Undercover Cavaliere Page 4

  "Warn me?"

  "Your brother has managed to insult a very powerful man in Batavia. One with a very long reach. He wants you to be guarded as long as you are in England. Just in case."

  "Buffalo? Batavia? But that's--"

  "On the other side of the earth? Very close. But Ramshad is known for his vindictiveness. Sigrid and the children are in hiding and Buffalo is taking precautions, until we can deal with the matter." He waved her to a chair. "It is probably not something you need concern yourself with, but Buffalo wanted to make sure. I've had you watched ever since you arrived in England."

  She couldn't help but smile. "Tall, with a snub nose and a shock of untamable hair? Sometimes wearing a derby?"

  Jonathon chuckled. "Exactly. So you twigged to him. I'll have a word with Alastair."

  Regina sipped at the brandy he'd handed her. Smooth and rich, with a faint, fruity aftertaste. "When I saw him again at Ely, I knew he had to be watching us. That he turned up everywhere we went was just too much of a coincidence. Don't hold it against him, though. Remember who I grew up with. We used to play hide and seek, and one of the rules was that one had to hide in plain sight."

  Jonathon grinned widely. "Aha! Clandestine activity is in the blood then."

  Before she could deny having any inclination to be a spy, there was a tap on the door. They both turned toward it.

  "Come," Jonathon called.

  A tall, dark, handsome man entered, walking with a slight limp. He wore an elaborate military uniform, with golden epaulets on a fitted, royal blue coat. A line of showy medals marched across his left chest. A fringed sash emphasized the lithe slimness of his waist and skin-tight, dove gray trousers showed off long, well-muscled legs. A narrow moustache drew the eye to his full, sensuous mouth.

  Jonathon said, "Miss Lachlan, may I introduce another guest of mine, Maggiore Emilio Masuccio."

  The man bowed. His accent was strong when he said, "It is my honor to meet such a charming young lady, signorina."

  "Ga--" she saw the tiny shake of his head, the chop of Jonathon's hand, and changed the word into a cough. "I beg your pardon." A pause while she pretended to clear her throat. "How do you do, sir? It is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

  For a small eternity the three of them spoke inanities, while servants traversed the hallway outside the half-open door, carrying luggage to bedrooms. Regina was on the edge of a scream or a descent into babbling hysteria--she couldn't decide which would feel best--when an elegant gray-haired man stepped inside.

  "Madam's bedchamber is prepared, my lord," he announced in a tone that gave his ordinary words great consequence.

  "Splendid," Jonathon said. "Emilio, you will excuse us? Come, Regina. I'll show you to your room."

  The stairway to what she'd learned was called the first floor was wide, curving marble. That to the second floor was polished oak, but no less impressive, with its ornately carved balusters and finials. "And I thought our house in Boise was fancy," she said, not exactly awed, but certainly impressed.

  Jonathon chuckled. "I had nothing to do with this. The house is very little changed since my grandfather's time. Father insists he was much more comfortable in the cabin he and Buffalo Jones shared." He led her down a long corridor and opened a door halfway down. "I've had them put you well distant from your young charges. You must be ready for a respite from their youthful enthusiasm."

  "Not that I'll admit," she said with a laugh. "Oh, how lovely!" The room was decorated in soft peach and pale green. The canopied bed and a satin chaise longue offered comfort and rest, and a wide window seat gave a view of the gardens to the rear of the great house. "If the bed is as comfortable as the room is attractive, I may never leave."

  "I would really rather you did not." Jonathon's reply was far more serious and more enthusiastic than her comment warranted.

  She looked at him and saw that he was not joking. He really would rather she stay here.

  * * * *

  Dinner was interesting. Gabe played his role to the hilt, acting the arrogant Italian major, speaking heavily accented English with frequent mispronunciations and misunderstandings. The young American ladies were delighted with him.

  Regina was not amused.

  He knew her well enough to recognize the fulminating temper she was concealing behind a façade of icy politeness.

  The politeness was aimed only at him. She was flirting shamelessly with Jonathon. He wanted to ask her if she was aware that their host was betrothed, about to be married. Instead he praised Miss Witherspoon's wit, Miss Tomlinson's beauty.

  The gentlemen retired to the drawing room with the ladies, foregoing port and cigars. Miss Tomlinson played the piano with all the lively spirit of a marionette. Miss Witherspoon recited a poem with heartfelt emotion, but little understanding of its symbolism. Regina declined to entertain.

  Conversation languished, until Jonathon suggested a game of Whist. Gabe relinquished his place to Regina and retired to a chair by the fire to watch them play.

  She had lost weight since he'd last seen her. Her cheekbones were more prominent, giving her a look of her father, and her waist was even smaller. If it weren't for her generous breasts, she would appear willowy.

  His palms tingled at the tactile memory of that abundance, clasped within his long fingers, turgid nipples boring into the center of his palms.

  He crossed his legs and stared into the fire.

  He was insane to have come here. Their meeting in London had been necessary, but now he should be on his way to Paris, not lingering in England. But Gina was here.

  He must have dozed, for the noise of chairs sliding across the polished floor startled him. The game was over. The tea tray had been bought in.

  "But I thought teatime was in the afternoon," Miss Tomlinson said.

  Jonathon said, "You arrived just too late for it. That is why I had refreshments sent to your room."

  "Aunt Flower told us how your father always had his tea before bedtime. She still serves it then, sometimes," Regina said. She moved to the sofa behind the tea tray.

  "And she taught you the tradition?"

  "She did." She smiled at their host. "We always had before-bed tea when we visited the Kings. She had a Spode tea set--I believe your father sent it to her, Jonathon--and she would bring it out on special occasions."

  Gabe accepted the cup she prepared him, amused that she had not asked him, as she had Jonathon, how he took it. Her hoped she could read what was in his eyes. "Grazie, signorina. This is a most pleasant custom. Of course, in Italia..."

  "You'd be swilling down a rough red," Jonathon said with a wide grin.

  "Not at all. Never, when ladies are present. You must remember that our meals are eaten later, and served with wine. Afterward there is perhaps a liqueur, comfits, even a bit of cheese and fruit. But never something so...so stimulating as tea."

  "Are your dinners like ours, Magg...Major?" Little Miss Witherspoon seemed more intelligent than the other girl. At least she wasn't so fond of herself.

  "They are not so grand, except, perhaps, in the great houses. In my home we might have antipasti, insalata, a pasta dish, meat and bread. Ahhh, you have not eaten until you have tasted good Italian bread, baked in an oven made of clay and tile. And as I said, afterward, something light, so that one does not retire with a full belly."

  The girls both giggled, and he smiled. "I misspoke, did I not. Should I have said, stomach?"

  "You should have said nothing at all," Jonathon said. "One does not refer to body parts in polite conversation." He sent Gabe a wink on the side away from the girls.

  "Somehow I fail to imagine a man such as yourself being content with a bit of cheese and fruit after your meal. It seems almost..." Gina shrugged, and her mouth twisted in that little moue that always told him she was getting ready to cut him off at the knees. "Effeminate isn't quite the word I was seeking, but I'm sure you understand what I'm trying to say."

  The glare he sent her should hav
e scorched her skin. "Indeed. How familiar you seem with our customs." He rose. "I find I am fatigued Please excuse me, ladies. Shall I see you at breakfast?"

  His departure reminded them of the time, and as he left the salon he heard Regina herding the girls toward their beds.

  I'll give her an hour. And then...

  He and Miss Lachlan had some talking to do.

  Chapter Four

  The sharp rap on her door made Regina jump, even though she'd been expecting it. She pulled it open and glared at her midnight caller. "Do you have any idea what the girls would say if they saw you here? I'd lose all credibility with them."

  "Why do you think I had Jonathon put you so far from them?" He shouldered past her. "Shut the door."

  "What happened to your fancy Italian accent."

  "Gina... Oh, the hell with it." He caught her in his arms and pulled her hard against him. Before she could do more than open her mouth to yell, he had covered it. Had sunk his tongue deep inside. Had backed her against the bed and tumbled her onto it.

  She gave herself up to the kiss. She'd missed him so much in the past two years. More than she ever had before, in all the years since he'd gone away. She'd felt as if part of herself was missing. "Gabe," she whispered, when he finally released her mouth and was exploring her throat with lips and tongue.

  "Hmmm?"

  She shoved at his shoulders. "Stop this. Get off me." Which was the last thing she wanted, but the first thing she needed. She couldn't think straight with him so close.

  With a final nip at the edge of her jaw, he rolled away and sat up. "I didn't mean to do that."

  "No, I don't imagine you did. You've far too suave to treat a lady like a--" His hand over her mouth made her swallow the crude word she'd been about to use. "What are you up to, Gabe? Is this more of your spy games?"

  "They aren't games. And no, this has nothing--or very little--to do with them. You know I don't want you to go to Paris, but I realize that's asking too much."

  Grinning wickedly, he wrapped a long arm around her waist and pulled her closer." I had to see you again. That's all."

  "Oh. Gabe, nothing's changed. All this will do is make us both miserable." Even as she spoke, she shivered in delight. His hands were warm on her skin, soothing, and-- "Gabe!" She rolled off the bed and to her feet. Her shirtwaist fell forward and she had to grab at the collar to cover herself. "You... You rake!"

  It was all she could do to keep from laughing, though, for he'd worked so cleverly that she hadn't even noticed him undoing her buttons all the way to her waist.

  Turning her back, she said, "Button me."

  Instead he leaned down and kissed her, light, butterfly kisses on each knob of her spine. Shivers turned into little prickles of delight as he worked his way down. She knew she should step away, but instead she grabbed the bedpost and held on for dear life.

  His fingers again worked their magic and soon her shirtwaist was completely unbuttoned and her skirt was sliding down over her hips. I'll make him stop on a minute. In just a minute.

  When his hands clasped her bare shoulders and he turned her to face him, she hadn't the strength to resist.

  And when he untied her petticoat, released the tapes of her modest bustle, she helped him pull them from her body and toss them onto the chaise.

  "Ah, Gina, I've missed you."

  "You knew where I was." She hadn't forgiven him for leaving her. Probably never would. Knew she should be keeping him at a distance. But this was Gabe. The only man she'd ever loved. The only man she could ever love.

  Their brief encounter during his visit two years ago had been a time of learning, a time to explore and to experiment. Now they knew each other's bodies, knew the secret places where a mere touch would enhance desire. There was no hesitancy this time. Only a deep, abiding hunger that both knew one night would not satisfy.

  Perhaps, she thought, in a last moment of coherence, a lifetime would not be enough.

  In the next moment he touched her a certain way, and she forgot how to think. She could only feel.

  His hands were skilled, but even more important, they were his hands. They belonged on her body, were created to touch, to tease, to tempt her. Only his hands.

  Only his mouth, hot on her breasts, suckling until she wondered if he would pull her very soul into himself. Wet on her belly, as he licked his way down her body. Hot when he found the pulsing core of her.

  She screamed. Soared. Disintegrated.

  And then he entered her and they became one. Together they sought, and found, completion.

  Perhaps she slept. Perhaps they both did. She woke to his kiss.

  "Will you marry me, Gina?"

  She forced her eyes open, fighting the delicious lethargy his loving had elicited. "Not if I have to live in Europe."

  "We couldn't live together in the United States. You know that."

  "Surely there is somewhere..."

  "No, there's not. Haven't you listened to Lulu? Don't you remember what Tony faced. Hell, Soomey and Silas can't live together in Idaho Territory, and if they didn't pay out a fortune in bribes, they wouldn't be able to keep their apartment in San Francisco.

  "Wake up, Regina. In Italy, I'm Gabriello Caesario, and I belong. Thanks to the Coalition, as far as the government knows--or cares--I'm a citizen. No one would blink twice if I took an American wife. In fact, they'd probably think it very clever of me, especially if I told them what a rich family she comes from."

  He'd paced the width of the room as he spoke, and now he leaned on the window sill, his naked back to her. She couldn't help but admire his tight buttocks, his long, strong legs. Earlier she'd noticed that he hardly limped at all.

  "Lulu and Tony can get away with being married because they aren't lily-white like you. But don't think life is easy for them. Even with your pa's influence in Boise, they'll never be seen as anything but niggers. And God save them if they ever step out of their place."

  Stunned, she had to swallow twice before her tongue could shape words. "I... I knew that there were people who looked down on them, but no one ever said... There's never been... Surely you're mistaken."

  He spun around, magnificent in his nakedness. "Mistaken? Where the hell have you been. Playing ostrich? The damned Ku Klux Klan is lynching Negroes who aspire to anything more than poverty and menial work. What about the anti-Chinese riots? Look at what happened in Seattle in March. Do you believe that couldn't happen anywhere, anytime mob rule takes over from common sense?

  "Mistaken? Not bloody damn likely!"

  "I read about those, of course, but surely in Boise--"

  "Oh, hell, believe what you will." He came to her, went to one knee beside the bed upon which she sat. "Regina, we've so little time. Only two nights before you have to rejoin your damned tour. Must we argue?"

  She reached out to touch his hair, loosely waving, and black as coal. She'd always been fascinated by it, because it had the texture of fine wire, yet was slick and thick. He kept it close-clipped so it wouldn't stand out from his head like a wild mane. "Gabe, I do love you, but I can't marry you. I've a job in Boise, a career I love. There's nothing for me in Italy. I'm not the stuff of our mothers. I couldn't be the kind of wife to you that my mother is to Pa. I worked too hard, spent too many years getting an education to simply give it up."

  "In other words, you don't love me enough."

  "Perhaps I love you all I am capable of." With her hands on his cheeks, she pulled gently, so that he rose and stood before her. "Can you settle for that? Tonight, and tomorrow night?"

  "Do I have a choice?"

  "You always have a choice."

  "Then I will take what I can get, for now. But Gina..."

  "Yes?"

  "I'm not giving up." His hands were like steel shackles on her upper arms as he pulled her to her feet and close to him. She felt him hard against her belly and knew she would get little sleep tonight.

  * * * *

  Lady Araminta Wykeham, Jonathon's elder si
ster, lived about nine miles away. She had invited all the young ladies of the neighborhood to meet the American visitors for an afternoon of tea and conversation. Minerva and Pamela were delighted. Regina enjoyed meeting Araminta, but otherwise she was bored. She never had been interested in shopping or fashions, let alone balls. Her idea of an enjoyable afternoon was a vigorous tramp through the countryside or a gallop along the river.

  Besides, she'd much rather be with Gabe. Every hour that passed was one less hour for them to be together, perhaps for the last time in their lives.

  When this trip was over, she would go back to Boise, to spend the rest of her years as a spinster schoolmarm. But not as a maiden, thank God.

  By the time they returned to Heatherwood, she was bargaining with herself. If Gabe was waiting on the steps, she would agree to a week in Italy with him. She'd stay two weeks with him if he told her he loved her before dinner.

  If he asked her to marry him again, she would... She would say...

  No. I can't. What would I do, with no work, nothing worthwhile to do with my life?

  "I can't even speak Italian," she wailed.

  A maid, carrying linens toward the girls' bedrooms, looked at her curiously. Regina ignored her and entered her big, lovely--empty--room.

  Where is he?

  As she changed into a dinner dress, she kept pausing to peek out her door, into an empty corridor. Thrice she drew back the curtain and leered into the garden. Also empty.

  Where is he?

  In the drawing room, flirting with Minerva and Pamela, that's where he was. By the time she walked in and found him there, she was seeing red and ready to kill.

  So she smiled and gave her hand to Maggiore Masuccio to kiss. When he licked her fingers, she pinched his. Hard.

  "Wha--"

  She could see him grit his teeth.

  "Was your afternoon party pleasant, Signorina Lachlan?"

  "Very much so. And how did you spend your day, major?"

  "I had correspondence...ah, letters to scribe?"