The Demon Count's Daughter Read online

  Published by Dell Publishing Co., Inc.

  1 Dag Hammarskjold Plaza

  New York, New York 10017

  Copyright © 1980 by Anne Kristine Stuart Ohlrogge

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Dell ® TM 681510, Dell Publishing Co., Inc.

  ISBN: 0-440-11907-3

  Printed in the United States of America

  First printing—April 1980

  CLS 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  With love, for Uncle A.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  It took me most of the evening to pack. My sup­posedly vanished impulsiveness stood me in good stead as I went through my wardrobe with ruth­less abandon, choosing the dullest, plainest cloth­ing I owned. I debated for a full minute over the moderate hoop that was de rigueur for a fashion­able young English girl in 1864, remembering at last my modern, collapsible model, which would just fit into my one large carpetbag. I doubted I could manage to carry more than that on horse­back, and horseback seemed the only way I could escape to the coast without dear Uncle Mark alerting the countryside. I had every intention of writing him a polite note, explaining it was my patriotic duty to follow my other godfather's quixotic suggestion and make straight for Venice, the city of my father's birth. The trip would take me no more than a week, I estimated, and by the time I reached Venice, Bones would have con­vinced Uncle Mark there was nothing to worry about, at the same time dispatching his guardian angel to see that I came to no harm.

  I stared across the room to the full-length mir­ror, the wavering candlelight giving my flamboy­ant looks a warm, melting sheen they usually lacked. It was fortunate that Bones had started the whole thing by suggesting I travel to strife-torn Italy. I would have an extremely difficult time trying to sneak there in disguise. There are very few women of my proportions wandering around Europe.

  I could have wished my resemblance to my beloved parents a little less pronounced. From my father I inherited raven black hair that was thick and unruly and always managed to escape even the most severe pinnings. My eyes were golden like his, but undeniably warmer with what I have been told is a sweetness of expression to equal my mother's. I had her retrousse nose, rather than father's beak, and her full, red lips. If I hadn't been cursed with such an extraordinary body, I would have been quite pretty.

  But there fate and family resemblance had let me down. From my father I had been bequeathed a generosity of height that left me towering over every man I had ever met, with the exception of my father, my older brother, and a few very fop­pish young men I had met last year in London.

  From my mother I had inherited curves so volup­tuous as to be downright embarrassing. As the years passed and I began to ripen, I sought des­perately to try to tone down my overly feminine attributes. But all the running, jumping, climbing, and horseback riding only served to develop me more fully, so that I had become sadly accustomed to the wide-eyed astonishment my first appearance elicited. Men's eyes usually glazed over when introduced. Looking up into my eyes, their second reaction was either a stiff invitation to dance or a quick tussle in the garden. It was no wonder I had barely lasted a month in my disaster of a season. It was my own secret sorrow that I had longed for some man of a different sort to carry me away from all that superficial glitter. But such a man didn't seem to exist. At least I hadn't met him in twenty-three years.

  All in all I was hardly the type to blend into a background, and I could only hope I would be able to accomplish Bones's mission while appear­ing to be a simpering tourist. If not, well, I needed an adventure, and a trip to Venice and the long- deserted family palazzo would be adventure enough in itself, even if it failed to include mid­night meetings and secret information.

  I paused momentarily in my hasty packing and thought back to Lord Bateman's startling proposi­tion this afternoon.

  "I need you to go to Venice," Bones had an­nounced with his usual startling abruptness, the china teacup trembling only faintly in his aged, cadaverous hands. "There's no one else, or you know I wouldn't ask, who's so admirably suited for the job. Your parents aren't around to hold you back, and you're just wasting your time moping around. It's time you did something."

  "I'm willing, Bones," I answered mildly enough, accustomed to my godfather's excitability and im­pulsiveness. "To what job am I admirably suited?"

  He barely hesitated. "My dear Luciana, I shouldn't ask it of you. But I do ask it, because I know you and trust you. The political climate of Europe right now is like a tinderbox. Austria is just about ready to hand Venice over to France in exchange for various political amenities. My sources also tell me that once that happens it's only a matter of time before Napoleon III cedes it back to Italy."

  "But that's splendid!" I breathed, eyes aglow.

  "Yes, and no. It is indeed splendid if all works out," he harrumphed. "Unfortunately, there have been a few obstacles thrown in the path of inde­pendence for La Serenissima. That's where I need your help.

  "The powers that be in Venice do not fancy losing their somewhat tarnished jewel of a city. Therefore General Eisenhopf and Colonel von Wolfram have managed to obtain a certain very incriminating document. If that document were to be published, all our hopes would be dashed."

  "What document?" I brushed the crumbs from my drab riding habit.

  "A foolhardy document, fully authenticated, stating France's intention of attacking Austria once they have regained possession of Venice. Using that well-situated city and the Veneto as a base of operations. A stupid piece of business that Napoleon III rashly concocted a number of years ago, a plan he has no intention whatsoever of carrying out. But, needless to say, all Franz Josef needs is a hint of such a thing and years of care­ful diplomacy will have been wasted. Europe is about to explode; we must move very, very care­fully."

  "But why haven't these two Austrians produced this paper?"

  "They are too busy bargaining. Neither Eisen­hopf nor Von Wolfram have decided which they'd prefer: money or power. The price they're asking is far too high, anyway."

  "But what can I do, Bones?" I cried. "Of what possible use could I be?"

  Bones leaned back in his chair, a crafty smile playing around his withered lips. "Eisenhopf has one major weakness. And that is for women, par­ticularly tall young women with abundant physi­cal charms. In other words, someone like you."

  "And you want me to seduce this old general into giving me the paper?" I jumped ahead, a little shaken.

  Bones looked shocked. "Good God, no! You would never even come near the man. You will merely sneak into his room in the guise of a lady of the night while he's safely out of the city. And while you are there you'll retrieve the paper, hand it over to our informant, and return to England, secure in the knowledge that you have saved Venice."

  "It sounds deceptively simple," I remarked, try­ing to control the fire of determination that was sweeping over me. "But how am I to manage all this? Gain admittance to his room, among other
things?"

  "All that will be taken care of. The general's valet is a very stubborn, pro-Austrian creature. Fortunately his brother-in-law is a different sort entirely. It was Tonetti himself who came up with the idea, approaching our best man with it. You'd be working with him, Luciana, though of course I'd have a guardian angel watching over you."

  "And what makes you think we can trust this Tonetti?" I questioned warily.

  "The best of all reasons. Money."

  "But haven't you countless trained women who'd be better able to do the job?" I felt compelled to ask. Though I knew deep inside that I would strangle anyone who tried to go in my place.

  "No doubt. But none of them are del Zaglias." He leaned forward and clutched my hand with the intensity of a fanatic. "Venice has suffered under the Austrian yoke for so long the people are becoming dull and sullen. Even the dimostrar zione, which has kept social intercourse and the upper classes out of Venice, has begun to lose momentum. You, my dear, would put new life into the movement." He sighed. "The beautiful daugh­ter of one of Venice's bravest sons, returned to save that gallant, beleaguered city . . ." A grim smile lit his aged face. "What with your ancestry and the general's penchant for large and beautiful young ladies, we could scarcely do better."

  A little flattery only added fuel to my eagerness, and there I was, five hours later, furtively packing my bags.

  My beloved parents and six brothers were off in Scotland, leaving me in the care of various young and old retainers and the myopic supervision of my second godfather, the very correct, somewhat fumbling Mark Ferland. I hadn't needed Bones's warning not to tell Uncle Mark. I knew from long association that Bones's former agent looked back on all that derring-do with embarrassed dismay.

  "Miss Luciana, what are you doing in there?" A querulous voice sounded at the door, and I thanked heaven I had had the foresight to lock it. Maggie had the sharpest eyes and the quickest tongue of anyone I had ever known, and ever since my mother had made her my personal maid and companion, nothing in my life remained private. I had no intention, however, of taking her to Edentide if I could help it. For one thing, her curiosity would be bound to interfere with my meetings with the mysterious and romantic- sounding Tonetti, and for another, she had a rov­ing eye to equal the worst rakehell, and I had no doubt that the combination of her randiness and the Italian male would end in a brouhaha I could well do without. Besides, I was jealous.

  "Not a thing, Maggie," I yawned convincingly. "I was tired from my ride over to Lord Bateman's and thought I'd get an early night's sleep." I bounced a few times on the bed for effect. "You may have the rest of the evening off," I added grandly.

  "Oh, indeed?" Her voice was wry, and it was all I could do to remember that she was two years younger and a head shorter than me. "And why have you locked your door, tell me that?"

  "Did I?" I murmured vaguely. "It must have been an accident. You know how these old doors are. Never you mind, Maggie. I'm too tired to get up and unlock it. I won't need anything more tonight. Why don't you go and visit Bitsy?"

  "I have better things to do than spend my eve­nings with my mother," she replied pertly. "But I don't like the sound of you, Miss Luciana. You never tire so easily. Are you sure you're not com­ing down with something?"

  I laughed with what I hoped was suitable heart­iness. "I'm as strong as a horse, Maggie. It must have been too much sun."

  "Very well, miss. I can't say as I wouldn't appreciate an evening off. That William has been at me something awful. . . ." Her voice trailed away as she wandered down the hall, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Maggie was much too sharp by half, and even if I hid all the evidence of my intended flight, I doubted I could deceive her eagle eye.

  I slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning and wrapping my overlong limbs in the linen sheets so that I felt as if I were in my winding sheet. First light found me wide awake and thank­fully alert. I had never needed more than a very few hours of sleep. Dressing quietly, I slipped out my door and down the deserted hallways on silent feet, smugly aware that Maggie had failed to hear me from her adjoining closet. Of course there was no guarantee that she had actually slept in her own bed that night. Chances were she hadn't.

  But my luck held all the way out to the stables. The only servant awake and moving around was a young groom of no more than thirteen, who sleepily saddled my younger brother's mare, ac­cepted my notes for Maggie and Uncle Mark, and watched me ride off into the brilliant dawn with an incurious yawn on his young face.

  I made excellent time that first day despite my concern not to overtire poor old Marygold, my ancient, but stately, mare. When night fell my first concern was to see to her well-being, and I con­scientiously provided her with a good crop of grass to eat. As for me, I did equally well with the re­mains of a loaf of bread and a huge chunk of cheese stolen from the kitchens on my way out of the house and slept the darkness away quite comfortably under a hedge with my serviceable brown wool cape wrapped snugly around me to protect me from the chill of an August night in England.

  By the next afternoon we were in Bournemouth, both of us rather the worse for wear, but our spirits intact. Marygold, after having been rele­gated to a boring life as a child's palfrey, was enjoying her sights of the wide world, though I didn't doubt she would retire gratefully back to pasture once her adventure was over. Indeed, she greeted her stall that evening with a whinny of tired pleasure, settling in with a sigh.

  As luck would have it the Channel packet wouldn't leave till the next morning, and there was nothing I could do but take a room at the cleanest-looking waterfront inn I could find. And it was there they found me, tucking into a mas­sive meal of pheasant, lobster, ale, and greens.

  "Ahem." A loud throat-clearing broke through my food-clouded reverie, and I looked up with a sinking feeling to meet the warm, stern blue eyes of my other godfather, Mark Ferland. Standing by his side, her pert face set in an abnormally grim expression of profound disapproval, was Maggie.

  I swallowed, once, twice, determined to regain my aplomb. I smiled up sweetly as the pheasant made its way down my throat and signaled the waiter for more plates. "Uncle Mark! Maggie! What a lovely surprise! Are you planning to ac­company me to Venice?"

  My bright innocence stopped Uncle Mark for a moment, but Maggie was undeterred. "No, we aren't, Miss Luciana, and well you know it. We've come to take you back to Somerset, and no more of your tricks."

  I surveyed my maid for a moment, my mind working feverishly while, with my usual amaze­ment, I took in her far from prepossessing appear­ance.

  Maggie Johnston was a cheerfully well endowed girl of twenty-one with a pert little nose and a sharp tongue, copper curls twisted up on her small head, a rosy complexion flushed with annoyance. Her weakness for pretty clothes was apparent in the fanciness of her blue-sprigged traveling dress, and I knew half her irritation was for the dust on her elegant toilette. I smiled up at her beguilingly. Next to my mother and our ancient Maddelena, she was the woman I loved most in this world.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake, sit down and stop glow­ering at me, Maggie," I exclaimed, pushing a chair out for her. "You, too, Uncle Mark. You're wreck­ing my appetite with your sour faces."

  Maggie's glower abated only a trifle as she seated herself with ladylike grace. Uncle Mark, as usual, took his cue from the strongest person­ality present. His troubled blue eyes moved from Maggie back to me with vague concern.

  "Now see here, Luciana," he began pompously, knowing full well how foolish he sounded. "As your godfather and the only man around who can stand in loco parentis, I must insist that you re­turn with us immediately. When Bones told me you'd gone racing off I couldn't believe my ears. It's just not done, Luciana, my dear, and you know that as well as I do."

  I leaned back and stared at them, a mutinous expression settling around my mouth.

  "There is little that angers me, Uncle Mark, but the one thing I detest is being told what is and isn't done," I said in a desperate undertone. "It is do
ne, because I have just done it. And if you intend to try to take me back home, you had best be prepared to use physical force. I won't leave without kicking and screaming and telling everyone you are white slavers bent on abduct­ing me."

  "Luciana!" Mark pleaded helplessly. "What would your father say?"

  "He'd be very amused," I replied, not at all sure I was right. My father had a severe streak under­neath his cynical lenience, a streak I had crossed, to my sorrow.

  "We could always drug your wine, Miss Luci­ana," Maggie suggested pleasantly.

  I grinned. "Are you sure you have no Italian blood, Maggie? I'm glad to be forewarned; I'll make sure I drink nothing that has passed your fair hands."

  "For God's sake, Luciana, you can't be meaning to pursue this mad course!" Uncle Mark inter­rupted, running a harassed hand through his thin­ning brown hair. "Bones told me about your mission—it's not the child's play you seem to think. This man could be dangerous—there's no way you could be protected all the time. Isn't there some way we could dissuade you?"

  There was, but neither of them was imagina­tive enough to threaten writing my father. The thought of his traveling to Venice to retrieve me would have put a swift end to Bones's wild scheme, but I counted on their knowing, if they had thought of such a possibility, that it would sign Luc del Zaglia's death warrant. The Imperial Army of Austria had a very long memory. "There is no way you could dissuade me," I said firmly. "You could always accompany me, of course."

  I was fairly certain that Uncle Mark was Bones's hand-picked guardian angel, and I had little doubt he would succumb rather than let me go off on my own. Maggie was a question mark however.

  My two pursuers shared a glance. Mark shrugged first. "It seems I have little choice, Luciana. As a gentleman and your godfather I could hardly watch you run off to that hotbed of espionage and insurrection without at least offering my pro­tection."