To Kiss a Count Page 17

  She stepped close to Marco, running one gloved fingertip down his rumpled shirtfront. ‘I must say, Marco darling, I am surprised. Flirting with me to disguise your feelings for Miss Chase. It is so—clever. So very unlike you.’

  Marco gazed down at her, eyes narrowed. ‘I must have hidden depths.’

  ‘To say the least,’ Lady Riverton said. ‘Are you sure she is woman enough to plumb them?’

  Thalia yanked on Marco’s arm, turning him from Lady Riverton’s touch. But the Viscountess just laughed, spinning around to stroll back to the cave’s entrance.

  ‘Ah, yes, I do love love!’ she said merrily. ‘Come, Jack darling, do as I say and put that knife away. We must see the lovebirds safely back to town before sunrise.’ She glanced over her shoulder. ‘I look forward to calling on you and your sister later, Miss Chase, to officially offer my best wishes. Perhaps you will have another masquerade ball to celebrate! Jack and I do love a masquerade, don’t we, darling?’

  As Lady Riverton and the two men left the cave, Thalia tightened her grip on Marco’s sleeve. ‘We can’t leave without the silver!’ she whispered urgently. ‘What if they—?’

  ‘Shh, cara,’ Marco muttered. He took her hand firmly in his, but his gaze was still on the entrance. ‘Do not worry. I will think what to do, now that we know where it’s at. For now we must celebrate our engagement with our new friends.’ He grinned at her, raising her hand to his lips. ‘You will make such a lovely bride.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘Thalia, dearest, are you quite certain this is what you want to do?’ Calliope asked. ‘I know he is handsome and rich and, well, Italian. But do you really know him well enough?’

  Thalia stared out of the drawing-room window, not really seeing the carriages dashing past in the rain. She had been asking herself just that same question all morning—was this really what she wanted to do? Did she know Marco well enough? Just not quite in the same way Calliope meant.

  She tightened her fingers over the crumpled note in her hand. The missive had arrived at breakfast, written in Marco’s bold, dark hand. Thalia, cara, it said. Please do not worry—you won’t be trapped with me for the rest of your life, and neither will I with you. We must only playact a little while longer.

  Playact—just when she was taking everything so very seriously. She had seen last night in the cave how very important, and dangerous, Marco’s work was. How much she wanted to be a part of it all.

  But he seemed to be pulling away from her again. Even now, when he was in the library asking Cameron for permission for their ‘betrothal’.

  Their sham betrothal, which he obviously did not want. Yet perhaps a fake engagement was better than none. At least it bought her some time, gave her an excuse to be in Marco’s company without exciting more gossip.

  She turned to smile at her sister. Calliope sat on the couch, cradling Psyche in her arms. For once, the baby was quiet, gazing around with her wide, dark eyes, as if aware of the seriousness of the moment.

  ‘I am sure this is what I want to do,’ Thalia said, sitting down beside her. ‘I know that you have all been worried I would never find a gentleman to suit me. Well, now I have.’

  ‘Thalia, I have not been worried you would not marry! You have had far more offers than the rest of us put together. I worry that you will marry the wrong person. The Count is exciting, of course, but will he make you happy?’

  ‘Is there something you want to tell me about Marco, Cal?’ Thalia asked carefully. ‘That day at the Pump Room was not the first time you had encountered him, of course.’

  Calliope shifted Psyche to her shoulder, not quite meeting Thalia’s gaze. ‘You are right, Thalia. I did not tell you the entire tale. That time we visited Emmeline Saunders and her family in Yorkshire, and we went to Averton’s castle…’

  ‘You saw him with Clio, trying to steal something from the Duke. Probably the Artemis statue.’

  Calliope’s eyes widened like her daughter’s. ‘You knew?’

  ‘Of course. You told me, remember? And so did Clio, once she finally decided I could be trusted. But that is all over now. His work is entirely aboveboard, and so is Clio’s.’ Except for sneaking into caves in the middle of the night. But Thalia saw no need to mention that.

  ‘Oh,’ Calliope said weakly. ‘Well, if you know about all that and still wish to marry him…’

  ‘I do!’ Thalia took her sister’s hand. Somehow, it was so important that Calliope understand. That she, and all the Chases, accept Marco. Surely no one could help him more in his cause than her family. ‘Oh, Cal, I thought I would never find someone who could understand me as Cameron does you. Someone who doesn’t care that I am wild and impulsive.’

  Calliope laughed, bouncing Psyche in her arms. ‘I am quite sure the Count has no room to complain about anyone else’s impulsiveness!’

  Thalia smiled ruefully. ‘No, because we are alike in so many ways. My life with him will never be dull. Never be without purpose.’

  ‘We Chase Muses do like to have a purpose, don’t we?’

  ‘Of course. And we want others to see the rightness of that purpose.’

  ‘And make them do as we say?’ Calliope shook her head. ‘I doubt the Count will ever follow your orders, sister dear. Or you his.’

  Thalia laughed. ‘Much like you and Cameron?’

  ‘Well, a quarrel or two to clear the air in a marriage never comes amiss. If he makes you as happy as Cam makes me…’

  ‘Then I will be abundantly blessed. So, you will agree to this engagement?’

  ‘Yes. If you wait for Father and Clio to come home before you marry.’

  ‘I could not have a wedding without them.’

  ‘Then I hope you will ask the Count to dine with us tonight, before our guests arrive for cards. There is a great deal I would speak to him about, I think.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Cal!’ Thalia exuberantly kissed her sister on the cheek, and then her startled niece. ‘You will not be sorry. You’ll see how wonderful Marco is.’

  Psyche wailed, kicking her feet at all the excitement. ‘I hope so, Thalia dear. And just think—soon you might have a Psyche of your own.’

  Thalia stared down at the baby’s red cheeks, biting her lip as she remembered that wild night in Marco’s bedchamber. Her legs wrapped around his waist as their bodies moved and thrust together.

  All the more reason to quickly turn this sham betrothal into a real one. If she could. She was determined, but was she determined enough?

  ‘Not too soon, I hope,’ she murmured.

  ‘You are very quiet today, cara mia,’ Marco said.

  Thalia left off picking at her pastry at their table in Mollands window to smile at him. ‘It makes a change, does it not?’

  He laughed. Her dark knight of the caves was gone, and he was the light and charming escort again. ‘But it means I hardly know if it is Thalia I am with, or her strangely silent twin.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I was just thinking over everything that has happened.’

  ‘It is a great deal to absorb.’

  ‘Surely not for you. I’m sure your entire life must be full of such excitement! Caves, daggers, midnight meetings…’

  ‘Not every night, I assure you. I am quite sure my nerves could not stand it.’ He held out his empty teacup for her to pour. ‘Most of my time is spent being a hermit in my library, writing letters and pamphlets, working on my monograph. Only since I met you has my life become like one of your English Minerva Press novels.’

  ‘Tell me about your home in Florence, then,’ she said, stirring her tea. Two people she had never met before strolled past the window, grinning when they saw her and Marco—just as so many people had done today. Lady Riverton’s gossip about their betrothal had spread fast. She ignored them. ‘Is it so very ancient?’

  ‘Ancient enough,’ Marco answered. ‘It was built in the fourteenth century on the Via Larga, but an ancestor expanded it greatly a hundred years later. He was a great collector, of c
ourse, and he needed not one but three great courtyards to display his sculptures. My mother, she loved these courtyards, and she added new fountains and so many rosebushes. In the summer, the air is full of their perfume.’

  Thalia closed her eyes, picturing it all in her mind, just as in the beautiful villas she saw on her travels. An arcaded cortile with marble pillars supporting arches overhead; marble cameo medallions gazing down on classical statues, columns, twining vines and flowers. She imagined sitting on a cool marble bench under the shade of the portal, listening to the whisper of the fountains, inhaling the musky-sweet scent of summer roses. In her dream, Marco sat down beside her, dropping one of the blossoms into her lap as they laughed together. ‘It sounds perfect.’

  ‘It is, very nearly. Sadly, the rest of the house needs a bit more care. I get caught up in my work, and since my mother died there is no one to see to it properly. It needs care and attention, someone to love it. I fear no one will want to take on such a burden.’

  ‘I am certain there could be far more onerous tasks in life than taking on the restoration of a Renaissance work of art!’ Thalia protested. ‘Making it truly elegant once again, a showplace.’

  ‘Ah, but whoever took on that would also have to take on me. And all my family relations, who are spread from the Veneto to Naples, and yet who are all certain they know how I should live my life.’

  ‘It sounds like my own family. Surely no one could be more opinionated than a Chase! We are all quite sure we know what is best for each other.’

  Marco laughed. ‘Are you sure you’re not Italian, then?’

  Thalia smiled at him. ‘Sometimes I think we must be. But, speaking of my family, Marco, you needn’t come tonight for dinner and cards if you are otherwise occupied. I don’t want you to feel—obligated in any way.’ She remembered his note, and her confusion only increased. He did not want this engagement; he had made that clear to her.

  But he reached across the table and gently took her hand in his, in front of all the gossip-seekers. ‘There is no place else I would rather be.’

  ‘But what about…?’ Thalia quickly lowered her voice. ‘What about the silver?’

  Marco glanced out of the window, his jaw tight. ‘Did you know, cara, about the fireworks gala in Sydney Gardens tomorrow night?’

  Thalia blinked at him, startled. What did fireworks have to do with the silver? Or with anything? ‘Yes, of course. Cameron procured tickets for us. What can it—oh.’ Of course! She felt suddenly foolish. The gala must be a cover for something.

  ‘May I go with you?’ she whispered.

  That muscle in his jaw ticked. ‘I was wrong to take you to the cave, Thalia. If something happened yet again…’

  ‘It won’t!’ She tightened her clasp on his hand, unwilling to let him go now. ‘If I hadn’t been with you in the cave, you would not have had such a good excuse for being there. They might have—have hurt you.’

  Her stomach lurched at the thought of Marco bleeding alone in the cold cave, with no one there to help him. He was so protective of her, yet now she found that she was every bit as protective of him. They needed each other, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

  ‘I would have thought of something else,’ he said roughly. ‘And then you would not be in this position.’

  ‘But could you have come up with something so fast?’ She gave him a teasing smile. ‘I am a fairly good actress, am I not?’

  ‘Bella,’ he said, with a reluctant smile of his own, ‘you are far too good.’

  ‘Then you can tell me what is happening during the gala. I won’t get in your way, I promise.’

  ‘We can’t talk about it here.’

  Thalia glanced around the crowded shop, all the curious people eating their pastries and ices. ‘Let us walk, then. I need some fresh air.’

  But there was no privacy in walking, either. So many people stopped them to proffer their good wishes and sly questions that there was no chance for a quiet word at all. Thalia began to wonder how her sisters and their husbands had ever managed to court each other, with everyone watching!

  ‘Tonight, then,’ she whispered, when they had a scant moment between conversations. ‘We can meet in my chamber after the card party. No one will miss us then!’

  The game of Speculation was in full fervour.

  Marco glanced across the table, to where Thalia was examining her hand of three cards. In front of her was the upturned trump card. In her concentration, her brow was creased, her lips pursed in an alluring little pout. Slowly, she drew in her lower lip, worrying at it with her even white teeth before she suddenly smiled and laid down a card.

  And Marco shifted uncomfortably in his chair, once again cursing the fashion for tight breeches. They were a blasted inconvenience whenever he was near Thalia.

  His fiancée looked especially beautiful tonight, with the candlelight turning her upswept curls to molten gold, her cheeks a glowing pink as she laughed. She wore a gown of pale green silk trimmed with frills of fine white lace, which made her look like an Aphrodite emerging from the foam of the sea. Si, she was so very beautiful, so sensual and so innocent at the same time.

  She peeked at him from beneath her lashes, giving him a secret little smile. ‘Do you wish to sell your card, then, Count di Fabrizzi?’ she murmured. In those simple words seemed a wealth of shared mischief.

  In only a few days, she had surely become an inextricable part of his life. His lover, his partner. His friend? Somehow now he could hardly imagine going on in his work, in his life, without her.

  And that knowledge was dangerously distracting. It turned him from his work, and worse put Thalia herself in danger. He had to be very vigilant, to make certain this false engagement never took on the appearance of a real one. No more than it already had, anyway.

  He frowned, staring down at his cards again. ‘Not at the moment, my dear Miss Chase,’ he murmured. ‘I think I see more advantage in holding on to what I have now.’

  They played with Lord Grimsby and his daughter Lady Anne, with Lady Westwood and her husband at the next table. The arrival of the other guests had been a welcome distraction after a supper spent being pelted—politely, of course—with questions. What were his properties in Italy? In England? Where did he intend for Thalia to live? How often would he bring her to visit her family?

  Thalia had brought the inquisition to an end by laughingly declaring they would surely be living in a cave in the Apennines, where they would raise goats and make wine. And perhaps write poetry all day. For was that not what counts and contessas did?

  All of which sounded strangely charming to Marco. To be alone with Thalia, with only the goats to watch them and gossip about them. Where he could kiss her, touch her, whenever he wanted. It would be bliss indeed. And yet one more reason why he should stay away from her, and her intoxicating, amnesia-inducing smiles.

  As if she read his thoughts now, Thalia gave him a puzzled glance before going back to chatting with Lady Anne.

  Lady Westwood’s whist partner at the next table was a new arrival in Bath, Lord Knowleton, head of the Antiquities Society, of which the Chases were such enthusiastic members. Marco was anxious to speak to him, as the Antiquities Society had been so active in the recovery and study of so many artefacts. He would be a most useful ally in Marco’s work.

  If, that is, he could cease being so distracted by the curve of Thalia’s rose-pink lips…

  ‘And when is the wedding to be?’ Lady Anne asked eagerly. ‘Will it be here in Bath?’

  Thalia laughed. ‘I confess I have not thought so far ahead! I will have to wait until we hear word from my father. Perhaps we will marry at Chase Lodge, where all my sisters can see.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Lady Anne said with a pout. ‘I was so hoping it would be here, and soon. You are sure to have the prettiest bridal clothes that ever were seen, Miss Chase.’

  ‘Anne!’ her father said, laughing fondly. ‘Enough, my dear. You will have to forgive her, Miss Chase. She is a great
devotee of weddings.’

  ‘As am I,’ Thalia said. ‘There must be just the right amount of silk and lace, and the right sort of cake and wine. My sisters both had lovely nuptials, Lady Westwood at my father’s London house and the Duchess of Averton at a little church in Sicily. I cannot be outdone by them.’

  ‘Not when you are the most fashionable of us all,’ Lady Westwood said. ‘No one will make a more beautiful bride than Thalia.’

  ‘Perhaps you could find a Roman temple to marry in,’ Lord Knowleton suggested. ‘Surely no place could be more suited to two scholars of the ancient world!’

  Marco had a sudden flashing vision of Thalia entering the shadowed hush of a pillared temple, a sheer veil draped over her golden hair. She was a part of that ancient world, of all the beauty of so many centuries. A part of him, of all he worked for and loved.

  But then she laughed, and that ethereal vision shattered. She was only Thalia again, the woman he cared for so much he ached with it. He cared too much, and he feared he would never be cured of that, no matter how much he pretended. No matter how hard he worked to show Thalia theirs was not a betrothal in truth.

  ‘Do not say that in my father’s presence, Lord Knowleton,’ she said. ‘He would set to building a temple straight away.’

  ‘And then your wedding would be delayed even further!’ Lady Anne said sadly.

  ‘And what do you think of such nuptial plans, Count?’ Lady Knowleton, observing her husband’s card game, asked.

  Marco grinned. ‘I think anything that makes Signorina Chase happy makes me happy.’

  ‘Well put, Count,’ Lord Westwood said. ‘You are learning this marriage business quickly indeed.’

  Marco suddenly felt the soft caress of dainty toes against his ankle, brushing up his calf. A slow, alluring caress. Thalia had obviously slipped off her shoe beneath the drape of the tablecloth. She gave him an innocent little smile over the edge of her cards.