“I will come up and explain,” Matthias said. His head dipped below the portal’s header.
Elliot turned back to Phaedra. She appeared much herself, composed and proud and unusual. Black gauze covered the body he had possessed just hours ago. She bent down and smoothed the blanket over the straw, eliminating the most obvious evidence of the night’s events.
“I should have yielded to temptation and woken you earlier,” he said. “Such a night should not end this abruptly.”
Her small smile appeared nervous. “Abruptly or slowly, they always end anyway.”
There was a lot he wanted to say in response to that, but Greenwood’s boots were nearing the chamber.
Matthias’s white hair and smiling face emerged and rose. He appeared very pleased with himself.
“I have brought you the key to your prison, Miss Blair. Unfortunately, for this to work as planned, you must leave Positano immediately.”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
I plied Tarpetta with wine for the better part of the night,” Matthias said. “I convinced him that he did not want to risk the king’s displeasure by creating an international spectacle involving the brother of an English marquess.”
“One would hope that a rational argument would carry more weight than a threat,” Phaedra said. It rankled her that Elliot would once more procure her freedom.
She should be grateful. After last night she should find it romantic to be saved by this man. That reaction blossomed in her, but her mind also calculated how much she would once more be in his debt. If this kept happening he might call the note in ways she did not want.
“We will take whatever argument succeeded,” Elliot said.
His tone all but said, Silence, woman. Leave it to men to settle this.
Matthias offered an appeasing smile. “Miss Blair, Tarpetta is a man much enamored of his own pride and sense of authority. The best argument turned out to be one that suggested his intended course of action would damage both.”
“If it is the one that worked, so be it. I would have preferred some vindication but I will settle for safety and freedom.”
“When you say she must leave at once, how quickly does that mean?” Elliot asked.
“We will return to the villa, retrieve your baggage, and send you off in a boat immediately.” Matthias gestured to the baskets and blanket. “Leave this. I will send servants for it later.”
Phaedra accepted their escort out of the tower. She gave the chamber a final look before she went down the stairs. It still appeared humble and domestic, but not nearly as charming as it had last night in the dusk and dark. Now it was what it was, a crude abode carved out of danger and fear, and an attempt to make a home so she would not feel so helpless.
She suspected the whole night had only been a feminine reaction to danger. She had never understood the appeal of the knight in shining armor before, but then she had never been the damsel in distress either.
Her mind sorted it out rationally. The bright light of day implied the romance of the night had been a dream to be remembered fondly, but nothing more. And yet, as she began walking down the stairs, Elliot took her hand in a gesture of both courtesy and command, to guide her and lead her forth from their tower of love.
Her heart twisted at the gentle way he escorted her. Her pulse raced at his touch. When they passed a thin slit in the stairwell wall the light lined his fine face so he looked much as he had last night. For a moment she was dazed, awed by the manner in which he could alter the air and space and invade her so thoroughly.
Midsummer’s day greeted them outside, hot and sultry. The morning sea breeze had waned and the sun carved the town into bright lights and deep shadows. The promontory was empty of people. So were the docks.
“The feast is under way,” Matthias said. “They are all in the church piazza.”
“Let us bypass it,” Elliot said. The small frown of concern marred his brow again. She sensed that he remained alert for trouble, like a cat carefully making its way through unknown territory.
“By all means, but you will miss the preparations for the procession. It is very colorful.” Matthias guided them to a lane that would flank the piazza. “Your vigilance is admirable, Rothwell, but Miss Blair is quite safe now. Tarpetta understands it is in his interest to stand down.”
There were no donkey boys to be seen so they began the long climb to the villa through empty lanes. Sounds from the piazza floated between silent houses. As they crossed a street that headed south, she saw a flash of black out of the corner of her eye. Not everyone in the town was at the church.
Climbing the hill was a strain. Phaedra’s legs grew sore, then felt watery. The sun beat down relentlessly and sweat began to dampen the gauze of her dress. Elliot did not appear the least discomforted, but Matthias was not such a young man. His breathing became labored.
“I must slow, Mr. Greenwood. Would you be good enough to stay with me. Lord Elliot can forge ahead and begin preparations.”
“Certainly, Miss Blair. You appear a little paler. Would you like to stop and rest? While haste is in order, we do not have a pistol at our backs.”
“The sun is dazzling me more than I might like, but I am sure that if I walk more slowly I will be—.”
“What in—”
Elliot’s exasperated tone interrupted her. She released Matthias from her attention and he from hers. They both looked ahead to see what had arrested Elliot.
Five figures stood in the lane. Dressed in widow’s black, veiled like Arabs or nuns, Carmelita’s old women blocked their way.
“Just smile and walk on,” Matthias said, beaming his most benevolent expression on them.
It might have worked if these women remained the only barrier. Unfortunately, others joined them. Phaedra recognized some of the women she had met at the well and others who had stood against the men. All of them peered down the lane most critically.
The object of their disapproval was none other than i’uomo magnifico, Lord Elliot Rothwell.
Carmelita pushed through the gathering throng. Her arms flew while she castigated the old women. Their response was as crisp and sharp as the daggers their eyes kept shooting at Elliot.
Matthias turned to find another path. “Oh, my,” he muttered.
Phaedra glanced back. More women had bled onto the lane behind them.
Carmelita walked the twenty paces separating them from the old women. She grimaced with apology and resignation. “There is a little problem.”
“Tarpetta and Greenwood have an understanding,” Elliot said. “Explain that to them. These women who risked themselves to protect Miss Blair are now interfering with her timely escape.”
Carmelita nodded in solemn agreement. “Except they still seek to protect her. They are now concerned for her honor.” She leveled a knowing gaze at him. “They think you…they think…actually, they know, they don’t think.”
Phaedra felt her color rising. Elliot’s face remained passive but it flushed a little too.
“They cannot know anything,” Phaedra said.
“Phaedra Blair, your isolation in that tower with a man would alone compromise you in their eyes. However, Maria there brought up some water and bread at dawn and…” Carmelita spread her hands in a gesture that said all had been seen. “I told her that she should forget what she saw. The women of the town, however—each one sees you as a sister now. They have fought for you and will not let this seducer have his way without putting things right.”
“Seducer? See here, I am not—”
Matthias’s dramatic sigh interrupted. “Rothwell, dear boy, you have been disastrously indiscreet.”
Phaedra stepped forward. “I do not need other women fighting this particular battle, Carmelita. I am a grown woman and I believe that—Good heavens, now what is the priest doing here?”
The hapless priest from yesterday’s battle was being pushed toward them through the crowd.
“I believe this is what is called
an untoward development,” Elliot said dryly.
“Elliot, do something.” Phaedra hissed the words in a tone approaching panic. The whole town appeared to surround them now. The bodies formed a slow-moving river aiming through the lanes. Elliot, Phaedra, Matthias, and the poor priest formed the flotsam from a wreck being borne along by the current.
“What do you recommend, Phaedra? As a gentleman I cannot refuse to marry a woman whom I have compromised.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. This is coercion, and refusing would not make you a scoundrel. Nor have you compromised me. You cannot think to actually go through with this?”
He did not know what he thought yet. He only knew that standing his ground here and now might be a dangerous mistake. The town was elated by the impending nuptials. Even Tarpetta’s most staunch supporters grinned with delight. The general sentiment, from what Elliot could tell, was that the town thought this would be the finest Feast of San Giovanni in memory.
With each step Phaedra’s eyes got wider. “Then I will refuse.”
Matthias stuck his head close to hers. “Miss Blair, I have just spent hours convincing Signore Tarpetta that you are not, um, unvirtuous. If you refuse to marry a man with whom you were seen on, um, intimate terms, all my efforts might be for nought.”
“I will not marry, least of all at the point of a sword.”
Elliot had no desire to marry at the point of a sword either, but he did not find the looming church as alarming as Phaedra did. Although he had never found himself moved to propose to a woman, he was not opposed to marriage on principle like she was. Of course, his family history had shown that a bad union could create a life of hell, but that did not bear on this situation. Yet.
“Will this even be legal?” she demanded of Matthias. “We are not Catholic. This is not England. There will be no bans, no license. Are such unions even recognized at home? After all, a Catholic ceremony alone is not legitimate at home and—”
“I really do not know for certain. I am sure it can all be sorted out later.”
“Sorted out later? What if the sorting is not to my liking? Talk to them. Tell them that—” Her response was interrupted by a shift in the crowd.
The lane suddenly spilled into the piazza. The bodies rearranged and loosened their hold, but still formed a thick wall. A new figure joined their little nucleus. Signore Tarpetta limped into place beside Elliot.
“This is a good ending,” he said with pompous approval. “If she is una sposa, there will be a man’s law for her. You can perhaps authority her better now.”
Elliot bit back the curse that leapt to mind. Tarpetta’s presence was no accident. No doubt the man had heard the old women’s gossip and encouraged the town into playing out this farce.
Matthias pushed his way over to Tarpetta and muttered lowly. He did not appear to make much progress in whatever case he pled. He shifted back over to Elliot.
“I am going to see about the preparations for that boat, Rothwell. The absence of an English witness can only help a claim that this was not legitimate.”
Elliot was already lining up that case in his head. Phaedra looked like a woman being led to the stake, not the altar. His sympathy for her desperation contained a dose of annoyance. She acted as if marriage to Lord Elliot Rothwell was a fate worse than death.
That it was a fate neither of them had chosen and that neither of them anticipated or wanted was beside the point. He was going to the slaughter to save their honor and her hide. She might at least pretend some grace about the situation.
Matthias bled away. The crowd parted and allowed the priest and his sacrificial lambs access to the church doors. Phaedra looked very pale.
The priest turned to face Elliot and the bride. An acolyte rushed out of the church with a shiny vestment that the priest donned. The priest spoke to the crowd.
“What is he saying?” Phaedra asked.
“As best I can tell, he is announcing that the wedding will take place here, then we will go into the church and sign the documents.”
“Here?” She stared down at the ground, as if wondering where here actually was. For a moment he thought she would swoon. “Now?”
“I am afraid so.” He took her hand. “Courage, little wife.”
His tease brought some color back to her complexion. She looked like she wanted to hit him.
The priest began his prayers. The crowd hushed. Elliot realized that the first defense against the efficacy of this ceremony, that the vows would be in a language Phaedra did not understand, would not hold. The priest spoke in Latin and she would comprehend every word.
His mind raced in a quick debate. Their affirmations would be requested soon. He glanced over his shoulder at the throng listening with rapt attention. He wished that he knew something about canon law.
The priest warmed to his role in the pageant. He raised his voice and it rang over the heads in the piazza. Phaedra kept glancing around like a damsel waiting for the white charger that would carry her rescuer.
The priest spoke the vows and turned expectantly to the groom. Elliot looked at Phaedra, whose eyes pled with him to play the scoundrel.
A small cough from Tarpetta arrested his attention. It served as a reminder of yesterday’s danger, and of those messengers headed to Naples.
Elliot turned back to Phaedra. He did not think this ceremony was legitimate, but it might be. If so, they would be bound forever.
He could do worse. So could she.
He spoke the words of consent.
It took Phaedra forever to say the words. They stuck in her throat, refusing to emerge. She might be sealing her fate in a way she had consciously avoided. She could be trading one prison for another.
She stared at Elliot, unable to hide her desperation.
He waited patiently, his gaze kind but his expression firm. She knew what he was mentally saying to her. The dark form of Signore Tarpetta hovered ten paces away, a physical reminder that while this all seemed like a strange dream full of buffoonery and farce, she still walked the edge of a precipice in this land.
The panic she had been swallowing boiled up. What if…He might…It could take years to…
She corralled her thoughts and imposed rationality on them. Of course this was not a legitimate wedding. Of course Elliot would help get that resolved correctly should there be any question. He did not want this any more than she did. A night of pleasure did not turn a man’s head and make his brain a mass of porridge.
Her hesitation became awkward. A little buzz hummed through the crowd. The priest’s eyebrows rose, two half moons aiming toward his balding pate.
Carmelita gave her a curious look, as if reappraising her worth.
Phaedra took a deep breath, and spoke the vows.
A cheer went up. Pandemonium broke. The festival of San Giovanni had begun on a high note.
The priest stepped back. He told the crowd to get the procession ready to start. He crooked his finger at the newlyweds and turned to enter the church.
“He wants us to sign the documents now,” Elliot explained.
Phaedra tried to hold on to her hard-won calm. “At least we will get out of this sun. I have never been so warm in my life.”
Elliot stepped closer to her. “You do look wan. I fear the sun has made you sick. I hope you are not going to faint.”
A special note sounded within his concern. She looked up at him, then at the priest waiting at the church door, then at the remnants of the crowd still milling nearby.
She pressed her hand to her cheek, then her forehead. “I am very light-headed. Nor do I have salts with me. The excitement and the heat—” She wobbled just a tad.
Elliot’s arm instantly supported her. “Let me help you inside, my dear.”
Carmelita stepped forward to accompany them and serve as witness on the documents. So did Signore Tarpetta.
“No,” Elliot said to him. “You have been no friend to my wife.” He looked at Carmelita. “Choose another. Anyone else.�
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It had begun as an act but Phaedra truly felt sick now. Elliot guided her into the cool darkness of the church. Carmelita and a fisherman came too. They shut the door on the noise from the piazza.
Through the dim light Phaedra spied the priest bending over a lectern. He busily scribbled on some parchment. A thick tome stood at the ready too.
She knew nothing about Catholic marriages, but she knew a thing or two about English law. Saying words was one thing. Signing documents was quite another. If she put down her name of her own free will she could be doomed.
She pressed her palm against Elliot’s chest, making him stop. She did not have to fake sun illness now. The cool church air raised a sweat on her skin. Her blood drained from her head and extremities.
Elliot’s face hovered closely, then quickly receded into blackness.
“Is she pretending?” Carmelita whispered.
“It does not appear so.” Elliot gazed down at the body he held in his arms. He had swept her up as she fell, impressed by her ability to feign a faint worthy of the best actress. Now the deadweight he bore and Phaedra’s ashen color indicated that it had been no act.
The priest rushed over, wringing his hands. Elliot spoke to him in Latin. “I am taking my wife back to the villa to recover. We will return this afternoon to sign the license and records.”
It had not been a good two days for the priest. He waved them off with relief. Elliot aimed down the nave, not back to the front portal. “Show me another way out,” he told Carmelita.
She hurried ahead, pointing him to a small door off the side aisle. He paused briefly to thank Carmelita for all her help, then strode down a deserted lane toward the sea.
Phaedra stirred in his arms. Her eyes opened. It took a few more strides for her to collect herself. Then she critically assessed her situation.
“Why are you carrying me?”
“You fainted.”
“Put me down. I never faint.”
He stopped and set her on her feet. “You did this time. Dead away.”
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