“I doubt it.” Reese remained in the shadows when he could, the best plan for one who was still employed by the secretive Special Services.
“But you"d recognize him? Oh. Perhaps you"ve seen that etching in the
Daily
Telegraph
?”
“I didn"t see the paper, but I"ve seen the man.”
He"d first encountered Binder in person in the Crimea all those years ago. But even before that, he"d heard stories about the wealthy young man who could act as chameleon and pass himself off as a German, a Frenchman, a Russian, an Englishman—or a Crimean Tartar.
The Nobleman and the Spy
5
On that brutally cold day, Reese had lain flat on his belly, gazing through a nautical telescopic glass into the enemy encampment. He"d seen the young Karlo, dressed in a magnificent, opulent uniform, laughing and talking with the Russians.
And then, weeks later, he"d seen the man on the battlefield, less ridiculously dressed but still splendid as he delivered death on horseback, his saber slicing with lethal grace.
Exhausted, staggering from a wound he"d received as he"d killed a man, Reese watched von Binder strike and strike again, killing British soldiers, his fellow men-in-arms. The young nobleman had given a wordless cry of triumph that Reese had heard over the gunfire and the screams of men and horses.
Karlo had galloped in his direction, then suddenly pulled his horse to a halt.
Worn beyond fatigue but furious and ready to fight, Reese had watched the approach of death that would come from the edge of his enemy"s bloody saber.
Then he had looked up into his enemy"s eyes.
For several seconds—hours in battle—they"d studied each other, Reese and the man on horseback less than ten feet away. Reese was out of ammunition, so he raised his bayonet, ready for the attack.
After that one long, measuring look, von Binder had abruptly wheeled and ridden away.
He"d left Reese alive and wondering why for all the years since. Many sleepless nights he"d relived that moment, turned it over and over in his mind, examining it from every possible angle and trying to make sense of it. Why save him? What inexplicable, silent exchange had passed between them on that battlefield?
“Bloody Sevastopol,” Reese muttered.
Toole cocked his head. “You were there? You fought?” He sounded almost eager, as if he"d missed out on a big party. The idiot must have been even younger than he appeared.
6
Bonnie Dee & Summer Devon
Reese rose to his feet. He had no reason to stay. “Unless you need to reach me, I"ll see you—or someone like you—here again. One month exactly. I"ll leave word of my whereabouts via the usual methods.” He left without looking back.
The Nobleman and the Spy
7
The waiter approached silently and placed the greasy pile of sausage and kippers in front of Karl, who groaned with joy. The server bowed and moved away while Karl expertly tapped off the top of the boiled egg cradled in its porcelain cup.
Cohen stood and glared down at Karl"s plate. “English breakfasts are repulsive. Your choices are plebeian. A miner"s meal.”
The manservant"s prematurely gray hair was already losing its battle with the pomade he"d used to plaster it to his head. Several curls had popped up. Cohen"s pale skin showed the dark rings under his heavy-lidded eyes. He was popular with the ladies, and Karl supposed that Cohen"s almost cadaverously thin, lanky body drew nurturing women who wanted to feed him. Perhaps they also tried to console him. The huge shadowed eyes and downturned mouth gave him the appearance of a man who"d just had a rumor of disaster confirmed.
“Sit,” Karl commanded. Cohen pulled out a chair and primly took his seat at the linen-covered table. Karl motioned to the waiter. “My companion would like a plate of everything except the kidneys.”
“Also not the scrambled eggs,” Cohen said. “They look as if they"re made of leather,” he added in German.
Karl handed him the toast rack. “Please. Quit
klagen
.” The two of them usually spoke a combination of German, English, and Yiddish, but at that moment, Karl decided to make a change. “No, wait. I should say, stop complaining.” Karl picked up his tea and drained the cup. “We"ll make the effort to speak only in English now that we"re in London.”
“You and your England,” Cohen said.
8
Bonnie Dee & Summer Devon
Karl grinned. He hadn"t realized how much he"d missed England until he"d spotted the cliffs of Dover from the boat deck, and his heart had beat so fast, he"d wondered if he might see its pulse under his jacket.
Home.
He"d lived in other places that were more breathtakingly lovely. He knew many other countries with a better climate and a prettier people. Almost every nation offered better cuisine. But London was the city he visited in his dreams, the city of his mother, and his happiest memories were of England, childhood holidays, and university years. For the past several months, he had longed for overcooked vegetables and boiled puddings. He"d been in London for weeks and still felt moments of pure joy at his return.
Cohen gave the tiny cough that indicated he was about to conduct formal affairs. Through years of service, he"d become more like a friend than a mere servant to Karl, but Cohen never truly forgot his place and always brought Karl"s attention back to performing his father"s business.
“The Pfalzgraf—pardon, I am to call him the count in English—the count wonders why, now that he wishes you to stay longer and to put off that journey north, you do not choose to temporarily reside with your uncle. He feels that Lord Merridew"s home is large enough to host your retinue.”
Karl guessed his father"s comments had not been phrased so pleasantly. “I prefer to make my own arrangements.”
Cohen frowned thoughtfully. After a minute, he said, “Don"t want to strain Lord Merridew"s resources, I suppose?”
“Thank you, that"s a good reason, and you may pass it along to Father as my answer if you wish. I don"t want to burden my mother"s brother with the cost of feeding the whole entourage my father insists should accompany me.”
He wouldn"t bother to share his real reason. His sense of danger had been aroused, and he"d learned to trust his instincts. He didn"t want to bring any trouble into his uncle"s home by staying there.
The Nobleman and the Spy
9
“So, good. We will stay here at Claridge"s. The accommodations are sufficient.”
Cohen spoke English with a thick German accent that Karl noticed only when they were in England.
“Yes. If it was good enough for Empress Eugenie, it"s good enough for us.
Although I might send some of the lads home.”
“Lads? You Brit.” Cohen gave him one of his rare smiles. He poked at the no longer steaming sausage with the prongs of his fork. “Pork, no doubt.”
Karl dipped a strip of toast into the yolk of the boiled egg, smiling as he remembered how his mother and British nursemaid had called them toast soldiers.
Cohen cut into the sausage, speared half with his fork, and ate it gloomily. “So.
We all stay here in London because you need us. You"re representing your father"s interests here, yes? You must have servants.”
Karl didn"t answer, but Cohen went on speaking. “I can see shedding only Greber, Villiars, or possibly Sechsman. You need a retinue befitting a member of the noble Neuschlosswold-Binder family.”
Karl finished the egg, then leaned back in his chair. The time had come to tell his father"s advisor—now Karl"s confidante and friend—the truth. “I know it"s not possible, but I would have liked to have come back as plain Charlie Binder again,”
he said. “I will do the bare minimum, Cohen. I plan to see Oxford again. I will visit my uncle and listen to him complain about the Tories. As for duty, I will go to a few of those parties—you pick which—dressed like a performing monkey in full regalia.
God, how I hate tassels, sashes, and medals.”
Cohen made an unsympathetic sound. “Now you are the one to complain.
Naturally we shall do more than attend parties.” He picked up a newspaper and shook it out. The hotel ironed it, so the scent of scorched paper reached Karl"s nose.
Another English scent. He rose from the table and tossed down his napkin.
Of course Cohen had risen to his feet too. “Wait, we must speak of your role,
Hochgeboren
.” The formality of Cohen"s speech was a gauge of how upset he was.
“There are certain people you
must
meet with and certain policies your father 10
Bonnie Dee & Summer Devon
wishes you to promote to them. The current state of unrest about German unification must be addressed.”
Karl reached over and patted Cohen"s shoulder. “I have no interest in whatever intrigue my father has you and Smelter coordinating. This trip I"m not here to play politics, but simply to visit my uncle and enjoy a brief holiday.”
Cohen looked around the room, which was empty except for a large gray-haired lady in furs, who sat with her companion and a small poodle.
“I do not know what to say,
Erbgraf
.” He"d reverted back to German, an even greater sign of his anxiety. “Acting on your family"s behalf is your raison d"être.”
“I will be as decorative as you require, but I have no stomach for my father"s brand of political intrigue. While I am here, I shall visit the British Museum, the galleries and the shops on Bond Street. I will go to Oxford and wander nostalgically for a day or so.” He paused. “And I promise to stay away from any controversy.”
Cohen"s eyes narrowed. “Your father feels that if you meet with the late Prince Regent"s cousin to discuss
Ministerpräsident
Bismarck"s proposal to—”
“No! I have no interest in my father"s latest squabble. He will try to drag England into some petty German Confederation business. Ah, Cohen, I will never fit in England again properly because of the Crimea. If he wishes to clutch at power and stave off the Prussians, he may contact his friends, the Russians, again. I"m done. I have had enough of it.”
Of course, Cohen ignored the gist and picked at a detail, the damned diplomat.
“Fit this country? What does this mean?”
Karl"s brief bout of temper and self-pity dissipated. He grinned and shrugged.
“I am not exactly sure myself. But do not mistake me, my friend. I will not tell lies or spy for the count again.” He shook his head. “Which means I will not act as his spokesman, for I have no notion which of his words are truth or lies.”
“Oh God.” Cohen groaned. “What shall I tell the Pfalzgraf?”
The Nobleman and the Spy
11
“Nothing, of course. I shall remain as a mute figurehead, so there"s no reason anyone should know I am not part of my father"s latest positioning.”
Karl turned and walked from the small breakfast room. He nearly ran into a man in the corridor. “Do pardon me.” He took a side step, then stopped. Ah, perhaps this man was the reason he"d felt the alarming tingle of imminent danger pricking the hairs on his nape these last couple of days.
Brown eyes met his. He knew those eyes. How did he know them?
The man was very good at blending in, but Karl had a lifetime"s practice of intrigue. He"d first spotted this stranger in the public house he"d stopped into yesterday. The man, not a gentleman, was dressed as he had been the day before—in a well-tailored businessman"s frock coat, stiff white collar, and polished boots.
A prosperous businessman on the exterior, but with that one look, Karl had seen past that bland expression of a patron waiting for a drink in a pub. And just now, when he"d bumped into the stranger, he"d run against a hard wall of muscle.
Those clothes covered the lithe body of a warrior and the tension of a man used to violence.
Something from the past whispered through him, and Karl felt cold down his spine, as if a ghost had traced an icy finger there. He stared hard into the brown eyes, and he knew.
He"d seen that narrow face once, covered with blood, the thick brown hair matted with it. It had been years ago that he"d seen this man dressed in the stained red uniform. Those eyes had looked into his with pure hatred. The beard was gone now, but the eyes were the same, even with the polite, neutral nod the man now gave him.
These days Karl no longer flirted with death, but he was in a reckless mood.
He took a few steps back until he stood at arm"s length in the well-lit carpeted corridor before saying in a very soft voice, “Sevastopol.”
The man raised his eyebrows. “I should beg your pardon, sir. Is that your name?”
12
Bonnie Dee & Summer Devon
Oh, he was excellent. But Karl had spotted him in action several times that day in the Crimea, before they"d exchanged that vital look, and the memory had clung. More than once he"d dreamed of those eyes in that bloodied face of death.
Karl was not superstitious, but he paid attention to his dreams.
He asked, “May I buy you a drink?”
“This early in the day?” The man smiled, showing white, nearly even teeth.
Karl was distracted by another damnable emotion. Attraction to the snake?
Ridiculous. He didn"t care for danger any longer.
Karl returned the smile, hoping to hide his fear. “I saw you in the public house yesterday, and it was barely later than this.”
The man didn"t look astounded, nor did he protest. He only shrugged. “I was thirsty.”
“And today? What time is it?”