Girolamo, a short, wiry man of middle years, sat tugging on his left earlobe as his rheumy eyes studied every man within twenty feet of them. His gaze fell only briefly on the ladies, and only on those of tender years with wide smiles and sparkling dark eyes. He had sworn to the earl that the madonna would always be safe in his company, and he had no intention of violating that trust.
Cassie gave her attention to the soberly dressed gentlemen and ladies who walked past their table, many of their faces moist from exertion. Light women’s chatter floated across the narrow lane above her head, from the crowded balconies of opposing houses.
“Buon giorno, signorina,” came a soft, melodious voice.
Cassie slewed her head about to see the Contessa Giusti standing above her. She remembered every venomous word that lady had spoken to her that long ago evening at the Villa Parese, but forced herself to nod coolly.
“It is fine weather, is it not, signorina?” Giovanna continued, undaunted. She felt a flush of excitement that the English girl was here at last, in Genoa, and not tucked away out of her reach at the Villa Parese.
“Il tempo e cattivissimo,” Cassie agreed. She watched the contessa’s slender fingers lightly touch the exquisite lace that fell in gathered layers from her plunging bodice.
Giovanna airily dismissed her maid and gazed toward the frowning Girolamo. “Surely, signorina, you do not need this ferocious man to guard you from me.”
Girolamo opened his mouth to protest, knowing well that no good could come from the madonna talking with the earl’s former mistress, but Cassie stopped him. Short of being blatantly rude, she saw no way of turning away the contessa.
“Girolamo,” she said, forcing lightness to her voice, “I fear that the lemonade is not quite to your liking. Across the street is a cafe that, I believe, might sell something a bit more invigorating.”
“Sí, madonna,” Girolamo said reluctantly. He searched the street for Scargill, and with one last harassed look at the smiling contessa, took himself off.
“Madonna,” Giovanna mused aloud, as she sat herself gracefully in the seat vacated by Girolamo. “How terribly quaint. Did you choose the name yourself, signorina?”
“No,” Cassie said shortly.
“You are not often in Genoa, signorina.”
“I find that there is a lot to occupy me at the Villa Parese.”
“Ah. But the earl, I believe, now spends much of his time in Genoa, dealing with business affairs and other matters. It appears that the Villa Parese does not hold the attractions for him that it used to.”
Cassie’s fingers tightened about the slender glass at the contessa’s words. She raised wary eyes to Giovanna’s perfect oval face, but said nothing.
“His lordship gives you no explanation for his many absences?”
“I believe, signora, that you can speak more plainly.”
“It is said, signorina, that the only ones to stir during siesta are mad dogs and Englishmen. Now I discover that the English also take little delight in the art of conversation, that they are, lamentably, overly blunt.”
“Perhaps you will allow me to add, signora, that the English find no delight in petty, veiled insults. If that is your Italian notion of conversational art, then I must bow to your superb abilities.”
Giovanna’s eyes darkened dangerously. “How dare you, you little slut?”
Cassie forced herself to smile. “There, you see, my dear contessa, you are already learning English honesty. ‘Slut,’ though, is hardly a suitable epithet, I daresay. Mayhap you are thinking of your own propensities.”
“At least, signorina, I was honorably married, whereas you—” Giovanna let her voice trail off.
“Whereas I what?” Though her stomach was beginning to churn, Cassie’s voice was even. She made to rise, realizing that there was no reason in the world for her to remain to be insulted further.
Giovanna fanned her slender hands before her and allowed a wide smile to reveal her teeth.
“Are you so afraid to learn the truth, signorina, that you must run and hide yourself?”
“Very well, signora.” Cassie eased herself back into her chair. “If you know of a truth, I will gladly hear it.”
Giovanna’s voice was clear and taunting. “You will never be the Countess of Clare, you little English nobody. The earl is a discerning man, and he has come to his senses. It is I who will have that honor. I have shared his bed for some months now and soon I will share his name. He feels only pity for you now, my girl, pity and frustration because he cannot easily rid himself of you.”