Lessons of Desire (16 page)

Matthias pushed his way over to Tarpetta and muttered lowly. He did not appear to make much progress in whatever case he pled. He shifted back over to Elliot.

"I am going to see about the preparations for that boat, Rothwell. The absence of an English witness can only help a claim that this was not legitimate"

Elliot was already lining up that case in his head. Phaedra looked like a woman being led to the stake, not the altar. His sympathy for her desperation contained a dose of annoyance. She acted as if marriage to Lord Elliot Rothwell was a fate worse than death.

That it was a fate neither of them had chosen and that neither of them anticipated or wanted was beside the point.
He
was going to the slaughter to save their honor and her hide. She might at least pretend some grace about the situation.

Matthias bled away. The crowd parted and allowed the priest and his sacrificial lambs access to the church doors. Phaedra looked very pale.

The priest turned to face Elliot and the bride. An acolyte rushed out of the church with a shiny vestment that the priest donned. The priest spoke to the crowd.

"What is he saying?" Phaedra asked.

"As best I can tell, he is announcing that the wedding will take place here, then we will go into the church and sign the documents."

"Here?" She stared down at the ground, as if wondering where here actually was. For a moment he thought she would swoon.
"Now?”

"I am afraid so." He took her hand. "Courage, little wife."

His tease brought some color back to her complexion. She looked like she wanted to hit him.

The priest began his prayers. The crowd hushed. Elliot realized that the first defense against the efficacy of this ceremony, that the vows would be in a language Phaedra did not understand, would not hold. The priest spoke in Latin and she would comprehend every word.

His mind raced in a quick debate. Their affirmations would be requested soon. He glanced over his shoulder at the throng listening with rapt attention. He wished that he knew something about canon law.

The priest warmed to his role in the pageant. He raised his voice and it rang over the heads in the piazza. Phaedra kept glancing around like a damsel waiting for the white charger that would carry her rescuer.

The priest spoke the vows and turned expectantly to the groom. Elliot looked at Phaedra, whose eyes pled with him to play the scoundrel.

A small cough from Tarpetta arrested his attention. It served as a reminder of yesterday's danger, and of those messengers headed to Naples.

Elliot turned back to Phaedra. He did not think this ceremony was legitimate, but it might be. If so, they would be bound forever.

He could do worse. So could she.

He spoke the words of consent.

It took Phaedra forever to say the words. They stuck in her throat, refusing to emerge. She might be sealing her fate in a way she had consciously avoided. She could be trading one prison for another.

She stared at Elliot, unable to hide her desperation.

He waited patiently, his gaze kind but his expression firm. She knew what he was mentally saying to her. The dark form of Signore Tarpetta hovered ten paces away, a physical reminder that while this all seemed like a strange dream Hill of buffoonery and farce, she still walked the edge of a precipice in this land.

The panic she had been swallowing boiled tip. What if
...
He might
...
It could take years to
...

She corralled her thoughts and imposed rationality on them. Of course this was not a legitimate wedding. Of course Elliot would help get that resolved correctly should there be any question. He did not want this any more than she did. A night of pleasure did not turn a man's head and make his brain a mass of porridge.

Her hesitation became awkward. A little buzz hummed through the crowd. The priest's eyebrows rose, two half moons aiming toward his balding pate.

Carmelita gave her a curious look, as if reappraising her worth.

Phaedra took a deep breath, and spoke the vows.

A cheer went up. Pandemonium broke. The festival of San Giovanni had begun on a high note.

The priest stepped back. He told the crowd to get the procession ready to start. He crooked his finger at the newlyweds and turned to enter the church.

"He wants us to sign the documents now," Elliot explained.

Phaedra tried to hold on to her hard-won calm. "At least we will get out of this sun. I have never been so warm in my life."

Elliot stepped closer to her. "You do look wan. I fear the sun has made you sick. I hope you are not going to faint."

A special note sounded within his concern. She looked up at him, then at the priest wailing al the church door, then al the remnants of the crowd still milling nearby.

She pressed her hand lo her cheek, then her forehead. "I am very light-headed. Nor do I have salts with me. The excitement and the heat—" She wobbled just a tad.

Elliot's arm instantly supported her. "Let me help you inside, my dear."

Carmelita stepped forward to accompany them and serve as witness on the documents. So did Signore Tarpetta.

"No," Elliot said to him. "You have been no friend to my wife." He looked at Carmelita. "Choose another. Anyone else."

It had begun as an act but Phaedra truly felt sick now. Elliot guided her into the cool darkness of the church. Carmelita and a fisherman came too. They shut the door on the noise from the piazza.

Through the dim light Phaedra spied the priest bending over a lectern. He busily scribbled on some parchment. A thick tome stood at the ready too.

She knew nothing about Catholic marriages, but she knew a thing or two about English law. Saying words was one thing. Signing documents was quite another. If she put down her name of her own free will she could be doomed.

She pressed her palm against Elliot's chest, making him stop. She did not have to fake sun illness now. The cool chinch air raised a sweat on her skin. Her blood drained from her head and extremities.

Elliot's face hovered closely, then quickly receded into blackness.

"Is she pretending?" Carmelita whispered.

"It does not appear so." Elliot gazed down at the body he held in his arms. He had swept her up as she fell, impressed by her ability to feign a faint worthy of the best actress. Now the deadweight he bore and Phaedra's ashen color indicated that it had been no act.

The priest rushed over, winging his hands. Elliot spoke to him in Latin. "I am taking my wife back to the villa to recover. We will return this afternoon to sign the license and records."

It had not been a good two days for the priest. He waved them off with relief. Elliot aimed down the nave, not back to the front portal. "Show me another way out," he told Carmelita.

She hurried ahead, pointing him to a small door off the side aisle. He paused briefly to thank Carmelita for all her help, then strode down a deserted lane toward the sea.

Phaedra stirred in his arms. Her eyes opened. It took a few more strides for her to collect herself. Then she critically assessed her situation.

"Why are you carrying me?"

"You fainted."

"Put me down. I never faint." He stopped and set her on her feet. "You did this time. Dead away."

She tested her steadiness. "Well, I have never fainted
before
."

"That is because you have never been forced to marry me before. The notion so horrified you that you could not contain your shock."

"You told me to faint. You all but commanded it."

"If you obey all my commands with such thorough precision, marriage to you might be tolerable." She seemed to have recovered. He offered his arm. "Hold on. The lane is steep."

She slid her arm through his and skipped to keep up with his strides. "We are not going to the villa”

"I am counting on Greenwood having the boat ready before that procession winds its way down there. With luck we will be launched before anyone is the wiser."

She picked up her pace at the promise of escape. When they emerged near the docks they could see Matthias waiting beside a fishing boat manned by four men.

He hailed them and ordered the crew to prepare to launch. "In you go. No time for ceremony and long farewells. Your baggage is on board."

Elliot handed Phaedra up. He paused for a farewell anyway. "You must come and visit England. You have been gone too long."

Matthias turned his face to the burning sun. "I am too acclimated to this land. Roth well. England's damp holds no appeal. But, perhaps
...
who knows."

"I will write and tell you how I fare at Pompeii."

"My letter is among your papers. I slipped it in." While Elliot climbed on board, Greenwood addressed Phaedra. "Whitmarsh sends his felicitations on your marriage."

"I am not married."

"Well..." His shrug underlined the ambiguity of that point. He bowed to take his leave.

"Mr. Greenwood," she said. "I may not chance lo meet you again. Thank you for your hospitality and your help"

"It was my pleasure to have the daughter of Artemis Blair as a guest. You must write to me and tell me if you ever solve that little mystery we discussed."

The boat drifted away from the dock. They watched as Matthias grew smaller against the dramatic backdrop of Positano's spill of roofs and steep lanes.

Safe now, free from the danger that she dared not contemplate, Phaedra's heart filled with soul-drenching relief.

Elliot's arm slid around her waist. He moved and embraced her from behind. She succumbed to the security and protection offered by the intimate, human cloak he formed. She sank back against him, and ignored the way his strength lured her into relinquishing her own.

Phaedra fell asleep in Elliot's arms. He moved her to a wooden bench away from the boat's railing. He directed the crew to secure a makeshift canvas awning over them, to protect her pale beauty from the high, hot sun.

Two hours passed with Phaedra absorbing his thoughts. The vows that they spoke in Positano may have been the last lines in a comic opera, but they complicated his intentions. He doubted she would accept the responsibility that he now felt for her. No matter what English law might decide, she would never agree that he had a right to protect her. She would deny any man the authority that exercising such obligations required.

As if his thoughts summoned her to battle, her eyes opened. Still nestled against him, she peered across the sea to the hazy line of the coastal hills on the eastern horizon.

She glanced to the sky and assessed the sun's position. "We are some ways from the shore. Should we not be in Amalfi by now?"

"I told I hem to take us down the coast to Paestum. You expressed an interest in seeing the temples there."

Her lashes hung low while she considered this change in plans. "You might have woken me and asked if a visit to Paestum suited me."

He had not asked because he did not want to give her any choice. When they reached Pompeii she would once more be consumed with whatever mission she pursued. He would be obligated to take up his own quest when they later returned to Naples. Soon they would be at odds again. He wanted to avoid those arguments for a day or so.

"Your illness at the church was real. You need lo rest."

She nodded slightly, her hair rubbing his shoulder. He was pleased that she made no attempt to extricate herself from his embrace. The sleeping Phaedra was a lovely wonder. He had spent the last hours studying the details and nuances of her face, breathing in her feminine scent, and holding her soft body. But Phaedra alert and aware interested him far more.

"We are not truly married, of course." She spoke as if they had been talking about it for hours. In a silent manner, perhaps they had been.

"Actually, in the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies I think that we are."

"No documents were signed"

"This is a Catholic land. They see marriage as a sacrament, not a contract."

"We are not Catholic,"

"That could make all the difference. I do not know for certain, however, I think if it is legal here, it may be legal at home." He braced for her explosive denial.

Instead she expressed consternation in ways so subtle he would miss them if her face was not inches from his and her body not cradled in his arms.

"What this kingdom thinks is legal does not matter," she said. "We will soon return to England where better laws reign. What is important is that
we
both know we are not really married."

The boat turned. Its bow aimed southeast, toward the coast. He narrowed his eyes on the distant, tiny port that was their destination.

"Say it," she demanded.

"Say what?"

"Say that of course we both know that we are not really married."

He could say that to appease her, but he was not inclined to lie. Nor did the ambiguities disconcert him the way they should. He had never sought marriage, least of all to a woman like Phaedra Blair, but he had spoken the vows well aware that they might stick.

In the meantime there was a usefulness in being her husband in this land. He could protect her better and throw the special immunity of the family's aristocratic cloak around her. He could keep an eye on her too, day and night. And should they learn upon returning to England that the vows in Positano bound them—there was a certain usefulness in that too.

If they were truly married the decision to publish those memoirs would no longer be hers. He had never calculated such a drastic path to protecting the family name, but fate may have provided an unexpected solution to the problem that brought them together

She would loathe the solution, of course. That was why he had told the crew of this boat to aim toward Paestum. He wanted to indulge his fascination as long as possible before discovering whether Phaedra Blair would spend the rest of her life making his existence on this earth a living hell.

"You are demanding that I say what we both
know
when I know nothing of the kind. Nor do you. You are really asking me to say that I will
act
like we both know we are not married."

"It would be a wise way to view it."

"I do not agree. I think that would be a criminal waste of a grand opportunity."

Peeved al his refusal, and perhaps at the leasing note that entered his voice, she pushed out of his embrace and stood. She faced him with her hands on her hips, the picture of a woman planning to scold until she swayed him to her point of view.

The dusky shade beneath the canvas sail gave her skin an ethereal shimmer. The breeze lifted tendrils of her hair until they danced around her body like a living halo. The thin gauze of her skirts blew back, revealing the forms of her legs and hips, reminding him of her naked body and how this day had begun.

"Allow me to explain all the reasons why we must ignore that wedding until we are back in England." She began itemizing the logic of it all, ticking off her reasons on her fingers.

He heard her voice like a distant chant. He was back in the tower, on his knees, gazing down at her naked body. Then he was taking her like he had last night, only this time it was an act of true possession decreed to a husband by law.

She paced in front of him, crossing back and forth along the edge of the shade. Her argument went on and on, insignificant words barely audible outside the door of the room where he had ravished her.

She stopped walking. Her hands went back to her hips.

"You are not even listening."

"I am. Your logic would do an Oxford don proud. Nor can I disagree with a single word. I merely do not care one way or the other right now."

She sighed deeply at the stupid man on the bench. "You do not think it is worth considering whether you might be tied for life to a woman you do not want?"

"I have considered it thoroughly already. As for not wanting the woman in question, that is where it gets complicated"

He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. He forced the intimacy of the night back on her. He commanded her desire to join his, so that she would understand the only part of this untoward development that mattered to him right now.

The innkeeper's wife threw open the door of Phaedra's bedchamber with a flourish worthy of a queen's courtier. Down the passageway the innkeeper himself showed Elliot to another room. Their hosts had decided that the arrival of this particular
umo magnifico
necessitated a little groveling.

Phaedra glanced down the passage just as Elliot glanced back. She suspected he measured the steps between their doors. Her calming arousal fluttered hard again for several uncomfortable moments. She stepped into her chamber and closed the door, seeking a sanctuary from how he affected her.

The last half hour on that boat had muddled her thoughts about the peculiar situation that she found herself in. His kisses had confused her mind, her body, and her heart. Minute by pleasurable minute he had slowly pried her hold from the moorings that kept her securely in a place she knew. She felt as if she had been towed into uncharted waters.

She was almost positive those vows would not stand scrutiny, but they promised to create terrible problems anyway. It would be sensible to assume there was no marriage. Unfortunately, Elliot appeared to think it would be useful to assume that there was.

She did not think it was only the prospect of an ongoing liaison that appealed to him. As her husband he could claim rights to other things. To know her thoughts and plans. To protect and possess. To interfere if he disagreed. No one in this land would accommodate her if her "husband" did not want her accommodated.

The woman opened the portmanteau. She lifted and shook the dresses, then hung them on hooks in the wardrobe. Her dark eyes scanned the array of black gauze and crepe.
"Mi
displace."

She thought they were mourning garments. Phaedra did not know the words to disabuse her of that notion. Nor had her explanations in Positano led to much good.

The woman left to get water. She returned, poured some into the washing bowl, and offered to help Phaedra undress. "Your husband—
bello
,
elegante
,"
she said, while she released the back hooks.

He is not my husband
.
The denial remained a silent objection. It did not matter what this innkeeper thought. Elliot was right about one thing. This journey would be easier if people thought they were married. She had already seen the difference. Instead of the subtle scorn that she normally endured in her life, on the boat and at this inn she had been treated with respect and deference.

Dusk began to gather by the time she was settled in. As the woman left, Elliot arrived at the door. His command of the southern language had improved over the last week, and he gave the innkeeper's wife some instructions.

"What did you tell her?"

"That we will dine alfresco. They have a lovely garden. I also told her to prepare baths for us afterward. Let us go down now. Except for that bit of bread and cheese on the boat, we have not eaten all day."

"I will join you soon. I would like a few minutes alone first."

The door closed. She inhaled the silence that fell with his departure. She waited for his presence to thin too, for the air to return to normal and for her isolation from him to be complete. It took longer than she expected.

She blamed last night for that. The intimacy had been too intense. He had indeed taken, and more than his pleasure. She had made very plain what she permitted and what she did not, but he deliberately pressed his advantage. She did not shrink from admitting that she had been helpless to stop it because he was the first man to have an advantage to press in the first place.

She looked around her chamber. She guessed it was the finest in the inn. It held wood furniture that appeared a country version of the elaborately carved pieces so common in Naples. Pale blue patterned drapery swathed the bed in simple luxury and a hooked rug spread flowers on the wood planked floors.

She looked forward to dining in the garden. The bath would be most welcome too. He had anticipated her needs and she could overlook the assumptions behind his plans if she wanted to. He was taking care of her the way men did with women, and any other woman would be delighted. To object would appear ungracious and perhaps even ungrateful.

The problem was that she knew how it would all turn out if she permitted those assumptions to continue unchecked. The danger was not in him so much as it was in herself. The world conspired to convince women to live the normal lives decreed by society. There had been many times when the choice to do it differently had seemed so hard, so lonely, that she had questioned her beliefs. Swimming against the current of the world s expectations could be exhausting. If a boat passed going downriver, it was very tempting to climb on board.

If the man offering to lift her up and protect her was handsome, wealthy, intelligent, and passionate, how easy to conclude one had been swimming in the wrong direction all along. It would probably be a long while before one realized one had totally forgotten how to swim at all.

She sat at the dressing table and brushed out her hair. She bound it into a thick roll at her nape for Elliot's sake, so he would not be embarrassed by her eccentric-it)' if other guests also dined in the garden. She opened her portmanteau, found her hat, and pinned it on.

She gazed in the looking glass. This small compromise in her appearance had been easy to make. It really cost her nothing and she had done it fully aware of why she made the choice. Such small gestures did not redraw the outline of her character. The changes that could do that would not be so obvious, not so clearly selected.

She thought of the man waiting in the garden. So handsome, so appealing. It was very tempting to play at marriage with him for a few days. A tired part of her soul yearned to lei someone take care of her for a while. Perhaps she could just give up the fight for a week or two, and pick up her weapons again when she returned to England.

Her mother's memory intruded. One skeptical eyebrow arched on the internal vision of Artemis Blair's lovely face. Artemis had never demanded that her daughter follow her path. She had merely explained and described what one lost and what one gained if one claimed such freedom. She had also warned there could be no half measures, no respites of acceptability and respectability. The world did not permit a woman to find a place of compromise. The laws were written to make the decision to be a normal, acceptable woman an irrevocable one.

Phaedra finished her preparations. She would allow the strangers in this land to assume she and Elliot were married, but she could not afford to allow hint to think it. Not even maybe married or temporarily so. If they played that game, she could only lose.