Lord of Intrigue (Inconvenient Brides #10)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

“There sighs, lamentations, and loud wailings resounded through the starless air.”

Dante’s Divine Comedy

M arco returned inside without Molly, who said she might have an appointment for tea before heading farther into the gardens at the back of the house. Entering the library from the terrace doors, he immediately noted that Nicholas and his journals were absent. The only sign he had been there at all was the askew ottoman and the tray of tea, which appeared untouched.

Firming his jaw, he mused that the most likely suspect was the uncle who had been second in line to inherit the barony, but was now fourth in line with the revelation of his and Angelo’s existence. The younger man had both personal motive and a close connection to the original murderess, Lady Blackwood. Was Nicholas’s limp enough to prevent him from scaling about the roof? It was certain Marco needed to keep an eye on him.

A movement in the corner of the room drew his eye to find that Lorenzo was browsing through the stacks with a bored expression.

“Lorenzo? What are you up to?”

His friend flinched in surprise, apparently having been absorbed by his thoughts. “Marco! I am keeping myself busy. Sebastian has gone off to visit his famiglia , and left me to amuse myself.”

Marco caught the tone of remonstration. The other man was rather intense—one with a crusade—and his single-minded attitude toward his pursuits sometimes prevented him from understanding the demands that others faced from their own lives.

“To be fair, Sebastian has been gone from England for six years and his family must be eager to speak with him.”

“It is not the purpose of this journey.”

Marco snorted with reproach. “Ah, but your obsessions with your own family are legendary, my friend. You understand that Sebastian must see to his obligations?”

Lorenzo responded with a wry laugh. “You are not wrong. Nevertheless, I am impatient to see to our affairs here in London.”

The two men had not revealed the purpose of accompanying him and Angelo to England, but it was sure to have something to do with Lorenzo’s ancestor. The one he had talked about these past years that Marco had known him. Matteo di Bianchi, who, according to Lorenzo, had been one of the greatest painters of da Vinci’s time. Unfortunately, there was little evidence of this, but considering his friend’s vast knowledge of art, and his profitable trade in such, Marco accepted there must be something to his grand claims.

“Have you seen Angelo?”

Lorenzo nodded, turning back to consider the books. “He returned from a walk. You can find him eating breakfast.”

Marco thanked him, hurrying to the breakfast room to find his brother so he could discuss what had happened out in the garden. The brush with death, not the kiss with the surprisingly sensual Molly.

Entering the breakfast room, he found Angelo finishing his meal with two footmen on duty. His brother looked up with a wide grin. “Marco, you must accompany me on a walk later. This neighborhood is magnificent.”

“We shall see. May I speak to you? In private?”

Angelo raised his eyebrows in question, but forked up the remaining eggs on his plate and chewed in haste. Marco took the opportunity to speak with Duncan, the head footman who had greeted them on the docks the day before. He asked how to get to the roof, and Duncan withheld any questions about his strange request, informed him the route was complicated, and offered to escort them there. Marco agreed, then turned to find Angelo rising to accompany them.

Molly entered the walled garden alone, finding Madeline seated on their bench, waiting for her with a cart of tea. Her ploy to rid herself of Miss Dubois had proved quite effective, and she relished these stolen moments with her friend. Marco had mentioned something about visiting the roof after their harrowing brush with death, but she needed time to clear her thoughts—particularly after the searing tumble in the grass that had shaken her to the core. Neither of them was ready to address … the kiss.

“I did not think I would see you before you left!”

Madeline lifted her head from the book she was reading to smile. “I insisted I enjoy tea with you before we depart. Simon is quite impatient to leave, but considering we did not even share supper together last evening, I want to bid you a proper farewell.”

Molly found herself unexpectedly nostalgic as she dropped on the bench with a glum pout. “I shall miss you! An entire household of boys and nary a woman in sight to speak to.”

Madeline’s lips quirked into a mischievous grin. “What of your Miss Dubois?”

She groaned, clenching her fists at the skies in mock anger. “Curses! She does not count. She is an entirely different species. Far more of a vain, shallow vessel such as Lady Blackwood than an actual human woman.”

“I see you have given up your mourning attire. Did the poodle wear you down?”

Molly tensed, uncertain if she wanted to reveal her infatuation with Lord Blackwood’s new heir until she had time to sort through her thoughts on what had just happened. It seemed awfully frivolous to admit she had wished to look her best because of Marco. “I … decided it was time.”

“I think you are quite becoming. Those colors suit.”

She looked down at her gown, noting it was a little creased after their passionate tumble on the lawn. “Thank you.”

“With four new bachelors in your home—have any of them caught your eye?”

Molly blushed, studying her kid gloves while feeling the heat racing up her neck and her ears burning with the intensity. “Not especially.”

Her friend’s laugh tinkled in the morning air as she shut her book to set it aside. “Perhaps you can write to me when you are ready to speak on it.”

“Do you think … if I were to meet a gentleman … How would I go about prompting a courtship?”

“Hmm … I suppose it would not be so different from establishing a friendship. You could talk about common interests, and learn about each other. As the affinity grows, if there is any attraction, things should progress along their natural course.”

Molly leaned forward, her interest captured by the topic despite her inclination to keep her thoughts private. “And if they do not? You waited so long for Simon to come up to scratch? Is there nothing I could do to … hurry it along?”

The question made her feel guilty when she saw the flash of regret in Madeline’s eyes. “We did spend far too long apart. If I were to do anything differently … Well, I would have cared less about society’s restrictions on my behavior and spent more time making things happen. It was difficult to reconcile the rules of etiquette with my more aggressive business instincts, but when I released those arbitrary inhibitions, Simon and I finally forged a path together.”

“But forging your own path was fraught with peril.”

“The poisoning?”

“You could have died.”

“Not a traditional risk within a courtship, but without risk, life has no meaning. There is no possibility of achieving one’s goals. You shall have to weigh it up. What would your mother say if she were here?”

“To say what fits, not what is fitting.”

“There you go. Trust your instincts and speak from the heart.”

Molly giggled nervously. “That is far easier to contemplate than it is to actually do.”

“I suppose if the opportunity arises, you will take matters into your own hands. I know that both Simon and John are most impressed with your fortitude at nursing the baron when you were needed. My husband is quite regretful to leave you in the lurch with Miss Dubois. He had hoped to leave you with more humored company.”

Shaking her head, Molly reached to clasp her friend’s hand. “Do not concern yourself with my problems. Securing your safety must come first. Even now—” Molly wanted to inform Madeline of what had happened, but to do that would reveal the object of her feminine interest, and she was not quite ready. Recollecting that Marco had just survived what was possibly a second murder attempt, she realized Madeline must leave for Scotland despite her desire to complete their conversation. “Thank you for taking the time to share tea with me, but it is time to depart. It is not safe to delay when Lady Blackwood loathed you with such seething venom. If there is an accomplice hanging about—I could not bear it if you were harmed again.”

Madeline turned her palm over to squeeze Molly’s and released it to rise. “Good luck with your gentleman. Write to me if you wish.”

Molly watched the viscountess leave, and thought about her yapping companion. Miss Dubois had been aware that Marco would be in the garden. And leaving to collect the bonnet would have provided an opportunity for her to go to the roof. Could the French poodle be a disciple of Lady Blackwood’s reign of terror? Might she execute her ladyship’s desires from beyond the grave out of misguided loyalty?

She shivered at the thought, hopping to her feet to prepare a cup of tea while she had some solitude to enjoy it without the perpetual nipping of her chaperon. Returning to her seat to savor the rich aroma wafting from her cup, Molly wondered what her mother would say about handsome Italians with firm, sculpted lips. Would she approve of Molly’s sly machinations to get Marco alone, or warn her of seductive kisses and the ruin to be found in pursuing such yearnings?

Duncan led them up a servants’ staircase. Ascending behind the tall footman, Marco noted when they reached the third floor where his chambers were. He had been placed in the deceased baroness’s rooms, which were well-appointed for a gentleman. He wondered if they had removed the signs of the female occupant, because the colors and furniture were quite appropriate for him.

The footman continued on, heading up to the attic level where he led them down a long corridor. One side appeared to be the servants’ quarters, while the other would be storage rooms. Duncan led them to the end of the hall, where he opened a window that overlooked the roof. Pointing out, he indicated the walkways and ladders to safely traverse the top of the building. Leaning out, Marco discovered stone-faced gods watching the neighborhood from pedestals interspersing the short skirt of the parapets that ran along the roofline. The roof itself was cluttered with chimneys puffing smoke up into the chilled autumn sky, decorative turrets, and the domes of cupolas that allowed light into the lower floor.

Marco inspected the window for any signs that might indicate if someone had deliberately pushed the jardinère , but it was well used, so there was no method of assessing if someone had accessed it within the past hour. Angelo waited without comment, although he had to be perplexed by this strange quest.

Thanking the servant, the two brothers gingerly climbed out the window and proceeded to make their way to the side of the building where Romulus loomed. Reaching the towering statue, Marco inspected the now empty pedestal near the base of the god’s feet where the jardinère had stood. Then he walked carefully over to its twin to inspect the difference.

Not being fond of heights, he made sure not to glance over the parapet at the drop of three floors, in addition to the basement level, which was making him queasy to think about.

Angelo leaned over to peer down, his perplexment evaporating as he apparently concluded what they were about.

“Were you down there when it fell?”

Marco nodded. “It was a narrow escape.”

“Was it deliberate?”

Returning to the empty pedestal, Marco took his time answering. “The jardinères are fixed in place by their weight, unlike the statue, which is both cemented and doweled to the roof. If I were to choose a weapon, it is the obvious choice. And here near the edge—this appears to be chipping as if someone pushed it over.”

Angelo leaned down to examine closely. “There is a small gouge here where it was positioned that suggests that a lever was used. A pry bar, perhaps? It is fresh.”

Marco combed his fingers through his locks with a hiss. “So you agree. Someone is trying to kill me?”

“It seems too great a … coincidenza ?”

“Coincidence.”

“ Sì! Two near deaths in two days. It is too much.”

“We should go home.”

“I wish to stay. I think this little island holds potential.”

“You understand that if someone is trying to kill me so that Simon can inherit—they will try to kill you, too.”

Angelo shrugged. “We need to find this man and stop him. There is no choice in this because we cannot leave a potential murderer on the loose.”

“Is that your good sense speaking, or your desire to open a farmaceutica ?”

His brother smiled, his youthful face lighting up with the optimism he was known for. “One does not … precludere ?”

“Preclude.”

“One does not preclude the other. We are on an adventure, and our prize is cornering a dangerous criminal. We cannot leave our new famiglia exposed to risk. Uncle John is ill and Molly is under our protection, with Simon leaving. He might have left already.” They had settled on addressing the much older baron as uncle, but due to their proximity of age with Simon and Nicholas, their two younger uncles had insisted on first names.

Marco frowned, thinking of Molly. Indeed, he could hardly desert her to such criminal intent. There could be no leaving England until this culprit was unearthed and prevented from doing further harm.

Reluctantly, he realized that their uncle Simon had trusted them to keep this household safe. Having heard the details of what the baroness had done, he understood Simon’s priority being to remove Lady Campbell from the area. The falling jardinère only proved that Simon was not overreacting. His bride might well become a target due to her perceived inferior bloodlines. Not inferior in Marco’s eyes, but in the eyes of someone loyal to the baroness. Having been introduced to her the day before, he could attest that Lady Campbell was an enchanting and intelligent woman who was superior to the more arrogant sons of the nobility he had encountered in Florence. But the dead baroness had not viewed it that way.

Angelo interrupted his thoughts with an unexpected question. “Do you know why Sebastian and Lorenzo accompanied us?”

“No. Do you?”

His brother shook his head. “They are behaving quite strange. I interrupted yet another argument about the woman and the painting.”

“I do not know, but I think this woman must have something to do with why Sebastian has never returned home. Back in Florence, I saw something in his eyes. Our tall friend is haunted by the past. Perhaps he is nursing a broken heart.”

“He is always in such a good humor. It is difficult to think of him pining after a woman.”

“You forget when he first came to Florence. Back then, he was chasing skirts like a demon. He made me worry about his very soul, not to mention the risk to his health. Thankfully, he relented his pursuits after a few months.”

“It must be quite a woman to capture his heart.”

“Our friend possesses a very large heart. Just like the rest of him.”

Angelo chuckled before sobering again. “What do we do next? How are we to investigate … this?”

He waved at the bare pedestal, returning Marco’s attention to the devil dogging his heels since his arrival on English shores.

“I do not know. I suppose we are waiting for Nicholas to read those journals. In the meantime, we must maintain our vigilance. Assume that whoever is trying to kill me will try to kill you, too.”

“They have failed twice and they will continue to fail. Fortune favors us, brother.”

“But sharp reflexes are essential. Mamma will curse me to the deepest depths of Dante’s hell if I allow anything to happen to you.”