The Lodestone

by Charlene Keel

  “Wait,” Cleome put her hand on his arm, holding him there a moment. He moved closer and gazed down at her. “I have more questions,” she said. “Subjects I did not wish to explore in front of the others.”

  “I am intrigued.”

  “Thank you for not discussing exactly how we are to distract the count,” she began. “But what if the signal doesn’t come? What if there’s no explosion? We must assume Paolo will be watching us in that despicable room—or having us watched if he has put us elsewhere.”

  “He’ll be watching.” Drake was amused by her discomfort. “He’s a voyeur. It’s the only way he can get satisfaction. He’ll not be able to resist so entertaining a tableau.”

  “But what if Garnett cannot get Edwina out and the signal doesn’t come?” she persisted. “If we are to convince Paolo we’re lovers, how will you protect my virtue, as you promised?”

  “We’ll stage a terrible quarrel,” he told her gently. “I’ll accuse you of flirting with some nobleman we’ve met along the way, and planning an assignation behind my back. Then I’ll storm out of the room, swearing to find Paolo so I’ll have a kindred spirit with whom to get drunk.” He touched her cheek briefly, and the feel of her velvet skin warmed him entirely.

  “Well, even though it’s my reputation you’re besmirching, I suppose it will work.” She said, moving away from him as if determined to control her response. He knew she wanted to be in his arms as much as he wanted her there.

  “I thought you cared nothing for your reputation, at least not as much as you care for your friend.”

  “You know that’s true,” she declared. “How soon will we reach her, Drake? How long does it take to sail to Palermo from here?”

  “I’m afraid we cannot go there directly. We must set a leisurely pace down the Italian coast, putting into port in a few places to attend parties and dinners and—”

  “Absolutely not!” she protested. “Why waste time showing off your conquest of the infamous Lady Houghton-Parker! I won’t have it. We must go to her at once!”

  “Cleome, listen to me. Do you know who Paolo is? The influence his family wields?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Well, you should. His father was not only wealthy and powerful. He had a reputation for cruelty that rivaled the Borgias, and Paolo learned from him. Paolo is known everywhere. If we are to convince him that taking Edwina from him is the last thing on our minds, we must set the stage.”

  “And just how do you intend we do that?”

  “First, we must inspire gossip about our ‘affair’ throughout the circles in which he moves, so that we’ll have him salivating by the time we arrive. We want him to put us in his special room straightaway. There’s still time to hire someone to take your place, if you cannot play this game.”

  “Even after I’ve sent the letter to Edwina that we’re on our way?” she countered.

  “I can always say I’ve left you because of your temper and your intractable will.” He couldn’t resist teasing her a little. “You are impossible, you know.”

  “You are no better, sir,” she said softly. “I must go, Drake. I can play the game, and I am resolved to play it to the end.”

  **

  Edwina slept deeply, but now without the drugs; and it was the sweetest sleep she had ever known. Shortly after Garnett’s departure, she had noticed an increase in her appetite, a tenderness in her breasts, and an overwhelming desire for slumber. When it was time for her “monthly visitor” as her mamma called it, it didn’t come. Within a few weeks, Dr. Rupert had confirmed what she knew—and what she had known, it seemed, from the moment of conception. She was indeed with child. Paolo had been away, calling on a bishop in Rome, but he had insisted the doctor see her often.

  When she told Rupert her symptoms, he asked a few questions and then announced, “Your husband will be thrilled with the happy news.” He had not told her when Paolo would return and she had not cared enough to ask. Once she understood she was carrying Garnett’s baby, she knew everything would be all right. He would be back in a few weeks, and surely he would bring word from Cleome and Oliver, who would help her find a way to get home.

  She awoke abruptly to find Paolo sitting on the foot of her bed, studying her. “Good morning, contessa,” he greeted her quietly. She had learned that with him, quiet often preceded a violent storm.

  “What do you want?” she sat up slowly, gathering her wits to do battle.

  “Dr. Rupert tells me I’m going to be a proud papa.”

  “At least, I am going to be a mother.”

  He seized her wrist and twisted it cruelly. “If you were not in a delicate condition, my dear,” he said, “I would beat you within an inch of your life for that remark.” He released her. “But we must keep you healthy, at least until my child is born.” He stood and reached into his coat pocket, from which he pulled out a letter. “Though you do not deserve it, you will have a treat.” He threw the letter in her lap and she could see that it had been opened. She looked at him with accusation in her large, dark eyes.

  “It is addressed to me,” she said, carefully hiding her joy on seeing Cleome’s distinctive handwriting. “How long have you had it?”

  “Do not challenge me, Edwina. You should know better. The point is, your friend and her lover will be here in a fortnight.”

  “Her lover?” Edwina questioned, her heart tugging painfully at remembering how Garnett had always felt about Cleome.

  “Yes. The gambler, Drake Stoneham. Now, I could have sworn you told me there was nothing between them, that the outrageous cribbage game which I so enjoyed was a ruse to bring more business into his club.”

  “I did tell you that. It is true.”

  “Evidently not. They have been making spectacles of themselves for weeks now, cruising down the Italian coast, going to parties, giving parties and demonstrating their . . . ah . . . strong feelings for each other with no regard for discretion. They share a bedroom in every house to which they’re invited or hotel where they stay, and they share a cabin on Mr. Stoneham’s yacht. Romantic, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose.” Edwina kept her voice impassive although her spirit soared. They were coming for her. She knew it.

  “I am looking forward to their visit,” Paolo said. “How I shall enjoy the view.”

  “Please. You must not spy on them. Surely you can pay for such amusement.”

  “That is not as much fun as watching those who don’t suspect it. What a pretty picture you and your Lord Easton made, the night you conceived the babe.”

  “But—the painting,” Edwina began, confused until she realized what he had done. “I should have known.” She fought the bile that rose in her throat at the knowledge that this evil man had witnessed the act that she so treasured. Determined not to let him goad her into any behavior that would deny her the pleasure of Cleome’s company she asked demurely, “When are they coming?”

  “In a fortnight. Pity Garnett will have gone by then. But we can send him away a happy and considerably wealthier man. It appears we’ll not need his services again.”

  “Unless something goes wrong—”

  He interrupted harshly. “Dr. Rupert assures me you are in perfect health. You will have rest, peace and the best food. There’s no reason to think anything will go wrong.” He smiled. “Have no worry, my dear. I’ll not kill him, on the condition that you behave yourself, do exactly as you are told and cause me no trouble. If you’re a good girl, I’ll even allow you to entertain our guests with your infernal piano. Otherwise, I’ll lock you in your room and say you have gone to London to see your mother.”

  “I understand.”

  “And you will at least pretend to be thrilled that you’re carrying my heir. Do not give anything away.”

  “Do you imagine that I’ll boast, Paolo?” she retorted bitterly. “I am more ashamed of this farce of a marriage than you are worried about losing your fortune. You’ll have no problems from me.”

 
; He leaned over and kissed her neck, and she steeled herself not to shrink from his touch. He put his hand inside her nightgown and gently squeezed her breast. “Already they are filling with nourishment for the babe,” he said, and then stood and walked to the door. “Read your letter. I’ll send Sophia up with your tray, and I’ll unlock your piano.”

  **

  Cleome was tense with anticipation, and not just to see Edwina again. She and Drake had shared lodgings since their first port of call in Italy. In Genoa, they attended the opera and dined together in a lavish restaurant; they went to a party in Livorno and gave one in Rome. If Paolo Paresi was well known in his own land, Drake seemed equally so. The cribbage game he had played with Cleome was almost legend; the story had reached even this corner of the world, and Cleome and Drake were feted in every home they visited. More than once she heard him referred to as a war hero and many of the ladies to whom they were presented showed more than a passing interest in him. They were blatantly jealous of Cleome.

  But she was completely bewildered by her presumed lover. In the company of others, Drake exhibited such affection for her that she knew it was more than an act. His hand was ever on her waist and he drew her close to steal kisses when they danced together at a ball, or when they sat in their box at the opera. When he touched her, every nerve ending in her body awakened, tingling with her want of him. It was not difficult to convince everyone they encountered of their mutual passion.

  He insisted it was necessary for them to share a room everywhere they stopped, and she had both dreaded and anticipated the first night they spent alone together. She would not be able to resist his advances, she knew, nor did she wish to. If he believed her responses to him were just playacting, as he’d instructed her to do in public, she knew what she felt for him was real—and it was a feeling that would burn out of control if not soon satisfied.

  She had assumed that in private, with nothing to curtail his ardor, there would be no stopping him. But behind closed doors, he was proper, remote and completely disinterested. Instead of joining her in bed, he took a pillow and a place on the floor. After stowing the dagger he kept concealed in his boot beneath the pillow, he turned over and within moments was soundly snoring. But before the giggling maid brought their coffee in the next morning, he would jump into bed and pull Cleome close, only to rise and dress hurriedly as soon as they were alone again. As they pulled out of each port of call, he stood on the bow of his ship with her, waved to their hosts, and kissed her passionately for everyone to see. Then he escorted her below and with an excuse about seeing to things on the vessel or meeting with his men, he avoided her until it was time to disembark at the next port.

  **

  Garnett did not stay long, during his second visit to the Isola di Paresi. He waited only a short time in the large foyer before Paolo received him and as he waited, he mentally sketched every detail of the ornately carved wooden door, the rack for capes and hats, and on one wall, a shield emblazoned with the Paresi family crest, crossed with two swords. Bernardo came then to show him into the formal sitting room where Edwina’s piano now sat in splendor; and the count welcomed him, smiling broadly. He informed Garnett that Edwina was, indeed, expecting a baby; and that, as she was flourishing in her pregnancy, they would not need him again. Paolo presented him with a draft for eight thousand pounds, drawn on a bank in England, with the assurance that it was a line of credit that would be honored anywhere. When Garnett asked to see Edwina, Paolo refused, saying that he didn’t want anything to distress her.

  “I really must see for myself that she is safe,” Garnett argued. “Surely you would not deny us one last evening together.”

  “She is my wife, sir. I didn’t give her to you for a plaything,” Paolo said. “The deed is accomplished. You needn’t concern yourself with her anymore. But I wouldn’t send you away without some respite from your long voyage. You may take Sophia, or any serving girl you fancy. You’ll find them most accommodating.”

  Garnett could scarcely believe the count’s offer, or his own refusal. A year ago, he’d have heartily agreed. “No, thank you,” he said. “I trust you’ll get word to me when the babe is born.”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Indeed? Yes, I see how it’s to be. But I want to see Edwina for five minutes and then I must return to my ship. I sail for America tomorrow. I’ll not bother you again.”

  “Oh, very well,” Paolo acquiesced, obviously bored with taunting his guest. “Sophia will take you up.”

  As Sophia opened the door to Edwina’s room, Garnett noted that the lock did not look sturdy, and there was no guard stationed there. Edwina was sitting at a table near the window, looking out into the garden below. When she heard the door open, she said without turning around, “Sophia, you may tell the count that if I cannot play my piano, I will take dinner in my room.”

  “Si, contessa,” Sophia mumbled, closed the door behind Garnett and locked it.

  “Edwina?” he said tentatively, and on hearing his voice, she whirled around. Her eyes lit with joy, she flew into his arms and covered his face with kisses.

  “I knew you’d come back,” she said, laughing, her voice trembling with all the emotion she had been safeguarding from her husband.

  “Hush now, little one,” he soothed. “You must listen carefully. Paolo is giving us but a few moments. Cleome and Drake are nearby.”

  “Yes, I know. I got her letter only two days ago, after he had opened it and hoarded it for weeks. Are they really together now? Have they made up their quarrel?”

  “Not that I’m aware. It’s all a ploy to get you away. Paolo has invited them to stop here for a few days, as Drake expected he would. They’ll be arriving soon. At the first opportunity, I’ll come and take you out of here, and get you off this cursed island. Dress warmly, for you can take only the clothes on your back.” He walked with her to the window and looked out. There was a large, ancient grape vine that climbed up the back of the house, still bearing the remnants of the fruits of summer. “Good,” he said, satisfied. “This will do nicely. How are you, little one? Are you well?”

  “I am,” she breathed, pressing herself eagerly against him. “Garnett, I am carrying your child.”

  “So your husband has informed me. I don’t know what to say, except that I’ll never forgive myself.”

  She laughed but it sounded strangely hollow. “Please kiss me,” she entreated. “Or I fear I shall scream.”

  He did as she requested, relishing the feel of her, the taste of her. All too soon, Sophia knocked and opened the door, announcing in broken English that the count would like to speak with Garnett again before he took his leave.

  “Well,” Paolo queried when the maid led Garnett back into the sitting room. “Are you satisfied that our lovely lady is indeed safe and well?”

  “See that she remains so,” Garnett said.

  “Of course,” Paolo agreed. “And who knows. I might be convinced to let you visit again after the child is born.”

  **

  On the following evening when Drake and Cleome arrived in Naples, they found Garnett waiting for them with the new maps he’d sketched, showing the Isola di Paresi in detail, including the path he would take from Edwina’s room to the beach. The next morning, they proceeded to the island and after Drake dropped anchor, they boarded one of the lifeboats and Mr. Cartwright and two of his men took them ashore. Paolo and Edwina were on the dock to greet them, and Cleome rushed to embrace her friend.

  A sumptuous breakfast was awaiting them, announced the count, silencing his wife’s happy chatter; and afterwards, he wanted to show Drake around his little kingdom.

  “It would be my pleasure, sir,” Drake responded warmly. “Providing the ladies can find some means of entertainment until our return.” He drew Cleome to him. “They have lots of catching up to do, I’m sure,” he said. To Cleome, he added, “Will you be all right without me for a few hours, my darling?” And to her consternation, he kissed her long and hard.<
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  “I shall do my utmost to survive, sir,” she retorted and tried to pull away, which instigated another deep, scorching kiss. “Not in front of our hosts, Drake!” she admonished. “Remember that Edwina is a sheltered girl—”

  “Nonsense,” he told her. “Edwina is a married lady and her husband is a man of the world. I am sure he understands my constant need of you!”

  “Indeed, sir,” Paolo assured him. “I know my contessa would like to be the one to tell you, but I cannot contain the happy news. We are expecting a child.”

  After congratulating the count, Drake exclaimed, “How refreshing it is to be among kindred spirits, and know I have no need to hide my feelings for my lady beneath a cloak of propriety.”

  “I have always abhorred propriety,” Paolo said, his features flushed as he watched Drake’s hand settle with familiarity at Cleome’s waist. “And like you, I cannot bear to be parted from the light of my life. We’ll take the horses, Mr. Stoneham, and the ladies will accompany us in the carriage. They will be quite comfortable, I assure you.”

  “Wonderful—but you must call me Drake.”

  “Good,” agreed Paolo. “Let us dispense with formalities during your visit.”

  “I am honored, sir,” Drake said smoothly.

  It seemed the count was bound to his young wife by an invisible chain. While he watched Drake caress Cleome at every opportunity and laughed enthusiastically at his lewd comments, Paolo didn’t let Edwina out of his sight. They toured the orchards and the winery, inspected the livestock, the granary and the dairy, had a picnic in a secluded lagoon and then made their way back to the villa in the late afternoon. Not once was Cleome able to draw Edwina aside.

  “I am delighted to have you here,” Paolo told Drake as a groom took their horses. “We’ll do everything we can to make you comfortable.”

  “I trust it will not scandalize you if we share a room,” Drake said, drawing Cleome’s hand briefly to his lips when he’d helped her down from the carriage. “We’d like that, wouldn’t we, my darling?”