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‘Perhaps once the war is over...’ The Baron’s expression was kindly.
‘No.’ Mrs Fortini shook her head. ‘It was his dream. We talked about it so often that it wouldn’t feel right now to go without him. It would be too painful.’
‘I know exactly what you mean.’ His grandmother sounded uncharacteristically sympathetic. ‘If I ever lost Hector, I should never set foot in a library again.’
‘I can’t imagine that affecting your life too badly, my dear. You hardly enter mine now.’
‘Then I would never pick up another book as a matter of principle.’
‘In that case I’m touched. I’d mak
e a similar vow about stables, but we both know I’d never last a day without you.’
‘Absolutely right.’ His grandmother nodded vehemently, though with a tremulous note to her voice that Samuel found unsettling. Not for the first time since he’d joined them in Bath, he had the distinct impression that she was hiding something. Although if she didn’t want to tell him, he knew that wild horses would never drag it from her.
‘Which area of Italy was your husband from, Mrs Fortini?’ he asked instead.
‘From the north, an old Etruscan town close to Florence famous for olive trees, vineyards and Roman ruins. He came from a long line of bakers.’ She gave a bittersweet smile. ‘He used to say that he came to England for adventure, ended up as a footman, met me and went back to baking again.’
‘Infinitely more interesting than being a footman, I should say.’ His grandmother sniffed. ‘I often wonder what they find to think about, standing around all day.’
‘Perhaps you ought to let them sit down?’ Miss Fortini’s voice sounded altogether too innocent.
‘I don’t believe there really is much standing around,’ her mother spoke gently. ‘From what my husband told me, there was always work to do in a big house.’
‘Hmm.’ His grandmother’s gaze honed in upon Miss Fortini. ‘Would you like to visit Italy, Miss Annabelle?’
‘Yes, very much. I’d like to visit Rome most of all.’ Her face seemed to light up at the suggestion. ‘Perhaps I ought to stow away on your ship, Captain Delaney? Or are you one of those sailors who object to having women on board?’
‘Not at all. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend the experience of living alongside eight hundred men, but I’ll be sure to stow an extra hammock just in case.’
‘That would be most obliging, thank you.’
Her lips curved and he sucked in a breath, struck by how pretty she was when she let her guard down. If she ever sheathed her prickles completely, then she might be quite beautiful. He felt unusually relaxed looking at her, too, which was curious since he’d felt almost permanently on edge ever since he’d set foot on shore; even more curious that someone so prickly could make him relax, but somehow she was doing it. Maybe it was those entrancing eyes, as dark as the sea at night and just as unfathomable. As tempestuous, too, able to leap from one emotion to another in a heartbeat. He felt as if he could gaze into them all day...
‘If he goes back to sea, which I am determined he shall not,’ his grandmother declared, breaking the mood abruptly.
‘But why wouldn’t he go back?’ Miss Fortini seemed to give a small start, her expression arrested as she looked from him to his grandmother and back again. ‘You said you loved being a sailor.’
‘I do, but unfortunately my circumstances are such that it might not be possible.’
‘Your injury?’
‘Not exactly...’ He threw a swift warning look at his grandmother, but it was too late. Her mouth was already opening and long experience told him there was no way to make it close again, or to speak over it, either. He was heading for rocks and keeling over at the same time, just when he’d thought he might make it through unscathed. In short, he was doomed.
‘Because my grandson isn’t just a naval captain, Miss Fortini. He’s the future Earl of Staunton.’
And there it was. Shipwreck. So much for parley.
Chapter Eight
Anna hadn’t intended to stand up, or to put it more accurately, leap out of her chair as if she’d just discovered that Captain Delaney was Napoleon in disguise. She’d had no conscious intention of moving at all, only somehow she was on her feet before her brain had a chance to catch up with her body, which seemed to have been galvanised into action by the Baroness’s announcement.
The future Earl of Staunton.
She was vaguely aware of four pairs of eyes all fixed on her face, though she seemed unable to move or speak, her mind still reeling from the words. Instead, she took a deep breath, mentally reviewing all of the conversations she’d had so far with Captain Delaney, but nowhere, not once, never had he said anything to suggest that he was, could be, or had any intention of becoming an earl. It was a title, one of a collection of words that she loathed above all others in the English language. And not just the English language, either. In all languages. Conte, Comte, Graf, Conde... If she could have thought of any more examples, she would have hated them, too. It was bad enough that she was here in a house on the Circus, drinking tea with a baron and a baroness, but now one of them turned out to be an earl-in-waiting! All she wanted was to get out of the room and house as quickly as possible.
‘Anna?’ Her mother’s expression was shocked. Which was no surprise since she was being unforgivably rude, even more than she’d been when they’d entered.
