Free Portrait of Seduction by Carrie Lofty Page A

inform Christoph. He had made a promise to Greta, one he planned to keep if at all possible, but first and foremost his loyalty remained with his family.

Chapter Six
    For the second time in nearly a month, Oliver was in a carriage bound for Leinz Manor. Only this time he traveled with Karl. He also did so without an explicit invitation.
    Karl—or rather, Baron Hoffer—had been invited. And, when Oliver had finally located his friend in a temporary lodging across the Salzach, the so-called baron had been in need of a valet.
    “This must be your brother’s doing.” Karl sat on the velvet bench across from Oliver. Again his clothing and bearing bespoke a man who should be welcomed into any respectable household. And again Oliver could see flashes of a wild blacksmith’s son in Karl’s every movement, in his restlessness and an ambition that practically seethed from his pores. “I cannot imagine him lending us a carriage for anything other than official business.”
    “He has his reasons,” Oliver said. “But please do not ask me to discuss them. Suffice it to say that this arrangement benefits all parties. Does it not?”
    An animalistic grin split Karl’s face. “I get to arrive in fine style and treat you like my personal servant all evening? Yes, it does indeed suit.”
    “You take too much pleasure in that prospect, mein Freund. ”
    “Too much?” Karl straightened his cravat. “No, I like to think of it as just enough.”
    A game. A game. The phrase kept repeating in Oliver’s mind. Karl was up to something, his dark eyes on some objective that remained just out of sight.
    But Oliver had more pressing concerns to investigate. His secret study of art books had been more than just a boon to his pride. He strongly suspected that the painting Ingrid had purchased was another of Greta’s copies. Accepting commissions for copies was one consideration—a fair occupation with a long history. As long as there were wealthy people, there would be a market for ways of protecting that wealth. But peddling fakes was unacceptable.
    Christoph had not been pleased with the news. “Find out,” he’d said. “By whatever means you deem necessary.”
    So after a few tactful inquiries, traded for favors and goods, Oliver had located Karl’s whereabouts. Securing him an invitation had been easy enough to acquire—apparently Leinz’s daughters had already been trying to determine his whereabouts. That revelation bedeviled Oliver too. Just how was his old friend managing to ensconce himself so quickly into polite society?
    One carriage and one valet later, the mysterious Baron Hoffer had been ready for the ball.
    The horses’ harnesses jangled as the carriage came to a stop.
    “We’re here,” Karl said, his grin almost manic now. “You and me, Oliver, at Leinz Manor. It’s what we’re due.”
    “Hardly. We’re both here under false pretenses.”
    A dark scowl flashed over Karl’s features. “Most men come to power under false pretenses.” And with that his darkness dispersed. He slid a preening hand down the back of his hair and nodded to the door. “Lead on, my dear valet.”
    Oliver studied the man for a moment longer, but none of that acid returned to his demeanor. Karl was a puzzle for another time. Until proved otherwise, he would simply assume his old friend was as capricious as always, with nothing more sinister than his ruse underway.
    No, on that evening Oliver needed to concentrate on uncovering a different fraud. Greta.
    Her name blinked to life in his brain like flint struck in the pitch black. He would see Greta again. He would confront her. Again. This time, however, he had no designs on claiming a kiss. If his suspicions were correct and the painting proved a fake, he would read it on her face and demand a refund.
    For his sanity’s sake, then, he would be done with Greta Zweig.
    Oliver opened the coach door, hopped down and pulled the steps into place. Karl descended like the baron he was