She had seen Leo twice since her wedding. On the second occasion, he'd brought her a letter from Christian and with obvious reluctance had taken her answer back to Christian. On that second time, she'd stood away from the light of the window, her fingers nervously adjusting the fichu at her neck. The bruises beneath the muslin were large and dark, despite Mathilde's ministrations and a liberal dusting of powder. She had not encouraged him to prolong his visit, and she'd seen how her behavior had puzzled and disturbed him.
Now Cordelia closed her gloved hands tightly, her nails digging into her palms, and forced herself to smile nonchalantly into his questioning gaze. Leo must not know. But she could see that he was not at ease. There was too much tension in his jaw, in the gripped mouth, in the set of his shoulders. She glanced sideways at her husband. The thin mouth, the slightly fleshy face, the cold eyes. She could feel his hands, clammy on her body, the weight of him when he fell onto her, satiated, before rolling sideways to snore until he'd recovered his strength. She closed her eyes on a graveyard shudder.
A herald's trumpet sounded. There was a stir around them. People leaned forward slightly, looking back down the series of rooms. The royal party was approaching.
Toinette was tiny. A slender, almost childish figure smothered in diamonds. But she looked around her, acknowledging the homage of the court with a grace and dignity that belied her childlike appearance. Beside her walked the dauphin, who seemed much more ill at ease than his bride. There was a moment when Toinette caught
Cordelia's eye, then she had passed and Cordelia wasn't sure whether the gleam in the round blue eyes had been laughter or tears.
During the wedding, gaming tables were set up in the chain of state rooms, with cards and dice for the king and his courtiers to while away the remainder of the day until the banquet. Roped barriers kept the witnessing crowds from getting too close as they gawked at the court at play. It had begun to rain heavily, sending the masses inside from the gardens, and the smell of wet cloth pervaded the air already heavy with scented candles.
Cordelia saw her husband and. Leo at the king's table playing lansquenet. The ladies of the court, including the dauphine, were also at cards. Cordelia strolled among the tables, trying to decide whether to dice or join the card-players. As she passed her husband, the king looked up from his cards. "Princess von Sachsen. Pray take a seat at our table. If you don't play, then you may bring your husband luck." He beamed with great good humor.
"Oh, but I do play, Your Majesty." Cordelia's eyes suddenly sharpened. Lansquenet, a game of German origin, had been played a great deal at the Viennese court. She and Toinette had perfected their somewhat dubious skills at the tables and had become adept at defeating the archdukes.
She took the chair held for her by a footman, arranging her skirts of crimson and ivory with a deft hand, her dazzling smile embracing the table.
Leo recognized that look. That mischievous, calculating, gleeful gloat. He had seen it in the carriage as they played dice to pass the time, and he had seen it over chess one memorable night. And now he was seeing it again, only she was at the king's table in the state rooms of Versailles, surrounded by courtiers and gaping spectators.
He shot her a warning look, but she smiled sunnily and took up her cards. He said, "I doubt you have so many bystanders at Schonbrunn, Princess? The Austrian court is less open to the world."
"Oh, I am accustomed to playing under the most watchful stares, my lord," she said with the same radiant smile.
Leo ground his teeth. He glanced at Michael, who seemed indifferent. He would expect his- wife to play. Everyone gambled. It was a social skill.
The king held the bank. "We play high, Princess," he warned with a jocular smile. "But I daresay your husband will stake you. A wedding gift, eh, Prince?"
Michael's smile was tight, but he drew a leather purse from his coat pocket and handed it to his wife with the patronizing comment "If you play at all competently, my dear, that should cover you for a few hands."
"I believe you will discover that I play competently, sir," she said serenely, opening the purse. She placed a golden louis on the table and fanned out the cards in her hand with an expert flick of her wrist.
Leo groaned to himself and took up his own cards. Apparently there was nothing he could do to avert catastrophe.
But catastrophe seemed long coming. Cordelia won steadily. She played intently, her expression utterly serious, except at the end of a hand when she would gather up her winnings with that little crow of triumph that he remembered so vividly. She beamed around the table, and even the king chuckled and told her she was a fine card player but a shameless winner.
Michael, however, looked blacker and blacker. He was losing to his wife, his golden louis piling up at her white elbow, and her triumph was a thorn in his side. It was directed at him. She threw it at him with every smile. She had the upper hand and she was relishing every minute of it. Even the thought that later he could have his revenge didn't help the sour taste of defeat in the face of her gloating. Had she been meek and modest, he could almost have borne her success, but this blatant exultation was intolerable.
Leo tried to see how she was doing it. He watched her hands, the slender white beringed fingers. Her sleeves reached only to her elbow, so the obvious hiding place for cards was denied her. She made no sudden distracting movements, and when he thought she had become blinded to danger by her success, she averted any possibility of suspicion by calmly losing the next three hands.
She had a purpose, more serious than mere winning, and it took him a while to see it. She lost when it seemed sensible to do so, but she never lost to her husband. She outbid him, outmaneuvered him, took every louis he had with him. And she smiled with such artlessly shameless satisfaction that, even though Michael was clearly livid, everyone at the table laughed and shared her pleasure, her husband obliquely becoming the butt of their laughter.
And when she sweetly offered to lend her husband some of the money he had so kindly given her to play with, the table rocked with amusement. "She's got you there, Prince," the king boomed. "Such a pretty little thing, butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, but sharp as a rapier. If you ever need to repair your fortunes, just send your wife to the tables."
Michael smiled thinly and Leo wondered if he was the only one to feel the hostility and tension surging beneath the apparent bonhomie at the table. Finally Leo threw in his cards, laughingly admitted defeat, pushed his last coins across to Cordelia, and begged the king for permission to leave the game.
"I was always taught that a wise gamester knows when to close his game," Cordelia said swiftly. "Would Your Majesty excuse me also? I feel my luck is about to turn."
"You would deny us our revenge?" chuckled the king. "But we will have it another time, my dear Princess." He tossed his own cards to the table. "Ladies, gentlemen, I shall retire before the banquet."
His fellow players rose, as did the rest of the tables. The king passed through the salon, offering his arm to his new granddaughter-in-law. "Come, my dear."
Cordelia's head ached after the intensity of the game, but she was filled with jubilation. She would pay for it later, but it had been worth it. She scooped her winnings into her reticule under cover of the king's departure and left the table before Michael could summon her back.