To Kiss a Count

by Amanda McCabe

  As if she sensed his stare, Thalia turned. For one unguarded instant, she looked happy to see him. Her eyes widened, and a smile touched the corners of her lips.

  Then something seemed to fall over her, some concealment, and she merely looked—polite. Domenico turned, too, and she said something to him.

  ‘Excuse me, signora,’ Marco muttered to the still-chattering Lady Riverton. ‘I will return in a mere moment.’ He hastily kissed her hand, and headed across the room toward Thalia and Domenico, who now strolled arm in arm. Domenico was speaking quiet words to her now, close to her ear, and Marco could not help imagining what those words might be.

  Surely Domenico could tell her a great deal Marco would prefer she not know, if he chose.

  ‘Ah,’ Domenico said with a welcoming smile. ‘It is my old friend, the Count di Fabrizzi!’

  ‘Such a surprise to see you here, Domenico,’ Marco said, carefully maintaining his polite affability. ‘So very far from home.’

  ‘I feel I have never left Italy at all,’ Thalia commented, glancing between them. ‘Who would have known that all of Naples and Florence could be found right here in the Pump Room! The town’s hostesses will be most delighted.’

  ‘Oh, I am sure Signor de Lucca will not be here long enough to partake of Bath’s splendid social offerings,’ Marco said. ‘He is very busy.’

  ‘Not so busy as all that,’ Domenico protested. ‘If all of Bath is as amusing as the portion I have already met, I must stay longer. I have never encountered so much charm and beauty in one place.’

  Thalia laughed delightedly. ‘Now you are bamming us, Signor de Lucca! I have travelled in Italy myself, you know, and Bath’s ruins are just a patch on the ones there.’

  Domenico gave her a soft smile. ‘I certainly was not referring to the ruins, signorina.’

  Thalia laughed again, as Marco itched to strangle his ‘friend’ with his bare hands.

  ‘My sister is hosting a Venetian masked ball,’ Thalia said. ‘You must at least stay for that.’

  ‘If Lady Westwood wishes to include me on the guest list, I would be most happy to attend,’ Domenico answered.

  ‘Excellent! Now, I am sure you two, er, friends have much to discuss, and I must rejoin my sister. Good day, Signor de Lucca. Count di Fabrizzi.’

  Thalia turned and strolled away, her pale pink-clad figure quickly swallowed by the milling crowd. As soon as he was sure she was gone, Marco turned on Domenico, who watched him with an air half-amused, half-wary.

  ‘What are you doing here in Bath?’ Marco muttered.

  ‘You would not answer my letters,’ Domenico answered. ‘I grew concerned, and thought I should find out what was happening for myself.’

  ‘I am near my goal. But things are precariously balanced. Your presence could tip that balance beyond recovery.’

  Domenico shook his head. ‘The silver is not so important now. The time is very near, Marco! We need you in Naples, with or without the altar set.’ His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. ‘We need your warrior skills now. Your sword.’

  ‘I have told you…’ A passing couple gave them an interested glance, and Marco reined in his temper. He raked his hand through his hair, forcing himself to smile.

  It felt as if his face would crack with the effort. Just as all they had worked so hard and sacrificed so much for would crack and vanish, if foolish hotheads like Domenico had their way.

  ‘We cannot talk here,’ Marco said. ‘Meet me at Brown’s Coffee House on Horse Street this afternoon.’

  Domenico nodded, though he looked as if he longed to argue right there in the crowded Pump Room. As he turned away, Marco growled, ‘Domenico—stay away from Miss Chase. She has nothing to do with any of this.’

  Domenico glanced back, one brow arched. ‘The oh-so-pretty Miss Chase? Of course she has nothing to do with it. She is a just a woman. Most gallant of you to protect her, amico. Most gallant indeed.’

  He departed, yet that burning urge to hit something did not leave Marco. It only burned brighter at the slur on Thalia’s intelligence!

  Just a woman? Ha! If only Domenico knew the force of nature that was the Chase sisters, he would not be so dismissive then.

  And Marco could not afford to underestimate her, either. No matter how far ahead he stayed, how he worked to protect her, she was always just a step behind. Closer and closer.

  ‘Who was that?’ Lady Riverton asked, slipping her hand onto his arm. ‘A friend of yours?’

  ‘An old acquaintance from home.’

  ‘Indeed? He looked most intriguing, Marco dear. Why did you not introduce us?’

  ‘He had an errand,’ Marco answered shortly.

  ‘Oh.’ Lady Riverton pouted. ‘Well, I’m sure I will meet him soon enough. Shall we depart, then? I have an appointment with the milliner I simply must keep. And then I must find a modiste to make my costume for Lady Westwood’s party. I was thinking Anne Boleyn, but I fear you would make a most unconvincing Henry VIII! Perhaps we could be Paolo and Francesca?’

  ‘Whatever you like, Lady Riverton,’ Marco answered amiably. But his thoughts were very far away—with Domenico. And Thalia. He had the brooding sense that matters had just become even more complicated.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘The post has just arrived, Miss Chase,’ the butler announced, presenting a stack of missives on his silver tray.

  ‘Thank you,’ Thalia answered, glancing up from her writing. Now that she was inspired, the play was moving along quite satisfactorily. She was about to add a new character—a handsome, sunny-natured gentleman, who might be the one to save Isabella from her mysterious husband.

  Or he might cause her even more trouble. Handsome gentlemen usually did, whether in theatre or in life.

  But her hand was beginning to ache, and she was glad of the distraction of letters and invitations.

  ‘Is Lady Westwood still out?’ she asked, sifting through the stacks.

  ‘Yes, Miss Chase. I believe she said she would have luncheon with Lady Grimsby after she took the waters.’

  ‘Oh, very good.’ So, she still had a few hours of quiet before she had to face Calliope’s questioning looks again!

  Not that Calliope had said anything about Marco or the very flattering Signor de Lucca after they had returned from the Pump Room yesterday. They had spent a quiet evening dining at home and playing some new songs at the pianoforte, and never once had the subject of Italian men arisen. But Thalia could tell that Calliope had been thinking about it. Wondering what she and de Lucca had talked about.

  Thalia wondered herself. On the surface, it had all been polite, as everything was in Bath, if a bit flirtatious. But when Marco had joined them, she sensed a new tension in his manner. And she was growing mightily tired of deciphering coded behaviour! It was such a vast waste of time.

  She glanced down at her play, at the smudged lines of ink. Ah, the plot thickened.

  But she did not have long to ponder the puzzle of the two Italians. At the bottom of the pile of letters was a thick bundle addressed in Clio’s distinctive bold hand.

  ‘At last,’ Thalia whispered, eagerly slicing through the red wax imprinted with the Averton ducal seal.

  My dearest sister Thalia, she read. I cannot say how happy I was to receive your letter! It was a wonder it reached me, as Edward and I have stopped in Naples, which is full of disquiet, following yet another false lead about the silver. You can imagine my astonishment that Viscountess Riverton has arrived in Bath! And without the silver. Ever curiouser.

  We will depart at once for England, of course, and I look forward to seeing all of you again. In the meantime, dearest Thalia, as you have guessed the biggest part of the tale, let me enlighten you as to the whole.

  Thalia read on in delighted astonishment as Clio filled in the outlines of their Santa Lucia adventure. Thalia had known, of course, that Lady Riverton had stolen the ancient silver altar set, with the help of her companion Ronald Frobisher and a team of dangerous tomba
roli. Clio and her now-husband discovered that theft, and asked Thalia for her help in devising a theatrical trap. It seemed to work—until Lady Riverton slipped away, and showed up in Bath. With Marco.

  What Thalia did not know was that Clio had once been the infamous Lily Thief. Two years ago, this thief had plagued unscrupulous antiquities collectors, snatching their treasures out from under their noses and leaving a fresh lily in their place. The Chase sisters’ own Ladies Artistic Society had tried to solve the mystery, to no avail.

  Of course, I have quite given up such things. It would hardly befit a duchess! Clio went on. Now I must follow more, shall we say, legitimate methods. I am not too sure about the Lily Thief’s former partner in crime, though. I understand he is also in Bath? The Count di Fabrizzi. He is just as passionate as the Chases about ancient history, and twice as tenacious. I am not surprised he found Lady Riverton before Edward and I could. He was a good thief, and a good friend.

  But, my dear, I beg you to be careful. I have heard things here in Naples. Marco plays at games you and I have no part in, and he follows his own path. Stay close to Cal, until I can be with you both. Kiss baby Psyche for me, and all my love to you all—Clio.

  Thalia slowly lowered the letter to the desk, staring out sightlessly at the little library. She laughed aloud, suddenly overcome by a strange sense of lightness. Of floating free.

  Marco and Clio had been partners in crime only, not love. That was the only secret they had between them. The reason for their whispered conversations and secret glances. It all made a bizarre sense! Except…

  Thalia remembered Clio’s wedding, Marco’s solemn mien as he watched Clio become the Duchess of Averton. It was friendship on Clio’s side, of course, but Marco?

  Well, regardless, Clio was married now, and Marco was on some sort of mission.

  I have heard things here in Naples.

  And strange things were afoot in Bath, too. She was sure of it.

  Thalia refolded the letter, tucking it between the pages of her play. Real life was suddenly much more interesting than any fiction. She was not terribly surprised Clio would engage in something like being the Lily Thief. She had always been the boldest, the wiliest of the Chases. Thalia wished her sister was with her now, to tell her everything! To help her decipher everything.

  But Clio was not there, and Calliope should not be distracted while she recovered her health. Thalia was on her own. It was her chance, her one chance, to prove herself to Marco.

  And she was suddenly quite restless. The walls of the house seemed too close. She had to get out, move about.

  Above her head, she heard a loud wail. Someone else seemed to feel the same.

  Half an hour later, she set off along the Crescent, pushing Psyche in her pram. Thalia had waved away the nurse’s protests, saying she was surely capable of taking care of her niece for an afternoon. So far, she seemed correct. Psyche waved her tiny hands, cooing happily amid her ruffles and ribbons as sunlight warmed her little limbs.

  She was as happy to be out and about as her auntie.

  ‘What do you think of all this business, Psyche darling?’ Thalia said. ‘Stolen antiquities, intrigue…’

  Psyche laughed, waving her hands more energetically.

  ‘Quite right,’ Thalia answered. ‘It’s a great deal of fun. Come, I know where we can go.’

  She turned the pram down the gravel walk that led to Queen’s Square, heading for the little museum called the Bath Society of Antiquities. It was surely never too early for Psyche to begin her education.

  When a portion of the old temple of Sulis Minerva was uncovered, a dried-up sacred spring had been discovered. For many years in ancient Bath, the faithful had tossed their offerings down into the waters, such as coins and thin, rolled-up pewter sheets. Curses, spells and requests were etched onto those sheets, all in the desperate hope of an answer from the gods.

  Now, whatever had not been pocketed by curious workmen was housed in the Bath Society. And the Society was little visited, Thalia saw, as she wheeled Psyche through the doors. It was a dim, dusty place, lined with cases of objects and three or four larger statues. Just a few people browsed the galleries, half-hidden in the gloomy light, which was just as Thalia liked. No one to watch her, no one to make inane chatter with, just the wondrous silence of ancient beauty. The power of old wishes and hopes.

  Psyche seemed to feel it, too, for she grew quite uncharacteristically quiet as they strolled past displays of coins and those pewter sheets. She popped one tiny finger into her mouth, staring about with her wide brown eyes.

  Thalia paused before a stone head of the goddess Sulis Minerva, and lifted the baby from the pram so she could observe it. ‘You see, Psyche,’ Thalia said quietly, as Minerva’s empty stone eyes regarded them dispassionately, ‘this is Sulis Minerva, the patron goddess of the hot baths here. Since it was believed that those springs came directly from the underworld, she guarded a connection between this bright world and the dark mysteries below. By throwing all these offerings into the springs, her acolytes believed they could communicate with the underworld itself. That they could appeal to her wisdom.’

  Psyche cooed, stretching out a tiny hand to the statue. ‘That’s right, Psyche love,’ Thalia murmured, cradling the child close against her shoulder, savouring her sweet baby smell. ‘We should ask her to help in healing your mama, so that she will feel entirely herself again.’

  Putting her back into the pram, Thalia pushed Psyche into the next gallery, which housed a miniature model of the old temple. ‘The great altar was here, you see, with its concave top for…’

  Her words trailed away as she saw they were not alone in the room. Marco di Fabrizzi stood on the other side of the temple watching her with quickly concealed surprise.

  ‘Oh,’ she gasped, startled. Her face felt suddenly warm, her stomach full of butterflies as she was faced with him unexpectedly, with no time to prepare herself. ‘I—I did not think to see anyone here.’

  And immediately she felt like an idiot. ‘Did not think to see anyone’—in a public museum?

  But Marco just smiled at her, moving closer around the temple. ‘Neither did I. Everyone seems too occupied with gossip and drinking vile-tasting water to pay attention to the history under their feet. I should have known you would be here, though, Thalia.’

  ‘And I you.’ Psyche suddenly gave a coo, kicking her tiny feet.

  Marco smiled down at her. ‘This must be the newest Chase Muse.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Thalia said with a laugh. ‘This is Lady Psyche de Vere, and she does not care to be ignored.’

  ‘I doubt she will have to fear. No one could ignore such a beauty.’

  ‘Such a noisy beauty.’ Thalia tucked the blanket around her niece, fussing about with it to avoid looking Marco in the eye just yet. With her new knowledge from Clio’s letter, she wasn’t entirely sure what to say to him.

  ‘I see you have begun her classical education,’ he said. ‘As befits a proper Chase.’

  ‘Yes, poor baby. She will have gods and goddesses for her bedtime stories from now on! At least she seems interested in it all.’

  ‘Will she be a writer, like her zia?’

  ‘If she is, I hope she will be a much better one.’ Thalia curled her hands tightly around the pram handle, facing Marco squarely. He watched her with a half-smile on his lips. ‘And I am sure she will be far more observant than I am. She will not be always leaping to conclusions.’

  Marco tilted his head. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, I received a letter from Clio this morning.’

  ‘Ah. And how is the lovely Duchessina?’

  ‘She is well, and on her way back to England. She had a most intriguing tale to tell. One of masquerades, disguises—thieves.’

  Marco nodded, a dull red flush spreading across his bronzed face. ‘So, you know, cara.’

  ‘I am sure I do not know everything. I only know more than I did before. That you were in league with my sister a
s the Lily Thief.’

  ‘So I was, but that was long ago, I assure you. My methods are entirely legitimate now.’

  Thalia laughed. ‘Forgive me, Marco, but I cannot believe you could be entirely legitimate!’

  ‘True,’ he answered, giving that warm, secret smile that always made her toes tingle. Just like in a horrid novel. ‘But I promise, I am trying to be good.’

  ‘Not too good, I hope,’ Thalia murmured.

  ‘For you, cara—never.’ He laid his hand lightly over hers on the handle, hot and alluring even through the leather of their gloves.

  She remembered all too well their passionate kiss in the Grimsbys’ ante-room. And in her drawing room. And in Sydney Gardens. She peeked up at him through her lashes, avidly studying the curve of his lips, the sharp line of his jaw. The way his black hair curled over the nape of his neck, beckoning her to touch it. She yearned to press a kiss to that hollow just below his ear, and taste the sweet saltiness of his skin.

  She tore her stare away, her breath tight in her chest. ‘Why did you not tell me about the Lily Thief?’ she whispered.

  He still watched her. She could feel the burn of his eyes, of that all-seeing dark gaze. ‘It was not my secret to tell, it was Clio’s.’

  ‘And the part of it I don’t know? Is that Clio’s, too?’

  ‘What makes you think there is something you still don’t know?’

  ‘Because there is always something I do not know. My family thinks I am too stupid to know the truth about anything, and that I must be sheltered.’

  ‘If anyone thinks you stupid, Thalia, then they are a fool indeed,’ Marco said. He reached up and softly touched one curl escaping from the edge of her bonnet. ‘Yet I can see why the great urge to, as you say, shelter you.’

  ‘Because I am just a silly female?’

  ‘Because you have a light in you,’ he said, his caress still so gentle against her hair. Thalia fought the urge to lean into his touch, to close her eyes and revel in that sense of him. That sense that the two of them were folded into their own secret world that always came over her when they were together.