Devil's Embrace (37 page)

He answered her brusquely. “No. I will not have you placed in such danger.”

“Is it not my right?”

“If you wish it, you will come face to face with Andrea, but while he is free, I cannot allow myself to be distracted, and that is what would happen if you were with me. No, Cassandra, do not argue with me further.”

She wanted to tell him that she wished to be with him only because she feared for his safety, but she realized he was quite capable of taking care of himself.

“You will be careful, my lord?” she said.

“You may be certain of it, Cassandra.”

She watched him silently, Scargill beside her on the front steps, as he wheeled Cicero about to join the other men. She closed her eyes and listened to the pounding hoofbeats until they were lost from her hearing.

“Nay, madonna,” Scargill said, “do not worry yourself. He will return safely—with that animal in tow—if Daniele has indeed found him.”

She nodded, feeling at once dejected and abstracted, and walked back into the villa. She did not tell Scargill that all of her concern was not for the earl. She had spent the past several days in a pleasant haze, content to bask in their rediscovered passion, becoming once again at one with her own body and with his. They had not spoken of the future, as if by tacit agreement. She wondered what she would have said had he asked her to wed him when she lay in his arms, her body drugged with desire, her mind quieted by her need for him. She wandered silently through the villa, knowing that she must come to terms with herself. She thought about the future, of the days and nights that would inevitably flow from the present, and cursed herself for her weakness. Her anger at herself turned quickly to sadness,
not only because he had left, but because his absence would force her to look within herself.

Though the sun was bright as it neared its zenith, a light breeze from the Mediterranean stirred the balmy air and made the ride to Genoa quite pleasant. Cassie rode her mare, flanked by Scargill and Girolamo, both heavily armed. They had set out before noon to enjoy a luncheon. Scargill told her, under the tall, gaunt façade of the Palazzo Ducale of Genoa’s main square. It was Scargill’s idea, one he hoped would cheer the madonna. She had never visited the Palazzo Ducale or the Sala del Gran Consiglio. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had decided, an optimistic smile lighting his eyes, she would enjoy wandering through the magnificent buildings.

They left their horses in the care of a youth whom Scargill knew, and climbed through the uphill maze of narrow streets to the Via San Lorenzo. The sights, smells, and noise of the city always seemed to fascinate Cassie, and today was no exception. In Genoa, though, Cassie soon told Scargill between heaving breaths, one never seemed to be able to simply walk. Scargill, whose own forehead was glistening with sweat, heartily agreed, and suggested they stop at a small sidewalk cafe. After downing a cool glass of lemonade, Scargill left Cassie with Girolamo and took himself off to the Palazzo Ducale, where he hoped to gain them entrance.

Girolamo, a short, wiry man of middle years, sat tugging on his left earlobe as his rheumy eyes studied every man within twenty feet of them. His gaze fell only briefly on the ladies, and only on those of tender years with wide smiles and sparkling dark eyes. He had sworn to the earl that the madonna would always be safe in his company, and he had no intention of violating that trust.

Cassie gave her attention to the soberly dressed gentlemen and ladies who walked past their table, many of their faces moist from exertion. Light women’s chatter floated across the narrow lane above her head, from the crowded balconies of opposing houses.

“Buon giorno,
signorina,
” came a soft, melodious voice.

Cassie slewed her head about to see the Contessa Giusti standing above her. She remembered every venomous word that lady had spoken to her that long ago evening at the Villa Parese, but forced herself to nod coolly.

“It is fine weather, is it not,
signorina?
” Giovanna continued, undaunted. She felt a flush of excitement that the English girl was here at last, in Genoa, and not tucked away out of her reach at the Villa Parese.

“
Il tempo e cattivissimo,
” Cassie agreed. She watched the contessa’s slender fingers lightly touch the exquisite lace that fell in gathered layers from her plunging bodice.

Giovanna airily dismissed her maid and gazed toward the frowning Girolamo. “Surely,
signorina,
you do not need this ferocious man to guard you from me.”

Girolamo opened his mouth to protest, knowing well that no good could come from the madonna talking with the earl’s former mistress, but Cassie stopped him. Short of being blatantly rude, she saw no way of turning away the contessa.

“Girolamo,” she said, forcing lightness to her voice, “I fear that the lemonade is not quite to your liking. Across the street is a cafe that, I believe, might sell something a bit more invigorating.”

“
Sí,
madonna,” Girolamo said reluctantly. He searched the street for Scargill, and with one last harassed look at the smiling contessa, took himself off.

“Madonna,” Giovanna mused aloud, as she sat herself gracefully in the seat vacated by Girolamo. “How terribly quaint. Did you choose the name yourself,
signorina?
”

“No,” Cassie said shortly.

“You are not often in Genoa,
signorina.
”

“I find that there is a lot to occupy me at the Villa Parese.”

“Ah. But the earl, I believe, now spends much of his time in Genoa, dealing with business affairs and other matters. It appears that the Villa Parese does not hold the attractions for him that it used to.”

Cassie’s fingers tightened about the slender glass at the contessa’s words. She raised wary eyes to Giovanna’s perfect oval face, but said nothing.

“His lordship gives you no explanation for his many absences?”

“I believe,
signora,
that you can speak more plainly.”

“It is said,
signorina,
that the only ones to stir during
siesta
are mad dogs and Englishmen. Now I discover that the English also take little delight in the art of conversation, that they are, lamentably, overly blunt.”

“Perhaps you will allow me to add,
signora,
that the English find no delight in petty, veiled insults. If that is your Italian notion of conversational art, then I must bow to your superb abilities.”

Giovanna’s eyes darkened dangerously. “How dare you, you little slut?”

Cassie forced herself to smile. “There, you see, my dear contessa, you are already learning English honesty. ‘Slut,’ though, is hardly a suitable epithet, I daresay. Mayhap you are thinking of your own propensities.”

“At least,
signorina,
I was honorably married, whereas you—” Giovanna let her voice trail off.

“Whereas I what?” Though her stomach was beginning to churn, Cassie’s voice was even. She made to rise, realizing that there was no reason in the world for her to remain to be insulted further.

Giovanna fanned her slender hands before her and allowed a wide smile to reveal her teeth.

“Are you so afraid to learn the truth,
signorina,
that you must run and hide yourself?”

“Very well,
signora.
” Cassie eased herself back into her chair. “If you know of a truth, I will gladly hear it.”

Giovanna’s voice was clear and taunting. “You will never be the Countess of Clare, you little English nobody. The earl is a discerning man, and he has come to his senses. It is I who will have that honor. I have shared his bed for some months now and soon I will share his name. He feels only pity for you now, my girl, pity and frustration because he cannot easily rid himself of you.”

But Cassie had stopped listening. “He makes love to you?”

“But of course. I asked you before—just where do you think he spends his afternoons?”

“I don’t believe you. You are wicked, unprincipled.”

“Shall I describe the scar on his left shoulder? Although he has not as yet told me how he got it, it is quite recent.” Giovanna smiled, delighted with herself.

Cassie felt suddenly numb. She jumped to her feet, tipping the table and sending her glass flying into Giovanna’s lap. She picked up her skirts and fled downhill, back through the twisting maze of streets and alleyways.

From across the street, Girolamo slammed his mug of beer down on the table top, shot the contessa a venomous glance, and rushed after Cassie, Giovanna’s high, tinkling laughter in his ears. He caught Cassie near the Palazzo Bianco, where the young boy held their horses.

“Madonna. You mustn’t listen to that woman’s spite.”

Cassie raised a white face. Was Girolamo angry because he knew the earl’s visits to Genoa were to Giovanna? She felt uncertainty, then empty rage.

She thrust out her hand. “I trust, Girolamo, that you have some money to pay the boy.”

“But Scargill—”

“The money, if you please. I have no wish to remain in Genoa. Do you or do you not wish to return to the villa with me?”

Girolamo growled deep in his throat, gave the boy a few
scudi,
and tossed Cassie into her saddle.

Scargill’s step was jaunty when he returned to the Via San Lorenzo. The smile on his face faded abruptly when he drew to a halt and realized that Cassie and Girolamo were nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, my God,” he said aloud, his face turning suddenly ashen. He forced himself to calm. It could not be possible that the madonna could have come to any harm in the main square of the city.

He quickly drew aside the owner of the cafe and questioned him. Nothing untoward had happened. For some reason, then, the madonna had not wished to remain. Girolamo would, of course, have accompanied her back to the villa.

He raced back down the narrow streets. The boy stood
by Scargill’s horse, a slight frown on his face. It seemed, the lad told him, that the girl and the man had seemed to be for a moment at odds, but then they had mounted their horses and ridden toward the western gate of the city.

During his ride back to the villa, Scargill found that as his fear for her safety diminished, his anger grew in equal proportion. When he saw Cassie’s mare nibbling lazily upon the thick grass that bordered the graveled drive, the remaining grain of fear disappeared and his hands tightened angrily upon his horse’s reins.

He found Cassie in the earl’s bedchamber, standing by the open balcony, quite safe.

“Madonna, why ever did ye leave like that without telling me?”

Cassie turned slowly to face him. Her face was white with strain.

“Why, madonna?”

“Because I no longer had any wish to remain. You see, the Contessa Giusti was kind enough to speak to me, Scargill. She told me that she has been the earl’s lover for several months now. She told me that all he feels for me now is pity.”

Scargill stared at her, mouth agape.

Cassie whirled suddenly about and struck her fisted hand against the glass door. “How could he do such a thing? How could he serve me such a turn?”

Scargill’s moment of stunned surprise was over. He stared at her, realizing that she was in a jealous rage, and smiled. If she did not care for the earl, she would now be demanding that he send her back to England.

“Ye must listen to me now, madonna. The contessa lied to ye, probably out of jealous spite. His lordship would never return to her bed, or any other lady’s for that matter. It’s only ye he cares about.”

“You’re but trying to protect him.” Her voice faltered, for she had never known Scargill to lie. Perhaps, she thought, Scargill simply did not know.

It was as if he guessed her thoughts. “Nay, madonna, I have no need to protect him. He is an honorable man, not
a loose philanderer. Think, madonna. Can ye really believe him guilty of such an act?”

Cassie ran a distracted hand through her hair. “Oh, I don’t know. But he has been gone, hours at a time, to Genoa.”

“Of course. He’s spent much time with Daniele, as he has told ye. Lord, madonna, I thought ye’d come to know his lordship better than that.”

Cassie drew a shuddering breath. She wanted to believe him. Slowly, she nodded. “Very well, Scargill. I suppose that I have been hasty, and possibly unfair.”

“More than possibly,” Scargill said, his eyes never wavering from her face.

“Oh, all right. You have dressed me down quite enough. I will consider all that you have said.”

When Scargill left her, Cassie wandered out onto the balcony and gazed toward Genoa. It came as something of a shock to her to realize that she had been with him for nearly eight months now. She frowned and caught her breath. Ten months ago, she and Edward had been making plans for their life together. Try as she might, she could not seem to picture Edward’s face clearly in her mind.

She looked down over the lush gardens, so very different from the gardens in England. Sounds of laughter and lilting Italian came to her ears, and it took her a moment to realize that it was not English she was hearing. It is I who have changed, she said softly to herself, and she knew a moment of panic. I have changed exactly as he said I would.

“Edward.” Saying his name aloud brought nothing save vague memories that seemed to belong to another Cassie, a Cassie who was no longer she.

She wandered downstairs, stopping a moment to breathe in the sweet fragrance of a full vase of roses. Savoring the smell of them awakened her senses, and she knew that, even now, she ached for him. She pounded her fist savagely against the closed library door. It is lust you feel, she thundered to herself. How could you feel more toward a man who has done what he has to you?

She turned abstractedly at the sound of Marrina’s voice. It was Signore Montalto, come to see the earl.

“Ah, ’tis a pity,” he said after Cassie had informed him of the earl’s absence.

She gazed at him, clearly distracted, her thoughts elsewhere.

He mumbled something about papers, and Cassie, in an effort to get him what he wanted and thus have him gone from the villa, motioned him to follow her to the earl’s library. Together, they sorted through the ribbon-tied stacks of documents until Signore Montalto waved the paper he was searching for with a grunt of triumph.