Lessons of Desire (22 page)

He took her hand and pulled her to her feet and into his arms. "I was late returning because I visited the docks. I booked passage to England. I will remove you from this city soon."

Soon. But not too soon.

His kiss held remnants of the jealousy he had just conquered. He commanded and took with his mouth and his hands. She felt her dress loosening, dropping. He stripped her naked in the quiet garden while bees buzzed and hovered around the riot of summer blooms.

He sat on the stone bench against the tree and pulled her into his lap. Kisses bit her neck and his tongue teased her breasts. His caresses stroked over her body. Every touch was intended to devastate.

He smoothed his fingertips over her nipples until she squirmed. "Take down your hair. You did not do it at the boy's request, but you will do it now for me."

She raised her arms and plucked at the pins. It was a small victor)* that she gave him. A little symbol of submission to salve his pride.

His touch titillated her the whole time, promising ecstasy, luring her into the familiar abandon. She relinquished control as she always did now. She let him position her on his lap so her bare legs circled him and hung down the back of the bench.

He arched her nakedness so he could kiss her body while they rocked together in rhythm to his thrusts. She clung onto what she could in the dappled shade tinder the tree, taking and giving everything that they still shared.

Rain came that night, and with it a respite from the terrible heat. Elliot woke to air cleansed and fresh, blowing the drapery at the window the dawn light still held a silvery cast that muted the forms in his chamber.

He rose and pulled on a robe. He went to the writing table and flipped through some papers there. Last night in a fit of inspiration he had written for hours. Now he barely remembered what words he had used. He read several pages quickly, impressed that they were not half bad.

He looked to the bed. Phaedra had been here when he sat down to write. When had she left? He could not remember. That was not like him. He did not suffer from the curse of losing hold on the world when he retreated into his mind.

Except that last night he had. In doing so he had wasted one of the last truly free nights with Phaedra. He would make sure they found some privacy on the ship home, but the need for discretion would be clumsy and awkward. Here in Naples no one worried about such things.

He let himself onto the terrace and walked down to the door that opened to her apartment. Their proximity was much like that in Positano, only much larger and more luxurious.

No bedclothes covered Phaedra. She wore only a simple chemise that ended at her thighs. Her hair fanned around her, glistening in the soft light entering the room. A high pile of pillows propped up her body, as if she had fallen asleep unexpectedly. One arm lay stretched awkwardly where it had fallen when drowsiness claimed her. Palm up, her hand remained half-closed on something.

He moved closer. Light glinted in tiny sparks off the object in her hand. He gently pried it free of her grasp. A cameo. This was no doubt the one she spoke of her mother owning.

It was of good size, with impressive craftsmanship on the carved figures. An ancient gem of this quality would be very valuable. He carried it to the doorway to examine it more closely.

He sensed her attention on him. He looked over to see her watching him. She appeared so beautiful there, all shades of while and gold, surrounded by the luxurious silks and satins of those pillows. She awed him sometimes. Too often.

"You left," he said, referring to her absence from his chamber.

"No, you did," she said, reminding him of the distraction he had not controlled. "Alexia told me how your brother leaves the world that same way, so I understand how it can be with the Rothwell men."

He joined her on the bed. "I regret that I did."

"It is who you are. The sun might make you forget for a few days or a few weeks, but you would not be whole if you forsook that world forever because of me."

He did not care for the warning implied in her words. She was not talking about only him and his world and his wholeness.

He set the cameo on the valley between her breasts. "It is lovely."

"It is, isn't it? I would have it set as a brooch except for what it stands for."

"It is no less beautiful for being a forgery. The value is much reduced, but not the artistry."

"I do not care about its value."

He could see her face clearly now. She appeared tired and drawn. Perhaps she had not slept much last night either, as she reclaimed her own wholeness.

She picked up the cameo and gazed at it. "I faced the truth last night. I imagined it all too easily. The discreet sales, the promise of confidentiality, the glee of collectors obtaining rarities more cheaply if no one learned the source. It was a very clever scheme. If buyers were told the gems came from Pompeii they would want them all the more but be secretive because they were buying stolen goods."

"You do not know for certain there was a scheme."

"My father said there was.
The interloper was at the heart of a scheme that is both brilliant and nefarious
.
That is how he tells it. He refers to a valuable item of suspect provenience, and others like it that will be discovered."

Her reference to those memoirs brought a shadow to his mood. Yesterday's meeting with Merriweather had been blissfully forgotten during the retreat into his work. There had been no terrible choices in his head for those hours. No hard truths and harping questions about the past. No ruthless calculations either.

"How convenient for a man selling such things to insinuate himself into my mother's confidence and her life, and selling her this was the least of it," Phaedra mused bitterly. "He only seduced her so he could meet the kind of people who would pay well for the forgeries that he sold. Her introduction would be like a license from the crow."

He wished he could demolish her interpretation with a few careful words. Her deductions were too good, too plausible.

"Why does it matter to you so much, darling?"

She sat abruptly, pulling her body away and looking down at him. She was angry. Furious. Not with him.

"My father said that man was responsible for her death. I think she learned what he was doing, how he was using her. I did not understand that before but last night I suddenly did. She believed there was more with him, you see. More than she had known with my father. That is the only explanation for what she did."

Her face tightened. Her eyes glistened. She glared down at the cameo like it was an object of loathing. With the light s growing strength he could see the signs of weeping on her face.

He doubly regretted escaping into his work. He did not like to think of her in this chamber alone, scrutinizing the little she knew and coming to her sad conclusions.

She looked at him as if she expected an argument. As if she hoped for one.

"Phaedra, even if it was as you say, it is unbelievable that any of this had to do with your mother's death."

"It was the cause of her decline, surely, but perhaps— there were some signs she consumed something. The physician decided there were not enough indications to pursue it. But..."

"Is it not more likely that she passed naturally? She does not sound to me like a woman to despair over a love affair."

She rose up on her knees, trembling with emotion. Her eyes blazed and her teeth clenched. "You do not understand. That man seduced her into relinquishing
everything
.
Not only my father but
herself
.
And
me
.
That is why she put me out of her house. So I would not see how weak he made her."

"You do not know that."

"I
know
.
She forsook her own beliefs with this man and she did not want me to see it. None of Her friends know his name either. I asked those in her closest circle and not one person could point me to this lover even though most everyone had guessed a lover existed. Even Matthias. Even Mrs. Whitmarsh."

Her hand closed on the cameo and made a tight fist. She all but shook it in his face. "She knew she had ceded too much to him. She did not want the world to see that Artemis Blair had allowed some man to make her his serf. To then learn it had all been a fraud so that he could use her lo enrich himself—
of course
that would lead to despair"

Fury poured out of her. It was not directed at the tin-known lover, he realized. Phaedra's anger was aimed at the mother who had preached a religion and converted a child, but who had then fallen from grace herself.

Did her mother's failure make those beliefs nothing better than Utopian speculations that could not survive reality'' If a night of reflection had led her to the brink of thinking so, it might only take—

His hard calculation caught him up short. Who was this man who so quickly assessed his advantage? It was as if someone or something had breathed life into a dormant part of him since he met Phaedra.

He had been so sure there was none of the old man in
him
.
Unlike his brothers, he had been spared both of his parents' worst legacies. Only now he suspected that he might have gotten the worst of his father's blood. In the past he had never wanted anything badly enough to cause that blood to flow, that was all.

She betrayed nothing, darling. She merely met a man who reminded her that she was a woman. There is no sin in that and no betrayal of self. It is the most normal thing in the world
.

He almost said it. If he could convince Phaedra that her mother's compromise was normal and inevitable it would be easier to convince Phaedra to compromise as well. And there were many compromises he wanted from her. Too many.

He took the cameo out of her hand. He placed it on a table next to the bed, then pulled her down to him. They had spent the night apart in their separate worlds. Soon most of their lives would probably be spent the same way. For now he wanted to hold on to her in the place they had created together.

He embraced her, offering whatever comfort he could. She slowly calmed. Her anger flowed away, leaving an emotion-laden peace.

"Do not be hard on her, Phaedra. She chose a difficult path in life. You know that in ways no one else does. Maybe you are right and she stumbled toward the end. If she could not forgive herself that is a tragedy, but her daughter can be more generous."

She stilled so thoroughly that he could not feel her breathe. Then she pressed a kiss to his chest. She laid her face against his shoulder and molded her body alongside his.

"You can be very wise sometimes, Elliot. Perhaps you are right. If my mother was tempted to forsake all for a man, I should be more understanding. It is not as if I have been immune myself."

Gentile Sansoni called that afternoon. He sent up his card as if this were a social visit.

They received him in the salon. Phaedra thought he appeared less dangerous than the last time she had seen him.

Perhaps it was the setting that made the difference. This light and airy space bore no resemblance to that dark, cavernous room where he had interrogated her. His dark garments and hair and eyes formed a very small stain on the pales hues and gold of this chamber.

Elliot donned all of his English reserve for the meeting. He stood next to her chair tall and proud. He exuded aristocratic assumptions. Of the three of them, only Elliot did not look out of place.

To her surprise, Sansoni bowed in greeting. Then he shocked her further. He smiled.

"Felicitations on your marriage,
signora
.
I learned that you were back in Naples with Lord Elliot, and I wanted to pay my respects before you left our kingdom."

"Elliot," she said. "He is speaking English surprisingly well for a man ignorant of our language." "So he is."

Sansoni shrugged "Ignorance can be convenient in many situations."

"I expect so," Elliot said. "Your good wishes are welcome, and your timing fortuitous. We embark for home tomorrow. But then you know that."

Sansoni angled his head in half-acknowledgment. "One hears things. I was not sure, however."

"Now you are."

"Si,
Grazie.
"
He fished in his black frock coat and retrieved some parchment. "An army officer with whom I am friendly happened to be in Positano recently. A friend had called him there regarding an incident. Something to do with a tower and a riot and a heretic."

"How colorful" Elliot said.

"Yes, we are a most colorful people. My friend returned with these documents. The priest in Positano was very concerned that you did not have them."

Phaedra eyed the parchments that she had assumed she could forget. She scrutinized Sansoni's face to determine if he intended to get odious again.

Elliot held out his hand for the parchments, "Thank you. We will set all in order once we arrive in England. To do so here would require us to remain in Naples. For months, I expect."

Sansoni looked from the documents lo Elliot then back again. "Months? You need only sign—"

"It will be more complicated. If we hope to be on that ship tomorrow, we would do better to let English churchmen lake their time."

Sansoni was not a man to hand over an advantage, and he did so now with reluctance. Once Elliot had relieved him of the parchments the odious little man began to take his leave.

"Signore Sansoni. I wonder if I might have some private words with you," Phaedra said. "I expected Lord Elliot to have to translate for us as best he could, but since you have miraculously learned English that will not be necessary. I promise the conversation will be a brief one."

Sansoni eyebrows rose in disapproval al her boldness, but he looked to Elliot for his agreement. Elliot did not display any displeasure. She guessed he would save that for later.

Elliot nodded and walked to the salon door. She accompanied him. "You may slay, of course," she whispered. "However, I do not think he is a danger."

"You have requested private words with him, Phaedra. I will leave you to have them."

She faced Sansoni after Elliot was gone. The man clasped his hands behind his back and subjected her to his most critical stare.

"I assume that your husband has instructed you to apologize for all the trouble that you caused both here and in Positano."