Franz must have been thinking the same thing because he pressed her back to the wall, took her wrists and lifted them against it, leaned in and kissed her again. She returned the kiss with equal vigor, deepening it, biting gently at his lower lip. Her body was electric, aching to be closer. So close that you couldn’t tell where one person ended and another began.

“How did I get so lucky?” he murmured into her neck.

“You are a miracle.” He kissed a little higher on her neck.

“A wonder.” He dragged his lips higher still.

“A wild thing come in from the forest to nest in my heart.” His lips were behind Elisabeth’s ear now, pressing so soft against that tender place. Sophie had once called him unpoetic; it made Elisabeth want to laugh now. This man was a poet, and she was the poem. He traced the shape of her, kissed the words into her.

“You know”—she flashed Franz a wicked smile—“people here at court don’t wear undergarments.”

He raised an eyebrow as she disengaged her wrists from his grasp and wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him again and deeper. He used his newly freed hands to trace the curve of her waist, tugging upward on her skirt, moving a finger lightly under—

“Ahem.”

The voice was a shock in the silence. Silence Elisabeth hadn’t realized had descended. The waltz in the next room had shut off like a light.

They pulled reluctantly away, turned toward the cough.

Esterházy, of course. She had a gift for timing—and ruin. She exhaled loudly, disapproval packed into the sound.

Franz shook himself, stepped back. Elisabeth felt the loss of him in every molecule.

“Your Majesty,” Esterházy addressed Franz. “I apologize for the interruption. But the imperial bride must continue with her preparations.”

Neither Elisabeth nor Franz moved.

“If you will follow me.” Esterházy motioned for Elisabeth to move toward the door.

“Indeed, I will,” Elisabeth said. “But one last thing.”

And then she kissed Franz again, hand to his chest, lips parted against his.

They only had these stolen moments. She wasn’t going to waste any of them.

FIFTY-ONE

THE PERK TO BEING INVISIBLE WAS THAT NOBODY tracked your movements. Helene could walk the palace halls to her heart’s content. No one called her for dancing lessons. No one wondered where she was during tea.

It hurt, and it freed her. To discover every corner of the place—the imperial wing where Franz’s and Maxi’s rooms were. The simply furnished servant quarters where the sounds of a couple taking their pleasure had slipped through a wooden door. The seriously furnished studies of important men with their liquor cabinets and gold cigarette cases, where Helene leaned out of white-paned windows, stolen cigarette in hand.