A thick Turkey carpet muffled her cautious steps. Thank God for Alexander’s hubris. In his blatant flirtations with her, the Tsar had described in detail exactly where his bedroom was located. With luck, the royal valet would be enjoying a well-deserved rest from the rigors of dressing his monarch . . .
Arianna froze in her tracks as one of the sky-blue paneled doors cracked open.
A shuffle of bare feet, a querulous mutter, and then the flutter of embroidered silk as a portly figure padded into the dimly lit passageway.
Oh, bloody Hell.
Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Tsar Alexander lifted his candle a touch higher, suddenly aware of a shadowy intruder just steps away from his person. With her hair knotted at the nape of her neck and a black knitted cap drawn low on her brow, Arianna knew that she must appear an ominous threat.
To his credit, Alexander did not cry for help. Assuming a pugilist’s pose, he swung a meaty fist at her face. “Scrawny scoundrel! How dare you invade my private quarters.”
Arianna easily dodged the clumsy blow and caught hold of his cuff. Whatever his other faults, Alexander was no coward. “Your Highness,” she began, only to find an elbow flying at her face. She twisted away just in the nick of time, but her hold on his dressing gown pulled the Tsar off balance. He teetered on one foot for an instant and fell backward, landing on his Royal rump with an audible thump.
“Merde.” They both swore in unison.
“My apologies, Your Highness,” added Arianna, making no attempt to disguise her voice.
Alexander’s eyes widened as his gaze traveled up the length of her legs. “You make a very attractive boy, Lady Saybrook,” he murmured, regarding her snug breeches with obvious approval. “Is this some new English game of seduction? It’s quite diverting, however I think that I prefer you dressed in frilly feminine attire.” A leering wink. “Or nothing at all.”
“I’m afraid this is not a social call, Your Highness,” replied Arianna, wondering what the consequences would be for lashing a hard kick to the Imperial jaw. She couldn’t afford to waste time in flirting. “I need a favor, but not one that involves sliding between your sheets.”
“How disappointing.” He patted his plump stomach and sighed. “However, I confess that I’m not feeling very frisky this evening, so perhaps it’s for the best. My physician has ordered complete quiet and bed rest for the next few days.”
“What a pity that you must miss the Carrousel. It promises to be quite a colorful spectacle.” Arianna offered a hand to help him up. “I’m here to ensure that the hues don’t include blood red.”
His expression sharpened slightly. “Indeed?”
“I need to borrow your dueling pistols—the ones you purchased from Joseph Manton on your recent trip to England.”
“My Mantons?” His jaw dropped. “But they are far too dangerous for a lady. They have hair triggers and are deadly accurate—”
“Which is precisely why I need them,” interrupted Arianna. She smiled sweetly. “Now, if you please.”
The curt command rendered him momentarily speechless. The weapons were not only frightfully lethal, but frightfully expensive.
“Why?” he finally sputtered.
“I haven’t time to explain, but a cadre of conspirators is seeking to throw Europe back into chaos. Saybrook and I intend to stop them.”
As Alexander shifted, she began gauging the distance between her fist and his chin. On second thought, a knee to the crotch might be a more effective way of rendering him immobile—
“Wait here.” He was lighter on his feet than she expected. Stepping over the still-smoking candle, he disappeared into his bedchamber. Arianna heard a drawer bang, and then he was back, brandishing two perfectly matched pistols. “I wouldn’t lend these to just anyone, but you strike me as someone who knows how to handle them.” The burnished walnut butts were smooth as satin against her hands as the Tsar passed them over. “However, be forewarned that if you lose them, you will have to pay a forfeit. A rather large one.”
“Agreed, sir.” Arianna slid them into her pockets. “But I don’t intend to lose either your weapons or my virtue—or the battle against a traitorous bastard.”
“Ye are sure ye don’t need my help, laddie?”
“We’ve been over this, Baz. It’s best that you stay here.” After a quick look at the time, Saybrook handed the surgeon his pocket watch. “The pageant is scheduled to last just over an hour. If I am not back by a quarter to nine, force your way to Talleyrand’s box. Wellington will recognize your ugly phiz, and as we agreed, I sent him a note this afternoon informing him that if you appear, he is to follow your instructions without question.”
“Aye, I know the plan.” Henning listened to the music drifting out from the palace. “But I still hate playing second fiddle. You are the one waltzing into danger.”
The earl ignored his friend’s grousing. “If things go badly awry, I am counting on you to get Arianna safely out of the city,” he went on in a low voice.
“That goes without saying,” answered Henning.
“Not that I expect any trouble.” Click, click. Saybrook checked the priming of his pistol. “With the metal strip in place, there is little danger that the bomb will go off. In any case, I’ll be hiding behind the cabinet and will apprehend Rochemont before he puts the acid in place.”
“What if he has an accomplice?” demanded Henning.
“You think I’ve gone soft from all my wife’s sweetened chocolate and can’t handle two adversaries?” countered the earl.
“I’m simply warning you to stay on guard for the unexpected. We both know that when on a clandestine mission, it’s always a good idea to have someone watching your arse.”
The earl’s chuckle formed a pale puff of vapor in the night air. “Seeing as I have no intention of allowing either you or Arianna to ogle my bum tonight, I’ll have to trust that I have eyes in the back of my head.”
The surgeon didn’t smile. “I’m serious, Sandro. Be careful. Renard and his pack of varlets are utterly ruthless.”
“As am I, when I have to be.” Click, click. The hammer slid to half cock. “Save me a swallow of your Highland whisky.”
Thick as saddle leather, the earthy smells of horse and sweat filled Arianna’s nostrils as she crept along the row of empty stalls. The Hungarian stallions had been led to another part of the stables to await the final preparations for the Joust, leaving the area near the storage rooms dark and deserted. The only sounds were the creak of a loose gate and the faint scrabbling of cat hunting through the straw. Looped reins and silver-studded bridles hung from the dark beams, forcing her to keep her head down to avoid tangling in their web.
Saybrook had been adamant about keeping her away from danger, but what if he needed help? Her plan was simply to watch his arse. If all went well, he would never know . . .
Bent low, she suddenly saw a twitch of lamplight dart through a small gap between the planking and the floor. Edging into one of the storage alcoves, she held herself very still and cocked an ear to listen. Someone was moving slowly and stealthily along the row of stalls on the other side of the wall.
“You are late,” came a curt whisper.
Arianna inched closer to the rough wood.
“Be grateful I’m giving you a moment of my time.” It was Rochemont speaking, and he sounded angry. “I’m the one who has done all the planning, and taken all the risks. Why should I suddenly take orders from you?”
“Because I carry this.” A crackle of paper, followed by the clink of metal.
“Then I suppose I have no choice but to accept your authority, seeing as you bear his badge.” Rochemont’s tone had turned petulant. “Does that mean Renard is here in Vienna?”