Loving the Earl: A Loveswept Historical Romance Page 22

  He knocked on the ceiling then hopped out when the driver stopped.

  His steps were light but his heart was anything but. He told the driver the directions then climbed back into the coach.

  “The coachman is familiar with the location and says it’s not far. We can get there by carriage without having to utilize the gondolas.”

  She smiled at him again, making his heart clench.

  The carriage rumbled down the cobbled streets and Claire continued to stare out the window, exclaiming at the sights. He loved her excitement, her joy at the little things in life. He loved her enthusiasm. He loved her.

  It’d taken everything he had to keep from telling her of his love for fear it would send her running away. So he’d kept their conversation light, impersonal when, for him, it was anything but.

  He loved Claire for who she was, not what she was.

  The carriage pulled to the side and stopped. Claire bounded out before Nathan had a chance to help her down. She stared up at the tall buildings, the canal, the bridge across it and the people strolling down the street in the twilight hour.

  Venice was a city that rarely slept. The revelries of nearby balls and gaming halls drifted on the heavy, ocean-scented air. Nathan had been to Venice a few times. He’d gambled in the popular Ridotto and other such gaming halls. But seeing Claire experience the city for the first time erased his usual cynicism and brought back the wonder of the beautiful city.

  She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, her smile radiant. “This is so lovely. It’s everything Gabrielle described in her letters. Look at the buildings. They appear to be floating on the water.”

  She turned in a circle, then eyed the nizioleto, the writing on the corner of the edifice indicating the calle, or street, and the name of the building. “This is it,” she said. “This is where Gabrielle lives.”

  A cry from down the calle bounced off the nearby buildings and a dark-haired, petite woman rushed forward, arms flung out.

  “Claire!”

  Claire opened her arms and the small bundle slammed into her, nearly tumbling Claire to the ground.

  The two babbled. The small woman, who Nathan assumed was Gabrielle, spoke in a combination of English and Italian.

  They talked over each other yet seemed to have no problem understanding each other. They laughed. They cried. They talked some more.

  “I am so thrilled you are here,” Gabrielle said, then frowned. “I worried about you. You are late.”

  Claire’s brows came down. “Late? But you didn’t even know I was coming.”

  Gabrielle patted Claire’s cheek. “Ah, but I did. Your brother arrived days ago all in a frenzy, looking for you as if I had you hidden under the bed. He was molto upset.”

  Nathan’s heart stuttered. Sebastian was here? Now?

  As if his thoughts conjured his friend, Sebastian rounded the corner, his brows drawn, his lips curved downward.

  Claire took a step back, her smile draining away.

  Sebastian’s steps faltered when he caught sight of Nathan and a smile lifted his frown. “Blythe! I should say what a surprise, but then I shouldn’t be surprised. When I asked you to watch out for Claire, I didn’t mean for you to chase her across three countries.”

  Claire’s head snapped around and she frowned at him.

  Sebastian pounded him on the back. “You’ve gone beyond the call of duty, my friend.” He turned to Claire. “As for you—”

  Claire held up her hand, stopping whatever Sebastian was about to say. “You sent Lord Blythe after me? To watch out for me?”

  “I got wind that you were going to escape your old nanny so I asked Blythe to keep an eye on you. The poor man. Really, Claire, you don’t think, do you?”

  Those green eyes pinned Nathan with a look of such pain and accusation that Nathan felt it slice all the way through him. “Claire—”

  She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “My apologies, my lord. I had no idea I was such a burden.”

  “You know that’s not true. This …” He swept his hand out to the side. “It’s not what you think.”

  She folded her hands in front of her, the haughty expression not once faltering. Her shoulders went back and it was as if she pulled a shield around her. He physically felt the distance between them widen until it was a gulf of immense proportions.

  “What I think is that you had an agreement with my brother.”

  A beat of silence passed, a hesitation that cost him everything. He should have denied immediately, should have said something. Instead he hesitated and didn’t play his hand to his best advantage. It was all she needed to convict him.

  Claire turned to Gabrielle, but not before she could mask the flash of pain that twisted her face. “I’m finding I’m quite exhausted from my travels, Gabrielle. Do you mind if we retire inside?”

  Gabrielle looked from Claire to Nathan, her dark eyes seeing too much, understanding too much. Her heavy gaze seemed to weigh Nathan before she turned back to Claire. “Certainly, cara. We will leave the men to themselves while we catch up with each other.” She shot Nathan a sympathetic look, then pinned Sebastian with a piercing look.

  Sebastian stepped forward. “Claire—”

  “Let her be, Addison.” Nathan watched Claire walk away, wanting nothing more than to snatch her back, but that would make him as heavy-handed as Richard. Instead he let her go, his heart so heavy it felt like a leaden ball in his chest.

  Sebastian stared at Nathan, horror dawning. “You son of a bitch.”

  Nathan ducked the fist that came faster than he’d anticipated but wasn’t fast enough to dodge the follow-up punch that landed in his stomach. He doubled over, stumbled, caught himself on the edge of the carriage and shook his head.

  “When I asked you to watch out for her, I didn’t mean for you to bed her,” Sebastian snarled.

  He had no defense, no words to make right what he’d done. Except the truth. “I love her.”

  Sebastian stilled. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I love her.” He rubbed his stomach and grimaced, not from the pain in his gut but from a completely different and altogether worse pain.

  “What the hell happened?” Sebastian asked.

  “Hell if I know.” He half fell in love with her when she fought off the highwaymen, and fell all the way when she helped him bury their driver. “What do you know of her marriage to Richard?”

  Sebastian shifted his weight to his other foot, the only sign that Nathan’s question took him off guard. “I don’t see what her marriage has to do with any of this.”

  “It has everything to do with this.”

  A long pause followed. The revelries of a few houses down seemed like another life, another world.

  “Claire assured me she was fine, that Richard was fine. That they were …” Sebastian swallowed. “Fine.”

  “He beat her.”

  Sebastian closed his eyes and made a low sound.

  Nathan heaved out a breath. No matter how angry he was at Sebastian, he couldn’t let his friend take all the blame. “Richard threatened to ruin you if she said anything.”

  “She had to know that wouldn’t matter.” Sebastian pressed his lips together and rubbed his fingers over them. “Trouble followed her everywhere. I thought Richard would be good for her.”

  Nathan dropped his head back to look at the clouds scooting across the gray sky. Night was falling. Another day finished. His last day with Claire? Good Lord, he didn’t even want to contemplate tomorrow if Claire wasn’t in it. “She’s angry. At you for asking me to watch out for her and me for not telling her.”

  “She can’t be angry at you. It’s not your fault.”

  “Yes, it is.” She thought she was living her adventure. Being independent. Her own person. Nathan closed his eyes in defeat and despair and the realization that maybe he’d never had her in the first place. Yes, she’d contemplated marrying him but to what end? She would never have been truly happy because she’
d given up her dream of independence for marriage to him.

  Sebastian leaned against the coach beside Nathan. “She’s always been mercurial. I thought strict rules would work but her whimsy was stronger than the rules.” He frowned up at the stars. “After her marriage to Richard she changed. At first I thought she’d finally calmed down. Grew up. But then …” Sebastian paused. “But then I worried. She was too different. The fight had gone out of her. There was a hollowness to her. I asked her if everything was going well and she said it was. I chose to believe her because it was easier.” He surreptitiously swiped at his eyes then pushed away from the coach. “I need to go to her. I need to speak to her.” He turned to Nathan. “Will you accompany me?”

  Nathan shook his head, positive that Claire wasn’t ready to see him yet. If ever. The thought twisted his gut but he pushed it away. “I have someone to see.” He looked down the calle, for the first time not caring about his meeting or the letters. Yet he was also aware that someone had been following him and could still be a threat. He didn’t worry so much about himself but about Claire.

  “Watch out for her.” She would hate to hear him say that. He could almost hear her rebuke, see her eyes narrow in anger, and it made him want to smile.

  Sebastian looked at him with a weariness that burned in his eyes. “You care for her.”

  “I told you. I love her.”

  “And does she love you?”

  Nathan shrugged, looked away. Never in their discussion of marriage had either of them mentioned love. He hadn’t wanted to scare her off, but he had no idea if she loved him. He certainly wished it, but Claire had been burned by love once and he didn’t expect it. Not yet.

  “I don’t know,” he finally said.

  Sebastian put his hand on Nathan’s shoulder and squeezed before turning and walking away. Nathan watched until his friend rounded the corner and disappeared. He sighed and looked around at the shadowed buildings, the moon glinting off the canal.

  And the boy standing across the calle, watching him.

  For the longest time they simply stared at each other. He was dressed the same as when Nathan saw him at Place Dauphine. Same cloak, same hat, same ragged breeches. He stood as still as the statues carved into the building behind him, his face shadowed but still recognizable.

  Nathan tipped his head toward him. “Buona sera.”

  The sound of revelry from a few houses down drifted to them. Music, laughter. But they were alone on the calle. Nothing but moon glow and shadows.

  Nathan stepped closer. “Were you the one who wrote the letters?”

  The boy continued to watch him, not with wariness or concern. Not with any expression. “Rosaria did.”

  “Rosaria?”

  He nodded.

  “Who is Rosaria?”

  “My mother.”

  Another step, close enough to get him within reaching distance. His gaze moved to the boy’s weaponless hands, but Nathan wouldn’t discount the possibility that he had weapons hidden on his body. “The letters indicated you had information on my father’s death.”

  “Rosaria does.”

  “Is Rosaria close by?”

  He raised his arm and pointed down the calle without breaking eye contact.

  “Can you take me to her?”

  The lad tilted his head and studied Nathan, his eyes glittering in the darkness. He dipped his hand in his coat pocket and dug around. Nathan tensed, watching closely until the boy extended his arm out, a folded piece of parchment clasped in his fingers.

  Slowly Nathan took it, shooting him a long, penetrating look before unfolding and reading it. The note was simple, in the same handwriting as the other notes, and possessed only two words.

  Follow Thomas.

  Nathan held up the note. “Rosaria wrote this?”

  Thomas nodded.

  Nathan stepped back and swept his arm out. “Then lead on, Thomas.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Nathan followed Thomas, leaving the comfort of Gabrielle’s street behind and plunging into the shadows of the seamier parts of Venice. He glanced over his shoulder at Gabrielle’s home, the place that held Claire.

  Regrets washed through him but he pushed them away to concentrate on his purpose for being here.

  They passed a gaming hall where three Englishmen stumbled out of the door, singing a bawdy song out of key and out of synch. Thomas edged away, shooting them a wary look as one who’d lived on the street too long to not be cautious of those around him.

  Not once did he look behind to see if Nathan was still there. He obviously could care less if Nathan followed, which put him somewhat at ease. He too skirted the revelers and continued on.

  They descended a set of stone steps that led to the canal, their footsteps ringing in the night, Thomas’s sure and even, Nathan’s a bit more hesitant. Once they reached the bank, Thomas untied a small flat-bottomed boat, a sandolo, and held the ropes, indicating that Nathan should get in.

  Nathan hesitated, looking around. A couple strolled the calle above them, their muted voices intimate and muffled. A gondola floated on the water, the gondolier rowing with desultory strokes.

  Nathan’s gaze returned to Thomas, who was still pointing at the sandolo.

  He didn’t seem to be dangerous but one never knew. Nathan had a stiletto hidden in one boot and a small pistol in the other. He was as protected as he could be. He could turn around here, but if he did, he would never find the answers to his father’s death. If he climbed into the sandolo, he may never see Claire again. Or England.

  Did this Rosaria even exist? Was it all a ruse? But to what end? He was nothing but a gambler and a drunkard who happened to have the good fortune to expand his wealth through his gambling. There were far richer, far bigger targets than him if someone wanted to hold a nobleman for ransom.

  No, this wasn’t about ransom. He had to believe that the letter writer—this Rosaria—was being truthful when she teased him with information about his father’s death. But how did she know? And who was she to his father?

  Standing on the bank of the Canal Grande wasn’t going to get him the answers he sought. Only going to Rosaria would, so he climbed into the boat.

  Thomas pushed away from the dock and picked up the oar, steering them into the middle of the canal. Nathan tried to determine where they were going but everything looked the same in the night. And while he’d been to Venice a few times, his memories were more of the inside of gaming halls and brothels. Eventually he resigned himself to wait it out and see where Thomas took him.

  He thought of Claire, glad that she was with Sebastian and Gabrielle, saddened that whatever happened between them had to end like this. He wished he’d had time to explain. Wished he’d explained from the very beginning that Sebastian had asked him to watch out for her.

  He wished so many things and yet wouldn’t have changed anything because then he would have never experienced his time with her. If he managed to survive this ordeal, he would tell her everything about his conversation with Sebastian, and he would tell her he loved her. If she didn’t love him in return then so be it, but he was done with keeping secrets from her. What Claire needed was someone who believed in her, not someone who thought what was best for her.

  After about a quarter of an hour of rowing, Thomas steered the sandolo toward the bank. The small boat bumped up against the dock and Thomas nimbly hopped out, grabbing the rope and quickly tying it to the dock.

  It seemed darker here. Wherever here was. Shadows were more prevalent, light almost nonexistent. There was no muted laughter, no music, no streetlamps to light their way. The cobblestones were dirtier, rutted and loose, wobbling as Nathan and Thomas walked across them.

  Thomas entered a warped, wooden door from the calle side and ascended a dark, damp stairwell. Nathan hesitated before plunging into the darkness. This was a different world from the one he had just left. Gabrielle lived in the fashionable part of Venice. This was where the common people lived. He made hi
s way up the stairs, running his hand along the wet, mossy wall as he went.

  Thomas pushed open a door. Light spilled out, a lemon-colored wedge penetrating the blackness.

  Nathan followed, blinking into the brightness. He peered around at the shabby furniture, the worn carpets, the faded drapery closed tightly against the darkness outside. At one time the pieces in the room had been the height of fashion and made by the master craftsmen of the time, indicating that whoever lived here had not always been poor.

  A woman stood in the center of the room, her shoulders rounded with age and time, her face lined, her silver hair streaked with black. Her eyes were a blue washed out by the passage of years and circumstance. Like the furniture, there were remnants of the beauty she’d once been.

  She looked up at him, studying him before shuffling forward on feet encased in worn friulane, the velvet house slippers favored by the Venetians. She stood so close that she had to crane her neck to look up at him. She reached up with a gnarled hand and touched his cheek. Her skin was dry and thin.

  “Michael.”

  Nathan stilled. “Michael was my father.”

  She shook her head, those faded blue eyes creasing at the corners when she smiled. “I knew you would come.” Her voice was wispy. At one time it probably would have been described as sensual, but again, time had not been kind to this woman.

  “Rosaria?”

  She tilted her head, studying him. “He called me Rosa.”

  Who called her Rosa? His father? What the hell was going on here? How did this woman know his father? “You sent for me.”

  Her hand had not left his cheek, cupping it as if she didn’t want to let go. “He told me if I ever needed anything to send for him.”

  Nathan swallowed. “Michael’s dead. He died sixteen years ago.”

  The smile faded. A spasm of grief crossed her face. She drew in a deep, pained breath. “You spare no words, do you, son of Michael?”

  “I’ve found brevity to be an advantage at times. How did you know my father?”

  She chuckled, the sound dry, and patted his cheek hard enough to leave a slight sting. “Cheeky. I like that about you. Your father and I …” Her gaze slid away and what was left unsaid was all the answer he needed.