”

  “It is called calamari—squid cooked in its own ink.”

  Horrified, she pushed the bowl away.

  He smiled. “Permit me to order anew for you, Fraulein.”

  “Certainly not, sir! We have not been introduced and I know absolutely nothing about you.” Her words sounded prim and proper, but the last thing she wanted was to strike up any sort of acquaintance with this unnerving man.

  “Ah, etiquette,” he murmured. “Then I shall put matters right by introducing myself. Baron Frederick von Marienfeld of the Radetzky Regiment in the service of the Emperor of Austria.” He bowed smartly and clicked his heels together.

  How she wished he would go away. He was forcing himself upon her and she was uncertain of how to handle the situation. For the first time since leaving England she really wished she had a companion, but she did not, and he was waiting for her to reply. She felt cornered, and loathed herself, and him, when she meekly gave in to the pressure he was putting upon her. “My name is Miss Milbanke, sir.”

  He drew her hand to his lips. “I am charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss Milbanke. And now, I shall order something a little more palatable for you.” Without waiting for her reply, he sat down, snapping his fingers at the serving girl.

  “I—I’m not hungry, sir,” said Laura lamely.

  “Nonsense, you came here to eat, Fräulein, and eat you shall. Besides, propriety will not be offended by my assistance, Miss Milbanke. After all, we are allies, are we not?”

  “Allies?”

  “England and Austria.”

  “Oh. Yes.”

  “And so I will consider it a privilege if you allow me to order your luncheon for you.” He spoke briefly to the maid, who did not smile at him as she had smiled at Laura.

  Glancing around, Laura noticed for the first time how suddenly quiet the square was. The crowd of Venetians had vanished, including her beggar guide, and she was now quite alone with the baron. The golden alyssum tumbling over a nearby wall stirred audibly in the breeze, birds sang in the garden behind the eating house, and the sounds of Venice continued beyond the square—but at Fontelli’s everything was horribly quiet.

  The baron removed his red shako and leaned back in his chair, smiling a little at her apprehension on seeing how deserted the square now was. “I am not welcome in this city, and neither are any of my countrymen. The people of Venice are fools, are they not? With Austria as their overlord they are more prosperous than they have been in centuries.”

  “The conquered never love their conquerors, sir.”

  “It does not concern me what they think or why they think it. They are of no consequence to me.”

  How arrogant he was, more arrogant even than Sir Nicholas Grenville, and that was saying a great deal! Was it to be her fate here in Venice to take her meals with disagreeable companions?

  The silent serving girl brought the baron’s order, which included a bottle of Tokay wine. He smiled at Laura. “I trust, Miss Milbanke, that you like risi e bisi. It is rice sprinkled with vegetables and ham and Fontelli prepares it most excellently.” He poured the wine and then commenced to eat his meal.

  “Do you like Venetian food, Baron?” she asked.

  “It is passable. As is the wine, although it cannot compare with our hock.”

  “No, of course not.”

  He looked sharply at her, rightly suspecting her of sarcasm, but she met him with a bland, disinterested expression through which he could not see and which would have silenced a lesser man. The rice dish looked delicious and the wine was cold enough to chill its glass, but the last thing she was going to do was give him the satisfaction of seeing her enjoy what he had rudely insisted upon ordering. She did not want his company or his strange notion of chivalry; she found him conceited and swaggering and objectionable. Normally she would have left him in no doubt at all of her feelings, as she had done that morning with Sir Nicholas, but there was something about the Austrian that cowed her just a little, an air of menace of which she was constantly conscious.

  He was aware that she had not begun to eat, but for the moment he chose to ignore it. “I have only recently returned from a visit to England, Miss Milbanke,” he said conversationally. “A town called Taunton. Do you know it all?”

  “No. I come from Sussex.”

  “Taunton is most charming.”

  “Indeed?”

  “You are not eating your luncheon, Miss Milbanke. You English have no idea how to enjoy your food.”

  “Maybe that is because we are not renowned for our cuisine, sir.”

  “Perhaps. You excel at roast beef and plum pudding, but beyond that….” He shr
ugged. “Some good Austrian food would fatten you up.”

  “I have no wish to be fattened.”

  “No, maybe that is because you are perfect as you are.” He spoke this last softly and his eyes glittered as he raised his glass to her. His gaze moved slowly over the low neckline of her gown and in such a way as to make her feel he could see right through the delicate sprigged muslin.

  She flushed, wishing more and more that he would take the hint that he was not welcome. But he obviously had no intention of seeing what she made no attempt to disguise.

  “Such a tiny appetite cannot be healthy, Miss Milbanke.”

  “I did tell you that I wasn’t hungry,” she reminded him.

  “Ah, yes. So you did.” His eyes were half closed now and a smile played coolly around his lips. “Tell me, Miss Milbanke, are you well acquainted with Sir Nicholas Grenville?”

  She stared at him, taken aback by the change of subject. “And how would that concern you, sir?” she asked.

  “It was merely a pleasantry, Miss Milbanke, please do not think that I am prying.”

  But that is exactly what you are doing! she thought, but she did not say aloud. Deliberately she did not answer his question, thus forcing him to either drop the subject of Sir Nicholas Grenville, or to contradict his own words about prying by asking her again. A flame of anger burned in his intense eyes for a moment at her stubborn silence, but then it had gone and he was smiling again.

  “Will you dine with me tonight, Miss Milbanke?”

  “I—I cannot, Baron, for I have already accepted an invitation to dine with Sir Nicholas,” she said swiftly, willing herself to meet his gaze as if she spoke only the truth.

  “Then I must concede victory to Sir Nicholas. For the moment,” he said smoothly.

  She stood, determined to bring the meal to a close.

  “May I be of any further assistance to you?” he asked. “I could procure a gondola for you perhaps…?”