Marianne frowned, remembering how her husband had introduced Darius Jones.
Dr. Jones.
He hadn’t mentioned Darius’ other title.
“How did you know...?” Marianne shivered as a chill suddenly ran up her spine. She inhaled slowly as she regarded the older woman, her eyes widening. “He was your first love,” she said in a whisper, her mouth left open as she considered the ramifications.
Chiara took a deep breath and finally allowed a nod. “It’s very kind of you to call him that. First love,” she repeated with a wan smile.
Marianne nodded. What other words would she use? Chiara had said them first. “Does he know? About David?”
Shaking her head, her manner dismissive, Chiara said, “No.” She rolled her eyes and displayed a grimace. “I wasn’t sure at first, and then Antony was so happy to be a father. So I left the dogs to lie sleeping. Is that how you say it?”
Furrowing a brow, Marianne realized what she meant. “Let sleeping dogs lie,” she replied. Glancing back to where the men continued to work under their makeshift shade, she asked, “Will you tell him? I promise I will keep your secret, of course, but...”
Chiara crossed her arms over her chest and followed Marianne’s gaze. “What is your Shakespeare’s phrase about bygones?”
Marianne blinked. “Let bygones be bygones?”
“That one, sì. In answer to your earlier question, no, he did not propose marriage,” she said with a shake of her head. “He did ask me to go to England with him, though,” Chiara murmured, her voice sounding far away. “But I do not think he intended for us to be married there,” she added with an arched brow. “I am Catholic, you see, and he is not.”
The woman’s implication was clear. Darius Jones had offered her carte blanche to go with him when he returned to England all those years ago, and Chiara had refused him. Which was just as well, Marianne decided, for she remembered something Dr. Jones’ had said just the night before.
His legitimate son, Carter, was one-and-twenty.
The archaeologist was already married when he had his affaire with Chiara.
Chapter 27
A First Love’s Light
Later than day
Chiara saw Marianne to the door of the guest villa and was about to say her farewell when the viscountess placed a hand on her arm. “I cannot help but believe Dr. Jones still holds you in high regard. From the way he reacted when he saw you today. Perhaps...,” she started to say something about second chances when she realized Chiara’s manner had suddenly cooled.
Straightening, Chiara allowed a sigh. “The Lord Darius I met a long time ago was very different from that fat man back there,” she replied, a note of bitterness in her voice. “Twenty years different. As am I,” she added with another sigh. “I admit to some surprise that he would have recommended me to your viscount, since I would not have expected him to remember me,” she explained. “Seeing him was... a shock, I think is the word.”
Marianne nodded. “I suppose it would be if it’s been... if it’s been so long,” she agreed.
“We were both much younger then. Younger and... let us say more beautiful.”
Her eyes widening at the claim, Marianne said, “Oh, but I am sure you are more beautiful now.”
The older woman allowed a self-deprecating grin. “You are kind to say it.” She gave a glance up the lane toward the villa in which she lived before she turned her attention back to Marianne. “I will send Angela to you right away.”
“Oh, there’s no hurry,” Marianne assured her. “I will change for dinner, of course, but otherwise there is just the laundry to be done.”
“If she followed my instructions, she would have finished it this afternoon,” Chiara replied. “I am determined to have her ready to manage her own household when she is old enough to marry. My brother is a solider in Palermo. With the unrest there, he does not want Angela to live with him, so that is why she is with me.”
Marianne nodded her understanding. Ever since Napoleon’s defeat the year before, the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies seemed determined to declare its independence. At least Ferdinand I of Spain had seen to it the Bourbons no longer ruled over the island. “It’s good of you to act as her mother.”
“Thank the gods my son likes her company,” Chiara countered. “He spends more time with her than I do.”
Marianne blinked, realizing the woman referred to Lord Darius’ son. “He sounds like a good son. An obedient son,” she said. Almost immediately, she realized she had said something wrong, for a flash of... something... seemed to cloud Chiara’s eyes. “I apologize... it’s none of my concern, of course,” she added quickly.
Chiara shook her head. “He’s my only child. The light of my life,” she claimed. “And far more honorable than his father. But then, I raised him to be. Now if only he could find a suitable woman to be his wife,” she added, almost as if she doubted he would ever marry.
One brow furrowing, Marianne gave her head a shake. She would never have thought of Lord Darius as dishonorable, but obviously Chiara didn’t hold her first love in high regard these days. “David is lucky to have you as his mother, then,” she replied, just then aware they were being watched. She turned, and despite her poor vision, she knew it was Angela who stood watching them from the entrance to the guest villa’s courtyard. “As is Angela,” she said before giving Chiara a curtsy. “Seems my lady’s maid awaits.”
Chiara returned the curtsy before crossing her arms. “She can wait.” She disappeared behind the door to her courtyard, not even giving a wave to her younger niece.
“What have you been doing today?” Marianne asked as she joined Angela.
“The laundry,” Angela said with what sounded like pride.
Marianne nodded her understanding as they moved to her bedchamber. Stacks of folded clothes were arranged on the bed. “Dry already?”
“Sì,” Angela replied. “Which gown will you wear tonight?”
Despite what the Sicilians claimed was a cool summer, the afternoons had been windy and warm since their arrival. Had she remained in Canobie, Marianne knew the weather wouldn’t be nearly as fine, though. “The blue watered silk, I should think.” She remembered how Jasper had looked, his trousers caked with dirt and his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had eschewed a cravat in favor of a handkerchief wrapped about his neck, so with his broad-brimmed hat and waistcoat, he looked like a farmer.
Farming for mosaics.
Such an odd occupation. But having watched his careful work, the way his tightly-gloved hands worried away the dirt and debris to reveal the treasures beneath, Marianne could understand why he did it.
The thrill of discovery.
She was contemplating how much longer he might stay at the site when she realized Angela was staring at her. “What is it?”
Angela’s eyes darted to one side before she asked, “Are you blind, milady?”
Rather alarmed by the question—had someone mentioned her poor eyesight? Or had the girl noticed her careful steps up the road to get to the villa?—Marianne shook her head. “No. Why do you ask?”
The young girl’s shoulders sagged a bit. She seemed to consider how to say her response in English before she said, “The other visitors who come from England always speak of the beautiful things they see. The temples and the night sky. But you do not. I thought maybe because you couldn’t see them.”
Marianne blinked, realizing Angela had sorted her situation. “It’s true, I don’t see very well,” she acknowledged. She pulled the eyeglasses from her reticule. “But I dislike wearing these so much, I almost prefer not seeing.”
Angela angled her head as she regarded the eyeglasses. She held out a hand. “May I clean them for you? Perhaps you will like wearing them if you can see through them.”
Giving a chuckle, Marianne said, “Of course,” as she handed them over. “Do be careful not to scratch the glass,” she warned as Angela took her leave of the room. She wondered what the
girl planned to use on the lenses as she examined the clean clothes. She marveled at how white the cotton and lawn fabrics appeared. Although the lady’s maid she shared with her aunt in Canobie saw to their laundry, she rarely had the clothes looking so white.
When Angela returned, she proudly held out the spectacles. Marianne lifted the lenses up and dared a glance through each one, impressed at how clear the glass appeared. “What did you use?”
Angela gave a shrug as she saw to putting away the laundry. “Lemon and water. It is what Tamara uses to clean the window panes.” She closed the dresser drawers and then asked, “Will you put them on? To be sure they are clean?”
Marianne hesitated, not sure she wanted the girl to see her wearing the eyeglasses. “Promise you won’t laugh?”
This had Angela frowning. “I promise.”
Sighing, Marianne pulled the spectacles onto her face, bending the hinged bows around to the back of her head. She didn’t tie the ribbons, but merely held the loops in place at the back of her head. “I despise them,” she said as she gazed down at Angela. Blinking, she gave a glance around the room, rather surprised as how much clearer everything appeared, although there was a hint of distortion at the edges of her vision.
“But can you see better?” Angela asked, a look of concern aging her appearance.
“Oh, yes. They make the edges of everything... crisp. Clear. Except for a strange curling up at the edges of my vision,” she tried to explain as she slowly scanned the room.
“If I was nearly blind, I would wear them all the time,” Angela said, her comment almost wistful. “I shouldn’t want to miss anything. Well, except for Signor Loren,” she amended.
Forgetting she wore the spectacles, Marianne regarded Angela for a moment. “And, who, pray tell, is Mister Loren?”
The girl rolled her eyes. “An old man who wishes me to be his moglie.”
Marianne blinked. “Wife?” she questioned. Angela nodded before visibly shivering in disgust. “Aren’t you a bit young to be... sposato?”
“Sì!” And then Angela giggled before she suddenly sobered. “My aunt married when she was but seventeen. She had her son the next year. I don’t want to be a madre so soon.”
Thinking she could be a mother within a year—it was possible she was already with child—Marianne realized she was nearly twelve years older than Angela. “Twelve years ago, I did not want to be a mother, either. But now... now I want a child,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Then you must spend your nights fare l'amore,” Angela said with a grin. “I will get your gown, and we will make you irresistibile.”
Marianne couldn’t help the blush that colored her face just then. A fourteen-year old girl was telling her she had to spend her nights making love.
As if she wasn’t already.
An hour later, after Angela had her dressed in the blue watered silk and pinned up her hair in a riot of curls, a long look in the dressing table mirror had her realizing what Angela meant. Even wearing her spectacles, she looked irresistible.
She hoped Jasper would think so, too.
Chapter 28
The Roman Arts Revealed
In the middle of the night
The feather light touch brought Jasper out of a dream he had been desperate to leave. One in which an ancient monster seemed intent on taking his life. And that of Marianne’s. Instead of opening his eyes, though, he concentrated on what was touching him.
Finger tips.
Traveling over the crisp curls on his chest, they sent tiny shockwaves beneath his skin, shockwaves that soon had his entire body giving a shudder.
The touch was gone then, and he finally opened his eyes to find Marianne staring at his chest. “Good morning, Viscountess,” he murmured, a grin forming as he took in her sleep-tousled hair and bright blue eyes.
She turned those eyes on him then, their expression betraying shock, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been. “Good morning, my lord,” she whispered. Her attempt at rolling away from him was preempted by the arm that had wrapped around her shoulders to hold her in place.
“You can call me Jasper, my sweeting,” he whispered before he bestowed a kiss on her nose.
Marianne allowed a tentative grin before she suddenly sobered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’m rather glad you did,” Jasper replied, kissing her cheek. “I’m afraid my last dream was more of a nightmare.”
Her brows furrowing, Marianne simply stared at him a moment, finally realizing that if she were to learn what terrors his nightmare featured, she would have to ask. “Was I in it?”
Jasper inhaled slowly, not sure he wanted to capture the last tendrils of the scene in which a fire-breathing dragon had singed his backside. “I think so, although I don’t remember much more than the dragon.”
Her eyes widening, Marianne regarded him a moment. “Did you escape?”
“I did,” he replied with a nod. He kissed her on the mouth then, rather pleased at how she seemed both surprised and pleased by the intimacy. The feel of her body so thoroughly pressed against his reminded him of the night before, and desire slammed into him. He was already aroused, but then he usually was when he awoke. “You saved me. You were wearing that blue gown you were wearing last night,” he added before moving his kisses down her cheek and to her ear. He captured the plump earlobe between his teeth and gently nibbled, grinning when her entire body stiffened and she inhaled sharply. “And then you captured me.”
Marianne sighed when he finally lifted his body over hers and entered her, his movements slow. Within a few minutes though, her release took them both into ecstasy, and then she fell back asleep.
When Chiara appeared at the guest villa door only a few hours later, Marianne was dressed and ready for another walk about the ruins.
“I am glad you are not wearing your best,” Chiara said when she noticed Marianne wore a simple round gown, the handle of a basket filled with luncheon items threaded over one arm.
“Oh?” The younger woman held out the edge of her skirt, realizing it was one of her old gowns—one from before she was married. “What are we doing today?”
“I think I have accidentally discovered what your viscount searches for,” Chiara replied as they made their way down the lane toward the Greco-Roman quarter.
“A mosaic?” Marianne asked, her excitement evident. “A complete one?”
Chiara shrugged. She carried with her a basket with a small whisk broom made from corn husks and two gardening shovels. “Just a hint of one. I have walked by it every day for years on my way to San Nicola,” she explained as they made their way along the familiar path. “But yesterday, I finally looked at it with… new eyes, I think is the expression.”
She stopped quite suddenly after they turned toward the church, the well-worn dirt path passing by a flattened area near where Marianne had been seated when she read her book only the week before. “You saw tiles?” Marianne asked.
“Indeed. Right here,” Chiara said as she pointed to the ground. A row of cream-colored tiles were visible in the dark dirt, as if a channel of water had eroded away the top layers of soil. “Shall we see if we can do better than the men?”
Marianne gave her a brilliant smile, helped herself to a small shovel, and lowered herself to her knees.
The two worked in companionable silence for the rest of the morning, loosening dirt and brushing it away to reveal a series of small designs. By the time the sun was overhead, Marianne remembered she still had the basket for the men’s lunch. “I should take this to my husband,” she said, as she struggled to get to her feet. She had leaned on one leg so long while she worked, it had nearly fallen asleep. The pins and needles sensation had her wincing almost as much as she did when she saw what they had uncovered. “Oh, my,” she breathed.
Despite her age, Chiara was on her feet far more quickly, her head angling this way and that as she attempted to determine which way was “up” in the mosaic desig
ns. She allowed a laugh at the mosaics below. “I think we found the floor of a brothel,” she said with a giggle. “Or a horny man’s bedchamber.”
Marianne furrowed her brows. “What are they depicting?” she asked. She stepped around to the other side, blushing when she realized the four designs were all positions of sexual congress. None of these had been depicted in the French book her aunt had loaned her, though. These had several people engaged in… well, she wasn’t really sure what they were doing as the designs weren’t terribly intricate, and some tiles were missing, and one of the men wasn’t really where she would expect him to be with respect to the woman who was beneath him, and there was another man doing something with the first man. “What is this?” she asked in a whisper.
“An orgy,” Chiara said with amusement, before she finally sobered. “Probably one of the reasons Rome fell,” she added as she shook out her skirts. “Come, let us deliver your basket to the men. They will be wondering what’s become of you and their food.”
Marianne gave one last look at the mosaics before lifting the basket and joining Chiara on the path to the temple floor. “Was that common, do you suppose?” she asked. “To have more than just a husband engaged thus?”
Chiara allowed a shrug. “Some men have insatiable appetites. Why have just one woman when they can have two or more pleasuring them at the same time?”
“I thought there were two men and only one woman,” Marianne countered, wondering if she had completely misinterpreted the designs.
Laughing again, Chiara allowed a shrug. “What is good for the goose is good for the gander, no?”
Marianne couldn’t begin to think of a suitable response, so she was relieved when they were suddenly at the edge of her husband’s most recent excavation. A large swath of ground had been removed to reveal a giant mosaic, one that Jasper and James were both studying from where they stood off to one side. They appeared to be arguing until they noticed the women’s arrival.
The Vision of a Viscountess (The Widowers of the Aristocracy Book 2) Page 22
