Sins, Secrets and Spies, page 2
Verity was sitting slightly forward in her chair, and shifting her eyes to the fire, she watched the flames for a moment, then leaned back and closed her eyes.
“Jack,” she whispered, “I had not even the inkling of a desire to be with another man, and still there is none. You know that, don’t you? I hope you do.”
Richard suddenly felt as if he was intruding, or hearing something very private without permission. Not sure what to do, he did nothing. The silent seconds ticked by, then she finally opened her eyes.
“My apologies. You wanted to know what it feels like to love someone. It’s not explainable, but you’ve just seen it.”
“You are the most extraordinary woman. You are still in love with him, even though he’s been gone for—how many years?”
“Four years, three months, and thirteen days,” she replied, her voice monotone. “One’s heart does not stop loving simply because the object of one’s devotion is no longer visible.”
“Forgive me, Verity, but I’m confused. If you feel this way, why do you carry on as you do? Why do you have lovers? I heard you mumble something about having no desire to be with another, yet you are with me and several others.”
“It feels so long ago that this whole thing began, and yet it also feels like yesterday,” she muttered. “Odd. Very odd indeed.”
“What whole thing? You can’t mean me. We just started seeing each other a few months ago.”
“No, I don’t mean you.”
“Are you talking about having a variety of men?”
He instantly regretted the question. Had he been gauche? He wasn’t the most sensitive man in the world, but something between them had suddenly changed.
“Sex is important, don’t you think?” she said casually. “I’ve learned how to enjoy the act without attaching emotion.”
“Rather like me?” he queried, thinking she was speaking to him as another man would. “When it comes to women, why limit one’s enjoyment. Women are so divergent.”
“No, Richard, not at all like you, but I can understand why you might think that.”
A moment of quiet fell between them, and Richard could feel a decided chill emanating from the beautiful woman sitting in the chair across from him.
“Right, well, I must take my leave,” he declared, rising to his feet. “Would you like me to stop by in a few days?”
“Perhaps not. I think our time just came to an end.”
“But why?” he asked, then immediately wished he hadn’t. He’d sounded pathetic.
“I’m not sure, I just know it has,” she said, smiling a faint smile as she stood up.
“Ah, right, well then,” he stammered, “I suppose I shall see you at a dinner, or ball, or some such, uh, some time.”
“Yes, the night after next, in fact. You’ll be attending the Earl’s soirée, will you not?”
“Yes, most definitely,” he frowned, nodding his head with an unexpected faraway look in his eye.
“Is there something about the Earl’s dinner I don't know?”
“What? No, no,” he said hastily. “Nothing, no! I’m not sure about Margaret though. She isn’t fond of heading out if it’s stormy. The rain she doesn’t mind, but not storms, and not the wind.”
“If we do bump into each other, please don’t act strangely. It would be terribly disconcerting if you were to behave strangely, Richard.”
“Strangely? Why would I do such a thing?” he retorted. “You underestimate me, Verity.”
“Perhaps, but it is better that I say it, than not. Do be careful on your way home. Don’t rush because of the weather. You could have an accident.”
He shifted his eyes around the room, as if checking to see he’d not forgotten anything, then shot his gaze back to her.
“Look here, Verity, I’m dreadfully sorry if I overstepped the mark. I do think you are a remarkable woman, and I do care about you, rather a lot if I’m being honest. I’d like to come back while this count is here just to make sure everything is as it should be.”
Verity suppressed her sigh of impatience. He was doing what they all did; caring more than they should, and not wanting to accept her goodbye.
“You’re sweet, Richard. The count, whoever he is, will come and go, and this is the way I am, not the way you are.”
“I’m not sure what that means,” he frowned. “I’ll have to think on that.”
“You’d best go before the sun sets. It will fall dark early, and you don’t want to be riding in this weather with a cloud-covered moon to light your way.”
“No, quite right, quite right,” he nodded. “Well, uh, goodbye then. I’ll not wait for you to come down. Seems a bit pointless.”
He felt the need to kiss her, or hold her, or something, but she gave no indication it was what she wanted, so he turned and strode from the room.
Sitting back down, Verity let out the sigh she’d been holding in. He wanted to know her better. That was against the rules, and though their days had been numbered, she felt the affair had ended prematurely. She blamed herself; in a moment of weakness she’d dropped her veil. It was curious though, how displeased he’d been about her having the count in her house. Surely those caught in a tempest deserved shelter. Shaking it off, she walked across to the bell cord and rang for Mabel.
The mysterious visitors would soon be arriving, and wanting to look her best she moved across to her wardrobe and searched out her dark green, lightly beaded, velvet dress. It complimented her eyes and hugged her curves. Carrying it across to her disheveled bed, she was about to lay it down, but staring at the crumpled bedclothes she changed her mind, deciding instead to hang it over the screen. Satisfied, she settled in front of her dressing table and studied her hair.
When Richard had arrived, it had been swept off her face and twirled around the back of her head, but after her romp between the sheets it was all wisps and loose strands. She wasn’t concerned, Mabel would make quick work of the repair. Mabel was a wonder, and like Lambert, she had studiously ignored Verity’s scandalous lifestyle. What might be said below stairs Verity didn’t think about. She suspected Lambert kept a tight rein on any gossip. Shifting her eyes, she glanced at the reflection of the remarkable bedroom behind her.
Following Jack’s death, she could no longer remain in the bed they once shared, and ordered the room be draped and closed. Seeking a new boudoir, she had spent days wandering through the many salons, bedrooms, and chambers of the grand home, finally deciding upon an expansive sitting room overlooking the driveway and the front lawns. She’d brought in designers and decorators to transform it into a Turkish Corner, though it was far larger and much more splendid than a few curtains floating around a bed. The room was festooned in draperies, cushions, and ornate furnishings, and on the first day that she’d stood in the middle of its sensuous grandeur, she knew it was a nest for lovers. The road upon which she was to embark opened up before her.
She swiveled around in her chair, sweeping her eyes over the abundant luxury. There had been so many men. She had enjoyed the younger ones for a time, but the married men were the safest. They were locked in wedded bliss and were less difficult when she said her inevitable goodbye. Richard had been right. She was wanton. She was wanton, and wicked and a very naughty woman, but she had no regrets. She was on a mission, and until she realized her goal she would continue her decadent lifestyle. She just wished she could find a man who would redden her bottom, and do the other deliciously debauched and tantalizingly torturous things to her that her dearly departed husband once did.
“There’s a foreign stranger coming into the house,” she mumbled. “What a bright surprise for this dismal day. Fascinating, as well. Nothing fascinating has happened around here in far too long. Is it a coincidence that one man should go out and another come in?”
A gentle knock told her Mabel had arrived.
“I shall soon find out. A stranger swept in by a storm. It’s the stuff of one of those wicked novels.”
CHAPTER THREE
Verity was worried. She kept telling herself the conditions were dreadful, and the going would be slow, but even taking that into account she was sure they were taking much too long. When she finally saw her carriage rolling down the driveway, two tethered horses following behind, she waited anxiously for it to pull to a stop. From her rain spattered window she saw two men step out, and though it was impossible to see them clearly, she did notice one of them was quite tall. Lambert appeared with an umbrella and held it over them as they hurried into the house. Glancing back at the carriage, she assumed the man helping Cyrus with the luggage was the count’s driver, which meant the broken wheel wasn’t fixable. She wasn’t surprised. She doubted anyone could fix anything in such weather.
Her anticipation had been heightened by the interminable wait. As she moved to her dressing table near the window to check her appearance she saw a blinding bolt of lightning, followed by the heavy rumbling of thunder. Richard jumped to mind.
“I do hope you made it home safely. Perhaps I shouldn’t have chased you away. Dear, Lord, please keep him safe,” she murmured, then pushing her concerns to the back of her mind, she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Though she no longer had the glow of youth, she did have a certain look in her eye, one that said she was a woman who held a secret or two. She smiled. She did indeed. Her surprise visitor would know nothing of her history, nothing of her restless ways. Meeting someone who didn’t share her long list of mutual friends would be liberating.
Lambert’s knock told her it was time to go down to the drawing room and meet her visitors. Feeling a tingle of nervous excitement, something she’d not experienced in quite some time, she crossed the room and opened the door.
“Lambert, how are they?”
Lambert knew what she was really asking. What is the count like? Is he someone interesting? Will I find him pleasant company? Are you still concerned about having strangers in the house? Fully aware of all the unspoken questions, he slowed his step as they moved down the hallway towards the landing at the top of the stairs.
“My fears are somewhat allayed, my lady,” he said lowering his voice. “They both speak English exceptionally well. The count seems perfectly amiable, but his secretary…”
“What about his secretary?”
“He’s, well, it’s difficult to put into words. He’s dignified, almost more so than Count Cavaletti himself. His English is better too. Perhaps that’s how private secretaries are in Italy. I’ve never met one. I cannot say.”
“Rather too dignified than not dignified enough,” she remarked as they reached the top of the stairs.
“Indeed, but there is another thing that I find most odd. The count’s secretary is soaked through, but when I suggested I show him to his quarters to dry off and change his clothes, the count insisted he stay in the drawing room until you came down. I find that most peculiar.”
“It is, Lambert. I’m not sure what to say about that. Where are we putting them?”
“I have had Mrs. Danby prepare the Hampton apartment, my lady. It has the two bedrooms with the living area between them. I didn’t think the secretary would be comfortable in the servant’s quarters. Apparently the driver, however, is quite ill. I hope it’s nothing contagious.”
“Oh, dear. I hope it isn’t either. Keep the other servants away from him just in case. I’m sure one of Mrs. Danby’s cures will see him right.”
“If the secretary doesn’t change into some dry clothes soon, he’s bound to catch his death, then we’ll have two sick guests.”
“Quite right. Perhaps after our introductions the count will excuse him, and we can’t have him dripping all over the place. Are tea and coffee on their way?”
“Yes, my lady. Timothy should be arriving with it momentarily, though being near the dinner hour, I did tell the cook to keep the cakes and sandwiches to a minimum.”
They had reached the foyer, and as they moved toward the drawing room, she could hear the count and his secretary talking. Taking a breath, not sure what to expect, she waited as Lambert opened the doors, then glided forward with her shoulders back and a welcoming smile.
“Lady Verity James,” Lambert announced as Verity moved passed him.
Quickly scrutinizing her guests, she saw immediately that Lambert had been right. While the count was well-dressed in a maroon jacket embossed with gold, and a stark white shirt with a maroon ascot at the neck, the clothes appeared tight on him, and when he turned and smiled his greeting, he seemed uncomfortable. The secretary, however, in spite of his drenched state, was a striking figure of a man. He was tall, with wide shoulders and standing straight-backed with his chin slightly titled at an upward angle. His dark hair was long, falling in wet tendrils to his neck, and he possessed astonishingly blue eyes. His clothes might have reflected his position, but everything else about him suggested nobility. Verity couldn’t understand how such a man could be a secretary?
“May I present Count Rocco Cavaletti,” Lambert declared.
“Charmed,” the count said, stepping forward and kissing the back of her gloved hand. “I am most grateful for your hospitality.”
“I’m pleased your secretary managed to find us,” Verity replied, suppressing her astonishment at the length and breadth of the count’s fingers. “It’s a dreadful evening to find one’s self stranded with a disabled carriage.”
As if to underscore her words, a roll of thunder rumbled overhead.
“We are fortunate indeed,” the count replied, raising his eyes to the ceiling.
“And you must be the secretary who braved the tempest in search of help,” she continued, moving across to the dashing man with the piercing blue eyes.
“An honor, madame,” he said, dropping his head in a respectful bow.
“May I know your name?”
“Dantae Fellini.”
“Mr. Fellini, a pleasure, and I can see that you are absolutely soaked through. Perhaps you should have Lambert show you to your quarters so you can dry off and change. The footmen would have taken up your luggage.”
The handsome secretary darted his eyes to his master, and she saw the count give a slight nod of his head.
“Thank you, Madame, I am most grateful.”
“If you’ll follow me,” Lambert said, moving back towards the door, “I’ll have you escorted upstairs.”
“Thank you. I shall only be a few minutes.”
Unable to take her eyes off him, Verity watched Dantae walk across the room. His stride was long and liquid, and she felt a warm quiver ripple through her veins, but not wanting to appear rude, she turned her attention back to her royal visitor.
“Please, sit down, Count Cavaletti. We have arranged for an apartment for you and your secretary. The bedrooms are separated, but if you’d prefer to have a private room it can be easily arranged.”
“I am grateful, but what you describe sounds ideal. Close quarters are necessary,” he said speaking slowly. “I must keep Dantae nearby.”
His speech had been hesitant, as if he’d been unsure about how to express himself, but the door opened, catching her attention. Timothy, the first footmen, followed closely by Lambert, walked in holding a tray with coffee, tea, and finger sandwiches.
“Ah, excellent,” Verity declared. “I’m sure you must be looking forward to a hot drink.”
“There is nothing that sounds more appealing than hot coffee,” the count said gratefully.
“Did you run into trouble on your way here?” she asked, as Lambert began to pour and serve. “It seemed to take an awfully long time.”
“Grazie,” he nodded, accepting the coffee from Lambert, then immediately corrected himself. “Forgive me, thank you. I am now in England, and I must give you the respect of your language.”
“After your harrowing ordeal I’m sure any lapse is understandable. Did you? Run into more trouble, I mean?”
“I was concerned that the carriage might be an obstacle for others, no, that is the wrong word—a hazard, that is the word. I was concerned with all the many rains it would be dangerous, so I insisted it be moved off the road.”
“My goodness, what a great effort it must have taken. Is your carriage in a bad way?”
“This is a good question. Your man, Cyrus, believes the wheel can be mended, but it will take the time, and to put it back on, this too will take the time. I do not wish to impose on your goodness longer than I must.”
She suppressed a laugh. His phrasing was amusing, and she felt a little sorry for him. She could see he was struggling and slightly embarrassed.
“You’re welcome to stay as long as you wish.”
“You are most generous,” he said, then sipping his coffee, he let out a sigh. “What excellent coffee. When I was in London last, it did not taste this good. You know, we have supreme coffee in Italy.”
“I was in Italy during my grand tour a few years ago. I must agree.”
“Dantae!” he abruptly exclaimed, shifting his gaze across the room.
Moving her eyes towards the door, she was surprised to see the secretary had returned so quickly.
“Would you care for coffee or tea, sir?” Lambert asked as Dantae walked in and sat next to the count.
“I am in England, so I must have tea.”
Verity was amazed at the neatness of his appearance. Just a short time before his hair had been hanging long and wet, but was now pulled back behind his head, held in place by a thin black cord. His wardrobe was impeccable in taste and style. Over a cream silk shirt he was wearing a royal blue vest with black embroidery. His black trousers fit him well, as though made by a Saville Row tailor. The overall look almost outshone the count.
“May I ask what brings you through this area?” Verity asked. “Are you on your way to London?”
She had addressed the question to the count, but it was Dantae, sitting as straight as any British aristocrat, who answered.
“As fate would have it, the count’s destination on this particular journey was to this region. There are political matters that called us here.”
