To Kiss a Count Page 7

  Thalia laughed, smoothing on her gloves. ‘I won’t be gone long.’

  ‘Thalia,’ Cameron said, reaching out to take her arm as she turned away. She paused, caught by the sudden seriousness of his voice. ‘You aren’t going to encounter Count di Fabrizzi on this walk, perchance?’

  Calm and collected, Thalia reminded herself. She gave him a careless smile. Or at least she hoped it looked careless, not brittle and strained as it felt. But she wasn’t the actress of the family for nothing. Cameron visibly relaxed at that smile, his hand falling from her arm.

  ‘I have no idea who I might encounter,’ she said lightly. ‘But the Count does not strike me as being a morning sort of person.’

  ‘You knew him in Italy, I think.’

  ‘I’m not sure “knew” is the right word. He was in Sicily at the same time we were, and we encountered him at a few gatherings. Those of us who are interested in antiquities do seem to inhabit a very cosy world.’ Thalia remembered the Pump Room, the crackling tension between Calliope and Cameron, and Marco. ‘Perhaps you met him once or twice on your own travels.’

  Cameron was half-Greek, and had spent much of his life travelling the Continent, pursuing his own studies. He and Calliope had made an extensive tour of Greece and Italy for their honeymoon. Surely he knew something of Marco’s Italian life? But the caution in Cameron’s eyes showed her that she should ease away, at least for now.

  ‘I just don’t think that he is a proper acquaintance for you, Thalia,’ he said.

  She laughed. ‘Oh, Cam! Are you practising at playing the stuffy papa now? I think you have a few years before Psyche brings home any unsuitable admirers.’

  He laughed, too, but it was rueful. ‘I must begin some time, I suppose. But you are my sister now, and I want you to be happy.’

  ‘And the Count is not likely to make me so? Oh, Cam, I do appreciate your concern. I always wanted a brother! You needn’t worry, though. He is not at all my sort of gentleman.’

  ‘Ah, yes. I have heard that ladies always scorn damnably handsome, titled Italian men,’ Cameron scoffed.

  ‘He is handsome, that is quite undeniable. But I am not all ladies, I am a Chase. My sisters have set quite high standards in their choice of mates.’ Thalia gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Tell Calliope I will go with her to tea at Lady Billingsfield’s this afternoon. And if I see Count di Fabrizzi on my walk, I shall give him the cut direct.’

  ‘I’m sure a brusque “good morning” will do the trick,’ Cameron answered. ‘And take an umbrella, for it looks like rain.’

  ‘Yes, Papa,’ Thalia teased. She caught up an umbrella from the stand and hurried out of the door. The Crescent was quiet, with just a few maids out scrubbing the front steps and one carriage clattering past. The sky was indeed grey, but no rain yet fell.

  Now, really! Thalia fumed, stabbing at a hapless rail with her umbrella. Why did everyone have to hide things from her? Have to protect her? Cameron and Calliope knew something about Marco, something surely unpleasant, and if they would not tell her she just had to imagine. To guess.

  But she had a vivid imagination, and letting it run wild was never a good idea.

  She hurried on her way, moving through the relative peace of the morning-time city. Everyone who was sensible was surely still at their breakfast table, thinking about an outing to the Pump Room, but Thalia had never claimed to be sensible. She rather wished that she was, though, as she stepped into the entrance of Sydney Gardens—and into she knew not what.

  Marco was nowhere to be seen, and to distract herself Thalia took out the copy of Walks Through Bath she had tucked into her reticule. She sat down on a stone bench, opening it to read, ‘Sydney Gardens is one of the most prominent, pleasing, and elegant features attached to the City of Bath. The hand of taste is visible in every direction of it; the plants and trees exhibit the most beautiful luxuriance. Upon gala-nights…’

  A shadow fell across the page. ‘Are you playing tourist, Thalia?’

  She glanced up to find Marco standing before her. Most of his features were shadowed by his hat, except for his white, teasing smile. She shut the book, holding it tightly in her gloved hands as she struggled not to grin at him in turn. What a ridiculous sight they would present, smiling away at each other like a pair of lunatics!

  Sadly, that was how she often felt around him. Like a dizzy, giddy bedlamite, forgetful of everything else around her.

  ‘It has been a long time since I was last in Bath,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to miss any sites of interest.’

  ‘Then there is not a moment to lose!’ he declared, holding out his hand to her. ‘Come, let me be your tour guide.’

  Thalia laughed, slipping her fingers into his grasp as he helped her rise. Even through the leather of their gloves, she felt the elegant strength of his touch, the warmth of his skin. He quickly and properly let go, only to offer his arm.

  Thalia had to lean close to take it, and the cool morning breeze carried his clean, exotic scent to her. That smell of lemon and ginger, of fine wool and starched linen. She glimpsed the curls of black hair that lay along his bronzed neck, the antique stickpin in his cravat. A helmeted Athena in profile.

  ‘So, you are an expert on Bath now, are you?’ she said.

  ‘Oh, yes. I have been here nearly a fortnight now, and have seen many sites. The Abbey and the Hungerford Castle…’

  ‘Those do not sound terribly exciting, especially for someone accustomed to all the glories of Italy.’

  ‘Perhaps you are right. Most of the ancient sites here are hidden beneath the streets and buildings, or so I hear. But I have not yet seen everything Bath has to offer.’

  ‘Oh? What have you missed?’

  Marco’s steps slowed, forcing her to slow with him, and he gestured to a wide pathway leading up to the top of the gardens. There resided a large stone pavilion, ringed around with pillars.

  ‘I have heard that there are grand evening parties to be seen there,’ he said. ‘Music, fireworks—it sounds most, how do you say, convivial.’

  ‘Ah, yes. I do remember how you liked the music and fireworks in Santa Lucia,’ Thalia said. She gazed up at those false classical columns, remembering the real ones.

  ‘As did you, signorina. You were the toast of Santa Lucia, just as you are here.’ He gave her arm a gentle tug and they went on their way, their footsteps crackling on the gravel walkway. ‘Bath is not Sicily, but we must take our merriment where we can find it.’

  With Lady Riverton? Thalia thought. But she did not say it aloud; she was slowly learning caution. ‘Bath has no shortage of diversions of its own. I seriously doubt I am considered any sort of “toast”, but people seem glad to encounter new faces. We’ve had invitations to card parties, dances, theatre outings…’

  Marco laughed. ‘I am surprised, then, that you say you have not been to Bath in a long time.’

  Thalia shook her head. ‘When we were last here it was with my mother, when I was just a young girl. She had a very difficult birth with my youngest sister, and our father hoped the waters would restore her. Sadly, they did not. But I am certain of a more positive outcome now with my sister.’

  ‘Thalia, I am so sorry,’ Marco said quietly. His other hand reached up to cover hers, pressing her touch closer to his arm. Linking them closer together. ‘I never meant to open a sad memory.’

  ‘You did not.’ Thalia smiled at him, easing away from his too-alluring touch. She could not give in to softer feelings for him, not when she was so intent on being angry at him! ‘That was a long time ago. I intend to make new, happy memories in Bath now.’

  He watched her closely for a moment, with those velvety dark eyes that seemed to see so much and gave so little away. At last he nodded, and they continued their promenade past benches and alcoves, past trees and hedges that were indeed the ‘most beautiful luxuriance’.

  ‘So, you are here for your sister’s health,’ Marco said.

  ‘Yes. I am sure Calliope would p
refer Clio as a nurse, but she is still on her honeymoon with the Duke.’ Thalia studied Marco from the corner of her eyes, watching for a reaction to Clio’s name.

  He just gave a little half-smile, that damnably attractive dimple flashing in his cheek. That dimple always filled her with a longing to kiss him just there, to feel his skin beneath her lips and discover exactly how he tasted. Like lemons and ginger?

  ‘And how fares the new Duchess?’ he asked, so polite. So neutral.

  ‘Very well. We hope she will join us in London next year.’ Though perhaps they would see her before then, now that Thalia had sent her the news of Lady Riverton’s reappearance in Bath. ‘But what of you? What are you doing in Bath, Count? I confess this is the last place I would expect to encounter you.’

  ‘Why is that?’ He gave her another teasing grin. ‘Because I am so very sophisticated? Or such a picture of perfect strength?’

  ‘Because Bath is so very far from your home.’

  ‘Perhaps I am here for the same reason you and your sister are—for the sake of health.’

  Thalia shook her head. ‘There are spas in Italy, are there not? And you do look like the picture of strength to me.’

  ‘Why, Signorina Chase! Is that a compliment? Are you remarking on my bright eyes and rosy cheeks? I am flattered. But surely Bath can also cater to wounds of the spirit, to ailments that cannot be seen.’

  Thalia drew in a deep breath. Suddenly, she had heard enough. Enough of this dancing around each other, the constant dissembling. Enough of acting, of shadows. She wanted to stamp her feet on the ground, to yank out fistfuls of Marco’s beautiful black hair until he was honest with her.

  Until she was sure she could be honest with him. For she was sure of nothing any longer.

  Just up ahead, she saw the entrance to the Labyrinth. Other walkers were appearing on the paths, but the Labyrinth’s high hedge walls would surely shield any tantrum she might feel inclined to have. She tightened her clasp on Marco’s arm, pulling him with her as she hurried toward the entrance.

  Marco looked quite wary, but he paid their entrance fee readily enough, following her into the shadows. She let go of his arm and hurried ahead, turning right and left with no thought, no sense of where she might be going.

  She could hear other voices in the Labyrinth, but they were muted and echoing, the words distorted as if they came from another world. She and Marco seemed all alone together, hemmed in close by leafy green walls.

  She turned left again, only to be abruptly halted by a dead end. She spun around, the hedge at her back.

  ‘What game do you play, Marco?’ she demanded.

  ‘Game? It is you, Thalia, who insisted we come in here and become hopelessly lost…’

  Thalia suddenly lunged toward him, grabbing him by his impeccably tailored lapels and shaking him. She felt faintly ridiculous, for he was a good deal taller and a great deal more muscular than her. He could easily just flick her away.

  But he just stared down at her with those impenetrable black eyes.

  ‘You were our ally in Santa Lucia,’ she said fiercely, shaking him again. He hardly moved at all, as solid as those stone statues in the garden. ‘But now you are here alone, without a word to Clio and me. Here with Lady Riverton! The woman who stole that silver in the first place, who double-crossed her own partner in crime to spirit it away. Do you hope to charm the treasure out of her, to keep it all to yourself? Or…’

  Thalia’s hands dropped away and she stepped back, shivering. ‘Or were you her accomplice all along?’ she whispered.

  At last there was a flash of real emotion across his face, a spasm of pain quickly erased. ‘How little you think of me, signorina.’

  ‘I hardly know what to think. To see you so cosy with Lady Riverton, after everything that happened in Santa Lucia…’ Thalia swallowed, seemingly unable to finish her sentences.

  ‘You surely know better than anyone that appearances can deceive. Are you not a most gifted actress yourself? The star of amateur theatricals. If you were not a baronet’s daughter you would rival the career of Signora Siddons.’

  ‘But I am a baronet’s daughter, and not just any baronet—Sir Walter Chase. I’ve been schooled from the cradle on the importance of antiquities, of history and art. Lady Riverton is nothing but a petty thief of that history, the history of your land. I don’t see how you can be her friend, let alone her…’

  Lover. The word, even though unspoken, hung between them like a black cloud. Marco’s jaw tightened, his back stiffened, and she glimpsed that heritage of his—Roman centurions, Renaissance grandees, men of iron wills and fierce warrior instincts.

  ‘As I said—appearances can be deceiving,’ he said, his Florentine accent thicker than usual. ‘It is better that you know nothing more, Thalia. Pay no more attention to me, to Lady Riverton. Just enjoy your sojourn in Bath, your dances and partners.’

  Fury wiped away that chill in a flash of flame. With a growl, Thalia flew at him again, pounding her fists on his chest. ‘Don’t you dare condescend to me, Marco! I will not be patted on the head and sent off to buy a bonnet, like a child. Don’t you dare…’

  Suddenly, his lips swooped down on hers, a hard, desperate, open-mouthed kiss that erased her fury as quickly as it had appeared. Replaced it with a fire of an entirely different sort.

  Thalia closed her eyes, holding on to him tightly as the ground under her feet shifted, sending her tumbling down into that abyss where there was only Marco. Only the way he made her feel, all hot and dizzy and blurry. She touched the tip of her tongue to his, revelling in his deep groan that said he felt the same.

  Through the warm, liquid haze of emotion, she felt his hand slide from her shoulder along her ribs, just skimming the sensitive curve of her breast. Startled by the force of her pleasure, by that burning touch, she arched into his body. The two of them fit together as if they had always been so, clinging to each other against the storm.

  In Santa Lucia, she had often imagined what his touch, his caress, would feel like. As they had talked, she would watch his lips, the way their sensual lines curved up at the corners. That enticing dimple. She had wondered how he would taste and smell, how those lips would move over hers.

  Now she knew, and it was far beyond any imagining. All the rest of the world, all the past, Clio, Lady Riverton—it all utterly vanished. She twined her fingers in his black hair, tugging him even closer, so close she could feel the very essence of him.

  A burst of laughter from the other side of the hedge cut through that rosy cloud of sexual desire, sharp as a dagger. Shocked, cold, Thalia tore her lips from his, tilting back her head as she struggled to breathe. To think.

  But in opening her eyes she saw Marco, and that just made everything worse. He stared down at her, his dark eyes wide with shock, as if he had never seen her before and had no idea how he came to be holding her. He had lost his hat, and his hair was tousled from her touch. His cravat was askew. And Thalia herself was just as much a rumpled, confused mess.

  She stumbled away from him, his touch slowly sliding from her body, lingering heatedly on her waist.

  ‘Thalia,’ he said, his breath ragged and rough. His accent so heavy she could hardly understand her own name. ‘I do not…’

  Another burst of conversation broke out from the other side of that hedge wall, moving ever closer. ‘Shh!’ she whispered frantically. She smoothed her pelisse, brushed back the curls that had escaped from beneath the brim of her bonnet. ‘Not now, we can’t talk now.’

  ‘Thalia, scusa,’ he muttered. He knelt to gather his hat and her reticule, both of which had tumbled to the ground. His hair fell over his brow, hiding his eyes, his expression, from her.

  All she knew was his rueful tone, his words.

  He was sorry. Of course. She was not the right Chase Muse, the one he wanted to be kissing.

  Thalia didn’t want to hear it, not yet. The kiss, the unexpected force of her emotions, left her feeling so fragile. As if she were m
ade of glass, so delicate and transparent. So easily shattered.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said hastily, snatching her reticule from him. Their hands brushed, and she pulled away. ‘A grey day in Bath, after thinking about beautiful, sunny Italy, a quiet maze—a kiss was practically required. Just like in a novel. We need not speak of it again. I know that you want…’

  ‘No, Thalia, I must say this…’

  But whatever it was had to remain unsaid, for the chattering group came around the corner of the hedge and they were no longer alone. One of them was Lord Grimsby, her father’s friend.

  ‘Ah, Miss Chase! And Count di Fabrizzi,’ he declared heartily. ‘I see you are quite as lost in this Labyrinth as we are.’

  ‘I fear so, Lord Grimsby,’ Thalia answered, laughing with a fine show of gaiety. ‘My guidebook says to go right and left and left, yet it does not say what to do when one completely loses all sense of direction.’

  ‘Well, then, let us be lost together,’ Lord Grimsby said, leading her out of the clearing. The ladies of the party soon surrounded Marco, and they had no further chance for conversation. For apologies and explanations that would surely only make things worse. More confusing. Like this dead-end labyrinth.

  But Thalia knew this was only a temporary reprieve. Sooner or later, she would have to confront Marco about what he was really doing in Bath. And confront herself about her feelings for him.

  Then she would know the truth, whether she wanted it or not.

  Marco stared at the entrance to Sydney Gardens, watching Thalia as she walked away with Lord Grimsby and his friends. They had offered to see her home so they could call on Lady Westwood, and Marco could devise no plausible excuse to keep her with him. To make her look him in the eyes and listen to him.

  To kiss her again.

  ‘Cazzarola,’ he cursed. He tore off his hat, running his hand through his hair, as if pulling out the strands could pull out his burning desire for Thalia Chase. Drive away the vision he had conjured of her in his bed, her pale skin naked against the sheets, her hair spread around her as she held out her arms to him.