Susan Johnson (15 page)

“You heard about Kray at Verona.”

Mingen nodded. “Making it even more imperative that Duras survive. France is in desperate straits.”

“Could you kill the Chechens?”

“Perhaps. It’s … possible,” the agent observed, reflecting on the chances. “But they’re trained assassins. I doubt I could dispatch more than one before I’m killed. And I’d just as soon survive this war. How else can I enjoy my ill-gained profits?” His smile warmed his eyes, giving him the look of a choirboy.

“We should send out our own men, then.”

“It would give me a pleasant sense of security. I’ll leave my expected travel itinerary with you. Duras will fall back on Constance. After he learns of Jourdan’s defeat, I suspect
he’ll be withdrawing farther—he’s badly outnumbered. Fortunately, the Chechens don’t know the country; they’ll have to rely on me as a guide.”

“Nor do they speak the language.”

“They barely speak at all. It’s quite frightening,” Mingen said with a flashing smile. “I shall endeavor to keep them satisfied at all costs,” he sardonically finished.

“Would Frederick benefit if Korsakov were dead?” the apothecary inquired, his understanding of political subtleties artful.

“Address that question to our superiors in Potsdam. The world at large would benefit from his death, but that’s just my personal opinion,” Mingen cheerfully declared.

“Do you need money?”

“Yes, of course. Korsakov’s money goes into my account. Someone has to pay for this outrageous journey across no-man’s-land. There are times when I think I should have continued in my medical profession,” Mingen said with a weary sigh.

“But the king needs you.”

The young agent rose heavily to his feet, contemplation of his mission daunting. “Wish me luck, Max. I’m going to need it with this one.”

A few minutes later, he was considerably richer, Prussian gold weighing heavily in his purse as he exited the shop. At his lodgings, he packed several weapons in his luggage, two of them small enough to conceal on his person. Traveling with trained killers thoroughly without conscience required additional firepower.

The ill-assorted trio left Bregenz that evening.

The withdrawal from Constance began at dusk, evacuating the wounded slow paced, the wagons strung out for miles along the route west. Duras’s rear guard reported no activity behind them, offering a degree of relief however temporary; the archduke was not in pursuit. They traveled until nearly midnight before breaking to rest. Soon campfires blazed up in hundreds of points of light throughout the mountain valley.

A small inn at the entrance to the valley had rooms for Duras and his staff, although the accommodations were rustic. “Not a problem,” Duras had wearily said when Bonnay came back with the news. “Any bed will do.”

The rooms were small and the tiny chamber Teo and Duras were shown into had a feather bed, a fireplace, and little else. But it was clean, the fire was quickly lit, and within
minutes the innkeeper’s wife appeared in her nightgown, a wrapper hastily thrown over it. Bonnay’s generous payment in advance had thoroughly ingratiated the French officers to her despite the late hour. Bowing to Duras, she cordially said, “I understand you’d like bathwater and supper.”

“Yes, please.” Too filthy to lie on the bed, Duras was sprawled on the floor, his back against the wall. “Bathwater first.”

The landlady cast a curious glance at the figure lying on the bed. The slender form in uniform was not easily distinguishable in the candlelight and shadow, although the general’s aide had used the pronoun
she
. “Would the, er, your companion like bathwater too?” she inquired.

“Yes, very much,” Teo said, smiling at the woman’s obvious scrutiny.

“Bathwater for two,” Duras explained. “Quickly, if possible.”

“Of course, sir. The kitchen maids are heating it now. What would you like for dinner?”

“Anything at all for me.” His head lazily turned toward Teo. “Tell her what you’d like, darling.”

“Bacon and eggs. I have this craving.”

Duras’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze dwelling for a moment on her flat stomach. But his voice was bland when he said, “I’ll have the same. With dispatch, please,” he gruffly added, not inclined to converse at length in the middle of the night when he was dead tired and his arm ached like hell.

After the landlady left, Teo murmured, “I don’t know if I can stay awake until the food arrives.”

“Sleep. I’ll wake you.”

“You’re too far away,” she whispered, rolling over, reaching out to him.

“I’m also too squalid to touch you.” His eyes were half shut. “Wait until I bathe.” But he reached out and brushed her fingertips and smiled.

“Do you have another uniform?”

“Probably. Bonnay’s efficient. And you have two new gowns,” he went on, his eyes shut, his smile reappearing.

“New gowns?” Her head lifted fractionally from the mattress.

He half raised his lashes and dipped his head toward the saddlebags an aide had carried in and dropped near the door.

“You found me gowns?” Propping herself up on one elbow, she gazed at him, charmed by his apparent concern.

“Cholet did.”

“Did you give him orders,” she teased. “This size … and color … this fabric?”

“I should have.” Duras chuckled and then groaned; even the slight movement was excruciating. The stitches on his wrist had broken open at Bregenz and when the wound had been resewn at Constance, he’d almost fainted from the pain.

“You need laudanum,” Teo murmured, slipping from the bed. “I’ll see if the innkeeper’s wife has some.”

“There’s a bottle of cognac in my bags,” Duras said, careful not to move, pain drumming down his nerve endings.

Quickly fetching the bags, Teo dropped down beside him and unfastened the buckles. Searching through them, she pulled out a small bottle and, easing out the cork, handed it to him.

“My angel of mercy,” he whispered, lifting the bottle to his mouth, pouring a long draught down his throat. His discomfort was obvious.

“Should I look at your arm?”

“Not now. Later. After I’ve drunk this bottle,” he said with a small smile.

“Should a surgeon be called?”

“No. He can’t do anything. Look at your gowns,” he prompted, wishing to change the subject. “Tell me what
you think.” And intent on obliterating his pain, he swallowed another generous portion of the cognac.

Teo pulled out one of Duras’s clean linen shirts.

“The other side,” he directed.

Unhooking the other compartment, Teo pulled out a filmy wisp of black lace. Almost transparent, trimmed with red satin ribbon threaded around the décolletage, it looked decidedly like lingerie. “Where did Cholet find this?”

“God knows. I reprimanded him.”

“But you brought them along.”

“I thought they’d look exquisite on you; not, however, while riding with the army.”

“Such reservations, darling,” she teased. “Your reputation is not deserved, I see.”

“You’re for my eyes only,” he softly said, the liquor spreading an assuaging balm through his body, blurring the sharp edges of his pain. “There’s another one.”

It was purple. Teo’s eyes widened as she unfolded the brilliant tissue silk. “Did Cholet raid a brothel?” she inquired, amusement in her gaze. An Athenian hetaera would have been well served in the Grecian-style gown. Its bodice indelicately plunged nearly to the waist, and the skirt was slit up both sides to openly display leg and thigh.

“It appears so, although some Parisian belles have been known to display themselves nearly nude in public.”

“Really,” Teo said, a distinct coolness in her voice.

“So I’ve heard,” Duras sensibly replied. “I’ve not been personally involved.”

“Thank you.”

“Your jealousy charms me,” he murmured.

“While you aren’t allowed to charm anyone but me.”

“Gladly.”

A knock on the door curtailed any further conversation and their bathwater was carried in.

Short moments later they sat knee to knee in a
commodious copper tub filled with steaming water, the heat from the fire adding pleasure. It was, they agreed, very close to paradise after the discomforts and disasters of the past few days. They were warm, relaxed, contemplating supper in the very near future, and together.

“I’m miles and oceans beyond happy,” Teo blissfully murmured.

“I’m alive,” Duras succinctly noted, his eyes shut, his head resting against the rim of the tub, the guilt and regret he always felt over the deaths of his soldiers a burden on his heart. Happiness was always countered by the tragedies of his profession. “And I’m with you.” It was enough. Tomorrow he would once again face the daunting odds, but tonight he only wanted to forget.

And seek oblivion in Teo’s arms.

But he fell asleep over supper and Teo eased the tray from his lap and set it on the floor. She didn’t know how to move him from his reclining position against the pillows without causing him pain, so she gently pulled the coverlet over him and left him as he was.

She watched him sleep for a moment, thankful he’d been spared at Bregenz, offering up her own small prayers of gratitude to those gods she knew from childhood. They lived in the trees and sky, in the rushing waters and vast open spaces of her homeland, but she hoped they heard her that night because she wanted them to care for this man she loved. She stood at the small window under the eaves in the mountain valley thousands of miles from her home and gazed up into the starry sky and asked for their boon.

“Save him from his enemies,” she prayed, “and from the indiscriminate slaughter. Keep him safe, tonight and always.” She hoped the stars above her shone as brightly on the other side of the Urals; she hoped they carried her prayers to her grandfather she’d not seen for so long. “I want to bring him home to you, Grand-père,” she murmured into the silence, “and let him come to know you. I want our
child to grow strong in the land of my people. I want to come home.…”

It was too quiet; the dangers facing them were immeasurable. She felt afraid even after Duras had appeased her fears over dinner.

France was in jeopardy, she’d apprehensively noted. Everything was in chaos, the retreat monstrous, dreadful.

They’d withdraw and regroup, he’d calmly replied.
¹⁰
Archduke Charlie wasn’t a formidable opponent anyway; in ’97 he’d forced him back almost to the gates of Vienna, he’d said with a smile.

Don’t you have confidence in me?

Yes, she’d said. Yes, of course.

But how could he win? she thought now in the darkness of the night, staring out at the hundreds of flickering campfires. His retreating army was no longer strong enough to do battle. How could he possibly win against all the armies, when Austria, England, her ruthless husband and their troops outnumbered his, when their superiority was overwhelming?

Their time together could be dangerously fleeting, she fearfully thought.

Turning from the window, she gazed at him, his skin dark against the linens, his black curls in disarray on the pillow, his face in repose, the tranquillity of his breathing in sharp contrast to her own disquietude. His beauty and strength, his indefatigable charm, his love, all were hers—at least for now.

She didn’t dare think of the future.

She woke to the warmth of his body and his kiss, the morning sun brilliant in the room, her demons gone. His smile could do that, she decided, basking in its glow. “I’m afraid I neglected something last night,” he murmured.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Always wake me for that,” he said with a grin. “Consider it a standing order.”

“You were exhausted. Although you seem completely rested now,” she mischievously noted, his arousal nudging her thigh.

“Completely,” he agreed. Even the pain in his arm had subsided to a manageable ache.

“I don’t suppose you’re hungry?” A sudden urge for chocolate and whipped cream overwhelmed her.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“How nice,” she murmured, damping her dietary urges, reaching up to kiss him. “Do we have much time this morning?”

“If Bonnay doesn’t interrupt with a message from our rear guard. He’s to notify me immediately if we’re pursued.”

“So if the archduke chooses not to run you to ground …”

“Which isn’t likely. The Austrian generals have little autonomy. All their orders come from Vienna.”

“A disadvantage.”

Duras smiled. “Not for us.”

“So we may have … plenty of time,” she purred.

“It’s a distinct possibility,” he replied, grinning.

“I was wondering, then …” The mouthwatering image of breakfast chocolate reappeared in her mind. “I mean, as long as we don’t have to leave immediately, that is, would you mind if I ordered chocolate and whipped cream first? I have this ravenous craving for chocolate and—”

“Whipped cream,” he gently finished. “Cravings?” His query was hushed, his expression rapt. “How long have you had cravings?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, a tiny flutter vibrating down her spine. “I haven’t actually noticed, although, come to think of it, Vigée took me to task for eating all his ham and bread the monks packed for us when we left. Fortunately, he
found more food for us both at the next posting station because I was still hungry. I ate like two troopers, he said. Ham and bread sounds ever so good now,” she said with a dulcet, sweet smile. “Is it too early to call for the innkeeper?”

Duras chuckled. “Bonnay paid them so well, it’s never too early,” he replied, indulgently patting her hand. Tossing aside the covers, he rose from the bed, walked to the door, threw it open and shouted for the proprietor. His ruffled curls brushed the door lintel as he stood for a moment in the open doorway, his height startling in the small, low-ceilinged room.

“There,” he said, pushing the door shut, his affectionate gaze falling on Teo. “Food for
ma chère
.”

“You’ve wakened everyone in the house,” Teo pleasantly chastised.

“I’m sure they’re up.” His tone was dismissive.

“You’ve been a general too long, darling. It’s very early.”

“Then they’ll go back to sleep,” he unconcernedly said, rummaging through his saddlebags. Pulling out a pair of breeches, he began sliding them on.