But his grin only widened. Thank God he no longer had a girl who exploded in unreasoning hysterics on his hands. All was back to normal, and he was immensely pleased to have his sharp-tongued vixen back again.
“It’s coming on to rain, my lord, and I don’t like it one bit.”
The earl turned his attention to the muttering Scargill as he shrugged into his waistcoat.
“What displeases you now?”
“The madonna riding out with Joseph on a day like this to have a picnic in the hills. She’s but being stubborn, and you, my lord, do not rein her in.”
“The fresh air will do her good. Joseph will see to it that they return if it begins to rain, do not fret yourself.” He would have liked to accompany her himself, but The Cassandra had docked the previous afternoon and Mr. Donnetti expected him to discuss the trading he had done in Venice. He looked forward to inspecting the bolt of Venetian silk that he had ordered for Cassandra. It was calculated to bring out her woman’s vanity, if, he thought wryly, she was possessed of any.
He did not bother with luncheon, but ordered Paolo to bring around his black stallion, Cicero, and left immediately for Genoa.
Sordello was not quite sure why he drew back into the thick bushes that lined the dusty road at the sight of the on-coming horsemen, but even from a distance he knew them to be strangers, and strangers he did not trust. He quickly jerked in his fishing pole and crouched down. He felt his heart plummet to his shoes as they drew up not far from his hiding place.
Their voices were low and muffled by their heavy great-coats. He really had no wish to hear their conversation, merely to remain hidden from their sight, but he heard one of the men say quite clearly, “I know this is their direction. Giacomo saw the Corsican ride out with the English girl not more than an hour ago.”
The man, who evidently was Giacomo, grunted in assent. “And Il Signore left the villa in the opposite direction.”
The man who had first spoken, the leader, Sordello supposed, for he was a huge, burly man, with a loud voice, said even more loudly, “Then it’s off we are, lads, if we are to be at Vannone’s hut by nightfall.”
Sordello heard one man curse at the light drizzle that had begun to fall. His voice was consumed by the galloping horses’ hooves as they rode away. Sordello crawled quietly from his hiding place and watched the men ride up the snaking road that wound through the hills. He felt a quiver of fear. They were taking the same route as the madonna and Joseph had ridden earlier. His mind worked feverishly as he dusted off his trousers and clutched his fishing pole firmly to his side. He wasn’t at all sure what the man’s words meant, but the thought that they might hurt Joseph sent him hurtling over the high stone walls of the Villa Parese to search out Scargill.
He breathlessly repeated to the Scotsman what he could remember and watched fearfully as Scargill’s ruddy face paled.
“Ye heard nothing more, lad?”
“No, signore. But they looked vicious and mean.”
Scargill didn’t hesitate. Even if the boy had totally misunderstood what the men were about, he could not afford to take the chance.
“Quickly, boy, tell Paolo and yer father to make themselves ready. I will fetch his lordship from Genoa.”
Scargill never slackened his horse’s pace, but he began to feel nagging doubts by the time he reached the harbor and The Cassandra. He was beginning to feel indeed the fool when he stepped into the captain’s cabin. The earl and Mr. Donnetti were seated across from each other at the table. In the earl’s hands was a bolt of singularly beautiful silk.
“My lord.”
“Scargill! What the devil are you doing here?” He dropped the bolt of silk and rose to his feet.
“I think there may be trouble, my lord.” He saw Mr. Donnetti’s hand move to the slender stiletto at his belt.
“Very well, tell me what has happened.” The earl’s voice was controlled yet impatient, and it had the effect of making Scargill pour out Sordello’s story with scarce a pause.
“That is all?”
“The boy said there were four of them and they were a vicious-looking lot.” Scargill had done his duty, and waited for the earl to shrug and admonish him not to be an impressionable ass.
The earl turned to Mr. Donnetti. “Francesco, hire horses and bring two of your best men to the villa. I will assure that there is someone there to guide you further. Scargill, you said they mentioned Vannone’s hut?”
“Aye, my lord, the boy was certain about the name. Ye know the place?”
“Yes, I believe I do. It’s an abandoned shack, supposedly haunted by a blackguard, Vannone, long dead. Francesco, it lies about seven miles into the hills, west of the villa, just off the main road. Make haste, my friend.”
The earl tur
ned quickly and strode to his desk. Scargill saw him stare for a brief instant at one of the dueling pistols before he thrust them into his belt. It was the pistol the madonna had shot him with.
Cassie pulled herself forward from her comfortable position against a tree trunk and squinted heavenward. “Oh dear,” she said, “I do believe the earl was right. I think a raindrop just fell on my nose.”