To Kiss a Count Page 19

  ‘I did not know that,’ Thalia said. ‘It is certainly gratifying, though also rather mystifying.’

  ‘There is nothing mysterious about it. Beautiful young ladies who are also great scholars—it is a rarity. And now that I have met you and Lady Westwood, I see the stories were not at all exaggerated. The Count is a most fortunate man.’

  They were separated by the figures of the dance, other couples swirling between them. When they joined hands again, Thalia said, ‘You have known the Count a long time, I understand.’

  His jaw twitched, yet still he went on smiling. Just as she did. Smiling until she was sure her face would crack. ‘Since we were schoolboys. We have always had much in common, though he was always a greater scholar than I. I’ve always wanted to do, and he wanted to read! To think.’

  ‘Yet which will serve better in the end?’ Thalia murmured. ‘Learning, or bloodshed?’

  She thought she could not be heard over the music, but he gave her an angry glance, quickly covered by that smile. ‘That is for you to decide, signorina, for is the Count not to be your husband now? But I hope that you, with all your own learning, can persuade him to be true to his country. To his great heritage.’

  ‘I believe that his “heritage” is always uppermost in Marco’s thoughts,’ she answered. ‘He wants what is best for his home, for his people. Surely you know that, being of long acquaintance with him?’

  ‘Once, I did think I knew him well enough. I even thought he might marry my cousin, Maria, another young lady of learning and spirit. Much like you, Signorina Chase.’

  ‘What?’ Thalia whispered. Marco had been betrothed before? Had loved a young lady, an Italian lady, before? And was this mysterious Maria one of the sources of the quarrel between Marco and Domenico?

  It was just one more thing she did not really know about him.

  ‘He was engaged to your cousin?’ she said.

  ‘I fear it did not have time to go so far as that. Maria died most tragically, when she was still quite young.’ He smiled at her sadly as they turned in the dance. ‘So, my old friend is most fortunate to find you now, signorina. He seems very fond of you.’

  Fond. Such a tepid little word for what happened between them in the secret darkness of the night. For what she felt for him, hidden deep in her own heart.

  But was all that enough? Enough to turn a false betrothal into a real one at last?

  ‘We are looking forward to a long future together,’ was all she said.

  ‘A future in Florence?’ he said. ‘Or perhaps Marco now plans to stay here in England. A trained Italian lapdog for your family.’

  An edge of steel had invaded Domenico’s polite tone at last. Thalia glanced at him, startled, to find that those blue eyes had taken on a strange new glow.

  ‘I doubt anyone could make a lapdog of Marco,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Ah, I think you underestimate your own charms, Signorina Chase,’ he answered. ‘I think you could very easily make him forget all he owes his own country.’

  The music ended with a flourish, and Thalia quickly turned to leave the dance floor. He grabbed her arm in a tight, implacable grasp, holding her fast. The tiny, cold needle of jealousy she had felt when he had told her of the lost Maria turned to an icy flood of frozen apprehension. She felt suddenly foolish for agreeing to dance with him, to listen to him at all.

  She tugged at her arm, but he held fast, dragging her closer to him as he drew her to the edge of the crowd.

  ‘Indeed, I think we have both underestimated the hold you have over him,’ Domenico muttered. ‘I should have seen it all before.’

  ‘Let go of me!’ she cried. She tried to kick out at him, but her silk skirts wrapped around her legs, hampering her.

  And then she felt a sharp prick against the bare skin of her arm, just above the top edge of her glove. She glanced down to see he held a small but lethal-looking dagger, the point of it pressed tight against her.

  ‘Come now, Signorina Chase, do not make such a fuss,’ he muttered. ‘Come along with me, and I promise you no one will be hurt. I only want Marco to listen to reason. Once he does that, you will be safely back with your family.’ He tugged hard again on her arm, throwing her off balance and dangerously near that blade. ‘A family that includes a little baby, si? Babies can be so very vulnerable.’

  Thalia gaped at him in mounting fury and—and fear. ‘Are you threatening my niece?’

  ‘Signorina! I, unlike the many brutal invaders of my country, would not harm innocent bambinas. But so much peril awaits those who are unwary in the world. And those who do not co-operate when it is in their best interests. My English is not so good, Signorina Chase, but I do hope I have made my point.’

  He had made it all too well. Come with him, be bait for Marco, or this wild-eyed crazy man would hurt her niece.

  In a hot panic, Thalia looked back, but they had gone too far from the bright crowd. She could see no one, nothing, at all.

  There was a sudden explosion overhead, the promised fireworks shattering in a thousand glittering red-and-green pieces. As everyone’s awed attention swung upwards, Domenico dragged her away into the cover of the trees.

  Thalia tore off her necklace, an Etruscan gold-and-garnet pendant on a gold chain that had once been her mother’s. It pained her to leave it behind, but she forced herself to drop it at the edge of the gravel walkway. Hopefully Marco or her sister would find it, would know she had not gone willingly.

  Once they were off the pathway, she dropped the matching bracelet and, a little way further, stepped on the white satin flounce on her hem, tearing part of it away.

  ‘You are too damnably slow,’ Domenico growled. He pulled so hard on her arm that Thalia cried out, certain it was wrenched from its socket.

  ‘I can hardly run!’ she protested. ‘I am wearing dancing slippers.’

  ‘Maledetto!’ He swung around, and Thalia saw his fist come up in an arc towards her jaw.

  It was the very last thing she saw before she collapsed into darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The fireworks display had already begun when Marco arrived at Sydney Gardens. He had intended to be much earlier, to dance with Thalia, snatch a quiet moment to talk to her about all that had happened in the last few momentous days. But a packet of long-delayed letters had arrived from Florence as he was leaving, claiming his attention.

  It seemed an armed uprising was not a figment of Domenico de Lucca’s fevered imagination, but a fact. The garrison at Naples was making plans—plans that would surely set his own hard work back for years. He had to return to Naples, as soon as possible.

  And he could not take Thalia with him, not now. It was far too dangerous, even for an intrepid soul like her. But perhaps, if he was persuasive, he could ask her to wait for him.

  Those were the thoughts that lay on him so heavily as he hurried through the Gardens. The orchestra played a rousing chorus as the fireworks arced overhead, their explosions deafening as blossoms and stars and dragons of green, gold, and fiery red took form and dispersed in a puff of smoke. The faces of the crowd were turned upwards in awed contemplation, the lights gleaming off their diamonds and pearls, their fine silks.

  But Thalia was not among them. Marco glimpsed her sister sitting in one of the alcoves, and he turned his steps toward her.

  That was when he saw Lady Riverton. She stood in the shadows of another alcove, one tucked away from the glow of the transparencies, but the tall white plumes of her ever-present turban were unmistakable.

  She was talking to a tall, heavyset man whose dark clothes helped him blend more effectively with the night. Marco might not have seen him at all if not for the pale glow of his gloved hand reaching out to touch Lady Riverton’s arm. Her face was solemn as she nodded at whatever he was saying.

  Marco crept closer to the alcove, straining to hear their words above the boom of the fireworks. They spoke too softly, but he saw to his surprise that her companion was none other than the em
inently respectable Lord Knowleton, the leader of the Antiquities Society.

  What was she doing with him, of all people? Lord Knowleton and the Antiquities Society had the highest reputation among collectors and scholars, a defender of learning, of proper excavation and importation.

  The Chases were prominent members of the Society themselves, as was Clio’s new husband, the Duke of Averton. None of them could be involved in Lady Riverton’s criminal ring, surely.

  But then again, Marco feared he could no longer be surprised by anything at all. Not when it involved human greed.

  ‘…do not know,’ he heard Lady Riverton say as he edged closer. ‘If you say that he does not…’

  An especially loud explosion snapped overhead, distracting the two of them from their conversation. And Marco suddenly glimpsed Lady Westwood hurrying through the crowd, glancing about as if frantically searching for something. Or someone.

  Marco abandoned the alcove, hurrying towards Lady Westwood as Lord Knowleton, too, slipped out and melted into the crowd.

  ‘Lady Westwood,’ Marco said with a bow. ‘May I be of assistance?’

  ‘Count di Fabrizzi!’ she answered, turning to him with anxious eyes. ‘I am so very glad to see you. Have you by any chance seen Thalia since your arrival?’

  ‘I fear not,’ he said with a frown. ‘I have only just arrived, and I was hoping to find her with you.’

  ‘She went to dance with Signor de Lucca. I should not have let her after his terrible behaviour at our card party, yet he did seem to be apologetic! So eager to make amends.’

  Marco froze. ‘She went off to dance with de Lucca?’

  Lady Westwood nodded. ‘And I fear she has not come back, even though the dance is long ended. My husband has gone to search for her.’

  ‘And he has found nothing of her at all?’ Marco asked intently. The whole brilliant gathering, the letters he had received earlier, everything faded away and the world sharpened to one single point. Thalia. His darling, his love.

  And the fact that she was gone. Vanished—after dancing with Domenico de Lucca.

  For an instant, he wanted to shake her sister, to demand to know how she could have let Thalia be with such a man for even a moment! Yet he knew such anger could accomplish nothing at all. Lady Westwood knew nothing about Domenico, about the past. It was he, Marco, who should have been guarding Thalia.

  ‘My husband did find this,’ she said shakily, holding out her hand. On her gloved palm was an antique gold-and-garnet pendant on a broken chain. ‘It was our mother’s. Thalia was wearing it tonight.’

  ‘Where did he find it?’ Marco said, staring down at the necklace, at the broken gold links that looked as if they had been violently snapped. In the lamplight, the garnets gleamed dully, like fresh blood.

  ‘Over there, where the gravel walkways disappear into the trees.’

  ‘And what else was she wearing?’

  Lady Westwood blinked hard, as if her mind was too full of mounting fear to remember such mundanities. Then she shook her head, and the fierceness he remembered from long ago in Yorkshire shone through. ‘A pink silk gown with white satin flounces. A gold bandeau in her hair. And a bracelet that matches the pendant. But she has no warm shawl with her, and only thin dancing slippers. What if…?’

  Marco nodded grimly. What if indeed. A cold calm overtook his mind, and he knew what he had to do. He reached out and gently closed her fingers over the broken necklace.

  ‘Go home, signora, and see if Thalia has returned there,’ he said gently. ‘Soon, a man will come to keep watch by your door. He will look rough, but please do not be alarmed. Let him know at once if you have word of Thalia, or if your husband finds anything else.’ He lightly touched her hand. ‘And keep a close eye on your daughter.’

  ‘On Psyche?’ she gasped. ‘What is happening here? Do you know where my sister is?’

  ‘I soon will. And I promise you, I will keep her safe.’

  Lady Westwood’s eyes narrowed as she held the necklace tightly in her fist. ‘I knew she was not safe with you at all! I let myself be persuaded by her own feelings for you, but after Yorkshire…’

  ‘Lady Westwood, favore!’ Marco took her by the arms, giving her a gentle shake. ‘You can hate me all you like—later. Right now, I need your help. Domenico de Lucca is an unpredictable man, I must find Thalia as quickly as possible. Please, go home now and watch for her.’

  She looked very much as if she longed to argue with him, to demand he do as she said. It was obvious that fiery stubbornness was a Chase family trait. But at last she gave an abrupt nod, backing away from him.

  ‘I will do as you ask,’ she said, ‘but only because you obviously know far more about all this than I do, and time is of the essence. If something happens to my sister, though, there will be no corner of the world where you can hide from me!’

  He gave her a bow, then spun around and strode towards the spot where the necklace had been found. If something happened to Thalia, there was no place where he could hide from himself. He had put her in danger, like a selfish fool who was too besotted to stay away. But he would get her out, send her safely back to her family…

  And then leave her alone, even if it cost him his own reckless heart.

  Calliope paced the length of the drawing room floor and back again, Psyche held tightly in her arms. Outside the windows, where Marco’s guard lurked, the night seemed very black indeed, thick and ominous. Even the baby was quiet, her tiny fingers in her mouth as she stared at her mother solemnly.

  ‘Oh, my darling,’ Calliope murmured. ‘I hope that when you are older I am a far better chaperon!’

  Just the thought of her beautiful, dark-haired baby being a beautiful young woman, going out into the world, gave her a terrible pang. All the dangers that waited for her, just as they had for Calliope and her sisters.

  Especially, it seemed, for beautiful, impulsive, generous-hearted Thalia.

  ‘I should have been more careful,’ Calliope whispered. She had sensed when she talked with Marco that there was more going on here in Bath than met the eye, that he was involved in some scheme, just as in Yorkshire between him and Clio. But she also sensed that he truly cared for Thalia. And she knew Thalia cared about him. Too much.

  Whenever Thalia talked about Marco, Calliope remembered herself when she fell in love with Cameron de Vere. She had known back then that Cam meant trouble, that he would entirely overset her tidy little world, but she hadn’t stayed away from him. She couldn’t. Now, they had a wonderful life together with their little girl. Not even the bumpy path of their courtship, or the terrible time she had giving birth to Psyche, could take that away. She and Cam were always meant to be together.

  And Thalia’s eyes shone when she spoke of Marco di Fabrizzi. She always lit up when he came into the room. Calliope couldn’t take that from her sister, not when she and all the Chases feared Thalia would never meet her match.

  But Calliope had underestimated the dangers. She had failed to thoroughly investigate Marco, to find out what he had been doing since Yorkshire. Had given in too soon to Thalia’s pleading. Now her sister was paying the price.

  Outside the windows a light drizzle of rain started to come down, a cold patter against the glass. The stars overhead were completely obscured by dark clouds. Somewhere out there, in the chilly damp, her sister and her husband wandered.

  ‘Please, let them be safe,’ Calliope whispered. ‘Let them be safe, and I vow I will be the strictest chaperon that ever was seen!’

  Psyche squealed in protest, and Calliope bounced her against her shoulder, not even noticing the mess on her satin gown.

  ‘That is right, my darling daughter,’ she said. ‘You will feel the effects of Mama’s new-found caution. You will never be alone with a man until you are married! Your aunt thinks I never noticed her sneaking off in the middle of parties and such. There will be none of that for you.’

  Psyche’s little face crinkled, as if she was preparing for one of
her already-legendary tantrums. But then she just grabbed Calliope’s necklace of jade beads and popped it into her mouth.

  As Calliope turned back to the window, she glimpsed a swirl of movement in the gloom. She frowned, peering closer. A man in a dark greatcoat and hat, and a woman enveloped in a cloak approached the house, stopped by Marco’s guard. It seemed they had some business here, for he let them pass to the front door.

  She spun away from the window, clutching Psyche as she dashed to the drawing-room door. She hurried on to the landing just as the butler answered the knock.

  ‘Lord Knowleton and Lady Riverton to see Lady Westwood,’ said the man in the greatcoat. ‘It is most urgent.’

  Calliope stared at them in shock. Lord Knowleton, her father’s old friend—and Lady Riverton? The head of the Antiquities Society and the woman Clio had written from Sicily to warn her about? It was a topsy-turvy night indeed. She hardly knew what to think or do any longer, a first in her responsible life as the eldest Chase Muse.

  She longed to shout out to them, to demand any news they had of Thalia. But the footmen and maids were hanging about the edges of the foyer, waiting eagerly for any titbits of gossip. She went back to the drawing room to wait for them, ringing the bell to summon Psyche’s nurse.

  The woman came to take the baby just as Lord Knowleton and Lady Riverton were shown in. Calliope waited until her daughter was gone before rounding on them.

  ‘What is happening here?’ she demanded. ‘I know that you, Lady Riverton, are friends with Signor de Lucca. Why has he taken my sister? What scheme are you involved in?’

  ‘Please, my dear Lady Westwood,’ Lord Knowleton said. ‘Please hear us out.’

  He looked in silence to Lady Riverton, who slowly folded back her hood. Every time Calliope had seen her in Bath, she had had a merry, brittle smile on her face, a determined social sparkle and flirtatious demeanor. Not to mention some sort of young, handsome, inappropriate escort.

  But now she had changed her silk gown and jewels, her feathered turban, for a plain wool walking dress and cloak, her hair brushed smooth into a grey-streaked brown knot. She looked very serious, and every bit her age.