‘Thalia cara,’ he muttered, pulling away to press soft little kisses on her cheek, her closed eyelids, her temple. She felt his chin rest atop her head, yet still she could not open her eyes. Could not quite face reality.
‘There are so many reasons why I must stay away from you,’ he said roughly. ‘But you must know that is the hardest thing I have ever done.’
‘Then don’t stay away,’ she whispered. ‘Be here with me now, completely. Tell me your reasons.’
‘I can’t. Scusa, cara.’ He kissed her brow once more, and she felt his hands ease away from her body, felt the space beside her grow cold in his absence.
Still, she did not open her eyes. Not until she heard the drawing-room door click shut. Then she leaped up, running to the window to watch in dazed dismay as he walked away down the street. The brim of his hat hid his expression from her.
Thalia’s hands curled into fists against the glass of the window. Perhaps he thought to scare her off with his kisses, his warnings. But that just showed how little he really knew her. She was a contrary Chase Muse, and telling her she should not do something only made her more determined on it!
She had always wanted to be a part of her family’s doings, to impress her sisters at last! Now she wanted to impress Marco, too. To make him see who she really was.
Especially after that kiss. She knew now that he had feelings for her, despite whatever was going on with Lady Riverton or Clio. She couldn’t let that go, not yet. No matter what.
Chapter Eleven
After their very memorable encounter in the drawing room, days went by without Thalia seeing Marco again. She went to the assembly rooms, ate ices at Mollands with Calliope and Psyche, played cards at Mrs Smythe-Moreland’s, and listened to a concert of Italian music—and Marco did not appear at any of them. Not even the concert, which she felt sure would draw him out.
She knew he wasn’t there, for she always looked. She also checked the book at the Pump Room for his name, and it wasn’t there. Yet neither had she heard tell of his departure, and in the small world of Bath everyone seemed to know everything about everyone else. Except for Marco. No one knew about him at all, least of all Thalia.
Lady Riverton was still in town. Thalia saw her at the assembly, a new young escort in tow. Had Marco broken with her, then? Was that why he was no place to be seen?
Or was it something she, Thalia, had done? Those kisses changed so much for her, changed—well, everything. Perhaps he did not feel the same. Perhaps her ardour had driven him away! But that did not seem likely. Marco seemed all about passion; he was surely not easily driven away.
Thoughts like these, ever twisting and changing, plagued her. Yet one good thing came of those days—she put that confusion, that frustrated desire, into her writing. New scenes for the play flew from under her pen, scenes where poor Isabella was plagued into melancholic bad health by her dark, mysterious husband. By the evils that lurked around the towers of the castle. By the force of passionate, undeniable love.
Thalia was hardly going to swoon away, like Isabella. Yet she did wonder, and watch.
‘Will you go to the Pump Room with me today, Thalia?’ Calliope asked over the breakfast table, on the latest of those ‘wondering’ mornings. ‘Cam has to answer some letters of estate business, and I simply cannot face more of that water on my own! But if you are writing…’
Thalia smiled at her over the chocolate pot. ‘Of course I can go with you, Cal. I am rather stuck on my play’s next plot point, actually. Some fresh air will help me work it out in my mind.’
‘I am not sure how much fresh air can be had at the Pump Room! It is always such a crush. But there are sights to be seen. Lady Wallington, for instance, has taken to wearing a blonde wig.’
‘A blonde wig! Whatever for?’
‘I think she fancies herself a Norse goddess. She should save such things for our Venetian masquerade.’
‘Speaking of which, I have nearly finished writing out the invitations,’ Thalia said, reaching for the pile of cards. ‘If there is no one else you would like to add to the guest list, they will be ready to be delivered tomorrow.’
‘We must be certain to invite Lady Billingsfield and her nephew,’ Calliope said, with a teasing, sidelong glance. ‘Young Mr Dashwood sent flowers again this morning, I see.’
‘They already have a card—despite Arthur Dashwood being a bit of a nuisance.’
‘I think he is rather sweet, and so attentive. He is definitely one of the most handsome men in Bath, especially since Count di Fabrizzi is no longer to be seen.’
‘Is he not?’ Thalia said, shuffling through the invitations. ‘I fear I have not noticed, as I have been so busy of late.’
‘Hmm,’ Calliope said doubtfully. But she let the subject go. ‘Thank heavens Cam let us engage rooms at the Queen’s Head Inn for the masquerade ball! We could never fit everyone into this house. We need to hire the musicians, too. Tell me, Thalia dear, have you chosen your costume yet?’
‘Who is that?’
Thalia heard the two ladies chattering behind her in the Pump Room. For several minutes it had just been an indistinct blur of fashion tittle-tattle, a little silly eavesdropping to divert her while she waited for her sister. But with those awestruck words, the tone of the conversation changed.
‘I have no idea, Matilda,’ the second lady said. ‘But if I had ever met him before, I am certain I would remember.’
Thalia peered toward the door to see what they were talking about, going up on tiptoe to see around the crowd. It had seemed a most dull morning at the Pump Room without Marco to distract her; any new diversion would be quite welcome!
Then she saw the focus of the ladies’ attention—and had to struggle to keep her own jaw from dropping in astonishment.
Indeed, it was not just their attention that focused so suddenly on the entrance, but that of every lady in the room. Even dowagers bundled up in their Bath chairs raised their quizzing glasses; young girls giggled into their gloved hands.
Thalia had never seen a man so beautiful before. He was a veritable Apollo, tall, slim, with golden, curling hair to match his almost-shimmering golden skin. Even across the room, she could see how vivid his violet-blue eyes were. He surveyed the elegant room like a god, too, as if everything and everyone in it belonged to him.
As it very well might, Thalia thought wryly, as she watched the ladies flocking toward him. He swept a dazzling smile over them all, drawing them into his sparkling net.
Yet Thalia found she was not drawn in. No matter how lovely this newcomer was, he could not compare with Marco’s dark mystery. She had always preferred the tales of Hades to those of Apollo.
‘Good heavens,’ she heard Calliope say. ‘Has the sun landed in our midst?’
Thalia turned to her sister, laughing. ‘So, you see Apollo, too?’
‘One could scarcely help it,’ Calliope said. ‘It’s a good thing I am so in love with my husband, or I might be tempted to simper and swoon like everyone else.’
‘When have the Chases ever simpered?’
‘Never, of course. Mother would never have allowed it, and we have never had the time! But surely one can admire from afar.’
‘Oh, yes. Like an Archaic statue or a red-figure krater,’ said Thalia.
‘Exactly so, sister.’
Thalia took a sip of the water Calliope brought her, watching the golden man bow over a myriad of gloved hands. ‘Do you know who he is?’
Calliope shook her head. ‘Come, let’s check the book.’
They hurried to the open arrivals book, scanning the list of fresh names. ‘This one!’ Calliope declared, pointing. ‘This must be him.’
‘Signor Domenico de Lucca,’ Thalia said. ‘Has there even been a more suitable name?’
‘Dom-en-ico de Luc-ca,’ Calliope drawled, and they laughed. ‘It doesn’t say where he’s from.’
‘Rome, or Milan, surely, with a fine name like that.’
‘So many Italian
s in Bath suddenly. Are we being invaded again?’ Calliope tapped her finger to her chin. ‘Maybe he’s from Venice.’
‘Naples, actually,’ a rich, melting voice said from behind them. Thalia and Calliope exchanged an incredulous glance over the book, before turning as one to face this Domenico de Lucca.
He stood there with Lady Grimsby and her daughter Anne, smiling at them. His eyes were violet, Thalia saw, like the Sicilian sky just before dusk. But he had no dimples, like Marco did.
‘Do you know Naples?’ he asked.
‘Of course they do,’ Lady Grimsby said. ‘These are two of the daughters of the famous scholar, Sir Walter Chase. They have traveled everywhere in Italy and Greece!’
‘Infatti?’ Signor de Lucca said, his tone eager and enthusiastic. ‘How truly wondrous, to meet two such lovely ladies who know my home.’
Lady Grimsby laid her hand on his arm, as if to remind him of English proprieties—or perhaps just to touch him. ‘Lady Westwood, Miss Chase, may I present Signor de Lucca? He has come to Bath to study some of the Roman sites. Signor de Lucca, this is the Countess of Westwood and her sister, Miss Thalia Chase.’
‘Of course,’ he said happily. ‘The Chase Muses! Your scholarship is known even in Naples.’
‘Indeed, signor?’ Calliope answered. ‘We do love the art and history of the ancient world, but I am certain our knowledge is nothing to that of the people who live in Italy. Surrounded on all sides by such glories.’
A small, sad frown creased that golden brow. ‘Alas, Lady Westwood, so many there do not appreciate their own culture. Their own heritage.’
‘Are you a scholar yourself, Signor de Lucca?’ Thalia asked.
‘Of an amateur sort only, I fear. My duties in the army take so much time! But I study when I can. I have recently read a series of writings from the third century on the settling of Bath—do you know them?’
‘My sister is reading them even now!’ Calliope said. ‘Is that not so, Thalia?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Thalia. ‘I enjoy reading of the building of this city, the founding of the cult of Sulis Minerva.’
He gave her a delighted grin, which made him appear even more the sun god than before. ‘Exactly so, Signorina Chase! In fact, I hope to see the sites of which those ancients write while I am here in Bath, so I can make some sketches and notes. The sites that can still be seen, that is. Along with the Abbey and the pastries at Mollands, of course. I am told those cannot be missed.’
Lady Grimsby gave him a speculative glance. Thalia feared she had seen that sort of look many times before—the dawning of a fit of matchmaking. And indeed she was proved right, as Lady Grimsby gave him a tiny push in Thalia’s direction.
‘Miss Chase is a great expert on ruins,’ Lady Grimsby said. ‘She has just returned from a long tour of the Continent, and I am sure she knows all about the ancient sites of Bath already.’
‘Oh, no, not at all…’ Thalia began, but her protests were overridden.
Calliope said, ‘My sister is so eager to explore all the Roman ruins, but alas my health has not allowed me to go with her. She would be an excellent guide for any newcomer to the city.’
‘I would be most interested to hear any advice Signorina Chase has to give on the best sites,’ Signor de Lucca said, still smiling at her. Really, he should stop it, it was most disconcerting! ‘Will you take a turn about the room with me, Signorina Chase?’
Thalia glanced at Calliope, who gave her an encouraging nod. ‘Do go, Thalia. I must speak with Lady Grimsby about the arrangements for the masquerade.’
‘Very well. Thank you, signor, I would enjoy a bit of walk.’ Thalia took Signor de Lucca’s outstretched arm. As she turned with him toward the windows, she gave her sister a long look over her shoulder. A look that promised retribution later. Calliope just tossed her a happy little wave before chatting with Lady Grimsby, as Lady Anne stared after her wistfully.
They walked on, pausing next to one of the tall windows, gazing down at the covered baths, the glimpse of columns and red-stained stone. ‘I’m afraid it’s not much,’ Thalia said. ‘Especially to someone accustomed to Naples!’
Signor de Lucca laughed, and she was struck again by how very bright and handsome he was. Yet, strangely, she was not moved by standing so near to him. There was none of the giddy shivers she felt with Marco, the tingling awareness. She could admire Domenico de Lucca, definitely, but there was a distance to it, as if she admired a particularly fine painting.
She could never mistake Marco, with all his dark, simmering heat, as a painting.
‘What are we looking at, Signorina Chase?’ he asked. ‘I fear I am not much use at interpreting ruins.’
‘Are you not? And here I thought a knowledge of antiquities came to every Italian through their nurse’s milk.’
He laughed. ‘Perhaps we are given an appreciation of such things as a birthright, signorina, but knowledge—that requires dedicated study. I have recently begun such a course, but before I did not have much time to properly apply myself. I am an army man, you see.’
Thalia nodded, though honestly she could not envision Apollo marching through the mud. ‘And what do you study, now that you have the time?’
‘My special interest is in temples,’ he said. ‘Their architecture and contents, the nature of their rituals. They speak so much to the glorious heritage of my country.’
‘Perhaps you came to the right place, then. Ancient Bath was centred on the temple of Sulis Minerva, of course. There is little of it left, I fear. They say the Saxons dismantled it and used the stones for their own monastery—even the altar!’
‘Barbarians,’ he scoffed. ‘Where is the site now?’
Thalia shrugged. ‘Under the cathedral, perhaps. But I am told there is a small museum, the Bath Society of Antiquities, showcasing some of the votive offerings thrown into the sacred spring. I have not yet had time to visit it.’
‘Perhaps then you and your sister would accompany me there some afternoon? For I can see that you are an excellent tour guide.’
Thalia laughed. ‘You mean I am an excellent talker! I fear I do tend to prattle on so about antiquities.’
‘Not in the least.’ Signor de Lucca leaned closer to her, his violet eyes luminous in the light. ‘Such intelligence and beauty in one lady—it is rare indeed. And precious.’
Thalia opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again, hardly knowing what to say. She wanted to laugh, yet she had to admit her vanity was flattered by his comment.
‘I can see that Italians also learn one other thing in infanthood, along with history,’ she murmured.
‘Oh, yes, signorina? What is that?’
‘Flirtation, of course. You are far more adept at it than Englishmen!’
He gave a startled laugh. ‘Indeed, Signorina Chase? Do you know many Italian men, then?’
There was a small, distracting flurry of commotion near the door. Thalia glanced over Signor de Lucca’s shoulder to see Marco making his entrance to the Pump Room, as if her thoughts of flirtatious Italians had summoned him. Lady Riverton was again at his side, smiling happily up at him from under her fruit-laden bonnet. Though he smiled back, Thalia thought she saw a shadow over his face, a wisp of some taut tension.
‘I know a few,’ she said.
Signor de Lucca glanced back, following her stare. He was turned away from her, but she noticed his hand tighten on the ivory head of his fancy walking stick.
‘Are you acquainted with the Count di Fabrizzi?’ she asked, then felt silly. As if all Italians, whether Venetian, Florentine, or Neapolitan, knew each other!
But he nodded. ‘I do know him. We are old friends.’
‘You are?’ Thalia said, amazed. ‘What a coincidence, to find each other here in Bath.’
He faced her again, still smiling. But there was a new crease on his brow, just between those beautiful eyes. ‘Perhaps not, Signorina Chase. For was not ancient Bath a place for exiles from Rome? A place where they tried to ma
ke a new home in the image of the old.’
Puzzled, Thalia glanced at Marco to find him watching her. Lady Riverton still chatted brightly up at him, yet he looked quite solemn. She gave him a tentative smile, suddenly quite conscious of how close to her Signor de Lucca was standing. Of the burning power of Marco’s dark stare.
‘Shall we go and say hello to the Count, then?’ she said, uncharacteristically hesitant. ‘I am sure he will be happy to see a friend from home.’
Signor de Lucca laughed. ‘Perhaps. But he appears to be occupied at the moment. Shall we take a turn about the room instead?’
Thalia nodded, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead her into the milling crowd. Yet she could swear she felt the heat of Marco’s stare on her back, even across the room.
Maledetto! What was Domenico de Lucca doing in Bath? And with Thalia?
Marco stared, incredulous and angry, as Domenico laughed with her, the two of them standing together by the windows. The milky-grey light fell over them, a pair of perfect golden creatures cast down from the heights of Olympus to the dull reality of the Pump Room.
Domenico was not a bad person; he had been Marco’s friend for a long time, since they were youths in the army, cast into a situation they could not yet understand. He was a good drinking companion, as well as a fine friend for discussing deeper issues. As far as Marco knew, Domenico had never mistreated a lady.
But Marco also knew that, beneath Domenico’s affability, there lurked a soul devoted to his own cause, his own ideals. If he thought Thalia could help him in those aims, he would not hesitate to use her. If she could not…
Marco watched as Thalia pointed at something outside the window, and Domenico edged even closer to her. No, he could not let Domenico involve Thalia in any way with whatever scheme he was planning. Marco had worked too hard to protect her. Had tried to stay away from her, to ignore the lure of her kisses even as his heart urged him not to let her go.
She had no place in his life, and he certainly had none in hers. But he would never let Domenico, or anyone else, hurt her. Not after what had happened to Maria, just because she loved him, and had followed him to battle. Because he loved her, and yet had caused her downfall.
To Kiss a Count Page 10