The Legacy (17 page)

He started at her inadvertent use of his endearment for his first wife. He stared at her. “Don’t.”

“As you wish, Master Behaim,” she said icily. “I will be certain never to repeat any part of this—performance—again.” She tried to leave once more.

He couldn’t let her go this way.

“Sabina, we need to talk—” he tried again, moving in front of the door.

“I have nothing to say to you, except
good night,”
she hissed, and reached past him to open the door. A brief struggle ensued; she brushed up against his arousal, and he stiffened at the bolt of desire slamming through him, even now. He realized the ridiculousness of trying to prevent her from going if she really wanted to.

She was right, of course. Having a conversation with her right now, while his mouth still tasted of her, while his body still ached to take her, was not a good idea.

“Very well.” He stepped away from the door and held it wide for her. As she made to move by, carriage erect, he stopped her once again. “But I want you to know something before you go.”

He stared at her profile until she slowly turned and looked him in the eye. The cool gaze she sent him indicated she couldn’t care less what he had to say to her, but the tight expression on her face said different. Still holding the door, he leaned his weight against it, the other hand on his hip.

“I am,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow, not understanding.

He glanced downward. “Interested, that is. Most definitely.”

Her haughty gaze followed his, sliding over the obvious arousal his stance now displayed. Hunger flared in her eyes again before she lowered her lashes, veiling her thoughts from his view. Head held high, she swept out into the hall. A queen leaving her court couldn’t have executed the move more gracefully. When she glided away, he almost smiled.

Damnable woman. What am I going to do with you?

“The news is not what you wished to hear, Master Wolfgang?” Franz asked him two days later. He had just delivered to Wolf the reports from his “friends” regarding his investigation into Baron von Ziegler’s doings.

“No, unfortunately, it isn’t.” Wolf stared at the thick glass goblet he now cupped in his hand and swirled the amber liquid in lazy circles.

Warming the Brandy wine was one of the best rituals of consuming it. Wolf discovered the potent yet mellow liqueur only a year ago, when a Dutch wine merchant had convinced him to try it. He liked the idea that it took its warmth from the heat of his hands, gradually revealing its hidden depths and mysterious secrets as it did. It was rather like a woman that way.

This brought him to why he was sitting here in his father’s study contemplating what to do about the woman who was now his wife.

Franz, who sat across from him, sipped from his own goblet of Brandywine. A murmur of approval escaped him when he tipped it back, but he looked quickly at Wolf as though expressing pleasure might be in poor taste at the given moment. He swallowed and patted his lips with a handkerchief.

“May I assist you in any other way?” Franz asked.

“Just keep what you’ve learned to yourself. I know I don’t have to caution you, but just to be certain.”

“Of course, Master Wolfgang. I shall be as silent as the grave.” He rose from his chair. “May I return to my duties, then?”

“Yes. Thank you, Franz. Your help, as usual, has been worth the depletion of my reserves,” Wolf added with a half-smile.

Franz’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and he bowed before turning and leaving the room.

Alone now, Wolf stared at the marriage contract lying open on the desk in front of him, dated the day of the wedding. A thousand ducats. Sabina’s dowry, of which he now had full control. Her maternal inheritance.

Franz’s informants had confirmed what he already suspected. Sabina must have come home to try to secure the inheritance when her father so brutally imprisoned her.

After Sabina had confided to Wolf her experiences in the convent, he had no doubt she had intended to use the money to protect other women such as herself by establishing a home for them. Her eyes had taken on the fervor of the converted when she spoke of it, and it was the only explanation for what could have made her hold out against the baron’s abuse for so long. She probably only agreed to the wedding because von Ziegler made her believe, somehow, she was still entitled to receive the inheritance despite their marriage vows.

However, Wolf had agreed to turn the gold over to von Ziegler by week’s end. Furthermore, if he didn’t, the baron would foreclose on the liens he held not only on Silver Press, but on Sanctuary as well.

That would be devastating. Still, they were, in the end, just bricks and mortar. He had his own printing business, and though it would break his heart to give up Sanctuary, they could find another place to live. However, how did a man rebuild his reputation and the reputation of his family? Von Ziegler might make good on his threat to reveal what he knew about Papa’s death, and that was a risk Wolf couldn’t take.

He ran his fingers through his hair in despair, thinking about how far he had fallen. All because of Papa’s damn foolish schemes.

Now, sitting in his father’s study, Wolf sighed heavily, brought the goblet to his lips, and took a deep swallow. The Brandywine slid smoothly over his tongue, caressed his palate, and burned a trail of heat down his throat.

He stood now and paced in frustration. The money, by all rights, was meant for Sabina. Through a twist of fate, it now belonged to him. Who was he to weigh its importance to her against its importance to him? Nevertheless, even while he tried to be impartial, he knew he couldn’t allow her to keep it.

He had made a bargain. A Devil’s pact, to be certain, but he had agreed. And Gisel’s future, his entire family’s future, hung in the balance—and that tipped the scales.

Wolf looked at Beth’s small portrait and marveled at how much Beth and Gisel resembled one another. Both were pale-skinned, with a shining crop of honey blond curls. The only difference was in the eyes—Beth’s were brown, while Gisel’s were the same green as his.

He reached up and carefully stroked the canvas, the only picture of Beth in existence. Without it, sometimes he thought he would forget her face. The very idea terrified him. There were nights he would awake in a sweat, frantically searching his mind for her image, desperate to recall it. He would light a candle and rush to the portrait, where he’d touch it with loving grace. It once hung in his apartments in Nürnberg; he had brought it here to the study after his father’s death.

Increasingly, it seemed now the portrait was just paint and fabric, not the talisman it had become to him in the months after her death. He wondered why he had brought it here at all. If he had followed his original plan, he would be going home soon. Back to Nürnberg, with Gisel. He would have to tell Sabina. The thought of leaving her behind suddenly depressed him. He closed his eyes, pressed the smooth shell of the thick glass against his forehead, and thought of his daughter instead.

Love her. Love her enough for the both of us.

A knock sounded at the door, jolting him out of his reverie. Perhaps if he ignored whoever it was, they would go away.

The knock sounded again, only louder this time.

“Wolf?” Peter’s voice called out.

Wolf reluctantly dropped his hand and turned toward the door. “Come in.”

Peter stuck his head in the room. “So, what did Franz find out?”

Wolf looked up at him, annoyed. How did Peter always seem to know what was going on, even when Wolf took such pains to prevent it? Noting his expression, Peter laughed and came the rest of the way into the room.

“Don’t look so surprised. You two have been whispering in corners for the last few days, and Franz drifted out of here smelling distinctly like your favorite wine a few minutes ago. It wasn’t very difficult to draw the right conclusions, but he’s not talking. So tell me what is going on, and save us both the time it would take for me to pry it out of you.”

Wolf glared at him. “Have I ever told you how irksome you can be?”

“On a number of occasions, and don’t try to change the subject.” Peter perched on the edge of the desk and smiled down at him, apparently unoffended.

Wolf dragged a hand through his hair.

“Very well.” He got up from the desk and started to pace. Peter followed his movements, never taking his eyes off him.

“You wanted to know why I married Sabina,” Wolf began.

“Yes. I was under the impression you were completely opposed to the idea of remarriage now. Of course, after getting to know your new bride, I can see why a man could change his mind.” He winked.

“Yes, well, even so, that wasn’t the reason.” Wolf glanced away, picked up the goblet, and found himself fidgeting with it. He immediately put it down. What could he say without telling Peter the entire truth? He gestured to the decanter, silently inviting Peter to partake.

Peter helped himself.

“You know Papa was in financial straits before he—before the accident,” Wolf began.

Peter nodded and sipped his drink in silence, waiting.

“It was worse than we supposed. Through bad loans and gambling debts, he owed a great deal of money to Sabina’s adoptive father, Baron von Ziegler. When Papa died, the baron expected me to make good on those debts. The amount was—a staggering sum. I was unable to pay it on such short notice, due to the strained resources of Behaim Press. He agreed to forgive the full debt if I married his daughter.”

Peter frowned. “You should have said something. We could have managed somehow—”

“Nay.” Wolf braced his hands on the desk and gazed into his now-empty goblet. He lifted a hand, rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly weary. “The amount owed was far too much.”

“How much?”

“Over five hundred ducats, if you include the liens placed on both Silver Press and Sanctuary.”

“Ye gods,” Peter said, aghast.

“So you see, I had no choice but to agree.”

“But Wolf, there
were
other choices. You must stop trying to take everything onto your own shoulders. You should have involved the rest of us. You could have taken out a loan from the goldsmith.
I
could have married the girl, for heaven’s sake. Despite her history, she’s a lovely creature. I wouldn’t have minded having a go at her myself if I’d met her first, Fya be damned.”

Wolf rounded on him. “Don’t even think about it.”

Peter put up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Wait, I only meant—” Realization dawned. “You’re jealous.”

“I am not,” Wolf denied hotly.

“Are too,” Peter said with a grin. “She
is
your wife. There is nothing wrong with that. Why does it give you such unease?”

“It doesn’t,” Wolf snapped. He picked up his goblet and poured himself another drink. He took a swallow, enjoying it less this time than before as Peter eyed him knowingly.

“Besides, it was her father’s idea,” Wolf continued. “She’d returned home unexpectedly, he said, and he wanted to be rid of her. It seemed she would come with a large dowry. If I did him a favor, took her off his hands, I would receive the dowry. I could then afford to pay the debts.”

Peter scratched his chin in bewilderment.

“But why give you the money, then turn around and have you give it right back to him? Why not just forgive the debt outright and keep the money himself?”

“I wondered about that, too. Couldn’t get a straight answer out of him. However, according to what I’ve learned, the money was never his to give. It’s from a special bequest, made by Marie, Sabina’s mother. She was from the upper nobility, unlike the baron. His family has only had the title for the last two hundred years, and besides he has no seat in the Emperor’s Parliament.”

Peter shook his head. “Why did she choose to marry him? Did the baron have a way with women in his youth?”

Wolf shrugged. “More likely, it is the whispers surrounding Sabina’s conception that convinced her. Sabina’s mother disappeared for a time in her youth, and her daughter was born in another country. No one ever met the father, whom supposedly Marie married and who mysteriously passed away before their return to Saxony. It is highly possible Sabina is illegitimate. The baron agreeing to marry Marie and to adopt Sabina would have gone far to polish a tarnished reputation.”

Peter frowned and shook his head. “Poor Sabina. Does she know?”

“That she is adopted? Yes. About the rest?” Wolf shook his head. “I doubt it. Regardless, Marie’s father, the Count of Prüss, made special provisions for Marie in the marriage contract with von Ziegler. Prüss apparently didn’t trust the baron, who was already widowed and had his own small child, a son. He must have wanted Marie to have a certain amount of independence. Von Ziegler agreed to give her a marriage portion of a thousand ducats upon the day of their marriage. It acted as a sort of protection for her if anything should go awry.”

“And this is important to you because …?” Peter inquired.

Wolf paced in front of him while he sorted out his response. “At some point shortly before her death, Sabina’s mother amended her bequest. Since the money was a part of Marie’s bride portion, and therefore not her husband’s property, it was hers to do with as she wished. The amended bequest added a provision stating if Sabina became betrothed before her twenty-fifth birthday, the amount would be converted to a dowry for her future husband.” He paced back again. “If, however, Sabina took vows and remained in the convent, on her twenty-fifth birthday the amount would go directly into the coffers of the abbey to which she belonged, to provide for her upkeep and daily needs. The same provision applied if she died—the money would revert to the Church.”