She was still gazing at the street when the men returned to the room.
“Now, again-a, ladies,” Tonio said, launching an arpeggio on the Broadwood. Susan stood next to Caro at the side of the pianoforte just as though they faced a roomful of people.
Gianni, their sole observer, settled across the room, the usual position from which he observed the lessons. As she and Caro sang, Susan tried not to let her gaze linger on him. She was not so far from the danger that threatened Caro. She spent an hour every day with Gianni before they came here for the singing, precious hours that she enjoyed not only for the progress she made toward speaking in Italian, but also for his companionship. Her mother would be horrified if she knew the dowager allowed them to sit and talk together, alone in a small room. And to be honest, Susan thought, exactly what her mother feared might well be a possibility. His nearness could lead her to the very improprieties Mother would condemn, but which Susan longed to commit.
“Un piu repetito. From the beginning,” Tonio said when they finished.
She glanced at Caro, whose smile glowed as she prepared to start over. Susan nodded her agreement and turned her gaze toward the far corner of the room. She felt as though she could sing this number in her sleep.
Gianni seemed lost in thought, oblivious to the music. He had the most beautiful lips, lips whose movements she tried to imitate as they spoke. Usually his mouth was curved into a smile, but at this moment, he looked grave, almost as though the weight of the world lay on his wide shoulders. Susan knew she should try to curtail her interest in him, for her fascination could lead nowhere. Even for her, with her unconventional ideas about being independent and traveling to Italy, involvement with a poor Italian fellow was irrational in the extreme.
He shifted in his chair and met her gaze, breaking into a wide smile, dark eyes twinkling and one eyebrow raised at an impish angle. For an instant, she lost track of where she was and almost stopped singing.
Susan borrowed the dowager’s fur-lined blue velvet cape to wear to the theater. Not only was it elegant, it was warm enough to fight off the chills of the February wind. When she asked for and received permission to wear Lady Traisdel’s cloak, she was careful to mask her amazement that Lady Renwick had given permission for her daughter to be escorted by Maestro Antonio and Gianni to an evening event at the Sans-Pareil Theatre, of all places. But as Susan correctly guessed, her grandmother considered Lady Renwick’s acquiescence to be sufficient rationale to allow Susan’s participation.
As the four of them climbed down from the coach provided by Lady Renwick, Susan was grateful for the warmth of her outerwear, for they were stopped by more than a dozen persons as they traversed the few feet from the street to the theater entrance. All seemed determined to speak to Gianni, their words incoherent to Susan, but their urgency clear in their demeanor. As they went up the stairs to their box, a young woman with roughed cheeks and heavily outlined eyes clutched at his arm and pleaded with him. He nodded and patted her hand.
“I am sorry, carissima mia,” he whispered to Susan as he held her chair and draped her cloak across its back. “I have several people to whom I must speak. I shall return in a few moments.”
Tonio made a dismissive gesture. “Gianni, he must talk to ever’one, ever’place. Talk, talk.” He shook his head.
Susan hardly noticed the theater’s interior. Again her brain was spinning with questions about Gianni. Despite their growing friendship and their many hours spent together, she still felt he carried secrets he would not share. She had considered and rejected all sorts of explanations. For several days she had tortured herself with the thought he might have a wife and family or a lover hidden away who sent emissaries to beg him to come home. But he was too kind, too polite, to conduct such devious mischief, of that she was convinced. Perhaps it was some sort of unauthorized business he conducted, though she doubted that smugglers and dealers in stolen goods met in the middle of crowded halls or in front of well-attended theaters. Nor did his associates seem like they would be purveyors of the kind of artwork on which he advised the duke.
Not that all of the persons seeking his attention were male. The female on the stairs a few minutes ago looked like a lightskirt. And so had some others he had spoken with. Curse the imagination that brought her such thoughts! How could she think such a thing, that he might be some sort of a procurer? Those men were the lowest of the low, the scum of the gutters. To suppose Gianni might be one of them was unthinkable.
Though Susan was relieved when Gianni returned to the box and took his seat beside her, the evening’s production failed to earn her closest attention. The dancers seemed no more than moving shapes drawing only a tiny part of her mind. The rest of her thoughts raced around the universe seeking answers to questions she could hardly compose. Her thoughts grew darker when she noticed the girl who just stopped Gianni on the stairs. She was a dancer, clad in a filmy costume of thin fabric. Dancers, she heard, had dreadful reputations for leading young men astray.
Susan stole a look at Gianni. Unless she was completely mistaken, he hardly noticed the activity on the stage. He seemed distracted, far from the theater and lost in thought. As she watched him, he frowned and took a deep breath, an expression of sadness on his handsome face. Obviously the comic play The Milkmaid, or Rustic Lovers, was penetrating his consciousness no more than it did hers. Susan could hear gales of laughter from the audience at the humorous parts. Caro and Tonio seemed entranced by the spectacle, while she and Gianni sat soberly side by side, yet entirely alone in the crowded theater. It seemed like hours before the music reached its final crescendo, the curtain fell, and the audience broke into wild applause.
“Was that not wonderful?” Wide-eyed, Caro leaned over to Susan, awe in her voice.
“Indeed, I have never seen such a thing,” Susan replied.
Gianni threw off his reverie. “I, for one, am looking forward to the pantomime. I feel the need for a good round of laughter.”
Susan smiled. “I agree. Something as frivolous and silly as possible.”
When The Magician, or The Enchanted Bird, got underway, Susan was not disappointed. Her smiles turned to giggles, then into laughter she could hardly control. When the mechanical bird flew about the stage as if real, just out of reach of the hilariously bumbling magician, she had to wipe tears of mirth from her eyes. By the time the pantomime finished to uproarious cheers, all four inhabitants of the box were weak with laughter.
“My side aches,” Caro gasped.
“Mine too.” Tonio sprawled in his chair and pretended to be overcome.
Gianni reached for Susan’s hand and gave it a squeeze, then arranged her cloak on her shoulders. The exiting spectators were in a jaunty mood, laughter rippling from one side of the stairs to the other. Gianni handed Susan into the Renwick coach just outside the theater. She felt relieved they had escaped the theater without further demands for Gianni’s attention. His mood now seemed as jovial as Tonio’s. They joined in a short chorus of a song in Italian that caused them more laughter but which they would not translate for Susan and Caro. Tonio removed the shade and blew out the single candle lighting the interior. The darkened coach moved slowly through the streets crowded with vehicles and still partially blocked by ice and snow. Antonio produced a bottle of champagne and four glasses. He popped the cork with care, not spilling a drop.
Susan accepted her glass with trepidation. On previous occasions, she had never cared for the tickly liquid.
Gianni leaned close and clinked his glass against hers. “Salute, Susanna mia.”
“Salute,” she replied. Cautiously, she tried a tiny sip. The taste was delicious. She tipped a little more into her mouth. Even better. Its sparkle flowed down her throat and made her giggle. As the coach lurched over a rut, Susan fell against Gianni and he put his arm around her, holding her tightly to him. She swallowed more of her champagne and held out the glass for Tonio to refill it. Again she drained the glass. Never had anything tasted so luscious. Gi
anni took her empty glass and set it on the floor.
In the passing light of a streetlamp, Susan saw Tonio kissing Caro. She felt as though she ought to stop them, remind them of what Lady Renwick would say if she knew how they were using her fine coach. But she did not move. Caro seemed very happy to be kissed. Her little murmurs had the ring of delight, not opposition. Susan thought Lady Renwick was counting on her as a sort of chaperon, but her body felt too languorous to move, as though her arms and legs had turned to liquid.
“One more sip?” she asked Tonio.
Without detaching himself from Caro, Tonio handed the champagne bottle to Gianni.
“Here, carissima mia,” he whispered, holding the bottle to her lips. Susan had never drunk from a wine bottle before. In all her twenty-two years, no one had ever expected her to indulge in such misconduct. Yet it was as effortless as sipping from a glass. The mouthful of wine went down so easily she took another.
Gianni squeezed her to him and took his own deep swig, setting the bottle beside the glasses on the floor. The coach was silent, all the outside noises faded. Susan gazed at his face in the dim light, yearning for his lips to meet hers. Her eyes closed as if beyond her control, and her chin tipped up, waiting for the gentle touch of his mouth. It would not be her very first kiss, but the first she truly desired.
“Susanna mia, I should not do this.” His voice was almost a groan.
“Please,” she whispered.
With a tiny growl of pleasure, he brushed his lips across hers, once, twice, and again. They were feather kisses, as sweet and ephemeral as the bubbles in the champagne, as enticing as the tingle of wine spreading though her limbs. Kisses so precious they stole her breath and raised all her senses to a feverous heat. Kisses so cherished she wanted more, many more, a lifetime’s worth.
He tasted of champagne, and at last she knew why people loved to drink it. She felt as though she had finished an entire bottle by herself instead of just a few swallows. She wound her arms about his neck and sank back on the soft squabs, pulling him with her. She heard his little moan of pleasure when he pressed his mouth harder against hers. Their quickening breaths mingled and she thought she might faint away with delight. She had no awareness of the coach moving, of time passing. She knew only his body, heavy and warm pressing against her, his lips, turning hers to fire, his voice, arousing her with the treasured words she craved. “Susanna mia, te amo.”
Chapter Four
Susan sat at her dressing table while her maid Peg brushed her hair. With each long stroke, she let herself sink deeper into her reverie. Kissing Gianni was the most wonderful thing that ever happened to her. He was sweet, gentle, his lips soft, his touch wonderful. She wished she could sit here forever, reliving those kisses. No! She wished she had Gianni’s arms around her as they snuggled together in the chilly coach. “Te amo, signor, caro mio. Te amo.” She let the unspoken words echo in her head as she reveled in the movement of Peg’s brush.
“Miss Susan?” Peg’s hand was still. “Are you awake?”
“Oh, Peg. I am sorry. I was thinking of something else, far, far away.”
“Can I braid now?”
“Yes. Do you have a fellow, Peg?”
The maid paused in dividing strands of Susan’s long hair. With a little blush, she nodded. “Yes’m, I walk out with Fred, one of Lady Traisdel’s footmen.”
“Are you in love with him? Do you feel like your feet are not touching the floor when you stand next to him?”
“Oh, yes, miss. Or I wanna jump up and down like an excited pup.”
“Do you feel as though your chest is collapsing inside you? And you cannot catch your breath?”
“I do. Are you in love, Miss Susan?”
“I do not know. I only know I feel very strange when I am around a certain man. Has Fred kissed you?”
“Oh, miss, I canna’ say.” Peg could not choke back a little giggle as she confessed. “When Fred kisses me, a dozen fuzzy chicks jump around inside me, flapping their wings and tickling me in a way I canna’ scratch.”
“Yes, Peg. I know that feeling exactly. Does that mean I am in love?”
“Oooh, that I canna’ know. But you be careful, miss. Me mom sez menfolk take what they can get from girls who don’ keep both feet on the ground, if you take my meaning.”
“Gracious, I suppose I do. Both feet.” Last night she was certain neither of her slippers had touched the floor of the coach.
Susan pushed the draperies as far back from the window as they would go. Even that hardly helped the efforts of a thin sun gallantly trying to break through a haze of clouds. As she waited for Gianni to arrive for her Italian lesson, the dimness of the room reminded her of the darkness last night in the coach, of the warmth she enjoyed in Gianni’s arms. Just the thought made her weak with emotion. Now, hours later, in the light of day, how could she know what those whispered words meant? And if he loved her, what did it matter? There could be no future for the two of them. She simply had to get those thoughts out of her head or she would not be able to accomplish anything this afternoon. He would be here any moment. She must eliminate the silly grin on her face, a grin she could not wipe away no matter how she tried. It gaped at her from every mirror she passed. Pinching her cheeks or nipping at the edge of her tongue did not seem to help. But no matter how she grinned at the lingering effects of being kissed by him, she really did not know Gianni.
Last night, before the earth-shattering events on the way home, she watched Gianni talking to people, his discussions serious, his face often grim. She was certain, after several instances of these contacts, that he was not just a simple exile. Instead of grinning like an idiot, she should be formulating questions that would help her find out the answers. But even as he entered the room and kissed her hand, she could not stop wishing she was back inside the coach, deep in his embrace.
“Buon giorno, bella mia.” Gianni carried a package wrapped in brown paper. He set it on the table and opened it as she watched, her doubts forgotten. “There are two prints. This is the Campo and the Palazzo Pubblico, from the 13th century. And this one is the Duomo, the cathedral, a triumph of Sienese Gothic architecture.”
Susan gazed at the prints, her throat clogged with sudden tears. “They are beautiful,” she murmured.
“They are for you to hang here, Susanna mia, so that you never forget Gianni. And someday, we will stand here, together in the Campo.” He pointed to a spot near the center of a print. And you will see the clearest light, and the colors, pinks and ochres, glowing in rivalry with the brilliant blues of the sky.”
“Grazie, Gianni.”
He smiled and nodded. “You are an excellent student.”
“Nonsense!”
“I have something else for you, cara mia. Last evening I studied the advertisements printed in the Times. Certain phrases seem useful for persons desiring a position. Do you know them?”
“No, I have never—”
“If you want to be a governess or a companion, you must see what to say. You might be ‘a young lady desirous of taking a position’ or ‘a lady whose connections are of the first respectability’.”
“Oh my, I would not know…”
“Or ‘a young person of respectable family who wishes for a situation to wait on a lady she will do her best to please’.”
“Those words are in the Times?”
“Yes, cara mia. I do not think this is your future. You must get to Italy another way, perhaps with me, Susanna mia.”
Susan’s breath caught in her throat. “What?”
Abruptly, Peg burst into the room. “Miss Susan, your mama and papa have arrived with yer sisters. Mr. Gianni, Lady Traisdell sez you have to go out the back way. And quick.”
Now that he sat before a fire in his brother’s comfortable library, Gianni could manage a laugh, however rueful. Being rushed down the servants’ stairs and ejected from Halford House without his coat, scarf, or gloves had just about done him in. Peg had sent him to the mews
where she promised to bring him his coat once she survived the initial flurry of tasks associated with the arrival of Lady Halford and her daughters. Since the distance was not great, he had decided instead to hasten to Bainbridge House, avoiding the questions of the Halford grooms. He had not considered the treacherous footing in the cross streets, the icy mounds of snow, the glassy sheets of ice where snow had melted and refrozen several times, all negotiated while the wind tore through his flimsy jacket and nipped his ears and fingers to the bone.
Now that he was warming up, he found it quite amusing to have been the potential cause of so much trouble. Susan told him the first time he came to her house that her grandmother, however proper she claimed to be, was interested primarily in her own comfort and convenience. In sending him away so unceremoniously, the dowager was acknowledging the fact her daughter would not approve of the way she supervised Susan. Someday, when he knew her on a different level, perhaps he would have the opportunity to thank her.
Or wish her to perdition.
If he and Susan had not had all those hours alone, he never would have found himself falling in love. Or was it Lady Renwick’s fault, hiring Antonio and asking him to bring along a friend? His life might be headed in a very different direction at this moment if he had never met Miss Susan Kimball. His feelings for her required him to reveal his true identity to her before much longer. He had no idea how she would react. Would she regard him as an imposter, devious and amoral? Or would she understand his motives, and forgive him his masquerade?
He wondered if he returned to being Lord John and circulated in society, would he remember how to behave? For eight years, he had been Gianni, free of all the constraints of the haut ton, free to be as outrageous as he wanted. He rarely met anyone in London’s social circles. When he did and was ignored or overlooked as introductions were made, he did not mind in the least. He was, in the role he had adopted, something slightly more than a servant, but less than a man of business or a merchant. He was invisible, a part of the furniture, and so treated.
The Valentine Poem Page 4