She ignored him.
The count paced, trying to sidestep his wife. “He and his wife aren’t trustworthy. I don’t want to have anything to do with their lot. He’s an idiot for not realising his wife is an adulteress.”
“Stop saying that,” Keith roared.
The count tried to lunge, but Lady Diana grabbed his arm and blocked him again. Honestly, the woman was brave. Violante had to give her that.
“You stupid fool.” Lady Diana put her hands on her husband’s chest. “I am having an affair, too.”
Even though Violante was aware of the lady’s tryst, she couldn’t help but gasp in surprise at the sudden confession. Sir Nigel turned the colour of turnips. Paul cursed, and the count remained petrified. Murmurs spread through the servants.
The countess brushed back her hair from her face. “I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while.”
“With whom?” the count asked in a shaking voice.
“Who cares?” Keith said. “Let’s fight.”
Lady Diana straightened, ignoring Keith. “It doesn’t matter.”
“With whom?” the count asked again.
They switched to Italian in a rapid exchange Violante could barely follow. Her Italian was a tad rusty, and their accent was strong.
“What are they saying?” Paul asked.
“I think he insists on knowing who her lover is. She accuses him of having neglected her and of being a hypocrite. I agree with her about the last one.”
Keith threw a hand up as wife and husband argued with loud tones and hand gestures, talking over each other. Sir Nigel cradled his chin, eyeing the main gate as if pondering making a dash for it.
Then the word “Nigel” came out loud and clear from the countess. After that, silence dropped heavily. The count turned towards the man in question and screamed an Italian obscenity at Sir Nigel who didn’t need any translation.
He legged it, unashamedly so. Violante couldn’t blame him. The count looked completely unhinged with his swinging sword and red face, chasing Sir Nigel while shouting bloody murder. The countess went after them. Keith followed. The situation would be laughable if not for the count’s absolute seriousness.
Paul clicked his tongue. “You know, in Italy, crimes of passion aren’t prosecuted. If the count kills Sir Nigel, he won’t be imprisoned.”
“In Italy maybe, but the count is on British soil, and his denizen status won’t save him.”
“You’re probably right. I guess I have to help Keith and stop the madness.” He rushed after the quartet.
She followed at a slower pace, not sure she had the same courage as the countess. The count’s blade seemed like a living thing with a mind of its own, and Violante didn’t trust the count while he was in that deranged state.
By the time she arrived at the other side of the field, Paul and Keith had tackled the count and blocked him. The swords lay on the ground. Sir Nigel shivered and was deadly pale, but not a trace of blood strained his tailored suit.
“Calm down,” Keith said.
“You can’t kill Sir Nigel,” Paul said.
The count shrugged himself free of Keith and Paul. His hair, wild and dishevelled, added a touch of savagery to his figure. “Lady Ashford,” he barked. “Come here.”
Violante stiffened, not having expected to be summoned. “What do you want?” Surely, manners didn’t matter now.
“Did you have an affair with Wellington?” the count asked.
“ No.” She tilted her chin up. “If you really want to know the truth, Paul stole from my father some money and my mother’s pendant, and I wanted to be compensated until I changed my mind. The cheque you saw contained repayment of the sum Paul had stolen.”
The count’s face kept reddening. “Is it true, Wellington?”
Paul muttered a curse, shooting her a glare. “It’s true. It’s a long story but true. And Violante would be the last woman I would ever have an affair with.”
