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Indeed, Cassie thought, five people could stretch out, side by side, and not be overly crowded. She raised strained eyes to his face. “Surely there are many bedchambers in the villa, my lord. I would prefer to have my own room, if you please.”
“No,” he said easily, still smiling, but with finality. “Did I not make it clear to you that we would live as man and wife?”
“But your servants, visitors . . .” Her voice trailed off in embarrassment.
“Perhaps their disapproval will speed your change from La Signorina to La Signora and La Contessa.”
“Never.”
Scargill came in then, valises and portmanteaux under his arms. He was breathing heavily from exertion, and Cassie turned on the earl. “Where are your other servants, O most noble lord? Must poor Scargill do everything?”
“Paolo is seeing to the return of the barouche, I doubt not. As I told you, cara, the Genoese nobility are a thrifty lot. Paolo and Marrina see to the house and stables. Scargill looks after me, and I will have Marrina bring in one of her many female relations to be your maid. The gardens, though, require more attention than we mere mortals. You will meet Sordello’s father, Marco, and his three minions in due time.”
“It’s fagged ye look, my lord,” Scargill said, his eyes narrowed on the earl’s face. “Ye need rest if yer shoulder is to heal quickly.”
The earl could not disagree. His shoulder pained him. He turned to Cassie, whose attention was again upon the massive bed.
“Would you care to rest with me, Cassandra, before dinner? The bed would certainly accommodate any distance you wish to keep from me.”
“Perhaps the madonna would like to see the rest of the villa, my lord.” He added severely, “As to yer dinner, I’ll instruct Marrina to serve both of ye here. The last thing ye need, my lord, is to force yer poor shoulder into evening raiment. Madonna, take yerself to the balcony and I’ll assist his lordship into his dressing gown.”
As the earl hesitated, Cassie said, “He is quite right, my lord. Someone of your age must needs avail himself of more sleep as the years pass.”
The earl threw back his head and gave a loud laugh. “You can see, Scargill, you were right, she cannot match wits with me. Now, cara, do as Scargill has instructed, unless, that is, you wish to see me naked.”
“I would prefer to see the gardens,” she said finally, and at the earl’s nod, she left the bedchamber.
Cassie found another glass door at the back of the villa and walked into the garden. She breathed a sigh of relief, for she had not seen Marrina and her narrowed sloe eyes. She wandered aimlessly through the lush gardens, stopping to sniff at a particularly lovely flower or touch the velvety petals. She came upon Marco, a slight man of medium stature, so tanned by the sun that he looked almost like a Moor. He was, he informed her in his low musical Italian, his lordship’s head gardener. She remembered that Marco was the boy Sordello’s father. He gave her a disinterested salute with a trowel and proceeded by and large to ignore her. She stood for a moment, frowning after him. But she decided that such treatment suited her mood, for she wished to be alone. She found that she repeatedly drew up with a start at the realization that she was in Italy, firmly installed in the earl’s villa. She kept asking herself what she was going to do, but sensible answers eluded her. Each time she swore that she would not remain her
e, she felt a niggling sense of uncertainty. Even though she ranted at herself for her lack of determination, she could not dismiss the confusion that pervaded her thoughts. She shook her head, trying to clear the image of him from her mind. But she could not. She felt the earl’s powerful body against hers, felt his mouth caressing her, and knew that she could not deny the passion he brought to her.
When the evening air became too chilly, she wandered back into the villa, only to be informed by Scargill that the earl was busy with business matters and would join her after dinner. She ate alone in the bedchamber, a meal of flaky fish broiled to perfection and topped with a thick wine sauce, and toyed with a single glass of wine until, finally, the earl entered. He looked tired and she felt a stab of guilt, thinking that his shoulder pained him.
“Forgive me, cara, for leaving you our first evening.”
He sat down at the small table and poured himself a glass of wine. “You enjoyed your afternoon?”
“I met Marco, your head gardener. He does not seem to talk much.”
He grinned, but she saw it was with an effort. “You should not have conducted business when you are not yet well.” The grin deepened at her sharp tone.
“I shall take your advice on the morrow, my dear.” He rose and stretched. “Lord, I think I could sleep the clock around.”
Cassie felt sleepy herself, but did not admit to it. She excused herself and walked quickly toward the dressing room to undress.
“Do not forget the rules, cara,” he called after her.
She bit her lip and left him for a sufficient period of time, she hoped, to ensure that he would be asleep when she returned.
Only a single candle burned, low in its silver holder, when she quietly walked back into the bedchamber, clutching her dressing gown closely about her chemise. The earl lay on his back in the mammoth bed, the covers pulled but to his waist, his eyes closed.
“Don’t force me to take off your dressing gown, Cassandra,” he said softly. She jumped, nearly knocking the candle to the floor.
“You are a beast,” she said, and reluctantly slipped out of her dressing gown.
“And the chemise.”
She looked at him closely and saw that he was looking at her through his dark lashes.
