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“But why, madonna?”
“Your master, Joseph, kidnapped me the day before I was to be wed. He feigned friendship not only with my brother, but also with my fiancé.”
So there was another man who held her heart, he thought. Of a certainty there had not been sufficient time for her to forget. “I suppose that many would see the captain’s actions as ruthless. But I think, madonna, that his going to such lengths is proof of his feeling for you.”
“You will not help me?”
“No, madonna.”
Cassie nodded dully, and the subject was closed between them. It came as somethin
g of a shock to her to realize she had come to hold Joseph in great affection. He was unflaggingly patient, and never judged her even when her temper broke its bounds, merely regarding her in gentle silence, his brown eyes clear and untroubled beneath his bushy gray brows. Her temper had flared at him just the day before, because he had not allowed her to visit the harbor. She knew that he had acted on orders from the earl, but she could not contain herself. She wished now that she had not visited the city, though she had enjoyed seeing the shops, watching the flower girls weave bouquets of startling beauty, and drinking a cup of the thick Italian coffee underneath a sidewalk umbrella on the Via Balbi. Joseph had pointed out the Palazzo Reale, a magnificent structure, only one of many handsome palaces that lined the street, and had described its sumptuous rooms, the glowing colors of the tapestries and the pastel delicacy of the frescos.
There was a sudden tug on her fishing pole, and she turned from him abruptly. “Ah, a nibble,” She hauled in the line. She stole a glance at his profile from the corner of her eye as she thrust the still-wriggling trout into her basket. She had been unfair to him. “Joseph, please forgive me. I have acted like a beast to you.”
“Only at times,” he said calmly, turning to help her paddle back to shore. “But we will say no more about it, madonna.”
They worked the sail for some minutes in silence. Cassie said finally, “I know, Joseph, that you are Corsican. The earl has told me of the strife between Corsica and Genoa until the Genoese ceded your island to the French. How is it that you consort with an enemy of your people?”
His leathery features took on a thoughtful expression.
“My loyalty is to his lordship, madonna, not to the wretched Genoese merchants who have tried for years to break the pride of my people.”
“Why does he merit such loyalty?”
“Ah, ’tis a long story and one that is not, I think, suitable for your innocent ears.”
“If you will not tell me, Joseph, then I shall simply have to ask the earl.”
The petulance in her voice amused him. “That is your prerogative, madonna. As for his lordship”—he shrugged—“it will also be his prerogative to choose to tell you about it.”
She frowned at him, but said no more. They secured the sloop at the dock and walked back to the villa.
She left Joseph at the front gates with the boy, Sordello, who openly worshiped the older man, and made her way to the gardens.
Chapter 15
Cassie sat before her dressing table, clad in her petticoats and wrapper. Rosina stood behind her, powder box in hand, on the point of sprinkling her golden hair when the earl’s voice stopped her.
“No, Rosina,” he said, walking with negligent grace to stand behind Cassie. “I do not wish for you to powder your mistress’s hair. A classical style, I think, but no white powder to hide her natural color.”
Cassie, who had herself been looking balefully at the powder box, turned in her chair and said sharply, in English, “Do you wish to direct everything that I do, my lord? Must you even interrupt me with orders whilst I am dressing?”
He allowed a black brow to wing upward in surprise. “I happen to know, cara, that you have no liking for the powder box. I thought you instructed Rosina to apply it simply because you believed it would please me.”
Cassie did not bother to respond, for she had turned around in her chair, and was distracted by the sight of him. He looked resplendent in his rich black velvet evening clothes. Layers of frothy white lace fell from his throat and wrists, and his black hair was powdered white as his lace and pulled back at the nape of his neck, held with a black velvet ribbon. Even to her jaundiced eye, he looked like a king.
“I am delighted that you approve my appearance, Cassandra.”
“You are passable, I suppose,” she said, and turned back to her mirror.
He seated himself near her, crossing one elegant leg over the other, and watched Rosina deftly style her hair into a braided coronet atop her head, through which she drew out a long thick tress. When at last Cassie was dressed in a low, square-necked lavender silk gown, he rose gracefully and drew a long, flat box from his waistcoat pocket.
“You may leave now, Rosina,” he said to the maid. “I shall complete your mistress’s toilette.”
“What do you mean, my lord?” Cassie asked warily after her maid had left the bedchamber. He answered her by withdrawing a long rope of pearls, lustrous and exquisitely matched. Before she could respond, he doubled the string of pearls and fastened the clasp at the back of her neck.
She stared at her image in the mirror for a long moment, and drew a resolute breath, her fingers touching the clasp. “They are lovely, my lord, but I must refuse them. I will not be bought.”
