“Every member of everyfamigliacan come at me full throttle. Nothing happens until we find Diana.”
When the duke gave him a mock salute, Ian was so wired and so weary he laughed. It drew a rare, genuine smile from Sunderland.
He was beginning to not hate the bastard. “What is your true interest in all of this, Your Grace? And don’t prattle off something trite about queen and country.”
“Perhaps I was promised a reward that would rebuild my coffers.”
“Even the queen couldn’t afford that.”
“True,” the duke agreed. “I have a personal interest in securing the ruination of particular members within Il Corno. There is one among their ranks who owes me more than a favor. They owe me a life. And I’m willing to trade more than favors to secure my retribution.”
“It would be gargantuanly stupid to make a direct move against them.”
“Indeed. A blatant attack is not my style, as you know. But mark me, if it takes the rest of my life, I will take them apart, brick by brick. Until they weep with despair and pain over their ruination.”
Sunderland’s voice was coldly calculating in a way that would terrify most sensible people. But the duke’s vow moved Ian. A man only made a declaration like that when spurred on by deeper, unnamed emotions. “When we find Diana and settleIl Gioco, I’ll do whatever is in my power to help you.”
“And I’ll collect on that favor.”
A harried-looking waiter rushed over and handed the duke a telegram. Sunderland read it in silence, while Ian gripped his table knife forcefully as he visualized impaling it in the flesh of Diana’s captors. When the duke finally looked up from the note, his eyes flicked to the knife. “What are you planning with that little needle, Holt?”
“If I wanted to damage you, I wouldn’t need a knife. What do your spies say about Diana?”
“Nothing.” The duke folded the note into his pocket. “I’m avoyeurby profession, as you know, and one thing I keep a keen eye on is Amelia Hunter.”
“Sunderland, I really don’t like any part of that sentence. Whatever it is you’re plotting, Amelia Hunter can’t be a part of it. Diana will have my bollocks for breakfast.”
“I assure you, I mean her no harm.”
“Did something happen with theEver Harton the way back to London?”
“Noidea. Miss Hunter never boarded it. She stayed behind in La Rochelle but is now traveling to herpalazzoin Rome. And before you ask, I can verify it’s true.” He gave a sardonic grin. “I used to own it.”
Ian stared at him. “She’s taken everything you owned, hasn’t she? Cleaned you out completely. What the hell did you do to her?”
The duke rose from the table. “If Miss Hunter is on the move, she’s following a protocol she set with Diana. She’ll know where the Stags might take her.”
“We should take the train.” Ian jumped to his feet. “There may be a sleeper from Florence—”
“No need,” Sunderland interrupted. “Amelia stopped at a villa on the coast. If we leave now, we can get there by first light.”
Diana tore into the cover of the trees bordering the road and cursed her aching arm for slowing her pace. When heavy raindrops fell, and the sky grew dark, her breathing eased fractionally. The path would be muddy for her, but it would also slow the wagon.
If she could make it back to the vineyard they’d passed on the way, she could slip into one of the vineyard’s storage cantinas and wait out the storm. Despite the chilly rain soaking through her sopping dress, her skin was on fire. Her legs quivered, and she tried valiantly to lock down all of her muscles. This was not a moment she could afford to be weak.
In all of their scheming overIl Gioco, she’d never discussed meeting Ian outside of Florence. It was more than an oversight; some part of her had wanted it to be unnecessary because it meant resorting to her fail-safe plan to meet Amelia, which they’d only established in the event of an extreme emergency. She abhorred the idea of admitting such a defeat.
She fought her hold on consciousness with the fierceness of a cavalry commander. The rain slowed to a faint drizzle, but that positive development evaporated at the sound of a carriage barreling down the road.
It was too dark to distinguish fine details, but Diana saw it was a handsome black landau pulled by a team of four horses. Far too similar to Widow’s coach.
The sky flashed above her, and she froze as the carriage sped toward her. When lightning crashed again, and the coach drew closer, panic flooded through her.
Out of habit, she reached for her blades and remembered too late that she’d lost them. Ian had promised he’d have a new set made for her.
She refused to let anything separate them again. Not Birdie. Or her mother. Or the agony in her arm.
As the carriage approached, she fled from the road into the vines.
