had only seen two male servants leave and return. “And when was this, my lady? I did not know she planned to leave Venice.”
Lady Horatia took a sip of her coffee. “We had been awaiting my nephew’s arrival and had no opportunity to visit my villa this summer. Of course, with the weather being so much cooler, it was not a hardship to remain in Venice, but Lord Huntley wished to see the lake. He and Lady Caroline decided to travel ahead of me. I shall leave to-morrow to join them.”
Suppressed anger infused him. It was a lie, he knew it. “But why is she traveling with him? They are not yet married.”
“Oh, but, my lord”—her ladyship made an airy gesture with her hand—“they are betrothed, and she has her maid with her.”
The woman was so calm, he almost believed her. But, no, even Englishmen had some passion in them, and Huntley hadn’t even danced with Lady Caroline. Aside from warning Antonio off Lady Caro, Huntley had given no sign he was interested in her. For them to be betrothed . . . it was not possible. Unless it was arranged, but the English, Antonio had been told, favored love matches.
He was wasting his time here. He would find Lady Caroline and take her from Lord Huntley. He stood and bowed. “Thank you, my lady. I shall take my leave now.”
After descending the stairs to the dock, he strode to his gondola. “ Rapidamente! We must return home.”
As his boat eased into the other traffic, his blood coursed faster through his veins. A hunt. It had been a long time since he’d had a worthy quarry.
He jumped onto the dock before the gondola was secured and called for his maggiordomo . “Send a message to the stables. I want ten men, horses, and a traveling coach readied immediately.”
Lord Huntley and Lady Caroline could not be that far, and, with the coach empty, Antonio could travel much faster than Lord Huntley. Not to mention, they were not expecting him to follow them. Yet wherever they were, he would find them and bring her back. If Huntley disagreed, well, he could go the way of others who had tried to deny Antonio.
He hoped the Englishman would fight. Antonio was an excellent swordsman and “crack shot,” as the English would say. He’d like to stick his sword in Huntley and watch the life ebb out of him. Besides, who would care what happened to him any way? The lady would be happy to have Antonio, and, if she wasn’t, there were ways to persuade her. His grandfather’s priest would marry him and Lady Caroline as soon as they returned to Venice. By then, she would be in no position to refuse.
Huntley awoke betimes and went over the plans for the day again with his valet.
Maufe shook his head. “I don’t like it, my lord. I’ll be too far ahead of you. What would you do if something were to occur?”
“I have done for myself before, you know.”
Maufe pursed his lips. A sure sign he was digging in his heels.
“I am well aware that, on occasion, you’ve looked after yourself.” He sniffed. “I shall not comment as to the state of your wardrobe when you returned. I shall say only that it is not fair to Lady Caroline. I’m quite sure she is not accustomed to your rough-and-ready mode of travel. And what if you—”
This would get them nowhere, and Maufe did have a point about Caro. Huntley shook his head. “Very well. Meet us in Verona.”
His valet bowed. “As you wish, my lord.”
Huntley was in the parlor discussing breakfast when Caro entered, dressed in a very fetching, pale lemon twill carriage gown. Even though her lips were pressed into a thin line, she took his breath away.
In his rush to stand and greet her, he almost tipped over the chair. “Good morning. You’re looking well to-day.”
She inclined her head frostily. If she were any colder, icicles would drip from her lips. “Good morning, my lord.”
What the hell had he done now? Why was it men were always the last to know?
Caro went to the sideboard to make her selection from the
Lady Horatia took a sip of her coffee. “We had been awaiting my nephew’s arrival and had no opportunity to visit my villa this summer. Of course, with the weather being so much cooler, it was not a hardship to remain in Venice, but Lord Huntley wished to see the lake. He and Lady Caroline decided to travel ahead of me. I shall leave to-morrow to join them.”
Suppressed anger infused him. It was a lie, he knew it. “But why is she traveling with him? They are not yet married.”
“Oh, but, my lord”—her ladyship made an airy gesture with her hand—“they are betrothed, and she has her maid with her.”
The woman was so calm, he almost believed her. But, no, even Englishmen had some passion in them, and Huntley hadn’t even danced with Lady Caroline. Aside from warning Antonio off Lady Caro, Huntley had given no sign he was interested in her. For them to be betrothed . . . it was not possible. Unless it was arranged, but the English, Antonio had been told, favored love matches.
He was wasting his time here. He would find Lady Caroline and take her from Lord Huntley. He stood and bowed. “Thank you, my lady. I shall take my leave now.”
After descending the stairs to the dock, he strode to his gondola. “ Rapidamente! We must return home.”
As his boat eased into the other traffic, his blood coursed faster through his veins. A hunt. It had been a long time since he’d had a worthy quarry.
He jumped onto the dock before the gondola was secured and called for his maggiordomo . “Send a message to the stables. I want ten men, horses, and a traveling coach readied immediately.”
Lord Huntley and Lady Caroline could not be that far, and, with the coach empty, Antonio could travel much faster than Lord Huntley. Not to mention, they were not expecting him to follow them. Yet wherever they were, he would find them and bring her back. If Huntley disagreed, well, he could go the way of others who had tried to deny Antonio.
He hoped the Englishman would fight. Antonio was an excellent swordsman and “crack shot,” as the English would say. He’d like to stick his sword in Huntley and watch the life ebb out of him. Besides, who would care what happened to him any way? The lady would be happy to have Antonio, and, if she wasn’t, there were ways to persuade her. His grandfather’s priest would marry him and Lady Caroline as soon as they returned to Venice. By then, she would be in no position to refuse.
Huntley awoke betimes and went over the plans for the day again with his valet.
Maufe shook his head. “I don’t like it, my lord. I’ll be too far ahead of you. What would you do if something were to occur?”
“I have done for myself before, you know.”
Maufe pursed his lips. A sure sign he was digging in his heels.
“I am well aware that, on occasion, you’ve looked after yourself.” He sniffed. “I shall not comment as to the state of your wardrobe when you returned. I shall say only that it is not fair to Lady Caroline. I’m quite sure she is not accustomed to your rough-and-ready mode of travel. And what if you—”
This would get them nowhere, and Maufe did have a point about Caro. Huntley shook his head. “Very well. Meet us in Verona.”
His valet bowed. “As you wish, my lord.”
Huntley was in the parlor discussing breakfast when Caro entered, dressed in a very fetching, pale lemon twill carriage gown. Even though her lips were pressed into a thin line, she took his breath away.
In his rush to stand and greet her, he almost tipped over the chair. “Good morning. You’re looking well to-day.”
She inclined her head frostily. If she were any colder, icicles would drip from her lips. “Good morning, my lord.”
What the hell had he done now? Why was it men were always the last to know?
Caro went to the sideboard to make her selection from the
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