Lady Elinor's Wicked Adventures (11 page)

This story sounded a bit familiar, however. He was reasonably certain that he had been told once before how, four hundred years ago, a Crescenzi, Ser Rinaldo, got the better of an Orsini, Ser Bruno, a member of another important Roman family. He looked quizzically at Lissandra, who gave an amused shrug.

He made admiring comments whenever a pause seemed to indicate that they were needed. Then Lissandra began making her own interpolations. Ser Rinaldo hatched his plan in the marchese's tale. “Of course, it was not really his plan, for everyone knew Ser Rinaldo was a fool,” she said. “It was the plan of his clever daughter.”

Ser Bruno fell right into the trap, according to the marchese.

“Which would never have happened had he not been as big a fool as Ser Rinaldo, and a greedy fool as well,” Lissandra added, maintaining an innocent look.

He thought he was going to choke. She seemed determined to make him laugh, and he was equally determined to school his features to the serious interest her father expected. Fortunately for him, the marchese was more fatigued than usual today and sent them off early to join Donna Lucia for refreshments.

Rycote managed to last until the door had closed behind them before he collapsed in helpless laughter. “Oh, that was too bad of you,” he said when he finally caught his breath. “You should not tease so. You know I would not want to insult your father.”

“You looked so very proper and stuffy that I could not resist.”

She was laughing like a happy child. He did not mind in the least if she made him feel foolish so long as she had that happy look. It meant she felt safe.

He wanted to think that his presence was making her feel safe.

Unfortunately, he was about to be absent.

“Donna Lissandra,” he began, and he could see the formality of his tone drive the laughter from her face. He tried again. “Donna Lissandra, my family has received an invitation to visit Prince Savelli at his estate north of Rome. He is conducting excavations there, and my father is eager to see them.”

“I see,” she said. “Well, that is easy to understand. I know that your father is greatly interested in the Etruscans. I am sure my parents join me in wishing you well.” She held herself stiffly and did not look at him.

The sudden frost was alarming. “No, you don't understand. We are going for a week or so. It's just a short visit. Then we will be back.”

She did look at him then, though uncertainly.

“I was worried—I
am
worried—about leaving you here with Girard around and your brother.” He probably looked as flustered as he felt. “I want you to know that you must send for me if there are any problems. It's only a few hours away. I can be back in no time. If you want me to come, of course. If you need me.”

“Ah, my gallant knight.” The frost was gone, and she was beaming her smile at him again. “Thank you. You need not worry about Girard. He cannot harm me.”

He was not so sure about that, but he had to be satisfied with her promise to call on him if she needed help, and the conversation degenerated into various indirect assurances that each would miss the other and looked forward to his return.

Returning to his family's apartments, he consoled himself that at least he had paid another visit to Pietro, this time without Lissandra. The numskull had finally gotten it through his head that a gentleman did not put his sister in danger, especially for his political games. It simply was not done. More than that, it was dishonorable, even cowardly. A man should protect, not endanger, a woman. He had made Pietro understand.

At least, he hoped he had made him understand.

The carriage left the flat, rather uninteresting wheat fields on the plain along the coast and followed a road that wound through woodlands, rising gradually. The shade of the oak and chestnut trees was a pleasant respite from the harsh glare of the noonday sun on the plain, but that did not seem to make a significant impact on the uneasy spirits of the travelers.

Lord Penworth was the only one who seemed to be looking forward to the visit to Savelli's villa with complete enthusiasm. His wife was enjoying his cheerful anticipation of viewing and even taking part in tomb excavations, but she wished Italian roads were a bit smoother. A particularly deep rut in the road sent her up in the air to land with a thud on the hard seat, and she had to clench her teeth to keep from saying something that would distress her husband.

Rycote worried that he should have remained in Rome. He was not convinced that, despite his assurances, Pietro would not get his sister involved in his schemes. And they all seemed to underestimate Girard. The Frenchman looked the sort to make himself a serious nuisance. Lissandra, and her parents as well, needed someone to protect them. He wished he were back in Rome.

Tunbury also looked worried. He would have been looking forward to seeing the excavations with as much enthusiasm as Penworth if he thought it could be done in the absence of Cavaliere Landi. Unfortunately, he was almost certain the bounder would be there, drooling over Norrie. He had been calling on her in Rome far too frequently, and if he was staying at Savelli's villa too… Tunbury couldn't understand why Norrie kept encouraging him. She was intelligent enough to see what a snake the fellow was. Nor was he particularly happy about the way the prince was always flattering Norrie. She might laugh and say it was just the way old men enjoyed flirting with their granddaughters' friends, but Savelli wasn't that old.

Lady Elinor was uncertain about the trip. She was always pleased at the thought of seeing something new, and she was looking forward to the Castello Savelli. An Italian castle sounded very Gothic and ought to come complete with haunted towers and dungeons. The tombs, she supposed, were probably interesting too. But then there was Armando Landi. He was handsome, of course, and she should probably think it pleasant to be treated with such flattering admiration.

Much more pleasant than having Harry blowing hot and cold all the time, one minute so close that they seemed to have one mind between them and then pulling back and glaring at her for no reason at all. It was maddening. She had been trying to lead him gently into greater intimacy, but he would never take that step over the border of friendliness. She'd tried using the cavaliere to prod Harry with a bit of jealousy, but all that had produced so far was a mixture of glares and scoldings. What was she to do? She was beginning to think that he really wasn't interested in her except in a brotherly fashion.

In addition, Landi's attentions were just a bit too smooth, and he had begun pressing a bit too hard. When she tried to be politely discouraging, he didn't seem to notice. Perhaps it was just the difference between English manners and Italian manners. Whatever it was, he made her uncomfortable, and the discomfort was getting worse.

It was not long before they came out of the shade onto a graveled drive that led past a trim lawn to the porte cochere of a large and elegant neoclassical building of pristine white trimmed with beige. Servants materialized to usher them into the guest wing, where there were bedchambers, bathing rooms, sitting rooms, rooms for their servants, and a library, with huge bowls of flowers and trays of tea and fruit juices delivered without even a request.

But no towers for ghosts. And no dungeons.

It was all lovely but, Elinor couldn't deny, just a bit of a disappointment.

* * *

A few hours later, Elinor stepped out of the French doors in her sitting room onto a wide terrace overlooking a formal garden. This, at least, was no disappointment. Stone urns at regular intervals along the wall held blossoming lemon trees. She had recognized the scent the moment she opened the windows, which, for some unknown reason, Italians kept closed all the time. The contrast of the thick white blossoms, the glossy leaves, and the rough urns was irresistible, and her fingers slipped lightly over each element.

“What a lovely picture you make, my lady.
Bellissima
.” Landi appeared beside her, caught her hand, and bent over to kiss it. “Do you steal the perfume of the lemon blossoms, or do you lend your perfume to them?”

“There is no need to be quite so poetic, Cavaliere.” She gave a tug to try and free her hand, which he was holding far too long, to her way of thinking.

“Cavaliere?” He smiled at her, wrapping her hand in both of his. “Will you not call me Armando?”

“I do not think that would be at all proper.” She gave her hand a firm pull and succeeded in freeing it at last.

“How so? You call Lord Tunbury Harry, do you not? Why not the same kindness for me?” He placed a hand over his heart and looked plaintive.

“I have known Harry since we were children. It is not at all the same thing.”

“No, I do not wish it to be the same thing. He is like a brother, you said. I do not desire to be a brother to you.” He was close enough to her now to be breathing in her ear. “I think you know this. I think you understand that my desires are very different.”

Elinor backed up as far as she could and found herself against the wall. This was getting awkward. “Please, Cavaliere…”

His hands slammed against the wall on either side of her, trapping her. “Armando,” he whispered. “My name is Armando.”

His mouth was descending toward hers. Oh dear, he did not seem willing to take
no
for an answer. She was going to have to do something unpleasant, and they had only just arrived. How awkward.

She ducked away from him and, to her enormous relief, saw Prince Savelli approaching. “Good afternoon, Your Excellency,” she called out. “I was just admiring your lemon trees. The terrace, the gardens—it is all so lovely.”

Landi stepped away from her with a mutter that sounded very much like a curse.

The prince approached, smiling. “No, Lady Elinor, it is you who bring loveliness to the scene.” He also bowed to kiss her hand, but from him the gesture seemed pleasantly gallant, not suggestive. “Armando, the men are crating up the fragments we found last week. Make sure they don't lose any of the pieces and that they know where to take them. And you might remind your mother that we have guests. She will not wish to sleep through dinner.”

“Certainly, cousin.” Landi spoke with offended formality. “You will excuse me, Lady Elinor.”

Savelli watched him stride off and shook his head with a sigh. Then he smiled at Elinor. “I see you have quite recovered from the rigors of the journey. Will you permit me to show you my garden? There is a fountain of which I am very fond.”

“I would be delighted, Excellency.” She took his arm, thinking it surprising that the older man could be so much more attractive than the younger, more obviously handsome one. Giving way to curiosity, she asked, “Do your cousin and her son live here with you?”

They had reached the end of the terrace and were descending the curved steps leading to the garden before he spoke. “Here, yes, but with me? Not precisely. I have several other homes where I often stay. It allows them to think of this as their home.” He shrugged. “They have nowhere else to go. My cousin's husband was…profligate. At his death there was nothing for his widow or his son.” He noted her look of surprise and nodded. “You are thinking of her jewels. I fear my cousin is very fond of jewels. She sometimes accepts gifts from admirers.”

Elinor did blush at that, and they walked on in silence until they arrived at a circular pool in which a pair of playful stone dolphins chased each other under a spray of water.

“What a delightfully happy fountain!” Elinor smiled with pleasure.

“It is, is it not?” Savelli smiled back at her. “It always makes me smile to come here. It is not Etruscan, of course, but I think it shares their spirit.” He turned and looked back at the house, his smile fading. “It is hard on a young man, knowing he is dependent on the goodwill of others. He could find employment, of course.” A rueful shrug. “If he finds that unpalatable, he must marry a rich wife.”

Elinor smiled. “Your Excellency, are you by any chance warning me about fortune hunters?”

He patted her hand. “I like your father very much. He is a most honorable and intelligent man. It would distress me greatly were I to be the occasion of bringing unhappiness to him and his family.”

“You need have no fear. Your cousin is a very handsome young man, but I am in no danger of losing my heart to him.”

“
Bene
. I thought it as well to make certain you were aware of Armando's situation. But I see someone else seems concerned.” He looked amused.

* * *

Tunbury was hurrying across the terrace. He slowed a bit when he reached the path and saw that it was Savelli who was walking with Norrie. He did not, however, stop scowling even when he reached them. “Excellency. Lady Elinor.” He bowed rather curtly.

In return, Savelli beamed at him. “Lord Tunbury. I trust you found your chambers satisfactory.”

“Chambers? Oh, yes, of course. Most comfortable.” He wanted to snarl. Savelli's hand was covering Norrie's. What was she thinking? She was in no need of support to walk. In fact, he would wager she could walk the old man into the ground.

“Isn't this a lovely garden? His Excellency has been showing me about, and there is the most delightful fountain.” She looked quite happy to be walking on the old man's arm.

“I fear I must return to my affairs, but perhaps, my dear, you would care to show the fountain to Lord Tunbury? If, of course, young men are interested in such things.” Savelli looked at Tunbury in inquiry.

Tunbury smiled back, baring his teeth only slightly. “I would be delighted to have Lady Elinor show me the beauties of your garden, Excellency.”

They parted with a flurry of bows and curtsies, after which Savelli strolled back to the house while Tunbury spun Lady Elinor around and marched her rapidly away.

“Stop that!” She pulled back and yanked her arm free. “Will you stop dragging me around like a…like a…”

“Like a what?” he snarled.

“Like a badly trained dog.” She was rubbing her arm where he had been holding her.

“Oh God, Norrie, I'm sorry.” He felt sick, disgusted with himself. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head impatiently. “I just don't understand. Why on earth are you angry? You keep having these…these
fits
where you're suddenly snarling and snapping.”

“Ah, Norrie.” He turned away to collect himself before he looked back at her. “I'm sorry. One of the servants told me Landi was out here with you.”

“Well, he was, before His Excellency sent him away.”

“Good. I don't trust him. He's much too…too
oily.
But I'm not sure Savelli is much of an improvement.”

“Really, Harry, the prince is perfectly charming and perfectly proper,” said Norrie in exasperation.

“Don't you see? He's an old man, much too old for you.”

“Too old? Prince Savelli? Too old for me?” She started to laugh so hard that she had to lean against a tree. “Oh, Harry, you are so ridiculous. Whatever gave you the idea that he was interested in me?”

“There's nothing ridiculous about it,” he said truculently. “He takes you wandering down garden paths and I saw him patting your hand.”

“In a very fatherly fashion. For goodness' sake, he and my father are friends. Besides, he just wanted to warn me that his cousin is a fortune hunter. As if that wasn't obvious.” She took Tunbury's arm. “Come, let me show you that fountain.”

He let her lead him away, but did not feel reassured. She was too naïve. She did not realize what a prize she was for any man, even one who did not covet her dowry.

* * *

That evening, while they were gathered in the salon before dinner, Prince Savelli drew Elinor's attention to a small Etruscan bronze, not more than seven inches high. Even to her inexpert eye, it was clearly a late work, with all the grace one might find in a Greek statue, and beautifully rendered. There was nothing archaic about this Hercules. He stood there frowning, hand on hip, in all his strength and power, wearing nothing but his lion-skin cape.

He was naked. Quite naked. Quite gloriously naked.

She ought, she knew, to be admiring it as a work of art. She should say something about the pose, the exquisite workmanship, something. Unfortunately, her mouth was so dry she could say nothing. All she could do was stare at the miniature but still arrogant male displaying his perfectly muscled form. His perfect form.

“Do look at his face. Does he remind you of anyone?” The prince's voice penetrated her fog. He sounded amused. Embarrassingly amused.

She managed to lick her lips and swallow before reaching out carefully to tilt the statue for a better look at his features. The face was remarkably individual, despite the small size. This Hercules was frowning. He was frowning just like… He looked just like…

She turned to face the prince. “Good heavens, it's Harry. It's just like him.”

Savelli smiled. “I am delighted that it was not simply my imagination. I thought there was something familiar about him when we met in Rome, but it was not until I saw this statue again that I realized what it was. Young Lord Tunbury must have had an ancestor wandering around Etruria thousands of years ago.”

Her own delight had not evaporated when Harry came up to them, scowling again. He took one look at the statue and turned on Savelli furiously. “That is hardly the sort of thing you should be displaying to Lady Elinor.”

“Do calm down, Harry,” she said. “We were just discussing your ancestry.”