He touched her cheek. “You should know by now I would never try to hold you to that. I might . . . suggest, but no more.”
“So if we ever get to the islands, you’ll be a dutiful mate?”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” he promised rashly.
That was an enticing offer. “Will you grow your hair longer?” she asked. “Males don’t wear their hair this short back there.”
He returned to nuzzling her neck. “Hmmm. I could do that.”
“You’d have to wear a pareu, of course.” She’d told him about the traditional garb on the islands before, essentially no more than a length of fabric secured at the waist. He’d sounded intrigued, but then it had been a distant possibility. “And all the appropriate jewelry,” she added, wondering how far she could get before he balked. “And you’ll have to be tattooed as well. . . .”
That got his attention. “Tattooed?”
“A line tattoo,” she explained, “so women will know which family you belong to.”
He blinked down at her for a moment. “Where?”
She laid one hand over his heart. “Here.”
For a moment, his eyes were serious. “I can do that.”
She’d expected him to refuse. “We’ll see.”
He shifted his weight over to free one hand and ran a finger over her lips. “We could stay here today.”
“You’re wrinkling my skirt,” she chided him.
“I want to see what your stripe looks like in the daylight.” He leaned down to kiss her anyway. She laid her hands flat against his back, his bare skin warm under her fingers. For a time she let herself be lost in the joy of feeling his lips against her throat, what little of it was bared for his touch.
A strangled screech from the other side of the room—followed by the unmistakable sounds of china clattering on a tray and the door slamming shut—broke the warmth that enfolded them.
Duilio, still half atop her, wore a sheepish expression. “We didn’t lock the door, did we?”
“No.” She grimaced. “Teresa brings me coffee in the morning to help me wake up.”
Duilio shifted onto his side again, his leg sliding off her. He rolled onto his back and ruefully said, “That is the first time I’ve shown my bare ass to any of the servants since I was about five years old.”
Yes, that particular part of his anatomy would be the first thing Teresa saw. Oriana didn’t know how she was going to face the maid after this. She scrambled off of the bed and gazed down at Duilio. He had one arm thrown over his face, hiding. “Well, now you have to get up.”
He exhaled dramatically. “I suppose I’d better explain to Cardenas.”
Even if Teresa said nothing, the staff would all figure it out eventually. How was he going to explain to them about spending the night in her room? This wasn’t the same as when she’d been ill. They’d been willing to overlook his behavior then, but now? “I’ll talk to Teresa,” she offered.
“No, I’d better go straight to the top.” Duilio rolled off the bed, got to his feet, and stood before her. “And now you can’t say you’ve never seen me unclothed.”
She smiled but didn’t comment as he began to don his discarded garments from the night before. Everything that came to her mind to say would probably cause them to end up back in that bed . . . with neither of them eating breakfast. And she was quite hungry.
She eyed the coffee tray abandoned on the table next to the door. Miraculously, it looked as if nothing had broken. The bed was far more rumpled than she usually left it—there was no hiding that she hadn’t been alone in it last night—and his bed would be untouched. She wasn’t certain how he was going to explain it to Cardenas in a way that would appease the staff, but Duilio seemed confident he could smooth things over. She would have to trust him.
Although dressed, Duilio hadn’t bothered with his shoes. He clutched them in one hand and beckoned her over to the door. “Will you look to see if the hallway is empty?”
She was impressed by his foresight. “Are you practiced at this?”
“No, I’m practical.” He motioned toward the door with his head. Oriana went to look outside, but Duilio stopped her. He kissed her once more and let her go. “Couldn’t help myself.”
Oriana rolled her eyes and then peered out into the hallway. She didn’t see anyone, so he slipped out her door and then out of her sight. Breakfast seemed a very long way away now.
* * *
Duilio felt starved. He was often hungry as it was, but he’d been awake half the night. Ignoring an affronted Marcellin, he bathed quickly and dressed in a casual tunic and trousers. Then he went to hunt down Cardenas before too much gossip spread belowstairs. He kept an eye out for Felis on his way, since she seemed to have a special sense that warned her whenever he did anything improper.
Cardenas harrumphed, but wasn’t surprised by his misbehavior. The butler promised he would talk to Teresa, and Duilio hoped that would be an end to it, although he doubted he would be that lucky. When he got downstairs to the dining room, he found Oriana already there. She caught her lower lip between her teeth and tilted her head in his mother’s direction as if to warn him. He nodded to the footman and took his usual seat.
His mother regarded him blandly. “Duilinho, honestly, a little discretion would have been preferable to cleaning up afterward.”
So his mother had heard. That explained Oriana’s cowed look. Household gossip certainly traveled quickly. Duilio shook his napkin out and laid it in his lap. “Has Oriana informed you that we’ve decided to marry?”
His mother’s brows rose. “Yes. Don’t change the topic, dear. My point is that I expect not to have a repeat of this morning’s events until after the wedding.”
Duilio stole a glance at Oriana, who gazed fixedly at her plate. She had one hand over her mouth, but her dark eyes danced. “Yes, Mother,” he said. “I’ll be discreet.”
His mother picked up her newspaper in one hand and her coffee in the other. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”
The footman brought his regular breakfast and Duilio, after deciding he wasn’t going to catch Oriana’s eye, started in on his food. He had the feeling that if Oriana could blush, she would be doing so. His mother hadn’t been forbidding him to share Oriana’s bed. She just wanted him not to get caught again. “Have the two of you decided when the wedding will be?”
His mother put her paper aside. “If you’re not averse, I thought it could be done next Saturday morning, the eighth. I believe Father Januario would be amenable, human or not, and we’re planning on having both families at the house that evening anyway.”
Ah yes, the dinner party. Oriana didn’t flinch at the hurried date, so Duilio guessed that she and his mother had been discussing this before his arrival. He picked up the newspaper that lay next to his plate and turned it to the social page. “I’m not averse, Mother. Whatever you and Oriana decide is fine.”
“You’ll need to send an announcement to the papers,” his mother said. “This morning. And notify your man of business.”
“Yes, Mother,” he said absently, his eye captured by his own name printed on the page in front of him, among the columns of social gossip.
He’d fully expected to see his name in the paper this morning. He had. He’d expected to see a clever quip or two regarding Oriana and himself and Miss Carvalho.
What he hadn’t expected was an entire column dedicated to a blatantly laudatory discussion of Duilio Ferreira and how he had spent the last six years working with police forces across Europe and here in the Golden City. It went on to talk about his involvement in the investigation of The City Under the Sea, even mentioning Oriana at one point. He stared at the page, aghast.
“Duilinho?” his mother said, sounding as if she’d repeated that a couple of times now. When he glanced up at her, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
He handed the paper over to her. “I think the infante is responsible for this.”
“For what?” Oriana asked as his mother surveyed the page.
“I’ve been exposed.” He puffed out his cheeks, unsure whether he was upset about this or not. “I’m not going to be very popular in social circles for a while, I expect.”
“Exposed?” Oriana repeated, eyes wide with worry.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. She must think the article revealed his selkie blood. “Not in that way. Just that I work with the police.”
“And look! You’re called his intrepid assistant.” His mother leaned across to show Oriana that line of the article. “See? Right there. That will undoubtedly cause people to rethink their interpretations of last night’s abrupt departure from the ball.”
“Oh, dear,” Oriana said, taking the paper in her own hands. “You think the infante did this? Why would he?”
“He said something to me last night about my not being useful as I was. He had Anjos do . . . something. I’ve forgotten exactly how he worded it. But he apologized, so this must be his work.”
His mother tapped her cheek. “The infante was at the ball last night? You neglected to mention that.”
“Yes,” he said, “although you shouldn’t spread that about, Mother.” They’d discussed Oriana’s sighting of the Melo woman last night on the short drive back to the house, and after arriving home, he’d been distracted by Oriana herself. “He was more forthcoming than usual, and handed me some interesting information, although I don’t know that it’s pertinent.”
Oriana was scanning the article again, as if she didn’t quite believe the words printed on the page.
“Where was the infante?” his mother asked. “I didn’t see him, although I’m not sure I would recognize him.”
“Ah,” Duilio said. “He shares the Lady’s gift for disappearing. She’s his aunt.”
“The lady without a name?” His mother’s lips pursed. “I barely remember the infante’s mother, but I suppose there’s some resemblance.”
Oriana lifted her eyes from the paper. “Did you actually single-handedly find the murderer of this French duke?”
“Well, yes.” Duilio shrugged. “The gendarmes had settled on his valet for the murder and threw him in prison without further investigation. My gift kept telling me he wasn’t the killer, but since I hadn’t told them I was a witch, I couldn’t tell them that. I just kept looking until I found the actual culprit. Even proven innocent, Marcellin had no chance of employment after being accused of such a crime, so I took him on. I suppose those details about my time in France and Great Britain came from Alessio.”
Oriana tossed the paper onto the table. “Well, they don’t say how I came to be your assistant. What will we tell people about that?”
“That after my mother hired you to be her companion, you figured out that I worked with the police and offered your assistance?”
Cardenas came in, a salver in hand. “This was delivered for you, Mr. Duilio.”
Duilio picked up the note, broke the seal, and read it. “Inspector Anjos is requesting our help today,” he said. “I’m including you in that, Mother.”
She grinned. “Do I get to be your assistant as well?”
I am never going to live this down. Never. “Apparently Anjos needs to discuss something delicate with Lady Carvalho, and thinks your presence might ease the way.”
“With Lady Carvalho?” Oriana asked.
“That’s what it says.” Duilio wondered if there could be some link between the “delicate matter” to be discussed and the blackmail Oriana had mentioned last night. He could see Oriana was wondering the same. “I suppose we’ll find out what this is about at eleven.”
* * *
Lady Carvalho didn’t refuse to see his mother, but sent down word she wasn’t yet prepared to receive visitors, so the butler led them to the front sitting room to wait. Not only were the three of them waiting there, but Anjos and Gaspar had met them at the Carvalho house as well.
The front sitting room of the Carvalho house wasn’t as garishly decorated as the library, but featured the same clashing colors, this time coral and pink floral upholstery that must surely be driving his tasteful mother to distraction. Then again, Lady Carvalho was her friend, and she was usually tolerant of the woman’s foibles. Oriana and his mother sat on one of the loud couches, talking together, possibly plotting the details of the upcoming wedding, although from his mother’s serious expression, Duilio doubted that. Perhaps they’d moved on to Miss Carvalho’s blackmailer instead.
Gaspar came to stand near him, giving Duilio a chance to survey the Cabo Verdean inspector. The infante had told him that Gaspar was married to the Lady, but neither of them had ever mentioned that interesting fact. Duilio guessed they’d kept it secret because the inspector was mestiço—half African and half Portuguese. His marriage to a Portuguese lady, while it wouldn’t be too sensational back in Cabo Verde or even down in Lisboa, would likely cause gossip in more conservative Northern Portugal. And while Duilio might be a half-breed himself, it wasn’t the same. Selkie blood wasn’t visible in the way that African blood was. He suspected Gaspar had to endure discrimination on occasion . . . or perhaps more than occasionally.
Gaspar returned his regard, one dark brow lifting speculatively. “So I see that you and Miss Paredes . . .”
His words trailed off, but Duilio had no doubt what the man was intimating. He felt a flush creep up his cheeks. While the infante seemed to enjoy confusing him, Gaspar preferred to shock. “Can you actually see that?”
Gaspar folded his arms over his chest and leaned one shoulder against the wall. “Yes. One of the more amusing aspects of my talent. There’s a visual tie left behind that I perceive, although it’s difficult to describe.”
Now that would take some serious contemplation. There was a tie created when two people became lovers? “My brother must have been in the center of a web at all times.”
“Some people are like that,” Gaspar said. “I tend to keep my distance. They’re often catastrophes waiting to happen.”
What must it be like to know everything about every person he meets? Duilio guessed that was why he perceived Gaspar as old, even though the man was only five years his senior. He shook his head. “Did Anjos tell you the healer Dr. Teixeira saw all those years ago was a Jesuit?”
“Yes, although it’s more pertinent that he’s male,” Gaspar said. “Male healers are fairly rare. I believe this solves a mystery I’ve been pondering since the first time I visited this house.”
Duilio regarded him with a furrowed brow. He hadn’t made the connection before, but he had an idea now why they were at the Carvalho house. Lady Carvalho’s appearance at the doorway prevented him from asking Gaspar for clarification.
Lady Carvalho was the daughter of a noble family and near fifty like his own mother, but she hadn’t aged as well. The yellow morning dress she wore made her seem washed out. Even so, she was a kind woman who’d always invited his mother to their family events despite the fact that his mother and father lacked noble pedigrees, and Duilio had always liked the woman better than her blustering husband. Lady Carvalho surveyed the inhabitants of her sitting room, wringing her hands together as if she were regarding her executioners. Then her quivering chin firmed. She entered the sitting room and ordered the butler to shut the door behind her.
His mother rose and crossed to Lady Carvalho’s side. She took her friend’s hand and drew her toward the sofa where she had been sitting with Oriana. “These gentlemen have come to talk to you, Luiza. It’s a police inquiry, but I promise they’ll be discreet.”
Lady Carvalho sank down on the end of the sofa. “This is about Genoveva, I suppose.”
Anjos came around the end of the sofa and sat in one of the chairs, several feet from the lady. “Indirectly, my lady,” he said in a kind voice.
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“I suppose he told you.” Lady Carvalho’s voice sounded dismayed. “He’s been threatening to do so.”
Yes, this was definitely about Genoveva Carvalho’s blackmailer.
“He hasn’t,” Anjos said. “Inspector Gaspar has a special gift, one that allows him to see what gifts others possess. We’ve always known that Miss Genoveva is a healer, even though she seems unaware of it. As your husband isn’t a healer, nor are you, that tells us your daughter is either adopted or had a different father.”
Lady Carvalho pressed her hands together in her lap, knuckles white. “The second.”
“Would he have been a Jesuit novice then?”
She shot a nervous glance at Duilio’s mother.
She laid a hand over her friend’s. “Luiza, I bore a child before I was married, so don’t concern yourself about my opinion. No one needs to know about this.”
“He’s been threatening to reveal her if I don’t send her to him to”—Lady Carvalho sniffed and tugged a handkerchief out of her sleeve—“to study his art. I don’t want her around him, but he’s going to ruin her reputation if we don’t give in.” She sniffed into her handkerchief. “On top of Constancia running away, it’s too much. My husband is furious. He’s threatening to send Genoveva to a convent instead.”
“Oh, dear. Constancia has run away?” his mother asked gently.
Lady Carvalho took a deep breath. And then another. “Yes, she declared she was going to marry Tiago Coelho, and her father flew into a fury. So they ran to his family out in the country. They married last week.”
Duilio couldn’t help grinning when he imagined how much that would irritate belligerent Lord Carvalho. Tiago Coelho had been one of the family’s footmen. A few weeks before, the young man had endured a severe beating trying to protect young Constancia. Despite his being a Freemason, whose prime tenets included Equality, Carvalho didn’t epitomize that particular ideal. He’d probably been livid. No wonder Genoveva took his threat of the convent seriously.
His mother patted Lady Carvalho’s hand. “I’m sure Mr. Coelho will do all he can to make Constancia happy.”
The Seat of Magic Page 30
