by Cara Elliott
“We have just one more test to run through.” Alessandra added a touch of liquid to the measuring cup from her dropper. “Once we have established a proper procedure, the final results should prove Ciara is right—I am sure of it.”
“Again, my congratulations, Ciara,” murmured Henry. “I am truly in awe of your brilliance.”
“Good heavens, I most certainly do not deserve all the credit. All of you helped in solving the conundrum.”
“You are far too modest,” replied Henry.
“Si, take credit where credit is due, bella,” added Alessandra. She checked the clock. “Time to add the next ingredient.”
Ciara nodded, her gaze intent on the glass beaker sitting atop a pedestal. “Then, in precisely forty-five seconds, we must check a sample under the magnifying lens.”
Lucas had deliberately remained by the doorway, not wishing to distract Ciara from her work. He stood very still, admiring the spark of wonder that lit in Ciara’s eyes as she adjusted the microscope. Her discipline, her dedication were simply breathtaking. Brains and beauty. He suddenly recalled Henry’s wistful description, and the regret in his uncle’s eyes that he had lost his long-ago love.
Love.
As if some missing ingredient had suddenly been poured into his brain, the answer to his discontent, his disenchantment with his own aimless life, became blindingly clear. He turned away from the windows and pressed his palms to his eyes.
Love.
Lud, what a fool. He should have seen it coming. He should have run like the devil.
Damnation. It was all wrong. He wasn’t right for Ciara. How could she be happy with a rakish scoundrel?
“Lucas?” Henry’s chair creaked as he rolled a touch closer. “Are you feeling unwell?”
“I—I just need a breath of air,” he replied. “Excuse me.”
Hurrying from the room, Lucas crossed the corridor and flung open the terrace doors. Sweat prickled at the back of his neck, and his head was spinning in circles. Mad, Bad Had-ley seemed to have flown off into the night, leaving him a little lost within himself.
He steadied his step and turned for the stables, hoping that a rousing gallop over the hills might help him find his footing.
“Lucas! Hell, I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Jack.” He whirled around in surprise. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“Helping to keep you and your lady out of trouble.” Jack slapped the dust from his broad-brimmed hat. “It’s a damn long ride down here from Town. I hope your uncle keeps a decent collection of claret in his cellar.”
“The smugglers on this coast deal only in the best,” replied Lucas. His own disquieting emotions gave way to a sharper sense of urgency. In truth, he rather welcomed the distraction. “Come, we’ll fetch a bottle while you tell me your news.”
“Dev and Nicholas have discovered who is the ringleader of the ruffians-for-hire. He’s a former cavalry trooper, and our friends convinced him to reveal who hired him to trample Lady Ciara’s son.”
“How?” asked Lucas. Not that he particularly cared how the information was obtained.
“By appealing to the man’s sense of soldierly camaraderie. And to his greed,” replied Jack. “Nicholas offered him a great deal more than Sheffield’s family.”
“Any proof of their guilt?”
“Nicholas and Dev have a sworn statement from the fellow. And while it might not stand up in a court of law, our friends mean to have a private discussion with the late marquess’s relatives.”
“Actually, they may leave that task to me. I mean to return with you to London first thing in the morning.” After relatching the cellar door, Lucas took a moment to grab a corkscrew and glasses from his uncle’s study. “By the by, if you mean to smoke those vile cheroots, Henry insists that it be done out on the terrace.”
Jack lit the tobacco from a branch of candles. “No need to gallop off in a rush. I wouldn’t have bothered to ride hell for leather just to inform you of something we could have handled on our own.” The coal glowed a bright orange as he inhaled a puff. “The thing is, Battersham has disappeared from Town, along with his mother. Nobody seems to know where they have gone.”
“The slimy little worm. He’s probably crawled off to hide in some hole.” Lucas tossed back his drink. “Am I supposed to be alarmed by the news?”
“We just thought you should know.” His friend held his glass up to the fading light. “As a former soldier, allow me to offer a word of advice. Never underestimate the enemy. Battersham may be a craven coward, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous.”
“Hmmph.” Setting down his glass, Lucas surveyed the darkening woods. “I have taken precautions, Jack. There are men patrolling the grounds from dusk until dawn. And while I may not have your military experience, I assure you that if Battersham dares show himself, I’ll beat him to a bloody pulp.”
“I doubt he would be fool enough to risk a frontal attack.” Jack blew out a ring of smoke. “He’s already hired one band of thugs to do his dirty work. There’s no telling whether he’ll try again.”
“I’m not about to let down my guard.”
“Then enough said. Pour me another glass of wine. My throat is dry as dust from the road.”
“Help yourself.” Lucas handed his friend the bottle. “I had better go tell the housekeeper and cook that you will be staying the night.”
“Bring some port with you when you return. By the look of the casks, that’s a very fine vintage that your uncle has stashed underground.”
Lucas snapped off a half-mocking salute.
“I don’t suppose he has any London lightskirts tucked away in a discreet corner?” added Jack as he flicked a bit of ash from his cheroot.
“Don’t you ever think of anything but drinking and wenching?” growled Lucas.
“That’s rather the pot calling the kettle black,” came the scathing retort. “What would you suggest?”
He thought for a moment. “Try enjoying the colors of the sunset and the sounds of the nightingales.”
“On second thought, you had better bring some brandy, too,” said Jack. “I need something stronger than wine to drown my fears for your sanity.”
Lucas left his friend looking out over the gardens with a brooding stare.
Exhaling a sigh, Jack took a seat at the far end of the stone railing. He emptied the rest of the bottle into his glass and leaned back against the wall. Hazed with a violet hue, the shadows flitted over the pale limestone, reflecting the darkening palette of the twilight sky.
He was just about to light another cheroot when the sound of staccato footsteps rang out on the granite steps.
“How dare you follow me here!” In the play of pink and mauve light, Alessandra’s face was rigid with fury as she looked back over her shoulder. “You have no right to intrude on my life here in England.”
Moving with a slow, sauntering stride, a figure joined her on the terrace.
Marco. The Milanese macaroni.
“On the contrary, bella.” Ghiradelli leaned in closer, and lowered his voice, just enough so that the rustling of the ivy vines covered his words.
Whatever he said made Alessandra jerk away. Her hair had loosened, and a fall of ebony hid her face.
“Don’t be angry with me, Alessa.”
As Ghiradelli reached for her shoulder, Jack once again caught a snatch of the conversation.
“I am only trying to help do what is best for you and the child,” said the conte.
“I know, I know…” The cool, composed marchesa sounded on the verge of tears. “Oh, Marco, I beg you, please do not press me for an answer at this moment.”
“Bene—very well. But you can’t put it off for long.”
“No. I—I suppose I’ve always known that my past sins would come back to haunt me.”
“Ciao. I will be in touch soon.” Ghiradelli shifted his stance, and though Jack tried to avert his gaze, he couldn’t help seeing the man’s
lips angle for the lady’s upturned face.
For some reason he found his foul mood turning even fouler. “Alas, parting is such sweet sorrow,” he sneered loudly, abruptly standing and stepping out from the shadows. “But if you don’t mind, perhaps Romeo and Juliet could go enact their tragic love scene somewhere else. Here in England we try not to inflict our passionate embraces on innocent bystanders.”
Alessandra whirled around. “So instead you take pleasure in spying on people? What were you doing, skulking in the shadows?”
“Enjoying a glass of wine and the lovely sunset,” replied Jack. “At least I was until you two lovers interrupted the pastoral scene.”
“You could have announced your presence,” said Ghiradelli. “And avoided embarrassing the lady.”
“I doubt that my voice would have been noticed. She seemed quite mesmerized by another pair of lips.”
Alessandra answered with a huff of indignation. “Not that it’s any of your business, sir. But Marco was kissing me on the cheek. As for being lovers, there is nothing amorous about our relationship.”
Jack curled a contemptuous smile. “Funny, it didn’t look like that to me,” he said, striking a flint to his cheroot.
Her eyes sparked. “For your information, he is my cousin.”
Jack nearly choked on the mouthful of smoke. “Cousin.”
“Si, cousin,” she snapped. “And unlike the English, Italians do not form intimate attachments with their cousins.”
“Then it appears I owe you an apology, Lady Giamatti,” he muttered.
“Yes. It does.”
“Talk about theatrics, Lord James.” Ghiradelli seemed to be enjoying the drama. “But much as I would like to remain until the end of the scene, I must return to Southampton without delay. Lord Lynsley wishes to be informed of Lady Sheffield’s situation.”
Alessandra looked away. “You may tell him that he will receive a full report on her discovery shortly. The final tests have yet to be done, but if all goes as expected…” She slanted a look at Jack. “The marquess will find the results of great interest.”
“He will be pleased to hear it,” replied Ghiradelli. “But I was referring to the lady’s safety. Lynsley is quite concerned about her personal well-being. If you need guards—”
“Thank you, but Hadley seems to have everything in hand.”
“Mad, Bad Had-ley?” Ghiradelli cocked a brow. “You are sure you wish to put your trust in him?”
She hesitated, but only for a fraction. “Yes, actually I am. He will see that no harm comes to Ciara.”
“Very well.” Ghiradelli squeezed her hand and then inclined a bow to Jack. “Per favore, Giacomo. Keep an eye on the marchesa for me, eh? She tends to get herself into trouble.”
Alessandra muttered a rude word.
Jack gave him a baleful look. “If the marchesa won’t listen to you, then she’s certainly not going to listen to me.”
“Stranger things have happened, amico.” With that cryptic statement, he gave a flourishing wave. “I must be going, but before I leave, I think I shall stop and spend a few minutes with Lady Sheffield.” His gaze flicked back to Alessandra. “I had better show her a few of the nasty little tricks I taught you for self-defense, bella—just in case.”
“The cursed fellow knows how to make a grand exit from the stage,” said Jack under his breath as Marco walked off.
She didn’t reply.
To his relief, Lucas reappeared, several bottles of vintage spirits in hand. “Lady Alessandra. Er, I see that you, too, are enjoying the evening air.” Clearing his throat, he added, “Would you care to join us in a toast… to the peace and quiet of the country?”
She shook her head. “Actually, I find it a little too chilly for my taste out here. I think I’ll return to my rooms.”
“Damn it, Jack,” murmured Lucas as the door fell shut. “Why is it that you always manage to offend the marchesa?”
“Why is it that the sun always manages to come up each day?”
Lucas shrugged off the question. “Haven’t a clue.”
Jack reached for the brandy. Pulling the cork out with his teeth, he quaffed a long swallow straight from the bottle. “I’ll drink to that.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Bird-watching?” Alessandra’s raven brows winged up in skepticism. “Ah. More likely Hadley has a little love nest tucked away in the trees.”
“No, really. He actually has an interest in the subject,” said Ciara. She still had not explained why. Some secrets were not meant for sharing, even within her closest circle of friends.
“If you say so, bella.” Alessandra checked through her satchel of books and sketchpads, and then signaled for her carriage to be brought up from the stables. “Don’t do anything too naughty.”
Ciara ignored the last comment. “Enjoy your afternoon at the ruins. I hadn’t realized you had a particular interest in medieval stonework.”
“I don’t. But there are traces of an old Roman fort on the grounds, and Hadley seemed so insistent on getting all of us out of the manor house.” Her friend smiled. “I think he wants Ariel and his uncle to have some time alone.”
“Yes, I got the same impression,” said Ciara. “He’s even made sure that the children will not cause an unexpected interruption. They are going to the kennels to play with the puppies.”
“Has he also offered to bathe them once they come home?” Alessandra crinkled her nose. “I shudder to imagine what substances will be sticking to their sweet little hands and faces.”
“Let’s not worry about that now.” Ciara handed a picnic basket to the coachman, who then climbed to his perch on the box. “I feel a little guilty that you are spending the day on your own.” She hesitated a fraction. “You are sure you won’t come with us?”
Her friend waved off the suggestion. “I’m sure you two could use some privacy.”
Ciara expelled a sigh. “I suppose Hadley and I had better have a talk. We need to come to an understanding about…”
“Sleeping with each other?”
“That,” she said softly. “Among other things.” Anxious to avoid further discussion of her relationship—emotional and otherwise—with Lucas, she quickly changed the subject. “It’s a pity that Hadley’s friend left at dawn. He could have accompanied you on the drive.”
Alessandra grimaced. “The Prince of Darkness? Thank God I do not have to endure those fire-and-brimstone eyes, burning with disapproval.”
“Hadley says he is very knowledgeable about art and antiquities.”
“That may be so,” replied her friend. “But I doubt that Lord Black Jack Pierson would deign to discuss them with me. He strikes me as a man who does not care for females who dare to voice an opinion, much less an expertise, on any intelligent subject.”
“Perhaps you are being a little harsh in your judgment,” said Ciara.
“And perhaps you are feeling overly romantic,” countered her friend. She softened her sarcasm with a quick smile. “Don’t worry about me, bella. I am quite content with my own company. As you say, the afternoon promises to be lovely, the children are occupied, and so we should enjoy a few carefree hours while we can.”
A call to her coachman sprung the horses. “Ciao, bella.”
“Ciao,” murmured Ciara, wondering why Alessandra seemed to have taken such a dislike to Lord James.
Granted, the man did have an intimidating air about him, but once he relaxed his reserve, he was rather… interesting.
However, as Lucas crossed the graveled drive, she decided not to let worries about the others intrude on her thoughts. There was too much unspoken between her and the earl. And unresolved, she admitted. They had not had the chance to discuss in private the change in their relationship. Indeed, it almost seemed that he had gone out of his way to be distant. Detached.
Was he regretting their intimacy? Lucas was a man who made no secret of his aversion to complications in his life. He certainly hadn’t bargained for getting inv
olved in the dangers of her own sordid situation.
“Sweetheart, the day is far too fine for concern to cloud your face.” Looking carefree as a boy, Lucas shifted the rucksack on his shoulder. “Come, let us enjoy the outing. It is, after all, the perfect opportunity to test what progress I am making in my studies.” His eyes twinkled, green as the surrounding gorse. “I have yet to hear how my efforts have been graded.”
“Hadley,” she began.
“Lucas,” he corrected.
She had to lengthen her stride to keep pace with him. “Lucas, let us not beat around the bush. We must talk—”
“Yes, yes, so we must. But there will be plenty of time later. Let us enjoy a lighthearted hour or two before turning serious.”
She was just as happy to delay the discussion. “Very well.”
The haze soon burned off, and as she and Lucas started up the steep path for the cliffs, the breeze turned balmy. Ciara lifted her face, breathing in the tangy scent of sea salt, wild thyme, and sunbleached cedar. The smooth stone mirrored the bright reflections of light and the shimmering blue of the seas.
“Look, a kestrel.” Up ahead, Lucas stopped and snapped open his spyglass. “It’s an immature male,” he announced. “See the white feathers on the underside of its wings?”
“Yes.” She shaded her eyes. “Is that a plover swooping down by the strand?”
“An oystercatcher,” he corrected. “You can tell by the shape of the wings in flight.”
He continued a running commentary on his observations, surprising her with the depth of his knowledge. Memorizing a few rudimentary basics was one thing, but his enthusiasm was unfeigned as he chatted about habitats, migration, and feather patterns.
Ciara dropped her gaze from the sky. “As a matter of fact, I did have a chance to read over your answers to the classroom test.”
“Indeed?” For just an instant, his smile looked a trifle tentative. “And?”
“Actually, you earned a perfect grade.” She tucked a windblown curl behind her ear. “I confess, I did not have very high expectations of you as a disciplined student. However, you’ve excelled at your studies, even though I didn’t make it easy for you. You should be very proud of yourself.”
