To Kiss a Count Page 14

  Holding on to her skirts, she backed away until she was out of hearing distance. The she turned and ran up the stairs, back to Venice.

  She caught up a glass of wine from a passing tray, taking a deep swallow of the bracing liquid. Her heart was pounding, her stomach all full of flutters. Now she could see why Clio and Marco had created the Lily Thief. Subterfuge was most exhilarating.

  ‘Have you perhaps lost your sheep, signorina?’ she heard Marco say. She glanced back to find him standing behind her, holding out Psyche’s toy with a grin.

  ‘I am a poor shepherdess, I fear,’ she answered, trading her empty glass for the sheep.

  ‘But, as I remember, a very fine dancer.’

  ‘I do enjoy a lively dance.’ She studied him carefully from behind her mask. ‘Especially with a skilled partner.’

  ‘Ah, signorina! As I think we have discussed before, my dancing skills are of the highest calibre.’ He deposited her empty glass with a footman, and held out his hand. ‘Shall we?’

  Thalia nodded, reaching out for him. Reaching out to let him lead her into the dance, and whatever adventure waited.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘So, Thalia mia, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?’ Marco asked as they strolled the pathways of Sydney Gardens again.

  It was the morning after the masquerade, and the skies were that same lowering pearl-grey they always were in Bath. But Thalia scarcely noticed the clouds; she still felt the tingling excitement of the night before. The incandescent joys of surreptitious spying, of having some real purpose again. Of possibly impressing Marco at last.

  She gave Marco a smile, holding on to his arm as they strolled along, for all appearances like any other stylish couple out to take the air. But she had not asked him last night to meet her this morning for a spot of gossip and light flirtation. She had to tell him what she had overheard at the ball.

  Lady Riverton’s words had kept Thalia awake all night, thinking of stolen ‘shipments’ and hidden caves. Surely, Marco would know what to do about it. For was he not a thief himself?

  But surely not of the same brand as Lady Riverton and her scarred cohort? She did not know Marco’s full story yet, of course, but she could not quite picture him so consumed by greed.

  Was he?

  There were too many people on their path, smiling and nodding as they passed by. Eager to speculate with their friends on what Miss Chase was doing so cosy with Count di Fabrizzi. Eager to listen to other people’s conversations.

  Thalia steered Marco around a corner, along a quieter path. The few people there were obviously far too intent on each other to pay attention to anyone else.

  ‘Have you discovered yet where Lady Riverton might be hiding the silver?’ she said quietly.

  Marco arched his brow in inquiry. ‘Not entirely. Someone told me—’

  ‘Someone?’

  ‘One of my contacts in London. He saw one of Lady Riverton’s servants at the docks, speaking to a rather, how do you say, questionable ship’s captain. He deduced that she must be expecting an important delivery very soon.’

  ‘I think that delivery may have already arrived,’ Thalia said. She clutched tightly to his arm, unable to contain her excitement. ‘I heard her last night…’

  ‘You heard her?’ Marco caught her by the shoulders, his stare very black and burning as he studied her intently. ‘What do you mean? Were you following her?’

  ‘Not following exactly,’ she said. ‘I just happened to see her slip away from the party last night, and I may have caught a word or two. She was conversing with that man in the ridiculous pharaoh costume.’ Conversing, and other things, of course. But Thalia didn’t find it necessary to mention that. Especially with Marco glowering down at her.

  ‘Thalia, you should not have done that,’ he said darkly. ‘What if you had been caught?’

  ‘Give me some credit, Marco! I was most quiet and careful. There was no time to find you—I had to decide what to do in only an instant.’

  ‘You do not know these people, cara. They will do anything to protect themselves and their illegal trade. If you had been hurt…’

  ‘But I was not! Besides, don’t you want to know what I heard?’

  Marco shook his head ruefully. ‘Have I a choice?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Then tell me, Thalia, what did you hear? A romantic rendezvous?’

  ‘Well, yes. But more than that, I heard that the shipment is to be delivered to one of the limestone caves outside town.’ She frowned at the memory of her frustratingly truncated eavesdropping. ‘I did not hear which cave precisely, or when. But I am sure I can find out!’

  ‘No!’ His clasp tightened on her shoulders. ‘I will find out. I do not want to hear of you breaking into the Viscountess’s house, or holding up her carriage on the road.’

  Thalia grinned up at him. ‘Very well. No playing highwayman, though I must say that is an excellent thought. I did a good thing, didn’t I? A helpful thing?’

  Marco laughed, some of that black anger dissipating like the grey clouds overhead. He drew her closer, pressing a quick kiss to her brow. ‘You did indeed. A very good thing.’

  ‘So, I am not so very useless after all,’ she murmured.

  ‘Thalia, useless is the very last word I would use for you,’ he answered. ‘But sadly, cautious is also not one that springs to mind. I want you to be careful from now on, you must promise me.’

  ‘Oh, yes! I will never jeopardise your mission, Marco, I vow.’

  ‘That is not what worries me.’

  ‘Then what is it? If Clio can help you, I know I can, too.’

  ‘Thalia.’ He held her hands tightly between his, staring down at her. ‘I told you. If you were hurt, I could not bear it.’

  She swallowed hard against the sudden dry knot in her throat. The sudden fluttery rush of emotion at the thought that he possibly cared about her. ‘I will not be hurt. And neither will you! Please, Marco. Let me help you. Tell me why the silver is so important.’

  He glanced over her head, at the pathway behind them. ‘Not here.’

  ‘Then where? We are never alone.’

  ‘Later, cara, I promise.’ His voice lowered, his accent heavy. ‘I owe you that much at least.’

  Thalia shook her head in frustration. Why did she always feel that one step forwards took her three back? The day seemed overcast again, the world merely ordinary. ‘You do not owe me anything, Marco.’

  ‘On the contrary. Come, let me buy you an ice at Mollands. Then perhaps I can give you some information in exchange for yours.’

  He stepped back, offering his arm for her to take again. Thalia accepted it, letting him guide her back through the Gardens. Perhaps it was not much really, but he had admitted that she was useful. And that was all she could hope for.

  For the moment, anyway.

  Bath was silent in the late-night darkness, blanketed in a damp mist. Only a few windows shone through, amber-gold and blurry.

  The assembly rooms were long closed, and even the gaming clubs were darkened. Everyone was tucked up in sleep, except for insane Italians, Marco thought. He was the only one abroad on such an inhospitable night.

  He tugged his cap lower over his brow, keeping to the edges of the walls as he made his way through town. The meeting with his contact had gone very well. Thalia was right about Lady Riverton and her companion at the masquerade. The man, known in his criminal circles by the unoriginal moniker of ‘Scarred Jack’, was trying to arrange for the Viscountess’s newest treasure to be stored in one of the small limestone caves in the hills and be picked up there.

  Where it would go after that remained to be seen. It would probably vanish, like so many of his country’s ancient treasures. Pieces of its glorious history, broken up and scattered.

  But not this one. Marco was most determined on that.

  And, so it seemed, was Thalia Chase.

  He made his way along a narrow gravel walk between the Circus and the R
oyal Crescent, the soles of his boots crunching the rock underfoot. It was the only sound he heard, even when he turned to face the sweep of fine houses along the Crescent.

  Thalia’s home was near the end of the curve—he had walked past it many times now, and he paused there. He had to be absolutely sure all was quiet and peaceful with her, before he returned to the inn. That she was safe.

  And he saw that he was not quite the only person awake in Bath. One window of the house was lit, a single square of warm candlelight. A burning beacon in a cold night.

  Marco stared up at it like a ridiculous Romeo, even though he could not be entirely sure it was her window. He could see only a faint silhouette against the filmy draperies, a lady with long hair writing at a desk.

  And yet he was sure it was her; he could sense her very presence. Just the sight of her safe in her own home reassured him. Even if the fact that she was up late working on who-knew-what did not.

  He remembered the shimmering excitement in her sky-blue eyes as she told him her information about Lady Riverton and the caves. The passionate enthusiasm inside of her that resonated with his own, that called out to him to share it with her. Share everything with her, his bright Muse.

  But even as she wound her way irresistibly around his soul, he knew he had to pull her back from the precipice she dashed towards all unheeding. He remembered very well what had happened to Maria. He would be damned if he watched it happen to Thalia, too.

  Marco laughed ruefully as he stared up at the window. Oh, but he was damned anyway! Ever since the moment he had seen her in Santa Lucia he had been lost.

  There was a sudden flurry of movement as the curtains were brushed aside, and Thalia appeared behind the wavery glass. She wore a white dressing gown, her blonde hair loose over her shoulders in wild curls and waves. With the candlelight behind her she seemed all covered in gold, an ancient goddess.

  She leaned on the windowsill, staring down at the street. She did not seem to see him there in the fog, and so was unguarded in her solitude. Unguarded—and strangely sad.

  He wanted to know what she was thinking, feeling. Wanted to know everything about her. She pressed her fingertips to the glass, as if she would push that barrier aside and fly free into the night.

  Marco forced himself to turn away, to leave her behind. Even as he wanted only to climb up to her chamber and take her into his arms. The two of them alone against all enemies.

  He walked out of the Crescent, not looking back.

  Thalia stared out over the misty Crescent Fields, all grey and silver in the muffled moonlight. It did not look like Bath at all. It was a fairyland, where the everyday was transformed and nothing was as it seemed.

  She gazed up at the sky, dotted with only a few faint stars, and wondered what it would be like to leave the house behind. To leave her whole life behind, and float free into the clouds. To be able to look down and see everything clearly at last.

  She glanced back at her desk, at the pages of her manuscript scattered across its smooth surface. Right now she felt a bit like poor Isabella, trapped in a dank castle where things could only be half-seen, glimpsed from high, high windows.

  But both she and Isabella were learning more every day. About the men in their lives—about themselves. Soon, she would see the whole.

  A high wail went up from above, Psyche waking and wanting attention. Wanting to be heard, acknowledged.

  ‘Believe me, Psyche darling,’ Thalia murmured, ‘I do understand.’

  She turned back to draw the curtains closed, and glimpsed a movement on the street below. A mere shadow, a ripple in the fabric of the night. She peered closer, and saw a tall, black-clad figure walking away.

  At the edge of the walkway, he turned, and she saw that it was Marco. No one else could possibly have such a beautiful Florentine profile, limned in the moonlight.

  Surprised, she half-lifted her hand, opened her mouth to call to him. Yet he was already gone.

  Had she only imagined him? Imagined him watching her house, wanting to be with her, because she longed so much to be with him? Whether he was a dream or not, he was quite gone now, and she was alone again.

  But not for long. She was determined on that, and when a Chase Muse was determined—well, the world had best prepare itself.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thalia crouched low behind a wrought-iron railing, gazing down at the servants’ entrance of the White Hart Inn. Yawning maidservants had deposited the night’s refuse several minutes ago, but a light still burned behind the high, small windows.

  Her stomach lurched with trepidation and impatience, and she had to force herself to remain perfectly still. To stay in the shadows, where her black wool breeches, coat and knit cap could not be seen, and not go running about shrieking like an escaped Bedlamite.

  She had broken into places where she should not be before, of course. On that one memorable occasion in Santa Lucia, she had even broken into Marco’s own house, when she thought he might have eloped with Clio. But she had never attempted a place like an inn, where there were so many people, so much coming and going. What if her information was incorrect, and she went bursting into the wrong room?

  She glanced over her shoulder, suddenly tempted to turn around and go home. To forget this fool’s errand. But even as she studied the quiet street, she knew she had come too far to go back now. Marco would never tell her the whole story of what was happening, would never really let her help him. He was too protective, too Italian, for that.

  She simply had to take matters into her own hands, and it had to be now. Before he vanished from her life again.

  A cat suddenly leaped on to the railing, making Thalia cry out. She pressed her hand to her mouth, her heart pounding. Yes, it certainly did have to be now, or she would lose her nerve!

  The light went out at last, and all was silent. She took a deep breath, and ran down the stairs. Her thin wire lock pick, a useful trick learned from Clio, made short work of the flimsy door lock. She was soon in the darkened kitchen, where the fire was banked for the night and all the servants were tucked away in their own rooms.

  She hurried around crates and tables, the soft soles of her boots whispering on the flagstone floor. She had studied the layout of the inn, planned how to reach Marco’s room from the warren of back stairs. But studying and planning were very different from actually doing.

  She went up the steps, listening carefully at the door before she opened it and slid out into the narrow corridor. A few lamps were still lit along the way, guiding her to the next set of stairs, the next servants’ corridor, until she came at last to the right one.

  Behind a few of the chamber doors, she heard voices laughing, arguing—crying out in raw pleasure. But there was no one on the landing, and she soon found the one room she sought.

  Holding her breath, she leaned close to the polished wood, her ears straining for any hint of movement. At first, all seemed quiet, so when a voice burst out in a flurry of Italian, she fell back a step in startlement.

  ‘…will never convince anyone of the rightness of what we seek,’ Marco said, as Thalia swiftly translated in her head. His words were muffled, but the forceful anger of them was impossible to miss. ‘Our cause is just, and violence will only damage our credibility with those whose support we seek. Surely you see that!’

  ‘I see only that you have abandoned us!’ another man said, also in rapid Italian. Thalia could scarcely keep up, even with her ear pressed directly to the door. ‘You, our strongest comrade.’

  ‘I have not abandoned anyone,’ Marco said, low and tense. ‘I work for our cause every day. Why else am I here in Bath, so far from my home? The silver—’

  ‘The silver cannot free us! It cannot take up arms and fight for us. The time for such symbols is past.’

  ‘I cannot leave my work here. Not for such rash actions that are doomed to failure.’

  ‘You cannot leave the pretty Signorina Chase, you mean.’

  There was a sudden
crash, like a fist coming down on a table, rattling pottery. Thalia sucked in a breath at the mention of her name.

  ‘You will leave her out of this,’ Marco growled. ‘She has nothing to do with it.’

  ‘I think she does. We know about her family, about how they were messing about in things that are none of their business in Santa Lucia.’

  ‘That is not true. They were interested in antiquities, like everyone else. They are scholars.’

  ‘They were interested in stealing antiquities, like everyone else. And now you are panting after the puttana like—’

  A great thud, like a body hitting the door, reverberated right in Thalia’s ear, and she toppled back onto the corridor carpet.

  ‘Never speak of her again!’ Marco insisted. ‘I tell you, she has nothing to do with this. I will work in my way; you do what you must. But if you dare harm her…’

  The door abruptly swung open. Thalia gasped, scrambling into the shadows just an instant before Domenico de Lucca emerged from the room. His golden hair was rumpled, a large bruise forming on his cheek as if he had just been hit.

  ‘I will not leave this godforsaken place until you see sense, Marco,’ he said over his shoulder, tugging his coat into place. ‘Our plan is the only one that will work. If you are not with us in this, you must be our enemy.’

  Marco appeared in the doorway. The lamplight behind him outlined him in flickering red-gold, like a dark Hades emerging from the underworld, burning with fury.

  ‘I am not your enemy,’ he said fiercely. ‘But I will be if you come near the Chases, if you involve them in this in any way.’

  Domenico just dashed away, disappearing down the stairs as Marco slammed the door behind him.

  Thalia crouched there in the sudden silence, hardly daring to breathe. Had she just imagined that whole strange scene? Why was de Lucca arguing with Marco? What was their ‘situation’? And where did Lady Riverton and her pharaoh fit in?