When we reached one hundred, we broke apart and took up our candlesticks. I heard Lucy’s high laugh, and Sir Cedric’s answering chortle. It occurred to me then that although we had agreed to hunt alone, the game was a perfect opportunity for the betrothed couple to steal a few kisses. The thought was not an appetizing one.
As soon as we left the drawing room, the group scattered like startled birds, some flocking down the side of the cloister toward the library, others taking the opposite tack and exploring the approach from the nave that led to the great drawing room. I decided to take a more thorough approach. There were few better hiding places than the shadows behind Maurice the bear. I slid into the space behind him, holding my candle aloft, careful not to singe his shabby fur. I had just decided that Charlotte must have chosen another place for her concealment when a hand clamped down upon my bare shoulder.
I gasped and turned on my heel, but before I could speak, the hand moved to my waist, drawing me hard against a masculine form and bold lips searched out my own.
With a bit of effort, albeit belated, I pushed with my free hand against the hard, muscular chest under my fingertips.
“Alessandro, really!” I licked my lips. He had tasted warmly of brandy.
He drew back, breathing heavily, a single lock of dark, silky hair spilling over his brow. He kept one arm locked about my waist, his other holding his candle high. The shadows threw his face into the sharpestchiaroscuro,and for a moment he seemed a stranger to me, harder, more forceful. Then he spoke, and the illusion faded.
“Il mioGiuliacaro,I can hold my tongue no longer. My heart, it is so very full.”
“Oh, dear,” I murmured.
“Please,” he said urgently, “I must speak. For months I have known you as the sister of my very dear friends. I have honoured you as the greatest lady of my acquaintance. But now I must tell you that I wish you to return to Italy. With me.”
I blinked at him and pushed at his arm so that I could breathe.
“But Alessandro, there is every possibility I shall return to Italy. Plum and I spoke of that the night we invited you to come to England. Do you not remember?”
He shook his head, his glossy hair gleaming in the candlelight. “No. Just this evening, Lysander tells me Violante is expecting a child.”
“Is she! How wonderful for them. I suppose that explains the pickled walnuts,” I mused.
“Yes, and I am happy for my friend. But he wants the baby to be born here. And wherever Lysander goes, there goes Plum as well. I know you will not return to Italy alone.” He grasped my hand in his. “So come with me.”
I swallowed hard. “Alessandro, my dear boy…” I began.
He raised a hand to silence me. “No, say nothing now. Now you will refuse me. I can see this. You must think on it.” He pressed his lips to my fingers ardently, then disappeared as quickly as he had come. I counted to twenty, waiting until I was certain he had gone. I slid out from behind Maurice, giving the old dear a pat as I did so. I wondered how many other such scenes he had witnessed.
I had not gone four steps when I collided heavily with another figure, bouncing ever so slightly off a solidly muscular form. The other player’s candle was held just at my line of sight, dazzling my eyes.
“I do hope I didn’t interrupt your interlude with Count Fornacci,” Brisbane said nastily.
“Lower your candle, you’ve half-blinded me.”
He placed it on a table, and I could just make out his face, inscrutable in its fitful light. There were times I understood him better than most, I liked to think. Other occasions, I found him as difficult to comprehend as ancient Greek.
“If you mean Alessandro, I can only say you are being absurd. He is a boy.”
Brisbane arched a brow at me. “You are ungenerous. I would have called him a man fully grown.”
I tapped the toe of my slipper on the carpet. “I will not quarrel with you, Brisbane. Besides, we are meant to be playing sardines, and I have not yet begun to hunt properly.”
“Do not bother with the dining room. I have already been there.”
“How kind of you to share your intelligence with me. Now, if you do not mind—”
Brisbane turned, maneuvering me down the hall toward the nave. “I thought we should try the billiard room.”
“We are not supposed to worktogether,” I reminded him.
He ignored me, and it occurred to me then that he had some ulterior purpose in seeking me out. For an instant, I thought of Alessandro’s declaration and wondered if Brisbane had something similar in mind. Immediately, I rejected the notion and cursed myself for a fool. He was betrothed to Charlotte King, and although I was certain the engagement would come to nothing, he insisted upon maintaining the fiction of their relationship. No, Brisbane wanted me with him for some other reason, but I could not yet work out what it might be.
Grumbling, I allowed him to lead me to the billiard room. We searched the shadows, and I found it curious how the near-darkness heightened my senses. I could hear my pearls click softly in the silence and the hushed rustle of my taffeta petticoats. I was conscious too of Brisbane, never more than a few feet from me. I caught the scent of him, his shaving lotion—something herbal, with a hint of spice, and something else, something indefinable but essentially Brisbane. It was a distinctive scent, and had I been blindfolded and asked to choose him out of a thousand men, I should have done so without hesitation.
I shook myself from my fancies and moved away to look behind the heavy draperies at the window, but Brisbane followed me. He was casual about it, lazy as a panther stalking a deer, but just as effective.