The Archduke stepped into her path. “They were for the Tsar,” he growled. “What was I to do? He wanted to choose one of them, and I had to comply. Then they refused to leave, and that woman appeared, making a scene.”
“Hehehe, yes, of course, anything you say. It was such a chore, such an ordeal to watch them dance on the table, wasn’t it? Until that woman arrived and made a scene.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the closed bedroom door, whence the woman had disappeared. “Why the devil d’ya have to invite the Tsar’s mistress? It was only asking for trouble.”
“I didn’t,” the Archduke bit out. “She came of her own accord. What did you want me to do? Throw her out? When the Tsar expressly ordered her to stay?”
“The man was stark drunk by then and wouldn’t have remembered the next day anyhow,” Stewart grumbled. “They call him ‘the beautiful Alexander’—hah! Iwish they could’ve seen him how beautiful he was last night,” Stewart chortled. “The Viennese, they really are talented at giving nicknames. Lord Pumpernickel, they call me. I think it’s charming. Do you know what his name is? Prince Lucifer. Hehehe. And rightly so. There isn’t anyone as thoroughly debauched as him. He has made an art out of it. He had an entire troupe of dancing hussies, and then the Naked Angel, the Tsar’s own mistress, at his beck and call. And he doesn’t stop at that, no he doesn’t. Now he’s bent on seducing the chambermaids?—”
“Will you shut your infernal mouth!” he roared.
Pippa swept and swept with grim determination, pretending she didn’t understand a single word that was said. More wine glasses, cards, and shards of glass everywhere. In a corner, she found the woman’s shawl. She picked it up and folded it and set it on the sofa. The glass shards clinked as she swept them onto the shovel and then dumped everything into her pail. She picked up the broken glass bottles and decanters and reached for a vase that had toppled under the table when the Archduke stepped up to her. “Stop it.”
She averted her face. “I beg your pardon a hundred times, Your Imperial Highness. I shall continue cleaning later.” She curtsied.
“There, there, there.” Lord Stewart pointed under the table near his boots. “There’s some shards there.” He lifted his boot.
“Yes, my lord.” She knelt to sweep away the shards right from under his feet.
“Pippa!” There was a hint of impatience in his voice.
“My name is Anna Braun, Your Imperial Highness.” Another curtsy.
“Will you stop that!” He grabbed her broom. To avoid him, she bent sideways, lost her balance, stumbled to the ground and to support herself, pressed her hand flat upon the ground, right into a pile of glass.
A small sound of pain escaped her.
He reached for her hand.
She clenched it to a fist and pressed it against her chest, but he knelt next to her and took her hand and unfolded it, finger by finger, and regarded the bloody palm.
He cursed softly. Picking up a napkin, he picked the little pieces of glass out of her wound. Then he poured some alcohol over the napkin and, with a warning of, “this will sting”, pressed it onto the wound.
Pippa hissed.
He bound the napkin tightly around her palm and made a knot. “There. No more sweeping.” He pulled her against him. She felt his heat, felt her heartbeat slam against his chest.
“Look at me.”
Pippa looked resolutely away.
“Pippa. Look at me.”
“My name is?—”
He lifted his hand and tilted her chin up, and his gaze bore into hers, intent, deep, lightning blue.
And suddenly it was Klemens who stood there, Klemens who held her, who looked at her with such concern. With such familiarity, with such worry. With such love.
And suddenly, suddenly it overcame her, and a hot wave of tears welled up. She blinked and blinked, and she would rather die than have him see her cry.
“Please. Let me go,” she whispered, and her voice broke. “Please.”
He hesitated; conflicting emotions ran over his face. Then he loosened his grip and released her.
The sudden rush of cold that surrounded her made her shiver. She averted her face and bent to pick up her broom and pail.
“I’ll return to finish cleaning later, Your Imperial Highness,” she muttered.
He didn’t reply at all.
