Читать книгу Romancing The Crown: Drew and Samira - Carla Cassidy, Eileen Wilks - Страница 11

Chapter 4

Rose wasn’t surprised when her aunt joined her that evening while she was getting ready. ‘‘I had hoped you would take another look at that ring,’’ said Gemma, settling on the edge of the tub.

‘‘I haven’t decided yet.’’ Rose leaned over the sink, shut one eye and stroked color on the closed lid.

‘‘You didn’t pick up any feeling of urgency when you held it?’’

The hopeful note in Gemma’s voice made Rose smile. ‘‘No. And you ought to be ashamed of yourself, wishing danger on some poor woman so you can coerce me into working with my Gift.’’

‘‘I never would! But there must be some reason the ring came to you. You need to find out what that is.’’ She cocked her head like a curious parrot. ‘‘You aren’t wearing that to go out with Lord Andrew, are you?’’

Rose grinned, studied the smoky color on one eyelid and applied herself to making the other match it. She was wearing black, as Drew had suggested—a skinny silk swish of a dress with straps thin as spider silk. ‘‘Don’t you like it?’’

‘‘What there is of it. I hope you know what you’re doing.’’

‘‘Where would be the fun in that?’’ She dropped the eye shadow in the caddy that held her play-pretties and dug through the brushes, boxes, tubes, crayons and pencils. Rose didn’t always bother with makeup, but when in the mood to indulge, she did enjoy her paints.

Red lipstick, she thought, but not siren red. More of a mauve, maybe…then she saw her aunt’s face and paused, creamy color dialed but unapplied. ‘‘Zia? What’s wrong? This isn’t exactly the first time I’ve gone out with a man.’’

‘‘This one is different.’’

Rose couldn’t deny that, since it was his difference that intrigued her. Quickly she smoothed color over her lips. ‘‘I like him.’’

Suddenly vehement, Gemma stood. ‘‘It isn’t him you like, it’s his silence. You thought I hadn’t noticed? My Gift may be small, but I’d have to be spirit-blind not to notice that nothing at all comes from Lord Andrew Harrington. If you were to close your eyes when he kissed you, you wouldn’t know he was there. And that’s why you’re going out with him.’’

‘‘Well, yes.’’ Rose turned, a smile tugging at her mouth. ‘‘But trust me. If he kisses me, I’ll know he’s there.’’

Gemma tossed her hands in the air. ‘‘Rose, this man is trouble. Even if he weren’t wild…oh, the stories I’ve heard about him! I’m sure they can’t all be true…but some of them must be, and his birth, his family—you must see how impossible it is. Lord Andrew is looking for fun and games, love. A playmate, nothing more.’’

‘‘Maybe I want to play. Have I shocked you?’’ She put an arm around her aunt’s plump shoulders. ‘‘Surely not. You know what it’s like. If anyone knows, you do.’’

Gemma’s eyes were troubled as their gazes met and held. ‘‘You mustn’t think that because I’m alone, you will be. You’re only twenty-seven. There’s time.’’

‘‘I suppose. But—’’ the twist Rose gave her mouth landed between a smile and a grimace ‘‘—I don’t think I’m made for celibacy.’’

Gemma turned and put her hands on Rose’s shoulders. ‘‘So, you want a fling? With that man? Bambina, I didn’t raise you to be stupid.’’

‘‘Is it stupid to go out with a man I find attractive? Whatever happens, it will be my choice. I want—oh, just to be normal. For once, to be normal.’’ Too much bitterness colored that last statement. She moderated her voice, dug deep and found amusement. ‘‘I don’t have my heart set on a flaming affair. I may have hopes, but no definite plans.’’

‘‘That, I gather, is supposed to reassure me.’’ Gemma’s voice was tart. ‘‘You are going to be hurt.’’

‘‘Hey.’’ Rose dropped a kiss on her aunt’s soft cheek. ‘‘I’m supposed to be the seer around here. No dire predictions, please. I don’t expect to be hurt, but if I am, what of it? Most women my age have stumbled in and out of a few heartaches.’’

‘‘Bah. I don’t know why I try. Once you have your mind made up, there’s no reasoning with you. Oh, here, you’re going to be late if you don’t hurry.’’ She gave Rose a little push, turning her to face the mirror again, picked up a hairbrush and began drawing the bristles firmly through Rose’s hair. ‘‘I’ll braid it for you.’’

‘‘Thank you, Zia,’’ Rose said meekly, then, ‘‘Ouch! Do you mean to discourage Drew by making me bald before he gets here?’’

‘‘It wouldn’t pull if you’d hold still. At your great age you should be able to stand quietly a few minutes… Did you want me to use the clasp you have out? No, hold on to it a moment, I’m not quite ready. No one is born blocked, you know. Somehow, sometime, he was hurt.’’

Rose’s heart felt suddenly larger as it filled with warmth for this dear woman who could no more hold on to anger than she could add a column of figures and come up with the same answer twice. ‘‘Now you’re worrying about him.’’

‘‘I’m quite capable of worrying about more than one person. And I’m ready for the clasp…thank you. I don’t know when I’ve seen someone so completely blocked—well, there’s my cousin Pia, poor soul. And old Arturo Domino, but he’s crazy.’’

Amused, Rose said, ‘‘I doubt that Drew talks to aliens on a regular basis. He has a solid feel to him, don’t you think?’’

The busy hands gave one last tug to Rose’s braid, then Gemma stepped back. ‘‘How would I know? How would you, when he keeps himself fully to himself?’’

‘‘A hunch?’’ She turned, smiling mischievously.

‘‘Where would you find a hunch when you can’t read him, not at all? Sitting out on the stoop, waiting for you to pick it up? Unless… Rose, have you dreamed him?’’

‘‘No. How do I look?’’

‘‘Mia felicitá.’’ Gemma’s eyes were moist. ‘‘So beautiful. Maybe I should be worrying about Lord Andrew. Tonight, you could break a man’s heart.’’

So of course she had to hug Gemma. ‘‘If you make me cry, my mascara is going to run.’’

‘‘It would serve you right. Oh, go on, finish getting ready.’’ Gemma pulled away. ‘‘You don’t have your shoes or your purse, and he will be here any minute. I suppose you had better borrow my Spanish shawl. It won’t keep you warm in that dress, but it will look pretty.’’

Gemma hurried out. Rose went to get her evening bag and heels from her room, her steps slowed by guilt. The shawl was one of her aunt’s chief treasures, a lacy extravagance purchased on a long-ago trip. Gemma had been twenty and still hoping to find a man, the right man. For the women in their family, there was only ever one man. Gemma’s mother had traveled with her to Greece, Italy and Spain. So had her younger sister, who eventually became Rose’s mother.

Gemma had found love on that trip. And lost it. He had died before they could marry, this man Gemma seldom spoke of but had never forgotten. Yet the shawl held only happy memories for her.

I didn’t lie, Rose told herself as she stepped into her heels. Not exactly. True, Drew had appeared in her vision, but the sending had been about the bombing, not the man. But she didn’t want to tell Gemma about the hand that had touched her during the time that wasn’t. Gemma would fuss, wanting Rose to enter into a fire-trance to find the truth. She would assume Drew was tied somehow to Rose’s Gift.

In a sense, he was. Because of her Gift, he might be the only man she would ever be able to go to bed with.

Summer days were long in the southern Mediterranean. At seven in the evening the air was warm as a baby’s bath, the light slanting but still rich. Voices called greetings and chatted in high-speed Italian or the musical English that was the island’s official tongue, punctuated here and there with German, Greek or Spanish from tourists wandering from shop to shop.

Not as many tourists as usual. Fear had kept many away, a situation that wouldn’t be helped by the recent bombing. Drew was considering the economic consequences as he strolled along with the tourists and the natives. It was easier than thinking about what he planned to do that night. And the woman he planned to do it with…or to.

Sex was a mutual activity. Deceit wasn’t.

It was hard not to like her. That was a problem he hadn’t anticipated. He reminded himself that she wasn’t, couldn’t be, what she seemed. She’d known about the bomb before it went off, which meant she was connected, somehow, to the Brothers of Darkness. Maybe she wasn’t really part of them. She might have heard of the attack through a lover or a friend—but if so, she hadn’t given the investigators the name of that friend or lover. Whether her silence came from complicity or misguided loyalty, she was guilty of protecting killers. And his own guilt was misplaced.

Drew returned his attention to the street and the people on it. He’d had to park a few blocks away. Rose Giaberti’s shop was on one of the old streets, tight and twisty, that made no provision for such modern intrusions as automobiles.

There were streets like this in England, narrow and crowded by buildings leaning comfortably into old age, but the light was different. So were the faces—smiling, frowning, emotions flowing freely, with hands gesturing to support a point or touch a friend. People stood closer to each other here. This communal urge toward intimacy might have made a man like him uneasy. Instead, in Montebello he relaxed as he seldom could at home. Here, he was known to be different—British, and therefore foolish about some things. His reserve, therefore, was a national trait, not a personal failing.

Her shop was still open, he noticed when he reached the two-story stone building. A girl with a pretty smile and short, shaggy hair was ringing something up on the antiquated cash register as he passed the big window. As instructed, Drew climbed the stairs on the side of the house. The balustrade was wooden and old. The steps were much older, and stone.

At the top of the stairs was a small balcony and a yellow door, which opened at his knock. The aunt invited him in without apologizing for her home, which he liked. Her parlor was modest and colorful, not terribly neat, and a fierce, inexplicable wish suddenly split him, leaving half his mind making sure he said what he should while the other half longed to sit in the faded blue armchair and talk with this warm, silly woman. Just sit and talk, in comfort.

Foolishness.

Rose, she said, would be ready in a moment. She made proper if slightly scattered conversation and offered him a seat, but she didn’t sit down herself, so courtesy kept him standing. He didn’t find out if the blue armchair would welcome him as this woman, however polite, did not.

Gemma Giaberti might be silly, but she was no fool. She didn’t trust him. Maybe he should have tried to charm or reassure her, but that particular deceit was beyond him. The woman was right to worry. He would almost certainly hurt her niece.

Some small noise must have alerted him. Or maybe it was her scent, sensed but not consciously noted, that made him turn to look at the doorway just as she reached it.

She wore black.

For once Drew’s inability to show his feelings was a blessing. His reaction couldn’t be concealed entirely, of course—there were some things no man could hide—but his dress slacks fit loosely enough to offer some concealment.

‘‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting,’’ she said, coming forward with a smile. ‘‘Last-minute emergency. I couldn’t find the right purse.’’

‘‘For results like this, I would have happily waited much longer.’’ He didn’t offer his arm. Instead, acting on impulse, he held out his hand.

Her palm was warm, her clasp firm. The contact felt obscurely right, and he didn’t want to analyze his motives or consider consequences. She gave her aunt a kiss on the cheek, her aunt gave her a lacy black shawl, and he left the house with Rose’s hand in his.

The air felt like silk on what little bare skin it could reach. Drew found himself regretting the way he’d chosen to entertain her tonight. It demanded far too many clothes.

On his part, at least. He glanced at the woman beside him. There was a great deal of her skin available to the evening air. Perhaps he hadn’t made such a bad choice, after all.

Dammit. He had no business regretting or enjoying his plans for the night. Rose was a beautiful woman, but more than that, she was vivid—sensual, unexpected, brimming with life. He couldn’t help responding and needn’t apologize for it. But tonight wasn’t about him and his unruly libido. He needed to remember that.

‘‘Am I allowed to know where we’re going?’’

‘‘First to the car. I had to park a few blocks away. Then, I’m afraid, to pick up my cousin.’’ That startled her. And didn’t please her overmuch, he thought.

‘‘Which one?’’

‘‘Lorenzo. It’s his car. Is it my imagination, or are we attracting more than our share of attention?’’

She chuckled. ‘‘What did you expect? I didn’t tell anyone I was going out with the queen’s nephew, but I did ask my assistant to close the shop for me tonight—after you’d come to see me this afternoon. That would be all it took to start the gossip moving. They’re probably disappointed you didn’t pick me up in a limo.’’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘‘Do you know all the people who have been staring at us, then?’’

‘‘Don’t you know most of the people in the village near your family’s estate?’’

‘‘Montebello isn’t a village. The population of the capital alone is over two hundred thousand.’’

‘‘But there aren’t two hundred thousand people on my street. I’ve lived in the house we just left for seventeen years.’’

He was reminded of what Lorenzo had said about Montebello and the village mind. ‘‘Most of our admirers seem to be smiling. They must approve. No, wait. The woman standing in front of the pharmacy you recommended to me for sunscreen is scowling at me. No doubt she reads the same magazines your aunt does.’’

‘‘Natala Baldovino.’’ She sighed. ‘‘It isn’t your reputation that puts a scowl on her face. It’s mine. She probably thinks I’ve put a spell on you and is trying to decide which authority to report me to. Maybe I should warn her not to bother telling Captain Mylonas. He doesn’t go in for all that psychic nonsense.’’

Startled, he said nothing.

‘‘Look.’’ She stopped, pulling her hand away from his, and faced him. ‘‘We may as well get this out of the way. How did you get my address?’’

‘‘From Lorenzo,’’ he admitted, since it was obvious she’d guessed that much.

‘‘That wouldn’t be the only information he gave you about me. Your cousin, whose car you borrowed, thinks that either I’m responsible for the bomb at the airport or I know who is. He would have told you that. You must have decided to give me the benefit of the doubt, and I appreciate it. I don’t appreciate being manipulated.’’

‘‘I beg your pardon?’’

She made a small, disgusted noise. ‘‘This business of picking up your cousin because you have his car. His Grace owns more than one car. He could catch a ride with a dozen other people, not counting the police or his own staff. But you’ve arranged things so that I have to face a man who thinks I’m in league with the—oh, I don’t have any words bad enough for them. With the Brothers. That’s a surprise, all right, but not the kind I was expecting when you asked me out.’’

Her perception of him shook him—but she didn’t really know why he’d set things up this way. She’d guessed part of it, but not all. ‘‘I’m sorry.’’

‘‘Judging by the expression on your face, that much is true.’’

His face wore a readable expression? ‘‘I didn’t think you’d realize Lorenzo held you in suspicion. He did arrange for Captain Mylonas to let you go.’’

‘‘Because there’s no evidence against me, not because he doesn’t suspect me. I’m not an idiot. He’s probably having me followed, though I haven’t spotted anyone lurking behind us yet. I understand why your cousin is suspicious, but that doesn’t make him pleasant company for me.’’

Best, he decided, to speak as much truth as possible. She was too bright to swallow a comfortable lie. ‘‘I’m afraid you’re right. Lorenzo believes you know more than you’ve admitted. He insisted I arrange things this way tonight. I think he wants to reassure himself I haven’t fallen under your spell.’’ He captured her hands. ‘‘Not the kind of spell your Signora Baldovino has in mind… I’m not sure I’ll be able to convince him, though. I’m not sure it isn’t true.’’

She studied him for a long moment before pulling one of her hands away. ‘‘She’s not my Signora Baldovino,’’ was all she said, but she left her other hand in his as they started walking again.

Neither of them spoke again until they reached the car, a silver Mercedes Benz. For Drew, the silence was a relief. Concealing facts and feelings came naturally. Deceit, he was learning, wasn’t the same as concealment.

He reached across her to unlock her door, but paused before opening it. ‘‘Do you see the man in the blue shirt who just rounded the corner? We need to give him time to reach his car, but it’s me he’s following, not you.’’

She stood so close, almost within the circle of his arms, that he could see the dark rims around her irises, like midnight encircling the ocean. ‘‘Why is he following you? And why do we want him to?’’

‘‘I refuse to go everywhere flanked by bodyguards. My cousin refuses to let me wander around Montebello without them. The gentleman in the blue shirt is a compromise.’’

Her eyes widened. He could feel the warmth from her body calling to his. She smelled of roses and something darker, a hint of musk and secrets. ‘‘You’re a target because of your relationship to the Crown. I…hadn’t realized.’’

‘‘Not a primary target. Maybe not a target at all, now that Lucas is back and war seems unlikely, but kidnapping remains a possibility. My uncle wouldn’t deal with terrorists, no matter whom they held hostage, but we can’t be sure they believe that. It’s only fair that you be aware of this. I wouldn’t have asked you out if the danger was great, but there is some risk. There’s also some loss of privacy.’’

Her smile came slowly and her voice, when she spoke, was light. Deliberately so, he thought. ‘‘As long as the gentleman in the blue shirt doesn’t find it necessary to peep in windows, I’m not worried about the loss of privacy. My neighbors will be watching us much more keenly than he will, believe me. As for the danger…we’ll just have to hope I’m a good enough seer to keep us both out of trouble, won’t we?’’

Something complex and silent seemed to pass between them, a communication he lacked the understanding to translate. Heat, yes—that was there. It was the other message he didn’t have words for. But he felt it.

He looked away before she did and opened her door. She slid inside.

How could he keep from respecting her courage? Drew had no answer for that as he settled behind the wheel.

‘‘So where will you, me and your suspicious cousin be eating dinner?’’

‘‘Didn’t I tell you?’’ A smile touched his lips as he clicked the seat belt in place. ‘‘At the palace. With my other cousin, Prince Lucas. And his parents.’’

This time, he noted with slightly malicious pleasure as he pulled out into traffic, she was the one startled into speechlessness.