The Lodestone (38 page)

With that thought in mind, he decided to visit one of those wealthier old chums when his ship docked in Palermo, so he sent word ahead while he finished up his business in Napoli. He’d heard that Paolo Paresi had married and returned home with his young wife to his family’s villa, which sat on its own private island, and which Paolo had inherited along with a vast fortune. Garnett would pay his respects to the count and his bride and propose an enterprise of some sort to Paolo. He didn’t yet know what it would be, but Paolo was always up for an adventure, the more daring the better. Garnett was sure something would occur to him when the time was right. First, he would plant the seed of possibility in Paolo’s mind.

**

Edwina had Sophia prepare a bath for her and as the maid silently departed, she settled back in the deep copper and porcelain tub that had been in Paolo’s family for generations. Sighing with pleasure, she closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet aroma of rose petals floating on the water.

“What a fetching sight.”

His voice was brittle and hard. Edwina’s eyes flew open as she drew her arms across her breasts.

Paolo laughed softly. “Do not trouble to hide yourself from me,” he advised. “You are my wife and I can do with you as I will. If I choose to see you in all your glory, my contessa, then see you I will . . . every inch of you.”

Slowly, knowing better than to challenge him, she lowered her arms again to her sides. “What do you—is there something you want?”

“Come now. Do not speak so coldly to your beloved
esposo
.” His next words surprised her, as she had gradually come to accept that he had no interest in her. “Surely you’ve noticed I have not yet exercised my husbandly rights.”

“I am counting on it.” His eyes wandered from her face down to where the water lapped gently at her breasts. “I only want to be sure.”

“And I wish it as soon as possible. What I have not told you, dear wife, is that I must produce an heir—or at least have one on the way—by my next birthday, scarcely eleven months from now. If I do not, my entire estate, save for a pitifully small allowance, will go to the church. I will not allow that to happen. So, we must get you with child. First, we must ascertain that you have no physical impediment.”

For a moment, she was too surprised to speak. At last she asked, “How do you intend to do that?”

“Have I not just told you?” he snapped. “My good friend, Dr. Rupert, will come and examine you. Once he has confirmed that you are able to bear a child, we shall see that you do.”

“May I ask, milord, what that means, exactly?” she asked, incredulous. “We are to have no romantic preamble—just,
we’ll see to it
?”

He stepped closer to the bathtub. “Are you making fun of me, Edwina?” His voice was menacing as he slowly lowered one hand into her bath water.

“No, of course not. But perhaps you could have put it more . . . tenderly.”

“Do not be so dramatic, my dear,” he whispered, lightly cupping one of her small breasts in his long, thin hand. “So now you understand what this marriage is to be. What your role is to be. Do you not?”

“Yes. I’m to provide you with heirs, like some brood mare.”

“One heir, to be precise. I care not whether it is a boy or a girl, and I need only one.” He gently squeezed the breast he held and then ran his hand deeper under the water, down her ribcage to her abdomen, and even lower. Though she tried to keep her legs together, he forced them apart. Pressing his hand firmly against the sensitive spot between them, he said, “Is this
tenderly
enough, contessa?”

“Yes,” she whispered, fighting back tears of shame. If she had felt one ounce of love emanating from him, she would not have thought his behavior so unnatural. But, even as inexperienced as she was, she knew he acted more from a sense of power than of desire. It was mortifying; it made her feel less than human, but she dared not protest for she feared it would drive him to further degrade her. He withdrew his hand at last.

“I do not wish to see the doctor,” she continued. “Especially Dr. Rupert. I will not
abide him as my physician. Can we not try to have a child and then if I do not conceive—”

“You
will
see Dr. Rupert!” he roared. “He will examine you and I will be in the room when he does, to make sure you do as you are told. Do you understand?”

“No,” she said miserably. “In truth, I do not. If you don’t desire me, Paolo, then please—send me back to my mother.”

“Your dear mamma does not want you. She prefers the allowance I send her.”

Though this didn’t surprise Edwina, it brought tears to her eyes. Sternly, she refused to give way to such a show of weakness. “Then send me to my uncle, who will gladly receive me. If you do not want me, let me go.”

“Not until you have given me an heir. Dr. Rupert will dine with us this evening, and then he will examine you. I want you to rest until then. Do not excite yourself with your music. I will see you at dinner. Wear what I send up to you.”

**

The dress Paolo selected for her was black, low-cut and made of fabric so sheer it was almost transparent. Edwina was horrified by its immodesty. She dared not defy him by refusing to come down to dinner but she would not wear the dress in front of the doctor, not to mention the servants. She told her husband as much when she joined him.

“I am disappointed, my dear,” Paolo said as he poured her a glass of red wine. “Did you not like the gown?”

“It’s lovely, Paolo,” she replied. “But I thought this one more appropriate, since we have a guest. I’d be happy to wear it later—for you,” she finished, drinking the wine quickly.

“As you wish, contessa,” her husband said, filling her glass again.

They chatted pleasantly throughout the meal and as they were having dessert—a cloying, sweet pudding with a bitter undertone—Edwina felt lightheaded and a little giddy. When her handsome husband asked her to play a tune for their guest, she was so delighted she quite forgot the reason for Dr. Rupert’s presence.

It seemed she was swimming in quicksand as she walked to the library, with Paolo supporting her on one side and the doctor on the other; but in what seemed like a disjointed and somehow altered passage of time, she found herself sitting at her piano. As if from a great distance, she heard her husband whisper, “Good lord, Rupert! How much did you put in? I want her docile, not dead.”

Edwina pulled her little key on its velvet tie from the bodice of her dress, a simple dark blue satin that was part of her honeymoon trousseau. It took more effort than usual to fit it into the lock, and she wondered at her sudden inexplicable clumsiness. She was stunned when the key would not turn. After a moment, she looked with accusation at her husband as she realized what he had done.

“Oh,” he quipped. “Did I not tell you? I have had the lock changed.”

Fighting the despair that threatened to engulf her, she said, “May I ask why?”

“Your mamma told me it’s the surest way to get your cooperation. Now, put on the beautiful gown I bought for you, and I’ll allow you to play one tune for us. If you cooperate, I will leave the instrument unlocked for a day or two.”

“And if I do not?”

“I will chop it into little bits with my own two hands. And I will lock you in this house and you’ll never see another.”

A screen now stood in one corner of the library and there her husband directed her. Sophia was waiting there, with the dress draped over one muscular arm. The robust maid helped Edwina change, divesting her of all her undergarments. With mild surprise, Edwina realized that her reality was one soft dream drifting into another. She wondered if she had fallen ill, to feel so strangely; but then she realized the doctor, or perhaps Paolo himself, had put something in her food or drink.

That did not disturb her as much as the prospect of being without her music, especially after what she had already done in order to keep it. She had married a man she scarcely knew, a man who obviously did not understand the meaning of love. She would rather die than have her piano locked up again, a special torment her mother had suggested to him. She had lost. If her own mother had sanctioned—nay, had encouraged—her husband’s cruel behavior, what chance had she of winning, and what was the point in fighting? She had lost everything—Cleome, Garnett and dear Uncle Oliver. She could not lose her music, too. She wished only to play her piano. She could not live without it, so Paolo could have whatever he wanted in exchange for that one freedom.

The remainder of the evening was a merciful blur. The sheer fabric of the gown felt cool and soft against her skin. There was a sharp intake of breath from the doctor as she stepped from behind the screen, and she knew that her nearly transparent garment revealed every curve, for she wore nothing underneath. The piano was open and she went to it, sat down and played. She did not remember getting to the end of the sonata or back to her bedroom; but she recalled Paolo leading her over to a low couch. She had no idea how her dress came to be removed but she would never forget the feel of the doctor’s cold, clammy hands as he touched every intimate part of her while her husband watched with rapt attention, an odd light in his eyes.

And she remembered hearing the doctor say, “She is perfect, milord.” His breath came heavily as he gazed down at her naked body. “She is exquisite. Small, but certainly adequate. What will you do?”

“I have a plan, Rupert—now that I know it is worth carrying out.”

“I would be happy to volunteer my services, sir.”

“Oh, I wager you would!” The count chuckled, sounding greatly entertained. “Unfortunately, your coloring is wrong. I need someone who has a little resemblance to me. Just make sure I have enough of your tonic on hand to make her agreeable.”

“Of course—but she could still refuse.”

“She may not like it, but she will not refuse. At any rate, it can’t be helped. I’m expecting a guest in a fortnight or so, and he could be exactly the one I need.”

**

After the
Lady Ramona
docked in Palermo, Garnett made his way on foot to Drake’s shipping office. It was only a few minutes’ walk and he was in need of exercise after the confinement of his cabin, even though it was quite satisfactory, at least for a gentleman of his former standing. Drake had been generous with shipboard accommodations as well as salary. Garnett inhaled deeply, taking pleasure in the relief that came to his muscles as he picked up his pace. His pleasure was short-lived as he remembered that the last time he was in Italy, he had enjoyed the country’s finest establishments and an array of elegant parties and receptions. Traveling was different now that he was broke. While in port, Garnett was responsible for the cost of his food, and what there was to be had on his slim budget did nothing to stimulate his appetite.

He was doing somewhat better as his travels progressed, but he was no merchant. Since his father’s downfall in the House of Crockford, Garnett was forced to consider seriously what he wanted to do with his life—what direction he should take—and he was hanged if he could think of anything. There were only two things that had ever given him a sense of accomplishment. Once, when he was a child, his mother told the gardener at Easton Place to let him plant his own little square of land. Garnett ha
d
filled it with seeds from her favorite flowers, and he was intrigued when they sprouted and thrilled when they finally burst into bloom. He’d had a love of growing things ever since and for years, he’d tramped behind the gardeners and farmers at Easton Place, watching them and learning their secrets. His second great achievement came years later, when he’d helped Cleome realize her destiny or at least, her rightful inheritance. That was the only truly noble thing he had ever done, for he was not a noble person. He was selfish, shallow and spoiled—and that’s why Cleome couldn’t love him.

He was a man unformed, with a blank slate where accomplishments and ambition should have been. He knew this, for he alone knew how low he’d sunk—or would, if the price was right. He would do almost anything to reverse his present situation. He was honest enough to admit that he would commit any crime short of murder, to restore his family to prosperity and regain even a portion of the life he had lost.

He was deeply gratified to find a message awaiting him at the shipping office.
My dear Garnett,
Paolo had written in a strange, spidery hand.
I was delighted to learn of your impending arrival. I am an old married man now, and my bride and I would be charmed to receive you. A messenger will bring me word when your ship docks. Take the day to settle in and I will come myself in the evening and collect you. I hope you will stay a few days with us. We shall dine together at the Mario Albergo before making the trip back to my pleasant villa. I am eager to hear your plans and tell you mine.”

It was like an omen, Garnett decided. Now that Paolo was married, he seemed of a mind to talk business. Garnett was surprised, for in the few years he’d known the count, he had never thought him to be particularly interested in commerce.

**

Garnett waited anxiously in the hotel’s elegant dining room. The Mario Albergo was an expensive establishment and if Paolo overlooked their appointment (and he was known to be careless in social commitments, at least when it was another gentleman he was meeting), Garnett would have to pay his own bill. It was damned inconvenient to be poor, for he was embarrassed to order nothing but a single brandy. If Paolo forgot him, he’d be hard pressed to pay the price of a meal or even a second brandy and stay within his budget.

As he was about to order another drink anyway, Paolo arrived. Garnett stood, in order to catch his eye. The count nodded to him, then strolled over to the table where he waited. They shook hands and Garnett found he was glad to see a chum from school, if only that it reminded him of the old life, how much he had loved it and how terribly he missed it all.