The Diamond Slipper

Chapter Four

Leo was bored, but no one would guess it from his smiling attention, his easy conversation, his diplomatic appearance of pleasure in the evening. He disliked costume balls more than anything, and in Paris or London he would have appeared in his regular dress, maybe carrying a loo mask as token contribution to the festivities. But in Vienna he was a foreign guest, a member of a delegation, and it would be discourteous to spurn his hostess's entertainment. So now he was clad as a Roman senator in a purple-edged toga, but as if to emphasize his dislike of the entertainment, his loo mask dangled negligently from one finger.

He shifted from one foot to the other and watched the clock. At midnight everyone would be unmasked, and if he slipped away a little beforehand, he could return dressed as himself without drawing comment.

In the meantime he conversed with one half of his mind while his eyes covertly raked the throng for Cordelia. She'd been at the banquet, dressed in a gown of celestial blue quilted taffeta over a petticoat of palest blue. Her midnight black ringlets clustered on her white shoulders, caught up at the back in a pearl comb. Her wrist was circled with her betrothal bracelet, and he noticed how she played with it absently when her hands had nothing else to do.

He had tried not to look at her, but, failing in that, had concentrated on concealing his observation. She had cast him several speaking glances across the wide expanse of the banquet table, but he had refused to return them, pretending to see only the brilliant glitter of the chandeliers, the crystal sea of glass, the glinting planes of silver and gold salvers that stretched between them.

But he couldn't deny that she was entrancing. She bubbled with life, and her table companions were reflected in her light and laughter. She seemed to scintillate at the center of the people around her, and Leo again saw Elvira. No one could be in the same room with Elvira without becoming wittier, prettier, handsomer, livelier. Even Michael in the early days of their marriage had taken on some of her hues.

Amelia and Sylvie occasionally showed glimpses of their mother's spirit, but they were intimidated by their dour governess, who was under strict orders from her employer to stamp out any signs of unseemly liveliness in the girls and to train and educate them to know their duty.

Leo, suddenly aware of his clenched jaw, forced his thoughts back to the ballroom. He made some vague observation to his companion as they stood at the side of the ballroom, his eyes still searching the crowd of dancers for Cordelia. She would have changed into her costume after dinner, but he was sure he'd know her, no matter how elaborate her disguise. Nothing would conceal the essential Cordelia.

When his companion's attention was claimed by another guest, he took the opportunity to move away, strolling around the ballroom, avoiding the strategically placed firemen with their pumps-eight hundred of them stationed in the window embrasures to watch the thousands of candles. He'd been told that the empress had installed medicines, beds for emergencies, and physicians in the apartments surrounding the temporary wooden structure of the ballroom in the grounds of the Belvedere Palace. It struck him as typical of that monarch's obsession with detail.

A quadrille was being danced by four squares of couples. He paused to watch, his eye immediately falling upon a lissome figure scandalously clad in britches that molded her calves and thighs. A tunic covered her hips for the most part, but when she moved in the dance, the tunic moved with her, offering tantalizing glimpses of a small round bottom.

Her hair was pulled back from her brow and confined in a silk snood, her black silk loo mask covered eyes and nose, but Leo knew immediately that it was Cordelia. What in Lucifer's name was she playing at? He pursed his lips on a soundless whistle and glanced involuntarily toward the dais where the empress sat with her daughter, her sons, and the senior courtiers of both France and Austria. Did she have the faintest idea that her goddaughter was dressed in this scandalous fashion? Cordelia was safe from Duke Franz because his gout kept him from the ball, but she was still risking serious censure. And she was drawing every eye in her vicinity.

She was outrageous and utterly seductive. And after tomorrow evening's proxy marriage, she would be totally in his charge until he delivered her to Prince Michael. It would be his responsibility to see she didn't flout the conventions on the procession through France. There would be rigidly defined rules of etiquette for this ceremonial journey with its many stops as the French people were introduced to their new dauphine, and there would be no room for nonconformity, however appealing the rebel might be.

And she was very appealing. Even as he frowned with disapproval, he couldn't deny how much she stirred him.

The strains of music faded as the graceful dance ended. Cordelia smiled distractedly at her partner, then turned away, striding off the floor with the freedom of movement her costume allowed. It was clear to Leo that she was looking for someone as she circled the room, prowling with a long-legged feline grace that sent a shiver down his spine. Judging by the quiver of arrows on her back, she was playing Diana the Huntress. She didn't seem to be aware of the attention she was drawing. The stares, the whispers, scandalized, envious, and in many cases undeniably lascivious, followed her every step.

Michael would have a seizure if he could see her, Leo thought. But instead of being shocked, he wanted to laugh. Sheer madness. Encouraging her was the last thing he wanted to do. Dear God, whyever had he agreed to take on such a charge? But, of course, he'd been expecting a timid, obedient debutante. Instead of which…

Impatiently, he started to cross the room toward her, keeping her in his line of sight. She had paused beside the young musician, Christian Percossi, who was listening attentively to some bewhiskered general. Leo saw her brush her friend's arm in passing. Then a back obscured his view for a second, and when he had a clear view again, Diana the Huntress had vanished.

Frustrated, he stopped, looking around. Then he saw young Percossi making his way purposefully to the doors leading to the courtyard outside the ballroom.

Clearly another assignation. Leo's eyes rolled heavenward. He quickened his step, following the musician.

There was a nip in the night air; the stars were crystalline against their black velvet background. Leo shivered in his thin toga after the heated ballroom with its myriad candles and hot press of bodies. A red carpet covered by an awning ran from the ballroom to the main structure of the Belvedere Palace; flambeaux lit the pathway that disappeared into the glittering maw of the palace. There was no sign of his quarry, but Leo followed the path into the palace. The great entrance hall was unnaturally quiet. A lone footman hurrying across the vast marble expanse gave the viscount in his Roman costume a curious glance and seemed to hesitate, then a clock somewhere chimed the midnight hour and he continued hastily on his way.

Leo heard Cordelia's voice, low but both urgent and excited, coming from an antechamber to the left of the grand staircase. He entered the small room without ceremony and was relieved to find the two of them standing decently far apart beside the open window. For all their protestations of pure friendship, he hadn't been completely convinced. But this was clearly no lovers' tryst.

Cordelia sensed his presence and turned swiftly to the door. "Oh!" she said. "It's you."

"Yes, it's me." He advanced into the room. "What in the name of the good Christ are you doing in that costume?"

"I was just asking her the same thing, sir." Christian ran a distracted hand through his fair curls. He was dressed unimaginatively if decorously as a minstrel. "It's shocking, Cordelia. What if the empress discovers your identity? Or your uncle! Can you imagine what he would do to you?"

"Yes," Cordelia said cheerfully. "But he won't know, and neither will the empress. Only Toinette knows, and she would never betray me."

"Cordelia, you're impossible." Christian looked toward the viscount in unconscious appeal.

"Come over here, Cordelia." Leo took her hand and led her over to a wall mirror. "Now, take a look at yourself and tell me what you see."

Cordelia, head to one side, examined her reflection. It seemed a strange question; it was obvious what she saw. "Me, dressed as Diana the Huntress."

"No. You, dressed in the most provocative, seductive fashion."

"But it's a costume ball. It's part of the fun to be incognito and slightly shocking."

"You are not yet old enough, wise enough, or sophisticated enough to be enflaming men."

"Do I?" she interrupted. "Do I enflame you?"

Leo was speechless for a moment, and it was Christian who exclaimed, "Cordelia!"

"I didn't say it first," she said. "Do I enflame you, Christian?"

"No… I mean, well, you could do." He ran his hand through his curls again. "It's just shocking, Cordelia. You're the empress's goddaughter and you're about to be married-"

"Precisely." Leo waded in, once more on track. He took hold of her shoulders, feeling the slender shape of them beneath his hands, and turned her once again to the mirror. "Look at yourself, Cordelia. You don't think of the effect you have on men. Every man in that ballroom was salivating when he looked at you, and you blithely swan through it all like some innocent fairy in a dream. I tell you straight, your husband will not appreciate such a performance."

He felt some of her ebullience leave the slim body under his hands. She sighed. "I don't see why you should both be so cross, when no one except ourselves and Toinette knows who I am. And it's past midnight, so I can disappear and no one will ever be any the wiser. Besides, I didn't notice anyone salivating over me."

"That, I suspect, is your only saving grace," Leo said aridly. "If you had calculated the effect you had, you would be quite insufferable."

Cordelia turned aside and stared fiercely out of the window. She was accustomed to being scolded for her high spirits, but not in this fashion, and certainly not by Christian. "Maybe it was a mistake," she conceded, her voice a little muffled. "So, can we stop talking about it now, please? I have something much more important to discuss."

"Something private?" Leo inquired with a raised eyebrow.

Cordelia turned back to face him, regarding him intently, her eyes glowing turquoise through the slits in her black silk mask. "I would like to take you into our confidence, my lord. I… I think perhaps you might be able to help us."

"Oh." The eyebrow almost disappeared into his scalp.

"Cordelia, I don't think-" Christian began hesitantly.

"Viscount Kierston will help us," Cordelia interrupted. "You will, won't you?" She laid a hand on his forearm, on the bare flesh exposed by the toga. Despite her preoccupation, her eyes darted upward, an almost startled expression in them as her fingers crossed over his warm skin. Leo pulled his arm from her.

"Go and change your clothes," he said, keeping his voice level only with an enormous effort. "I refuse to discuss anything with you in that outfit."

"But you'll both stay here and wait for me?" she asked urgently. "I won't be many minutes."

"Christian and I will further our acquaintance in your absence," he responded coolly.

"Very well." She whirled to the door. "Christian, you can explain the situation with Poligny while I'm gone. And then I'll tell you both of my plan when I come back."

The viscount shook his head as she vanished. "I find I need a glass of champagne to restore my equilibrium." He strode to the bellpull hanging beside the door and summoned a footman.

"Cordelia does sometimes have that effect," Christian ventured with a timid smile. "She's so full of energy and ideas, she often throws me off balance."

Leo's smile was a trifle rueful, but he didn't respond. He gave orders to the footman who'd appeared instantly, then said, "So, put me in the picture, Christian."

Cordelia flew upstairs to the small chamber she occupied when the court was in residence at the Belvedere Palace. It was nowhere near as elegant or spacious as her apartments in the Schonbrunn, although not as cramped as those in the ancient Hofburg Palace, but the court was accustomed to moving from one palace to another according to the empress's ceremonial obligations, and Cordelia was at home in any one of them.

She hauled on the bellpull and ran to the armoire, tugging the tunic over her head as she did so.

"My goodness gracious me! Whatever are you wearing, girl?" Mathilde appeared in the doorway within minutes of the summons. She'd been Cordelia's nurse and now performed the duties of abigail even as she continued to scold, caress, comfort, and doctor as if Cordelia was still her nurseling.

"Whatever would your uncle say? And the empress?" She closed the door swiftly at her back as if prying eyes might be in the corridor.

"Oh, don't you start, Mathilde." Cordelia emerged from the tunic and tossed it to the floor. "Only Toinette knew who I was, and she thought it a famous joke. But I have to change now." She tugged at the waistband of her britches while examining the contents of the armoire. "I shall have the seamstress make me up a gown of sackcloth with a neck that goes up to my ears! That should satisfy the so prudish Viscount Kierston!" She grinned, her spirits quite restored as she kicked off the britches and shrugged out of the shirt.

"Now, what are you prattling about?" Mathilde picked up the discarded clothes as they flew about the room. "If someone had the sense to take you to task for such mischief, all well and good."

Cordelia didn't answer. She pulled out a gown of sprig muslin. "This should do. It's about as seductive as a haystack. Lace me, Mathilde." She gave the woman her back, grasping the bedpost as Mathilde hauled on the laces of her corset. "Good. Thank you." She put finger and thumb at her waist and nodded her satisfaction. "I suppose when I have babies, I shall grow the most enormous waist. Now, where are my stockings?"

Mathilde held them out wordlessly. She was accustomed to Cordelia's whirlwind.

"Fichu," Cordelia declared, stepping into her petticoat and gown. "I need a demure fichu that won't show a centimeter of bosom."

Mathilde shook her head in resignation and proffered a white cambric fichu. Cordelia fastened it at the neck of her gown. "Oh, my hair. I can't wear this snood, it'll give everything away." She pulled it loose, shaking her black curls free. "Be an angel and brush it for me quickly."

Mathilde did so, drawing the brush through the black tresses until they shone with blue lights.

"You're a darling, Mathilde, and I don't know what I would ever do without you." Cordelia threw her arms around the maid's neck and kissed her soundly. "Don't wait up for me. I can undress myself." She picked up her fan and danced out of the chamber, leaving a smiling Mathilde to tidy up after the cyclone.

The sounds of music still came from the ballroom as Cordelia jumped the last two of the sweep of marble stairs rising from the entrance hall. She didn't pause to catch her breath but hastened into the anteroom. She stopped in the doorway beneath a torch in a wall sconce and curtsied with formal deliberation.

"I trust you find nothing to object to in my costume, Lord Kierston." She raised her eyes, and the flaming torch was reflected in the dark irises.

"I would call it a vast improvement, madame," he replied with a cool bow.

"I have it in mind to instruct the seamstresses to fashion me one of those garments women wear in the sultan's harems," she said. "Something that covers every inch of my skin, with a veil over my head, so no one can see anything of me but my eyes. Would that suit you, sir? That way I could never be a temptation or-"

"Put a bridle on your tongue, Cordelia!" he interrupted, trying to hide a bubble of amusement, lowering his eyelids to conceal the glints of laughter he knew were alive in his eyes. Cordelia could cover herself in horsehair and she would still be a temptation, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

"Do I tempt you, my lord?" She glanced up at him with demure eyes, long black lashes fluttering in a perfect mockery of flirtation.

"Cordelia!" exclaimed Christian yet again. He'd never seen his friend behave in this manner. "Have you had too much champagne?"

She shook her head, her eyes still fixed upon the viscount. "Well, do I tempt you, my lord?"

"To many things," he replied dampeningly. "Few of them pleasant."

"I was only funning," she said, although she knew she hadn't been, but some devil inhabited her when she was in the viscount's company, and she couldn't seem to help herself. "I don't think you have a sense of humor, sir. If you had, you wouldn't wear that boring and unimaginative costume."

Leo glanced at his reflection in the mirror. "What's wrong with it?" He sounded chagrined.

"It's dull. I would have dressed you as a Roman legionnaire instead… in a short toga and leggings, and those sandals with the crossed laces that go up to the knee. Now, that wouldn't have been boring in the least. Oh, and a circlet of gilded laurel leaves around your head. Very appealing."

Leo was so occupied trying to sort out this image of himself so blithely presented that it took him a minute to realize that she'd thrown him off balance again. He glanced at Christian and saw to his further chagrin that the young man was grinning.

"Cordelia's very good at costumes, my lord," Christian volunteered. "She designs all the costumes for the plays the royal family put on in the theatre at Schonbrunn. I know what she was wearing tonight was shocking, but it was very clever."

Leo glanced again at his image in the mirror and caught himself reflecting that it was a very boring costume. A legionnaire's regalia would have been much more imaginative and exciting.

Dear God! What would he be thinking next? "She was as conspicuous as a flamingo in a dovecote," he stated repressively. "Now, could we get to the matter in hand? If Poligny is pirating Christian's work, then he must be exposed."

"Yes, but even if we do that, Christian's position here will be impossible, even with the empress's support. Poligny has so many friends, so much influence."

"That's what I told you" Christian pointed out, "and you accused me of being a pessimist."

"Well, I thought about it a bit more." Cordelia wandered over to the table and the bottle of champagne. "Is there a glass for me?"

"I'm afraid not." Leo sipped his own wine.

"Never mind. I can share Christian's." She suited action to words, taking Christian's glass from his unresisting fingers. "This is what I have in mind. Christian should expose Poligny in a broadsheet that will hit the streets the day we all leave Vienna."

Leo's gaze sharpened. The musician was leaving too?

"But won't that look as if I'm afraid to defend my position?" Christian took the glass back and sipped.

"It might, but not if your evidence is incontrovertible." She held out her hand for the glass, talking rapidly but succinctly. "It'll cause a stir at the very least, and the news will reach Paris, so that when you arrive there you should already be a celebrity and it shouldn't be difficult to find an influential patron. Everyone knows you're a genius. And if they don't, they'll discover it immediately, as soon as you begin to play. What do you think, sir?" She turned to Leo, who had been watching the interplay between the two with a degree of amusement. Their ease with each other was completely free of loverlike undercurrents; it reminded him of the way he and Elvira had been together.

Sorrow, as fresh as it had ever been, washed through him. He picked up the bottle and refilled his glass.

Cordelia, seeing the sudden shadow in the viscount's eyes, looked over at Christian. But Christian was frowning, absorbed in the business at hand.

"Do you think my husband might be prepared to sponsor Christian?" she asked, as the viscount took a sip of his wine and seemed to emerge from whatever black landscape he'd been inhabiting. "Just initially, I mean. Just to introduce him to the right people."

Leo stroked his chin and considered this. Embracing the cause of an impoverished young musician, even if he was a genius, didn't sound at all like Michael. "I wouldn't pin my hopes on it," he said eventually.

Christian looked crestfallen, but Cordelia said impulsively, "But supposing I asked for it as a wedding present? It wouldn't be a big thing."

Leo couldn't help laughing. "My dear girl, a bride doesn't march up to her husband at first meeting and demand a wedding present."

"I suppose not," she said glumly.

"Besides, I don't have the money for the journey," Christian pointed out.

"Oh, I have money, that's not a problem," she said with a return of enthusiasm. "I can lend you whatever you need."

"I don't wish to borrow money from you, Cordelia."

"Pshaw! False pride," she said dismissively. "You'll pay it back when you're rich and famous and known the world over. But you must have a sponsor in Paris. Perhaps the king…" She glanced interrogatively at Leo.

"It's not impossible. The king is a generous patron, but it's not easy to gain his notice."

Cordelia chewed her lip. She could think of the solution, but she wondered if it would be impertinent to suggest it. It would, of course, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. However, it would be unforgivable to put both men on the spot in front of each other.

"The champagne has made me very thirsty," she said. "I wish I had some lemonade."

"I'll fetch you a glass," Christian said instantly, as she'd known he would. He set the champagne glass on the table and hurried from the room.

Cordelia picked up the discarded glass and sipped, trying to think how to approach the delicate subject.

"I thought the champagne made you thirsty," Leo observed, leaning back against a pier table, folding his arms, regarding her with an ironical eye.

"I want to ask you something private," she said.

"Why do I have the sense of impending trouble?" He reached behind him for his own glass.

"Will you sponsor Christian?"

Leo closed his eyes briefly.

"Please. It wouldn't be that much trouble, would it?" She came up to him, touching his arm again. "He really is a genius. You'll see."

He opened his eyes and looked down at her. Immediately, he regretted it. She was gazing up at him, her cheeks flushed, her hair tousled around her heart-shaped face. His eyes became riveted to the deep dimple in her chin, the full sensual bow of her lips. She brushed her hair impatiently from her face, tucking it behind her ears, and his gaze fell upon the small shells lying flat against the sides of her head. Her earlobes were long, begging for the grazing caress of his teeth.

"Please," she said softly. "It would mean so much to me. Christian can't waste his genius here. It's not fair to the world!"

"How can I possibly be responsible for depriving the world of genius?" he said, his lips curving in an involuntary smile. "You could charm the birds out of the air, the fish out of the sea, Cordelia."

Her eyes glowed and he knew he'd blundered again. "Could I, my lord?" Her little white teeth clipped her bottom lip.

He caught her face in both hands, his fingers pushing into the tangled ringlets. His mouth on hers was hard, as if he wanted to punish both of them for this craziness that he couldn't help. His tongue forced her lips apart, probing, ravaging her mouth, almost as if he would thus penetrate her body to the obstinate, irresistible spirit that drove it. His hands were hard on her face as he fought through the mists of madness to control his surging arousal.

But unbelievably, she laughed against his mouth, her breath a moist and sweet whisper, and her tongue danced with his. Her body moved against him, her own hands moving unerringly to his buttocks, pressing his loins against her.

Leo started back, his hands falling to his sides. He stared at her, her flushed face, her smiling mouth, the dreamy arousal in her eyes.

"Get out of here."

Cordelia stood her ground. She ran her hands through her hair, pushing the disordered curls off her face. "Don't you think you could love me at all, Leo? Not even one little bit?"

With a savage execration, he pushed past her and strode from the room.

Cordelia snapped a thumbnail between her teeth. At least he hadn't said no. But perhaps simply following her instincts as she was accustomed to doing was a mistake. Perhaps honesty put him off because he was accustomed to playing the sophisticated games of flirtation before the glittering mirrors of Versailles. But she didn't know how to play those games. She didn't know how to be anything but herself.

Too keyed up to go to bed and in too much turmoil to manage to be coherent in company, she made her way to the formal baroque gardens of the palace, the night air cooling her cheeks. That explosion of passion had shaken her. There had been a moment when he had frightened her, when she had sensed in him a force that could sweep her away into some maelstrom in which she would lose all sense of her own identity.

She shivered, wondering with a deep liquid surge in her loins what it would be like to experience that unleashed force.