To Surrender to a Rogue (25 page)

Alessandra choked down a wave of nausea. "But
why?'

"His voice of moderation was growing too strong. His influence was spreading, which threatened to ruin all our plans."

"Stefano was wrong" added Frederico. "And too stubborn to see the truth. Italy needs to be led by a strong ruler, not the voice of the rabble."

"And
you,
I suppose, will speak for the new Caesar?"

Frederico smirked. "I do have a gift for oratory."

"You are cursed with an overweening pride in your own worth," she replied. "But remember—pride goeth before a fall."

"And who is going to trip me up?
You?'
He laughed. "I think we both know that you are no match for my skills."

Ignoring the gibe, Alessandra turned back to the conte. "How did you do it?" she asked. "Poison?"

"Again, such a nasty word." Orrichetti clucked his tongue. "Let us just say a botanical cordial. How familiar are you with the medicinal properties of plants?"

She shook her head mutely, not daring to let herself speak.

"Ah, yes, it was your colleague—Lady Sheffield—who stood accused of doing away with her husband by adding a toxic substance to his drink." He straightened his cuff. "Ask her what a dose of hemlock dissolved in brandy does to someone with a weak heart By the by, she will assure you that it is quite painless."

At the reference to the sordid stories that had swirled around Ciara, Alessandra found her hands were trembling with rage. He dared kill her husband and then make light of it?

She pressed her palms together, summoning a sense of calm to replace her initial shock.
Strategy,
She whispered to herself. Jack would not waste his time wailing or weeping. He would concentrate on planning a counterattack.

"That is right," said Frederico. "I doubt that Stefano had any idea what was happening to him." He snapped his fingers. "It was over in an instant Leaving a grieving widow to be consoled by his friends."

Alessandra bowed her head so he would not see the murderous spark in her eye. Let him think her the same spineless creature as before.

A flutter of linen fell in her lap. "Allow me to offer a handkerchief, Alessa. I know how easily you are moved to tears."

Exaggerating a sniff, she picked it up and dabbed it to her dry cheeks.

Frederico's voice lost a touch of his smugness as he directed his next words at the conte. "Now what?"

Orrichetti didn't answer right away.

"I don't see why we can't go on with business as usual. Alessa won't dare say anything. Not with dear little Isabella to consider."

"Perhaps not" The conte moved to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. Swirling the amber spirits, he lifted the glass to the waning light "But the situation raises the possibility of complications. I've been watching Lord James lately, and he seems to be taking a little too much interest in the excavation."

"Bah!" Frederico dismissed the idea with a snort "He's a dull prig who takes his work too seriously. He's trying to impress Haversack and Dwight-Davis—no doubt so that he will be appointed head of some stupid committee."

"That may be true." Orrichetti took a sip of his wine, savoring the mouthful before swallowing. "But you see, we have been successful because I leave nothing to chance."

Crossing his arms, Frederico responded with a toss of his gilded curls and a sulky stare. His eyes were no longer looking so angelic, leaving Alessandra to wonder how she had missed seeing the brimstone malevolence burning just beneath their golden hue.

Orrichetti set down his empty glass and tapped his fingertips together. "Chance," he repeated. "And opportunity."

Frederico's lashes flicked up and down in impatience. "This is no time to talk in riddles. We need to act"

Moving with unhurried ease, the conte stepped around the tufted settee and placed a hand on the polished pear-wood side table by the bookshelves. "And we will, Freddi. Trust me, we will." A wink of brass played over the curl of his lips. Turning the tiny key, he unlocked the wooden case centered between two decorative marble plinths.

Nestled on a bed of black velvet was a matched set of pistols.

Alessandra watched as Orrichetti carefully checked the priming and then aimed one of them at her heart "Go call for my carriage," he said slowly to Frederico. "All things considered, I think it's time to make a change in plans. We can be in Bristol by dark, and from there we can make a quick passage by boat to France." His smile stretched wider. "I am sure Lord James won't mind if we borrow his brother's yacht and crew for another cruise."

"What! Flee from England?" Frederico shot her a venomous look. "And allow all our plans to sink in the stinking English mud?"

"My dear Freddi, that is why you do the talking, and I do the thinking. As she has done in the past Lady Giamatti is going to use her considerable scientific talents to help us achieve what we want"

"But the ancient
imago?
protested Frederico.
"I
am sure she is not feigning ignorance. We have no clue yet as to where it is buried."

"And we don't care." Orrichetti straightened his cuff. "You see, in mulling over the situation, I suddenly realized that I had been overlooking the obvious. Why go to all the trouble of digging for something that might or might not exist, when we have an expert in ancient metalwork right here at our fingertips."

Frederico looked confused, but Alessandra had an inkling of what he was suggesting.

"Come, come, Freddi." Orrichetti's smile gleamed like a crescent moon in the lamplight "Think. You are a clever fellow."

As the realization dawned on his face, Frederico gave a nasty laugh. "Brilliant!" he exclaimed. "Why, of course! You mean to have dear Alessa fabricate a fake. After all, we know of her expertise and experience with metals and acids."

Alessandra felt a churning in the pit of her stomach.
No, not again.

"Precisely. Vignelli is a discerning collector of Roman artifacts, but someone intimately acquainted with the materials and processes used in ancient times should be able to fool even a well-trained eye."

Getting an iron grip on her emotions, she met the conte's gaze and held it "Child's play," she said coolly. "But this time around, I'm not a gullible girl. If I am to cooperate, I want something in return."

"You're in no position to bargain," growled Frederico.

"On the contrary." She cast a sardonic glance at the pistol. "It won't be quite so easy to cover up my death if you are forced to pull the trigger, Hetro. A shot will have a crowd of people here within minutes. Even with your considerable skills at deception, you would find it hard to arrange a scenario that won't create unpleasant questions."

The gun barrel wavered ever so slightly. "What are you proposing, my dear?" asked Orrichetti.

"There's no need to negotiate" snarled Frederico, clenching a fist "One blow will render her unconscious."

Alessandra picked up the brass candlestick by her side. "Move one muscle and this smashes through the window, followed an instant later by my screams."

"You wouldn't dare," said Frederico. "What about dear little Isabella? You think I would have any trouble getting my hands on her?"

"Yes, actually I do. She is at her art lesson right now. With the same drawing master who teaches Lord James." She gave a deliberate look at the mantel clock. "Seeing as his lesson follows hers, I would imagine he is walking into the studio right now."

"Y-you are bluffing."

Yes, she was.
Jack was in London, but she didn't think they knew that.
Tactics and strategy.
She whispered a silent prayer that something of his military training had rubbed off.

"Would you care to try me?"

·'Well, well, well, our little kitten has grown a sharp set of claws." The conte cocked his head. "Violence is so primitive—unlike my colleague, I prefer to use it only as a last resort."

A curt wave of the pistol signaled Frederico to retreat.

"So I'm perfectly willing to listen to your demands, my dear. What is it that you want?"

Busted through the tall hedgerows, its high, keening whistle punctuated by the faint rumblings of thunder up ahead. Storm clouds scudded and swirled, turning the sky an angry shade of slate gray.

"Damn," muttered Jack as a moment later the heavens opened up, lashing his face with a stinging rain. Fisting the reins, he hunched lower, trying to see the road through the thickening fog.

The horses snorted, their hooves kicking up great clots of mud as they, rounded a rutted turn. The wheels skidded and the curricle sloughed dangerously close to the rocky verge. Breakneck speed was foolish, he told himself. And yet, a mounting sense of unease drove him to snap the whip again, urging the team to an even more reckless pace.

Better to raise eyebrows by rolling into Bath looking like a drowned river rat than ignore the sensation of daggerpoints dancing down his spine. Besides, he was getting rather used to the feeling of water against his skin.

A lick of heat warmed through the wet chill as he recalled the steamy thermal springs and the beauty of Alessandra's naked body in the rippling lamplight The sight had left him breathless. Speechless. Senseless. Was there a word for such pure, primal emotion? Lust came to mind. And yet...

All of a sudden it hit him, like a spinning, surging, roaring wave of water. His feelings had nothing to do with lust Oh yes, by God, he had taken fierce pleasure in their passionate coupling. But his need ran far deeper than physical desire. The truth was, he had fallen head over heels in love with Alessandra.

Love.
He loved her scintillating intellect, her indomitable courage, her quiet strength. Hell, he even loved her tart tongue.

And Isabella?
Jack blinked the drops from his wind-whipped lashes, unsure whether it was rain or tears coursing down his cheeks. He had
two
ladies in his life. If anything happened to them...

Above the noise of the squall rose the sound "of galloping hooves bearing down on him from the rear. Nerves already on edge, he turned on the perch, feeling for the pistol tucked inside his coat Come hell or high water, nothing was going to stand in the way of his keeping Alessandra and her daughter safe.

A black blur materialized from the fog—a lone rider bent low over a dark stallion, drawing closer and closer with every pounding stride. Silhouetted against the pearly mist the flapping oilskin cape looked like the wings of a giant bat

Jack kept his weapon shielded from the rain, but cocked the hammer.
Just in case.
He had no reason to suspect trouble, but he wasn't taking any chances. Easing his team to a slower pace, he made room for the rider to pass the curricle.

A gust caught the man's wide-brimmed hat as he galloped by, lifting it just enough to reveal a peek of his profile.

"Diavolo?
muttered Jack. Releasing his weapon, he shouted out a loud hail. "Ghiradelli!"

Marco glanced over and then reined his mount to a slow trot "Fancy meeting you here, Lord Giacomo," he called, swiping a sodden lock of wind-snarled hair from his cheek. "Only mad dogs and Englishmen would choose to be out in this weather."

"Given the choice, I would be sipping a brandy in front of a blazing fire," snapped Jack. "Damnation, where have you been? Didn't you get Alessandra's letter?"

"Not until this morning."

Jack made a rude sound. "Perhaps you ought to button up your breeches and emerge from the boudoirs every so often, especially when you know your cousin might have need of your counsel."

"Hell, don't you start cutting up at me, too. Alessa's fellow 'Sinner'—Miss Kate-Katharine—has a tongue sharper than a saber. She all but threatened to slice off my balls if I didn't ride neck and leather down to Bath."

"I've a lovely Andalusian dagger I can lend her."

The quip earned him a pained grimace.
"Et tu, Brutus?
Well, for your information, I haven't been spending my hours in frivolous pleasure. Much as it disappointed my legion of ardent admirers, I have been hard at work tracking down some vital information about...a few of Alessa's old friends." The rain was tapering off to a fine drizzle. Looking up at the sky, Marco shook out the folds of his cape. "How much do you know of my cousin's past?"

"Everything," replied Jack.

"Indeed?" Marco shot him a speculative look. "Aside from me, she hasn't trusted any man with her secret Not even her closest female friends know the truth."

The man was an unrepentant rake, but he was also Italian—and Italians could be very volatile when it came to the women of their family. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, Jack moved quickly to keep the conversation from delving too deeply into his relationship with Alessandra.

"Seeing as she hadn't heard from you, she had to turn to someone. Alessandra has had good reason to mistrust men, but she knows her secrets are safe with me." The road wound through a grove of silvery beech trees and then straightened through a stretch of wheat field. With a flick of his whip, he urged his team to a faster clip. "We were hoping you might speak with Lynsley on her behalf. But seeing as you appeared to be missing in action, so to speak, I decided to make the trip to London."

Spurring his stallion to keep pace with the curricle, Marco took a moment to reply. "I am, of course, on foreign soil, but I was under the misguided impression that London lies in the opposite direction."

"I—I changed my mind."

Despite the haze, he saw Marco's features sharpen. "Why?" demanded the conte. "Is Alessa in any danger?"

"Do you think I would have left her if she was?" he retorted.

Marco grunted a curt apology, but as he shifted in his saddle, his hand brushed the brace of cavalry pistols hanging in the holster.

"I've no reason to think that has changed," added Jack. "And yet, I can't help feeling..." He hesitated, wondering whether to admit his vague fears. "Laugh if you will, but I suddenly thought it best to return to Bath."

"A gut feeling?"

He nodded.

"Like a stab of steel here?" The stallion blew out a foam-flecked snort as Marco fisted the reins and thumped his belly.

"Si, like a stab of steel," echoed Jack.

"Then why the devil are we wasting time in idle talk? Come, let us fly!"

Alessandra did her best to assume an expression of cold calculation, hoping the two men would not guess how fragile a mask it was. "I'll go with you quietly," she said. "But only on the condition that you leave my daughter here in Bath."

^"
Orrichetti pursed his lips in thought "That's a reasonable request," he said after some moments.

"But what is to guarantee that she will cooperate, once we've reached the Continent?" demanded Frederico

"Freddi, you really must learn more about women," chided the conte. "It's all very well to dip your pego into the Grotto of Venus, but you ought to study how they
think."

"Why? When swiving them gets me what I need."

Orrichetti gave a pained look. "Because that method is so crude. Alessa has become much more sophisticated, so we must appeal to more than the little nubbin between her legs." He paused to adjust the angle of the pistol's flint. "As a mother, she wishes to see her daughter grow to womanhood."

In the waning light, his profile looked smooth as polished marble. A thin veneer of civility could hide a multitude of inner rot, thought Alessandra grimly.

"So she will do as we ask. Because she understands that we will have no reason to harm her once we possess the
imago.
It's simply a business arrangement." His dove-gray eyes turned to her. "You
do
know that I have no intention of harming you, Alessa, don't you? I have al-I ways been very fond of you, my dear." She bit back an acid question.
Just as you were very fond of Stefano?

Frederico looked unconvinced. "The authorities—"

"The English authorities cannot touch us, and as for the Austrian authorities..." He gave a very Italian shrug, eloquent in its casual dismissal. "She is far too intelligent to think of stirring up the past"

"Quite right," she replied with cold contempt. "The past is the past I would be doing myself no favors to try to dredge up interest in old crimes."

"There, you see how reasonable we can be?" said the conte to his cohort. "This does not have to be an unpleasant interlude."

She maintained a mask of rigid self-control, though his smile made her itch to rear back and slap him with all of her strength.

Frederico glowered, a tiny tic pulsing at his temple, but for once he seemed bereft of clever words.

The lamp flickered as the afternoon breeze ruffled the ivy leaves hanging around the leaded windowpanes.

"The carriage, Freddi," prompted Orrichetti. Though his voice was silky soft, there was no mistaking the note of command.

A hiss of breath signaling his surrender, Frederico stalked off

"You will forgive me if I keep this out until we are on our way," said the conte, as if he were talking about a snuffbox or pocketwatch rather than a lethal weapon. "It's not that I don't trust you, but I am in the habit of being just a touch cynical about human nature in general."

"Something I would have done well to emulate," she said tightly.

He expelled a soulful sigh. "Don't be too angry with me about Stefano. He really was ill, and the doctors told me that he did not have many months to live."

"That did not give you the right to play God," she whispered.

"I would do a better job than whatever Supreme Being allows such chaos to sweep across Europe." His eyes turned hard, darkening to the color of tempered steel. "A firm hand is needed to restore order and prosperity. Stefano could never understand that"

Argument was pointless. All demagogues thought themselves possessed of almighty powers. Let him bask in the reflected glory of his own delusions, decided Alessandra, rather than goad him into anger. Bending down, she began to gather up the fallen papers.

Taking her silence as a sign of uncertainty, he smoothly changed his tone back to the affable, erudite aristocrat who could converse so knowledgeably on fine art and rare wines. "We will have a good deal of time to talk during our voyage. I am sure you will come to understand what I mean."

And hell might freeze over.

She carefully looped the ribbons around the portfolio and tied it shut.

"Thank you, my dear." He approached, careful to keep the pistol out of reach, and held out his hand.

It wasn't hard to feign nervousness. She shifted, hoping the swoosh of her skirts would cover any crackling of the letter she had hidden in her sleeve.

"Come, let us go downstairs. I take it you have a cloak?"

"Yes " she replied. "In the storeroom."

"We'll fetch it However, I regret that it will not be possible to stop for any additional items. I apologize for the discomfort, but once we reach the Continent, I shall see that you are provided with a proper traveling wardrobe."

"How very kind," she murmured, trying not to let sarcasm edge out sincerity.

A nudge of steel touched her back as they turned into the corridor. "I have great faith in your intelligence, Alessa. But as a reminder, do not try anything stupid." Taking her arm, he dropped the weapon to a more discreet position within the folds of his coat "You would not want Isabella to grow up as an orphan."

Anger skated down her spine, but she kept her steps measured, her voice calm. "We are in perfect agreement about that"

"Don't worry, my dear," he soothed. "You will soon be reunited with your daughter."

She was under no illusion that the conte intended to let her live. Once they reached Bristol she would try to escape. Or maybe Jack...

She stumbled, her legs suddenly going a little numb.
Don't think of Jack.

Don't imagine the feel of his dark curling hair.

Don't long for the taste of his lass.

Don't yearn for the strength of his honor.

Steadying herself on the carved banister, Alessandra moved down the curved staircase, Orrichetti by her side. The clicking of his heels on the marble treads seemed overloud as they descended into the shaded stillness of the tiled foyer. Save for themselves, the townhouse stood deserted, the last of the scholars having left an hour ago.

To reach the street, they had to pass through the main gallery. The lights were unlit, save for a pair of flickering wall sconces flanking the archway leading to the storage rooms. Shadows wreathed the display pedestals, the marble busts of the ancient Roman emperors rising like ghosts out of the gloom. Piled high with wooden trays and tools, the dark worktables cut a slightly sinister silhouette against the bank of leaded windows.

Orrichetti paused for a moment, his gaze flicking over the room, and then moved for the side aisle. "Let us be quick in finding your cloak, my dear," he murmured. "As you saw, Freddi is a trifle on edge. It would be best not to leave him waiting for too long."

Alessandra shot a sidelong look at the tables, wondering whether she could brush up against one of them long enough to slip a knife or scalpel into her skirts. But much as a weapon might come in handy later on, the risk was not worth the reward. Despite the deceptively pleasant smile, the conte appeared alert to any sign of trouble.