Count Valieri's Prisoner

by Sara Craven

  ‘Willingly,’ she returned. ‘When I get my clothes back.’

  The girl pointed at the gleaming blue silk on the bed. ‘This—clothes for you. Is time to eat, so please hurry.’

  ‘Of course, the Count doesn’t like to be kept waiting. I almost forgot.’ Maddie’s tone was sarcastic. ‘Perhaps it would cause less inconvenience if I left him to dine alone.’

  ‘E impossibile.’ The other spoke firmly. ‘He asks for you. Not good to make angry, signorina.’

  ‘You mean he might send his enforcer to fetch me?’ Maddie saw the girl’s bewildered look and shook her head. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’

  Besides, she needed to talk him round not provoke his anger, she reminded herself as she went into the bathroom to change. So she would do as she was told—at first, anyway.

  Once it was on, she discovered that the robe was cut on severe lines with high lapels and a full skirt, which revealed very little. Once Maddie had wound its long sash twice round her slender waist and fastened it with a secure bow, she felt rather better about her unorthodox appearance. She used no make-up, and simply brushed her hair loose on her shoulders.

  She looked pale, she thought, wrinkling her nose, as she turned away from the mirror. But it would be impolitic to go in with all guns blazing, and besides, with a subdued approach, the Count might see her as a victim and take pity on her.

  ‘Some chance,’ she muttered under her breath as she returned to the bedroom, where the maid was waiting with ill-concealed impatience.

  ‘Fa presto, signorina,’ she said, leading the way to the door.

  Following, Maddie saw a bunch of keys attached to the girl’s belt, half hidden by her apron. She considered the chances of snatching them and running, and decided they were poor. Even if she took the girl by surprise, her adversary’s sturdy build would make her difficult to overpower, while the other side of the door was unknown territory.

  Be patient and bide your time, she told herself. It will come.

  At the door she paused. ‘What is your name?’ she asked.

  ‘Domenica, signorina.’ The reply was brusque. ‘Andiamo.’

  Maddie walked out into a long passage, dimly lit, with a short flight of steps at its end, and a curtained archway at their foot.

  Domenica set a brisk pace, and Maddie, in her trailing skirts, struggled to keep up with her. At the end, the girl waited, tight-lipped, holding back the curtain for Maddie to pass in front of her.

  She stepped out on to a wide galleried landing, and found herself looking down at a room as large as a medieval hall, panelled in wood, and reached by a broad, curving staircase.

  In the centre was a vast refectory table, surrounded by high-backed chairs, while a pair of dark brown leather sofas flanked a stone fireplace where logs were burning.

  One of the few cheerful signs she’d encountered so far, she thought. As was the imposing bird cage hanging from a bracket in one of the corners.

  And at the far end of the room was a grand piano, indicating the Count was not just an opera patron, but musical himself.

  But, at the moment, the room was clearly unoccupied and she hesitated, glancing at Domenica who pointed expressionlessly at the stairs, then turned and disappeared back the way she’d come.

  Like someone else on the Count’s staff, her people skills could use some work, thought Maddie, lifting her skirts slightly in order to descend the stone treads in safety.

  And if her host was such a stickler for punctuality, why wasn’t he waiting there to offer an explanation for this outrage? To be followed by profuse apologies and offers of generous redress for the fright and inconvenience she’d suffered.

  Nothing less would do, as she would make clear when he eventually showed up, she thought, noting thankfully that only two places had been set at the table.

  And while she was waiting, she could take another and more thorough look round this amazing room.

  But it didn’t take long to realise that her eye had been tricked all over again because there wasn’t a genuine inch of panelling anywhere, only skillfully applied paint. Even the splendid birdcage with its resident macaw was a clever three-dimensional deception.

  And of the pair of imposing double doors flanking the staircase, only one would ever open—or it might when unlocked, Maddie acknowledged, vainly twisting the wrought iron handle.

  But at least the fire was a living thing, she thought, and it might help to dispel the inevitable chill of tension. As she walked across the room, her attention was caught by the massive painting hanging over the mantelpiece.

  An initial glance suggested that it was one of the Count’s favourite dogs—a German Shepherd immortalised in oils as it stood, king-like, on a high, flat rock against a grey and stormy sky. But then she realised that the shape of the head, the length of the snout, the colouring were all wrong. That this creature was far from being anyone’s loved domestic pet. Nor would it ever be used to guard sheep, or not by a shepherd with a brain.

  My God, she thought incredulously, staring upwards. It’s a wolf.

  And didn’t realise she’d spoken aloud until a voice she recognised said softly, ‘Sì, signorina—you are quite right. Allow me to bid you a belated welcome to Casa Lupo. To—the House of the Wolf.’

  Maddie swung round with a gasp, aware that her heart seemed to be beating a warning tattoo against her ribcage.

  He was standing a few yards away, as a whole section of the false panelling closed noiselessly behind him.

  He was slightly more formally clad than earlier, but that was little comfort when his elegant black pants fitted him like a second skin, and his white silk shirt was unbuttoned sufficiently to display several inches of bronzed chest. In fact, in some inexplicable way, it served to make him look even more formidable.

  Maddie had to make a conscious effort not to take a step backwards.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.

  The dark brows lifted. ‘I intend to have dinner. What else?’

  She lifted her chin. ‘Does the Count usually dine with his staff?’ she asked coldly.

  ‘If he wishes,’ he said, unfazed. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Isn’t it perfectly obvious?’ She glared at him. ‘Because I hoped—I really hoped I wouldn’t have to see you again.’

  His slight shrug conveyed indifference. ‘Then let us both hope this is the worst disappointment you have to suffer,’ he retorted.

  ‘But the Count will be joining us surely?’ She could not hide her dismay.

  ‘Perhaps later, if he so chooses. Is it important?’

  ‘Of course it is.’ Her voice was husky. ‘I need to talk to him—to persuade him to see reason.’

  ‘A waste of breath. Your views will not affect his plans in any way.’

  ‘So you say.’ Maddie’s tone was ragged. ‘How do I know he isn’t just another of your victims, banged up for ransom somewhere.’

  ‘Your imagination is running away with you. The Count Valieri is a free agent conducting his own affairs. Therefore I suggest you relax and trust that your fidanzato’s family act quickly to effect your release.’

  ‘And if they don’t?’

  He shrugged again. ‘Then, unhappily, pressure will be brought to bear.’ His deliberate pause allowed her to consider the implications of that. ‘But let us hope for the best.’

  There was a rattle of the door at the back of the room, and the smiling maid came in wheeling a trolley laden with bottle and glasses.

  ‘So why not relax,’ he continued. ‘And join me in an aperitivo.’

  ‘Thank you, but no.’ Maddie gave him a scornful look. ‘This is hardly a social occasion.’

  ‘I believe you enjoy white wine with soda,’ he went on as if she hadn’t spoken.

  And exactly how had he come by that scrap of personal information? Maddie wondered with a sudden thud of the heart.

  Aloud, she said, ‘It’s not just your alcohol that I find unacceptable, but your company. Strangely, I’ve
no wish to spend any more time with the Count’s hired thug. I’d have thought he could have spared me that.’

  ‘He tends to leave such decisions to me.’

  ‘His mistake.’ Maddie glanced towards the stairs. ‘But it need not be mine. So, I’d like to go back to my solitary confinement. Right now.’

  ‘You will remain here,’ he said. ‘In fact, I insist upon it.’

  He turned to the maid and gave her a softly voiced instruction in their own language.

  Almost within seconds a perfectly made spritzer was placed in Maddie’s reluctant hand.

  Childishly, she wanted to throw it over him. To watch it drip from his hair and soak his shirt, and see that cool impassivity splinter into something relatively human.

  Except that provoking him into any kind of humanity might not be the wisest choice she’d ever made.

  Instead, she gritted her teeth and said, ‘Grazie.’

  ‘Prego.’ The girl beamed as she poured a measure of Scotch into an elegant crystal tumbler and handed it to Maddie’s companion, before whisking herself away through the door at the back of the room.

  Leaving them alone again.

  There was an odd silence, then he raised his glass. ‘Salute.’

  Maddie paused, then responded with such open reluctance that the hard mouth slanted into a grin.

  ‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘Instead of drinking to my health, you would prefer to see me dead at your feet.’

  She shrugged. ‘Why should I pretend?’ She paused. ‘You speak very good English. Acquired by preying on tourists, I suppose.’

  His grin widened wickedly. ‘If they permit me to do so—why not?’

  She felt an odd, unwelcome tingle of sensation feather down her spine.

  She hurried into speech. ‘May I ask you something?’

  ‘Perhaps. Unless it is another request to see the Count. I am beginning to find your persistence in this matter a bore.’

  ‘Well, we can’t have that, can we?’ Maddie said, poisonously sweet. ‘The Count mustn’t be kept waiting. You mustn’t be bored. I’ll try to remember.’

  ‘It would be a favour.’ He paused. ‘What do you wish to know?’

  ‘I would like to know where all my possessions have gone.’ She gestured almost helplessly. ‘Particularly my engagement ring and my watch. They could surely be returned. I—I miss them.’

  ‘And you must continue to do so, I fear. Along with certain documents, they are on their way to London as additional proof that you are in our charge.’

  ‘How can you do this?’ Her voice shook. ‘Jeremy will be devastated—out of his mind with shock and worry.’

  ‘A further incentive for the Sylvesters to come quickly to terms,’ he retorted. ‘If they do so, your diamond should be glittering safely on your hand again very soon.

  ‘As for your watch,’ he added, his tone faintly caustic. ‘You will find the hours pass in much the same way without you keeping track of them. They may even go faster.’

  ‘But you surely can’t have sent my clothes to London as well, and I want them. I need them.’ She gestured at herself. ‘You can’t expect me to wear these things all day and every day. It—it’s degrading.’

  ‘Degrading?’ he repeated. ‘I do not think you know the meaning of the word. However your own clothing will be returned when I feel you will no longer be tempted to escape and not before.

  ‘Besides what you are wearing covers you from your throat to your ankles,’ he added, the amber gaze sweeping her. ‘Quite unlike the dress you wore to the opera yesterday evening, if I am permitted to say so.’

  ‘Yes, she said. ‘My dress and—other things.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You carried me to my room, but I’d like to know—who undressed me?’

  ‘I am tempted to pretend,’ he said silkily. ‘But I shall not do so. It was Domenica.’

  She bit her lip. ‘I suppose I must be grateful for that at least.’

  ‘And for much else, let us hope. You will find that the Count employs an excellent cook.’

  Restive under his gaze, Maddie moved away down the room, stopping to look up at the painted cage and its silent inmate. ‘Why is nothing as it seems in this house?’

  ‘It is a style of decoration much favoured in this part of the world. You will become accustomed to it.’

  ‘I trust I’ll be away from here long before that can happen.’ She took a sip of her drink and wandered over to the baby grand. ‘At least this is real.’ She played a note and paused. ‘Is the Count a pianist?’

  He shrugged. ‘He had lessons in childhood, but he would tell you that he is no virtuoso, and plays for his own amusement. Why do you ask?’

  She swung round, staring at him defiantly. ‘Because it baffles me how a man with any claim to culture could behave in this barbaric way.’

  ‘That might depend on how you define barbarism,’ he said softly. ‘You may have heard it said that the end justifies the means.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ she asked scornfully. ‘And what possible justification can there be for abducting a total stranger?’

  ‘You are far from that. A great deal about you is known. Your age, your work, your relationships, your size in clothing. Even your preference in drinks.’

  He added, ‘And it is a question of reparation. You are simply unfortunate in being the instrument by which this can be achieved.’

  ‘And that gives you the right to keep me as a prisoner?’ Maddie’s tone bit. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You are merely being caused some minor inconvenience, signorina.’ His voice was equally curt. ‘You would find genuine captivity far worse, believe me.’

  ‘Something you and your boss will experience at first hand very soon, I hope.’ She drew a jerky breath. ‘You’ll find to your cost that Mr Sylvester is a very unforgiving man.’

  ‘But so is Count Valieri. Which is something he has had to wait a long time to prove.’ He paused, then added quietly, ‘Maddalena.’

  The breath seemed to catch suddenly in her throat. ‘That,’ she said huskily, ‘is not my name.’

  ‘Not in your language perhaps, but in mine.’

  ‘Well, I did not give you permission to use either version.’

  ‘Che peccato.’ He drank some whisky, watching her reflectively over the top of the glass. ‘Whereas you, naturalmente, are entirely free to call me Andrea, if you wish.’

  She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘And here’s another well-known saying for you, signore.’ She laid stress on each individual word. ‘In—your—dreams.’

  That grin was playing about his lips again. ‘I think my dreams are already stimulating enough,’ he drawled. ‘But I will bear your suggestion in mind.’ He paused. ‘And now, perhaps, you will join me at the table. Our dinner is being served.’

  In some other dimension, she might have sat stony-faced, refusing everything put in front of her. In the real world, to her shame, she ate everything put in front of her from the dishes of antipasti, to the fillets of fish in their creamy sauce accompanied by asparagus spears, and the delectable veal casserole, fragrant with wine and tiny spring vegetables.

  Finally, there was cheese, and rich pannacotta served with a thick red berry sauce.

  And, of course, wine. A crisp Orvieto to begin with, and a full-bodied Montepulciano to follow. While, with the coffee came grappa, innocently colourless yet heart-stoppingly potent in the tiny glasses as Maddie discovered with her first cautious sip.

  And all this regardless of the sardonic gaze of the man lounging in the high-backed chair at the head of the table.

  It occurred to her reluctantly that she could not fault her captor in his role as stand-in host. No matter how monosyllabic her replies, he continued to chat as if this was a normal dinner party and she the guest of honour.

  Good manners, she asked herself wryly, or just unmitigated gall?

  The opera was one of the topics touched on.

  ‘You enjoyed it?’

  ‘It’s a dark,
grim story,’ she returned. ‘Perhaps it should have been a warning to me.’

  He laughed. ‘You think you will be disposed of and stuffed into a sack like Gilda?’ He shook his head. ‘What a tragic waste that would be.’

  ‘Am I supposed to find that reassuring?’

  He shrugged. ‘It is the truth. Make of it what you will.’

  She played with the stem of her glass. ‘When does the Count expect a message back from London?’

  ‘He has received one already, but merely to say that the papers and the evidence that you are his guest have been safely delivered at their destination. Now the matter rests with your fidanzato and his father.’

  She gasped. ‘Then I could be out of here in forty-eight hours.’

  ‘It is possible.’

  ‘My God,’ she breathed and laughed out loud. ‘Which means I shall be free—and you and your boss will be under arrest. Because my first port of call will be the nearest police station to press charges.’

  ‘Your attitude may have changed by then.’

  She said crisply, ‘Not a chance, signore.’ And paused, as a thought occurred to her. Be proactive, she told herself, instead of reactive. Test his loyalty to this unseen aristocrat.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Unless, of course, you’re prepared to get yourself off the hook and do a deal.’

  The dark brows rose. ‘What precisely are you suggesting?’

  So, she wasn’t being dismissed out of hand, Maddie thought, exultancy stirring within her.

  ‘That if you let me go in the morning—drive me back to Genoa, I’ll say nothing about all this. No police, no charges, no jail. My silence in exchange for my freedom. What do you say?’

  ‘I say—that it is not much of a deal.’ He looked her over slowly, his eyes lingering cynically on her mouth, and the swell of her breasts under the lapels of the robe. His insolent smile seemed deliberately to graze her skin. ‘Have you nothing else to offer?’

  It was suddenly difficult to breathe. And useless to pretend she did not understand. She steadied her voice. ‘I—I thought you said that I did not attract you.’

  He shrugged. ‘This is an isolated spot,’ he drawled. ‘My choice in such matters is, of necessity, limited. So I am open to temptation.’