A Daughter's Destiny (18 page)

Beside her, Evan chuckled. “In English, my friend. I cannot understand Italian at that speed!”

“Evan!” he shouted again. Calling something over his shoulder, he leaped toward them.

Brienne cowered, but arms swept her into the middle of hugs and kisses and greetings in a mixture of English and Italian. She could not understand any of it, for her head was pressed to a male chest that was sticky with sweat. When she put up her hands to escape, she flinched as she touched naked skin.

Someone whirled her away and kissed her soundly on both cheeks. As she tried to catch her breath, a woman grabbed her and did the same. All the time, voices tried to outshout each other with what might be greetings. When another man took her by the shoulders, he swiftly pressed his lips to her cheeks. Then, with some comment she did not understand, he caught her face between his hands and kissed her on the lips.

Brienne tried to squirm away. When he released her, she backpedaled a pair of steps and bumped into Evan. She grasped his arm as she stared at the man who was now laughing. Behind her, Evan was laughing, too.

The man made a motion with his broad hand toward the largest wagon. As he climbed the trio of wooden steps to the low door, the others began to follow, their voices raised in excitement.

Evan gestured for Brienne to precede him. She shook her head. “I am not going in there. Who knows what might happen?”

“Come on, honey,” he said as he steered her toward the wagon. “The Caparellis will not do you any harm.”

“He—you saw what he did!”

“I saw what he did. It seems like a good idea to me.”

His mouth over hers wiped away any thoughts but the overpowering longing. As her arms moved along his shoulders, she savored the firm strength of his body beneath her fingers. He smiled gently and stroked her cheek with a single fingertip.

“Give them a chance,” he whispered. “The Caparellis are good people, like you and your family.”

“Not like you?”

He wrapped his arm around her again. “Not at all like me. Shall we?”

“Where is the bread you bought?” Brienne asked, astonished.

“Come with me, and you shall see.”

As soon as Brienne stood in the doorway of the wagon, a sinewy arm herded her inside the crowded room. Renewed shouts met Evan as he entered. The Caparellis clearly liked him. She wondered if there was anyone in the world he could not beguile.

When Evan took Brienne's hand, he winked and shouted, “Do you want me to tell you who this lovely lady with me is?”

A male voice called, “She is a very good friend of yours. We saw that.”

Brienne flushed as she heard enthusiastic laughter. She should have guessed their kiss would not go unnoticed.

“Pietro Caparelli,” Evan announced, gesturing toward the tall man who had played the prince on stage. Pointing to the man who had kissed her so exuberantly, he said, “That is Salvatore Carbone, but you can call him Sal as everyone does.”

Pietro motioned to an older couple. “Evan, I do not think you have met Guido and Constanzia Benedetto. They and their daughter Angiola joined us since we last saw you.” He glanced at a corner. “Angiola, come and greet our friends.”

Brienne recognized the blonde as Cinderella. When she eased past her parents, the sloe-eyed beauty smiled seductively at Evan, who bent over her proffered hand. Brienne bit her lip as his gaze swept along Angiola's curvaceous body that was barely covered by a wrapper.

“I commend your parents on choosing the perfect name for you,” he said. “You are as pretty as an angel.”

“You are most kind to say that, Evan,” she murmured, her breathless voice unlike the one she had used on stage. She glanced with disdain at Brienne before smiling again at Evan. “I hope you do not object to the familiarity of using your given name. We are so intimate among the Teatro Caparelli.”

Before he could answer, a plump woman pushed Angiola aside. “Let an old friend greet him!”

Evan smiled as he put his arms around the buxom woman. “This is my
cara mia
, Giovanna Caparelli Carbone.” Kissing her as eagerly as Salvatore had Brienne, he patted her on the back of her full skirts. He put one arm around Giovanna, and the other encircled Brienne's waist. “My friends, I want you to meet my dear friend Brienne LeClerc.”

Sal, who was nearly as round as he was tall, made some comment she could not understand except for a single word. If it meant the same in Italian as it did in French.… She flushed again.

Evan answered in halting Italian, then grinned and winked at her.

Slowly she relaxed as she waited for the conversation to return to English. If Evan thought they were safe, she had to trust him. After all, he would do nothing to risk his skin.

Signore Benedetto motioned for his wife and daughter to leave. When Angiola started to pout, he took her arm and led her past the others. Angiola glared at Brienne as she walked out.

“How long has she—have the Benedettos been with you?” Evan asked, his gaze following Angiola's swaying skirts.

“After Rosina and Vito left last year, we had no one to play the princess.” Pietro patted Giovanna playfully. “My sister is too round for the role. The Benedettos joined us in the summer. Signore Benedetto helps with the stage, and his wife is a skilled seamstress. As for Angiola—” He grinned. “You yourself saw her talent.”

As the men laughed, Giovanna reached for a bottle and glasses on the overflowing shelves. “Brienne, correct?” she asked in English. “Such a pretty name. For a pretty lady. I never thought Evan would hobble himself with just one woman, but I can understand why with—”

“Evan is not hobbled by me.” She wished she had stayed outside, so she had not witnessed Evan staring at Angiola Benedetto. “I am traveling to London, and so is he.”

Giovanna motioned for her to sit on a bench beneath the one window. Easing between a stack of clothes and pillows, Brienne sat. The bench must be used as a bed because she saw no other in the tiny space. The men now sat at a small table which was bolted to the floor so it would not shift. At the front of the wagon, a curtain was open to reveal storage shelves.

Grabbing two of the glasses Pietro was filling with wine, Giovanna ignored his complaints. She handed one to Brienne. “Why are you going to London?”

“It is where I live. My grandmother is there.”

Laughing, Evan said, “She is not telling you the whole story. She was trying to get to France when I convinced her to turn back.”

“France?” Sal frowned. “A fool's destination now.”

“Exactly, but if Brienne could reach Château Tonnere du Grêlon, it would be hers. Her father was the
duc
. She is his lost heir and the next
duchesse
.”

The Caparellis stared at her in awe as Sal rubbed his cheeks with pudgy fingers. “Château Tonnere du Grêlon? That sounds familiar. Pietro, did we play there last winter?”

“No, that was Château de Villandry.” Grinning at Brienne, he added, “The name does sound familiar, though. Where is Château Tonnere du Grêlon?”

She gestured toward Evan. “Ask him. He is the one who keeps repeating this fairy tale.”

“Brienne does not believe she is the daughter of a
duc
.” He gave them a sheepish smile. “Why won't she believe me?”

Giovanna slapped him over the head with a small pillow. “She is a smart girl. The one who believes you, my friend, soon finds his or her pockets much lighter.”

“I do not want her money.”

“No?”

“Ask her,” he retorted as Brienne had.

When the Caparellis turned toward her, she fought the temptation to snarl an answer at him. She was tired and hungry, and the wine was making her light-headed. “You did mention that you were not interested in my money when …” She did not want to reveal how they had discussed that after she had slept in his arms.

Evan stood and eased past Sal to sit beside her. Tapping her on the nose, he said, “You can be honest. You are among friends here.”

“Among family,” corrected Giovanna.

“Among family,” he amended with a smile in her direction. “You do not have to guard every word.”

Listening as Evan chatted with his friends, Brienne wished she could share his sense of camaraderie and security. She could not put aside a tremor of foreboding. The same foreboding she had experienced just before Maman died. What it was she did not know, but its lurking presence was like a stench in the tidal marshes. There was trouble ahead.

Brienne tried to keep her head from nodding with fatigue, and she struggled to stay awake through the meal. Even the boisterous conversation and the spicy sauces on the vegetables and bread could not help to keep her awake. Over and over, she found herself blinking, not sure how long she had lost track of the conversation.

“Evan, you should take that girl to bed before she falls asleep in the pasta.” Sal laughed at his own jest.

Coming to his feet, Evan helped her to stand. “Too much wine and too little sleep has caught up with her.”

“I am fine,” Brienne argued, but wove on her feet. She rested her cheek against Evan's shoulder and let the words drift around her.

“Come with me,” he said softly as he guided her toward the door and down the steps.

She shivered as a chilly breeze blew up from the sea, carrying a misty curtain of rain with it. Only then did she realize that she had left her cloak in the wagon.

“No, no,” Evan said, drawing off his coat and putting it over her shoulders. “No going back. You need to get some sleep.”

“Where?”

“I will show you.”

She smiled as she imagined sleeping in his arms again. Having the long line of his legs against her had been splendid. Then she had been in his arms with his mouth on her as she listened to the accelerated pulse of his breath matching hers.

As if he could hear her thoughts, he kissed her lightly when he paused in front of another wagon. When he lifted his lips from hers, she whispered, “No, Evan! Kiss me. Really kiss me.”

She saw the flare in his sapphire eyes before he recaptured her lips. With his arm around her, he cradled her against him, but there was nothing gentle about his fiery kisses that left scintillating sparks across her skin. He drew her into the shadows between the wagons and held her against the wall of one. The cold mist vanished as she delighted in the escalating desire spiraling through her.

Her fingers entangled in his hair as he bent to nibble along her neck. A moan escaped her lips when she rediscovered the passions that came to life when he caressed her breast. She could not be still, moving against him with a rhythm deep within her.

Singing intruded into her pleasure. The voice, heavy with a dolorous melody, warned her of the danger she was courting. She could not bridle her longing for Evan, but she must. When she opened her eyes, she saw his grin. A flush climbed her cheeks, for she knew he had guessed her exact thoughts. He stepped back and held out a hand. She hesitated as she looked from his fingers to his face.

“I think you can trust me enough,” Evan whispered, “to let me help you to the wagon, honey.”

Anything she might have said would sound ridiculous. Silently, she placed her hand on his. Before she could speak, he pulled her back into his embrace.

“Honey,” he whispered, “I think we should travel toward London with the Caparellis. They have room for us here in the extra wagon.”

“Evan, I don't think—”

His mouth over hers interrupted her. His arms held her in the sweet prison from which she did not want to escape. When he looked down at her, he grinned. “You do not think too clearly when I hold you.”

“Have you noticed that?”

“I have, and I wondered if it might be because you can think only of the love we could share.”

She started to slip her arms around him, then pulled back as he moaned. Not with pleasure, but with pain. Stepping back, she pressed her fingers over her mouth as he put his hand to his left side and his face twisted.

“You
are
hurt!” she cried.

“I shall be fine.”

“But you are not fine now.” Being careful not to touch his side, she guided him toward the front of the wagon.

“Not this one. The next one.” He gave her a cockeyed grin. “Unless you want me to sleep with Angiola and her parents.”

“That would be very interesting for all of you.” She kept her arm around him as they went to the third wagon.

Ignoring her exhaustion, she hurried ahead of him to open the door as rain began to fall in a downpour. She smiled when she saw a lantern was lit within and clean linens lay on the benches on either side of the wagon. Guessing from the scrapes along the floor that this wagon held the backdrops, she went back down the stairs to help him climb up.

“I am not an invalid, Brienne.”

“It must hurt bad if you are showing it. You did not wince once when you were burned while fighting the fire at L'Enfant de la Patrie.”

He grinned as he dropped to the bench. “You do not miss much, do you?”

“Take off your waistcoat and shirt.” She helped him shrug off his coat, tossing it onto the floor. It was so ruined nothing else could damage it.

“I was wondering when you would ask.” He laughed, then groaned.

“I am going to strap your ribs. Do not think about anything else.”

As she pulled the sheet off the other bench and ripped it, he slowly drew off his waistcoat and shirt. “Why not? You do.”

Turning, she feared she had forgotten how to breathe as she stared at the breadth of his bare chest. Bruises were already forming along his left side, but they only emphasized the shadowed planes of his muscles. Her fingers tingled with the longing to stroke the naked skin from his shoulder to his waist.

“Sit still,” she whispered. Although it would have been easier to wrap the strips around him if he were standing, she did not trust herself to be so close to such brawny temptation.