The Veils of the Budapest Palace (Darke of Night Book 3) (13 page)

His whole body shuddered in my hold. He blinked several times before his eyes fell slowly down to mine. His breath caught and his arms came around me hard, hugging me convulsively. He was awake.

“I’m here,” I whispered. “I’m here.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Sorry. You must be freezing. Let’s go back to bed.”

Turning, he snatched up the candle and almost dragged me from the room before closing the door—which was when I remembered it had been locked when I’d tried it the last time. Or at least, I hadn’t been able to open it.

“I didn’t know you walked in your sleep,” I said, as we hurried down the passage, his arm around my shoulders.

“I thought I’d grown out of it. Though I did it in the army once. A sentry nearly blew my head off. Don’t worry, I’ve never once hurt myself. Even as a child, I always seemed to know where I was going and found the way.”

The way to his parents’ bedroom. A place of affection and safety. Although to be sure he hadn’t sounded very safe when he got there.

“Do you always go to the same place?” I asked curiously.

He shrugged, beginning to climb the stairs. “I don’t think so. Sometimes I’ve no idea where I’ve been. I don’t wake up until the morning, and then I have splinters in my feet, or I’m splashed with mud even.”

“You mean you go outside.”

“Maybe,” he said vaguely.

I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t, merely led me up the stairs as if he were in a great hurry and turned into the passage to our room.

“Were you imagining yourself somewhere else in your dream?” I asked. “Or do you have some bad memory of that room?”

“Caroline.” He pushed open the bedroom door.

“Yes?”

He pulled me inside, kicked the door shut, and pushed me up against it. “Stop talking,” he said, and kissed me hard. My stomach dived with startled excitement. I tried to speak under his plundering mouth, but only a sound between a whimper and a moan escaped. He pulled open my robe and his. Warm, hard flesh slid against mine, and a moment later, he pushed inside me.

I cried out, and he smiled against my lips.

“I love waking up with you,” he said, and carried me to bed.

There was little that was gentle about him this time. Wild and demanding, he ravished me. And I did my best to ravish him back, for even then I sensed a desperation in him to forget, to lose some awful memory of the past in sweet, blind lust.

****

B
ecause of our interrupted night—both the anxious and the pleasurable parts—we slept a little longer than we should have in the morning. I had to rush to meet the temporary staff conjured up by János, and set them to cleaning and polishing the entrance hall, the cloakrooms, and the reception rooms until they shone.

I also found the time to interview three lady’s maids also sent to me by János, and engaged one of them, a French exile called Duclos, to begin the following morning. I had a word with the maid Katalin about tidiness and smiled to see her transformed to neatness by the afternoon. Pleased, I gave her responsibility under János for overseeing the temporary servants.

Dressing for our party turned out to be fun in Zsigmund’s company. He played lady’s maid for me and chose the rust-red gown I’d worn the night I’d first gone to his bed, and the set of rubies to wear with it. Then he brushed and pinned my hair into a style that was a little looser than I normally favoured but which suited me unexpectedly well. I looked just a little softer and younger. Or perhaps that was just happiness and nothing to do with hair or dress.

He himself dressed hastily in a dark suit he’d had before the war. Although he seemed to have filled out a little more across the shoulders and chest, we decided it would do well enough if he didn’t fasten the coat, beneath which he wore a very fetching waistcoat embroidered in the Hungarian revolutionary colours: red, green, and white.

When we stood for a moment side by side before the mirror, my heart skipped a beat. I liked the picture we made. And yet I couldn’t quite believe this handsome, devastating man was my husband.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly to my mirror image. “So beautiful.”

I swallowed. “So are you.”

“Then you’d better take me out of here before I ruin your hair and your dress.”

“You are insatiable!” I scolded, as I often did, although I blushed at the same time, for his words aroused me.

“I am for you. So hurry.”

Laughing just a little breathlessly, I seized his straying hand and tugged him towards the door. On the other side, we walked sedately down to the salon to greet our guests.

****

A
lthough I wasn’t really used to entertaining, my inevitable nervousness over what was, in fact, the first party I had hosted, swiftly faded into genuine interest in all Zsigmund’s diverse friends, and by the time everyone had arrived, I realised I was actually enjoying myself. Almost as if it were someone else’s party.

Zsigmund had gathered friends from all walks of life, of all ages, classes, and races. Young, intense, and rather ragged young Hungarian men who reminded me more than a little of Prince Béla rubbed shoulders with the Austrian officer Karl von Degenfeld, a flamboyant actor of indeterminate years, two artists, an academic or two from the University of Pest, a couple of wild young aristocrats—apparently our visitors from the other night—and an array of women, equally diverse, who weren’t always obviously attached to any of the male guests.

It was the women who surprised me most. Somehow I had imagined they would all be young and beautiful, either quietly attached to his male friends, or sophisticated ex-lovers and would-be lovers. But although I was sure those varieties were present, most of the women I spoke to were independent thinkers. They weren’t all young, and they weren’t all married. Some were serious thinkers, others witty socialites. All were as curious about me as I was about them, but I realised before long that most of them could very easily become my own friends too.

Of course, I was disposed to like them because they were so obviously delighted to have Zsigmund back among them, safe and well. Zsigmund himself was in his element, the life and soul of the party, full of fun and open affection for his old friends. Only once did I glimpse a stricken look in his eyes as they swept around the room.

“What?” I breathed, since I happened to be standing beside him at the time.

“So many are lost,” he whispered. “They’ll never come back. What did we do it for?”

In some way, they’d all paid a high price for revolution and rebellion. Even the lucky ones who’d survived.

“Because it was right,” I said, catching the fingers clenched by his side and squeezing. They turned and gripped mine.

“I hope so,” he said. He blinked away the blackness quite deliberately and turned his gaze down to me, a slow smile already forming there instead. His lips parted, but I never discovered what he would have said, for a gorgeously dressed woman swept into the room, still in her cloak. The hood was pushed to the back of her head to reveal bright golden hair and winking jewels. She was quite dazzlingly beautiful, so I wasn’t entirely surprised by the sudden silence in the room as her heels tip-tapped across the salon floor.

I started towards her at once, annoyed that the servants had failed to divest her of her cloak and admit her in the proper manner, even if she was a trifle late. Zsigmund, for once slower than me, began three paces behind me, but quickly caught up so that we met her together. Conversation started up once more, though to me it seemed to hold a slightly desperate timbre.

The beautiful newcomer was smiling, her teeth white and perfect, as she held out both hands to Zsigmund.

“Zsiga, darling! So it’s true! You
are
back!”

He took her hands, his smile easy, and yet his shoulders were rigid. “I am. Let me present you to my wife. Caroline, Countess Narinyi.”

Since I offered my hand, she had little choice but to drop one of Zsigmund’s to take it.

“I’m so sorry you’ve been left with your cloak,” I said pleasantly. “I don’t know what the servants were thinking of.” With a flick of my finger, I summoned the servant who was refilling wineglasses.

“Oh no, Countess, please don’t bother,” my newest guest uttered, still smiling while she scanned my face with rather more than polite curiosity. “I can’t stay. I just couldn’t pass by when I heard Zsiga was home at last.” Her gaze returned to him. “I’ll call again. But you know where I am. Show me the door, Zsiga! Countess Andrassy, how lovely to meet you.”

“And you,” I said, slightly bewildered by my husband’s mistake in omitting such an obviously close and important friend from the guest list. “But please, you are most welcome to stay.”

Countess Narinyi laughed, an oddly condescending sound, as if I were too gauche to know what I was talking about and shouldn’t try. “Oh, you are perfect. Good-bye, Countess.”

Ill-naturedly, I didn’t like the possessive way she took my husband’s arm, claiming his escort to the front door while refusing to stay in his house. I recognised twinges of jealousy in my attitude and tried to strangle them at birth, for I’d known from the outset that jealousy would be the fastest way to misery and ruin for any woman married to Zsigmund Andrassy.

Karl von Degenfeld materialised by my elbow. “Sadly, I too must depart. I am on duty early tomorrow morning. But thank you for this evening. It’s been wonderful.”

As I gave him my hand, murmuring thanks for his presence, he drew it into his arm, turning with me to walk towards the door, perhaps to make Zsigmund’s escort of the countess seem less singular. I couldn’t help being grateful for such consideration, however unnecessary, so I walked with him.

“There’s no need to be too persuasive with Countess Narinyi,” he said, low as we approached the empty space around the open doorway. “I’d be surprised if she was invited.”

Certainly I didn’t recall her name from Zsigmund’s list but since I didn’t want to gossip about one of his friends, however much she aroused my hackles, I merely smiled faintly at Karl and said nothing.

“His true friends are all delighted to see him married to you,” he all but blurted as we stepped into the hallway and walked in the direction of the front door.

My stomach twisted at his words, at the reasons I imagined behind them, and then cramped hard as I glimpsed the two people who stood facing each other in the middle of the hall, apparently oblivious of anything but each other. My step faltered.

Zsigmund was gripping the countess’s wrist beside her head, staring down at her. His scar was livid. “You know damned well why I didn’t invite you,” he said harshly, his words echoing down the hall to us.

Countess Narinyi laughed in his face. “Because you didn’t want to confront her just yet with your peccadilloes? Or because you were ashamed?”

“I’ve nothing to be ashamed of,” Zsigmund said. “Neither have you. Yet.”

What did he mean by that? I had little time to speculate, because the countess had reached up to cup his face with her free hand, and I actually wanted to hit her.

“Oh, Zsigmund, you have and you know it. Don’t pretend to yourself or me. We both know you married her for her money. I was here when Gabor received your demand for information about her. Before you even met her, let alone married her. Don’t despair. I’ll forgive you. In time.”

She stretched up on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his.

The blood drained from my face. My fingers curled, crushing Karl’s sleeve, and I couldn’t make them stop, because after a moment, Zsigmund’s arm went around her waist.

I spun away, at last snatching my hand from Karl’s arm. “Good-bye,” I said with slightly breathless civility. “Thank you for coming!”

I swept back the way I’d come, the image of Karl’s shocked face immediately blocked by the unbearable one of Zsigmund kissing another woman.

We hadn’t promised love. Foolishly, I’d believed our marriage vows covered fidelity.

What have I done? What have I done?

Something unforgivable and unendurable. Not that I’d married without love on either side. Not that I’d tied myself to an unapologetic rake and bound myself to live with him in a foreign land a thousand miles away from my friends and family. The true tragedy of the matter was not even that I’d misjudged him or that he’d married me for my wealth. It was that in that moment of despair, I realised I was already hopelessly in love with him.

For an instant, I rested my forehead on the closed door to the salon. I was glad it was closed, though I didn’t remember doing it. In the distance, Zsigmund’s voice said, “Good-bye, Elena.”

I straightened, pinned my best social smile on my face, and returned to my guests.

****

T
he rest of the evening was a nightmare I couldn’t wait to end. I wanted everyone gone so I could be alone and stop smiling and pretending. And yet I didn’t want to be alone with Zsigmund. I couldn’t bear to speak to him yet.

He must have known I’d seen and heard him with Countess Narinyi. Karl would have told him. And certainly there seemed to be a hint of pallor about his usually swarthy face. Several times he strode directly towards me, and I immediately walked in the opposite direction, excusing myself where necessary. But then, although I was relieved to see the backs of our delightful guests, I remembered that Zsigmund and I shared a bedroom. I couldn’t walk away forever.

Nor could I weep like a lovesick child, or rail at him like a wronged mistress. I had only one defence. To pretend I didn’t care. And hope that, in time, I wouldn’t.

As soon as our last guests had left, I said a cheerful good night to Gizella and István, who’d both attended the party, although neither the old count nor Gabor had made an appearance, and went upstairs to our bedroom. Here, I changed hastily into my nightgown, brushed my teeth and my hair, and climbed into bed only just in time before Zsigmund entered.

“That was quick,” he commented, throwing his coat over a chair in passing.

“I didn’t realise how tired I was,” I said carelessly, closing my eyes. “But I believe we had a successful party and may now relax.”