Luigi too was eyeing him askance, but he would not give him the satisfaction of showing how he felt. ‘You really do surprise me,’ he was saying to Cressie. ‘That is not the sort of thing one confides in just anyone. Though perhaps you are not just anyone. Giovanni’s taste in women, like his taste in art, has changed significantly, if that is the case,’ he added with a waspish smile. ‘Back in the old days, our Gio was really rather more renowned for the beauties he bedded than his paintings. So eager those ladies were, to lend both their faces and their fortunes to help a poor starving artist on his road to success. Though of course, Lady Cressida, you will know all about that particular aspect of our Gio’s success too, since he has taken you into his—er—confidence.’
Giovanni’s muscles tensed. Finally he spoke, his voice a menacing growl that didn’t sound at all like his own. ‘I warn you only once, Luigi. You will mind that vicious tongue of yours, or tea party or no tea party I will …’
‘You will beat me with your fists for my insolence, the way you used to when we were apprentices.’ His eyes alight with malice, Luigi tossed his head disdainfully and turned to Cressie. ‘Gio never could endure being teased about his many lady friends.’
‘Giovanni has painted many beautiful women, that is no secret,’ she responded. Her voice was flat as if she didn’t believe her own words. ‘I don’t know what you are implying, but …’
Luigi laughed, a brittle little sound like the crystals from a chandelier tinkling in a draught. ‘He did a lot more than paint them, my dear. How do you think he survived, in those years when he scrabbled about for commissions? I concede he possessed a raw artistic talent, with the emphasis on raw. He did not leap, fully-fledged, from that tragic exhibition to the higher echelons of portraiture in a matter of days. Or even months. But our friend has more than one string to his bow, as you already know, I am sure. This beautiful face, this so very, very attractive body of his, they were quite an asset back in those days when he was struggling in his artistic garret.’
‘Stop it!’ Cressie pleaded. ‘Stop saying those wicked things. You say them only because you are envious of his talent.’
Luigi simpered. ‘Oh, I do not deny I am envious, my dear Lady Cressida. Back in the old days, I would go so far as to say that I was even just a tiny bit jealous. I am not short of personal charm myself even now. As a young man—well, I considered myself at least as worthy of Gio’s attentions as those ladies, and Gio—’
‘Stop!’ Cressie reeled as if he had brought her world tumbling down, though Giovanni knew it was rather his own which crumbled. You deserve better, he’d said to her. Now she could see that he had been right. He was aware of her drawing Luigi a look of disgust before bestowing upon him something more forlorn. He was aware of Lady Innellan making her way towards them, her son in his ridiculous outfit in tow. He was even aware of the look Sir Timothy bestowed on Luigi di Canio. Not of a friend but that of a lover. He saw Cressie recognise that too. On the way back in the carriage, she would have enjoyed speculating about that look. But now she picked up the skirts of her pelisse and ran for the door.
It was Giovanni’s cue. With a vicious snarl, he smashed his clenched fist smack into the middle of Luigi’s astonished face.
Cressie had the gig halfway down the carriageway of the Innellans’ manor house, sobbing, almost blinded by tears, and tempted to try the unlikely feat of urging the horse into a gallop when Giovanni leapt into the carriage. He looked every bit as devastated as she felt. Cressie steeled herself. She would not allow herself to feel sorry for him. She would not speak. She would not utter a word. The one thing she had not done was give herself away completely, and she absolutely would not do that now!
‘Cressie.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Si. I understand.’
He lapsed into silence. The air between them had the heaviness of a pending thunderstorm. Cressie focused hard and quite unnecessarily on the road ahead, which the horse took at his usual sedate pace. The hedgerows were still in full blossom. The trees were still luscious green. The bluebells were still blue. Not just blue. Cerulean? Too dark. Cornflower? Not pink enough. Lilac? Teal? Cobalt? ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, who cares!’ she exclaimed.
‘I do.’
‘I wasn’t talking about you,’ she snapped.
‘Cressie …’
‘How could you! How could you, Giovanni? How could you sell yourself in such a way. Why, you are nothing short of a gigolo!’
He flinched, but did not deny it, which made her feel much worse instead of better. ‘The first time you kissed me I remember wondering if seduction was part of your technique. When I got to know you better, I felt guilty for having thought so.’ Cressie attempted a derisive snort. It sounded pathetically like a sob.
‘I have never kissed you for any other reason than that I could not resist you.’
‘Very good, Giovanni, that is excellent. If you would relieve me of the reins I would applaud you. The fact is that you did resist me, despite my attempts to throw myself at you.’ And the fact was that this was the most mortifying thing. All those women, and Giovanni had made love to them casually, easily and regularly! So many others he had made no effort to resist, yet he had gone out of his way to resist her. ‘What is wrong with me?’ she demanded, too hurt and too angry to care at how needy she sounded and how pathetically jealous. ‘Why not me?’
Once again he flinched. Did he turn paler? It looked as though the blood had drained from his face. But she would not feel sorry for him. And she would not feel sorry for herself either! ‘Do you know, I was actually envious when I thought you’d had another female muse,’ Cressie continued remorselessly, determined to whip her anger into a fury lest she break down into hysterics. ‘What an idiot I am. I didn’t realise you’d had hundreds. I didn’t realise I was just the latest in a very, very long line. Who will be next, I wonder? Lady Innellan? A little old, perhaps, but she is very wealthy and made her interest in you obvious enough. Though perhaps you are more fussy these days, now you are in such high demand.’
‘Enough!’ Giovanni grabbed the reins and pulled the horse over to the side of the road. A pulse beat at his temple. ‘I told you, I have not been with a woman in years. I do not lie, Cressie.’
‘But you are obviously very sparing with the truth, Giovanni.’
‘Si. That is true. But I have never lied to you.’
He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. His shoulders were hunched. The sound he made was very like a dry sob. Was he crying? It took everything in her to refrain from touching him. She couldn’t bear it, to see him so dejected. If only he could explain. Mitigate. Make it not true.
‘There were not hundreds, but there were many.’ Giovanni sat up, holding himself rigidly. He had himself under control again. And he was not avoiding her eye. She could see the resolution written in the stark planes of his expression. The stripped look she’d seen on one occasion before today. The look that told the blunt, unvarnished and horrible truth. She didn’t want to hear it, but she knew she had to. Cressie gripped her fingers together tightly.
‘It is as Luigi implied. I was desperate, not so much for success at first, as simply to prove my father wrong. I would make my art pay. I knew I had the skill, but I needed time and I needed willing subjects and they needed to be …’
‘Beautiful.’
‘I could not make my name painting anything other than perfection. At least, not the name I wanted to make.’
‘I know how it is,’ Cressie said dully, ‘you don’t need to explain.’
‘It was easy. Far too easy. This,’ Giovanni said, pointing at his face, ‘this face, this body made it easy. I knew it was wrong, but to me if felt so much less wrong than forcing myself into the mould my father had created for me. I told myself that at least this way I could use my talent. And I was not wholly lacking in morals. I took only what was offered freely. And I did not take from those …’ He swallowed several times. When he spo
ke again, his voice was low, filled with self-disgust. ‘There were men as well as women willing to pay.’
Cressie stared at him in horror. ‘You mean they—did Luigi?’
‘Once again, I commend your perception. As you saw, he is not someone who takes well to rejection, of any sort. You have to believe me, Cressie,’ Giovanni said earnestly, ‘I never—not with men, not with any woman who wanted more from me than a few afternoons’ pleasure. They paid what was at the time an inflated fee for their portraits. I asked nothing more. But I will not deny it, I sold myself. My performances—for such they were—were polished, skilled, technically brilliant but emotionless. Just like the paintings I produced.’
‘And when your portraits began to be in demand, you no longer needed to sell your body, is that it?’ Cressie said tightly.
‘That is it. I will not pretend that it disgusted me at the time, Cressie. What young man would find taking a beautiful woman to bed a chore? It was only afterwards that I began to find myself repellent. There is a pleasure, a different kind of pleasure, to be had in sacrifice, in cleansing. Until I met you, that too was easy. Since I met you—but what is the point in talking about it? I will not taint you with my sordid past. You …’
‘Deserve better,’ Cressie finished for him quietly. ‘So you said.’
‘And meant it.’
Giovanni made to take her hand, but stopped himself. She should have been glad he did so, but it was this simple gesture which nearly broke her. He would always stop himself. And though his revelations were appalling, what was even more appalling was that she still loved him. ‘Will Luigi talk?’ Cressie asked.
‘Not for some time.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When I last saw him he was flat out on Lady Innellan’s drawing-room rug with a small crowd gathered round him. He seemed to be missing some teeth and there was, I confess, some blood on that ridiculous bow of his.’
Cressie put her hand over her mouth. ‘You should not have,’ she said, though actually, she could not pretend to be anything other than glad.
Giovanni shrugged. ‘You can take the boy from the fishing village, but you cannot take the fishing village from the boy—or so they say. I expect I have created quite a scandal. I am sorry for that.’
‘I am sure Lady Innellan will be secretly delighted. Notoriety is the next best thing to popularity. Besides, the incident will be put down to the tempestuous nature of Italian artists. Giovanni, are you sure that Luigi will not make mischief?’
‘He has much more to lose than I. His reputation is still relatively new and he knows I could easily ruin him if I chose to reveal some of what I know about his own sordid past. He will also know that if he did so, I would hunt him down like a dog. Not that I care. I am done with living my life this way, Cressie. You are right. I must make my own way on my own terms.’
It was small comfort now, but it would feel more significant in the future. Right now, she was completely drained. It felt as if her bones had been removed. She wanted nothing but to lie underneath her bedclothes in the dark and howl. Resolutely, she picked up the reins.
‘There is just one more thing.’ Giovanni touched her arm, snatching his hand back immediately. ‘It was different with you. I want you to know that. When I told you I was afraid of the passion between us, I meant it. I was not just afraid that surrendering to it would destroy what inspired me to paint you, I was afraid I would destroy you. I have never before been with a woman who cared for how I felt. When you touch me, it is as if no woman has ever touched me. You always ask me for proof. I can provide none but it is the truth none the less. It was different with you. You will simply have to trust me on that.’
Tears clogged her throat, but she was too raw to do any more than nod and set the horse in motion. ‘Thank you for being so honest with me but I can’t talk about this any more, Giovanni. I just can’t.’
They completed the short journey in silence. Cressie held herself in, gathering tightly together, counting the minutes until she could be alone. The one thing she didn’t feel was disgust. Stealing a glance at him, sitting ramrod straight, staring sightlessly ahead, obviously lost inside the morass of his jumbled thoughts and emotions, she knew that the one thing she did feel was love. Despite all, she loved him and was resigned that she always would.
Chapter Ten
‘I’m afraid her ladyship requires your presence urgently, Lady Cressida. She is most anxious to speak with you.’ Myers’s words of greeting were the last thing Cressie wanted to hear as she pulled the gig up at the front door. ‘I’ll have the carriage taken around to the stables, my lady. Lady Armstrong awaits you in the small salon.’
The image of the sanctuary of her darkened bedchamber which had sustained her during the last few miles of the drive home, vanished in a puff of smoke. What else could go awry on this most inauspicious of days? Cressie jumped down from the gig, brushing away Giovanni’s proffered helping hand, and wearily trudged through the reception hall.
Bella was lying prostrate on her favourite chaise-longue, her sal volatile in one hand, an ominous-looking missive in the other, but upon Cressie’s opening the door, she scrambled to her feet. ‘This came by express not long after you left for Lady Innellan’s,’ she said, waving the letter in the air. ‘I wanted Myers to send someone to fetch you straight away, but he managed to convince me it would be futile since it would be too late by the time you returned for you to leave for London tonight. Only if you wait until the morning I fear it will be too late. According to this letter, it is already too late. I told you, Cressida, I told you it was on your head if anything happened, and now—what are we to do? Your father will kill me.’
Cressie took the letter, eased Bella back on to the chaise-longue and waved the sal volatile under her nose. ‘I can think of nothing less likely than my father turning to murder. Do not be ridiculous, Bella, and I pray you please do not work yourself up into hysterics. It cannot be good for the baby, and if something happens to that …’
‘There you are wrong. This baby is a girl—your father will not care one way or the other if anything happens to her,’ Bella replied tartly, patting her stomach.
Which was probably, sadly, true, Cressie thought abstractedly, dropping into a chair opposite her stepmother. She had already noted that the hand which had written the letter belonged to Aunt Sophia. She was already, following receipt of Cordelia’s last missive, prepared for bad news. Her aunt’s frantic note confirmed the worst. Cordelia had apparently eloped, though with whom and whence were details conspicuous by their absence. ‘I should have known. I suspected all along that Cordelia was leading my aunt and everyone else up the garden path with her wild behaviour,’ Cressie explained in answer to Bella’s questioning look. ‘A ruse to mask a far deeper game, and it seems I was right. Though what my aunt expects you to do about it, I have no idea.’
‘Me!’ Bella shrieked, dropping the bottle of smelling salts.
‘The letter is addressed to you.’
‘Cressida Florence Armstrong, you know perfectly well that we agreed …’
‘Stop! Bella, please stop. It was an attempt to lighten the mood. A feeble attempt at a joke.’
‘Very feeble.’
Cressie rubbed her brow. ‘I suppose I must go to London to see what can be done to retrieve the situation.’
‘You do not look well, Cressida. Is something amiss?’
‘I have a headache.’
‘You never get headaches.’
‘Bella, it’s been a long day, and I’m tired and the very last thing I wish is to go traipsing off on a wild goose chase after Cordelia, who is very likely hiding out somewhere not too far away laughing up her sleeve at the chaos she has caused.’
‘How went your visit to Lady Innellan? Did you make the acquaintance of that man you seemed so keen on introducing Signor di Matteo to?’
Cressie winced. ‘The only way to describe the tea party is that it was unforgettable.’
‘I am
not surprised,’ Bella said with a hungry look in her eye. ‘I had heard a rumour that her ladyship had recently appointed, at great expense, a London cook.’
‘I was not referring to the food. There was an altercation between Giovanni and his fellow-Italian art expert over … It does not matter. You will no doubt hear a wildly exaggerated version of events once the servants start talking but for the record, Giovanni was much provoked.’
‘I cannot say I am totally shocked. Your father says the Latins, despite their bold claims about being the cradle of civilisation, are the most obstreperous, ill-disciplined and rash nation on earth. He says he would rather deal with a Berber horde than mediate between two Italians with a grievance. He says—’
‘Lady Innellan was asking kindly after you,’ Cressie interjected, unable to listen to another syllable of her father’s guide to diplomacy.
‘What was the son like?’
‘Let us say that there is absolutely no chance of him being interested in becoming a candidate for my hand.’
‘Aye, his tastes do not run in that direction,’ Bella said with her sharp little smile. ‘I’d heard that too.’
‘Did you? Goodness, I had no idea you were so very well informed,’ Cressie said tartly. ‘It is a pity your contacts cannot give us some clue as to the whereabouts of my sister.’ She thumped her forehead with the heel of her hand. ‘I beg your pardon, that was quite uncalled for.’
‘Are you sure it is a headache you are suffering from? Has that man been taking liberties? I warned you about him, Cressida.’
‘You did, and let me assure you again, Bella, that you need have no fears in that direction. None whatsoever.’
Bella pursed her lips, noting the catch in her stepdaughter’s voice. ‘This trip to London may have come at timely juncture, it seems to me. A little distance will bring some perspective.’
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