by Stella Riley
There was a long, blistering silence. Then Luciano twisted away to drop into the nearest chair and drive his face into his spread fingers.
Kate waited, fear and suspicion feathering the back of her neck. Then she said slowly, ‘You know who wrote it. Don’t you?’
Very, very carefully, as though any unwary movement might result in irreparable damage, he lifted his head and let his hands lie loose. Keeping his eyes fixed on them, he put every skill he had left into saying evenly, ‘No. I don’t. But I think – I’m fairly sure – it’s what took Richard to Cropredy.’
Kate shivered. ‘Why?’
More than anything, he wanted to be sick. He swallowed, tried to force his brain to work properly and said remotely, ‘He was looking into something for me. I gathered as much from something Giacomo told me when I got back … but I wasn’t sure until I saw that letter.’
‘Go on.’ Kate’s nails were gouging into her palms.
‘I was trying to trace someone. The details don’t matter. It’s sufficient to say that, though I’ve a sample of the fellow’s handwriting, I didn’t know his real name. Richard must have found someone he considered a likely candidate and decided to follow him.’ He paused, gripping his hands together. ‘Normally, I’d have been back from Genoa by then and would have gone myself. But I was delayed, so Richard …’ He stopped again. ‘He – he’d have been bringing the letter back to me to match against the others in my possession.’
‘I see.’ The green eyes were suddenly inimical. ‘But without Father to tell you who wrote it, it’s no use to use to you, is it? What a shame. No wonder you’re so upset.’
‘Is that what you think?’
‘I don’t know. What should I think?’ She flung the words at him and then stopped. He looked ill. ‘Oh God. No. Of course not. But you’re saying it’s your fault he was there.’
With a visible effort, Luciano rose from the chair and stood looking at her. His voice raw with strain, he said, ‘Yes. And I’m sorry. So very, very sorry.’
The room seemed airless and Kate’s chest ached with the mere effort of breathing. Every day a fresh disaster. She did not know how much more she could bear. She said dully, ‘I know you are. But I can’t talk about it now. Later, perhaps … if you’re staying?’
‘That’s for you to say.’ Distantly, he wondered how much longer his control would last. ‘I couldn’t blame you for asking me to leave.’
There was another yawning silence.
‘No. But Father would,’ said Kate.
And fled before the look in his eyes.
* * *
Dinner was a tense affair. Kate told the twins about Nathan’s eviction – though not what had caused her to do it – and then watched Toby wrestling silently with a desire he felt barred from expressing. Tabitha tried to fill one of the many silences by speaking of the ecstatic and long-delayed letter she had recently received from Gianetta; and Luciano let his food congeal in front of him and said virtually nothing.
In the end, it was left to Kate to say baldly, ‘Toby. If you want Signor del Santi to take you back to London with him, why not ask?’
‘Because I can’t go,’ he replied shortly. ‘You and Tabitha need me.’
‘I don’t deny it. But it won’t last. Mother will get better in time and we have good friends amongst our servants and tenants. And the war can’t last forever, so Eden will come home.’ She paused briefly but avoided Luciano’s eye. ‘We managed before and we can again. But this is your future we’re talking about. If your apprenticeship still matters to you, then you must go.’
Toby concentrated on reducing a piece of bread to crumbs.
‘It matters as much as it ever did. But I can’t be that selfish.’
‘It’s not being selfish – it’s being practical. And how will Tabitha and I feel if you give up more than three years’ work for us?’
Toby sighed and looked across at Luciano.
‘What do you think, sir?’
‘That I don’t envy you your choice,’ came the unhelpful reply. And then, catching the expression on Kate’s face, ‘I’m sorry. I can’t advise you, Tobias. All I can say is that Kate wouldn’t tell you to go if she didn’t mean it – which you already know. And that you’ve a talent for gold that isn’t given to many – which perhaps you didn’t know. But the decision has to be yours. You may return to your work with me whenever you wish.’ He rose from his seat. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, I’ll say goodnight.’
‘But you haven’t eaten anything,’ objected Tabitha.
‘No,’ he agreed flatly. ‘No, I haven’t. I’m afraid I couldn’t face it. In which,’ glancing around the table, ‘it appears I am not alone.’
* * *
The night was hot and humid – and sleep, for other reasons entirely, was a sheer impossibility. Having shed her gown and then lost interest in undressing further, Kate sat at her window, staring down into the moonlit garden and trying to put what Luciano had told her into perspective. He couldn’t have known what Father would do – or even, from a point somewhere between Genoa and London, have stopped him doing it. So it had been unreasonable to give the impression that she blamed him; and unnecessary, since he clearly blamed himself.
She pressed the heels of her hands over her hot eyes. It had helped to cry but one couldn’t go on doing it and it didn’t mend the pain. Nothing did that. All you could do was to struggle on from day to day, burying the hurt in the trivial and not-so-trivial tasks which still had to be done even though their meaning had gone. And when things threatened to overwhelm you, you still had to carry on because there was no one else; and it was what Father would have wanted.
She lifted her head and drew a long breath of the night air. Enough. It was time to pull herself together. Self-pity wasn’t going to solve anything.
Below in the garden, a glimmer of white caught her eye. She froze for a moment and then relaxed. Of course. She should have known. Tonight, the curse of sleeplessness did not belong only to her; and tonight she need not bear it alone.
* * *
Luciano sat in his room until he thought he would suffocate. Guilt, remorse and unspeakable bloody anguish had locked his mind on a treadmill. At best, because of him, Richard had been in the wrong place at the wrong time; at worst, because of him, Richard had been murdered. He might never know which it was. But no matter how you cut this particular stone or how much you polished it, it was never going to come out right. Richard was dead – and it was his fault.
Unable to sit still any longer, he walked through the apparently sleeping house – collecting a bottle of brandy and a pewter goblet on his way – and went out into the garden. It was silent and, with no hint of a breeze, the air felt heavy. He poured a decent measure into the cup and drained half of it. Oblivion, slyly beckoning, lay in wait at the bottom of the bottle. He hadn’t been well and truly drunk since the night of Edgehill. Perhaps it was time.
Or then again, perhaps it wasn’t.
He leaned against a tree and watched Caterina come towards him. In some way he did not even try to understand, he realised he had known she would come. And why. What he had not anticipated was that she would come running across the grass barefoot, with her hair unbound and clad only in her stays, petticoats and some kind of flimsy wrap. Under the circumstances, this ought not to be a problem – but Luciano, with no guidelines left to him, knew that it was. For tonight was the one night he could neither dissemble nor deceive her. And, truth to tell, he did not even want to.
For a moment, he thought that she was going to run straight into his arms but, as she neared him, she slowed to a walk and then stopped a few steps away, as if uncertain of her welcome. He remained perfectly still, looking at her. His brain told him that she was as decently covered as she’d been in that bronze gown. His body disagreed.
More to distract himself than anything else, he poured out a measure of brandy and handed it to her, saying expressionlessly, ‘Salve, Caterina.’
She lo
oked back at him, smiling a little. ‘Salve, Luciano.’
And any unbroken parts of him promptly shattered.
Clearing his throat and striving for his usual tone, he said, ‘I take it you can’t sleep either? If so, I have the cure. And don’t worry. I promise to see you safely back to your door.’
Wordlessly, Kate drank, trying not to stare at the line of his throat and the glimpse of his chest revealed by the partially unlaced shirt. Then, past the burn of the brandy, she said, ‘I wanted to tell you that I don’t blame you. And that you shouldn’t blame yourself.’
‘Generous – but untrue. I thought we’d established that.’
‘No. You decided it. Did you ask Father to do whatever it was he did?’
‘No. But --’
‘Or know what he’d do – or could have prevented him doing it?’
He sighed. ‘Caterina … please stop. He was there because of me. Everything else is immaterial. And – forgive me – but if you insist on speaking of this now, I’m going to break a few good intentions and get very drunk, very fast.’
‘That’s rather unfair, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Like life in general.’ The wrap had slipped from her shoulder and was playing merry hell with his other good intentions. His eyes were riveted to the bow at the top of her stay-laces and his hand wanted to follow them. He forced his gaze back to her face and, more coldly than he’d intended, said, ‘Was there anything else?’
‘No.’ Disappointment and defeat marked both voice and body. Then, briefly pressing her hands over her eyes, she said jerkily, ‘Yes. I can’t do this any more. I don’t know what – if anything – there is between us. I’ve never known. And I can’t go on pretending that it doesn’t matter. I can’t go on pretending at all. Not with you. The rest of my life is all dissimulation and lies. With Mother, I have to seem strong and cheerful even though I feel neither; I let Toby and Tab go on believing Eden will come home when I know he won’t; and with the servants and tenants, I maintain the fiction that Celia’s just visiting her family. As for the new captain Will Compton sent to collect the taxes, I’ve told him more lies than I can count and am pretty sure he’s believed none of them.’ She stopped to draw breath and moderate her tone. ‘You are the only person I can be honest with. But perhaps … perhaps I’m taking too much for granted.’
His shoulders tensed and his voice, when he spoke, held a note she could not interpret.
‘You’re not. I thought you knew that.’
‘How could I – when you spend so much time shutting me out?’
‘I shut everyone out. It’s safer. If I’d shut Richard out --’ He stopped abruptly and raised the bottle to his mouth before wedging it in a fork of the tree. The air was as still as ever but had become curiously charged. Link by link, he could feel the chain slowly tightening and drawing him further from the path he had followed for so long. He looked at the perfect line of her arms and shoulders, the swell of her breasts above the corset, the seductive expanse of soft, white skin veiled here and there by long coils of copper hair … and wondered how he’d kept his hands off her this long. The result was that he said huskily, ‘This is not safe. You should go.’
‘Is that what you want?’
‘No.’ His mouth curled a little. ‘It is why you should go.’
‘Oh.’ She thought for a moment and then, flushing a little, said diffidently, ‘Are you saying that you – you’d like to make love to me?’
‘No. I’m actually working quite hard at not saying it.’ Luciano leaned back against the tree and folded his arms to stop himself reaching for her. ‘Think for a moment. How many times have you told yourself that it would have been better if we’d never met? Several hundred? A thousand, perhaps?’
‘Something like that.’ She stared down into the goblet. ‘I think I’ve said it to myself nearly every day we’ve spent apart … and sometimes I almost believed it. But the pity of it – so you would say – is that it was never true.’
His breath snared and he said, ‘Careful, Caterina. You must know where this is leading us.’
‘Of course. Why else am I here?’ Her eyes rose to meet his. ‘The last time we met --’
‘The last time we met, there was no possibility of things going too far. We were in the bloody stables, for God’s sake … and you weren’t standing there looking as enticing as sin and making it impossible for me to think about anything except --’ He stopped, cursed under his breath and then, as if the words were being wrenched from him, muttered, ‘No. That’s not true. It wouldn’t make any difference if you were swathed head to foot in flannel. But if you’ve wandered out here half-naked just for a chat --’
‘I haven’t. Of course I haven’t. You must know why I came.’ She paused, looking deep into his eyes and then said, ‘You know that I love you. You’ve known it for a long time.’
He was alone in the wilderness without a compass and the effort of not moving was fast growing beyond his control. It was as if all the minutes they’d ever spent together had been leading to this one moment … yet still he had to give her another chance to turn aside.
He said raggedly, ‘I should warn you that the façade is quite thin and may crack at any moment. Unless you’re quite sure this is what you want, I think you should go. Or I may be driven to something you will regret.’
‘No. Luciano, no.’ Kate’s heart turned over and she could feel herself shaking. She could not believe he was letting her come this close, or that he would not still raise the barricade against her. Knowing she might be rejected but praying she was not, she took one diffident step towards him and said, ‘Must I say it? I’m here because I want you. I always have. And the only thing I could possibly regret would be walking away from you now.’
This time the air left his lungs and his nerves snarled. He said, ‘Caterina, I --’
‘No. Please let me say this.’ She shook her hair back and took one more step. ‘I’m not asking for any great declaration or the promises I know you can’t make. But if you have any kindness for me or any small need of comfort for yourself … if you want me at all … now is the time to show it.’
‘Oh Christ!’ Beyond every thought save one, Luciano closed the remaining space between them and removed the goblet from her unresisting grasp. Then, tossing it carelessly aside, he said, ‘Caterina, amore mio – this is nothing to do with either kindness or comfort. Don’t you know it? But even though it can only be ours for a night, still I can’t resist it. Or you.’ And, gathering her to him with light, unsteady hands, he sought her mouth with a hunger bordering on desperation.
Neither knowing nor caring what his words meant, and hardly daring to breathe in case he changed his mind, Kate melted against him. She let her hands slide slowly up his chest and on through the long, night-dark hair, to clasp themselves around his neck; and felt the tremor that passed through him. He had kissed her before and it had been dizzyingly sweet. But not like this. Never, surely, with a passion that sent bubbles of honeyed expectancy spinning through her veins.
When he finally released her mouth, it was to feather tiny kisses across her cheek and down the curve of her throat to the hollows beneath. He pushed the wrap from her shoulders and let it fall. One hand cradled her skull while the other moved lingeringly across the exposed skin of her back. As he had said, he lacked the resolution that would make him leave her but he hoped he still commanded other resources. And though some warped piece of logic denied him the right to say openly the words that might bind her, he could and would use every art he possessed to ensure that she did not miss them. This night was to be Caterina’s amber chalice. And his.
The bubbles in her blood had turned to sparks. Holding her gaze and smiling a little, he drew her past the ash tree to a place where they were hidden from the house and the grass was soft and sweet. He kissed her again, his tongue teasing her lips and drawing a small, involuntary sound from her. Then, shifting so that her back was against his chest, he slid his arms around her waist to begi
n slowly unlacing her stays. His breath fanned the nape of her neck and his mouth found the hollow below her ear. He murmured, ‘Cuore del mio cuore … cosi bella.’
His voice, as beautiful as ever, held a darker note that made Kate catch her breath. She said, ‘In English?’
He shook his head slightly, his fingers still busy and, instead of answering her, set his lips against the side of her throat.
‘Then …what might I say to you?’
‘Not that.’
‘What, then?’
The laces came free and he replied with a swift, mellifluous flow of Italian of which she understood not one word. ‘Meaning?’
The stays followed her wrap to the ground.
‘Unhand me, sir – or my brothers will remove a significant part of your anatomy.’
Even with her pulse madly tripping, Kate managed a shaky laugh. ‘Really?’
‘No.’
His hands moved slowly to cup her breasts through the soft linen of her shift. Kate gasped and promptly forgot anything else she might have said. For a moment or two, he remained perfectly still and then his fingers slid lightly over and around her flesh. Her gasp became something like a sob and, when she tried to reach for him, he turned her round and kissed her. Kate leaned into him, one hand finding its way inside his shirt to discover the heat of his skin; and when he released her mouth, she trailed her lips along his jaw and down his throat, breathing in the scent of him.
Luciano muttered something indistinguishable, whilst searching blindly for the tapes holding her petticoats and then, finding them, pulled so that the yards of ruffled cambric came free and slithered away. His hands closed around her and, breathing her name, he pulled her hard against him and his mouth sought hers again.
Kate’s veins were full of wild-fire and everything inside her seemed to be melting. She had known she wanted him. Until this moment, she hadn’t understood the reality of it; the desperate need to touch and be touched and the raw impatience of everything that stood in the way. She fumbled unsuccessfully with the laces of his shirt and, instead, pulled it free of his breeches in order to let her hands roam beneath it over his smooth, hard back. His muscles tightened under her fingers and a low sound escaped his throat. He pinned her against him, leaving her in no doubt of the force of his desire and sending heat flooding into every part of her body.