The Elusive Earl (Saints & Scoundrels)

by Michaels, Maddison

  Daniel grunted at her unexpected compliment, and he slid back the barrel.

  “Who are the Garendetta?” she asked.

  “Mafioso of the region.” He paused. “I need you to stay put while I deal with the others. Do you understand?”

  She seemed somewhat reluctant to comply with his order.

  A voice from outside called out, “Va tutto bene?”

  “Si,” Daniel yelled aloud, in response to the man asking if everything was all right. He pulled closed the window’s curtains. “Ma venire qui.”

  “You said you didn’t speak Italian,” Brianna muttered.

  He smiled at her briefly before crouching in front of the door. “I lied. I’ve just asked him to come here.” He put a finger up to his mouth when he heard the crunch of approaching footsteps.

  A shadow crested across the glass. Putting his weight behind it, Daniel slammed open the door, the hard wood knocking into the second man, who fell to the ground with a loud thud.

  Daniel jumped out of the carriage. Before the man could even stand, Daniel punched him in the jaw. The man sank backwards onto the road and was still. Satisfied he was out cold, Daniel quickly scanned the street. The third bandit caught sight of him, his eyes widening before he turned tail and ran off down the footpath.

  The carriage driver and the footman, perched above on the driver’s seat, began gushing their thanks to him.

  “Was that the last of them?” Daniel asked.

  The two men nodded.

  “What on earth are we going to do with these two?” Brianna questioned when she ducked her head out the open door.

  “What journals did they want?” Daniel leaned over the man lying on the road and quickly patted down his pockets. The man was groggily starting to awaken. Apart from a pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers, the fellow had nothing else on him.

  “I don’t know,” Brianna replied, rather too quickly.

  Annoyed, Daniel pocketed the bandit’s pistol and then leaned into the carriage, forcing Brianna back onto her seat. What the devil had she gotten herself into now? He ignored her gasp and grabbed the trouser leg of the first man, dragging him out onto the road next to his comrade. The man moaned, but didn’t wake fully.

  “Don’t take me for a fool,” Daniel scoffed, as he felt this man’s pockets, too. Nothing. “As soon as he said jouranos, you knew exactly what he meant.” With the two criminals laid out on the verge, he vaulted into the carriage. “Continue on,” he directed up to the driver. “We need to be long gone before they get their wits about them, and their reinforcements show up.”

  “Are we just going to leave them there?” Brianna asked.

  He slammed the door shut. The carriage lurched forward, the driver cracking his whip to hasten the horses. “Yes.”

  “But what about alerting the authorities?”

  “They are Garendetta, Miss Penderley.” He tried to contain the impatience in his voice. “Most of the local police would be paid to keep them out of trouble, not to arrest them.”

  “Oh that is terrible!” she gasped. “Will they be all right?”

  Daniel couldn’t help a reluctant smile from forming. “I didn’t hit them that hard.”

  “It certainly sounded like you did,” she said in earnest.

  “Tell me about these journals.” He settled in the seat across from her, having long ago discovered the wisdom of facing her whenever trying to get some straight answers. “And no prevaricating. Just the truth.”

  “I think,” she began, “they may be talking about my mother’s journals, and if that’s the case, then they could possibly be after the lost treasure of King Aleric.”

  Chapter Five

  As the carriage pulled up at Lord Travelli’s residence, Brianna finished regaling Daniel with the tale of the fabled lost treasure.

  “And how does this relate to your mother’s journals?” he asked, following her out onto the footpath, his voice a tad skeptical.

  She frowned. “I’m not entirely certain, but I think the pages she wrote may contain references to the treasure. At least, that is what Mr. Bartardi suggested. Apparently, my parents were searching for the lost treasure when they were killed.”

  “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?” he muttered. “Who is—?”

  “What are you trying to infer by that?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

  He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “You seem to have inherited your parents’ taste for adventure.”

  “For your information, my parents were renowned archaeologists. Well, my father was, and I assume my mother helped him greatly, though I don’t know for certain, as I don’t particularly know much about her…” Her voice trailed off as, once again, a sense of frustration and sadness resurfaced over how little she did actually know of her mother. But she shook away the feeling. It wouldn’t do to let him see her vulnerability. She lifted her skirts and swept up the stairs to the entrance. “So, yes, they were searching for buried treasure, as that is what archaeologists do! Although I wasn’t aware of that fact, until Mr. Bartardi initially looked over the journals after we arrived in Naples the other week.”

  “Brianna, wait, please.” Daniel’s voice held a note of apology. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything about your parents. It was rude of me.”

  She regarded him with the frostiest glare she could muster, highly suspicious of his sudden apology. In her experience, the lofty Lord Thornton rarely apologized, and particularly not to her. “Indeed, it was very rude. But if you think simply being nice all of a sudden will make me change my mind about traveling back to England with you, you are sorely mistaken.”

  The gas lamp at the villa’s entrance made the scowl on his face appear rather ferocious. No wonder the third villain had chosen to run from him, instead of staying to fight. But before Daniel could open his mouth to reply, the front door swung open, and Lord Travelli’s butler rushed out.

  “Oh thank da Lord!” his thickly accented voice cried aloud. “Miss Penderley, you havva returned.”

  “What on earth is wrong, Orsini?” she asked the old man.

  “We havva been set upon by de thieves!” Orsini waved a hand shakily in front of his face but then looked up at Daniel. “Who are you?”

  “He’s a friend of the family,” Bree explained.

  “What happened?” Daniel commanded. He pulled Brianna in behind him, his stance protective.

  She tried to peer around him to see Orsini, but his chest was too broad.

  “They must havva snuck in, and they have—how you say?—ransacked Miss Penderley’s room.” Orsini’s voice was filled with distaste. “And they left this on da bed.”

  Bree tugged free of Daniel’s hold and ducked around him, plucking what looked to be an envelope from Orsini’s hand. She opened it, and her heart dropped. In the bottom of the envelope, nestled next to a sheet of parchment, was her cousin Travis’s signet ring. A ring he refused to ever remove.

  Shakily, she pulled out the letter, grateful that it was written in English.

  We have your cousin, Miss Penderley. If you want to see him alive, you must bring your mother’s journals to the Casa Potabile in Cosenza, Calabria. When you arrive, you will receive further instructions, delivered through the innkeeper. You have a week from today. If you fail to bring us the journals, or if you notify the authorities, you will never see your cousin alive again. We will be watching you. His life is in your hands and your hands alone.

  “Oh my goodness.” She gripped ahold of Daniel’s arm, suddenly feeling very faint. “Travis has been kidnapped!”

  Daniel took the letter from her and scanned its contents. He then herded her and Orsini inside the house, closing the door firmly behind them.

  “Orsini, tell me exactly what happened,” Daniel said.

  The butler wrung his hands together. “Maybe an hour ago, da maid go in to light da fire in da misses’ room, and then a shorta time later, she go back in to prepare da bed, and sh
e starts a screaming. I rush in and see da room is a mess, things knocked over, and on da bed is an envelope with Miss Penderley’s name on it. Then I hear da carriage, and I rush down.”

  “How did they get in?” Daniel asked.

  Orsini’s brow furrowed. “We do not know, but I have sent da footmen around da house to see if everything locked tight. We know soon, if not.”

  Brianna glanced up at Daniel, a sense of helplessness washing over her. “They have Travis.”

  “We don’t know that for certain.”

  She reached into the envelope and pulled out the ring. “Yes, they do.” She held the gold band aloft, the light from the lamps casting a fiery glow on the ruby gem nestled in the middle. “He never takes this off. Never. He’s superstitious, you see, and thinks it protects him. Particularly after it saved him from a runaway carriage in Paris a few years ago.”

  “How could a ring have saved him?” There was doubt laced heavily in Daniel’s voice.

  “He was about to get into a carriage with a friend when, from the corner of his eye, the ruby of the ring apparently caught his attention and beckoned to him. So, Travis went into the shop, telling his friend he’d catch up with him at their lodgings later, and his friend continued on in the carriage. Tragically, his friend never made it back to their lodgings, as the driver lost control of the horses, and the carriage plunged into the Seine River.” She knew her cousin was still burdened with guilt over having told his friend to continue on without him. “That is why Travis credits the ring with saving his life, and hence why he never takes the thing off.”

  “A tragic tale.” Daniel took the ring from her and spent a moment studying it. “It’s an expensive piece of jewelry and would bring them a lot of coin. I daresay they would only give it up to convince us they have him. Do you know where Travis’s last location was?”

  “No, he was rather secretive about where he was heading and why. Before he left, I knew he’d gone to see Mr. Bartardi, and then when he returned to the house, he immediately started packing, saying that he would send word if whatever it was he was chasing turned out to be something.”

  “You’ve mentioned this Mr. Bartardi before. Who is he?”

  “An antiquities dealer I have been corresponding with for years, as he is so well renowned for tracking down relics others cannot. Thankfully, he’s been able to find some pieces I’ve been wanting to add to my collection for years. Which was the primary reason we chose to come on this holiday to Naples.” Brianna walked over to the foot of the staircase and fairly collapsed onto the bottom step, despair for Travis draining her energy. “Mr. Bartardi is a very reputable man who keeps things very close to his chest. Mind you, any good antiquities dealer does. They must be so very careful of robbers and other less reputable dealers who trade in stolen goods, or worse, forgeries. Yes, a good antiquities dealer is prized in the world of collecting.”

  “And where are your mother’s journals?”

  Brianna straightened. “Oh good lord! They are with Mr. Bartardi in his shop. I gave them to him to translate for me.” She jumped to her feet. “He could be in danger, too!”

  “Those journals need to be retrieved immediately.” Daniel strode to the front door. “You can stay here—”

  “Do not even suggest it!” Bree marched up next to him and poked him in the chest. “If Travis is in trouble for helping Mr. Bartardi translate my mother’s journals for me, I am partly responsible for him being taken.” She paused for a moment as an overwhelming sense of fear for her cousin washed over her. She blinked back tears. “I will not sit idly by while he is in danger.”

  Daniel’s gaze searched hers for what felt like an eternity, but she knew would have only been seconds. Then he seemed to come to some decision. “Very well, Brianna, you can accompany me.”

  She sent him a relieved smile, glad, for once, she wouldn’t have to battle him on this. She couldn’t deny, either, how pleasant it was to hear him say her first name without anger laced through his voice.

  He, in turn, scowled.

  Bree sighed; she could never seem to please the prickly man. “Thank you, Daniel.”

  After quickly explaining where Mr. Bartardi’s shop was located, she preceded Daniel out the door and down the steps. She heard him murmur some instructions to Orsini about securing the residence and not letting anyone he didn’t know into the dwelling.

  Taking the footman’s proffered hand, she stepped into the carriage and settled onto the seat. Daniel strode down the villa steps, his gait strong and purposeful. He was a man very used to being in charge and protecting others. If anyone could help her save Travis, it was Daniel Wolcott.

  She realized that for the first time, she was actually grateful he had tried to rescue her, because that meant that he was here in Italy. And no matter how arrogant and stuffy the man was, he would help her save Travis—that she could bet her life on. After all, he’d never been able to resist charging in and saving the day, and for once, she was glad of that annoying trait of his, supremely glad indeed. Even though every conversation with him irritated her beyond measure. She’d put up with anything for her cousin.

  Chapter Six

  Daniel narrowed his eyes as he glanced in through the dirty window pane. The shop’s interior was dark and silent. An unnatural air of menace permeated the night. Something was wrong; he could feel it in his bones.

  “Should we ring the bell?” Brianna asked from next to him.

  He turned to her and shook his head. “No. Something’s not right. Stay here while I go inside.”

  She furrowed her brow at him. “You’ll need my help to navigate in there.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She placed a hand on his arm. “Trust me, it is a rabbit warren of grand proportions, and you shall stumble around in the dark without me there to guide you.”

  He sighed, unwilling to argue that he’d been in many similar situations in the past without need of her assistance. However, it was probably safest if she stayed with him. At least, then, she couldn’t get into too much trouble. “Very well, but stay behind me.”

  He walked over to the door and twisted the knob. It opened effortlessly beneath his hand.

  “Oh dear,” Brianna murmured. “Mr. Bartardi is fastidious about locking the door. This is not a good sign.”

  Daniel tended to agree.

  Slowly, he pushed the door open and then stopped and listened for a minute. The distant sound of a clock ticking echoed through the still room, and just underneath, he could hear something else, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was or from whence it came.

  He stepped into the entranceway, careful that his boots were silent upon the wooden floorboards. The outside street lamp cast a small patch of light in through the doorway, allowing him to see some of the cluttered space.

  And from what he was viewing, Brianna had been correct: the place was a maze, with bric-a-brac everywhere. Piles of old books littered the dirty floors, interspersed with clay urns, paintings, and various statues, all covered in a thick layer of dust. Clearly, Mr. Bartardi had no servants to help clean.

  “His private rooms are to the rear of the shop. You have to keep to the left, and then at the bust of Michelangelo, go right. There’s a small opening in the clutter just after that turn, and his office can be found through there,” Brianna whispered.

  He deftly pulled her in behind him and closed the front door softly. The room was plunged into darkness, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. When he was certain no one was lying in wait for them in the shadows, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small tin of matchsticks. He took out one of the sticks from the container and struck it against the rough surface of the tin.

  A flame flickered from its end, not enough to show greatly from the outside, but an ample amount of light to assist them in navigating through the obstacles.

  “An excellent idea,” Brianna praised. “Perhaps I should keep a tin in my reticule. It would, no doubt, prov
e very useful.”

  “I don’t even want to contemplate what you think you’d get up to, to need a tin of matchsticks.” He shook his head. “Besides, you’re not even carrying your reticule with you.”

  “Only because I had no time to retrieve it from Aunt Edith at the ball before climbing down the wall.”

  He rolled his eyes and then reached behind him, taking her hand in his free one.

  A jolt ran through him from the contact. He couldn’t help but notice how delicate and small her hand felt against his rough palm, and how right it felt to hold. He stiffened. He should not be paying attention to such things. With all of his training, he knew better than to think like a randy school boy, particularly in such a potentially dangerous situation.

  He refocused back on the task at hand.

  “There’s usually some candles in the drawer over there.” Bree pointed to a side table by the door. “The gas lamps aren’t particularly reliable in his shop.”

  Daniel let go of her hand and walked over to the table, sliding open the drawer. There were indeed some candles inside. He took one and lit it with the match. “Come along.”

  Following the only part of the floor that was free from clutter, the space creating a makeshift hallway of sorts, he led Brianna down the left of the overcrowded area and then to the right at the statue, toward the office she had mentioned.

  There was a large oak door ahead, which stood slightly ajar and led into further darkness. A barely audible moan reached his ears. He pushed the door wide, and the flame from the candle illuminated a body lying on a rug in the middle of the floor.

  “Mr. Bartardi,” Brianna gasped, letting go of Daniel’s hand and rushing over to where the man lay.

  Daniel’s gaze skimmed across the small room. Satisfied they were indeed alone, he strode over to where Brianna had crouched next to the old man. Blood seeped from a wound in the man’s belly, pooling around him and soaking into the Oriental rug beneath.

  Brianna untied her shawl and pressed it tightly against the wound. Daniel didn’t have the heart to tell her it was too late. Mr. Bartardi had lost too much of his vital fluid already and looked to be on his last breaths.