To Kiss a Count Page 18

  The false betrothal thing was not going well at all.

  ‘He is indeed a very fast learner,’ she murmured, her agile little foot sliding ever higher.

  Marco carefully reached down and seized her ankle in his hand, running his fingers over the silk-covered arch. Thalia gasped and bit her lip. ‘Not as fast as you, signorina.’

  The drawing-room door opened, the butler slipping inside to announce, ‘Lady Riverton and Mr de Lucca, my lady.’

  ‘My dear Lady Westwood!’ Lady Riverton trilled, sweeping in on a wave of blue feathers and musky jasmine scent, her hand on Domenico’s arm. ‘Do forgive us for being so late. We have come from the theatre.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Lady Westwood said, cool but polite. ‘We were about to pause for some tea.’

  ‘How lovely,’ Lady Riverton said. ‘I simply had to be here to wish the newly betrothed couple happy. They do seem absolutely made for each other, do they not?’

  ‘I certainly think so,’ Marco said, giving her a little bow and a polite smile. In turn she gave him a bland stare, giving away nothing of her knowledge of the cave. Of the dangerous game they had played all the way from Sicily.

  ‘Then we must have a toast to the happy couple,’ Lord Westwood said. ‘We need champagne!’

  ‘Oh, delightful!’ said Lady Riverton, clapping her hands. ‘I do adore champagne, and so does Signor de Lucca. Don’t you?’

  Domenico, too, smiled, but his glance was hard and tense as he stared at Marco and Thalia. ‘Natura secondo, but even more I love a true occasion for it—like a wedding. Though perhaps prosecco is more appropriate tonight, as the bridegroom is one of my own countrymen.’

  ‘I fear I have no Italian wines to offer, signor,’ Lord Westwood said affably. ‘Perhaps once Thalia is the Contessa di Fabrizzi she can help me remedy that lack in my cellar.’

  ‘Di Fabrizzi is an ancient name indeed,’ Domenico said tightly, his words ever so slightly unfocused. Marco wondered warily if he had been drinking at the theatre. The only thing worse than a hothead was a drunken hothead. He rose smoothly from his chair, moving toward Domenico to stave off any possible outbursts.

  Any revelations.

  ‘It is very sad that now it will be so diluted by foreign blood, as so much of my country has been,’ Domenico muttered. ‘Reduced to sending wine to English cellars, playing at being a scholar. Where some of us must…’

  Marco seized Domenico’s arm in an iron grip. ‘Basta,’ he hissed. ‘If you have a problem with me, I will meet you on any duelling field you choose. But you will not insult Miss Chase or her family.’

  Domenico tried to snatch his arm away, but Marco held fast. Just as he suspected, the unmistakable scent of brandy hung heavy around Domenico. His hair was rumpled, his fine velvet coat wrinkled.

  Fool. What had he said to Lady Riverton while he was in his cups? A fine revolutionary he was.

  ‘Oh, so now you will fight?’ Domenico said sulkily. ‘Now when your English puttana is insulted…’

  Marco’s fist came up in a flash, but his wrist was suddenly clasped by soft fingers. He glanced down to see Thalia beside him, drawing him gently but firmly away. At the same moment, Lady Riverton took Domenico’s other arm.

  ‘Do forgive him!’ she trilled. ‘He had a spot of punch at the theatre, and you know how these Neapolitans can be. Come, Signor de Lucca, I am sure Lord Westwood will show you some of his sketches from Greece.’

  She drew Domenico away, helped by Lord Westwood. He went willingly enough, but the stare he tossed back at Marco fairly burned.

  Thalia’s hand tightened on his wrist. ‘You would not really duel with him, would you?’ she whispered.

  He gave her a careless smile. ‘Not tonight, bella. I will not ruin the celebration of our betrothal.’

  She frowned, and he could tell by the flash of her eyes that she had much more to say. But she just shook her head.

  ‘After the card games resume,’ she murmured, ‘meet me in the upstairs corridor.’

  ‘Cara, how very scandalous. Are you trying to hurry along our nuptials?’

  But she was not fooled by his banter. She shook his wrist. ‘Just do it!’

  Then she spun around and stalked away, hurrying to join her sister at the tea table. Lady Westwood whispered urgently in Thalia’s ear, glancing toward him.

  The Chase soirées were always endlessly entertaining, Marco thought wryly, rubbing at his wrist as if to hold Thalia’s touch to his skin. One never knew what might happen. An evening began with a family supper and some innocent card games, and ended with belligerent Neapolitans and trysts in upstairs corridors.

  It was almost too tempting, to stay here for ever and see what happened next. Forget what waited for him in Florence, the danger. Even as he well knew he could never turn back now.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Thalia paced the dark patch of corridor between her chamber door and a pier table, back and forth as she stared toward the top of the stairs. A single lamp at the end of the hallway burned steadily, but its light didn’t reach her.

  Her mind felt just as shadowed. Why had Lady Riverton shown up here, with Domenico de Lucca of all people? Was he her new pet Italian, since she had lost Marco? Or was there more to it than that—as there must be with Lady Riverton? And why did she seem determined to stay close to them, when by all appearances she had them cornered? She had forced a public betrothal on them, and she still had the silver.

  At last Thalia heard the soft sound of footsteps on the stairs. She spun around to see Marco there on the top step, the lamp behind him outlining him in impenetrable darkness.

  Thalia ran to him, grabbing his hand and drawing him with her into her chamber. She closed the door behind them, and they were alone at last in the shadowed heat.

  ‘Thalia, mia, we shouldn’t be like this in your own house,’ he muttered roughly. But she felt his hands clasp tight to her hips, pressing her back against the door. Maybe he felt that irresistible pull, just as she did. That wild need to be together, to touch, to kiss.

  A quicksilver thrill shot through her at the thought, the wondrous possibility that he needed her just as she needed him. She went up on tiptoe, looping her arms around his neck. ‘It’s only for a few minutes,’ she whispered. ‘I had to be alone with you, to be away from the party. All that silly conversation, everyone watching…’

  ‘Away from Domenico de Lucca? I am sorry he showed up, Thalia. I don’t know what the fool was thinking.’

  ‘You won’t really duel with him, will you?’ Thalia said, suddenly cold at the thought of him wounded. Bleeding. Dying.

  ‘It might be the best way to make him be quiet. Hotheaded, drunken alloco.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I certainly don’t know any other hotheaded Italian, set on their own course.’

  ‘I am only a hothead around you,’ he said, and she could hear the grin in his voice.

  ‘Is that so?’ she teased. She slid her foot from its slipper, running it up his leg. ‘Like now? Or did you like it better when I touched you under the table?’

  Marco groaned, his lips swooping down to claim hers in the dark. She met him open-mouthed, eager.

  ‘Or maybe,’ she whispered, as his kiss slid to her ear, the arch of her throat, ‘you like it when I do this.’

  She moved her caress down his taut back, pressing to the curve of his buttock beneath the thin wool breeches. His erection leaped against her hip, iron-hard even through her skirts.

  ‘I think maybe you do,’ she said, feeling a rush of glorious power. This must be what it was like to be Aphrodite, then!

  ‘Maledetto, but you are a fast learner,’ he muttered.

  ‘I have an excellent teacher.’

  He kissed her again, and any thoughts, any words, shattered and flew away in a hundred shining fragments. She was surrounded by the heat and scent of him, and he was all she knew. All she wanted.

  She drove her fingers into his hair, holding tight as their tongues clashed, their hungry mouths
mingled. Pressing back against the door, she wrapped her legs around his hips, moulding her body to his until there was not even a breath of air between them.

  Through the shimmering mist of desire, she felt him lift her away from the wall, twirling her around until he found her bed in the darkness. She fell back onto the mattress, pulling him down with her.

  ‘Scusa,’ he gasped. ‘Amare, I’m sorry, but I need you. I need…’

  ‘I need you, too,’ she managed to whisper, her breath tight in her throat. She spread her legs as her skirts foamed back, arching to meet him. Her hands fumbled eagerly for the fastening of his breeches.

  He pushed her skirts above her waist, his caress skimming over her bare thighs above her stockings. One finger slid slowly inside her wet folds, a hot friction that made her gasp. Her head whirled in a sudden rush of delirious pleasure.

  ‘Do you like it when I touch you here?’ he murmured against her ear.

  ‘Yes!’ she gasped.

  He reached around her with his other hand, pulling up her buttocks as he drove into her body. Binding them together as one.

  This time there was no pain at all, only the well-remembered pleasure. The memory of how their bodies fitted, how it felt for him to be with her so completely. She closed her eyes tightly, bracing her feet against the bed as she drove upwards, taking him in even deeper.

  He drew back and plunged forwards, every thrust making her sure this was right. This was meant to be.

  ‘Marco!’ she cried, as she felt that bubble of pressure deep inside shatter, felt the hot ecstasy fall down on her like a cascade of stars. Like—like…

  Fireworks. All white and red, burning hot. Searing away all she had been before, when there was no Marco.

  He collapsed on the bed beside her, holding her as the stars faded. As her heartbeat, so frantic, slowed, and a glorious lassitude stole over her.

  Thalia reached out in the dark, tracing her trembling fingertips over his brow, his cheek, the taut line of his jaw. Her thumb swept along his damp lips, and his mouth opened, drawing it in deep as he nipped at her fingertip.

  She shivered. ‘You won’t duel, will you?’ she whispered.

  Marco gave a hoarse laugh. ‘Cara, if you intend to stop me fighting like this, I must threaten to duel every day.’

  ‘Marco!’ She gave him a shake. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I will not duel. It would accomplish nothing. But if he intends to keep me away from the silver, if he goes on insulting you and your family—I must take action.’

  Thalia sat up, shaking her skirts down over her legs. ‘You think he is somehow in league with Lady Riverton?’

  ‘I don’t know what he is about,’ Marco said. She felt him sit up beside her, fastening his breeches and smoothing his no-doubt mangled cravat. ‘But I intend to find out.’

  ‘At the fireworks gala?’

  ‘Perhaps. It will be an excellent opportunity, with everyone distracted by the spectacle.’

  Thalia knelt down, feeling around on the floor until she found her lost slipper. She slid it on to her foot, smiling secretly. ‘Then I can’t wait. You do have a way of making parties so much more interesting, Marco.’

  ‘Funny, bella,’ he answered. ‘I was just thinking the same about you.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Thalia had walked with Marco many times in Sydney Gardens, including the most memorable occasion of their first kiss in the Labyrinth. But now it was so completely transformed she would not have known it. She felt as if she had stepped into a fairyland.

  An orchestra played in one of the half-circle stone pavilions, the arches all hung with coloured lanterns that glinted on the gravel walkways and sparkled through the trees. A dance set was forming in the cleared space nearby. Screens decorated with transparencies of various Roman gods stood behind refreshment tables and grotto-like alcoves. Fountains ran generously with wine.

  Thalia followed Calliope and Cameron as they made their way to their own seats, greeting all their acquaintances along the way. Everyone was clad in their finest silks and muslins, seemingly in high spirits as the festive atmosphere sparkled in the night sky around them. Even Calliope seemed entirely restored to health, her cheeks rosy again to match her fine Indian cashmere shawl.

  ‘I confess I did not think I would ever enjoy Bath so much!’ Calliope said. ‘But now I will be sorry to leave it behind when we go back to London next month.’

  ‘We have certainly met with good friends here,’ Thalia agreed.

  ‘More than that for you, I think, sister,’ Calliope teased. ‘For you have found your own future husband! Speaking of which, where is the Count? It does not seem like him to miss a party.’

  ‘Perhaps he is emptying the last of Bath’s florists of their wares,’ Cameron said, escorting them into their alcove. ‘I think there may have been one or two he did not reach this morning.’

  Calliope laughed merrily as footmen stepped forwards to pour wine. ‘Indeed, we could hardly move in the corridors or the drawing room for all the bouquets he sent! And he had only been apart from Thalia for a few hours. Perhaps you have made a good choice after all, dearest.’

  Thalia just smiled at her, sipping at her sweet wine. Yes, she had made a good choice—if only she could make it a partnership in truth! Perhaps the flowers were a good sign, but she had heard nothing more of the caves. Of what she could do to help. Her plan to impress Marco, to persuade him to make their betrothal real, did not seem to be going so very well.

  As the footmen laid out platters of delicacies for them, she studied the passing crowd for a glimpse of Marco, or of Lady Riverton or Signor de Lucca. She half-listened as Calliope and her husband laughed tenderly, perfectly contented in their time together.

  ‘Ah, good evening to you, Lord and Lady Westwood, Miss Chase!’ Lord Knowleton said, as he and his wife paused by their alcove in the midst of the great promenade.

  ‘Good evening, Lord Knowleton,’ Calliope answered. ‘Won’t you join us for a glass of wine? We did not have time at our card party to get caught up on all the doings of the Antiquities Society.’

  ‘Indeed, it has been too long since you were all with us in town,’ Lady Knowleton said, as everyone shifted to make room.

  ‘It has been delightful to see you here in Bath,’ Calliope said. ‘Though I hope it is not because of ill health that you are here.’

  ‘Indeed not,’ Lord Knowleton said. ‘I have come on an errand for the Society, though I fear there is not much yet to tell of it.’

  ‘It has been a secret even from me!’ Lady Knowleton said with a laugh. ‘Though I have enjoyed the chance to take the waters. Perhaps you will join us for tea tomorrow, Lady Westwood? Miss Chase?’

  ‘We would be delighted, wouldn’t we, Thalia?’ Calliope said.

  ‘Oh, of course,’ Thalia said, her mind racing. Was Lord Knowleton’s ‘errand’ something to do with the silver? Hopefully she would be able to discover more tomorrow, discover something that would be of use to Marco.

  But she did not have long to scheme. They were interrupted by Domenico de Lucca, who stopped to bow next to their alcove.

  ‘Lord and Lady Westwood, Miss Chase,’ he said, with a charming smile. ‘Please, you must allow me to apologise for my behaviour at your party. I have no excuse, except that your English wine is stronger than I expected! I hope you will let me make amends.’

  Calliope frowned at him doubtfully. ‘Certainly I accept your apology, signor. But it was my sister’s betrothal party.’

  Domenico turned to Thalia with another bow. ‘Then I hope that you will do me the great honour of dancing with me, Signorina Chase,’ he said, with that bright, guileless smile. ‘To show that we are truly friends now. That there are no—how do you say?—hard feelings.’

  Thalia hesitated, glancing past him to the crowd of dancers. She still did not like Domenico de Lucca; he alternated far too easily between hotheaded revolutionary and smooth social charmer. She could read nothing from his smile, from the cool su
rface of his handsome blue eyes.

  On the other hand, it seemed he was friends with Lady Riverton now. He might know something useful she could possibly glean from him. Or perhaps he could at least tell her more of Marco’s life in Italy. Of his home, his friends, his work—his women. All the things he hid from her behind his charming smiles.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, rising from her chair. ‘I would not wish to quarrel with an old friend of my fiancé. If my sister can spare me for a few moments.’

  Calliope gave her an uncertain look, clearly torn between playing stern chaperon and conversing further with the Knowletons. ‘Of course, my dear, if you would like to dance. Just remember supper will be served soon.’

  ‘I will.’ Thalia stepped out of the alcove to take Domenico’s proffered arm. His muscles were tense beneath her light touch, and up close she could see the taut lines at the edge of his smile. A few moist beads dotted his brow, despite the mild evening.

  It made her feel tense, as well, and she looked around in hopes of glimpsing Marco at last. But he was still nowhere to be seen, and neither was Lady Riverton. The whole garden seemed suddenly dark, the glisten of the lamps dismal, the trees and whimsically shaped hedges encroaching on the brilliant gathering like a green-black net.

  As they took their places in the new set, she took a deep breath and said, ‘I understand you have become good friends with Viscountess Riverton, signor.’

  He smiled at her, that strange, taut, too-bright smile. ‘She is well known in my country as a great patron of the arts.’

  A patron. Well, that was one way of looking at it, Thalia supposed. The first strains of the music sounded, and she curtsied before stepping forwards to take his hand. ‘Did you know her before you came to Bath?’

  ‘Only by reputation.’

  ‘And do you find that she lives up to that—reputation?’

  He shot her a puzzled glance. ‘Most assuredly. Her appreciation for antiquities is unparalleled. Except, of course, for your own family.’

  ‘My family?’

  ‘The Chase Muses are known throughout Italy, signorina, surely you know that.’