To Kiss a Count Page 20

  ‘We think, Lady Westwood,’ she said slowly, ‘that de Lucca has taken your sister to force Count di Fabrizzi to join in an armed uprising in Naples. Or perhaps in retaliation for the Count’s refusal to engage in such foolhardy actions.’

  ‘What!’ Calliope cried. ‘An armed uprising?’ This was even worse than she feared.

  ‘My dear, do not be alarmed,’ Lord Knowleton said hastily. ‘We have many people out searching for Miss Chase. She will certainly be found very soon.’

  ‘And unharmed,’ Lady Riverton added. ‘It would not be in de Lucca’s interest to harm her. If he does, the Count will most certainly kill him, and that will be two less soldiers for their army.’

  ‘I ask you again,’ Calliope demanded, ‘what do you know of all this? My sister has written to me of what happened in Santa Lucia. Why should I believe what you say?’

  ‘Lady Riverton works for the Antiquities Society,’ Lord Knowleton said gently. ‘She has for many years now, helping us to retrieve lost artefacts of the most important and sensitive nature.’

  ‘My latest task has been to retrieve a Hellenistic silver altar set,’ Lady Riverton said. ‘Perhaps your sister has told you of it.’

  Calliope sat down hard on the nearest couch, her head spinning. Soldiers, uprisings? Lady Riverton secretly an agent of the Antiquities Society? It was a great deal to absorb in only a few moments.

  ‘I have heard something of it, yes,’ she murmured. ‘But perhaps you had best start at the beginning.’

  Lady Riverton sat down beside her. ‘I did so hate deceiving your family in Santa Lucia. They were so very concerned about the silver, rightly so. But the local tombaroli, not to mention the English collectors, were utterly ruthless. If they had even a hint that I had an ulterior motive in trying to buy the artefacts from them—it would have all been over.’

  ‘Not even your brother-in-law the Duke could know about her when she went to Sicily,’ Lord Knowleton said.

  ‘My late husband used to work for the Society in Naples,’ said Lady Riverton. ‘I wanted to continue his cause, and the guise of greedy collector has served me very well.’ She gave a harsh laugh. ‘I fear it has rather hurt my popularity with the Viscount’s old friends, though!’

  Calliope bit her lip, thinking of all the harsh things she and her sisters had said about Lady Riverton. ‘What does this have to do with Thalia?’

  ‘I am not the only one who wants the silver,’ Lady Riverton said. ‘Fabrizzi and de Lucca, too, are after it for their own ends. Not to mention those thugs back in Santa Lucia and their Neapolitan cohorts. It seemed safest to hide it here in Bath, until it could be taken to the Antiquities Society and safely locked up. But Marco was quite unceasing in his efforts to unmask me—and twice as bad with your sister on his side! I see the Chase spirit is not overrated.’

  Calliope had to smile at that. ‘Thalia is the most spirited of all, I fear.’

  ‘Spirited enough to provoke de Lucca to violence?’ Lord Knowleton asked.

  ‘Probably,’ Calliope said. ‘She is certainly not one to go meekly to her fate.’

  ‘Then we must find her,’ Lady Riverton said grimly. ‘Soon.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Thalia slowly blinked her eyes open. They felt gritty, as if glued shut with sand. Her mouth was dry, and her head throbbed. Surely she had not been drinking to such excess! What had she been doing last night, anyway? And why was her bed so hard?

  She sat up gingerly, holding her head between her hands. To her shock, she was not in her own room at all. She was stretched out on a hard stone floor, her silk gown tattered and dirty, her gloves gone and her bare arms bumpy with cold and aching with bruises.

  Then, like a burst of the party fireworks, she remembered. Domenico de Lucca had kidnapped her from the gala! He had knocked her out, and brought her—where?

  She rubbed hard at her eyes, looking around cautiously. It was very dark, but gradually she saw that she was in a limestone cave. Probably the same one where she and Marco had found the artefacts, though now it was bare of crates. Bare of anything at all save one flickering torch.

  And, far away, that tall pillar of rough stone that rose up in the middle of the cold space. No doubt it was that witch, turned into limestone for her wicked deeds yet still able to cast terrible spells. Gain awful revenge.

  Thalia hardly dared to breathe. What if Domenico waited in those shadows, ready to pounce on her and pound her senseless again? Or, almost worse, what if she was all alone, with no way out of this terrible place?

  A bubble of panic rose up inside of her, but she forced it back down. Mindless panic would get her nowhere now, and certainly it wouldn’t get her out of the cave. She had to stay calm, to assess the situation in a rational manner, as her sisters surely would.

  Even if her first instinct was to dash away shrieking like a pantomime ingénue.

  She pushed herself slowly to her feet, ignoring the painful twinges of those bruises, the ache of lying too long on a cold stone floor. Her hair fell in tangled curls over her shoulders, her bandeau and pins gone along with her gloves. But she still wore her mother’s Etruscan earrings, and she remembered leaving the necklace and bracelet behind.

  ‘Oh, Marco, I do hope you found them,’ she whispered. ‘And I hope they lead you here. Soon.’

  And that Domenico was not coming back. Perhaps he had just stashed her in the cave before going off to find more villainy elsewhere. Or maybe he had gone to meet Lady Riverton, so the two of them could have a fine laugh over their evil deeds before coupling like rabbits.

  The repulsive thought somehow gave Thalia a renewed burst of strength. She turned toward a faint gleam of light down a short, narrow corridor, hoping it was the cave’s entrance. She took one careful step in front of the other on the uneven floor. Her thin slippers were not made for rough stone, but the more she moved the less she ached. Her steps grew surer, quicker, carrying her toward that faint light.

  Until she found her exit blocked by Domenico.

  He sat on an empty crate by the wall, beyond the witch’s pillar and near the narrow entrance, calmly smoking a cigar, as if he kidnapped ladies every day. His cravat and coat were gone, his shirt and waistcoat streaked with dirt, his pale hair tousled. A long scratch marred his cheek, left there when he had tussled with Thalia in the Gardens. She couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride at that.

  He smiled at her, and she braced her feet solidly to the floor as if she could fight him off.

  ‘My dear Signorina Chase,’ he said. ‘I see that you are awake at last.’

  ‘I don’t know what you hope to accomplish by kidnapping me,’ she said, crossing her arms. It was even chillier here near the entrance, the wind sharp through her battered silk gown. But even more, she was frozen by the dead, flat expression in Domenico’s eyes. Like a winter lake. He cared not what he did, or who got hurt. He was seized in the vise of his fanatical cause.

  ‘We will soon be followed here,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, I am counting on that!’ he said cheerfully. ‘That is exactly why I brought you here. To make Marco come here, far from the distractions of town, and listen to me. He is making a great fool of himself over you, signorina, but perhaps you do have your uses after all.’

  ‘Like Lady Riverton? All women have their uses, so you latch on to a share of her villainy.’

  He frowned at her through the silvery smoke of his cigar, as if puzzled by her words. ‘Riverton? She has taken me into society, that is all. If you English define villainy as going to parties…’

  Thalia shook her head. Lady Riverton hardly mattered at the moment. One lunatic to deal with at a time was quite enough.

  ‘Then what is it you want Marco to hear so much?’ she asked. She sat down on a nearby boulder, suddenly weary and aching again. She had to get out of here soon, before she fell over!

  Domenico’s frown deepened, and he ground out the cigar. ‘We were once friends, of one mind on the only important thing in life.’


  ‘To get the Austrians out of Italy?’

  ‘To see our country free of all you plague of foreigners! Even people like your family, Signorina Chase.’

  ‘My family? What have they ever done to you, except work to preserve history?’

  ‘They swoop in like beasts, carrying off vases and statues, bits of a culture that does not belong to them!’

  ‘And Marco writes pamphlets about such things, bringing your country many staunch allies—like my father. Marco has hardly abandoned you.’

  ‘Of course he has. He has become like a cautious old man. Once, he would have joined in battle in an instant, anything to see our cause fulfilled. Now he calls me wild, hotheaded. A fool.’

  ‘Do anything—such as kidnap an innocent woman?’

  ‘You are hardly innocent, signorina. You and your plague of sisters, meddling in things that do not concern you. Writing, digging in the dirt in Sicily, when you should be tending your house. It is your fault Marco has turned his back on us when we need him most.’

  ‘I refuse to listen to your blathering for a moment longer,’ Thalia said, jumping to her feet. ‘You are the one who will not see reality! You belong in Bedlam, not among rational people. And you are not fit to wipe Marco’s boots. I think you know that, and that is the problem.’

  She ran toward the entrance, her whole body aching, her feet on fire, hoping against hope she could somehow make it past him. Make it out into the darkness of the night where he could not find her.

  But he grabbed her before she could even set foot outside, his arms like steel around her waist, swinging her off her feet. Thalia screamed as loud as she could, twisting around to pull at his hair, claw at his eyes, try to reopen that old scratch. Anything to get him to let her go.

  ‘Fattucchiera!’ he shouted in raw fury. He dropped her to the hard floor.

  For an instant, all the breath was knocked from Thalia’s lungs, and she couldn’t see from the white flash of pain. But she tried to roll away, to curl herself into a defensive ball.

  Domenico threw himself on top of her, pinning one of her wrists to the stone like a vise. He reached for her other hand, but growing up running around the countryside with a wild pack of sisters had taught her something of fighting. She grabbed on to a thick lock of his hair, pulling hard as she raised her knee towards his groin.

  Growling in anger, he evaded her jab and pinned down her other wrist. His weight held her flat to the cold floor, and she was sure she would suffocate. Drown in the acrid scent of sweat and insanity.

  ‘You will pay for that,’ he said. ‘For everything.’

  Thalia tossed her head to the side, closing her eyes tightly as she tried frantically to think. To get out of that sticky web of fear.

  Suddenly, Domenico was gone from atop her, the cold night air rushing over her body. Her eyes flew open. For a moment, she saw only a blurry haze. Then the light came back, and she saw that Marco had dragged her attacker away.

  ‘Porca vacca!’ Marco shouted, his fists raining a hailstorm of fierce blows down on to Domenico.

  Thalia scrambled to her feet, running to the edge of the cave where once they had spied on Lady Riverton. Now, Marco and Domenico were locked in mortal combat, like a pair of ancient wrestlers on a Grecian vase.

  Yet this was not some ritual of combat, distant and beautiful on a smooth pottery vase or fresco. This was all too real, ugly and furious, the smell of sweat and blood thick in the air. Thalia glanced around desperately for a weapon of her own, something to bash Domenico over the head with, but there was nothing at all. Just that one torch in its sconce.

  Lady Riverton and her cohorts had cleaned up all too well.

  She pressed herself hard against the wall, staring in growing horror at the scene before her.

  ‘I will never let you hurt another woman,’ Marco said roughly in Italian, pinning one of Domenico’s arms behind his back. ‘Never come near Thalia again!’

  ‘Maledetto! She is not important, she never was. I would rather they were all dead! All cursed Englishwomen. Though after feeling her tits against me, I can see where she has some use—’

  A sickening crunch ended his coarse words abruptly. He collapsed forwards to the floor, coughing weakly before lying very still.

  Marco straightened away from him, his face streaked with blood from a deep gash on his forehead. He looked at Thalia, breathing heavily.

  ‘Cara,’ he said, ‘are you hurt?’

  Thalia mutely shook her head. Everything seemed to vibrate in the sudden silence. ‘You—you…’ she said.

  But she could say nothing more. Domenico rose with a great roar, lunging towards Marco. Startled, Marco ducked to one side, fists raised. Domenico tumbled past him, falling headfirst into the witch’s limestone pillar.

  This time when he fell, he did not rise again. A thick swath of blood stained the rock—the witch’s vengeance at last, on the man who hated all women. Or maybe just Englishwomen.

  Marco knelt beside him, pressing his fingers to Domenico’s outflung wrist. ‘Scusa,’ he muttered, shaking his head.

  Thalia’s breath, which she had been holding so tightly, escaped in a great rush. She dashed towards Marco, throwing herself into his arms, sobbing.

  ‘You found me!’ she said, kissing his cheek, his lips. Holding on to him as if he were a beautiful dream sure to slip away.

  ‘I found you,’ he whispered, cradling her against him. ‘Grazie, grazie.’ He drew back, holding her face between his hands as he studied her closely. He gently traced her cheekbone with his thumb, as lightly as if she were rare porcelain. ‘But you are hurt. This bruise…’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, not one whit,’ Thalia said, turning her face to kiss his palm. ‘You’re here now. We’re together, we’re safe.’

  ‘Safe?’ he muttered. ‘I should take you home, bella. You need to see a doctor, and your sister will be frantic with worry. As I was.’

  ‘Poor Cal.’ Thalia suddenly remembered Domenico’s ugly threats, and a cold bolt of fear shot through her. ‘Psyche!’

  ‘They are all well, I promise. Come, let us go. We should find the other searchers nearby.’

  She nodded, suddenly so very weak and exhausted. And why did she keep shivering so? It was ridiculous, now that she was safe!

  Marco hastily removed his coat and wrapped it close around her. Even torn and dusty, it was deliciously warm, its superfine folds smelling of him. He swept her up into his arms, carrying her out of that terrible place.

  At the entrance, she started to glance back. ‘No, cara,’ he said, gentle but firm. ‘Don’t look. Don’t even think about it ever again.’

  Thalia buried her face against his shoulder. She did not look, and yet it was all still there in her mind. The terrible suffocation of Domenico’s body on hers; his corpse crumpled on to the stone floor. The coppery smell of blood and fear.

  Would she ever be free of it again?

  Marco cradled Thalia close in his arms as he carried her carefully along the rocky path. She had fallen into an exhausted sleep, her head on his shoulder. She was alive, safe. But his heart was far from at peace.

  Thalia was the bravest woman—nay, the bravest person he had ever met. She stood up for what she believed, for what she loved, even in the face of danger. She had a valiant heart, a warrior spirit, and he loved that about her with a passion that grew and grew every time he saw her.

  He loved her. Loved her in a way he had never thought possible. She brought a light into his life he had never had, and his heart was full of her. He was complete whenever she smiled at him.

  Marco kissed her brow gently, and she sighed and shifted in his arms. She was his angel—he had known that from the first time he had seen her in Santa Lucia, though he fought hard against it now.

  Now he saw, once again, that he was right to fight against those feelings. His life, his work, had put her in danger tonight. When he saw her being brutalised by Domenico de Lucca, a burning, hellish fury had overcome him! And al
so a cold fear.

  What would his life be without Thalia? It would be not worth even a single breath. And that was why he had to take care of her now. To let her go, as he had resolved before.

  Near the bottom of the hill, he saw the glow of torches through the trees. The rescue party, waiting to take Thalia back into her own safe world.

  Marco kissed her again, one last time. ‘I love you, bella,’ he whispered. Even if it was far better for her he never said it aloud.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘I can scarcely believe it!’ Thalia cried. ‘Are you quite sure, Cal?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Calliope answered, tucking the bedclothes closer around Thalia. ‘Lord Knowleton came here with her himself and explained it all.’

  ‘Oh, my. Well, then, it seems Lady Riverton has quite missed her true calling. She should be treading the boards at Drury Lane.’ Thalia leaned back against her pillows, her head spinning at the revelation that Lady Riverton had been working for the Antiquities Society the whole time, even in Santa Lucia. ‘I was completely fooled by her.’

  ‘I think Clio was, too, and she is definitely not someone to be easily taken in.’

  Thalia laughed. ‘Unlike poor, gullible me?’

  ‘Certainly not! I don’t think our parents raised us to be fools, do you?’

  ‘Never. But I suppose we do sometimes tend to see what we want to see.’

  ‘And once we have an idea in our heads, it is nearly impossible to shake it out again,’ Calliope said. ‘Such great stubbornness nearly ruined my romance with Cam before it even started!’

  ‘That would have been terrible indeed,’ Thalia said. ‘You two are so obviously made for each other.’

  ‘Perhaps we are. No one else would put up with either one of us.’ Calliope paused, carefully smoothing the edge of the blanket. ‘Is that how it is between you and Count di Fabrizzi, Thalia?’