Desiring Lady Caro (3 page)

This time di Venier was able to make his way through to his quarry, but when the marchese asked Caro to promenade, she raised an imperious brow and refused, going back to her conversation. Not long afterward, he apparently received the same answer. He headed toward the card room, but not before a calculating leer entered his eyes.

The marchese reminded Huntley strongly of another man who thought all women were his for the taking. It might be helpful to try to find out a little more information about di Venier. “Chuffy, I don’t suppose you have anyone like a Bow Street Runner here who could be hired for a private investigation?”

His friend rubbed his chin for a moment. “No, though I believe I can put you in touch with a man. More of a thief-taker, but very effective.”

“That will do.”

Chuffy ambled off to the card room and Huntley walked out onto the terrace, drawn once again by the Grand Canal. His curiosity was starting to get the better of him, and he could not stop wondering why Caro was so against men. His hands, braced on the railing, tightened into fists as he watched the moonlight play on the rippling water.

“My lord, how wonderful to see you here.”

Glancing to his side, he was not particularly pleased to see Lady Darling. They’d had an affair for a few months, but they’d parted company more than a year ago. Her fan waved languidly, drawing attention to her barely contained breasts. Her skirts clung to her form. She must have taken to dampening her petticoats. He was much more interested in what Caro’s shape would look like under her demure silk gown.

Bowing, he took the hand Lady Darling offered and raised it to his lips. “My lady,” he murmured. “I didn’t know you’d left England.”

They stood at an angle to the terrace doors, facing the canal. Her eyes fixed on his face before dropping to his lips and then lower, stripping him with her gaze. Despite her ladyship’s abundant charms, his body failed to respond to what was a clear invitation.

“London was becoming a dead bore. But”—she stepped so close to him, her ample bosom pressed into his chest—“it is always nice to see old friends.”

Keeping a polite smile on his face, he took a step back. “Indeed.”

She leaned into him, and tapped the now furled fan on his chest while moving her other hand down his jacket and over his breeches. Whispering huskily, she said, “Come see me some afternoon, Huntley. I am much better company than the Ice Maiden.” Lady Darling pouted. “I do not understand why she attracts so much male attention.”

He glanced in the direction her head was turned and saw Caro staring at them. Their eyes met for a brief moment before she looked away, and he turned back to Lady Darling. In stark contrast to Caro’s restrained beauty, Lady Darling’s obvious sensuality appeared tawdry.

Angling herself so that one hand was hidden from the room, she stroked between his legs. He grabbed her hand, pulling it away from him. Breathing in sharply, her lips parted, waiting for him to kiss her.

God, if he were so inclined, he could probably push her into the shadows and take her. Huntley kept his voice low. “Try not to be so easy, m’dear. Gentlemen like a challenge.”

Opening her eyes wide, she purred, “Don’t you remember how good it was?”

“I remember how expensive it was. You’ll have to find someone else to fill your jewel box and plow your field.” He dropped his hand, stepped back, and bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, my lady?”

Striding back inside, he joined his aunt and Caro. Caro widened her eyes. “I’m surprised Lady Darling let you go so soon.”

“Are you indeed?” Huntley resisted smiling and wondered what prompted that remark. “I dance to no woman’s tune.”

“Then we have at least one thing in common,” Caro said. “I dance to no man’s.”

Ah, back to prickly
. Yet the look she’d given him while he was with Lady Darling was not disinterested. What would it take to bring her round?

C
aro struggled not to frown at Huntley as he lounged against the ancient stone wall surrounding one of the many gardens of the church of Santa Maria dei Penitenti, a hospice for fallen women. She visited the hospice at least a couple of times a week to help out with the children abandoned by the war. A small, dark-haired boy sat on her lap as she read to him, as a hen leading her chicks bustled by.

She glanced up as Huntley turned. Ever since his contretemps with the Marchese di Venier, Huntley had taken to accompanying her to her various activities. She wished he would not insist on going almost everywhere with her. Both men needed to stop acting like dogs over a bone. Though she had to admit, Huntley was helpful in keeping the marchese away from her.

The problem was, his very presence disturbed her. It was as if her nerves were on edge whenever he was near her. Just now, for instance, she had been engrossed in reading to the child; then he moved, drawing her attention away. Drat the man. Huntley had told Godmamma that he would leave in a few weeks to travel to Florence. Well, good. Then he wouldn’t be around to bother her anymore.

She’d received letters from both Phoebe, now the Countess of Evesham, and Grace, Countess of Worthington, asking if he’d arrived. Huntley was apparently a good friend of their husbands. Both her friends had families, husbands, and children. Almost everyone Caro knew was married. Her throat tightened. Just as she should be. If only it was possible.

She kissed the little boy and put him down, holding her arms out to a small girl. This was the closest Caro would ever get to having children.

She glanced at Huntley and frowned. Why did he just stand there doing nothing? Probably because he’d never entertained children before. She grinned to herself, and said in her sweetest voice, “Lord Huntley, would you not like to read to some of the children?”

He looked around at her, his gaze steady. A slow smile touched his lips. “Of course, I would love to read to them.”

Caro signaled to a groundskeeper for another chair and gave him a book. One of the little girls climbed up into his lap. Caro bent her head and returned to the story, waiting to see how Huntley enjoyed reading. To her surprise, he used different voices for each of the characters. A rich timbre for the hero and a low, gravelly voice for the giant; his tone rose higher for the heroine. Other children gathered around as he stamped his feet on the ground. So much for trying to put him out. Let that be a lesson to her for making assumptions.

“You’ve had practice.”

He smiled. “I have younger brothers and sisters.”

“It shows.” She returned his smile. “You’re very good.”

Her heart thumped hard when he broadened his grin. She shook her head and went back to the book. There was no point in even thinking of Huntley.

Huntley studied Caro as she held the child on her lap. He’d used all his skill, and it was finally paying off. She was softening toward him, but it hadn’t been easy. Maybe that was part of her allure. Though aside from that, her bloodlines were excellent. God, he sounded like his grandfather. The plain fact was he didn’t know why he was so attracted to her. Though with any luck, in a few more weeks he’d start courting her in earnest. Well hell. His friends had been right. Running away hadn’t helped at all. Fate was bound to catch a man out.

 

His aunt hadn’t joked when she said they were gadabouts. Balls, drums, soirées, as well as picnics occupied their time. On the evenings Huntley wasn’t escorting his aunt and Caro to one entertainment or another, he normally met with a group of men his age. As in London, there were usually several events each evening.

It seemed uncanny how di Venier appeared at each one Caro attended, until, as he, Horatia, and Caro were leaving one evening, Huntley noticed men watching the house. What was worse, the marchese, rather than taking the hint, became more assiduous in pressing his attentions on Caro, thus hindering Huntley’s own efforts. He frequently stood with his aunt and Caro, trying to lend what support he could as she determinedly refused di Venier’s invitations time and time again.

Though di Venier accepted Caro’s latest rebuffs with a smile, the black look on his countenance when he turned away concerned Huntley. The man was up to something, and Huntley needed to discover what it was. With any luck, the thief-taker he’d hired to investigate the marchese would send a report soon.

“You needn’t hover over me, Huntley.” Frustration was evident in Caro’s tone. “I am capable of taking care of myself.”

Resisting the urge to smile, he glanced down at her. “I am not hovering.”

“Well, it feels as if you are.” She pressed her lips together. “You’ll cause a scene if you continue to look at the Marchese di Venier as if you’d like to run him through.”

That was exactly what Huntley would like to do—skewer the man on his blade, or put a hole in him, but he’d probably have to settle for drawing his cork. All his instincts told him the marchese was a danger to Caro.

He flicked a piece of dust from his coat. “I don’t trust him.”

She rubbed her temple. “No, but what can di Venier do, after all?” Her lovely turquoise eyes met his gaze. “I shall continue declining his invitations and he will eventually go away. All men do. You do not need to feel responsible for me.”

That’s where she was mistaken. “Humph.”

Caro sighed and glanced around. “Here is Godmamma with Mrs. Stringer. Please, go talk to your friends.”

She plastered a smile on her face and turned to welcome the two ladies.

Though he did as she requested, he positioned himself to keep an eye on whoever approached her.

The next night they entered the ballroom of a
palazzo
overlooking the other end of the Grand Canal from his aunt’s house. The rooms were alight with chandeliers of crystal and gold. Wall sconces and gilded mirrors made the room brighter and appear larger. The ornate plaster ceiling was decorated with paintings extolling the family’s history, the scenes separated by gold-adorned plaster reliefs. A series of doors led to the deep balcony overlooking the canal.

Though Huntley once again saw men watching Horatia’s palazzo, di Venier was not yet present. After waiting until the ladies were settled, Huntley approached a group of gentlemen.

“Huntley, welcome,” Chuffy said. “We haven’t seen you much.”

He shook his friend’s hand and greeted the other gentlemen. Two of the men were discussing their plans to leave Venice and travel to Florence, when Chuffy tapped his arm and motioned him away from the group. “Di Venier is after Lady Caro again.”

Huntley turned to see di Venier grab Caro’s arm. She jerked it away, anger infusing her countenance.

Rage at di Venier coursed through him. “Excuse me.”

The devil with diplomatic relations. No man treated a lady—especially Caro—like that. With a few long strides, he reached her side. The marchese gripped her arm again, and she struggled to free it. Horatia said something to di Venier. Whatever it was, wasn’t working.

Caro jerked her arm again, her voice icy. “I do not wish to stroll with you, my lord. A
gentleman
would have accepted my answer the first time.”

Before di Venier could respond, Huntley hit the marchese’s elbow, breaking the man’s hold on Caro’s arm. He glowered down on the marchese. “I think it’s time we had a talk, my lord.”

Di Venier glared but followed Huntley out to the terrace, scowling. “This is none of your affair. You are no relation to her. You have
no right
to interfere with me.”

The blood in Huntley’s veins heated to boiling and his muscles clenched, ready to do battle, but he tried to keep his temper under control. “Lady Caro resides with my aunt and is under her protection. That gives me the right.”

Di Venier sneered and turned to go back inside. “I do not recognize your claim.”

Huntley latched on to di Venier’s shoulder and growled. “I don’t care whether you recognize it or not. She is mine to protect. Don’t push me, di Venier. Leave Lady Caroline alone, or your life will become extremely unpleasant.”

Shaking Huntley’s hand off, the man turned. “I will have her one way or another. Stay out of my business.” Di Venier’s lips curled. “You are nothing here,
Englishman
.”

That was all the reason Huntley needed. He drove his fist into the marchese’s jaw. Di Venier fell back against the rail, then slumped to the floor.

Huntley shook out his hand, entered the ballroom and glanced around, relieved to find Horatia and Caro gone.

Almost immediately, Chuffy came up to him. “The man’s mad. I’m glad you planted him a facer.”

Huntley smiled grimly. “He’s not going to give up, and even with the Austrians in charge, his family has too much wealth and power. There must be some way to find out what he’s planning.”

Chuffy furrowed his brow. “Have you received a report yet?”

“No. I’ll send a message that I need something immediately.”

Slapping Huntley’s back, Chuffy nodded. “Good idea. Try to keep the ladies close to the
palazzo
for a few days if you can. Our marchese is not going to be happy about what happened to-night.”

“I’ll do what I can.” It was mid-October, and he’d originally planned to leave for Florence in another week. Yet even if his interest hadn’t turned to Caro, his duty was clear. He could not leave his aunt and Lady Caro without his protection. “What a nuisance it is to have to guard a female who doesn’t appreciate it.”

Yet that was a lie. He’d do anything to protect Caro, no matter her reaction.

He left the ball and took a
gondola
directly to his aunt’s
palazzo
. He was in his chamber when voices from the balcony below floated up.

“Oooh,” Caro ground out. “I should have punched him myself.”

Horatia laughed. “I’m sure that would have made you feel much better.”

“It would have caused a scandal,” Caro said in a rueful voice.

“That too. Maybe it was better Huntley did it.”

“It is not fair. Gentlemen have all the fun.”

Caro moved to the balustrade, giving him a good view of her rosy lips pursed into a pout.

His lips twitched as he held back a shout of laughter. “I know of at least one lady who would have planted him a facer.”

She glanced up and crossed her arms across her chest, which had the effect of enhancing her already generous bosom. “Eavesdropping, Huntley?”

He grinned. “I couldn’t help it.” He climbed over his rail and dropped down to the balcony below. “Do you wish me to show you how to knock him down?”

Caro slid him a sidelong gaze. “Would you really?”

“Only if you promise not to use your new-found knowledge on me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What if you do something that would cause me to hit you?”

“In that case, you have my permission.” He studied Caro for a moment. Her eyes had a warlike sparkle he didn’t usually see. “I have one more stipulation.”

Her chin rose. “And that is?”

“You must promise to allow me to hit him if I’m present.”

“
Men
.” She hugged Horatia. “I’m for my bed.”

Once Caro was gone, he poured a glass of wine. “Is Caro all right?”

“Caro is shaken but determined to hide it. It is a pity di Venier has fixed his attention on her. I wish we’d gone to Lake Garda after all.”

Huntley took a swig of the chilled, dry white wine. His jaw clenched. “He’s up to something. I’ve no proof, but I can feel it in my bones.”

He finished the glass and poured another. What he wanted was brandy. He’d have to send Maufe out to find some. “I have a man investigating him. I should hear from him soon.”

Horatia sipped her wine quietly for a few moments. “I shall do so as well. This is a small and normally safe city. If he plans something nefarious, surely word will leak out.”

“But will we discover it in time?”

His aunt sighed and shook her head. “Perhaps we’ll stay home for a few nights.”

“I think that would be best.”

 

Early the next morning, Huntley finally received the information he had been waiting for. He stared down at the documents, almost unable to credit the report. Di Venier had murdered a girl ready to take her vows as a nun. Damn. This was worse than any of them could have guessed. The man had no honor at all.

“Maufe, please tell Lady Horatia I need to speak with her immediately.”

Ten minutes later, as he sat on the balcony drinking coffee, she joined him. “Have you heard anything?”

“Yes.” He handed her the report.

After reading it, her lips formed a thin line. “That poor woman. I wish I could say I’m surprised. Some men hold the lives of those beneath them cheaply. Particularly a woman’s life. It says here, di Venier thought she was a prostitute. He’d have seen her as the dirt under his feet. I’ve received news as well. There has been some chatter concerning the marchese leaving Venice.” His aunt’s brows drew together. “That to me is very strange, and I do not believe it. I think we shall go to my villa at Lake Garda for a few weeks. Perhaps by the time we return, his attention will be diverted to a more suitable lady.”