“Don’t speak. Not just yet.” His kisses warmed me better than the summer sun could have, and I basked in his embrace. “Come. Let’s get inside.” He led me through the park, his arm tight around my waist. “We’ll go to the Kunsthistorisches Museum. Have you been yet?”

“No. I’m not here on a pleasure trip.”

“So I’ve gathered. But I do love finding you unchaperoned.” He stopped walking and kissed me again. “I’d never before contemplated the advantages of coming to parks in the depths of winter. Wonderfully private places, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the current situation,” I said.

“Don’t underestimate me. I know exactly what I’m doing.” We reached the front of the museum. “What will it be? Greek sculpture?”

“Please,” I said, a smile escaping against my will. He took me by the arm in the most proper sort of fashion, and we entered the building. We said nothing further until we’d reached a gallery that contained a statue of Artemis from the second century B.C., done in the style of Praxiteles.

“Harrison was following you. I think we’ve convinced him there’s nothing to see but a romantic encounter between a man and his fiancée.”

“He was following me, too?” I looked up at the ceiling and sighed, clenching my hands into hard fists. “I’m hopeless at this. I can’t believe—”

“No, darling, you’re not hopeless. You just need more practice. And now, just in case he’s still watching, let’s look at the art. What do you think of this Artemis?” he asked, squeezing my gloved hand.

“Magnificent.” The goddess leaned gracefully on another statue, a smaller image of herself.

“Why are you meeting with Gustav Schröder?”

“First tell me when you arrived in Vienna,” I said.

“I’ve been here for some time. I’d no idea you were here.”

“I wrote to you,” I said.

“Your letter’s undoubtedly waiting for me in Berlin. I was there only for a few days, and I’ve had no time to write you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “You know I understand.”

“You’re a dear girl,” he said. “Now tell me about Schröder.”

“I think we’d better sit.” We found an empty bench, and I told him all about Robert and Lord Fortescue’s mysterious informer.

“You’ve done well, Emily. And with very little to go on.”

“You don’t object to my doing this?”

“My usual caveat applies: Do not put yourself in any unnecessary danger. If I find out that you have, I’ll carry you back to England myself.” There was something in his eyes. A calm pride, perhaps, coupled with the sparkle that I saw nearly every time we were alone. But there was something different, too. Their darkness was deeper, warmer.

“Sounds like a pleasant way to travel. If I’m good now, will you carry me?”

“If you’re good, I’ll do anything you want.”

“Including marry me before the date set by the queen?”

“That’s being bad, Emily, very bad.” How I longed to kiss him! I was blind to the art that surrounded us, intoxicated by his presence. He stood up and looked at me with such intensity, I felt my skin begin to ache.

“I shan’t force the issue in such a public place,” I said.

“Thank you.”

“How did you find me?” I asked.

“Sheer luck. I was coming from an appointment and saw you on the other side of the street. I could tell at once that you were following someone.”

I frowned. “And I thought I was being so discreet. It’s bad enough that both you and Herr Schröder were on to me, but even worse that I didn’t notice Harrison tailing me, too.”

“That’s because you weren’t suspecting it.”

I recounted for him what had passed between Mr. Harrison and me and showed him the bullet I’d found in my pocket. Concern filled his eyes, and he took my hand.

“From now on you must be better aware of your surroundings. I don’t like you being pursued by someone whose motives are so distinctly not innocent.”

“I wouldn’t object should your motives become less innocent,” I said.

“You, my dear, are certain to send me to an early grave.”

“Not if we’re married.”

“No, not if we’re married.”

“I’m free tomorrow,” I said. “You?”

“If only,” he replied.

“Where are you staying? Are you at the Imperial?”

“No, I come here so often I’ve rooms close to the Stephansdom.”

“Near the von Langes’ house,” I said.

“Yes. How do you know where they live? Have you been there?”

“I called on the countess as soon as I’d arrived. She was singularly unhelpful.”

“Kristiana knows you’re in Vienna?” he asked.

“I’ve seen her twice.”

“She didn’t tell me,” he said. “I wish—”

“You’ve seen her as well?” I asked.

“I’m working with her.”

“I see.” I did my best to exhibit not the smallest sign of jealousy, but in truth, I decided at that moment to abandon the guarded disdain I’d felt for the woman and let myself openly despise her.

“Emily—”

I waved my hand in the air in what I hoped was a sophisticated dismissal. “She’s of no consequence to me.”

“Is that so?”

I did not like the way he was smiling.

“None whatsoever.” I stood, composure itself.

“And you’ve nothing further to say on the subject?”

“Heavens, no. Tedious, tedious, tedious.”

“Good girl. Though I will say I’m aggravated that she didn’t tell me you were here all this time. It’s not like her to be deceptive.”

“No, I would imagine most sources of covert intelligence aren’t deceptive in the least.”

“Emily—”

“Don’t scold me. I won’t stand for it. Perhaps you don’t know your friend quite so well as you thought. At any rate, it doesn’t matter. You’ve found me.”

“And now that we’re both in Vienna, we’ll have to waltz,” he said, an obviously forced smile on his face. There was no question that he wanted to move our conversation in any direction so long as it was away from his erstwhile lover.

“After Robert is exonerated.”

“You can’t work all the time, my dear. Every covert investigator needs periodic breaks. Besides, you never know where you might learn something that will prove to be useful. There’s a ball tonight at the Sofiensaäle. Strauss’s orchestra is playing. I’ll expect to see you there.”


There were an impossible number of balls in Vienna during the winter: masked balls, state balls, debutante balls, and court balls, where five hundred bottles of Moët et Chandon, the emperor’s favorite champagne, would be consumed in an evening. The most dedicated person could not manage to attend even a quarter of them. But the crush of people inside the Sofiensaäle, one of the city’s famous public ballrooms, made me wonder if the entire population of the city had decided to dance that night. Cécile and I had arrived late, bringing Jeremy with us.

The atmosphere was incomparable: spectacular dancing, effervescent music, beauty in every direction. We’d stepped out of winter into a summer garden, flowers spilling everywhere, swans swimming in a pool whose water reflected sparkling electric lights. The dance floor was so crowded it was difficult to waltz, but with effort, and a single-minded partner, it was possible to carve out enough space to turn.

“You’re certain to find someone who can amuse you here,” Cécile said, leaning close to Jeremy as soon as we’d ducked inside. “I don’t know a single person in Vienna who is not having an affair. If you don’t have a paramour by the end of the evening, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

“I’ve decided to become a paragon of virtue in what will undoubtedly be a futile attempt to impress Emily,” he said, a broad grin on his face.

“Futile indeed. You may as well dance with me,” Cécile replied, and they disappeared onto the floor. I made my way to a refreshment table and took a glass of champagne, then looked around for somewhere to sit.

“Lady Ashton! Can it be you?”

“Lady Paget,” I said. “How good to see you.” Walburga, Lady Paget, was the wife of the British ambassador to Austria. I’d met her on several occasions—she and my mother were friends—and she was one of England’s most respected ladies.

“Have you been in Vienna long? Are you managing the weather?”

“Only a fortnight, and I must confess to being utterly charmed by the snow.”

“No! It’s hideous. When I first came here, I wondered daily to what purpose such a climate exists. The wind is extraordinary. One can hardly breathe. But I suppose you are young enough to tolerate it. Did Worth design your dress? It’s exquisite—the perfect shade of blue. No one here has worn anything but pink for the past year. I wonder if it even occurs to them there is another color.”

Lady Paget was perhaps a bit hard on the ladies of Vienna. Yes, many wore pink, but the room was filled with every other color a person could want. My own gown, pale ice blue with shots of silver embroidery through the silk, had a skirt with enough fullness that it begged to be spun while dancing. The bodice was décolleté, the sleeves the barest caps. Meg had placed diamond pins through my hair and clasped over long, white gloves a wide platinum and diamond bracelet that matched the choker around my neck.

“The music is magnificent. I don’t know how I’ll bear anything short of Strauss himself at a ball again. I can’t wait to dance,” I said.

“Ladies, greetings.” Mr. Harrison stood in front of us, bowing.

“Oh! It’s so good to see you.” Lady Paget gave him her hand. “You, of course, know Lady Ashton?”

“All too well,” he said.

“A perfect choice of words.” I did not hold out my hand.