The Veils of the Budapest Palace (Darke of Night Book 3) (8 page)

That was what he wanted. It stood out in his eyes, in the very tension of his posture as he waited for me to pronounce my view of the scheme. He wanted, needed to go home. To look after his land and his people. My heart went out to him, soared with pride in him. And if its edges quivered with unease about uprooting my entire life to live instead in a foreign country just recovering from a massive revolution and war, I ignored that. He was prepared to live in a foreign country with me. He already did.

“Write to your grandfather,” I said. “You need to tell him you’re married in any case.”

He smiled, covering my hand with his. “You don’t dislike the idea of living in Hungary?”

“Of course not. Not with this Hungarian.”

He wrote to his grandfather that very night. But being Zsigmund, he couldn’t wait for a reply. Within four days, we were packed up and travelling east to Hungary.

****

A
t my request, we made a brief detour in Germany to visit my stepsister, the new Duchess of Silberwald, who did indeed live in a fairy-tale castle. At least from a distance. Close-up, it was more of a building site, with one side of the castle, the oldest part, being completely renovated. The noise was horrendous. Inside, at first sight, was also chaotic, but I realised quickly it was organised chaos, and that Guin was in her element. She positively glowed with health and vitality, and with huge enthusiasm she told me her plans for the old part of the castle to become her private family home, separate from and yet close to the duke’s court and public accommodation.

“It was Kasimir’s idea,” she said, showing me the plans, “and it should be finished by Christmas.” She cast a quick, almost shy glance up at me. “Which is as well. Because I’m expecting to have family to put in it by the spring.”

I felt my eyes widen. “Oh, Guin, are you with child already?”

Her face broke into smiles. She’d never looked more beautiful. Marriage, happy marriage, had brought her confidence as well as contentment. And she was deeply involved with her little country, its development and its politics. But she hadn’t changed so very much.

As Zsigmund went off riding at a fast gallop with her husband, she said, “You know, I thought it very odd of you to marry anyone so soon after Sir Neil. Now, I understand.”

“You do?” Half my attention was on the riders, galloping hell for leather towards a tall hedge. I wanted to close my eyes.

“I like him,” Guin said. “I didn’t expect to. I’m sure he’ll cause you all sorts of trouble, but you’ll never be bored.”

To my horror, both men took the hedge with their arms folded in front of them, controlling their horses only with their knees. Before the fear had properly hit my stomach, they’d made it to the other side, both flopped over their horses’ ears but still in the saddle. I was sure I could hear their laughter, even from inside the drawing room. Guin didn’t bat an eyelid. I assumed she was used to it.

I said faintly, “I think I can safely say the same to you. I was a trifle anxious about your marriage as well.”

“Because it was so quick? Or because you’d heard he was mad?”

“Both.”

She nodded, as if that was perfectly understandable. “He isn’t mad; he’s just...different. It’s not always about how long you’ve known someone, is it? I think I knew as soon as I met Kasimir. Was it like that for you?”

She was talking about love, which made me uncomfortable. Zsigmund and I were about far baser lust. And yet, that spark had always been there, from the moment he’d entered my line of vision, and whatever bound us was still growing. So, I said, “I suppose it was.”

“Is it safe for him in Hungary?” she asked bluntly.

“Apparently, the right papers will reach him at the Austrian border.” I walked restlessly away from the window. “I would be happier if he’d wait awhile, until matters were more settled, but he needs to go home. He doesn’t make a good or a quiet exile.”

“I don’t imagine he makes a quiet anything,” Guin observed. She smiled, following me to the comfortable sofa. “I never expected to see you with such a man, but I think he’s good for you. You’re happy.”

I was. But even then, I knew I had to make the most of this happiness, and not just because of Zsigmund’s philosophy of life. I
knew
it wouldn’t last.

The next day, we left Guin and continued on our way to Austria.

****

T
here was a delay at the border, where we had to kick our heels for several days until the documents sent by old Count Andrassy reached us. Zsigmund handled the delay better than I’d hoped. We took long rides and walks, and spent a lot of time in bed. My young husband was insatiable, and it seemed, after the years of my gentle, affectionate marriage, I couldn’t get enough of Zsigmund and his untamed physical lust. Besides, the quiet moments after loving were when he was most amenable to answering the questions he tended to evade the rest of the time.

“Is it just your grandfather who lives in the Budapest house?” I asked once, curled against his shoulder, my hair falling over his broad muscled chest.

“Oh no, my aunt and uncle live there too. And Cousin Gabor, who acts as the old man’s secretary. Uncle István is my father’s younger brother.”

“What happened to your father?”

Zsigmund shifted restlessly. “He died. Of a sudden heart failure.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven,” he said.

I stroked his chest. “That is sad. When did your mother die? How old were you then?”

“Seven,” he said again, pulling away from me to sit up. “I barely remember them. My grandfather is a difficult old devil, and I should warn you now, everyone takes second—or third or fourth!—place to the book he’s been writing forever. You’ll find István and Gizella kind enough but vague. They won’t interfere with us.”

“And Cousin Gabor?” I asked.

His lips twisted. “He may or may not help us.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged and lay back down again, pulling me under him almost distractedly. “I don’t want to stay long in the city. Just long enough.”

For what?
Before I could ask that, something else caught at my darting mind, and I frowned. “It doesn’t make sense, you know. If you are persona non grata, wouldn’t it be more sensible for the government to allow you to live on the country estate first? Isolated and out of trouble until you can be trusted to come to the capital?”

Zsigmund, caressing my body with all of his, pressed his new erection between my thighs. “It’s all about control,” he said, entering my body. “My grandfather’s, mainly. Probably. We
will
go home to Orosháza, but maybe it’s right that I sort out loose ends in Pest first.”

“What loose ends?” I asked faintly.

He reared up, kneeling across my thighs, and quite deliberately pressed his fingers to the bud of pleasure I’d always imagined was hidden from men.

I gasped.

“Don’t you ever stop talking?” he asked, moving his hips and his fingers together. I clawed at the sheets, my body jerking involuntarily with the need to move. His weight prevented that, somehow turning every sensation inward, magnifying every blissful pang. Ecstasy shot through me, taking me by sudden, joyful surprise. “That works,” he whispered, his hot, avid eyes drinking me in. “Now, Countess, I require my own pleasure...”

****

W
hen we finally crossed into Austria, I had to stop him knocking down an officer who’d been blatantly rude about his name and his race.

“You’d better get used to it,” I said grimly, “because you’re going home to a country essentially under occupation. If you really want to stay there—or even get there—learn to ignore fools like that.”

His fists uncurled very slowly, but he did force them to stillness, albeit a very tense stillness.

In Vienna, which seemed pretty much recovered from its own revolutionary violence, we met a few of his old friends, who were clearly delighted to see him back. As a result, he was much more cheerful as we boarded the Danube steamship for Buda-Pest. And it was a most romantic way to travel. The wide, graceful river wound around beautiful scenery and picturesque towns on either shore. We stood together by the rail and watched it all go by, occasionally crossing sides depending on what Zsigmund wished me to see most. Excitement seemed to hum within him, bubbling out in his eagerness to show me his world. I thought there was even relief in him that some of it hadn’t changed.

But he was gentle and caring as he made love to me that night in our cabin. I fell asleep in his arms, as happy as he was. Although when I woke only half an hour later, I was alone. I knew he’d gone back up on deck, and I understood he wanted now to be alone, to prepare, perhaps, for his return to his defeated city. This would not be easy for him.

Or for me. I was about to meet his no-doubt disapproving family, about whom he’d told me very little. His grandfather, an uncle and aunt, and some very distant cousin all living in the family house, which I gathered was large to the point of palatial.

My task was to convince his grandfather how respectable he’d become, so that he’d allow us to go to the country estate which seemed to be the home of Zsigmund’s heart. It struck me that his grandfather must be a very formidable and powerful man to be able to command the government according to his whim.

My heart beat unaccountably fast as we sailed up to the quay in Pest. It was full of Austrian soldiers. Above the other shore lowered the great castle of Buda, whose capture by the Austrians had finally brought the war to an end. I wasn’t surprised by Zsigmund’s silence, or by the tension I could feel gathering in his body beside me.

“It’s changed,” he said. “Everything’s changed.”

He’d set out to change the world, of course. Just not like this, in defeat and military occupation.

“We’ve come this far,” I said, threading my fingers secretly through his between our bodies. “We might as well see it. We don’t have to stay. We can go wherever you like.”

He squeezed my hand in gratitude. I only hoped I was right, that this wasn’t some kind of trap to lure him home for punishment. As soon as we tied up, the slightly subdued people milling on the quay surged onto the ship to greet their loved ones. Since no one was there for us, our papers were checked first.

“Wait,” we were told abruptly.

Zsigmund didn’t wait, merely took my arm and walked down the gangplank. A soldier shouted after us, “Count Andrassy! Halt!”

Everyone turned to stare. The soldiers guarding the quay began to march towards us, and my heart sank into my boots.

Zsigmund, however, merely strolled to where our luggage was already unloaded. Perhaps this had always been his intention. At any rate, an officer ran across to us at full tilt.

“Zsigmund!” he exclaimed, grinning. “Apologies! I told them to ask you to wait for me, not to threaten you! Welcome home, my friend.”

There was a tiny instant of blankness in Zsigmund’s face, as if this meeting surprised him into rare indecision. And then he smiled and took the outstretched hand. “Karl. How are you?”

“All the better for seeing you.”

“Caroline, let me present Karl von Degenfeld, an old friend from my student days. What are you, now,
Major
von Degenfeld?”

“I have that honour.”

“My wife,” Zsigmund said, abruptly and yet with more than a hint of pride that touched my heart.

But Major von Degenfeld’s eyes had widened with pure astonishment. “Your
wife
?” he blurted, leaving me in little doubt of the relationship he’d imagined to begin with.

“Yes, my wife,” Zsigmund repeated, his soft voice suddenly dangerous.

Major von Degenfeld recovered quickly. “Countess. I am enchanted.” He took my outstretched hand and bowed over it punctiliously. “Forgive my surprise.” He glanced at Zsigmund. “I was talking to the old Count only yesterday, and he never mentioned your wife. I think he must have been teasing me! Come, I have a coach to take us and your luggage to your palace.”

“Palace” boded well, I thought in some amusement. I wondered if I was about to be overwhelmed by exotic luxury. And yet Zsigmund had described his Pest home as “rotting” and told me the other branch of the Andrassy family held the true wealth. I began to suspect either he was being modest or his idea of wealth and mine varied hugely.

“Forgive my intrusion,” Major von Degenfeld said as he joined us in the coach. “Since we are old friends, I asked for this duty.”

“What duty?” Zsigmund asked ominously.

“To make sure you understand the terms of your freedom,” the major said bluntly. “There is no way to make this palatable to you, and I regret it more than I can say. But you must stick to this, Zsigmund, or they’ll arrest you. Worse, they’ll make
me
arrest you.”

Zsigmund stared at him, then deliberately looked out the window at the street. It had begun to rain. “Tell me the worst.”

“You are bound within the environs of Pest and Buda. You may not travel beyond. You may not wear military uniform or gather outside your home with more than six people. And you must keep to the curfew and be home by ten each evening. You are obliged to report every day to a responsible military officer.” The major bit his lip. “I’ve made that me, Zsigmund. I’m happy to call every day to save you the...trouble.”

He clearly meant embarrassment. Beside me, Zsigmund held himself quite rigid. I felt the pain of his internal wrestling as if it were my own. But in the end, he spoke with unexpected grace.

“Thanks for your consideration, which I don’t deserve. But I gratefully accept.”

Von Degenfeld sat back with obvious relief. “The restrictions don’t apply to the house,” he said almost eagerly. “Since it’s your grandfather’s residence, you may entertain there as lavishly as you please.”

“But I may not take my wife to a party?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Not yet,” von Degenfeld admitted, his hands twisting together in his lap, somewhat miserably. “But I’m sure things will relax very soon. So, you are English, Countess?” He turned to me with a hint of desperation.

The major and I made pleasant enough small talk for the rest of the journey. We discussed English scenery, the Prince President of France, the benefits of spa waters, and the journey from Vienna to Pest. Zsigmund sat in silence beside me, contributing nothing to the conversation.