Read Online Vienna Waltz (The Imperial Season Book 1) by Mary Lancaster - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mary Lancaster
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lips. “Why do you say that?”
“Because after tonight, after this waltz, we’ll never see each other again.” She was too used to speaking her thoughts as they occurred; she hadn’t cleansed the unexpected regret from her voice.
And he caught it only too clearly. She saw the leap in his eyes and it caused an immediate commotion within her, like a flock of butterflies rising in her stomach. Even though she recognized it for what it was: a rake’s triumph at the prospect of conquest. Worse, she couldn’t make herself mind.
“Why should you think that?” he asked softly.
She shrugged, striving for carelessness. “Because even if we do, we won’t know it. We won’t recognize each other.”
“Of course we will. There’s an infallible way to ensure we do.”
“What is that?” she asked unwisely.
“No two people kiss the same way.”
For the first time, she missed a step. Heat surged through her so quickly she was glad of the mask to hide her flushed cheeks. She tried to introduce a haughty lift to her eyebrows, but already his arm was falling away from her back. The music had stopped and before her rather dazed eyes, he bowed over her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers in the continental fashion.
And then another voice intruded, speaking in jovial French. “Vanya! I might have known it would be you who finally persuaded the mysterious Mademoiselle Noire to dance!”
Startled, Lizzie’s gaze flew to the man addressing her partner. She beheld, unmistakably, the Tsar of all the Russias, an unworn mask dangling from his wrist. Speechless, she sank into a deep curtsey. Any number of thoughts flitted through her brain, not least of them that despite her efforts at concealment, she’d been noticed enough to have a nickname coined by such an important personage. And yet, somehow more important was the fact that now she knew her stranger was called Vanya. It had a pleasing, exotic ring to it. It suited him. And like the tsar himself, the name had surely to be Russian.
Mr. Vanya straightened and inclined his head smartly to his monarch. “Sire.”
“Won’t you introduce me?” It wasn’t really a request. The tsar had commanded.
“To the best of my ability in the circumstances,” Mr. Vanya said smoothly. “Sire, allow me to present Mademoiselle Noire. Mademoiselle, His Majesty, the Emperor of Russia.”
“Enchanted,” the tsar said, smiling as she curtseyed once more. He even took her hand to raise her. “Perhaps I might hope for this dance.”
He was, she supposed, dazzling, and she knew this was the most flattering invitation she would ever receive. And yet, all she could think of was how to get out of it. The evening was confused enough and she still hadn’t found Johnnie.
“Perhaps a later dance, Your Majesty,” suggested an aide in a green domino—surely the one who’d been dancing earlier with Minerva? Another aide, an officer from his fine moustache and fabulously braided uniform, stood on the tsar’s other side, his gaze locked in some kind of silent communication with Vanya. The civilian aide said, “Your Majesty is promised to the Queen of Bavaria for this one.”
The tsar frowned, as if he was quite prepared to slight the queen for Lizzie’s sake.
Mr. Vanya said, “Then I am saved. I promised to return Mademoiselle to her aunt, under pain of death.”
It smoothed the Imperial brow. The tsar even laughed, as Vanya drew her aside, her hand through his arm.
Behind them, the tsar said, “Who the devil is her aunt anyway?”
“I’ve no idea,” his aide replied and laughter bubbled up in Lizzie’s throat.
“Oh goodness, I almost had a tale to tell my grandchildren! That I danced with the Tsar of Russia!”
“Now you have a rarer one,” Vanya said. “You refused to dance with the Tsar of Russia.”
“No, I didn’t. You and his aide refused to let me. He is excessively handsome, isn’t he?”
“So I’m told.” Vanya swerved in the other direction. “If we
“Because after tonight, after this waltz, we’ll never see each other again.” She was too used to speaking her thoughts as they occurred; she hadn’t cleansed the unexpected regret from her voice.
And he caught it only too clearly. She saw the leap in his eyes and it caused an immediate commotion within her, like a flock of butterflies rising in her stomach. Even though she recognized it for what it was: a rake’s triumph at the prospect of conquest. Worse, she couldn’t make herself mind.
“Why should you think that?” he asked softly.
She shrugged, striving for carelessness. “Because even if we do, we won’t know it. We won’t recognize each other.”
“Of course we will. There’s an infallible way to ensure we do.”
“What is that?” she asked unwisely.
“No two people kiss the same way.”
For the first time, she missed a step. Heat surged through her so quickly she was glad of the mask to hide her flushed cheeks. She tried to introduce a haughty lift to her eyebrows, but already his arm was falling away from her back. The music had stopped and before her rather dazed eyes, he bowed over her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers in the continental fashion.
And then another voice intruded, speaking in jovial French. “Vanya! I might have known it would be you who finally persuaded the mysterious Mademoiselle Noire to dance!”
Startled, Lizzie’s gaze flew to the man addressing her partner. She beheld, unmistakably, the Tsar of all the Russias, an unworn mask dangling from his wrist. Speechless, she sank into a deep curtsey. Any number of thoughts flitted through her brain, not least of them that despite her efforts at concealment, she’d been noticed enough to have a nickname coined by such an important personage. And yet, somehow more important was the fact that now she knew her stranger was called Vanya. It had a pleasing, exotic ring to it. It suited him. And like the tsar himself, the name had surely to be Russian.
Mr. Vanya straightened and inclined his head smartly to his monarch. “Sire.”
“Won’t you introduce me?” It wasn’t really a request. The tsar had commanded.
“To the best of my ability in the circumstances,” Mr. Vanya said smoothly. “Sire, allow me to present Mademoiselle Noire. Mademoiselle, His Majesty, the Emperor of Russia.”
“Enchanted,” the tsar said, smiling as she curtseyed once more. He even took her hand to raise her. “Perhaps I might hope for this dance.”
He was, she supposed, dazzling, and she knew this was the most flattering invitation she would ever receive. And yet, all she could think of was how to get out of it. The evening was confused enough and she still hadn’t found Johnnie.
“Perhaps a later dance, Your Majesty,” suggested an aide in a green domino—surely the one who’d been dancing earlier with Minerva? Another aide, an officer from his fine moustache and fabulously braided uniform, stood on the tsar’s other side, his gaze locked in some kind of silent communication with Vanya. The civilian aide said, “Your Majesty is promised to the Queen of Bavaria for this one.”
The tsar frowned, as if he was quite prepared to slight the queen for Lizzie’s sake.
Mr. Vanya said, “Then I am saved. I promised to return Mademoiselle to her aunt, under pain of death.”
It smoothed the Imperial brow. The tsar even laughed, as Vanya drew her aside, her hand through his arm.
Behind them, the tsar said, “Who the devil is her aunt anyway?”
“I’ve no idea,” his aide replied and laughter bubbled up in Lizzie’s throat.
“Oh goodness, I almost had a tale to tell my grandchildren! That I danced with the Tsar of Russia!”
“Now you have a rarer one,” Vanya said. “You refused to dance with the Tsar of Russia.”
“No, I didn’t. You and his aide refused to let me. He is excessively handsome, isn’t he?”
“So I’m told.” Vanya swerved in the other direction. “If we
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