by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
After that, while Sarah watched without comment, he came back, propped the other two dolls in front of him, turned on the TV, and pretended his nanny wasn't there.
Well, that was probably enough therapy for one day, Sarah decided. And so much for the simple fairy tale of Mama Bear and Papa Bear and Baby Bear.
This wasn't going to be easy by any means.
Just who was the woman in the closet?
"Would you like to sit for a moment, love?" Nick asked his aunt as they paused in front of the burnt-out guest cottage where Desmond Caruso had met his untimely but not altogether unpredictable end a few weeks ago.
"I don't think so, dear."
The woman continually amazed him. He'd thought the walk would do her in after a mere hundred yards or so, but Honoria Satherwaite was still steaming ahead like a great ship, not even breathing hard, despite her disdain for exercise and her excessive tonnage, increased this morning by at least five pounds of beads spilling over her ample bosom and rattling on her wrists.
"Our nanny was inquiring at breakfast about the fire," she said as she gazed in the direction of the ruined cottage. "I don't believe Ms. Hunter knows anything about the murder. Unless you happened to mention it to her last night."
Nick shook his head. "No reason to mention it," he replied. "We walked home by another path. I thought the sight of this place might depress her."
"It is depressing, isn't it, dear?" She clucked her tongue softly. "I do wish they'd catch the culprit. Although I imagine the authorities aren't lacking for suspects. I wasn't able to tell them a thing since I was in London with you that night."
He'd had a devil of a time convincing Honoria to attend a British medical conference with him, believing it would probably be the last time she'd ever see her native city. It turned out to have been a terrible idea because the majority of her old schoolmates and first cousins were dead, and his aunt spent her time there feeling like some sort of prehistoric human artifact.
"Well, even if we'd been here, I doubt either one of us could have been of much help to the police. I told them what little I could about his medical history."
"I didn't realize you had treated him," she said, sounding only slightly surprised as she continued to gaze at the badly scorched wall of the guest house.
"I treated him on a few occasions. Never for anything serious. There was nothing I could tell them that appeared to interest the police one way or another."
He didn't bother to add that the reason Desmond Caruso had consulted him a few times in the past few years was for venereal diseases. Luckily for Caruso, they'd all been curable. Aunt Honoria would undoubtedly enjoy the gossip, but now that the poor man was dead, it wouldn't do to sully his reputation any more than it had been while he was alive.
"It's unfortunate that none of us was able to help the investigators. Leo and Estella were here when it happened, of course." His aunt referred to Leo's previous nanny. "But Estella insisted that she didn't see or hear anything untoward, and that Leo slept quite soundly through all of the commotion."
"You aren't afraid, are you, love?" Nick asked. "About a murderer being on the loose?"
"Heavens no." She waved a dismissive ringed-and-beaded hand. "I can think of at least a dozen people who'd have quite happily done Desmond in. The police believe his murder was an isolated incident, and I completely agree. Don't you, dear?"
"I'm sure it was." Nick looked at his watch. "Do you suppose Leo and his nanny have had ample time to get acquainted by now? Shall we go back?"
"Yes, dear," she said, patting his hand. "I believe we've been gone quite long enough."
Nick ignored the devious little smile that worked its way across the old girl's lips.
Sarah was in the kitchen, doing her damndest to fix Leo a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with some weird Italian brand of peanut butter that was way too runny and a jar of Lady Satherwaite's English orange marmalade.
"I wouldn't mind having one of those," Nick Chiara said from the doorway.
"Sure."
She reached for two more slices of bread and tried to ignore the fact mat her heart was suddenly doing jumping jacks in her chest and her knees felt like Silly Putty. What was wrong with her? Never had the mere presence of a male discombobulated her so. Not even that slender, young, blond god, Billy Dean, in fourth grade.
It was one thing to get all weak-kneed and gooey when you were ten years old. But Sarah was almost thirty. This was just ludicrous. It was insane. Whatever Sir Dominic was doing to her, she wanted him to stop it right now. Immediately. Permanently. Even retroactively, to include last night.
She stuck a knife in the peanut butter jar and slathered some on a slice of bread.
"How did this morning go?" he asked, all the way in the kitchen now, crossing his arms and leaning one of those lean, jean-clad hips against the counter.
Grateful to get her mind back on a professional track, Sarah replied, "It went very well. Actually, it was pretty interesting."
He raised a dark eyebrow. "How so?"
Sarah reached for the marmalade jar and spooned some of the sticky yellow stuff onto another slice of bread. "I'd like to ask you some questions about the women in Leo's life."
"All right," he said, shifting his stance against the counter. "Ask away."
She paused a moment, carefully framing her question. "Other than your aunt, are there any other females who've come into more than mere casual contact with the boy? Nannies, for instance. Or other caregivers. A baby-sitter, maybe, or a housekeeper or even a cook. Perhaps even some of your close female friends. Women who might have spent time with him."
"Nannies," he replied. "A succession of them, I'm afraid, in the past four years. Seems they always run off and get married."
"What about teachers or other caretakers? Does your son attend any sort of preschool or day care?"
He shook his head. "That isn't as common in Montebello as it seems to be in the States. As far as I know, Leo never spent much tune with the housekeeper or the cook."
"What about other females?"
What Sarah meant by "other females" was Sir Dominic's girlfriends, but she didn't quite know how to put the question, and she didn't want to sound personally curious rather than professionally interested. But there had to be women in his life. A flock. A whole herd. The ice maiden, Sophia Strezzi, was undoubtedly just the chilly tip of a very large iceberg.
"Other females?" he echoed.
For a moment, Sarah wasn't sure if be truly didn't understand her, or if the man was merely being coy or perhaps even chivalrous, not wanting to mention other women in the presence of a possible conquest
Conquest? Where had that thought come from? Since when had she started thinking of herself as a conquest? Sarah wondered. Maybe it was his cologne or aftershave that was scrambling her brain. It was probably too late to fall back on the old jet lag excuse.
"Friends of yours, Sir Dominic. Lady friends. Female companions. Dates. I'm guessing a man in your position... Well..." She shrugged almost helplessly. "You know."
What did she have to do? Paint him an erotic picture? Make obscene gestures with her hands?
"There's no one," he said.
"No one at the moment, you mean."
"There's no one at all. I haven't had a female companion or even a date since my wife died."
"Oh."
Sarah wasn't sure exactly what she meant by that rather breathless little Oh. Sadness or surprise or a sudden quickening of her interest. All those emotions, she supposed. The quickening, mostly. Definitely. The quickening.
He shoved away from the counter and came a little closer. "Unless, of course, you count our date last night, Ms. Hunter."
Her heart felt like a yo-yo, dropping to her stomach then jumping up in her throat Sarah stuck the spoon back in the marmalade jar and dumped another heaping of the sticky stuff on the bread.
"I wouldn't count last night, Sir Dominic," she said.
"Nick," he said softly.
"I'm glad you're here, Sarah," he said, lifting a lock of her hair. "And not just for my son's sake."
All right Whoa. Hold the phone. She was here for his son's sake. Period.
Sarah was about to tell him exactly that when Lady Satherwaite screamed.
Chapter 7
Sir Dominic rushed out of the kitchen so fast that Sarah was surprised he hadn't won a gold medal for sprinting in addition to his bronze for archery. By the time she had dropped the sticky slice of bread in her hand and raced around the corner into the living room, Nick was already kneeling, attending to his aunt, who was flat on the floor in the middle of the room.
Well, not exactly flat, Sarah couldn't help but notice. A mountainous heap was more like it.
"How bloody stupid of me," the prone Lady Satherwaite wailed, batting away her nephew's hands and attempting to lever her great weight up from the floor.
Thank God the woman didn't appear to be badly injured, Sarah thought, even as she was picturing a huge, lavender whale—a rather indignant one— beached on the sand-colored carpet.
"Don't move, Aunt Honoria," Nick said sternly. His gaze flicked up to Sarah. "Will you bring me the telephone from the kitchen, please. Hurry."
By the time Sarah dashed back with the portable phone in her hand, Nick had a pillow wedged beneath his aunt's head and he was taking her pulse while Lady Satherwaite continued to berate both herself and her nephew.
"Nicky, darling, I'd much rather get up, if you don't mind. It's quite drafty down here on the floor. Not to mention uncomfortable and damned embarrassing."
"Hush," he told her, keeping his eyes fixed on his watch while he gripped her wrist.
When he let go of her hand, apparently satisfied that her pulse was all right, Sarah spoke up. "Would you like me to call an emergency number Sir Dominic? Do you use 9-1-1 in Montebello?"
"I'll call the hospital directly," he said, reaching up for the phone. "It will be faster. Thanks."
His dark gaze lingered on Sarah's face a moment, adding silent thanks to those he'd expressed.
"I certainly hope you aren't calling for an ambulance, Nicky," Lady Satherwaite snapped. "I don't want one."
"I don't care what you want, love," he said, allowing himself to smile down at her just a bit as he punched in a series of numbers on the telephone. "You're going to the hospital, and that's that."
"Oh, piddle," she said.
"Hush."
While Nick was issuing quiet commands into the telephone, Sarah knelt down to see if she could be of any help to his aunt.
"Is there anything I can do?" she asked, readjusting the pillow beneath her head. "Would you like a glass of water, Lady Satherwaite?"
"Just see to my boys while I'm incapacitated, will you, dear? Both of them. Leo and Nicky."
"Yes, of course, I will," Sarah assured her. "You don't even have to ask."
Lady Satherwaite raised her hand without any apparent difficulty and smiled as she patted Sarah's cheek.
"There's a good girl," she said. "I knew I could depend on you, Sarah dear. I knew it from the very first moment I laid eyes on you."
After that, rather than wait for the ambulance to arrive, Sarah had excused herself and gone into Leo's bedroom, hoping to keep the child occupied while his great aunt was being tended to in the living room. She'd been relieved to see that Leo was still so entranced by the cartoon on the television, apparently he hadn't even been aware of the commotion outside his door.
Sarah settled on the floor beside him, then proceeded to turn up the volume on the TV just a bit in order to drown out the sound of the ambulance's arrival and departure as she was still operating on the theory that the boy's self-imposed silence was the result of trauma of some sort.
The poor kid certainly didn't need anything else to upset him. There was no way of predicting how he would react to it.
Finally, after the ambulance left and when Leo appeared to be becoming bored with the cartoons, Sarah said, "I feel like going for a walk. It's such a pretty day. I'd love it if you'd come with me, Leo, and keep me from getting lost. I still don't know my way around the palace grounds very well."
He nodded, then jumped up from the floor with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.
"Great!" Sarah clapped her hands. "You'll need to put some shoes on. I bet they're in your closet."
The moment the words were out of her mouth she realized her mistake, because also in his closet was the doll he'd slammed in there earlier. She'd been remiss in not retrieving the plaything. Chalk up another mistake to being distracted by Nick Chiara.
"Why don't I just get the shoes for you?" she suggested, heading quickly toward the closet door, then opening it just enough to reach in and grope blindly for his little sneakers. When her fingers brushed across the doll, she poked it farther down in a bundle of clothes, intending to come back and get it later.
She watched Leo tug on a pair of socks before he put on the sneakers. She tied the laces for him, unable to resist the little instructional drama of the rabbit going into his den as she made the loops. He laughed. Soundlessly. Then she took his hand and walked him toward the front door.
Once outside, Sarah turned to her right, toward the palace. There were so many fountains along this path, and she was hoping to get Leo to do some happy, even therapeutic splashing. Maybe she would even be able to locate the chubby Cupid from the night before to see if he appeared as magical by day as he did by night.
She'd only taken a few steps when Leo tugged her in the opposite direction.
Tugging back gently, she said, "Let's go this way. We can play in the fountains."
He shook his head.
"Please," Sarah said.
He shook his head again. Harder.
"Pretty please with sugar on top."
This time the little boy shook his head so vigorously that Sarah was surprised he didn't knock himself out. He stamped his foot, as well. The combined gestures were probably the loudest, most adamant no that a silent child could muster.
"Okay. Okay. You win." Sarah sighed as she gazed down the path to the left. West, wasn't it? South? Oh, hell. What difference did it make? Lost would be lost, regardless of the direction.
"We'll go your way, Leo. I just hope we can find a fountain or two." Not to mention finding our way back home, she added a bit mournfully to herself.
As it turned out, there were probably more fountains on this part of the palace grounds than there were behind them. Sarah and Leo walked past a life-size pair of rearing bronze horses, their wet hooves glistening in the sunlight. Farther along the path, there were marble angels, cherubim and seraphim with placid faces and big, dripping wings. A little way beyond the angels stood an ugly satyr with hairy legs and cloven feet, playing his panpipe or whatever it was that satyrs played, under a cascade of water.
Finally, they came to a lovely fountain presided over by a gentle Saint Francis of Assisi with a bird perched on each of his gracefully outstretched hands. There were rainbows in the rising and falling arcs of water all around him. It was beautiful, peaceful, a perfect fountain for a little boy to splash around in.
Leo appeared to agree because when she suggested it, he immediately plucked off his shoes and socks and made a beeline for the water. Sarah sat on a scrolled stone bench just a few yards away and watched, thinking that perhaps tomorrow or the next day, she and Leo could come here again with a picnic lunch. Maybe they could convince his father to come along. Well, maybe that wasn't such a good idea, considering the man's distraction quotient.
They'd only been there for a few minutes when a woman approached the fountain. A rather odd woman, Sarah decided. She was about sixty years old, give or take a few years, with her gray hair in a soft bob that framed her narrow face and gave her a kind of mouselike appearance. In fact, the closer the little woman came, the mousier she looked. She even moved like a mouse, scurrying rather than si
mply walking. Her gaze darted around her in all directions.
Leo stopped splashing in the bright water and stared at the woman as she approached. Sarah noticed that it was the same, rather peculiar way the child had given her the once-over yesterday when they'd first met, scrutinizing her face as if he'd been trying with all his young might to identify her.
Apparently he didn't recognize the mouse person, though, because he quickly resumed stomping in the water under the outstretched arms of Saint Francis.
"My goodness! Aren't you a brave young woman!" she said by way of a greeting. There was even a tiny squeak in her voice, and her accent sounded vaguely British.
"Hello," Sarah said.
The woman looked behind her, over her shoulder,and then back at Sarah. "Aren't you worried, young lady? Aren't you just a little bit afraid?"
Oh, boy. Sarah detected a faint whiff of paranoia now. She started to wonder if somehow she and Leo had strayed onto the grounds of the local looney bin.
"Afraid of what?" she asked.
The nervous little woman slid onto the bench beside her, leaned close and whispered. "Not afraid of what, young lady. Afraid of whom! The murderer, or murderess as the case may be. This is my very first time out and about since it happened."
"Since what happened?" Sarah felt as if she were playing Twenty Questions.
The woman looked around again, a full three hundred and sixty worried degrees. Her voice got even lower, and her squeak turned into a croak when she said, "The murder."
She turned her gaze toward Leo now, who was happily stomping in front of Saint Francis. "Isn't that the little Chiara boy? Sir Dominic's son?"
"Yes."
"You must be his nanny, then?"
Sarah nodded.
"Well, then, surely you know all about the crime last month. It happened practically next door to Sir Dominic's house."
"Oh. You mean the fire," Sarah said.
"That, too. One assumes the blaze was set in order to cover up the murder."
There'd been a murder? Somebody had been murdered in the burnt guest cottage? Sophia Strezzi hadn't said anything about that when they passed the place yesterday, had she? Sarah wondered. Surely she'd have remembered any mention of a death or a murder, especially considering that the possible trauma of the fire was one of her theories about Leo's problem. Now the possibilities of trauma seemed to have increased immeasurably.