Chapter Three
When collectors wanted fairly-priced antiques, carefully selected and impeccably sourced, they asked Mr Eric Campbell. When they wanted a job cleanly done and were willing to close an eye on the artefacts’ provenance—an undiscovered tomb, an excavation in process, an owner stubbornly unwilling to part with an object—they looked for Mr William Campbell instead. And they would have known exactly where to find him. At a table discreetly tucked away behind a screen at the café in Piazza della Minerva , just behind the Pantheon. It was the disreputable underbelly of the Antiquarians’ Club. The atmosphere was bustling as usual that morning. Two men were poring over Roman coins, discussing animatedly in a jumble of languages. Another three were comparing two seemingly identical statuettes, either trying to detect a forgery or, more likely, congratulating themselves over it. It gave him a delighted thrill. Here, among the sort of low-born men who were essential to the aristocracy but would never be invited to their soirées , he was more at ease than in the palazzi he craved to own. This huge, chaotic, wonderful, debauched town belonged to people like them, people like him . And here he was respected. Envied. He was Mr William Campbell, the Englishman and antiquarian, a man who had made it in life. Even if these people had known that they had grown up running errands for a smuggler’s warehouse, and that their mother had been a prostitute, they would have just shrugged.
And today, William was the man of the day. In less than twenty-four hours he had managed to circulate the news that he had been put in charge of the Earl of Eddington’s treasure, and the rumour had spread like wildfire. He had been there for less than thirty minutes, and already he had been approached by collectors trying to figure out whether there was money to be made. Exactly as he had intended.
Oh, if Eric had known what he had in mind, he would be travelling back from Naples just to strangle him with his bare hands. Eric had gone soft since meeting Lady Iris Clarendon. His brother had achieved all he wanted and was comfortable with what he had: a woman he loved to bits, a small palazzo in the English quarter of Rome, and the renown of a scrupulously honest man. Eric didn’t give a damn that titled gentlemen were happy to buy from him, but that they sniggered behind his back about his slurred pronunciation—not to mention his burly figure in gentlemanly clothes.
But William kept score of every single slight, every insult, every raised eyebrow like he kept the account books of their business. He didn’t just want to be comfortable or well-off. He wasn’t content with being a stray dog trained in the refinements of the aristocracy by an Oxford degree—courtesy of Johnson & Muybridge’s charity. He wanted to be rich , disgustingly rich. He wanted to know the people that mattered, be invited among them, nay, become one of them! None of this would happen with Eric’s foolish idealism. Golden jewels were worth nothing to the Earl, but they could be the key that unlocked his plans. If he sold them well, he would finally have enough to buy a vessel and set up his own shipping venture. There was little money in old Roman pots, but there was a fortune to be made trading from the colonies. He had had some shares in Johnson & Muybridge’s company for some time, and he knew the market inside out. If he could pull it off, he would be able to buy all he had always dreamed of, like a villa full of antiques, with a large dining hall where to host his own soirées . And he’d finally forget where he had come from. He’d forget the blood and the filth and the ice. He’d forget his father. And he’d forget what he had seen that night, in the rickety, freezing shed where they had lived as children.
He had just wanted to be held…to be protected…loved…
Why was Mother not waking up?
A cold sweat ran down his back.
‘Ah, Mr Campell, I was just looking for you!’
He gave a start. Herr Winkelmann was standing right in front of him.
‘Do you mind if I take a seat, Herr Campbell? I heard that something big has been found on the Pincio Hill?’
***
Claudia sat at the busy café in Piazza della Minerva and leaned back in her chair. Her body didn’t ache. Her mind was not crowded. Life was tolerable today. Of course, if she did listen carefully, she could still hear Edward’s words echoing like a prophecy.
The world will find out who you really are. You will die loveless and unloved, driven insane by regrets.
But she tried not to listen and somewhat succeeded. She breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, today was a tolerable day. She noted it down in her diary and leafed back a few pages. Now, that was interesting. The number of tolerable days had increased a bit since she had returned to Rome. Maybe because here she could always make herself useful. Passions ran deep in this town. There was always some warring family to reconcile or some duel to prevent.
Still, it probably didn’t mean much. She had deluded herself that she was healing so many times, only to plunge deeper into her despair. But she needed her sanity back. If not for herself, then for the guests in her shelter, who needed her focus.
She inhaled deeply and looked around. The street was filling with Grand Tourists. A Babel of languages ricocheted off the ancient walls of the palazzi, and up into the deep blue sky. She leafed idly through the Gazette Internationale, the expatriates’ favourite scandal sheet in Rome. Mr Campbell was on the second page. He had made the Austrian ambassador’s wife swoon at a reception the previous evening.
Did he also kiss her so timidly?
A tinge of jealousy. Completely unjustified, of course.
Well, it was none of her business. It is just that the image of him standing in Father’s study yesterday, with every statue and fresco gazing upon him adoringly, was still impressed in her mind. She had lied when she had denied thinking about what would have happened if she had stayed in that carriage a little longer.
She had been thinking about that.
A lot.
Again, vivid to an appalling degree, she saw his hand in her hair. Her mouth was pressed to his shaft, desperate for him.
Her cheeks went hot. She bit her lip and turned around. Could people read her thoughts on her face?
***
‘…and keep me in the loop, Campbell, yes? If there’s money to be made, I’m in. Till later. Auf Wiedersehen. ’
‘ Auf Wiedersehen , Herr Winkelmann .’
William leaned back in his chair rubbing his hands. Everything was going exactly to plan. If he omitted the thing that had happened that morning, that is.
His face went hot. He tried to push away the memory of how he had woken up on the verge of spilling his seed to a dream of Lady Claudia doing something altogether different with her lips than kissing him in a carriage. Now, it was not the first time in the past couple of days, and it was starting to become rather worrying. He had lived his whole life as chastely as a monk. Yes, he had used his charms to open the doors of the palaces where the rich and famous displayed their collections. But though more than a fair share of women had not been content with flirtatious words and fiery gazes, he had never felt the slightest desire for their bodies. The idea of giving himself to a woman that meant nothing to him repulsed him. His flirts were all business to him.
Down to each single honeyed word.
He did not even notice the pretty ladies around him, and he had never been with a woman in his life. His needs had no image, no shape. He fulfilled them quickly on his own, and that was it.
So wouldn’t it be terribly inconvenient if now, all of a sudden, Lady Claudia of all women started sparking the sort of thoughts that no one had ever awakened in him?
Still, it was hardly surprising. Craving for her flesh was just another step up from the fact that he had desired to kiss her in the first place. It had been a strange, lavish luxury he had allowed to himself. Like spending an eye-watering sum on a sumptuous but ephemeral delicacy, like those pistacchio pralines at the Caffè Greco . He had not wanted anything from her that night. Not a precious introduction to one of her wealthy friends. Not an invitation to a soirée . He had just wanted to kiss her for himself, simple as that. And he had not done it in as long as he could remember, doing something, anything, just for the heck of it.
Of course, it had been a misstep, a crack in his self-control, so he was glad that the kiss may come in handy now. If she had kissed him, it meant that, saint or not, she was as susceptible to his charms as any other woman. It would be easy to distract her sufficiently for her not to notice that he was stealing her golds.
The whole café seemed to gasp. Viscount Caiani scorched his way through the entrance like a wildfire.
‘Campbell. Is he here?’
His stomach twisted in excitement. Caiani was the most knowledgeable collector in Rome, and the most unprincipled too. If he was coming out himself to talk to him, it meant that he must have laid his hands on something important.
‘Morning, Campbell.’ Caiani addressed him in Italian, his black eyes burning like embers. ‘May I join you for a moment?’
‘Please do.’
Caiani sat down, and though he sat composedly on the large chair he may as well have been reclining back, expensive boots on the table, smoking and laughing, because he owned half of that damn city.
‘So, the Earl of Eddington has found a treasure, and you’re in charge?’
‘So it seems,’ William said cautiously.
‘The poor fool!’ Caiani laughed. ‘Listen up, Campbell. I have something that will interest you. I visited the site just now and spoke at length with the Earl. I saw what’s coming out of there.’ Caiani pushed towards him a file. He had mapped the site. Taken notes. It looked as thorough as what he had noted down himself, down to the estimate of the historical period. Maybe the Earl of Eddington should have hired Caiani instead. Then not a single object would end up at the Antiquarians’ Club.
‘Now listen on, Campbell. All these years, I’ve been looking for something. The treasure of Claudia Cornelia. The vestal virgin who married a slave.’
He pretended to examine the file because his hair had raised on end.
It cannot be...It’s just a legend…A silly legend.
‘You are not the only one who has been after that treasure.’ His mouth had dried. ‘But it’s just a legend, my lord. Her story sounds fabricated from the beginning to the end.’
‘I thought that too, for the longest time. Until not too long ago I found evidence indicating that a Claudia Cornelia, daughter of Lucius Cornelius, married to Cassius, a freed slave, lived on the Pincio Hill under the reign of Romulus Augustulus…’
‘But it cannot be, my lord…’
In Caiani’s glinting eyes, he recognised his own. Beyond the hunger for wealth, beyond the craving for possession, was the raw pleasure of the chase, the thrill and relief when scraps of information that had long floated about, scattered, undecipherable, finally started to fit together. For a moment they just smiled at each other wildly, connected by the obsession they shared. Then Caiani’s tone turned businesslike again.
‘I tried to negotiate with the Earl already, without saying a word about the whole Claudia Cornelia thing. He’s adamant that every single piece will be donated to the Antiquarians’ Club. So here’s my offer to you. Prove to me beyond any reasonable doubt that those are Claudia Cornelia’s things. And if they are, ensure that a good amount of them lands in my hands. Do that, and I will make you a rich man. Richer than you could ever imagine.’
For one long, terrifying, exhilarating moment he was standing on the verge of a cliff, watching a world of possibility sprawl out under him like a stormy ocean.
‘I see I got you there, Campbell. Of course, I know there’s a risk involved. The Earl of Eddington is family to you now, isn’t he?’ He didn’t utter those words with disbelief. He said it proudly, relishing their success. Because Caiani was rich and noble, but he too was a scoundrel. ‘You’ll be handsomely rewarded if you’re willing to take the risk.’
Images flashed in his mind. Sleeping on Eric’s coat in the freezing warehouse. His mother’s body on the filthy wooden floor. A gangly teenager steeling himself for the contempt of his fellow students in Oxford.
‘Oh, I see.’ Caiani’s eyes burned more vividly still. He was a hunter and he lived for the chase. ‘Someone else made you an offer already. Whatever they’ve offered, I can offer you more . A villa in Tivoli. A sum of money that would buy you the Colosseum. Anything . Ask, and it will be yours.’
The images faded and there was just an otherworldly silence. He was fully in control of himself again.
If we are to do this, it will be on my terms.
‘I’m in. But if I succeed, I do not want goods or a villa, but a sum of money. Enough to buy the Colosseum, as you put it, and more . We will fine-tune the details once I find out more.’
‘Excellent!’ The Viscount gave him an energetic pat on the shoulder. ‘I knew I could rely on you. I am compiling everything I found about Claudia Cornelia and her treasure over two decades of work. Her life. Her artefacts. Her lovers. It is impossible to disentangle fact from fiction, but I am having it all copied for you. I’ll send for you once it is ready, it will assist you in your research.’
‘Wonderful, I can hardly wa—’
A golden figure appeared at the entrance of the c afé , so bright that in the doorframe it looked like a golden byzantine mosaic. All heads turned towards it.
Lady Claudia!
His pulse quickened. His mouth went dry. He was pervaded by a strange, unfamiliar warmth. He followed her every movement, enchanted. She looked around a bit, distractedly bringing a hand to her lips, the lips that had felt so soft on his own. Her pale pink dress became golden each time it caught the light. He was assailed by an inexplicable craving to see it on his bedroom floor, liquid and golden like molten lava, just to be able to claim a fragment of her gilded life for himself. She asked something to a waiter. Then she left.
‘Oh-oh. The charming daughter of your employer. Dear Lord, what a woman!’ Caiani rubbed a hand on his face, visibly troubled.
‘I’m pretty sure the Earl has instructed her not to lose sight of me for a second.’
‘Ha. You’ll have your work cut out then. The woman is smarter than the two of us together. Take some advice from a man who has seen a thing or two, young man.’ Caiani leaned over the table. ‘Stay away from her. And not just for the sake of our deal.’
‘I am not interested in her, my lord.’
‘Commiserations, then. That woman, young man, is the kind who could drive a man to folly, ruin him thoroughly until he’s left with nothing but pitiful, whimpering tatters of himself. I have known a few like her, Campbell. Serene and untouchable on the surface. Measured, exacting in bed. Makes the sort of rough tumbling in the bedsheets look like a pathetic sport between two naked idiots in comparison.’
Oh, he could picture it so well. Lady Claudia, barely dressed, strong and majestic like a Roman goddess. Reclining on a triclinium , eating grapes from a golden bowl. Slowly.
Then handing him the bowl to lick.
He gave a start.
Licking her bowl? Really?
‘Mind my words, Campbell. With that sort of woman, it never ends well. I danced with her once, and never asked her since. It was enough to know she could bring a man to his knees.’
‘Right…’ He swallowed.
‘Anything the matter, Campbell?’
‘I am just thinking that it may be better not to be seen together, my lord,’ he lied.
‘Very well, I’ll be off. I’ll be eagerly waiting for news from you. And remember my words, yes? It never ends well.’
Caiani gave him another pat on the shoulder and left.
***
Viscount Caiani rushed past Claudia’s table, his brow furrowed and stern. She raised her hand in salutation, but Caiani just clenched his jaw and quickened his step, scorching the very ground on which he walked.
How rude!
Then there was a soft ohhhh and aaahhh , a collective fluttering of fans and eyelashes, and every single woman turned to look at something behind her. A most delicious scent, a light cologne with notes of fig and honey. Unmistakeable.
‘Lady Claudia.’ Mr Campbell’s voice came from behind her, soft and insinuating like an indecent caress. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’
He appeared at her table, all blue eyes and unruly golden hair swaying a bit in the morning breeze.
‘Good morning, Mr Campbell.’ She smiled a little coldly, trying to distract herself from the frankly scandalous vision she had been entertaining. Mr Campbell was looking especially devilish today. He must be up to no good.
He took her hand in his and bowed a little over it, without kissing it. It elicited a prolonged aaaaaaw of female voices.
‘May I take a seat, Lady Claudia?’
‘Hopefully we’ll be able to hear each other over all the swooning.’
‘We will, once they realise I only have eyes for you.’
She rolled her eyes, but secretly she wished that it were true. As he sat opposite her she felt a little like a woman in a Roman myth, beholding a mysterious stranger too handsome not to be a God in disguise. His beauty was devastating. It burned everything around, eating away at the space around him, carving an enclave just for them.
‘Looking a lot less angry today, my darling. Are you looking forward to spending the whole day with me?’
‘I think we had best clarify one thing first, Mr Campbell,’ she said patiently. ‘There is no need to play this game. I know quite well what you want from me, and I am not interested.’
‘Enlighten me.’ He leaned back, thoroughly amused.
‘I know there is one thing that men like you cannot resist. The fame of having seduced a pure, unattainable, angelic woman.’ She said it bitterly. Not that she had any reason to be disappointed. It is just that it would have been nice to be liked for who she was—not for what she stood for or the size of her dowry—at least once. ‘You seem intent on trying to add me to your collection. Land in the Gazette Internationale for seducing Lady Claudia Fitzwilliam. Well, if we are to get along, you must get that out of your head.’
‘That is quite an achievement, Lady Claudia.’ His eyes lit up devilishly. ‘You have just managed to call me vain, stupid, and a cad all in one. It is the “stupid” I object to.’
Oh?
‘Unattainable, that you certainly are. To my distress, alas, because I won’t deny you interest me. But angelic …’ He leaned over the table to whisper to her. ‘You’ll forgive me for saying that from the way you look at me, it rather looks like you’d like to add me to your collection.’
She laughed a little too loudly.
‘A collection. No less.’ She mixed a little more sugar in her coffee. ‘You are blinded by vanity, Mr Campbell. I look at you like one looks at a statue sculpted by Canova. Delightful to the eye. Carefully crafted. But ultimately, a little too pleased with itself. Even—oh!’ She covered her mouth. ‘Even a little kitsch .’
‘Oh, you can sting.’ He smirked. He was enjoying himself, and as it turned out, so was she, and like she hadn’t in the longest time. ‘So that is how you look at me, isn’t it, Lady Claudia? Without even a slither of desire?’
She distractedly brought her spoon to her lips.
‘Not. One. Bit. Mr Campbell.’
‘Shall we see about that?’ His voice was barely louder than a sigh of pleasure. ‘Lend me your spoon for a moment, my sweet.’
He opened his palm.
‘I believe you have a spoon of your own.’
‘But this, ’ he gently wrangled it from her, then he held it victoriously aloft like a trophy, ‘this is yours .’
‘I don’t see why that matters.’
‘I do.’
And with a devilish smile—his teeth looked a little sharp—he tapped it on his thin lips. Then he—he couldn’t possibly—he wasn’t really going to—
Then he began licking it clean. There. At the café . As though they were completely alone. His tongue trailed slowly into the little concave shape.
An insistent, warm need pooled in her belly, then slid further down.
‘Have you lost your mind?’ She said way too huskily. ‘They’re all watching us.’
‘Let them watch then.’ For an instant, his eyes lit up with fire. Then his voice softened, caressing, inviting. ‘Yes, let them watch Lady Claudia want me.’
‘You delude yourself, Mr Campbell.’ She snatched the spoon from his hand and just sat there, mouth dry, heart pounding, holding that spoon as though she could wield it to defend herself from him.
She was behaving scandalously with a rake in full sight of half of Rome.
And yet she did not leave.
Because that pulsating need warming her lower belly was good , and it was hers and only hers. It was like claiming a little bit of herself back. A little bit of her body. Of her pleasure. Yes, claiming another bit, such a small bit, back from the abyss.
‘You liked watching that, didn’t you?’ Mr Campbell’s voice was a little hazy. He was not unaffected by what he had done. By her . He gently took the spoon from her hand and placed it in his pocket.
‘This is mine now. Because it touched your lovely lips.’
‘You’re worse than a magpie.’ She swallowed. ‘I’ll have to keep a close eye on you.’
‘You won’t need an excuse to look at me. I shall offer myself to your gaze willingly.’
She stood, flushed.
‘I need to go now, Mr Campbell.’
‘Oh, but we are both heading to the same place, aren’t we?’
‘We are. But you know what they say in Italy, don’t you? Meglio soli che male accompagnati. Better alone than in bad company. Farewell, Mr Campbell.’
And with that she turned around, and she disappeared into the crowd.