“No indeed.” She had always been proud of her abilities, and anyone letting her win was the last thing she wished, but, other than her father, she’d never before played against a man. She’d enjoyed it more than she thought she would.
He’d descended first and held out his hand to her. To her surprise, Caro found herself glancing shyly at him and smiling. Even considering she was on the run from the marchese and had spent the better part of three days in a carriage, she had to acknowledge she’d been having . . . fun. Even eating the dessert had been enjoyable, albeit a little disturbing. Her whole life was literally in his hands, and she wanted to trust him. If only she could. Placing her hand in his, she said, “Thank you, my lord.”
Huntley bowed. “It is my pleasure. Do you still desire a walk?” He glanced around. “It appears there are paths through the vineyards.”
For the first time, Caro gazed around her. The inn of unpainted gray-and-white flecked stone, with a wide, steep slate roof, was situated with the vineyard on three sides. “Yes.”
As they approached the front door, it swung open, and Maufe bowed. “My lady, my lord, dinner will be served in about an hour, if that is acceptable.”
“Thank you, Maufe,” she replied, as if Huntley’s servants were hers. She paused for a moment, confused by her behavior. Yet this was what she had been brought up to be. The wife of a wealthy, titled gentleman. It was almost as if Huntley and she were living in a dreamland. She knew it would end by the time they arrived in Nancy, but resolved to enjoy it while it lasted. There would be no running around smashing the fragile bubbles of which this world consisted. She’d pretend it was all real, as she had as a child, and be happy for a while.
“Her ladyship and I shall take a stroll,” Huntley told his valet, then turned to her. “I’ll ask about the paths. Meet me down here when you’ve refreshed yourself.”
She glanced up at Huntley to find his kind eyes gazing at her. “Thank you, I shall.”
As Caro made her way toward her chamber, she marveled at how comfortable she was becoming with her husband. Even when he’d caught her to-day, it was the first time in years she hadn’t been revolted by a man’s touch, and the warmth she’d experienced afterwards was vaguely pleasant. If they could learn to be friends, that would be something wonderful indeed.
When they’d married, she had resolved to give him the freedom to take whatever mistresses he wanted. Though now, for some reason, she hoped he would not, yet that was a silly girlish dream. Most men, even those with willing wives, took other women; and she was definitely not willing.
Huntley would be required to return to England, but Caro could not, not while her attacker was still moving freely about Polite Society. Perhaps she could remain in France and her husband could visit occasionally. Though why he would want to remain was a question for which she had no answer.
There was still the problem of an heir. Even though he had a younger brother, it bothered her that he wouldn’t have an heir because he’d been forced to marry her. She shook her head, trying to clear it of their problems.
She reached the head of the stairs and saw Nugent standing next to a chamber door. As Caro entered the room, she said, “Lord Huntley and I are going to take some exercise.”
“Very well, my lady,” her maid responded and removed Caro’s cloak.
She started to take off her hat and realized it wasn’t on her head. “I must have left my bonnet in the coach.”
Nugent took out the chipped-straw hat Caro had worn the night they’d left Venice. “I’ll ask Dalle to bring it to me. In the meantime, you can wear this one.”
Caro splashed her face and washed her hands, drying them well before taking a fresh pair of gloves from her maid and entering the corridor, where Huntley waited. For some reason, she couldn’t yet think of him as her husband. She’d have to at some point. She glanced up. He had a smile on his face and nice, even features.
Handsome
was the word that came to mind. He was extremely handsome, and he’d been very kind to her. Yes, there was no reason at all they could not be friends.
Caro wondered if she would miss Huntley when he finally left her, and her throat tightened painfully. Yet she could not imagine a time when she could allow him to touch her more intimately. No man could live with a wife like her. She tried to push the thoughts out of her mind, but her chest started to ache. It was much too soon to think about any of that.
After Caro went to her chamber, Huntley went to find the chef. Surely they must have something chocolate for Caro. If the shy smile she’d given him was any indication, it appeared that his plan to woo her slowly was working.
She’d laughed, in almost childlike delight, as she’d won and lost her imaginary holdings. Her turquoise eyes had sparkled when he’d brought out the tiramisu and warmed to a deeper blue just before she closed her eyes, savoring the taste. Huntley’s initial attraction to her had deepened over the past few days, and now it was all he could do to keep from kissing Caro when she’d peeped at him from beneath her long lashes.
He’d made the right decision when he decided not to take what was his by law. He’d wait until his wife was ready to come to him of her own free will. In many ways, it was as if she’d been trapped by her suffering, and he vowed to find a way to release her. After what she’d been through and the number of years the effects of the abuse had been allowed to fester and harden, that would take time and patience. He groaned. Lots of patience.
Thinking about how unjust society was when it came to women who’d been raped made his jaw clench. They had so few choices. It didn’t matter whether they were well-bred virgins or tweenies. Huntley had known husbands who had turned their wives out, blaming the women for being attacked.
He tracked the cook down in the kitchen garden, where the man was cutting spinach. Thank God they spoke German here, one of the three languages in which he was most fluent. “
Guten Abend
,
mein Herr
.”
The older man stood. “
Guten Abend, Herr Graf.
I understand from your servant that you would like to speak with me about the menu?”
Huntley grinned. “Indeed I would. My countess and I would like to sample your special recipes.”
The chef was about Huntley’s height, but rounder. A smile showed under his large mustache. “May I suggest for the soup
minestra di farina scottata
and for the pasta,
Schlutzkrapfen.
”
The soup he knew to be of vegetables with beans, but the second dish, he didn’t recognize at all. “
Schlutzkrapfen
?”
The man grinned. “Small pockets of dough stuffed with spinach.”
Huntley nodded. “Very well. What about the rest?”
In the end, they decided on polenta with venison, local fish sautéed in butter with almonds, and a variety of vegetables. He held his breath before asking, “Do you have anything with chocolate in it?”
The chef smiled broadly. “I have a wonderful chocolate torte with ground almonds.”
“Perfect.”
He went back inside and had only to wait a few moments for Caro to appear outside her chamber.
They strolled through the vineyards, now bare of fruit, until the sun started to sink very low over the mountains, and then they turned back. The inn was ablaze with lights, making it appear warm and cozy.
“It is very nice here.”
“It is.” He pointed toward the horizon. “Look how blue the twilight is against the snow on the mountaintops, and you can see lights from some of the houses on the hills.”
She gazed up and sighed. “It all looks so peaceful.”
“
Tranquil
is the word that comes to mind.” Just like the life he desired for her. He wanted to give her children to love and homes of her own to manage. He pictured playing with little girls who looked like her. Tossing them in the air and then holding them close, and breathing in their soft, sweet scents. In the evenings, he’d read to her. Even Suffolk wouldn’t be so bad if he had Caro with him.
He led her back inside the inn and up the stairs to her door. “Can you be ready in half an hour?”
“Yes, I think so.”
When he knocked on her door thirty minutes later, she emerged dressed in a turquoise silk gown that matched her eyes and caressed her body when she walked toward him.
Relief and happiness coursed through him when she smiled and allowed him to twine her arm with his. He had touched her more in the past two days than he’d done in the weeks he’d been in Venice. Perhaps, just perhaps, she was finally beginning to warm to him.
Their dining parlor was on the ground floor. He led her to the stairs. “Tell me about your family.”
Glancing at him, she smiled, and a longing entered her eyes. “I’m the eldest daughter. I have one brother, only two years older than I, and three younger. For a long time, my mother despaired of having any more girls, but then she had two in a row. They still have a few years before they make their come outs.”
“Do you miss them?”
Her lips quivered as her voice hitched. “Yes. But they write me all the time. Barely a week goes by that I don’t receive a packet of mail.”
He forced himself to remain composed, when all he wanted to do was drag her to him and comfort her.
His wife
. Whom he was not allowed to soothe. “When we reach Innsbruck, we’ll send a letter to them asking them to write to the hotel in Nancy. Perhaps someday we can visit your family.”
Caro’s eyes flew to him, and she tensed like a skittish colt about to bolt. “I—I cannot return to England.”
That wouldn’t work. He’d have to find a way of dealing with her intractability concerning England. They could not live forever on the Continent, and he would not live apart from her. “I’m sorry to have mentioned it. We can discuss where we’ll live later. Let’s talk of something else.”
Gradually, her arm relaxed. “I told you about my family, now tell me about yours.”
They had reached the parlor and entered. Huntley held a chair for her and smiled as he thought of his younger sisters and brothers.
“As you know, I am the eldest male. My older sister, Maud is married, after me there are two younger brothers and four sisters. The oldest of my sisters at home, Dorie, will make her come out next Season. I already feel sorry for her future husband. Dorie is very firm in her beliefs and will at least try to rule the roost. Ophelia should have been born into a theatrical family. One would think she spent her life acting out a play. Louisa is the most normal one in the family, but she’s only ten. Too early to know how she’ll be yet. The two youngest are twins, a boy and a girl.”
He grinned at her. “They manage to get into an extraordinary amount of trouble. Once they decided to feel sorry for my father’s hunting hounds and let them all out for a walk. That in itself wouldn’t have been much of a problem, but they chose the pasture where the mares were foaling.”
Putting a hand to her lips, Caro giggled. “I can see how that might cause some trouble.”
If only he could coax more laughter from her. He reached out to touch her and stopped. “My father wasn’t happy at all. I think it was a week before they could take their meals sitting down.”
“Is he a hard man? Your father?”
“I wouldn’t say he is unreasonable.” Huntley drew his brows together as he thought. “Though he’s very fond of getting his way. The only one who will gainsay him is my mother, and Everard, of course. Even my father does not argue with his cousin.”
Caro glanced up at him, her eyes searching his. “What will they say about your marriage?”
The urge to draw her into his arms grew stronger. “They’ll be happy I had the sense to marry someone as intelligent, strong, and beautiful as you.”
She bit her lip and opened her lips as if she was going to say something, then the servants entered with their dinner. Why was it waiters had such bad timing? Caro had been so happy earlier and was now distraught; but why, and what could he do to fix it?
CHAPTER 8
A
fter the landlord entered and informed Huntley and Caro dinner would be a while yet, Caro moved to the doors leading to the terrace. Huntley joined her. She gazed through the heavy glass at the stars. He admired the curve of her jaw and how it flowed gracefully into her neck and down to her breasts. If only he could....
“It’s beautiful,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.
“I agree.”
When he discovered there was a local sparkling wine, he decided it would be the perfect accompaniment to the chocolate torte and ordered it to be served both before dinner and after.
He handed her a glass. “This is from the region. Try it and tell me what you think.”
After taking a sip, she grinned. “Extremely nice.”
He tasted it as well. Perhaps someday the wine could be put to even better use. “I agree. I wonder if there’s a way to take some with us.”
“I could consult with Dalle,” she said. “He should know. He is very good at packing.”
“A wonderful idea.” Huntley filled their glasses again. “Caro, were you about to tell me something before we were interrupted?”
She took a breath and glanced at him almost hopefully, and then the moment was gone and her eyes dulled. “No, it was nothing really.”
Holding her gaze, he said, “Don’t ever be afraid of telling me
anything
.”
She gave a curt little nod. “I won’t.”
But she was, and he didn’t know what to do about it. His fingers clenched. Not being able to touch her was going to kill him. Fortunately, the waiters came in with the soup before he did something guaranteed to set him back.
He took her hand. “Come, it’s time to dine.”
Huntley held Caro’s chair as she sat. Lowering her lashes as she took a sip of her soup, Caro wished she could tell him, but only her mother, father, and Nugent knew. Maybe Huntley had figured it out from what Nugent told him, and that was the reason he was being so good to her. She’d sworn to herself she would forget the attack, but even after all this time, it still came back to haunt her dreams. Not as often as it used to, but enough to keep her fear and anger alive.
Huntley was being so kind. Treating her as if she was a real wife to him. Truth be told, he had the worst part of this marriage. Any other man would have forced her by now, but he was too honorable.
His soft, deep voice intruded on her thoughts. “Now for the question I had earlier. Tell me about your trip from England to Venice.”
She was glad he picked a topic that she enjoyed discussing. “It was interesting. We sailed to Rotterdam, took a barge to Stuttgart, and a coach to Ulm, where we found another boat to take us to Buda and then over to Venice.”
“That was in 1811, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” They were now on the pasta course, and she took a taste of the spinach-filled ravioli. The flavors of garlic, the nuttiness of the cheese, burst into her mouth. “Um, this is excellent. You should eat some of yours.”
She waited until he’d taken a few bites.
He chewed and swallowed. “Yes, it is very tasty. Go on with your story.”
“Well, then I left in late spring of that year. I could have taken a ship but . . .” But there were too many men on board, and she couldn’t stand to be around them. “I thought it would be more interesting to travel through Europe. There was no fighting at the time.”
Huntley grinned. “I’m sure it was. Did you experience any problems?”
Shaking her head, she responded, “Not really. Papa had taught Nugent and me how to shoot before I came out. We dyed Dalle’s hair a little grayer so he didn’t look young enough to be conscripted, and made arrangements to hire an older coachman and outriders. The French weren’t drafting older men. I loved traveling down the rivers. It was so peaceful, and such a lot to see.” Not for the first time, she noticed what a lovely smile he had.
Eyes twinkling, he asked, “Such as castles with vineyards?”
Caro couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, old castles, vineyards, and towns. Maybe someday I shall do it again.”
He nodded. “Perhaps, one day, we can make a boat trip.”
She bent her head. Why did he have to talk as if they’d be together for more than a few months? This time was almost magical, but it couldn’t last.
She tried to keep her tone light and reminded herself that she was not going to ruin this dream world, but then, unable to help herself, she said, “You do not have to stay with me, you know.” Suddenly her throat was sore. Yet she had to tell him. “I’ll understand if you need a mistress.”
Huntley scowled. It was the first time he’d frowned so seriously at her. When he spoke, his tone was harsh. “No.”
“You needn’t be angry with me.” What right did he have to be incensed with her when she was giving him the freedom to be with other women that most men wanted?
“I have no intention of being unfaithful. No good ever comes of it. This will all work itself out,” he growled, and went back to his pasta.
For some ridiculous reason, her heart lightened, and it shouldn’t have. This marriage was so unfair to him. The waiters returned with trays of other foods. Huntley must have planned another dinner like the one last night. She smiled. “Thank you.”
Shedding his frown, his lips tilted up. “I hope you like what the chef and I have selected. The dishes here are much more Austrian than Italian.”
As before, they inspected the offerings on the sideboard. He hovered over her and helped her choose the dishes to try first. She turned her head toward him and, for a moment, their faces were close together. His gaze dropped to her mouth and rose, almost at once, back to her eyes. Her heart had stopped when she’d thought he was going to kiss her. Thankfully, he didn’t, but he was still too close. “I think I have enough food for now.”
He held out her chair and, after filling his plate, joined her. Once Caro had finished the last piece of venison, she leaned back in her chair. “All of it was wonderful. I don’t think I could eat another bite.”
A wicked smile appeared on his lips. “Oh, I think you might eat just a little more, my lady.”
He stood and walked to the bell-pull. After giving it a short tug, he sat back down. The door opened and a waiter entered the room carrying a large platter. She sniffed and sat up, then looked. “
A chocolate torte?
Oh, Huntley, thank you!”
The waiter placed the plate on the table and cut them both slices of the cake. She took a forkful of the piece Huntley offered, and sighed. “It has fruit in it as well.” Caro held out the next bite to him. “Here, have a taste.”
Leaning over the table, Huntley touched her hand as he guided the fork to his lips and opened them. She drew a sharp breath as warmth infused her fingers. What on earth was that tingling, and why was it suddenly so hard to draw a breath?
Chewing slowly, Huntley realized the game had just changed. If he played his cards correctly, the spark they’d both just experienced would help him kindle a fire, and their marriage would be real.
After dinner, Caro called for her book to be brought to her, and settled in a large, overstuffed chair as Huntley partook of a glass of brandy. For the first time ever, they sat companionably together after dinner. It may not have been romantic, but it couldn’t have been more domestic, and he found himself longing for more times like this.
“I’ve noticed we’ve been slowing down. Do you still think we’ll reach Brennerbad by to-morrow evening?” she asked.
“If we keep to the same schedule and only stop for changes, yes.” He and his wife had covered almost two hundred miles in the last five days, almost all of it steadily up-hill. One more day would see them to the Brenner Pass.
There had been no sign of di Venier, and Huntley prayed that the marchese had given up the chase. Still, to be sure, he’d sent Raphael and Dalle into the nearby town to scout for information.
An hour later, Dalle knocked on the door and entered. The grim look on his face told Huntley all he needed to know. They had not yet escaped.
Caro glanced up as well. Her lips tightened. “The marchese is still chasing us, isn’t he?”
Her groom nodded. “Aren’t that many Italian speakers hereabouts. His people sort o’ stood out.”
“Dalle, are they only searching the larger towns?”
“Seems so, my lord. They’re getting pretty frustrated going from one inn to t’other, and that marchese has even more men looking along the coast, and at the pass through Turin.”
Huntley nodded and turned to Caro. “Let’s leave even earlier in the morning than usual. The moon is full and has not been setting until after sunrise. We should have enough light to travel by.”
She drew her full lower lip between her teeth. “When will he stop?”
“I don’t know, my dear, but we cannot go farther than Brennerbad tomorrow. It wouldn’t be safe to cross the pass near dark.”
“Of course, I understand.” Putting on a smile, she quipped, “Better safe than sorry.”
Their moment of homely bliss was over. He tossed back the rest of the brandy as she stood and waited for him. “Come, my lady. We’ve a hard day of travel come morning.”
Two days after Huntley and Caro had departed Venice, Horatia sat on her balcony overlooking the Grand Canal, drinking wine. Even if he did have a reputation as a bit of a rake, her nephew was a good, kind man. He’d take care of her goddaughter. She sent out some of her servants and discovered the marchese departed Venice yesterday after he’d left her house, presumably to follow Caro and Huntley.
Horatia’s glass shook, and she took another large sip. Whatever happened, she must keep to her plan. To do anything else would cause suspicion.
The knocker echoed through the house. She’d miss it here. It was the only house she had ever owned, and she’d made it hers. For the past ten years, she’d been happy here. Horatia’s heart ripped apart, as if she was leaving a loving friend.
La Valle appeared before her and bowed. “My lady.”
“Yes?”
“The Duca di Venier is here.”
“Again?”
Her major-domo nodded.
“Very well, show him into my study. The same arrangements as the last time.”
“Yes, my lady.”
She’d be damned if she would rush. It was his grandson’s fault her peaceful life was being destroyed. Savoring the last of the wine, she swallowed and stood.
When Horatia entered her study, two large footmen were in place and the duke was pacing. Curtseying, she greeted him. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Your Grace?”
“The Lady Caroline and Lord Huntley, are they still here?”
Opening her eyes wide, she replied, “Good gracious, no. Huntley volunteered to ensure all was ready at my villa, and Lady Caroline decided to go with him. They left yesterday morning, as I told your grandson.”
The duke scowled. “She went with him alone?”
Horatia shrugged, trying to keep the gesture carefree. “Surely there is nothing wrong with that? She has her maid and groom with her, and they are betrothed, after all.”
His bushy eyebrows drew together. “You English have a different way of thinking about this.”
Tilting her head, she gave a small smile. “Yes, well, we can be a little different from the Venetians. And they
are
both English.”
He stepped back and bowed. “Yes, in that you are correct.” Turning on his heel, he left the room.
He was going to do something. If only she could figure out what it was. She sank into a chair and prayed Huntley and Caro hadn’t killed each other.
La Valle knocked and entered. “My lady, most of your clothing has been packed. I will have it sent to Genova early in the morning.”
Rising, she turned to him. “Thank you. Are you sure you want to go with me? I may never return.”
He bowed again. “My lady, I promised your husband I would never leave your employ.”
Tears threatened to choke her. “Thank you. Another bottle of wine, I think. I’ll be in the drawing room.”
“My lady, with your permission?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Several others of the staff would like to accompany you as well. It matters not to them if they come back.”
“Very well.” She grinned. “I hope the ship will have room for them all.” If she took most of her staff, it would support her story that she was going to Lake Garda, and save her the problem of hiring new servants when she got to wherever she was going. Most importantly, it would keep her from worrying about them. Most of her servants had been with her for so long, it would have been hard to leave them. She would have missed them all so much.
La Valle’s lips inched only slightly upward. “I have made the arrangements. You need worry about nothing, my lady. We will take good care of you.”
“You always have.” Before George died, he’d made sure she had reliable servants. She could never complain that her husband had not always looked out for her. It was a shame she’d never found another man who could be so good to her. Then again, what man would want a woman who was barren, other than for a mistress? Now it was too late.
La Valle bowed and left. Horatia made her way back to the drawing room with mixed feelings concerning her departure from Venice. One more day to get through. Only one more day to sit on her balcony. She was loath to leave, yet she could no longer remain here. She stayed until late in the evening and, perhaps, drank a little too much before making her way to her chambers.
When she awoke the next morning, her maid, Risher, was packing sheets. Horatia rubbed her eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Well, my lady,” she said, “if anyone were to check the trunks you have with you, they’d find out pretty quickly there’s nothing in them. Therefore, I’m packing other stuff and putting a gown or two on the top.”
“I’m glad you thought of it,” Horatia said. “I never would have.”
Her maid grinned. “No, my lady.”