Lost Love Found (31 page)

The men, in their bright red pantaloons, white shirts, and leather vests, played pipes and stringed instruments as three very exotic young women danced in a haze of twirling skirts that allowed daring glimpses of bare legs and long, swirling dark hair. The dances, which at first seemed peasantlike and cheerful, soon grew sensual. The dancers whirled and dipped, allowing quick views of full breasts as the light of the torches gilded their smooth bare shoulders. The three Englishmen did not restrain their admiration. They leaned forward for a better look, which the three Gypsy girls were happy to give them. Happy milords meant more coins in their pockets.

Valentina suddenly became aware that the duke was trailing his fingers up and down her arm. He leaned forward and daringly kissed her bared shoulder, rubbing his cheek provocatively against the scarlet silk of her gown as he inhaled her floral fragrance.

“Do you find the dancers exciting, madonna?” he asked her.

“Perhaps a bit too obvious, Highness,” she noted coolly.

He hid a smile. She was jealous because her two usually attentive cavaliers were otherwise engrossed. Soon, madonna, he silently promised her. Soon you will have all the attention you could ever crave.

He signaled to Giacomo, who came forward bearing a Venetian crystal decanter of rose-colored liqueur. “Will you taste a small goblet of this special liqueur I distill? It is made from a very rare and ancient grapevine that I treasure, and then mixed with just the tiniest bit of angelica and other special herbs that I cannot divulge to you, for it is a family secret.”

Valentina smiled and nodded assent. “Will you not offer the others some, monseigneur?” she inquired.

“Do you think they would enjoy it, madonna? They are far too intoxicated by the dancers to appreciate my prized liqueur. I think they would not thank me for interrupting them now. Only you and I shall partake of this nectar of the gods,” he said softly.

She glanced over at the others and saw that it was as he said. They were spellbound by the Gypsy dancers and noticed nothing else. “You are absolutely correct, monseigneur, and I agree with you. ’Twould be a pity to waste your fine cordial.”

Giacomo poured out two small goblets of his master’s special liqueur. The duke took his goblet and, touching hers, murmured, “To you, madonna, and to all the beautiful things that could be between us if you would only say yes.” His golden eyes ignited as he spoke, and her heart raced at his passionate, suggestive declaration.

Valentina felt a blush suffusing her face and neck. I cannot allow him to think I am responding positively to such a toast, she thought. Swallowing hard, she said, “Monseigneur, I toast you, your kind and lavish hospitality and San Lorenzo itself, surely one of the loveliest countries in the world.” Then with a small smile, she sipped at her liqueur.

The duke returned her smile and drank from his own goblet. Why was it, he considered, that the women a man might choose from to wed were so dull, while the women a man desired were so damned interesting? It was, he decided, one of the ancient mysteries of the world.

Valentina could see that her companions were enjoying the dancers, and not being mean-spirited, she decided she did not wish to distract them. But she was feeling tired and desired nothing more than to retire. Leaning over, she whispered her dilemma to the duke, who told her, “My servant, Giacomo, will escort you to the villa. I would do so myself, but I cannot leave my guests. I understand,” he went on, “that you enjoy my fine golden wine each night before retiring. I am gratified, and I have ordered several casks placed aboard your vessel so that when you leave San Lorenzo, you will remember us. When you drink your wine tonight, think of me, fair Valentina. Perhaps, at least in your dreams, we can be more to each other than just friends. Surely there can be no harm in dreaming.”

“Monseigneur! You are wicked,” she scolded. She laughed softly. “Perhaps if I were a different kind of woman … You are a devilishly attractive man. I will admit that to you, now that I am to leave.”

He nodded slowly. “Then I will forgive you a little, madonna, for breaking my heart.”

She smiled. “My conscience is quite clear, Highness, and you flatter me outrageously. I have not broken your heart at all. You must keep it intact for the lady you will wed one day.” She rose from the table. “I will bid you good night,” she said, and moved quietly away lest she disturb the others.

Murrough O’Flaherty had never been more surprised in his entire life than he was the next morning when the duke visited him. It was true that he had teased Val about the duke being very eligible, but he had not taken seriously the duke’s interest in his cousin. Yet there was his old friend, Sebastian, royal duke of San Lorenzo, offering for Valentina!

“You’re jesting!” The words were out of Murrough’s mouth before he could restrain them.

The duke smiled. “No, I am not. I have fallen in love with your cousin, and I would wed her, make her my duchesse. Oh, I know what you are thinking, Murrough. That her breeding is not the equal of mine. That is so, but it is time for some new blood in San Lorenzo. For centuries my family has confined their bridal searches to Monaco, Beaumont de Jaspre, Toulouse, Genoa, and Firenze. There has been an occasional Roman contessa for variety. I want new blood, strong Northern blood! I want Valentina.”

Murrough was astounded. “I’ll have to ask her,” he said, stunned.

“Ask her? Not ask her father?” Now it was the duke who was astounded.

“My Uncle Conn adores Valentina,” Murrough said. “She is his eldest child. He has always doted on his daughters and has allowed them free choice of husbands. If Valentina will not agree, then it is no use speaking with my uncle, for he will not force any of his daughters to marry against her will,” Murrough said, then quickly added, “Even when the marriage proposal is as magnificent as yours, Sebastian.”

The duke had not considered such a thing. Would Valentina refuse him? Surely not. In her wildest dreams she could not aspire to a match as good as he offered. No, she would not refuse his offer.

He smiled at his old friend. “You must ask her then, Murrough,” he said confidently. “I shall return a bit after noon.”

At twelve-thirty, the duke returned to the ship and met with Murrough, who had been to the pink villa and spoken with Valentina.

“No,” she had told her cousin emphatically. “The duke is making me an honorable offer and I am grateful for his high opinion of me, but I do not love him, and that is all that matters to me. I married once for expediency’s sake. I will not do it again. I must love the man I wed so greatly that I have no doubts about the wisdom of our marriage.”

Murrough had listened with complete understanding, having known she would refuse the duke. “I will tell my friend Sebastian what I need to tell him in order to assuage his disappointment.” He had grinned and confided, “I expect this to be a shock, for women never refuse him, or so I am told.”

“She refuses my suit?” The duke could not believe he had heard Murrough correctly.

Murrough nodded sympathetically. “Aye, Sebastian, she does, but you must not think of it as a rebuff. Valentina was tremendously honored by your offer, but she could not bear the thought of living so far from her family and from England. She’s not an ambitious woman at all, you see.”

“But … I have offered her a duchesse’s crown!” the duke exploded.

“My cousin will not be parted from her mother,” Murrough told him. “We are a very close family, Sebastian, and Valentina, having been widowed, is skittish. There is no accounting for female vagaries, is there?

“You will not be embarrassed by her refusal,” he told the duke, “for your association with Valentina has not been a public one.” He clapped the duke on the shoulder. “I am flattered that you think enough of Valentina to offer her your name. One good thing has come of this, Sebastian. You have learned that you are ready to marry again.”

“Aye,” grumbled the duke, “I am. And the woman I choose breaks my heart. It is not to be borne!”

“Nonsense, my old friend.” Murrough chuckled. “You’ve never allowed a mere woman to upset you before this, and you are not going to now. You must announce that you are seeking a bride. Then settle back to enjoy the flurry your announcement causes while you relish all the fun of picking and choosing, eh?”

“Well,” Sebastian di San Lorenzo considered, somewhat mollified, “perhaps you are right, Murrough.”

The two gentlemen drank a toast to the duke’s search for a new wife, and then Murrough returned to the pink villa.

Valentina suggested they sail as soon as they could, and Murrough agreed. He told her, “The duke, in an effort to avoid you and to save face, has said he cannot dine with us tonight. I think, under the circumstances, we might sail with the late-afternoon tide, Val. Would you like that?”

“Aye,” she said, “but what of Padraic and Tom? They have not yet risen and ’tis nearly noon. I somehow suspect they will not be well,” she remarked dryly. “I am frankly amazed at
your
excellent condition, my dear Murrough.”

“Hah! Hah! Hah!” He chortled. “Very little misses you, Val, I can see that. Here we thought you were so involved with Sebastian last evening that you would not notice our little peccadillo. I hope you are not angry with Padraic and Tom.”

“No,” she said, smiling. “They are men, and men, your mama tells me, are prone to temptation. They are still asleep, however, while you have been up for hours. How do you do it, Murrough?”

“I simply wore the wench out before midnight so that I might get a good night’s rest, cousin,” he told her mischievously. “I am older and wiser than my brother and Tom. I have learned to temper my passions. They will learn the same wisdom, one day.

“As we are nearly packed and ready, I shall send our luggage to the ships as soon as I waken Tom and Padraic. We will sail at two o’clock.”

As they cleared the harbor of Arcobaleno several hours later, Valentina said gaily to her two companions, “What a glorious day! I can almost smell spring in the air, and ’tis not even March.”

“The sun is too bright,” said Lord Burke testily. His eyes were dry and felt as if they might pop from their sockets at any minute.

“The sun is warm and lovely,” she returned innocently, “and for some reason, being at sea again gives me a feeling of great freedom. The wind is simply perfect! Feel how the Archangel sweeps grandly along over the waves, like a great bird swooping and soaring!”

Tom Ashburne groaned. He looked decidedly green about the gills. “Woman,” he snarled, “cease your chatter about sweeping, swooping, and soaring!”

“Do you not feel well?” she inquired of him sweetly.

The two men glowered at her.

“I am not surprised,” said Valentina. “Not surprised in the least. Tsk, tsk! All the wine you consumed last night, and then those exotic Gypsy girls! They looked as if they could drain the life from any man. Judging by your appearance, they obviously did.”

Both men looked very chagrined. So she was fully aware of how they had spent their evening? They flushed, almost in unison, and she laughed.

“What is that biblical verse? ‘As ye sow, so shall ye reap.’ Ah, yes, I do believe that is it.” With a wicked grin she moved away from them down the deck, her silk skirts blowing in the wind.

“I am going to kill her,” growled Lord Burke.

“I would like to help you, but I myself died several hours ago,” muttered Lord Ashburne.

At that moment the ship dipped sharply, and both gentlemen were forced to avail themselves of the rail. It did not help to hear Valentina return, moving past them as she hummed a merry tune.

Chapter 7

T
he Archangel and her two guardian ships swept down the Tyrrhenian Sea through the Strait of Messina and around the boot of Italy into the Ionian Sea. There they were hailed by a great merchantman of the Venetian Levant, the
San Marco e Santa Maria
, out of Venice, bound for London. Its captain came aboard the
Archangel
and closeted himself alone with Murrough for an hour before leaving to return to his own vessel.

“What was that all about?” Padraic asked his elder brother.

Murrough smiled. “Fortune is smiling directly on your venture, Val,” he said to her. “That was Enrico-Carlo Baffo, younger brother to the Sultan Valide herself! He has asked us to carry a message to his sister. Their father, who was near death, has recovered despite his vast age.”

“What difference does that make to us or to Val?” Padraic said.

“When we reach Istanbul,” said Murrough, “and we speak with Esther Kira, we will give her this message to pass on to the Valide along with our request for Valentina’s audience with her. The sultan’s mother will not, under the circumstances, refuse Valentina. I was not certain before now how we were going to arrange to see that lady. This, however, is our entry to her.”

The little three-ship convoy moved on past the Grecian Peloponnesus and up into the Aegean Sea, sailing among the Cyclades; Andros; Khíos, the birthplace of the famed Greek poet, Homer; past Lésbos, the island that had, seven centuries before Christ, been the very center of the civilized world. The ancient woman poet, Sappho, had been born on Lésbos.