by Lora Thomas
“You say his name as though you have met him before.”
Madelena defiantly raised her chin and snapped her mouth shut.
“So you have. You little trollop. I knew you were just like your mother.”
“I met him at the docks when he arrived,” Madelena decided to say. She could not let her mother know that she had seen him numerous times.
“What were you doing at the docks?”
“Whatever I damned well pleased.”
A shocked gasp left Madelena when she felt the sting of Sandra’s slap to her cheek.
“You will not back talk to me, girl. You are still seen to the world as my child.”
“Why hide it? If you hate me so, then tell the world who I truly am and be done with it.”
An eerie calm fell over Sandra. “If it were only that simple. There are consequences to that action.”
“Then I will accept every one of them if it means that I will no longer be set to wed Drakos.”
Sandra ran a hand gently over Madelena’s cheek. Madelena jerked her head away, but Sandra captured her chin between her thumb and index finger and gave a firm squeeze.
“Oh, you will, pretty, pretty Madelena.”
Madelena grasped Sandra’s wrist and plucked her hand away from her chin.
“Get out,” Madelena hissed.
Sandra stayed towering above Madelena for a few minutes longer. “You will remain in your room and stay quiet this evening. If I hear one sound from you, I will make certain that you will no longer be known as the pretty Russo.” With that, Sandra left.
Madelena stared at the door. What was that to mean?
Chapter Fifteen
Oliver stood on the doorstep of the Russo home, his fist raised but unable to knock. Martin had called him a bloody idiot for agreeing to come. Martin had tried to give Oliver every reasonable excuse not to come, but Oliver could not do it. He had to see Madelena again. There was something about her that intrigued him.
He kept staring at the door as if it would magically open itself. What was he waiting for? This would be a way to spend the entire evening with the most enchanting woman he had ever met, yet here he stood on the stoop to the doorway afraid to knock like a weak-kneed lad. Why was he stalling? Perhaps it was the notion that he did not want to spend the evening with all of Madelena’s family, only her. Maybe it was the fact that he knew Signora Russo would sit him squarely between Angela and Flora. Or perhaps he was simply a coward.
A chicken behind him clucked rapidly.
“Your encouragement does not help matters any,” Oliver mumbled to the large, white hen.
The fowl ignored him and continued her rapid cluck until her chicks joined her.
Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and knocked.
The door was opened by a young girl. He did not have to be told this was one of Russo’s daughters for she looked like Flora. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Why would one of Russo’s daughters open the door instead of a butler? Perhaps to sing the qualities of her sister?
The young lady batted her eyes. “Good evening, Signore St. John.”
“Good evening,” Oliver returned, giving a polite bow.
She curtsied, causing the skirt of her peach gown to flare outward. “We have not been properly introduced, but I am Bella.”
“A pleasure to meet you, signorina. You are as beautiful as your sisters.”
Bella smiled, revealing a mouth full of large teeth. “You are too kind. Please follow me to the drawing room. Angela is playing the pianoforte until dinner is ready.”
“After you,” Oliver said. He entered the home and cringed upon hearing the music. Angela certainly needed practice. Every other note was off. Then he could hear…singing? It sounded more like a cat squalling.
“That would be Maria,” Bella informed. “She thinks she is a grand singer, but I hate to inform her that she is not.”
The corner of Oliver’s mouth twitched with humor.
“I can see you agree with my sentiment,” Bella said.
“I never said as much.”
Sandra was sitting beside the pianoforte, pride beaming from her eyes as Angela played. The music stopped, and Sandra clapped enthusiastically. “Wonderful, Angela. That was simply wonderful!”
“You didn’t have to,” Bella whispered to Oliver. She then addressed her mother. “Mama, Signore St. John has arrived.”
The daughters present turned to face the doorway. They were all dressed similarly. Each was wearing an evening gown in a shade of peach or orange. The older two wore plunging necklines, whereas the younger two had modest square ones.
Oliver suddenly felt like a mouse being stalked by a group of ravenous cats. The older Russo women present had a predatory gleam to their brown eyes—as if he were a prize they were willing to kill.
“Signore St. John,” Sandra said, standing and motioning towards a red settee. “Please sit. Signore Russo has yet to arrive but should be here momentarily.”
Oliver gave a polite nod and approached the settee. “Please introduce your daughters to me once more, signora.”
“Of course.” Sandra clapped her hands, and all of the daughters lined up. “This is Angela,” she said.
Angela battered her eyes coyly and curtsied, leaning forward to allow more of her cleavage to be presented. “Signore St. John.”
“A pleasure,” Oliver replied, bowing slightly.
“Flora,” Sandra said, motioning to another daughter.
Flora curtsied and politely replied, “Signore St. John. So good to see you again.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Oliver replied.
“The next is Maria.”
Maria attempted to mimic Angela’s movements; however, her age and inexperience showed. Her breasts were not as pronounced as Angela’s, and her actions were not as refined.
“Signorina,” Oliver said.
“And lastly, is Bella.”
Oliver bowed again. Standing upright, his eyes scanned the room. “I was under the assumption that your other daughter Madelena would be joining us tonight.”
Sandra’s hand came to her chest as she attempted to sound mournful. “I am so disappointed to say that Madelena is ill this evening.”
“Is that so? She appeared perfectly well this afternoon.”
“A sudden illness,” Sandra answered quickly. “Won’t you please sit?”
Oliver gave a nod, not believing Sandra’s excuse. As he went to sit, his eyes went to the doorway, and he stopped. Madelena stood in the doorway, looking like heaven. She was wearing a pale yellow gown. The bodice was square, but Oliver knew what treasures it hid. The high waist caused the skirt to flare outwards.
“Madelena!” Angela spoke, shock in her voice.
“What?” Sandra said, turning to the doorway, her face twisting in anger.
“I hope I am not late.”
Oliver crossed the room, uncaring. Stopping before her, he spoke. “Not at all.” He bowed. “Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Oliver St. John.” Taking her hand, he placed a light kiss across her knuckles. Heat flooded Madelena as she felt his tongue lightly touch her hand.
Swallowing she attempted to push away the heat flooding her and curtsied. “A pleasure to meet you again, Signore St. John.”
The extra attention he gave Madelena did not go unnoticed by Sandra. She glared at the couple and cleared her throat. Madelena looked at her mother and saw the warning in Sandra’s eyes.
Straightening, Oliver motioned to the settee. “We were just about to sit and converse until your father arrives. Won’t you please join us?”
“I would be delighted,” Madelena replied, casting a spiteful look at her sisters.
“A word, Madelena,” Sandra said.
“In a moment, Mama. It would be rude to leave our guest so soon after arriving. Isn’t that correct, Signore St. John?”
“It is highly inappropriate. Come now, let us all become better acquainted.”
The group made their way to the chairs around the room and sat down. The conversation was pleasant, yet there was tension in the air. All present felt it. Signore Russo arrived shortly after, and the dinner went on without incident. Oliver spoke of his large family, delighting all present with tales of his boyhood adventures with his brothers.
“So you are a twin?” Madelena asked.
Oliver nodded. “Yes. Between Owen and me, I am the older. My sister says that we cause more mischief than two leprechauns.”
“I do believe she would be speaking falsely, Signore St. John,” Angela interjected, trying to draw Oliver’s attention to her.
“The one thing Madison never does is lie. She is very straightforward with her words.”
“Madison. Such an unusual first name for a woman,” Sandra said.
Oliver nodded. “Yes. My mother likes uniqueness.” If only that were the case. Madison was named after Charles Madison Davenport, the Duke of Somerville. The same Duke who had abducted his mother. The same Duke that his father nearly murdered. His father only witnessed the oldest twins and heirs, Eli and Jacob, being born. When Oliver and his brothers were born, Robert was away on business. He had to go to England after Elizabeth discovered she was expecting. However, she gave him an ultimatum—if he were not home to witness this child’s birth, then she would name him after the Duke. Father promised. But needless to say, he missed the delivery. Their mother became angry when she went into labor, and Robert was nowhere to be found. Having already decided that she was having another boy, she had previously named the child Charles. But imagine her shock when she had a girl. At first, she thought of keeping her name as Charles but decided against it and used his middle name of Madison. When Father returned home two weeks later, he was furious at the name and demanded Mother change it. Needless to say, they fought, and according to Eli, Elizabeth easily won.
“You say your father is an Earl?” Angela asked, leaning over the table.
“Sit up properly, Angela,” Antonio scolded.
Angela righted her posture, thrusting her lower lip out in a pout.
Oliver ignored the attempt at seduction. “Yes. The Earl of Hyntington. My brother Eli is the next in line. I am delighted to say that I am so far down the family line that no title will come my way.”
“Why is that?” Russo asked.
“Parliament and the House of Lords have too much drama for my liking. I will sit back and happily allow Eli the hassle. He has a knack for these things.”
“Eight brothers and one sister. That is a large family,” Madelena said.
Oliver’s eyes drifted to her. As predicted, Sandra had sat him between Angela and Flora, next to their father. Madelena was placed at the opposite end of the table next to their mother. Angela twisted her head and shot a heated glance at Madelena. Oliver could feel the tension in the room. He recalled that Madelena said her mother disliked her, but apparently her sisters did as well. Russo sat at the head of the table, seemingly uncaring about the hostility being shown his beloved daughter. Martin had called Madelena Russo’s favorite, yet he did not appear annoyed with her treatment by his other daughters. Actually, he seemed…bored. Uninterested. The older man was simply staring at his plate, pushing his food around.
“It is,” Oliver answered. “It made for a hectic upbringing, but I would not change it for anything. My eldest brothers, Eli and Jacob, are nearly eight years my senior.”
“Fascinating,” Angela said, placing her hand upon Oliver’s arm.
A perplexed expression crossed Madelena’s face. “I thought you said that someone named Max was your eldest brother?”
Her astuteness surprised Oliver. He’d only briefly spoken of his true eldest brother. “I did.”
“So why did you say that the others were?”
“Because Max is illegitimate.”
Sandra gasped in disgust, placing a hand to her chest. “Your poor mother.” She shot a furious glance at her husband. “Your mother must have been devastated to know that your father sired a child by another woman.”
Oliver gave an indifferent shrug. “There was one hell of a fight upon that discovery. Max is only a few months older than Eli and Jacob. However, the actions leading to his birth occurred prior to my parents meeting. Mother’s anger at Father eventually cooled, and she has come to accept Max and his wife as part of the family.”
Madelena set her sight upon Sandra. Her tone held condescension as she spoke. “You say that your mother learned to accept Max as one of her own? Despite his parentage, she holds no ill will towards him?”
Oliver noted the direction of Madelena’s attention and wondered what he was missing. “To an extent, yes. There is still tension at times between her and Max, but she knows he is not responsible for the actions of his parents. She also feels empathy towards him and his family. Father is the only family they have. Max’s wife’s family were killed. They have no one else. I always liked Max for he had a way of needling my older brothers just enough. Kind of like the way Owen and I do. Yet he is one of the most intimidating men I have ever met. He is one man that I hope to never anger.”
“Why is that?” Flora asked.
“He was a pirate.”
That captured Russo’s attention. The older man’s head snapped up from his plate. “A pirate?”
Oliver took a sip of his wine, apparently at ease with the discussion. “Yes. My family has had several pirates. Max and Jacob’s wife. All pardoned.” Well, not all. His sister Madison’s husband, Nicholas, was a pirate as well. Yet he decided he need not mention that tidbit considering Nicholas’s father was the governor of Eleuthera.
“No action was taken against them?” Russo asked.
Oliver shook his head. “Yes and no. Max was arrested for a short while—after he had aided in the abduction of my sister—”
“He took your sister!”
“Yes,” Oliver continued as if discussing a mundane event. “It all ended well. Max was a quartermaster on a pirate ship. At any rate, the pirate who actually took my sister died.” Oliver drew his brow together. “It is all rather complicated once you think about it. Too complicated to discuss during a dinner conversation.”
“But he is a criminal,” Russo pressed. “He needs to be punished.”
“Perhaps. He was raised by an abusive prostitute and knew that his siblings were living a life of luxury. Conceivably, his childhood was his punishment. I have no qualms about him not being imprisoned. It only seems fair. Occasionally, laws can be a hindrance, and from time to time a blind eye must be turned for past indiscretions. Perchance the good performed outweighs the bad. It is all situational.”
“That makes no sense.”
“No, it does not. It was not meant to.” Oliver turned his attention to Signora Russo, who was still staring at Oliver as if he were speaking of her. “This meal is quite delicious. I cannot say when I have had chicken so succulent.”
“Thank you,” Sandra replied. She pulled her attention back to her cup and took a long drink.
“Signorina Madelena,” Oliver said.
“Signore St. John, you have no right to call her by her first name,” Maria scolded.
“Apologies. I did not mean to overstep my bounds. But you see, with so many of you present, how would one know who I am addressing if I say Signorina Russo?”
“That is quite all right, Signore St. John,” Madelena butted in. “I do not mind.”
“No harm, no foul,” Oliver spoke, mischief causing his green eyes to sparkle. He knew all too well her singing talents. “Now, do you play an instrument or sing as well as your sisters?”
Angela snorted and rolled her eyes. Bella giggled.
“She sings like an angel,” Bella said, stifling her laugh.
“Then, when we finish, I insist on a sample.” Oliver looked at Russo. “If that is all right with your father.”
Antonio seemed pleased that Oliver thought to ask his permission. He gave a nod. “It has been some time since I have heard
you sing, Madelena.”
All eyes were suddenly upon Madelena. She could feel the heat from her mother and sisters. Sandra mouthed a “no” in her direction. Angela glowered at her as did Flora. Bella, on the other hand, was bobbing her head up and down, causing her black ringlets to bounce.
“Of course,” Madelena said, placing her napkin upon the table.
“Splendid! At your leave, my lady.” Oliver gave a discreet teasing wink in her direction.
The group made their way to the drawing room, and Madelena placed herself at the pianoforte. Antonio poured a glass of sherry and plucked a cigar from a box. After all were seated, Madelena began. Oliver was enthralled as he watched her fingers nimbly move over the ivory keys. Those same fingers that tentatively touched his flesh only the night before. Her voice came out strong, yet in a way that was not too overbearing. That same voice that moaned and cried out in pleasure was now soothing as she sang.
Sandra glared from the back of the room at Oliver as he watched Madelena. Like all men, he was captivated by her. Why? She was beautiful but, in Sandra’s opinion, that was her only redeeming quality. Nothing about her was remarkable. Perhaps men liked her defiance. Maybe she was more enjoyable to be around than her sisters. Doubtful. Or perhaps she emits a scent like a bitch does when they are in heat. Whatever the reason, Sandra need not worry about it much longer. Drakos would be arriving soon. And soon, her dearly, beloved daughters would not have to contend with that wanton stealing their beaus.
When Madelena’s fingers strummed the last chord, Oliver stood and applauded.
“Magnifique!” Oliver boasted.
Madelena bashfully lowered her lashes and grinned.
“I do say, Signore St. John,” Angela spoke. “That is a little overdramatic for such a simple piece.”
“On the contrary, Signorina Angela. I have never heard such fine music.” He turned his attention to Russo. “You have truly talented daughters, Signore Russo. You must be proud.”
Antonio took a long draw from his cigar. He purposely allowed the smoke to swirl out slowly knowing it would agitate Sandra. She hated cigars. “Of course. What father would not be proud of such a talented group of daughters?”
