Chapter 29
Sophia threw open the white latticed doors and strolled onto her private balcony.
She leaned against the smooth balustrade, caressing the polished marble as her gaze swept the grandeur of her formal gardens. It seemed that, during the few short days since the horrendous thunderstorm, spring had finally come to Vienna.
She languidly inhaled the morning air, tinged with the scent of flowers that had appeared in the gardens as if overnight.
The bright sunshine was deliciously warm upon her skin.
A light breeze played through her mahogany tresses, which Marietta had just brushed to a burnished glow, the glorious mass trailing down the bodice of her cream satin morning gown to cover the swell of her breasts.
Sophia wound her fingers in a silken tendril, her eyes narrowing with interest at one of the gardeners, an Italian youth of eighteen, as he knelt over a flower bed.
Her gaze traveled across the sculpted breadth of his shoulders and back, the muscles rippling in his arms as he dug methodically, then down the curve of spine to his firm buttocks, their masculine beauty heightened by his tight breeches.
Desire quivered inside her, dusky laughter bubbling in her throat. Angelo. Her angel. For want of the man she craved above all others, he had been only one of the diversions who had amused her over the past dreary winter.
Sophia’s smile faded, her hands gripping the balustrade like talons. Diversions that had gone on far longer than she had planned…
“Milady,” Marietta murmured, standing by one of the latticed doors. “Adolph is here.”
Sophia tensed, though she spoke calmly. “Bring him to me.” She listened to the rustle of Marietta’s starched skirt as the maid moved swiftly across the room, opening and closing the chamber door with a click.
“The little beast,” Sophia muttered vehemently, the familiar thud of his bootheels upon the carpeted floor grating upon her nerves. She should choose her assassins as carefully as she chose her gardeners.
“You sent for me, milady?” Adolph asked, stopping on the threshold.
He grinned expectantly. Perhaps she was going to present him with the emerald ring she had promised, for the successful completion of his task.
The bauble was worth a fortune, and could very well mean his freedom if he found the right buyer for it.
Sophia waved Marietta away, waiting to speak until she had left the room. Her topaz eyes glinted with deep-seated rage as she studied her servant. At the click of the door she drew herself up, towering over him. “It seems you have failed me once again, Adolph,” she stated darkly.
Adolph shook his head vigorously, his heart sinking to his boots. The low timbre of her voice, dripping with hidden intent, was like a death knell to him.
“No, mistress, that’s not possible!” he blurted. “She could not have survived her fall… I saw it, milady. It would have killed the strongest man!”
“She lives, Adolph; it is as simple as that,” Sophia muttered with disgust. “I saw Countess Isabel at a gala last evening, looking none the worse for your bungled carriage accident. I overheard her talking to several of her simpering friends about Kassandra’s…
” she viciously spat out the hated name “…unfortunate fall and Stefan’s daring rescue.
It was so gushingly recounted, I thought I might retch! ”
Adolph took a step back, cold fear gripping him. “I c-could have sw-sworn…” he stammered, the words dying on his lips as she cruelly clasped his shoulder.
“You are obviously not capable of performing the task you have been given, my little friend.”
Adolph fell to his knees, his compact body shaking uncontrollably. “Please…please, mistress, allow me one more chance,” he pleaded, sweat breaking out upon his protruding brow.
“Why, Adolph?” Sophia sneered. “So you can fail me again? This is all becoming quite an embarrassment to me. One more failed attempt will surely look suspicious, if it doesn’t already. I don’t think I can risk another—”
“I promise, milady, I will not fail you!” Adolph broke in, his high-pitched voice wavering. He swallowed hard, as her fingers bit painfully into his shoulder. “I swear on my life!”
Sophia abruptly released him, and he toppled over onto the floor.
“Aptly put, Adolph. On your miserable life…” She wheeled around, her skirt hitting him across the face, and strode to one end of the balcony, her back to him.
“Now get out of my sight,” she ordered. “You have until this evening to come up with a plan…a very good plan.”
“Yes, milady!” Adolph nodded, rising quickly to his knees. He grasped the balcony doorknob and pulled himself to his feet, bowing as he backed away. “Until this evening—”
“Go!”
Adolph did not hesitate. He sped to the door, nearly tripping on his own boots in his haste to leave her chamber.
Sophia sighed with satisfaction as the door slammed behind him.
She leaned slightly over the balustrade and plucked a flowering bud from a tall tree growing near the wall, her gaze moving once again to the gardener toiling below.
Holding the bud in the palm of her hand, she admired its fragile beauty and inhaled its delicate fragrance.
“Angelo!” she called out. She gestured to him with a wave of her hand. He smiled knowingly up at her, and she smiled in return, her eyes dancing with lusty anticipation. Then she turned and sauntered from the balcony, crushing the bud between her fingers and dropping it to the floor.
Adolph took another draft of warm beer, then licked the foam from his lips.
His gaze roamed the dingy interior of the tavern, dimmed with smoke from countless cooking fires and cheap tobacco, resting here and there on familiar faces: the tavern keep, a giant of a man, nearly seven feet tall and strong as a bear, whom he had known from his days with the traveling menagerie; the whores who worked the riverfront inn next door, with their heavily rouged cheeks and hardened glances.
Yet these women always smiled when he would visit his favorite haunt, and they never cringed when he offered to pay for their affection.
He felt more comfortable in this ramshackle tavern than anywhere else on earth. Less a dwarf, condemned by an accident of nature to a life of ridicule and hardship, and more of a man. It was to this place he had come to think.
Adolph barely suppressed a shudder, recalling Sophia’s cold threats. He did not doubt she meant every word.
Never in his life had he known such a woman, or dreamed such a woman could exist, until he was sold into her service late last summer.
He had known ruthless cruelty, but usually at the hands of men.
The archduchess was a witch, a murderess, the Devil incarnate swathed in female flesh of the finest alabaster and the most voluptuous curves, her face a study of extraordinary beauty that gave no hint to the evil lurking in her heart.
If the bitch had a heart, he amended wryly.
He took another draft of beer, the pungent liquid buoying his flagging spirits, and emptied his mug.
He set it down on the rough-hewn table with a thud, the heavy pewter clinking against the other two mugs in front of him, and waved for another.
He rested his head in his hands while he waited, his thoughts tumbling over and over in his mind.
He had to think of a new plan, and fast, he mused grimly, or he, not Lady Kassandra Wyndham, would become Sophia’s next victim. But what?
It was by mere chance that his three previous attempts had failed.
This time he had to come up with an idea that was foolproof, one that would convince Sophia he could carry it through to completion.
Perhaps poison might do the trick. He knew of many kinds, arsenic, hemlock, nightshade, and many ways to conceal their use, so one’s death might resemble an accident—
A chair grating across the planked floor jarred him out of his thoughts.
He looked up as two cloaked men sat down at the table next to his own, the one nearest the corner.
They were dressed as Bohemian peasants, in rough woolen garments and low-slung caps that covered their heads, not an uncommon sight, especially this close to the Danube.
There were many Slavic races who had merged into the fabric of Vienna, plying their trades along the river.
Yet there was something about these two men that struck him as odd. His instincts told him that these two peasants were not what they seemed.
Adolph blinked in surprise when a sallow serving wench placed another mug of frothy beer in front of him—he had forgotten his request for more drink in his curious observation of the strangers.
He paid her, shrewdly watching the newcomers as they, too, ordered beers, and then resumed their soft-spoken conversation.
He listened carefully, his ears attuned to even the quietest sounds, a talent he had learned to ensure his own survival. He was not disappointed at the furtive discussion that drifted over to him. He kept his head down and slowly sipped his beer.
“You must deliver this message to Sultan Achmet,” one of the men muttered, furtively sliding a folded letter across the table.
“I have made all the arrangements for you. The boat will leave tomorrow night, taking you to Belgrade. There you must alert Mustapha Pasha to the Imperialist threat, but stay no longer than it takes you to recite the message. You must press on, traveling as swiftly as you can.”
“So you believe it is to be Belgrade, then?” the other asked in faintly clipped tones.
Adolph started. He had heard that accent before, long ago, as a youth, when his traveling troupe had performed in Constantinople. The man was Turkish.
“Yes. It seems Prince Eugene is eager to surpass his victories of last year by attempting to capture the great fortress. He has maps, diagrams, everything he needs to lay siege to the city.”
“But the garrison in Belgrade can hardly defend the fortress alone. They are well armed, well trained, to be sure, and the fortress is heavily fortified. It could withstand a long siege, but if the lines are broken…” The Turk paused, shaking his head.
“It would be twenty men to one in favor of the Imperialists.”
“True. Prince Eugene can be stopped only if the Grand Vizier, Halil Pasha, assembles his field army and prepares to march from Constantinople in defense of the city. That is the contents of your message, Hasan. That is why it is urgent you deliver it to the Sultan as quickly as possible. I should know in a few days when the Imperial forces plan to leave Vienna. I shall carry this news first to Belgrade, and give Mustapha some advance warning, then travel on and hopefully meet up with Halil’s army on its way north.
So, you see, I will be following close on your heels. ”
“You have done well, Count Althann.”
Adolph’s eyes widened.
Count Althann… He knew that name. Sophia had insisted he learn all the names of the aristocratic families in Vienna, and some of their history. But which Althann?
The two men fell silent as the serving maid brought their beers, and waited until she had moved well away before continuing their hushed discussion.
The Turk laughed at some whispered remark, then Adolph heard the unmistakable chink of money, muffled by a cloth bag.
He surmised shrewdly that gold was changing hands, the opiate of any spy.
“We had agreed on twice this amount, if I recall, my friend,” Althann muttered, his blue eyes searing into his companion’s dark gaze.
“Ah, how stupid of me,” the Turk replied, his voice echoed by another thud upon the table. “You have a good memory, Frederick.”
“That is why I am so well paid, Hasan.”
Adolph shook his head in disbelief. So Count Frederick Althann, one of the most favored young aristocrats at the Viennese court, and a godson of the Emperor, was a spy for Achmet III, Sultan of the Ottoman Empire!
Yet it made sense. He was the fourth son in his family, heir to little but the title of count. What quicker way to earn his fortune than as a spy?
Adolph’s face split into a sarcastic grin, though he hid it well with his sleeve, pretending to wipe his nose.
“Let us leave this place,” Hasan murmured, his cunning eyes sweeping the darkened room, lit only by shallow oil lamps and the cooking fire roaring beneath a greasy hearth.
He could barely mask his disgust. “Surely you know of another more comfortable establishment, where one might sample the delicacy of a refined Viennese courtesan?”
Frederick nodded. “I know of such a house,” he murmured with a wry smile. “But I must warn you, Hasan. The women there could steal a man’s soul. They are well versed in all manner of carnal…amusement.”
“All the better! Let us be on our way, my friend,” Hasan replied eagerly. “I have only one night to taste the pleasures of this city.”
Adolph watched as the two men rose from their chairs. They passed by him so closely that the Turk’s cloak swept against his table. Grateful that he had changed from his rich clothes into more drab attire, he feigned idiocy by staring with glazed eyes straight ahead and drooling into his beer.
“In my country they kill poor wretches like him at birth,” Hasan muttered scornfully. “That creature is repulsive.”
Adolph winced, Frederick’s terse comment lost to him as they moved away. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard the door swing shut, then shoved the beer away and leaned back in his chair, an idea forming in his mind.
A slow smile cut across his face. It was perfect, he thought slyly. The perfect solution to his dilemma.
Here was a man who would no doubt do anything—anything—to preserve his deadly secret and his life.
All that was needed was one little word to Sophia, and this traitor, this spy against his own people, would take the distasteful responsibility of Lady Kassandra Wyndham from his hands forever.
Adolph threw a few coins on the table for the serving maid, then stood on the low stool on which his feet were resting and jumped to the floor.
He could not wait to tell his mistress of his ingenious plan. It was the stuff of which her wicked dreams were made.