A Fatal Waltz by TASHA ALEXANDER Page B

to the von Langes’ house, and I left the Imperial by eight o’clock, feeling not the slightest concern that I might be calling too early. Though I should be loath to admit it, I rather liked the idea of disturbing Kristiana. Regardless, I’d given her fair warning.
    I’d expected that Cécile would not be able to come with me. She was here, after all, to see her friend, the empress. But although she left the hotel at the same time I did, her destination was not the imperial palace. Instead, she headed for the studio of an artist whose work I greatly admired: Gustav Klimt. He was to paint her portrait. When I asked her if the empress would mind that she did not come to her first, Cécile smiled, and there was a wicked gleam in her eye.
    “No one would understand better than Sissi,” she said, stepping into a carriage and leaving me at the curb.
    The Viennese were early risers. Already, people bundled in furs were streaming in and out of shops, bakeries, and coffeehouses, rushing across the narrow snow-covered streets that cut through the city like a spider’s web. My feet were wet, my unlined leather boots no match for the snow, and by the time I reached the countess’s imposing residence, it felt as if the very fabric of my coat was frozen. The von Langes’ house was palatial, its baroque grandeur dwarfing the very street on which it stood. The interior, full of stuccowork—cherubs and scenes from mythology everywhere I turned—overwhelmed me with its intricate beauty. As a servant in formal livery led me to an impossibly warm drawing room, my opinion of Kristiana thawed along with my toes.
    For a moment, that is.
    She kept me waiting nearly half an hour before she glided into the room and sat directly across from me. “You poor child. You look positively frigid,” she said. “Something warm to drink?”
    “No, thank you. I’m perfectly comfortable.”
    “I didn’t expect Colin to bring you to Vienna so soon.”
    “He’s in Berlin. I came on my own, and am hoping that you can assist me.”
    “Berlin?” She smiled, laughter in her bright eyes. “Is that what he told you?”
    “I’m here because Robert Brandon thought you might know something about a message Lord Fortescue received while we were at Beaumont Towers.”
    She laughed. “Oh, dear, you shouldn’t involve yourself in these things. It’s unseemly.”
    “For me but not for you?” My limbs were beginning to throb as the numbness faded from them. “I don’t like you any more than you like me. But the fact is, we may be able to assist each other. It would be foolish to let our personal—”
    “Assist each other? How do you plan on assisting me, Lady Ashton? I can’t imagine any way in which you could do so.”
    “I’m discreet and able to keep a secret. No doubt at some point in your own work, you might benefit from an ally.”
    “Do not flatter yourself by thinking you could ever be my professional equal.” She was resting her elbow on the arm of the sofa and raised a single finger to hold up her chin as she scrutinizedevery detail of my face. “There is only one thing you have that I want.”
    I met her gaze and held it with my own. “Colin?”
    She nodded. “Release him to me, and I will tell you what you desire to know.”
    “I don’t have him on a chain, Countess, and I’m not the one who decided to leave you.”
    “Of course not. He would never stand being on a chain. But if you were to change your behavior—flirt in a more serious manner with other gentlemen, for example—he might be more inclined to see me again. If you took a lover, he would too.”
    “I won’t do that,” I said.
    She shrugged. “Then Mr. Brandon’s life is worth very little to you.”
    “I’ll find out who sent the message on my own.”
    “Not before they hang your friend.” She laughed again, and I had to restrain myself from reaching out to slap her.
    “Frankly, I’m shocked that you would stoop to seek my assistance to seduce your