But he could not help feeling it was undignified for him to have been hidden in what had clearly been a hiding place for other men before him.
He realised how skilfully the Princess had managed to deceive the man whose name she bore.
It was at this moment that he knew he had no wish to spend any time with her again.
It was not because he was afraid of the Prince’s revenge.
In some way that he could not explain to himself, the Princess simply no longer attracted him.
The Marchese was used to his love affairs, of which there had been many, ending abruptly for one reason or another.
He was usually bored by the repetition and the inevitability of it all.
What he disliked now was feeling degraded by the knowledge that he had followed in the footsteps of other lovers and they had escaped retribution by the same means as he had.
He did not dispute the fact that the Princess was the most beautiful woman he had ever made love to.
Yet her conduct and her calmness in the face of danger somehow revolted him.
Suddenly he felt sorry for the Prince because he was genuinely in love with his wife and all too easily he was being deceived by her.
‘I shall not see her again,’ the Marchese decided before he reached his house.
It was a magnificent building that overlooked the river and had been designed by one of the great architects of the Renaissance. It had been filled with treasures over the years to which he had added his own substantial contribution.
He was well aware of how many women were eager to share with him the beauty of his house and his other possessions. There were many also who loved him without them.
But he preferred to be on his own.
He had no intention, as he had said often enough, of ever marrying again.
He had been married when he was just twenty-one and it had been arranged by his father and was considered to be one of the most fashionable Weddings of the year.
His father had chosen for him the daughter of the Duke of Tuscany and it had been a triumph for the then Marchese di Lucca to be closely affiliated to the Dukedom of Tuscany.
Vittorio had hardly met his wife before the Wedding.
She was just seventeen, not at all attractive and heavily built. She had none of the grace that he associated with the women depicted by the great artists whose pictures surrounded him at every turn.
They had a very grand Wedding attended by everyone in Florence and the Marriage was celebrated by His Holiness the Pope.
After hours of eating and drinking, the young couple had driven away on their honeymoon.
Vittorio already had a reputation with the ladies.
He was outstandingly handsome and, because of his title as well as his looks, there were a number of Florentine beauties only too willing to teach him the Arts of Love.
Because he was being gossiped about, his father had hurried him to the altar, as he was afraid of Vittorio making the mistake of running away with some married woman he fancied.
Worse still of marrying beneath him.
The pressure was impossible to resist and Vittorio had allowed himself to be manipulated into marrying the Duke’s daughter.
She came to him with an enormous dowry and some masterpieces of sculpture. And these were, Vittorio’s father thought, exactly what was required to enhance his villa in Lucca.
Two days after he was married Vittorio knew that he was bored to distraction.
A week later the bridal couple returned to Florence.
There were whispers, but not too loud, because even the gossips were afraid of the Duke, that Vittorio had taken a mistress two weeks after the Wedding Ceremony had taken place.
No one knew if this was true or not, but they enjoyed talking about it.
But what was obvious was that, while Vittorio was seen everywhere, his wife seldom appeared.
She spent most of her time with her parents at the Palace.
And it was easy as the months went by to excuse this because she was bearing Vittorio’s child.
She obviously had no wish to be seen in public, but this most certainly did not stop her husband from being a guest at every smart dinner party.
He was seen at every amusement that took place in what was then the most exciting City in Europe.
Nobody except Vittorio knew how trapped he felt and how much he longed for his freedom.
When it came, he was actually some distance away in a villa by the sea and with him was an exceedingly beautiful woman whose husband was on a Diplomatic mission to St. Petersburg.
There Vittorio received the news that his wife and his unborn child had died in a carriage accident.
It was not a particularly violent one, but his young wife had been slightly crushed, which had killed the baby and the doctors did not have the skill to save her life.
Vittorio, of course, appeared at the funeral, but all Florence was talking about his love affairs and condemning him for neglecting his wife.
He had no wish to be talked about in such a manner, not that it worried him personally but because it upset his father and mother.
He set off therefore to travel round the world and he was away for nearly three years.
When he returned, it was to find that his father had died and he was now the Head of the Family and the Marchese.
His mother had returned to Lucca, where she died two years later.
It was then he reiterated what he had said before many times that he had no intention of remarrying.
There were a number of male relatives who could, in the event of his not producing a son, inherit the title and they could be trusted to care for the possessions that had been so painstakingly collected over the centuries.
When people told him that he was making a mistake, he merely laughed.
“As long as I am not tied to one woman and being bored to distraction, I can enjoy life,” he told them all jauntily.
It was certainly something he did in his own way and he did not trouble in the least what people said about him.
He travelled, bringing back more treasures to fill his houses in Lucca and Florence.
He had become far more handsome and distinguished-looking than he was as a young man and there was not a woman anywhere in the land who would not open her door to him if he wished to come in.
Husbands might grind their teeth with fury, wishing that they could kill him, but it was difficult to reason with a man who laughed at danger.
And what was more, who seemed to understand how annoying he must be to other men!
He fought several duels and, being an excellent shot, most undeservedly managed to win them all.
He had the best horses and the most experienced chefs and his carriages were the envy of everyone whenever he appeared in them.
Nevertheless, he was still bored.
*
He walked into his house now and went straight up to his bedroom.
He found his manservant, who had travelled with him since he had started going round the world, waiting for him.
Ugo was an ugly little man with a sense of humour that the Marchese found irresistible.
“You are very late, signore,” Ugo said as the Marchese entered the bedroom.
“I very nearly came home in pieces, Ugo,” the Marchese replied.
Ugo held up his hands.
“Not again, signore? One day you will go too far!”
The valet helped him out of his evening coat and his Master walked across the room to pull back the curtains.
The dawn was just appearing in the sky. There was no wind and it promised to be a hot day.
“I am bored,” the Marchese said aloud. “I am bored, Ugo, and I have nothing to do today.”
What he was really thinking was that he would certainly not be spending the evening with Leone and there was nobody else he was interested in.
Ugo put his head on one side and after a moment he said,
“Why not go home, s
ignore? It’s a long time since we have been in Lucca.”
The Marchese turned round.
“You are right, Ugo!” he exclaimed. “It’s far too long a time to have spent away from such a delightful place.”
He was thinking that at this time of the year his gardens would be filled with flowers and he could see the fountain that threw its water high into the air and which he had loved as a boy.
“You are right, Ugo,” he repeated. “We will go to Lucca at once. Pack our things and we will leave before luncheon today.”
Ugo was all smiles.
This was something he had wanted for a long time.
He was thinking too that it was typical of his Master to be bored so quickly and perhaps there would be new adventures to occupy him in Lucca.
Almost as if the Marchese was following Ugo’s thoughts, he said,
“I doubt if there will be much to do there except in my mind and that is a part of my anatomy that I have neglected of late!”
Ugo chuckled.
“You will soon find new interests in Lucca, signore,” he said firmly.
“I hope you are right,” the Marchese answered as he slipped into bed.
As he lay down, he knew that he was in fact very tired.
It was unusual, but he thought that his tiredness was not only physical but also mental.
Too long had he listened to the chit-chat of women who could speak only of love.
Too long had he gone from dinner party to bedroom and from bedroom into the chill of the night.
‘What do I want? What am I looking for?’ he asked himself.
He had a sudden vision into the past of all the women he had made love to and he could see a long line of them like wraiths towards the horizon.
Women! Always women!
Dark, fair, red-headed, loving, exciting, thrilling, until he knew them too well.
Then inevitably came the predictable boredom, when he knew that enough was enough.
‘Yet what else is there?’ he queried.
He was rich. He could buy anything he wanted.
But what did he want?
He knew, if he offered his services in helping to govern Tuscany, he would be welcomed by the Duke.
They always enjoyed having newcomers with fresh ideas, but surely in a short time he would find that too an incredible bore.
‘I have no wish to rule anybody!’ he said to himself as if on the defensive.
It suddenly occurred to him that, if he had a son, he would want to guide him, just as he had himself been guided when he was small.
Only when it came to his marriage had his father failed him.
For some time afterwards he had hated him because it was due to him that he had been trapped.
Fate had rescued him from years of having to listen to the dull conversation of his wife and he knew that eventually he would not have even bothered to reply.
Even with the thought of having children, which he knew he would enjoy, he could not bear to think of re-marrying.
‘Never! Never!’ he told himself as he turned over in bed. ‘But, there must be something else – something I can do, something I can feel!’
Once again he was thinking of Leone. How lovely she had looked when he had gone to her that evening.
She had been waiting for him in her bedroom, just as he had expected.
She had been standing against a large arrangement of flowers and she looked exactly like one of the statues of Goddesses he had in his house in Lucca.
She was wearing a diaphanous nightgown that did not disguise the curves of her exquisite body and round her neck was a string of perfect pearls.
For a moment he had stood gazing at her as if bewitched.
Then, as the maid closed the door softly behind him, he went towards her.
He had thought that she was everything he wanted, everything he desired.
“I thought perhaps you would forget to come to me tonight, Vittorio,” Leone said in a voice that he could hardly hear.
“I have been counting the minutes until this moment, when we could be alone,” he had replied.
It was not the words that came from his lips that mattered.
It was what he was feeling about her beauty as he savoured the moment when the world would stand still.
It was something he himself experienced, but was never certain if anyone else did.
It was like the calm before the storm, the darkness before the first hint of light in the East.
It was difficult to breathe and then Leone had moved into his arms and her lips were against his –
The Marchese turned over in bed.
He did not want to remember, he did not want to recall what he had felt squeezed into that small box behind the wardrobe.
He wanted to be man enough to come out and confront the Prince.
He felt that it was despicable to be hiding from anyone, let alone the man whose wife he had stolen.
But such heroics would only harm Leone.
At the back of his mind he suspected that she had no wish to surrender her title and position as the Prince’s wife. Nor to cause a scandal that would seriously affect her social standing.
Instead of which he had listened to her cajoling her husband.
As he did so, he realised that her protestations were merely those of the flesh.
She would not sacrifice any of the things that mattered to her.
Like so many other women before her she wanted to ‘have her cake and eat it’.
As he heard her begging her husband to undress and come to bed, the Marchese told himself that he hated her and all women.
They were cheats, they were coquettes.
When it came to the point, they would take away a man’s manhood and give him little in return.
He had followed the maid down the narrow passage and out into the courtyard at the back of the Palace.
As he went, he was telling himself this was nothing to be proud of.
It is something rather degrading and he would never allow such a thing to happen again.
At the same time some voice within him was asking,
‘How could you manage?
‘How could you live without love?’
But was this love?
That was the question.
CHAPTER THREE
Paola was awake but had not been called when there was a tap on her bedroom door. She thought it must be the maid.
However before she could answer, the door opened and Hugo came in.
“I am very early,” he said in a low voice, “but I am just leaving.”
“Leaving?” Paola questioned.
She sat up in bed, pushing back her hair from her eyes.
“Why are you going so early?” she asked.
“I thought it might be dangerous for you if I were seen with you,” he answered, “when you are going to Lucca.”
Paola stared at him as if she did not understand and he went on,
“I am going to Scotland on the early train to stay with my uncle and do some salmon fishing. I shall be out of the way and, if anyone is watching me, which I doubt, they will not suspect any connection between us.”
Paola smiled.
“It all sounds very cloak and dagger!” she said.
“It is all that and a great deal more,” Hugo answered. “In fact I have been worrying all night that I ought not to involve you in it.”
“Nobody will suspect me of being anything but a tourist,” Paola said, “who is enjoying the sights.”
“That is what I have been assuring myself,” Hugo agreed with satisfaction.
He sat down on the side of her bed and felt in his pocket.
“Keep this somewhere safe,” he said, “and for Heaven’s sake, don’t lose it! I cannot go through that experience a second time.”
He paused before he went on,
“By the way, I have written to the Marchese a very guarded letter saying that I have done what he asked me to do and th
e proof of it will be reaching him in a short time.”
“He will be delighted to think that you have been so clever,” Paola exclaimed.
“All I hope is that he will pay into my Bank the money he promised me,” Hugo replied. “I am almost down to my last sixpence!”
Paola laughed.
“I promise you I will be very careful,” she assured him.
Hugo held out a very small package to her and when she looked at it she smiled.
He had wrapped the ring in some rough linen and then wound over it several strands of cotton to hold it in place.
As if he was following her thoughts, he said,
“If you want to know, that is Indian packing, and it hides what is inside. I suggest, however, that you don’t look at it until the last minute before you hand it over.”
Paola laughed.
“I think I shall be so curious that I will be unable to resist looking at it.”
“You will not be the only person who will feel like that,” Hugo retorted.
He rose to his feet.
“Goodbye, my pretty cousin,” he said. “I am sure that you will break a lot of Italian hearts in Lucca, but keep your own intact until you return to England. We have no wish to lose you to another country.”
“That is the nicest compliment I have ever had,” Paola sighed.
“You will have a great many more when you burst upon an unsuspecting world,” Hugo prophesied. “But I do understand why it would be frustrating to stay in England and have to refuse every invitation that comes your way.”
“I shall enjoy seeing Italy,” Paola said.
“Well, be careful that the Goddesses depicted by the Old Masters are not jealous of you,” Hugo said. “Otherwise they may take their revenge in a very unpleasant manner!”
Paola laughed again.
“Now you are trying to frighten me!” she protested. “I am sure that Italy will be a lesson in itself, which I am longing to have.”
“Just avoid the very plausible signori,” Hugo advised, “and don’t believe a word they say to you!”
“I will try not to,” Paola promised.
But her eyes were twinkling.
“Thank you again, more than I can say,” Hugo said. “I can tell you that getting rid of this diamond is a weight off my mind.”
He walked towards the door and, when he reached it, he turned back and waved his hand.
In Love In Lucca Page 3