Allowing a grin, Marianne said, “I shall have to work on improving my Italian,” she replied, just as Aurora appeared with their main course, a pasta with sardines.
Jasper matched her grin with one of his own. “Me as well.”
When they had finished their dessert of cassata, a sponge cake layered with ricotta cheese and encased in marzipan, they sat for a time drinking wine and commenting on the villa’s decor, the time their guide would reappear to the take them to the ruins in the morning, and on the pleasant weather. When Jasper paid witness to Marianne’s attempt to suppress a yawn, he grinned. “Come. I think it’s time we go to bed.”
When they retired to their separate bedchambers, Marianne had the distinct impression she wouldn’t be expected in Jasper’s chambers this night. He hadn’t said anything about the sleeping arrangements, which had her hesitant to invite him to her bedchamber.
Perhaps he wanted a night to sleep by himself.
The sound of running feet had her attention turning to the door. She called out, “Come,” at the faint knock that sounded. Angela hurried in, a huge grin displaying her white teeth. “Lady Henley,” she said as she came to a halt and dipped a curtsy.
“Buonasera,” Marianne managed, the words for “good evening” coming to her after a moment.
“Mio cugino vorrebbe incontrarti.”
Marianne blinked, attempting to interpret the girl’s comment. “Your cousin has returned, and he wishes to meet me?” she guessed.
Angela nodded. “Sì. Lui è con Lord Henley.”
Rather surprised the young man would already be in her husband’s chamber—especially if he had just arrived—Marianne allowed a smile. “I look forward to it. Who is your cousin?”
“David. He has returned from Palermo. He was...” Angela paused as she tried to sort the right word. “In school.”
She allowed Angela to undress her and help her pull on a nightrail. She watched her reflection in a mirror free of imperfections as the lady’s maid brushed out her hair, her strokes tentative but thorough. And finally, Marianne dismissed the girl and crawled onto the bed.
Despite its comfort and the clean, bright white linens that covered the mattress, Marianne thought she had never felt so miserable.
So lonely.
Having dismissed David Romano for the night—he had found the young man reading in a corner chair while he waited for them to finish dinner—Jasper regarded his bedchamber with a critical eye. He was determined to find something lacking or some evidence something had been missed when it was last cleaned.
He could find nothing wrong.
In fact, the room was clean to a fault. His trunk of clothes had been emptied, the clean clothes now perfectly folded and arranged in neat piles in the drawers of a tall chest. The clothes he had worn on the ship were collected into a canvas bag, apparently ready for a laundress to see to their cleaning. His cravats had been rolled into perfect cylinders rather than folded. His waistcoats and topcoats hung on pegs in the wardrobe, and his bed had been turned down to reveal white linens that appeared newly sewn.
He dared a glance in the direction of the door that probably connected to Marianne’s, wondering when she would finish with her lady’s maid and come join him. Climbing onto the raised dais on which the bed was displayed—almost as if it were an altar to Demeter, the goddess of fertility, or perhaps to Hypnos, the god of sleep—Jasper wondered if Marianne might be expecting him over in her bed.
They hadn’t discussed which bed they would share, but after two weeks in the small bunk in their cabin on The Fairweather, two weeks of rather satisfying nights of shared pleasure and slumber, he couldn’t imagine she wanted to sleep alone.
But perhaps she did.
Naked, he lay in the bed for a time, his gaze on the connecting door, willing it to open. After another half hour, he finally sighed and was rather stunned to realize he would have to join Marianne in her bed. He couldn’t sleep without her body pressed against his, without her head in the small of his shoulder or her back pulled against the front of his body.
How odd that he had never had trouble sleeping alone when he was married to Sophie.
Not bothering with his dressing gown, Jasper made his way to the door, regarded it for a moment by the dim light from a candle lamp, and finally reached for the handle. Opening the door, he was about to make his way into the darkened mistress chamber when he collided with a soft body. He felt more than heard a startled gasp as his arm brushed against soft lawn. The body stepped backwards, leaving him disoriented in the darkness. For just a moment, he feared he might have walked into Marianne’s lady’s maid.
“Jasper?”
He allowed a sigh of relief. “Forgive me, my love, but I cannot sleep without you.”
There was a moment of silence before Marianne had her body suddenly pressed against his, her arms wrapped around his waist. “And I cannot sleep without you,” she replied, her words muffled given her lips were touching his chest.
Desire overwhelmed him. Desire and a deep need he knew had possessed him during the past two weeks. A need for her. For her body. For her hold on him.
As awkward as their days could be in each other’s company, as stilted as their conversation could be when no one else was around, their nights more than made up for it.
“Your bed or mine?” he whispered just before he kissed her braided hair.
“Seeing as how you’re not even wearing a dressing gown, then I think we should go to yours. I shouldn’t want to scandalize Angela on her second day as my lady’s maid when she finds you naked in my bed,” Marianne whispered.
Jasper couldn’t help but grin at the mental image her words brought forth. “Then I shall have to help you climb up to it,” he replied before kissing her lips. “Damn thing is a veritable altar to a god.”
Marianne nearly giggled, remembering how high the bed was compared to the rest of the furnishings in the master bedchamber. “You make it sound like Mount Olympus.”
“Mount Vesuvius is more like it,” he whispered, one eyebrow displayed in a wicked arch. “For I am quite sure I am about to erupt, and I wish to do so whilst inside you.”
Any thoughts of having spent the last hour in misery flew from Marianne’s head as Jasper helped her onto his bed. His hands and lips had her skin heated and her quim damp in only minutes. The evidence of his arousal was cradled by her soft belly before it soon found its home inside her. For a moment, he simply held himself still, his head resting next to hers on a pillow as he willed himself to slow down. But his body soon protested, and he began to move in the familiar pattern Marianne had come to learn during their near fortnight on board The Fairweather.
Her body certainly remembered. Remembered and welcomed the strange intruder that had become a regular visitor every night since their wedding.
It wasn’t until the following morning when she realized Jasper hadn’t even removed her nightrail. He had removed the ribbon tie from her braid, though, and although she thoroughly searched the bed linens, it was no where to be found.
Chapter 15
A Clear Day for Touring
Later that morning
Angela stood back and regarded her mistress with a grin, rather pleased with the hairstyle she had managed to create given Marianne’s unruly curls. Although her ladyship requested a bonnet, the young lady’s maid instead produced a wide-brimmed hat from one of the traveling trunks. “The sun will be bright today,” she warned in stilted English.
When she was packing, Marianne hadn’t considered how the sun might shine more frequently on the island of Sicily than in England. She didn’t even recognize the broad-brimmed hat that sported a mass of brightly-colored silk flowers on one side. “I shall take that into consideration,” she said, as she decided Aunt Cherice had to have ordered the hat be packed. She probably purchased it for me, too, Marianne thought with a sigh.
Cherice had been determined Marianne leave London with a new wardrobe and accessories to match. The modiste
she had employed didn’t seem the least bit fazed by her requests, nor did she seem to mind the impossible deadline.
Male voices from the master bedchamber had Marianne thinking James Singleton had arrived to take breakfast with them. When she was dressed, she dismissed Angela and made her way into the master bedchamber through the connecting door, stunned to discover her husband wasn’t there. Instead, a rather handsome, dark-haired man was busy shining a pair of Jasper’s boots.
“Oh, mi scusi,” she said as the young man stood and then bowed. She dipped a quick curtsy before she realized he was probably the valet Signora Romano had offered.
“Mi scusi,” he replied and then gave a quick shake of his head. “I am David Romano,” he said in English. “My mother asked me to act as Lord Henley and Mr. Singleton’s valet while they are in residence.”
Marianne blinked at hearing his perfect English. There was only a slight Italian accent to his words, which had her wondering if he had spent time in England.
“It’s very good to meet you, Signore Romano.” His black hair, cut short but long enough to display waves, framed a face featuring dark brows, dark blue eyes, and high cheekbones. His olive-skinned complexion was lighter than Aurora’s and Angela’s, but it was free of imperfections. A thought of how he could be a sculptor’s model—he could be Michaelangelo’s David—had a blush coloring her face. She knew just then why talk of Italian men had been so popular in the Mayfair parlors she had visited whilst in London. “I am... the viscount’s wife,” she managed, scolding herself for being so tongue-tied.
“Lady Henley,” he acknowledged with another bow. “Lord Henley has gone to the dining room. My cousin is cooking breakfast.”
“Signorina Aurora?” Marianne guessed.
He grinned. “Sì,” he replied. He dared a glance around the room. “I must take his lordship’s laundry to my other cousin, or she will make me do it,” he said with a twinkle.
Marianne grinned. “Of course. I shan’t keep you,” she said with a nod. She left the room through the connecting door to the mistress suite, still a bit discombobulated by the young man’s presence. Remembering his features—she had been close enough to see them—she realized he resembled his mother in many ways. The same nose, the same eyes—even their lips were similar—but David displayed an easy expression his mother didn’t share. A happy demeanor, probably from lack of responsibility.
The weight of the world, she remembered Pietro saying.
Marianne made her way to the dining room to discover Jasper and his colleague already seated, a map spread out on the table between them. They stood up in unison when she appeared, bowing before she curtsied.
“You’re up early,” Jasper said, as if they hadn’t spent that morning in the same bed together, making love and luxuriating in the soft linens.
“As were you,” she replied, an arched brow replaced by a flush of color when she realized her double entendre.
James Singleton dared a glance between the two of them, his amusement barely hidden when Aurora appeared with a tray of coffee and orange juice. He stood up, as if he thought her the lady of the house, and gave a nod. “Buongiorno, mia signora,” he murmured.
Aurora paused, her look of confusion going between Marianne and the blond, blue-eyed Adonis who stood before her. “Mi scusi,” she managed as she set the tray on the table, well aware of how the man watched her every move.
That is, until Jasper nudged him. “Signorina Aurora is our cook,” he said in a quiet voice. He turned to Marianne. “If it’s agreeable with you, Singleton is going to join us for our meals.”
“Of course,” Marianne replied, rather surprised he thought she might think otherwise. They had dined with the man nearly every morning and every night on The Fairweather.
James shook himself out of his reverie, although he didn’t seem to hear what Marianne and Jasper had said. “It’s very good to meet you, signorina,” he said as he continued to stare at Aurora. “I am James.”
Jasper and Marianne exchanged glances before Marianne allowed a grin. “How is your Italian, Mr. Singleton?”
The younger man finally pulled his gaze from Aurora and turned it on Marianne. “Fairly good, I should think.”
“You’ll need to speak to her in Italian. I don’t think she knows much English.”
“Ah,” he replied. He turned his attention back to the cook, but Aurora was already heading for the kitchen. “Mi scusi,” he said as he followed the woman out of the dining rom.
Jasper and Marianne stared after him, once again exchanging glances. “Do you suppose he finds her beautiful?” Marianne asked, not quite sure about the man’s strange reaction to the cook.
“Yes,” was all Jasper could manage before he grinned.
Marianne remembered their conversation from the night before and arched a brow. “I may not have to play matchmaker at all.”
Jasper rolled his eyes before he glanced toward the door to the kitchen. “I do hope he isn’t in there taking advantage...”
But before he could finish the sentence, James reappeared carrying a tray on which several plates were arranged, their contents sending up curls of steam, as he ignored what sounded like protests from Aurora. He lowered the tray so Aurora could remove each plate and set it before them, holding onto the last plate until James reluctantly gave up the tray and sat down. He spoke in a stream of Italian Marianne could barely follow before Aurora sniffed, turned on her heel, and left the room.
“What was that all about?” she asked in alarm.
James gave a shrug. “I think she likes me,” he said with a huge grin. “At least, I think that was the gist of it,” he added in a whisper.
Marianne exchanged a quick glance with Jasper, deciding she would have to wait until she could ask if Aurora had anything to fear from his colleague’s attentions.
After a breakfast of coffee, brioche, sausage, and eggs, Jasper, Marianne, and James joined their guide in a very different conveyance from the one they had ridden on the day before. The carriage, an ancient barouche pulled by two horses that weren’t much younger, looked as if it might collapse at any moment. The barouche rumbled along the dirt path as Pietro managed the reins.
“Our accommodations are excellent,” Jasper said when James asked about them. “David said he would see to your things, by the way, and act as valet for us both. There’s a room for you on the other side of the villa.”
The mention of the young man had James angling his head. “Black hair, blue eyes, and far too handsome to be a servant?” he queried.
Jasper blinked. “That would be him. I take it you two have met?”
James shook his head. “I only saw him briefly. Outside, when Pietro dropped me off. He was seeing to my trunk.” The reminder of his first sight of the young man had James tamping down a sudden arousal. He couldn’t remember being so awestruck by the sight of another man before. “Signora Romano didn’t mind learning there would be another guest?” he asked, his voice kept low. He knew the original arrangements had been for Jasper and him to share the villa. With Jasper married and his wife with him, their need for an additional bedchamber might have proven difficult for their hostess.
“I believe Signora Romano is pleased, actually. She has a younger niece she is anxious to teach, so my wife has a lady’s maid, and I, of course, will be paying her more rent,” Jasper explained. “I’m still not sure how Dr. Jones knew of her, though. How did you find the old man?”
James gave a shrug. “Lord Darius seemed in rather good spirits last night,” he commented. “He was where you said he would be. Dressed in his usual garb, I took him for a local until I heard him speak.” At Jasper’s look of disbelief, he added, “Remember, I haven’t seen him since I was up at Hadrian’s Wall. Four, five years ago.”
Jasper allowed a grin, remembering the older archaeologist eschewed topcoats and sometimes even waistcoats when he was directing a dig. His casual mode of dress—breeches, boots, and a white shirt—was also a reminder that it
would be warm working on the island. Jasper was about to ask James something else, but he noticed Marianne staring at him with what looked like surprise. “What is it?”
“I... I didn’t realize Lord Darius would be working with you and Mr. Singleton,” she said in disbelief. “When you said, ‘Dr. Jones,’ I didn’t make the connection.”
Jasper gave a shake of his head, realizing just then that his wife must have known the older man—and met him as the brother of a duke rather than in his preferred guise as an archaeologist. “Is he a friend of your father’s?”
Marianne allowed a shrug. “An acquaintance, really. He’s come for the scotch.”
Allowing a bark of laughter, Jasper could imagine Dr. Jones imbibing in Lord Donald’s liquor. “Dr. Jones’ interests lie elsewhere, but he is digging in the same ancient city in which we will be working,” he explained. “And the fact that he recommended Signora Romano’s villa has me wondering why he isn’t staying there,” he added in a quiet voice.
“May I be so bold as to ask how you found Signora Romano?” James asked.
Jasper and Marianne exchanged glances before Jasper gave a shrug. “Efficient,” he stated. “Not friendly, exactly.”
Marianne’s eyes widened, as if she didn’t agree. “She is as our guide says. Like Atlas. And proud of her property, as she should be. It’s a beautiful house, and her nieces are proving to be very adept in their duties.” After a pause, she added, “Aurora is her niece.”
James arched a brow at this bit of information. His attention was directed toward Casa Romano, as if he was willing its owner to appear from behind the closed door to the courtyard. “The weight of the world, eh?” he murmured. He sighed as Pietro directed the horses down the hill and to the path that would take them to their daily destination for their excavation work.
The Vision of a Viscountess Page 14