Shaking her head at the way her thoughts were taking her, Mariah went down to the spacious salon, which led onto a veranda. The windows were closed, but not locked, and she let herself out, deciding to take a turn about the lush gardens. The air was heavy with scent from a variety of flowers. Mariah thought she could smell jasmine, oleanders, roses and other more exotic perfumes that she could not name.
It was such a perfect setting. A night for romance and adventure, she thought, feeling wistful. How pleasant it would be to walk here with the man she loved, to feel his strong arms about her and his lips on hers. A surge of need and longing swept through her. She had so many friends and yet she was lonely.
She wanted someone special, a man she could lean on in times of trouble, a companion who would be with her throughout life, taking the good things with the bad.
Feeling the trickle of tears on her cheeks, Mariah swept them away impatiently. She would not give way to self-pity! Yet she wanted so much to be loved—passionately and without restraint. She was a fool to torture herself with thoughts of Andrew Lanchester. If he cared for her at all, he would surely speak!
Raising her head, Mariah felt angry. Why should she wait? If she were offered marriage by a man she believed more interested in her than her fortune, she would accept—and if a man she could like sufficiently offered an affair she might take a lover.
She was so tired of being a widow.
* * *
The journey to Milan was accomplished without incident and Mariah was delighted to discover that Count Paolo’s home there was one of Milan’s ancient palaces and had beautiful gardens and courtyards behind the rather faded facade. The entrance hall was large with high arched ceilings and marble floors, the sound of their footsteps echoing as the count’s English butler greeted them and took them up to their apartments.
‘Count Paolo will be with you in a short time,’ the man said deferentially. ‘He is with other visitors, but he will be with you very soon.’
‘Yes, of course, Tomkins,’ Lady Hubert said and smiled at him. ‘And how have you been keeping since we last saw you?’
‘Very well, milady. The climate suits me here and I have settled in nicely. I am grateful to you for recommending me to the count.’
‘I was happy to do so. I knew you would get on famously.’
Sylvia beamed at him as he preceded them up the wide, rather worn stone stairs to the gallery above, then turned to Mariah.
‘Tomkins worked for my father until he died, you know. He suffers with the rheumatics and decided he would like to live in a warmer climate than the east of England. Knowing that Count Paolo was looking for a major-domo for his house here, I suggested he might apply and gave him a reference.’
‘That was kind of you.’
‘Oh, no, Tomkins deserved it. He was very kind to Papa in his last days.’
They were led along the gallery to a suite of rooms that overlooked the courtyards to the rear of the house. Mariah went immediately to the window to glance out. The paved courtyard was very attractive with its slightly uneven and faded pink bricks that were interspersed with rose beds; there was a fountain with beautiful statuary and she could see a series of courtyards and gardens leading from the one below.
A man and a woman were walking at the far side of the courtyard. As she watched, the man kissed the woman’s hand and she left him, going through an arched gateway to whatever lay beyond. A servant approached the man, who glanced up at the window where Mariah stood and nodded at something he had been told.
Was he the count? From this distance Mariah could see little except that he was dressed exquisitely in the French manner and his hair was a pale silver-blonde.
She drew away from the window as Sylvia called to her, ‘This is your room, dearest. What do you think?’
Mariah went through the elegant sitting room to a bedroom. She gasped, for it was beyond anything that she had expected. Furnished in the French Empire style, which had become so fashionable during Napoleon’s occupation, the furniture was imposing and grand rather than comfortable, made of light wood strung with ebony and gold leaf, the soft furnishings in purple and cream with touches of black. The mirrors were flamboyant with gilded rococo-style frames, as was a picture that looked as if it were an Old Master. Perhaps not da Vinci, but of the same period, and the ceiling was painted with ridiculously fat cherubs, ladies of ample proportions and a satyr.
‘Good gracious,’ she murmured, a naughty gleam in her eye. ‘I am overwhelmed. Do you suppose this chamber was meant for royalty?’
‘I think Napoleon may have stayed here, though I am not certain he had this suite,’ Sylvia replied and laughed. ‘That was in Count Paolo’s father’s day, of course. He has only recently inherited the estate, you know. Hubert was the late count’s friend, but we met Paolo at the funeral and he was gracious enough to offer us his villa whenever we wished to stay near the lakes.’
‘He must be a very generous man.’
‘Yes, I dare say,’ Sylvia replied. ‘He would accept no payment—but I believe Hubert and the count have some business together. The count also has vineyards and wishes to import his wines to England.’
‘Ah, yes, a mutually beneficial arrangement. I wonder—’
Mariah broke off as she heard a knock at the door and then the sound of Lord Hubert’s rather loud voice greeting their host. Drawn by curiosity as much as politeness, she walked back to the sitting room with Sylvia, glancing at the man standing with Lord Hubert. Her breath caught, for he was an extraordinarily handsome man, his eyes a greenish-blue and his hair a pale blonde, but not quite the silver it had looked in the sunlight. His nose was patrician, his forehead high, his chin not square but strong and his mouth soft and sensual. He was older than she had expected after hearing that he had only recently come into his title, being nearer thirty than twenty and of a slender build. His clothes were extravagant, very French, his cravat exquisitely tied, his coat a deep shade of violet and his breeches a paler shade of the same colour; his long fingers were crowded with expensive rings. From his accent as he spoke, she thought he must have spent much of his time in France prior to his inheriting the estate in Lombardy.
She became aware that he was staring at her in a way that made her body tingle from head to toe. This was one of the most sensual, aggressively masculine men she had ever met despite his foppery. His eyes were the eyes of a predator and she knew immediately that he found her physically attractive. The smile on his lips sent a little shiver down her spine—he was a hunter and she sensed that she had been added to the list of his prey, which she imagined to be substantial.
She must be on her guard with this man or he would gobble her up! How very exciting to be sure. Life would not be dull for a few days.
‘Lady Hubert. Madame, I am delighted to welcome you to my humble home—and your friend, the so-delightful Lady Fanshawe.’ He moved towards Mariah with the grace of a large cat on the prowl. Politeness made her offer her hand. The count took it between his own for a moment, then lifted it to his lips, depositing a kiss on the palm. It was such an intimate gesture that Mariah found herself suffused with warmth. She glanced up at him and saw the challenge in his eyes.
‘Such beauty leaves me without words,’ he declared. ‘Had I known what to expect, but even your friend did not do you justice…magnifique…’
‘You flatter me, sir,’ Mariah said, but she smiled and did not withdraw her hand too quickly. His overt flirting made her want to laugh and she was intrigued. She could not imagine that Count Paolo was in need of a fortune. This house and its contents were worth a fortune alone, to say nothing of the beautiful villa at the lakes and his vineyards. No, he was not a fortune hunter, but perhaps something more dangerous. He hunted for a different kind of prey, but he oozed sensual charm. She was certain he would seduce her if she let down her guard.
‘No, I never flatter,’ the count denied. ‘I say only what is in my mind—and you are one of the most beautiful women I have met. I
t is a great pleasure for me to have you at my home.’
‘I am overwhelmed, sir,’ Mariah replied. ‘Your house is astonishing—such splendour and grandeur. I do not think I have seen anything like it in a private home before.’
‘There are many such palaces in Lombardy and Rome. Venice is renowned for its beautiful palaces, of course—but for me there is nowhere quite like Paris. I lived there for many years. My father and I did not always agree and I had interests in Paris. My wife is French and I have a house there still.’
‘Your wife? Do you have children, signor?’ Maria was surprised. So he was married. Not a possible candidate for her husband, then.
She was not sure whether she was disappointed or relieved.
‘A daughter only.’ A look of disappointment or anger passed across his face. ‘I should say that I had a wife. She died in an unfortunate accident some months ago. I am a widower…’ He spread his hands. ‘It was very sad, you understand. However, we were not—compatible is, I think, the word. It was a foolish marriage undertaken when we were both too young. Our daughter will remain with her mama’s family—but I require a son, naturally. In time, when I find a lady I can both admire and love, I shall marry again.’
‘I am sorry for your loss, sir. I hope you will find happiness one day.’
‘Yes, it is very sad for the child, because she misses her mama. I have promised her that one day I shall find her a new mama and she will have brothers and sisters to play with.’ He smiled. ‘You may wonder why I chose to speak of such private matters? I feel empathy between us, madame. You have lost a doting husband, I have lost a wife. I hope we shall be good friends—perhaps more in time, who knows?’
Something in his tone made Mariah’s spine tingle. She had never known a man to speak so directly at a first meeting, though many pursued her hotly.
‘I hope we shall be friends, sir. I have heard much of you from Lady Sylvia. I shall enjoy making your acquaintance.’
The count smiled oddly. ‘I have spoken too boldly, perhaps? It is my way, madame. Forgive me, your beauty swept away all caution and I feel as if I have known you all my life—have been waiting for this moment.’
He spoke of it as if it was his destiny—hers, too, perhaps. His smile was charming and all feeling of boredom had fled. Mariah had been longing for something to happen and now it had. If she wanted an adventure, the count would be more than willing to provide it.
Mariah was aware of a mutual attraction, for she had seen his interest immediately and felt something herself—but he went too fast. His eyes seemed to unclothe her and she read his thoughts so easily that she could not meet his gaze for more than a moment. This man was charming and exciting, but she felt slightly out of her depth, as if she did not take care she would be swept away out of her control.
‘You flatter me, sir. I think you like to tease and provoke.’
‘Do not be misled, madame. I am in earnest, I assure you—but I am a terrible host,’ he said, becoming aware that they had an interested audience and letting go of her hand. ‘You must come down and meet my friends—unless you would prefer refreshments to be served here so that you may rest?’
‘Oh, no, we need just a few moments to freshen ourselves,’ Sylvia replied. ‘I am looking forward to exploring your gardens, Count Paolo. I imagine they are different to those at the villa?’
‘Yes, indeed, far more formal,’ the count replied, turning his attention to her. ‘It will be my pleasure to show both you and Lady Fanshawe after we have taken some refreshment. If you will excuse me, I must welcome other guests. Please come down and join us when you are ready.’
‘Well,’ Sylvia said as the door closed behind him, ‘how very odd. For one moment I thought—he looked as if he could devour you, Mariah.’
‘Nonsense,’ her husband said. ‘I have found the count both direct and honest in his dealings. He was making his situation clear. He is clearly looking for marriage and Mariah is beautiful enough to make most men lose their heads. The fellow was bowled over. You have made another conquest, m’dear. I almost pity the poor man.’
Sylvia arched her brows at Mariah, as if to say that a man would not understand. Such a direct approach was meant to have significance of some kind. Mariah was inclined to think the count bent on seduction. She was, after all, a widow and as such he probably thought her fair game. He couldn’t have been hinting at marriage when they had only that moment met for the first time. She had read too much into the count’s words. Lord Hubert was right. He had been struck and his tongue had run away with him; it was not the first time, though most young men became tongue-tied and foolish, staring at her with calf eyes. The count was very different.
Her pulses throbbed. He was certainly very attractive and she might not be averse to a brief flirtation, though she sensed that it might be dangerous to become more intimately involved with him.
Becoming aware that her friend was waiting for an answer, Mariah laughed softly. ‘He is a surprising man,’ she said. ‘However, I must reserve judgement until I know him a little better.’
Chapter Four
Count Paolo certainly knew how to charm, both ladies and gentlemen. After a mere day spent in his company, Mariah had to admit that she liked him. She also found him physically attractive, though something warned her to be wary of showing it. He had given them a tour of his gardens in the cool of early evening, when the perfume of flowers wafted on a slight breeze filling the air with sweetness and the sun’s fierce heat had abated.
‘English ladies have such delicate complexions,’ he said, offering his arm to Sylvia as Mariah followed with Lord Hubert. ‘You must always be careful to stay out of the midday sun or you may spoil your beautiful skin, madame.’
‘Oh, I never go out without a hat and my parasol during the day,’ Sylvia told him. ‘Mariah will do it, but she does not seem to burn as I do.’
‘Lady Fanshawe has the kind of skin the sun loves,’ Paolo said, directing a look at Mariah that she felt far hotter than any sunshine. ‘I think perhaps she may have Latin blood in her somewhere.’
‘Oh, no, I do not think it,’ Mariah replied, a little smile on her mouth. ‘My mother and father were both of English descent—unless one of my ancestors strayed…’ There was a hint of mischief in her manner as she deliberately teased. ‘I must admit that I do love to walk in the sun without my hat. Sylvia is forever scolding me.’
‘I should not like you to be ill,’ Sylvia said fondly. ‘You are as a sister to me, dearest. I had brothers, but no sisters, something I regretted, and you have become more to me than most sisters could ever be.’
‘I am very fond of you, too,’ Mariah said. ‘I do not know how I should have managed after Winston died if you had not come for me.’
‘You speak of your husband?’ Paolo’s left eyebrow arched. ‘He was, I believe, some years your senior?’
‘Yes, but the kindest, sweetest man I have ever known.’
Paolo inclined his head. ‘Of course you must miss him, but you are too young to grieve for ever, I think?’
‘Winston would not expect it,’ Sylvia said before Mariah could answer. ‘We have been speaking of Mariah’s marrying again. She will not wish to remain a widow for ever.’
‘No, that would be a waste,’ the count said, his gaze smouldering as he looked her way. ‘Such beauty in a woman is meant for pleasure, to be enjoyed and savoured by the man who adores her.’
Mariah swallowed hard and then ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. The expression in his eyes was setting little butterflies of apprehension fluttering low in her abdomen. Count Paolo was one of the most sensual men she’d ever met. If she wanted an affair, he would certainly oblige her.
For a moment her thoughts returned to those few precious moments by the lake when she’d thought that Andrew Lanchester cared—that he would ask her to marry him. He had not spoken, even though she’d tried to provoke him by suggesting that he help her to find a husband.
Andrew Lan
chester was the man she wanted. Why could he not look at her like this?
‘You have a beautiful home here, sir. I think if it were mine, I should not wish to leave it often.’
‘I have always preferred my houses in France. I lived there for many years as a child and a young man. However, a house is but a house unless it contains a special person who makes it a home.’
‘Yes, that is perfectly true.’
Mariah felt herself warming to him. He seemed to think as he ought and despite an instinctive feeling that she should be careful of him, she found him attractive. Marriage with such a man would certainly leave no time for moping or feeling lonely.
‘I would be willing to live almost anywhere with the woman I loved. No sacrifice is too much when one loves, do you not agree, madame?’
Mariah nodded, making no answer. His eyes seemed to convey so much and her breath caught in her throat. She could not doubt that he was pursuing her in earnest. There was a small silence before Sylvia drew the count’s attention to a particularly fine specimen of lily.
Mariah had seen the faint lift of the count’s eyebrows. The signals were clear; he waited only for some sign of encouragement. She was afraid to give it, afraid of the intensity in his eyes.
‘You have not yet told us if there are any other English guests attending your ball, Count,’ Sylvia said. ‘We must know who is coming or we shall not be able to speculate about their costumes. Part of the fun of a masked ball is guessing who has come as what—do you not agree, Mariah?’
‘Oh, yes, certainly,’ Mariah said. ‘I always found that vastly amusing.’
‘Well, I believe you may know Sir Harold and Lady Jenkins—and their nephew, Lieutenant Grainger. Also Lady Mary Soames, Mrs Sandford, Colonel Roberts—and a gentleman I have but recently met who is staying near you at the lakes. Lord Lanchester…I believe you may be acquainted with him, Lady Fanshawe?’
The Scandalous Lord Lanchester Page 5