He answered her brusquely. “No. I will not have you placed in such danger.”
“Is it not my right?”
“If you wish it, you will come face to face with Andrea, but while he is free, I cannot allow myself to be distracted, and that is what would happen if you were with me. No, Cassandra, do not argue with me further.”
She wanted to tell him that she wished to be with him only because she feared for his safety, but she realized he was quite capable of taking care of himself.
“You will be careful, my lord?” she said.
“You may be certain of it, Cassandra.”
She watched him silently, Scargill beside her on the front steps, as he wheeled Cicero about to join the other men. She closed her eyes and listened to the pounding hoofbeats until they were lost from her hearing.
“Nay, madonna,” Scargill said, “do not worry yourself. He will return safely—with that animal in tow—if Daniele has indeed found him.”
She nodded, feeling at once dejected and abstracted, and walked back into the villa. She did not tell Scargill that all of her concern was not for the earl. She had spent the past several days in a pleasant haze, content to bask in their rediscovered passion, becoming once again at one with her own body and with his. They had not spoken of the future, as if by tacit agreement. She wondered what she would have said had he asked her to wed him when she lay in his arms, her body drugged with desire, her mind quieted by her need for him. She wandered silently through the villa, knowing that she must come to terms with herself. She thought about the future, of the days and nights that would inevitably flow from the present, and cursed herself for her weakness. Her anger at herself turned quickly to sadness, not only because he had left, but because his absence would force her to look within herself.
Though the sun was bright as it neared its zenith, a light breeze from the Mediterranean stirred the balmy air and made the ride to Genoa quite pleasant. Cassie rode her mare, flanked by Scargill and Girolamo, both heavily armed. They had set out before noon to enjoy a luncheon. Scargill told her, under the tall, gaunt façade of the Palazzo Ducale of Genoa’s main square. It was Scargill’s idea, one he hoped would cheer the madonna. She had never visited the Palazzo Ducale or the Sala del Gran Consiglio. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had decided, an optimistic smile lighting his eyes, she would enjoy wandering through the magnificent buildings.
They left their horses in the care of a youth whom Scargill knew, and climbed through the uphill maze of narrow streets to the Via San Lorenzo. The sights, smells, and noise of the city always seemed to fascinate Cassie, and today was no exception. In Genoa, though, Cassie soon told Scargill between heaving breaths, one never seemed to be able to simply walk. Scargill, whose own forehead was glistening with sweat, heartily agreed, and suggested they stop at a small sidewalk cafe. After downing a cool glass of lemonade, Scargill left Cassie with Girolamo and took himself off to the Palazzo Ducale, where he hoped to gain them entrance.
Girolamo, a short, wiry man of middle years, sat tugging on his left earlobe as his rheumy eyes studied every man within twenty feet of them. His gaze fell only briefly on the ladies, and only on those of tender years with wide smiles and sparkling dark eyes. He had sworn to the earl that the madonna would always be safe in his company, and he had no intention of violating that trust.
Cassie gave her attention to the soberly dressed gentlemen and ladies who walked past their table, many of their faces moist from exertion. Light women’s chatter floated across the narrow lane above her head, from the crowded balconies of opposing houses.
“Buon giorno, signorina,” came a soft, melodious voice.
Cassie slewed her head about to see the Contessa Giusti standing above her. She remembered every venomous word that lady had spoken to her that long ago evening at the Villa Parese, but forced herself to nod coolly.
“It is fine weather, is it not, signorina?” Giovanna continued, undaunted. She felt a flush of excitement that the English girl was here at last, in Genoa, and not tucked away out of her reach at the Villa Parese.
“Il tempo e cattivissimo,” Cassie agreed
. She watched the contessa’s slender fingers lightly touch the exquisite lace that fell in gathered layers from her plunging bodice.
Giovanna airily dismissed her maid and gazed toward the frowning Girolamo. “Surely, signorina, you do not need this ferocious man to guard you from me.”
Girolamo opened his mouth to protest, knowing well that no good could come from the madonna talking with the earl’s former mistress, but Cassie stopped him. Short of being blatantly rude, she saw no way of turning away the contessa.
“Girolamo,” she said, forcing lightness to her voice, “I fear that the lemonade is not quite to your liking. Across the street is a cafe that, I believe, might sell something a bit more invigorating.”
“Sí, madonna,” Girolamo said reluctantly. He searched the street for Scargill, and with one last harassed look at the smiling contessa, took himself off.
“Madonna,” Giovanna mused aloud, as she sat herself gracefully in the seat vacated by Girolamo. “How terribly quaint. Did you choose the name yourself, signorina?”
“No,” Cassie said shortly.
“You are not often in Genoa, signorina.”
“I find that there is a lot to occupy me at the Villa Parese.”
“Ah. But the earl, I believe, now spends much of his time in Genoa, dealing with business affairs and other matters. It appears that the Villa Parese does not hold the attractions for him that it used to.”
Cassie’s fingers tightened about the slender glass at the contessa’s words. She raised wary eyes to Giovanna’s perfect oval face, but said nothing.
“His lordship gives you no explanation for his many absences?”
“I believe, signora, that you can speak more plainly.”