To Deceive a Duke (13 page)

T
he dinner party seemed to be going quite well.

Clio gazed out over the company from her place at the foot of the table. ‘Hostess’ was not her favourite role to play, but since Calliope’s marriage it had fallen on her. Only until her father wed Lady Rushworth, of course. Luckily, Sir Walter did not often like to entertain in a formal way, and her domestic duties were not onerous.

And, she had to admit, there was something quite satisfying when a gathering came together so neatly. The conversation hummed along, assisted by the cosy number of guests, all with similar interests. Rosa’s delicious food was much complimented, even though Lady Riverton threatened to steal her away for her own kitchen. The flowers, artful displays of local wildflowers designed by Thalia, were most lovely. And her father seemed happy, with the attentions of Lady Rushworth on his right and Mrs Darby on his left, both avid to hear about his newest discoveries at the villa.

Yes, it was all going very well indeed. The servants, relatives of Rosa and Paolo, hired for the evening, moved smoothly
and quietly around the table. They made sure no one’s plate or glass was empty, and left Clio with very little to do.

Except think. Which she had done ceaselessly since the
feste
. Her mind whirled until she thought she would scream with it all, and still she could make no sense of anything. The silver hoard that might or might not be real. The
tombaroli
and the ‘English’ who was going to pay them untold riches for their loot. The Duke—how did he fit in? It could be no coincidence he was in Santa Lucia just now, with a vast stash of illicit antiquities in the offing. Was he on another errand for the Antiquities Society, or had he fallen back into his old, unscrupulous collecting ways?

Did anyone,
could
anyone, ever really change? Or was the temptation sometimes just too great?

That was a conundrum she found herself wrestling with, far too often of late.

She nibbled at the cassata, studying the occupants of the table carefully. They were almost all ‘English’, all interested in antiquities and collecting. Which of them, behind their smiles and fine clothes, their polite chatter, would deal with thieves? Would steal and hide away what did not belong to them, but to the people of this island? To history?

Marco would surely know. He must have heard
something
about a discovery as rich and rare as a stash of temple silver. Yet they had had no chance of private consultation since he had come to Santa Lucia, and he had kept up his guise of light-hearted, flirtatious nobleman beautifully. Quite the actor, Marco was.

He sat next to Thalia, the two of them talking quietly over the dessert. Clio wondered what they spoke of after their little scene at the
feste
, their dances together. But their voices were too soft for her to overhear more than scattered words and laughter.

Edward was across the table from them, listening to Susan Darby’s awed prattle with a polite smile on his lips. He had not touched the wine, Clio noticed, and barely eaten, though his compliments on the cooking seemed most sincere. He had not glanced at Clio since bowing over her hand at arrival.

She could tell nothing from his expression, his eyes, his oh-so-polite conversation. Even if they were alone, she knew she could not ask him about the silver. Could not confront him outright, as someone like Thalia surely would, an Amazon with no fear of attacking from the front. She would learn nothing, and the outcome of any battle would be uncertain indeed.

Despite their desperate intimacy, their kisses and caresses in the dark of the night, there was still a gulf between them of doubt and suspicion. A gulf she didn’t know how to bridge, not with her own caution and reserve.

‘I still have hopes, too, that Miss Chase will join us,’ Mrs Darby said. The sound of her name shook Clio from her brooding, and she looked down the table to where Mrs Darby chatted with her father.

‘I beg your pardon, Mrs Darby?’ Clio said.

‘I was just telling Sir Walter of our planned tour to Motya. The Phoenician sites, they say, are really quite worth seeing, especially the necropolis. The excursion would be so much more delightful if
you
were with us!’

‘That is very kind of you, Mrs Darby,’ answered Clio. ‘I enjoyed accompanying you to Agrigento so much. But I fear I am too taken up here with work.’

‘You should go, my dear,’ her father urged. ‘Mrs Darby tells me it is only an excursion of a few days, and the change of scenery would do you good. You have been working too hard of late.’

‘Miss Thalia and I would be sure to take good care of your father while you’re gone,’ Lady Rushworth added. ‘They do say the sea air is most bracing and reviving.’

Sea air?
Did she look so much the pale invalid, then, that they all wanted to bundle her off for a salt-water cure? Clio felt the weight of Edward’s gaze on her.

‘I will certainly consider your kind offer, Mrs Darby,’ Clio said.

‘Excellent! We will not leave for a couple of days yet, plenty of time to make arrangements,’ Mrs Darby answered. ‘We plan to head home to England directly after the tour, so it will be the last time we can spend time with you until you yourself return to London.’

‘You must come!’ Susan Darby cried. ‘Or I will be the only young person on the tour.’

‘A great inducement indeed,’ Clio said with a smile. ‘We will be sorry to lose your society here in Santa Lucia.’

‘And we shall be sorry to go,’ said Mrs Darby. ‘But my husband wants to seek a London publisher for his book. Is that not so, my dear?’

The conversation turned to Mr Darby’s manuscript, and Clio sat back in her chair, gesturing to the servants to begin clearing. The Motya excursion
was
tempting, she had to admit. To run away from the confusion Santa Lucia had become, to just be a simple tourist for a few days, with her guidebook and the pleasant, undemanding company of the Darbys.

To be away from Edward.

Yet surely even miles of land, the vast sea itself, could not erase the way his kiss felt on her naked skin. The desire that trembled through her whenever he touched her.

No, she had to stay, to face whatever this was between
them. To discover what was happening here in sleepy, suddenly sinister Santa Lucia.

The ladies soon departed the dining room, leaving the men to their brandy and no doubt more talk about Sir Walter’s villa. Clio made certain the tea tray was laid out in the drawing room before sitting down next to Thalia.

‘You were having quite the coze with Count di Fabrizzi,’ Clio whispered teasingly.

Thalia’s eyes gave a quick lightning flash, veiled by her long lashes as she took a sip of tea. ‘I have merely been attempting to persuade him to take part in my play.’

‘Oh, indeed? So, it is merely for the sake of theatre that you spend time with him?’

‘Of course.’

‘It has nothing to do with his handsome eyes?’

‘Clio!’

Clio laughed. ‘You teased me about him before. It is my turn now.’

Thalia bit her lip, but Clio could see a smile threatening to break through. ‘True. Very well, I admit he does have—handsome eyes. But I think his affections are already engaged.’

‘Indeed?’ Clio asked in dawning curiosity. She studied the ladies in the room: silly but pretty Susan Darby; her still-lovely mother; Lady Elliott with her bright red ringlets; and Lady Riverton, who was chatting loudly about some new jewellery she had just purchased. Who could it be? Or maybe it was a dark-eyed
signorina
back in Florence! Marco had broken so many hearts, surely turn-about was only fair. ‘Has he confided in you? Who is it?’

Thalia shook her head. ‘Oh, Clio. Do you not know?’

Before Clio could answer, Thalia rose and strolled over to
the pianoforte. Soon the tempestuous notes of Beethoven filled the room, and the other ladies gathered around the instrument. Lured, as people always were, by the siren song of Thalia’s music.

Clio put down her own teacup and went to the window, gazing out at the garden beyond their little terrace. Thalia meant, presumably, that Marco was in love with her, Clio, but that was simply absurd. They were friends, allies, that was all. Despite his unearthly good looks, despite the ideals they shared, there had never been the spark of passion between them. Never a physical awareness, such as that which flowed between her and Edward whenever they saw each other.

No, if Marco was falling for anyone, it was surely Thalia. Clio saw the way he looked at her sister, so fascinated despite himself. She could not say she liked it. She knew what Marco was like, knew his hidden life, and she also knew that her beautiful, impulsive sister needed someone steady and calm. Not a wildly patriotic Italian count.

Likely it would come to naught, just like Clio’s own passion for Edward. Clio was going to keep an eye on the situation, though. Starting, apparently, right now. Marco had appeared on the terrace, his chiselled features illuminated for an instant by the flare of a match as he lit a cigar. He seemed to be alone, having escaped from the dining room by one of the tall windows leading outside.

Clio glanced over her shoulder. The ladies were still gathered around Thalia as she moved into a Mozart sonata. Thalia loved an audience, and would thus surely keep everyone entertained for quite a while. Clio wouldn’t be missed for a few minutes.

She slipped quietly out the door to the terrace, joining Marco where he stood by the steps leading into the garden.

‘Cara!’
he said with a wide smile. ‘How very scandalous of you to join me out here, all alone.’

Clio grinned. ‘Save your charm, Marco. It does not work on me, you know.’

He gave a dramatic sigh. ‘Alas, I know it only too well.’

‘Nor do my charms, such as they are, work on
you
. My sister suspects you are in love.’

Marco took a long draw on his cigar, wreathed in a disguising cloud of silvery smoke. ‘Ah, yes, the beautiful Thalia, Muse of Comedy. She is indeed delightful. But also quite imaginative. I do not know why she would think such a thing.’

‘Perhaps I am also overly imaginative. For I have been hearing such wild tales of late. Ghosts, curses, looted pieces of ancient temple silver.’

Marco smiled wryly through the smoke. ‘That does sound like a novel,
cara
. Are you a writer now, like Mr Darby?’

‘Are
you
? Otherwise I cannot quite account for your presence here. I am sure it cannot be on “business”.’

‘Your doubts wound me. Of course it is business, of the most vital kind.’

‘Antiquities business?’

Marco nodded. ‘I think so. What do you know of this silver?’

‘Not very much. I know our cook’s son is involved, I overheard him talking with someone at the
feste
. They spoke of a bowl, of finding the rest of the hoard to sell to some “English” collector. This buyer has apparently offered a great deal of money, if the pieces can be found soon.’

‘So, they have not yet found them all,’ Marco murmured. ‘They must be getting desperate.’

Just like her! Clio felt quite
desperate
to know what was happening. She clutched at Marco’s coat sleeve. ‘So you
do
know! Tell me, I can help.’

Marco covered her hand with his. ‘I know you can. There was none better than the Lily Thief. Yet I fear at present I know little more than you do. There have been some rather unusual pieces appearing on the market recently, and some of my—friends have traced them here. Enna is full of sites, both discovered and still buried.’

‘What sort of pieces?’

‘Coins, jewellery, finely carved grave steles. Silver.’

‘Libation bowls, maybe? Incense burners?’

‘Bowls, yes, but not yet anything like an incense holder. Have you seen one?’

‘Just a sketch. Giacomo, our cook’s son, dropped it at his meeting. Where—?’

She was interrupted by a sudden burst of fireworks, a shower of red and green and white that lit up the night sky in a crack of noise and fire. More celebrations in the village.

Surely the illuminations would quickly draw the other guests to the windows. She didn’t have much time left. She squeezed Marco’s arm and said, ‘Send me a message saying where we can meet. I want to hear more about this.’

He grinned at her. ‘And would you bring your lovely sister to our meeting? I have seldom seen such beauty
and
such spirit in one lady.’

Clio smacked his arm with the flat of her hand. ‘Don’t you dare turn your Florentine charm on Thalia! I don’t want her involved in anything at all dangerous.’

‘Oh,
cara
, I doubt you could stop her getting involved in anything she chose. She seems quite as stubborn as her sister. Perhaps more so.’

‘That is all too true. And all the more reason for me to protect her. Promise me you will not embroil her in any of this!’

Marco sighed. ‘I promise. And we will meet very soon. Perhaps I will have more to tell you then.’

Clio impulsively kissed his cheek, and spun around to hurry away. Another burst of sparkling light showed her they were not entirely unobserved. Edward stood at the dining room window, watching her. His expression was like a Roman marble statue, perfectly still and calm.

They stared at each other for one long, frozen moment before Edward turned away. Suddenly freezing cold, Clio dashed into the house. She drew her Indian shawl closer about her bare shoulders, but even its warmth could not ward off the chill that had invaded her world.

Clio paced the length of her bedchamber floor, first one way then back again. Books on the Punic War era were open on her desk, along with a new volume on late Hellenistic silver, but she could not concentrate on studies. Her mind was racing, her pulse thrumming with the need to
do
something. To move to action.

She stopped at her window, staring out over the rooftops of Santa Lucia. All seemed quiet enough now; even Etna was muffled in sleepy clouds. What seethed beneath such a surface?