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Overview
Let bestselling author Kat Martin sweep you away--from Society's grand ballrooms to the perilous battlefields of the Napoleonic War--in Dangerous Passions, a magnificent story of love, betrayal, and trust regained.
When Elissa Tauber learns of her beloved brother's murder and that her native homeland is threatened, she is determined to expose the traitor. Posing as a recently widowed countess, she moves through the glittering world of the court, willing to barter even her lovely body if she must.
More than one man poses a threat, but it is the tall, imposing Lord Wolvermont, Colonel Adrian Kingsland, who endangers her heart. Even as she suspects he might be the spy called the Falcon, she longs for his touch. When fate takes a hand, Elissa must decide whether to betray her mission-or lose the man she loves.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781466855632 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | St. Martin's Publishing Group |
| Publication date: | 01/28/2014 |
| Series: | Kingsland |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 368 |
| Sales rank: | 510,170 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Dangerous Passions
By Kat Martin
St. Martin's Press
Copyright © 1998 Kat MartinAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-5563-2
CHAPTER 1
Cornwall, England
October 1808
"I have to do it, Mama. I have to do it for Karl — I have to do it for Peter." Slender, blond Elissa Tauber paced in front of the stone hearth in the family cottage on the outskirts of Tenabrook, a small rural village near St. Just.
Across the warm, modestly furnished parlor, her mother sat rocking in a ladder-back chair near the fire, her once-blond hair now graying at the temples, her narrow face lined with worry. Long, slender fingers gripped the nightgown she had been embroidering with small pink roses for her daughter's twenty-first birthday.
"We've been through this before, Elissa. You can't possibly travel to Europe — it's too dangerous. I've lost one child already. I could not bear to lose another." In her youth, Octavia Tauber, Countess von Langen, had been the image of her golden-haired, blue-eyed daughter. She had been an actress of some renown on the London stage, a beauty whose sensuous allure had a dozen men falling at her feet.
The handsome Count von Langen had been among them, and Octavia had fallen in love with him practically the instant she had seen him. Octavia ached just to think of him, so tall and blond and fair. Two years ago, her beloved Maximilian had died in a riding accident and without him she had withered and begun to age. The bright spark of life that had always burned inside her had flickered and died, the fiery, passionate nature so like that of her daughter.
"I'll be careful, Mama. I won't take any unnecessary chances. There is money left over in the trust fund Papa set aside for my schooling — I can use that. As soon as I have the slightest proof against the man who killed Karl, I shall go straight to the authorities."
Octavia fingered her stitchery. "Perhaps we should go to them now."
Elissa stopped pacing and turned. "You know we cannot. We have only the one single letter. Accusing a man of spying against his country is not a matter to be undertaken lightly. The very people whose help we seek might be the ones involved. We have to have more evidence. We have to find out who this man is."
The countess shook her head. "I won't take the risk. I cannot."
Elissa crossed to where her mother sat hunched over her embroidery, rocking faster now, tension making her hands shake where she rested them in her lap.
She knelt beside her mother's chair. "You would do it, Mama, if you could — I know you would. If your health were better, you would go. You wouldn't let the man who killed Karl get away with it. You would find him and see that he paid. You must let me go in your stead."
Her mother shook her head. "You're too young, Elissa, too inexperienced. You know little of the world and even less of men. You could not possibly —"
"I can do this, Mama. Think of the hours we used to spend pretending we were onstage. You taught me to act, to pretend I was a great and beautiful actress just like you. Remember the elaborate plays we put on for Papa? Lord of Misrule at Christmas, A Midnight Summer's Dream, the comedies and dramas Karl would make up?"
"That is hardly the same."
"You are right — this will be much easier. I shall pretend to be the Countess von Langen — a woman much like you when you were the toast of the stage."
"You are not old enough to be Maximilian's wife."
"I shall pretend to be the count's younger, second wife. I'll be a thousand miles from home — who is to know?" When her mother looked skeptical, Elissa rushed on. "Remember when I was a child? You used to laugh and say I could have been an even greater actress than you were. You said that, Mama. Do you remember?"
Her mother sighed. "I remember."
"Let me go to Vienna. Write to your friend the duchess. You can trust her, can you not?"
"Of course. Her husband was your father's best friend."
"Ask her to help us. Beg her to let me stay with her. Explain why this is so important. Tell her I'll travel as a widow just out of mourning, a woman eager to experience the glitter of Vienna. That will give me the freedom I need to mingle with the men we suspect." She clasped her mother's hand. "With the threat of war so near, it's imperative this man be stopped. If he is passing secrets to the French as Karl suspected, such a message could turn the tide of war and Peter's life could be forfeit. Karl saw how important this was — that is why he was murdered. The duchess will see it, too. Help me do this, Mama. Help me do this for Karl and to help keep Peter safe."
The countess chewed her lip. Things had changed so much these past few years. The grand lifestyle she had known, first as an actress then later as a young woman married to a handsome Austrian count, had slowly faded. It hadn't mattered that in the end her husband's money had dwindled to only a modest income. There was enough to educate their three precious children, buy the boys a military commission, and send Elissa to a fashionable finishing school.
Money had never been important, not when they were so happy. Then Maximilian had died, and the boys, fulfilling their father's dream, had enlisted in the Austrian Army. Now her handsome, warm, intelligent eldest son, Karl, was dead, and his younger brother, Peter, might be in danger.
"Help me, Mama," Elissa pleaded softly and Octavia sighed in defeat.
Perhaps her daughter was right. There were things you had to do in life, some of them painful. You had to live life to the fullest, to do your duty, even if it meant putting yourself in danger. Without Maximillian there to stop her, there was every chance her strong-willed daughter might attempt the journey on her own, which would prove far more dangerous. And, as Elissa had said, there was a time when Octavia would have done the same.
"Fetch the quill pen and ink," she said softly. "Then leave me in peace for a while. I must have time to think ... if I am to write to the duchess."
Elissa started in surprise, then gave her a fierce, desperate hug. "Thank you, Mama." A smile brightened her face, the first real smile Octavia had seen since Karl had died. From the time she was a child, Elissa had worshiped her brother like the hero he had become.
"You won't be sorry, Mama. I know we are doing the right thing." Turning, Elissa dashed away, her slender feet flying up the stairs.
Setting her embroidery aside, Octavia stared into the low-burning flames. There were plans to make if their mission were to prove successful. Thinking of her beautiful, passionate, and headstrong daughter; of her son, barely cold in his grave; of the ominious letter that had been his last words, Octavia prayed that it would be.
CHAPTER 2Chapter Two
Austria
March 1809
Plump milk-white breasts, an impossibly narrow waist, and lush, womanly hips. Colonel Adrian Kingsland, Baron Wolvermont, thought of the pleasures awaiting him in the villa below and smiled.
Dressed in his scarlet and white cavalry uniform, he had ridden this night with single-minded purpose — an evening of pleasant debauchery buried to the hilt between the pale, creamy thighs of Lady Cecily Kainz. Cecily was the wife of a wealthy viscount, much younger than her ancient, doddering husband, lusty in her appetites and ripe for the attentions he had lavished upon her since his arrival in the country.
Adrian reached the low rise above the resort town of Baden, nestled at the base of the Austrian hills half a day's ride from Vienna, and reined up his big black stallion. The horse danced a little beneath him, sensing they were somewhere near their destination. Looking down on the summer villas and manor houses surrounding the small, elegant city famous for its healing mineral baths, he could see the blue roofs of the huge Murau villa, Blauenhaus, not far away, though only a few solitary lamps remained lit within.
A quick scan of the second-story windows and he found the viscountess's bedchamber, third from the end in a line of more than fifty, saw that the lamp had already been doused. He was late, he knew. Still, he had hoped that she would be waiting.
Adrian's mouth curved into a wicked half smile. Then again, perhaps awakening her ladyship might prove even more interesting.
He turned to the man who rode beside him, Major Jamison St. Giles, a friend since his childhood days at boarding school. "Well, my friend, I'm afraid this is where we part company, at least until the morrow."
A frown marred the major's lean forehead. "I don't like the look on your face, Adrian. Surely you don't mean to arrive at this hour — you'll wake up the whole damned household."
Adrian simply smiled. "This isn't an official arrival, Jamie. In fact I intend to be very quiet about it."
"Gad, I had forgotten that Cecily was here. I should have known you were up to something the way you were pressing so hard." He sighed. "I don't think this is a good idea. Why don't you come with me? We'll take rooms at that little inn on the square, get a good night's sleep, and arrive at a decent hour in the morning."
Adrian shook his head. "Not a chance, my friend. I've been thinking about this sweet little rendezvous all week. I don't intend to miss it just because our illustrious commanding officer, General Ravenscroft, happened to call one of his damnable meetings."
Jamison rose up in the stirrups of his worn leather saddle, stretching his long legs out full-length, trying to get comfortable after the tiring hours they had spent on the road. Several inches shorter than Adrian, with black hair and light blue eyes, he was built differently as well, lean and wiry, whereas the colonel was heavily muscled through the shoulders, hard and ruggedly honed from his years in the British cavalry.
They were different in temperment as well, Jamison easygoing and soft-spoken most of the time, while Adrian, a decorated war hero and extremely capable officer, could be hot-tempered, arrogant, and far too reckless at times. It was that reckless streak Jamison saw in him now.
"Need I remind you, Colonel Kingsland, you're here on diplomatic assignment? It would hardly improve Austro-British relations to be found with your breeches around your ankles, half-naked in some woman's bed."
Adrian laughed, a slightly rough-textured sound. "I'm afraid I'll have to chance it."
Jamison shifted wearily, the saddle creaking beneath him. "I realize you're my superior, Colonel, but I still think you should —"
"Relax, Major. I'll join you at the inn before dawn. Tomorrow we'll make our very respectable arrival, just as you wish."
Before Jamison could argue, Adrian nudged the stallion into a trot and rode off down the hill. At the rear of the villa, he reined up and swung down from the saddle, tying the animal beneath the branches of a secluded birch tree. Checking to be sure no one was near, he made his way through the formal gardens and crossed the wide brick terrace to a trellis covered with climbing roses that led up to the second-floor balcony.
Testing the strength of his makeshift ladder, satisfied it would hold his not-inconsequential frame, he scaled the distance easily and swung a booted foot over the wrought-iron railing. No lamps were lit. No sounds came from within. He paused outside the French doors leading into the viscountess's bedchamber and even in the darkness he could make out the gleam of her shiny blond hair, the outline of her body in the big four-poster bed.
The door to the terrace was unlocked as he had hoped it would be. He turned the knob and eased it open on silent hinges. Cecily lay curled on her stomach, her face pressed into a deep feather pillow, her lovely features covered by her sleep-tumbled hair.
She was naked, he saw, the sheet pushed down to just above the curve of her bottom. His body stirred. The arousal that had started to build the moment he entered the bedchamber began to strengthen. Soundlessly, he crossed the thick Oriental carpet and sat down on the edge of the bed. Only a sliver of moon lit the night, but a thin ray slanted across the bed, illuminating the pale skin of a long, slender neck.
His blood pumped faster, grew hotter. Adrian bent forward and pressed a soft kiss at her nape and caught the slight fragrance of lavender. He kissed the smooth white skin across her shoulders, and she shifted a little on the bed. His arousal throbbed, crowding hard against the front of his breeches.
He wanted to turn her onto her back, to fondle her lovely breasts and slide himself into her welcoming body. Instead he trailed kisses down the tiny ridges that marked her spine and was rewarded with a sweetly feminine whimper. He slid the sheet down a little farther, kissed the dimple just above the swell of her left buttock, then moved toward the lovely heart-shaped mole marking the spot just above the dimple on the opposite side.
Adrian froze.
He knew Cecily Kainz with the intimate knowledge of the lover he had been these past few weeks. He knew with certainty she bore no such mole.
Bloody hell!
Feeling the woman stir and begin to turn over on the deep feather mattress, he moved quickly, grabbing the sheet with one hand and jerking it over her body at the same time he clamped his palm over her mouth and pinned her against his chest.
"Don't be frightened," he said softly in German, a tongue he was fluent in, since his mother was of Austrian descent, the reason for his current assignment. "I'm not going to hurt you. I thought you were somebody else."
He could feel her trembling, see the fear in her pretty blue eyes as she clawed at his hand. He tightened his hold, stilling her movements, careful not to hurt her.
"Listen to me. I thought you were somebody else — do you understand? I'm not going to hurt you." When she continued to pry at his fingers, he shook her gently. "I said I won't hurt you. I'll let you go if you promise not to scream."
She calmed a little, for the first time appeared to comprehend. She made a faint nod of her head and he eased away his hand.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to invade your privacy. As I said, I thought you were somebody else." His gaze ran over her face, the arch of her throat where a pulse beat frantically, and it occurred to him that he wasn't the least bit sorry. The woman, a girl not more than twenty, was even more beautiful than Cecily. Her features were finer, her face heart-shaped instead of round, with a slight indentation in the chin. Her golden hair wasn't long, as he had mistakenly believed, but cropped fashionably short and curling softly around a face that could have belonged to an angel.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
Adrian smiled faintly. "Merely the friend of a friend." He eased himself away from her with no small amount of regret and began to back toward the door. "My apologies for the inconvenience, angel. I promise to make it up to you the next time we meet. I have a feeling that may be very soon."
Her cheeks bloomed with bright, warm color, embarrassment finally overriding her fear. Her head went up, but her hand trembled where she clutched the sheet beneath her chin. "In that, sir, I sorely hope you are mistaken."
He flashed a roguish grin. "Perhaps. I suppose we shall have to wait and see." He touched his forehead in silent farewell, thinking there was no doubt they would meet again. He intended to make a point of it. "Sleep well, sweet angel."
Adrian opened the door and stepped out onto the terrace. The night was cool, the sky dark with just a scattering of stars. Making his way to the trellis, he swung a long leg over the railing and climbed down, thinking of the girl, his body still hard with desire for her. He reached the bottom without mishap, cursing only once when a rose thorn bit into his hand. It was a small price to pay, he thought wryly, for the treasure he had glimpsed this eve — and the prize he meant to win.
* * *
Lady Elissa Tauber sank back against the fat down pillows on her bed, still clutching the sheet to her chin. Good sweet God, she had never been so embarrassed! Her mother had warned her at least a dozen times not to sleep without her nightrail, but she had never listened. She'd always slept too warm, and during the night often discarded the uncomfortable cotton gown her mother insisted she wear.
She was a grown woman now. She could sleep without clothes if she wished — it was no one's business but her own. Or at least so she had believed.
Elissa groaned into the pillow, thinking of the handsome, powerfully built, dark-haired cavalry officer who had stolen into her bedchamber. She didn't doubt his reason for being there — not after she was awake enough for his explanation to make sense. She had only arrived at the villa two days ago, traveling as the Countess von Langen with Her Grace, the Duchess of Murau. The emperor, who had been feeling poorly, had decided to take the waters for his health. His entourage had come with him, Elissa and the duchess along in their wake.
Until yesterday the bedchamber had been occupied by Lady Cecily Kainz, a frequent visitor to the villa, a sensuous bit of fluff with an eye for every man she met. After what had just occurred, it was clear the viscountess was having an affair with the handsome man in the scarlet uniform. It was equally apparent he hadn't known Cecily had departed — albeit grudgingly — to return to her aging husband.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Dangerous Passions by Kat Martin. Copyright © 1998 Kat Martin. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
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