Devil's Embrace (Devil 1)

“It is said, signorina, that the only ones to stir during siesta are mad dogs and Englishmen. Now I discover that the English also take little delight in the art of conversation, that they are, lamentably, overly blunt.”

“Perhaps you will allow me to add, signora, that the English find no delight in petty, veiled insults. If that is your Italian notion of conversational art, then I must bow to your superb abilities.”

Giovanna’s eyes darkened dangerously. “How dare you, you little slut?”

Cassie forced herself to smile. “There, you see, my dear contessa, you are already learning English honesty. ‘Slut,’ though, is hardly a suitable epithet, I daresay. Mayhap you are thinking of your own propensities.”

“At least, signorina, I was honorably married, whereas you—” Giovanna let her voice trail off.

“Whereas I what?” Though her stomach was beginning to churn, Cassie’s voice was even. She made to rise, realizing that there was no reason in the world for her to remain to be insulted further.

Giovanna fanned her slender hands before her and allowed a wide smile to reveal her teeth.

“Are you so afraid to learn the truth, signorina, that you must run and hide yourself?”

“Very well, signora.” Cassie eased herself back into her chair. “If you know of a truth, I will gladly hear it.”

Giovanna’s voice was clear and taunting. “You will never be the Countess of Clare, you little English nobody. The earl is a discerning man, and he has come to his senses. It is I who will have that honor. I have shared his bed for some months now and soon I will share his name. He feels only pity for you now, my girl, pity and frustration because he cannot easily rid himself of you.”

But Cassie had stopped listening. “He makes love to you?”

“But of course. I asked you before—just where do you think he spends his afternoons?”

“I don’t believe you. You are wicked, unprincipled.”

“Shall I describe the scar on his left shoulder? Although he has not as yet told me how he got it, it is quite recent.” Giovanna smiled, delighted with herself.

Cassie felt suddenly numb. She jumped to her feet, tipping the table and sending her glass flying into Giovanna’s lap. She picked up her skirts and fled downhill, back through the twisting maze of streets and alleyways.

From across the street, Girolamo slammed his mug of beer down on the table top, shot the contessa a venomous glance, and rushed after Cassie, Giovanna’s high, tinkling laughter in his ears. He caught Cassie near the Palazzo Bianco, where the young boy held their horses.

“Madonna. You mustn’t listen to that woman’s spite.”

Cassie raised a white face. Was Girolamo angry because he knew the earl’s visits to Genoa were to Giovanna? She felt uncertainty, then empty rage.

She thrust out her hand. “I trust, Girolamo, that you have some money to pay the boy.”

“But Scargill—”

“The money, if you please. I have no wish to remain in Genoa. Do you or do you not wish to return to the villa with me?”

Girolamo growled deep in his throat, gave the boy a few scudi, and tossed Cassie into her saddle.

Scargill’s step was jaunty when he returned to the Via San Lorenzo. The smile on his face faded abruptly when he drew to a halt and realized that Cassie and Girolamo were nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, my God,” he said aloud, his face turning suddenly ashen. He forced himself to calm. It could not be possible that the madonna could have come to any harm in the main square of the city.

He quickly drew aside the owner of the cafe and questioned him. Nothing untoward had happened. For some reason, then, the madonna had not wished to remain. Girolamo would, of course, have accompanied her back to the villa.

He raced back down the narrow streets. The boy stood by Scargill’s horse, a slight frown on his face. It seemed, the lad told him, that the girl and the man had seemed to be for a moment at odds, but then they had mounted their horses and ridden toward the western gate of the city.

During his ride back to the villa, Scargill found that as his fear for her safety diminished, his anger grew in equal proportion. When he saw Cassie’s mare nibbling lazily upon the thick grass that bordered the graveled drive, the remaining grain of fear disappeared and his hands tightened angrily upon his horse’s reins.

He found Cassie in the earl’s bedchamber, standing by the open balcony, quite safe.

“Madonna, why ever did ye leave like that without telling me?”

Cassie turned slowly to face him. Her face was white with strain.