Nightingale (19 page)

"Marcel, you horse's ass! I told you this was the wrong way in!”

"Marcel always gets everything backwards. That you'll soon see!" Giggling wildly at the jest, arm in arm, the threesome moved away. Klara retreated to the divan and perched on the edge. The rustling silk, the candles and shadows, the strangers so nearby, began to remind her of something, something she would rather not connect with Akos.

Except for draftiness, this was very like the Count’s Italian gazebo, which had been hung with curtains. There had been the same shadows and candlelight, the same shimmering walls, the same masked anonymous figures. The memories were almost unbearable, but then, just as she thought she must run away and leave this awful place, a lamp appeared outside. An antler crowned figure materialized outside the curtains, casting a long shadow. Klara shot to her feet; her hands flew to her lips.

He came through the curtains at once, but instead of the passionate rush she'd feared, he bowed, the horned King of the Forest civilly inclining his antlers. Then, gracefully, he set the lantern by the door of the cabinet, and, with three sashes, tied the door shut.

"I discard all signs of royalty." Akos ceremoniously laid the horned crown on the floor, then he removed his carved mask. The sound of his voice, the sight of his face, was a huge relief. As Klara, too unfastened her mask, a gust of chilly air rippled the curtains and ruffled his long green cloak.

Carefully, she lifted off her elaborate headdress, then the wig with the feathered hat. Akos took each piece out of her hands and carefully set it down beside the divan.

"Well, here we are."

He smiled, took her hands into his. One at a time he lifted and kissed them.

"You look frightened." His candid gaze met hers. "I know that this is not the most pleasant meeting place. I should not have suggested it, but I was desperate to be alone with you."

"Oh, Akos!" Klara touched his chest, felt the warmth of him. Now that he was here, looking at her with those eyes, filled, not with lust or pride, but with love and caring, she felt a great deal better.

"I was frightened until you came, but now," she looked up at him, and managed a shy smile, "now that you're here…
."

They kissed. At first it was tender, but it swiftly grew into a sweet, delicious exploration. Her arms slipped over his shoulders, and they swayed, young body to body. The scent of him was manly, so good! She felt such security in his arms that even the comings and goings in the corridor, the giggles and whispers, the murmurs of other lovers, faded away.

How wonderful it was not to have to worry about Liese bursting in!

The kisses grew fiercer. She opened her mouth, let him drink at will. When they paused for breath, she whispered, "I have never been in such a place before. Have you?"

"No. Never."

"What you must think of me." She murmured the words against his cheek.

"Darling Maria Klara. I think that never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I'd be granted this favor, this joy." He kissed her again, hungrily, and she responded with delight. Kissing him was like a wonderful jam and cream torte, layer after layer of sugary delight … a taste of heaven! When Klara responded with a violent shiver, he drew back a little, and, full of tenderness, studied her face.

"Would you rather that we only talked? To be alone and not look over our shoulders every two minutes for Liese is a luxury by itself."

Klara saw the width of his pupils. She too was trembling. Never in her life had she felt so profoundly aroused.

"I thought we would talk as well as kiss." She ducked to hide her embarrassment against his chest. "But now I think
, I think – that all I want is to – kiss….”

Together they sank upon the divan. Intoxication perfumed the chill, encircling air. Oh, how good to be in his arms, how good his body, his hair, his breath! There was an overwhelming lust for the sweets of friction which brought her back to his mouth again and again. He was caressing her breast through the jacket, so she opened, one after the other, the hooks which closed the bodice. In a response to her invitation, his questing hand slipped inside.

Her round breasts blossomed at his touch. Akos pushed down one shoulder of the costume. An arm drew her close again and his shining dark head bent to kiss and tease until her nipples. Klara's auburn crown fell back, and she let him suck and tug. As he came down upon her, she arched, delirious with the frustrating tang of the release which happens when love is made only to the breasts. There was a pause, a readjustment, and then, from below, he lifted her dress. She made no move to stop him.

From somewhere close came a half
-smothered series of cries, a sound which, had they been cold, would have repelled them. Instead, Klara reached down and found his drop buttons. The lantern, as if on cue, choked and almost died. Fading to the tiniest yellow glow, the couch upon which they made love was cast into deepest shadow.

What their hands discovered together, what he encouraged her to hold, was hot and hard. Not much later, his hand, too, found what it wanted, and he circled there, delicately probing. When his gentle fingers were slick with her excitement, he plunged into the yielding softness he'd created and played her, there in the silken shadows. With an all
-encompassing kiss, bent over her, Akos muffled the crescendo of her ecstasy.

His lips and tongue moved hungrily across her satiny throat, the lobes of her ears. He was between her parted knees, playing her, breathing her in. Klara knew what he was doing, that he was readying her, but her response had already exceeded anything she'd ever experienced.

"Now. Please!"

"Easy, sweetheart. I don't want to put you in danger."

Still, he could only obey the imperious summons of her hand with an eager thrust. Bodies, together at last, arched, united at last. He strove to love her slowly, but her body closed upon him. For an annihilating moment, strong young bodies strove against each other, while a molten bloom fused them into a single, white hot metal.

They collapsed together in the twilight, heart to heart, the noise of Carnival gamboling crazily on every side. Too weak to do anything else, they caressed the beloved, tear-streaked face of the other.

Usually Klara descended from the heights rapidly. After being the centerpiece of one of Max's ‘diversions’, all she wanted was to disengage, to bathe, to pray for forgiveness and try to forget, perhaps with a draught of wine mingled with a drop or two of opium….

There was no shame tonight. Brimming with love, she lay motionless, abandoning herself to earthy sensation. Her heart still beat fast, but this time her mind, like her body, glowed, spilled over with joy. Tears trickled down her cheeks and she reached to caress the proud line of his strong high cheek.

"I've never felt anything like that before."

He bent his head reverentially to kiss her forehead.

"Neither have I, my Klara."

Chapter
11

Time passed. They may have even dozed a little in each other's arms, the chill kept out by his cape. Meanwhile the business of the cabinets bustled on every side. Hurrying footsteps and urgent whispers mingled with the crisp sotto voce transactions of the public women followed by the unmistakable rhythms of love.

Klara dreamed she was home, stretched out upon her parlor divan with Satz beside her. It was not right, though. People kept walking through the room. Why were they strolling through her apartment as if it was the street? Some were strangers, but also people she knew from the theater, the Adambergers, the Langes. Liese and Hermann passed by, shaking their heads disapprovingly. Then, suddenly, Oettingen was there, staring down with his icy eyes.

"Why is that damned pissing animal in your good parlor? I told you what I'd do if I ever caught…
."

There was a moment of absolute terror as she and Satz scrambled to escape, but his hands, so strong, held her
….

"Klara! Klara!"

Not the Count, but Akos held her. She subsided with a gasp of relief while he stroked the side of her face.

"Easy, my angel. Easy."

"Bad dream.” Memory convinced her that it would be best to let it fade.

Akos nodded. She could barely see him in the faint light within their cabinet.

"We must leave, my darling."

"I know." She slipped her arms around his neck. "I wish we didn't."

"Yes," he replied, kissing her fingers. "I'd like nothing better than to sleep all night in your arms, but for now we must take care that you are not compromised."

They arose and awkwardly, shyly, made use of the basin and toweling, shook and smoothed their rumpled clothing. Klara was embarrassed by this all too ordinary aftermath of passion.

She was slipping her shoes on when a voice beyond the billowing curtain wall queried anxiously, "Bird of Paradise? Bird of Paradise? Are you there?"

Florian! A thrill of fear shot through her.

"Here!" She hastily shrugged on her blue jacket.

Florian, carrying a small lantern, yanked the curtain up and entered. Right behind him was Olympia, and she was dragging a short someone else by the hand whose identity was hidden inside a baggy brown hooded robe.

"Thank God we found you! Oettingen is looking for you. Wolfgang was by the door and he overheard him talking to his men. They know you're wearing the bird dress."

"
Grosse Gott!
"

"Quick, take it off!"

Klara and Almassy stared.

"Yes, off! You get into Wolfgang's robe and he will put on your dress and the wig! For God’s sake, hurry!”

Then the cabinet was swirling with action, as Olympia helped Klara out of the skirt and the blue and green jacket she’d just slipped on. It was easy to throw the full robe over her underwear – stays, petticoat and chemise. As soon as she did, Olympia joined the others into getting Wolfgang into the more complicated skirt, jacket and bustle.

"It's Olympia's crazy idea," Florian said, "but God knows, it's as likely to work as anything else."

"I shall lead him on as long of a chase as I can." Wolfgang's nimble fingers were buttoning the top of the brilliant blue jacket while Olympia worked at the bottom. At the same time, Florian picked up the wig and tugged it onto the boy's golden head.

"What a pretty girl you do make, Mozart." Olympia couldn’t resist teasing. "Just look at those cheeks," she added, pinching the cherubic roundness. Then, further down the corridor they heard a commotion, feminine shrieks and roars of male outrage.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!"

"He's searching the cabinets!"

"Hurry! He’ll be here in a minute." Florian took Klara by the hand and then tugged the hood over her head.

"Go straight for the last door," said Almassy. "
Duck through the next cabinet – I think it’s empty – and then out the other side. Maybe they won’t see you leave."

"Good idea."

"But not you," Florian commanded, as Akos lifted the curtain for Klara to pass under. "He knows his precious bird is with a stag, and he must have learned by now that all the stags are Prince Vehnsky's musicians."

"Yes," Olympia said, catching Akos by sleeve. "You and I will create a diversion."

"But I am responsible! I should be with her, defend her…."

"No," Florian growled. "I am trusting you to protect my wife, sir, and you must trust me to protect our Klara."

This went against the grain, but, with the whole corridor in an uproar and danger close, Akos decided he was right. A moment later, Klara, Wolfgang and Florian scrambled into the empty neighboring cabinet and then out again.From within the cabinet, Akos saw a brief flash of light through the silken walls as the farthest door opened and closed again.

"I shall be your assignation, Herr Concertmaster." Olympia put
on her black mask.

"Is this necessary? I mean, I do not wish to involve you in such a thing."

"Oh, they won't see my face, dear." Olympia reclined upon the couch. She pulled up her skirt and exposed a gartered leg and a white expanse of plump, dimpled thigh. "That is definitely not Klara's!” Olympia laughed ruefully as she looked down at herself. “And, if I know men, it's all they'll see. Now come here, young sir, and play the outraged gallant." Akos had just got down beside her when the curtains were thrown open and a lantern threw light upon everywhere.

He jumped to his feet at once and turned upon the intruders, angry enough already to kill them with his bare hands. Olympia rolled away with a loud squeal, making sure that their raised lamp shone full upon her plump naked legs.

Standing between a pair of burly liveried servants stood a tall man with a severe white wig, an aquiline nose and a warrior's stance. Here was his rival!

Maximillian wore a half mask, and was entirely dressed in black velvet. A scarlet lined cape hung from his broad shoulders. His long jaw and the cold blue eyes blazing behind the mask left no doubt that Habsburg blood ran strong in his veins. It was clear he too was angry; the air crackled with contained rage.