The yellowing pages of handwritten Latin were to be expected, but what she had not thought to see was that nowhere did Dr Ben’s unmistakable small and precise style appear, but instead the larger and more hurried hand of Leon Datini, whose letter to her had been scrutinised countless times for extra meaning. Page after page in both books revealed that his studies were meticulous and comprehensive, set out under headings dealing with the use of herbal remedies for sedation, the preparation of bark and roots for sleep-inducing infusions, methods of distilling and blending for pleasanter-tasting medicines, the importance of knowing the moon’s phases when planting, harvesting and administering, and on to the end of the book, packed with detailed information. Torn bits of parchment had been used as bookmarks, each of them marking a particular point of interest. And this, she reminded herself, was what Ben had intended to use for his lecture to the apothecaries. Leon’s notes. His own most talented student. Not one word of Ben’s own except indirectly through his teaching. But why? Why had he accepted their invitation to lecture on a subject for which he was supposed to be an authority and then borrowed Leon’s material?
The answer came to her like a whisper with overtones of an apology. Because it was Leon’s research that was up to date, not his own. And why was that? Perhaps because he had been more occupied, these days, with some magic, life-prolonging procedures that would not have interested his fellow apothecaries in London, but which he had felt compelled to pursue.
Still doubting that conclusion and hoping to find a more acceptable one, she lined her findings up on the bench, all the things her uncle Paul had brought from London. The parchment with the three names written in blood. Packets of expensive materials, like those carried by the magi. A mistletoe-handled knife and balls. Remedy or preventative? Which? And the notes Leon Datini had expected to reclaim on his return to Sandrock, except that now he would not be returning. Slowly, a window opened in her mind, letting out the truth to dance before her, mocking her innocence and her stupidity. Important research. Good enough for his tutor to use. And Leon would want it back, so he sent his brother to claim it.
Anger, humiliation and deep offence held her rigid, unable to think or to feel anything other than the desire she had only recently admitted, reluctantly, to be followed by the recognition of the shamelessness of the elder brother whose pretence of help was now exposed. Why had she not seen it before? Because he had asked her to trust him. And she had. Like a fool, she had.
The candles had burned well down as thoughts whirled madly around everything he had said and done, his strategies to make himself indispensable, his pretence at leaving, then the easy acceptance of her persuasion to stay. How he must have laughed while making up the next excuse not to return home. Well then, she must beat him at his own game. Destroy the notes, perhaps? That would be sweet revenge indeed. Could she do it?
Before she could imagine the consequences, so much against her nature, her dark reverie was disturbed by the sound from below of a door latch clicking, then by the tread of feet on the stairway. Yes, it would be him. Having seen his brother’s notes at last, he would be devising a way to take them, then to leave as unobtrusively as possible. Why not simply let him have them and go, and never see him again? That would be best. No revenge. No Santo Datini.
Every fibre in her body wanted to scream, Go! Stay away from me! No! Stay!
He stepped within the small pool of light, still wearing the suit of deep green he’d worn at supper. Evidently he had waited, dressed, for this hour. ‘I saw the light,’ he said. ‘I wondered...’
‘What?’ Aphra said without looking at him directly. ‘What did you wonder? Whether you could get your hands on your brother’s notes and then leave? Is that what you came for in the middle of the night, signor?’
There was no denial, only, ‘You’ve read them, then?’
‘I’ve looked through them. They’re good, too. No wonder my uncle wished to use them for his lecture. And no wonder you were sent to retrieve them. What a pity you could not have been honest about it.’
Promptly, he swept a stool forward and sat upon it so that his head was on her level, where now she could read his face with hardly a movement except from her narrowed eyes. ‘Nothing I have said to you has been dishonest, mistress,’ he said.
‘Yes, it has!’ she retorted, goaded by his evasions. ‘It was dishonest of you to pretend that your father sent you for any compassionate reasons, when what you ought to have said is that your brother sent you to obtain his notes. That was dishonest. You cannot deny it.’
‘And would you have obliged me by parting with them?’
‘No. But at least I would not have been duped into thinking you or your family care a fig about me after your brother’s devious behaviour. In spite of your denial, signor, you are all tarred with the same brush. All you care about is getting what your father paid for in the shape of this!’ Angrily, she slapped a hand on the notebooks. ‘So that your brother will make for himself a respectable living on what he learned here. You asked me...persuaded me to trust you. And like a fool, I did.’
‘This is not true,’ he said. ‘Leon’s behaviour concerned us all, mistress. My father was deeply distressed to hear what had happened while his younger son was here studying. That was not meant to happen at all, which is why he sent me to offer any help you might need to ease your distress. At the same time, Leon did not see why he should be further punished by losing the work of the past three years. That would ruin his career, as well. Is that what you want?’
‘Do I...?’ Incensed by this male view of the matter, Aphra leapt off her stool, tipping his cap off her knees on to the floor. ‘Do I want that?’ she cried, standing closer to him than she’d intended. ‘Do I care about his damned career? Did he show due care to my reputation, when all is said and done? My first thought when I realised what this was all about, signor, was to destroy the notes. Does that answer your question?’
‘But you will not,’ Santo said. Picking up his cap, he held it between them. ‘Not until you’ve told me what this is about.’
‘What...? Nothing!’ she said. ‘I don’t know. What about it?’
‘It was on your lap when I came in.’
‘It was in my way, that’s all.’
‘Really?’ Carefully, he picked a long silver-blonde hair from the inside and held it up to her. ‘Then how did this get there, oh, Mistress of the Broken Heart? Is your heart cheating on you, these days?’ As he spoke, he slipped his other arm quickly around her waist, pulling her in close to his velvet doublet, a more purposeful embrace than that gentle hug after their angry words in the dark passageway.
But although Aphra’s dreams had taunted her with disturbing images of this kind in the last few days, they had not come to her in the middle of an acrimonious argument about the exact state of her heart and the damage it had suffered, and close physical contact was at that moment an affront to her dignity. ‘No!’ she growled, struggling against him. ‘Let go! Why in heaven’s name do you think this must be...the answer...to everything? Let me go, I tell you.’
With a mighty shove she broke free of his arms, propelling herself backwards so fast that she fell over the stool she’d been sitting on. Both she and the stool fell with a crash to the floor before he could prevent it. ‘Oh, let me be!’ she cried, batting his hands away. ‘I can manage!’
Taking not the slightest notice of her request, he bent to her with a hand under each armpit and lifted her to her feet as if she weighed nothing, keeping hold of her when she would have turned away, his fingers pressing through the soft velvet of her night over-gown. Lifted to him, restrained as she had never been before, she attempted to hit his face but, with the sudden rush of air and the wobble of the bench as she had fallen, the candle flames slowly guttered and died within their pools of wax just as his lips found hers. Her hand, ready to strike, was caught in black mid-air and held away while her body curved in to h
im, softening as his mouth beguiled her senses, drawing her cry of complaint away before it could form.
Darkness engulfed her, leaving her with nothing to cling to except his wide back and the purposeful insistence of his lips moving over hers, as if he knew that his lovemaking would be in every way superior to his brother’s fledgling efforts and verifying what she had assumed earlier about his experience. Thoughts of resistance were swept away on the tide of his kisses and, while it lasted, Aphra was almost convinced that his hunger was genuine, that this great handsome creature had been waiting for an excuse to take her in his arms and make her forget what she had lost, what had never been hers. The darkness conspired to hide away all distractions, even their verbal sparring, endorsing Aphra’s passive co-operation, heightening every sensation in ways she had never experienced with his brother. She had not intended to compare, but it was there, even so, for Santo Datini was a mature male who knew well how to make a woman like her, fighting confused emotions, confront the desires which, in these last few days, had been twisting her heart into knots. After this, she knew that any more talk about being broken-hearted would, to her shame, be seen as a sham.
His kisses softened, the pressure of his arms allowing her to move within their embrace. ‘You see?’ he whispered. ‘That broken heart of yours is bruised, that’s all. And your pride. There’s nothing here that cannot be mended.’
Breathless, she tried to wriggle away, but was not allowed to. ‘There’s little wrong with your pride, signor. I know perfectly well what this is all about. Another attempt to manipulate me. It won’t work!’
‘No, nor is it meant to,’ he whispered. ‘But I believe you and I could—’
‘No! How can you believe I want a relationship with the brother of the man who deceived me? Who comes in the guise of friendship, as you do? As a cover for stealing something you knew you’d not get by fair means?’
‘This,’ he said, smoothing a hand over her back, ‘is not intended to manipulate you. It is simply my response to feelings we’ve both been aware of since my arrival. Your outbursts are no more than an attempt to hide it, so I think we should leave my brother out of this discussion. He has nothing to do with it, Aphra. He was obliged to give you up, but his feelings about that are not my direct concern.’
Angered by this apparent heartlessness, she jerked away and, with all her strength, broke free of his arms, her lips still tingling from his passionate kisses. To think clearly after that took all the will she could summon. ‘I wonder that you can say that, signor, when it must be your brother’s feelings that sent you here. He has everything to do with it, doesn’t he? Otherwise you would not have come and I would be free to get on with things, as I was doing quite nicely before you arrived. But now we have it out in the open. You have come to reclaim the notes and I am determined that you shall not have them until I have solved the mystery of exactly what happened to cause my uncle’s death. Somehow, I believe your brother must know more about that than I do.’ She felt the hard edge of the bench behind her.
With his back to the window, his large silhouette loomed against the faint light of dawn that picked out the tower of the priory church nearby. The dark closeness of his body was making her heart behave strangely and she knew that what had just happened had changed things between them for ever, for if he had not seen that one hair in his cap, he would presumably not have suspected that she was warming to him. Or would he? He had talked of their mutual feelings since his arrival. That called for the kind of perception she did not have. Or was he lying about that, too?
But now her arguments were milling round in circles. Were they arguing about that, or the notes, or Ben, or Leon? The darkness was no help to clear thinking, the chill of the room made the hair on her arms prickle, and she drew her velvet gown closer about her, feeling very vulnerable and wrong-footed. The books of Leon’s notes lay on the bench behind her and she knew that, if Santo was so minded, he could take them and go without too much opposition. She would not be able to prevent it. But in the darkness she was unable to stop him from reaching out for her, drawing her into his arms again, warming her against his body, this time with the same gentleness he had shown on that first occasion. This time, she lay her cheek against his doublet and, in the quiet of the new dawn, heard the distant thud of his heart.
‘Know more than you do?’ he said. She heard the deep boom of his voice in one ear. ‘We shall not know if my brother’s research can help with your uncle’s death until he tells us, shall we?’
‘So you’ll take the notes, signor? I don’t suppose I can prevent you, if that’s what you have in mind.’
He spoke with his lips touching the top of her head so she could feel the warmth of his breath. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You accuse me of wishing to steal them, but I am not a thief to run off with them into the night. Besides, there’s something that keeps me here for a while longer.’
‘What?’
‘I offered you my help and you accepted it. And in spite of your claim that you were doing very nicely, you were not, were you? Apart from the estate management, you need help with your investigations, too, and I have to admit that my curiosity is whetted about your uncle’s unexpected death. Leon may be able to shed some light on that, although I doubt it, but the only way we shall find out is by allowing him to tell us what he knows. Besides which, it’s critically important that he has his notes back as soon as possible.’
‘Why? Can’t he find another subject to research?’
‘And waste three years of study? No, he must have them, Aphra.’
She noted the urgency in his voice. It would be to do with his degree, of course. And then setting himself up as an apothecary. With a new wife and a future family to feed. ‘I shall burn them,’ she said, sweetly.
She felt his arms stiffen around her, then the slackening of them as his hands came up to hold her face, cupping it like a flower. ‘No...no! You must not. Promise me you won’t do that. Promise me? You cannot hate him so much, surely?’
Taking his wrists, she prised them apart. They were thick and muscular, like the branches of a tree. His kisses had been nothing like his brother’s. She had never felt as helpless in Leon’s arms, never as needing of his presence, never as unsure of herself and her decisions. Was she simply reacting to the circumstances? Was it the idea of being in love more than love itself? Could it be lust and desire, and having the delicious power of being able to keep a man’s interest, even when it might have an ulterior motive? Could Santo Datini repeat what his brother had done and desert her? He was a merchant. One of his ships would be at Southampton to take him back at a moment’s notice. She would like to have thought she was the reason he stayed, but such thoughts could only lead to more heartache. ‘You will stay then? For a while?’ she said, hoping to sound unconcerned, whatever his answer.
‘We shall explore your uncle’s possessions,’ he said, ‘to find out if anything can give us a clue as to why he abandoned his studies of pain relief and left it to my brother to continue, and whether we can discover any more about why he died. So, he had a heart problem, but that doesn’t seem to explain why he appeared to be turning away from herbal medicine. He was world-famed for that, not for his collection of antidotes against poison. Sounds to me as if he might have made a mistake there.’
‘If you’re implying that my uncle accidently—’
‘Hush, madonna,’ he said, once again pulling her into his arms. ‘We should not jump to conclusions, as you have already done with that nonsensical Elixir of Life theory. And if all this takes too long, I could send the notes to Padua by special courier, but that’s a huge risk. I would rather take them personally.’
‘Yes, signor, I’m sure you would. But they’re in my possession now and I shall do everything I can to make sure they stay there. The only way they’ll ever reach your brother is if I were to take them to Padua myself and that is most unlikely.’
‘We�
��ll cross that bridge when we reach it,’ he said. ‘Meanwhile, there is something I want you to understand.’
It was almost morning light and Aphra was desperately tired. Unpredictable things had happened that night that needed deep thought to explain them, and as soon as he had said ‘meanwhile’ she knew he was about to lecture her. ‘Yes, signor, there are many things I need to understand, so allow me to mention just one.’ She had laid her palms against his chest to break his hold on her, but her push had no effect on his strength and she was immediately pulled back hard, her head tipped on to his shoulder, in no position to finish her sentence, whatever it was. Once again, in the pale dimness of the new day, his wide expressive mouth covered hers to drive away all irritations and arguments from her mind, obliging her to feel the sensuous warmth of his kiss and the passion behind it.
She had missed Leon’s kisses although his letter had soured those memories. But since Santo’s arrival, her thoughts had strayed too often to his potent masculinity and self-assurance, to the way he walked and spoke and looked at her. Guiltily, she had tried to discipline those thoughts of how it might feel to be kissed by him, chastising herself each time.
The Mistress and the Merchant Page 11
