“Not as yet, Joseph.”
Signore Bissone interrupted them. “’Tis rest he needs, my lord. Does the signorina need my attention?”
Before the earl could reply, Joseph said, “She fought them, my lord, fought them with all her strength and spirit.” He added, not realizing that his words would tear at his master’s heart, “They wanted me to watch, but even two of them weren’t enough to hold her down. That is when Andrea ordered the blow on the head. Did they hurt her badly, my lord?”
“Si.” The earl’s teeth were gritted, and his temples pounded with blood. He felt Scargill’s hand shaking his sleeve. He forced his voice to calm. “You must rest now, Joseph, and regain your strength.”
Signore Bissone finished his examination, wiped his hands, and turned to the earl. “You have much skill, my lord. I could not have set better stitches myself. As for the ribs, they are perhaps cracked, but not broken.”
“Her miscarriage?”
“She is very young, my lord, and possessed of a healthy body. You will have as many children as pleases you.” He peered closely at the bruises on her belly and her pelvis, and shook his head. They lived in a violent time, and he had seen many women raped, but still the cruelty shook him.
“You will remain at the Villa Parese as my guest, signore?”
“Si, my lord. Both the signorina and Joseph will need my attention for some time to come. Allow me to write a note to my wife.”
The bedchamber door suddenly burst open, and a panting Scargill flung into the room, his eyes bright with excitement.
Signore Bissone made haste to cover the young girl.
“It’s Francesco, my lord. He and his men have caught one of them.”
Signore Bissone felt a shiver of fear down his spine at the look on the earl’s face. His mouth, grim until this moment, curved into an awful smile, and his dark eyes glittered.
“Do we know which of the swine he is?”
“Not as yet, my lord. But it cannot be that bull, Andrea. This one is slight of build, and he is wounded, in the thigh.”
“Take him into the library,” the earl said softly, “I shall join you presently.”
The earl walked noiselessly through the open library doors. Scargill, Francesco, his two men, and their captive stood before him. He was dressed in dirty clothes, damp from the rain, his back to the earl.
The earl paused a moment, then said, “Giacomo?”
The man whirled about. His ill-shaven mouth gaped open, and his dark eyes held fear. He was perhaps thirty, but no more. Crusted blood flattened his breeches to his thigh.
“Welcome to the Villa Parese, Giacomo,” the earl continued, his eyes resting placidly on the man’s face.
“I don’t know why your ruffians have dragged me here,” Giacomo said, but his eyes were watchful.
Mr. Donnetti said sharply, “He fell off his horse, my lord, not far from Vannone’s hut. And we found this.” He drew a black mask from the pocket of his cloak.
“Ah. You were perhaps on your way to a masquerade ball, my friend?” He walked slowly to his desk, leaned against it, and folded his arms across his chest.
“Si, my lord,” Giacomo said quickly. “’Twas a party my sister gave last night. I still carried the mask.”
“Sister, Giacomo? Do allow me to doubt your word, my friend. A creature such as yourself would have no sister. Indeed, I seriously wonder if you know who your parents are.”
Giacomo sucked in his breath and backed away. The earl nodded to Francesco. His two men grabbed Giacomo, and he cried out as his arms were twisted roughly behind his back.
“Gently, do not hurt our guest. Can you not see that he has hurt his leg? Very careless of you, Giacomo. Do tell us what you were doing this afternoon and evening,” the earl continued conversationally, “we are very curious.”
“Nothing. I was riding to Genoa when these fiends grabbed me. As to my wound, I shot myself accidentally while cleaning my pistol.”
“I see. Innocence shines from your eyes, Giacomo.”
“He’s a lying swine,” Mr. Donnetti said. The earl frowned at him, and he held his tongue.