She hung her head, and a fat tear dropped onto her clasped hands. “You have every right to be angry. I am very sorry, Georg.”
It was the first time she’d used his name. What a shame it had to be in the midst of a quarrel.
Chapter Twenty-One
Whenever they met,from then on, he treated her like a stranger. Polite, distant, neither overly friendly nor overly cold. He called her ‘Lady Evangeline’, offered her his arm at balls, led her into the ballroom for the polonaise, seated her at supper, conversed amiably about the weather. There was really nothing to reproach him about. He was very gentlemanly, very polite, and he did everything right.
Evie could have screamed.
She wanted to shake him until the epaulettes on his shoulders shook, except she could hardly do so in the middle of the polonaise, when the entire ballroom including the Emperor was watching them dance. The dance was more of a march than anything else and horridly boring, and Evie suppressed a sigh.
She had not proceeded an inch since Hartenberg had caught her in his study. What was she to do? She had to supply the Baroness with the information in three days.
Should she just fabricate something?
That might buy her some time, although probably not alot, until the Baroness discovered she had fabricated the information.
Her gaze travelled to her brother Julius, who was dancing with his wife. It was tremendously unfashionable for a married couple to dance together, but her brother did not care a fig.
“We have been separated for a decade, and now I will not let etiquette dictate when I am allowed to dance with my wife, and when not,” he’d stated.
Lucky Catherine. His wife lifted her face up to him and she was glowing.
Evie felt a stab of jealousy.
She sighed.
Hartenberg must have noticed her lowered spirits, for he led her to the refreshment room, sat her at a table and told her he would return anon with a glass of lemonade. He melted into the crowd, and all she saw was the wide back of his uniform.
He treated her as if she were a sugar poppet about to melt in the rain. It was most infuriating.
And now, here she was, sitting all on her own in the middle of a glamorous court ball, feeling as lonely as ever.
Evie, however, was not someone to feel sorry for herself for long. She only had herself to blame, after all. Somehow, she would make everything good again, then he would trust her again, and start to love her. A little. Maybe.
She groaned.
Rather than wait for Hartenberg to return, she decided that she’d had enough of sitting around in stuffy ballrooms. She would go outside for some fresh air and see whether she could clear her mind.
She needed a plan.
And she was running out of time.
She slipped out into the corridor and pushed through the French doors onto the verandah. The cold air struck her at once, sharp and biting, and she drew a long breath of it, grateful for something that was not perfume and candlewax.
She would have to trick the Baroness somehow. But how?
A second gust embraced her and she shivered. Now she was too cold. She turned to go inside, when she heard voices, speaking in low, rapid German.
“…they are most certainly after the list too. In fact, I suspect they were the ones who shot down Hofer.” The voice sounded familiar.
“Did you find any proof?” Evie nearly jumped, for that was Hartenberg’s low voice. “Without proof, our hands are tied.”
“Nothing solid. They have covered their tracks well. The list is still unaccounted for, and until we find it, we cannot move.”
“Proceed with caution. As long as none of this is confirmed, we cannot let any information leak.” Their voices withdrew.
Evie stood behind the pillar, holding her breath.
