Ariadne's Diadem (10 page)

“Oh, my darling, if I could make you my bride today, believe me, I would, but that would mean forfeiting a great fortune.” Suddenly, he thought of something and caught her hand to pull her from the bed. “Come here.”

“What...?”

He ushered her before the mirror and made her stand there while he went to the chest of drawers in the comer. He bent to remove the lowermost drawer, and then took out something he’d hidden underneath. It was wrapped in soft maroon cloth, which he unfolded to reveal the diadem.

Kitty’s breath caught as the amazing jewels caught the firelight, winking and flashing with myriad rainbow colors. Their light was reflected in her eyes as she stretched out a trembling hand to touch the exquisite gold workmanship. “Oh, Hugh, it’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw. Where did you get it?”

“I bought it in Naples for you.” As he glanced at the precious stones, Hugh still found it hard to believe they were only clever paste, for if ever anything looked like the genuine article, this clever gewgaw did.

“You bought it for
me?”
Kitty’s lips were soft and curved with pleasure.

“Yes, to wear at our wedding.” He slipped it on to her head, and then turned her toward the mirror again. He stood behind her, his hands to her waist, his cheek against her hair. “I saw it and thought of you, my beloved. I always intended to try to win you when I came back to England, and I needed a jewel that was fit for your head. This is that jewel. It cost me all I had, but it was worth every coin.” Behind her in the mirror he could see the painted faun stared disconcertingly at him. Kitty’s expression was rapt as she admired herself in the diadem. “I’ll wear it onstage later, for it is the most perfect thing for Caesar’s wife,” she breathed as the jewels glinted with a magnificence that was almost unearthly.

Hugh’s hands slid up to enclose her full breasts. “Now say you still doubt me,” he whispered, his lips soft against her hair.

She was still admiring her reflection. “I doubt you less,” she conceded.

“Promise you won’t see Fanhope.”

She gazed at the flashing jewels. “I promise,” she whispered.

“It’s the last performance of
Julius Caesar
tonight; why don’t you tell them you don’t wish to begin new rehearsals just yet, and come with me to Llandower instead?” he urged recklessly.

She turned her head in surprise. “Are you serious? What if your Miss Willowby should find out?”

“The inn is five miles away.” He bent his head to kiss the tender flesh between her neck and shoulder.

She smiled a little, for the thought was novel. “Very well.”

He kissed her hair. “I’m going to make you the Duchess of Wroxford, and if I have to drown Anne Willowby in the River Wye in order to do so, then I will.”

A sensuous surge of triumph swept along her veins. “Make love to me now,” she whispered.

As he hastened to oblige, the painting of the bacchanalia suddenly fell off the wall. It slid behind the bedhead, but Hugh still felt as if the faun were watching him, and chilling memories returned of events in the Neapolitan grove. Kitty tutted with annoyance as the pounding weapon at his loins wilted. “Well, that’s the end of
that!”
she declared, going to put on her robe. She flounced from the room, the diadem still on her head.

 Chapter Nine

As daylight faded once more at Llandower, the wind drew audibly down the chimney in Anne’s bedroom. About to go to bed, she wore her nightgown, her thick hair loose about her shoulders. The window casement rattled, threatening to burst open again, so she went to see that it was properly closed. Something made her open it first, though. Her hair was blown in confusion, and the rain dampened her face as she looked out.

For a moment the moon shone from between the fleeing clouds, and to her shock she saw what appeared to be a statue in the rotunda, but then the moon disappeared again. She closed the window, grabbed her rose woolen wrap, and then hurried to her parents’ room, where her father’s telescope stood at the window. Opening the casement, she trained the glass upon the rotunda and saw there was indeed a statue. But how could that be? When had it been put there? Why hadn’t anything been said? Above all, why hadn’t she noticed it before?

Nothing less than an immediate investigation would do, so in spite of the wildness of the night, she returned to her own room to put on her boots and cloak, then went down to the courtyard to take the old lantern that hung creaking by the main entrance, and which was always lit at nightfall. Raising her hood and ignoring the unsettling rattling of the trapdoors opposite, she hurried beneath the archway toward the maze, where the swaying hedges gleamed with moisture in the lantern light. Her cloak billowed as she followed the complicated but well-remembered route toward the rotunda, where Gervase and Sylvanus had slept on longer than anticipated.

Her hood fell back as she paused at the edge of the little clearing, and her unruly hair blew free as she held the lantern aloft. The dim rain-dashed light swung over the rotunda, revealing the unmistakable shape of a naked man sculpted from solid white marble. So her eyes hadn’t deceived her! She was totally at a loss. Surely her father would have said if he’d purchased it? And anyway, there would have been quite a to-do when it was carried through the maze, so how could she possibly not have known? Joseph must know something about it, or maybe even Mrs. Jenkins. She would ask them first thing in the morning.
Someone
had to know where it had come from, and when.

She went closer, and with each step the lantern revealed more detail of the statue’s perfect male lines. Beyond the arc of light, Sylvanus didn’t stir on the bench. He was far away in Italy, having just pursued and caught the daintiest, most delightful, most compliant water nymph any faun could wish for—indeed she was perfect. He sighed contentedly in his sleep, but the soft sound was lost in the bluster of the wind.

Anne reached the statue and put a tentative hand on one of the marble arms to make certain she was not imagining the whole thing. It was hard, cold, and very real beneath her fingers. Gervase awoke with a start. The light of the lantern slanted awkwardly, giving everything a nightmarish quality, but the warmth of her fingers told him he was very much awake. Alarm jolted through him as he feared she had after all recollected events under the wanton influence of Sylvanus’s power, but then he relaxed as he saw no hint of recognition on her face, just puzzlement about a statue that had no business being where it was. Briefly, he wondered how she had come to find out in the middle of the night, but this curiosity was soon supplanted by the sheer pleasure of seeing her again. Those few incredible moments in the barn had changed everything for him, because in spite of everything he’d expected to the contrary, the dashing, sought after, sophisticated Duke of Wroxford was strongly attracted to the provincial nobody he’d once so bitterly resented. Pray God he could achieve the task Bacchus dictated, for if ever he’d wanted anything, it was to be free to resume his birthright and take Anne Willowby to wife.

Anne’s astonishment about the existence of the statue was temporarily supplanted by interest in the identity of the long dead Roman. Was he one of the emperors? Or a great general? There was no name on the plinth, but she concluded that at the very least he’d been noble. Whoever he was, he was certainly very handsome indeed. She had been trying not to look at those male regions ladies aren’t supposed to see until their wedding night, but there hadn’t been a woman yet who could resist the temptation. She blushed a little as she allowed herself the considerable impropriety of looking directly at his masculinity.

Gervase’s first embarrassed instinct was to cover himself with his hands, but solid marble couldn’t cover anything, so all he could do was stand there, his parts very much on display! His only consolation was that he was certainly not deficient in that area.

Anne felt self-conscious too, even though she thought she was looking only at marble. That day in the wheat field the man had looked so soft, pliable, and unaroused at first, but how magnificently he had changed! She closed her eyes briefly as a sense of yearning passed keenly through her. She was a year short of thirty, and had never been truly kissed, let alone made love to! Life had been set to pass her by until the old Duke of Wroxford chose her for his son. Now it would be Hugh Mowbray who initiated her into the carnal delights of the flesh—at least she prayed they would be delights. If he was gentle and understanding, she knew she could be the sort of wife any man would want. She had a latent passion that was just waiting to be released, and oh, how she longed for that moment.

Gervase wished he knew what she was thinking. Why had she closed her eyes like that? Her lips had curved just a little, and her lashes cast dainty shadows in the light from the lantern. How he would have liked to bend down and kiss that sweetly generous mouth. How he would like to run his hands through her wonderfully unmanageable dark golden hair. How he would like to show her what pleasure his maleness could really give!

Suddenly, she heard a slight scuffling from the shadows by the bench at the rear of the rotunda, and she turned swiftly toward the sound. She raised the lantern uneasily, but there was nothing there. Unless... She saw what appeared to be a heap of something—more leaves, perhaps? Were rats sheltering there? Almost immediately she discounted the notion, for the rotunda was far too exposed and drafty to appeal to rats; however, it was better to err on the side of caution. With a shudder she caught up her cloak to hurry away.

As the bobbing light of her lantern disappeared into the maze, Sylvanus got up and shook the coat. “She gave me quite a start. For a moment I thought she was going to find me,” he said.

“So
did I,”
Gervase replied.

“What made her come here, I wonder?”

“
I
don’t know, I was asleep, too. Suddenly she touched me.”

The faun came over to him, grinning knowingly. “Well, I’ll warrant you were well and truly awake by the time she’d finished.”

“I’ve never felt so vulnerable in my life,”
Gervase breathed as Sylvan began to mutter the incantation that softened his marble casing into flesh once more. The bitter cold of the night immediately swept over him, and he hurried to the bench to put on his clothes. Then he sat down and ran his fingers through his hair to push it back into place as best he could. “I feel scruffy and in need of a good wash,” he complained.

“You look all right to me,” replied the faun, retrieving the cold chicken and sitting next to him to eat a little more. “How shall we go about things tonight?” he asked.

“I have no idea,” Gervase replied, shaking his head to a proffered chicken leg.

“Aren’t you hungry yet?” the faun asked in surprise.

“Yes, but not for something you’ve seen fit to shove into my coat pocket, and then keep on the floor. You clearly have more goat in you than you think.”

Sylvanus sniffed. “Suit yourself,” he said, and tore off more meat with his teeth.

Gervase was silent for a moment, and then looked at him. “Sylvanus, there’s one aspect of this that bothers me. I know you were able to make her forget what happened last night, but now that she’s seen the statue, what will happen when she comes face-to-face with me in the flesh? You saw how closely she examined me! Surely she’s bound to realize the statue and the man are one and the same?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t your face she was interested in,” the faun replied slyly.

“Very amusing, but you know what I mean.”

Sylvanus rubbed one of his horns thoughtfully, but then shook his head. “No, she won’t recognize you. When you’re a statue, your hair clings around your forehead, but when you’re as you are now, the first thing you do is push your hair back. You look quite different.”

“Different enough?”

“Yes. Anyway, the worst she will think is that you
resemble
the statue. Let’s face it, she’s hardly likely to leap to the conclusion that you and the statue are one and the same!”

“Unless she comes here at night again, and there’s no statue because I’m elsewhere,” Gervase pointed out, looking at the deserted plinth.

The faun had no answer for that. “Well, we’ll just have to hope she stays inside,” he said dismissively. “Look, what’s the point of picking over what
might
happen? We’ve got to concern ourselves with what
is
going to happen, and by that I mean your campaign of seduction. How are you going to go about it?”

“I still haven’t really thought.” Under normal circumstances Gervase wouldn’t have been too concerned about having only a few days in which to accomplish a seduction, but these were not normal circumstances, and he’d never before had to succeed with a woman because failure would mean an eternity of marble!

“You’d better decide quickly, because it will be much more difficult when your cousin arrives.” Sylvanus dropped the remains of the chicken behind the bench, and then drew a long breath. “If the lady were a nymph, I would simply chase and ravish her, but that’s what fauns are supposed to do, and anyway it’s what nymphs expect of us. They’re quite insulted if we don’t.”

“Most illuminating, but it doesn’t solve my problem. I can’t simply throw myself on Anne Willowby and expect all to be well. Damn it, I can’t even think how to approach her in the first place. Have you any ideas about what story I can concoct? My mind’s still a complete blank.”

The faun swung his hooves to and fro thoughtfully, and then wiped his hands on the front of the coat. “Well, I suppose you
could
pretend to be an agent from your father’s lawyers. I mean, she knows the deeds will have to be transferred if the marriage takes place, and so may not see anything amiss in such a story.”

Gervase stared at him. “That’s inspirational!” he declared.

“I
do
have some good ideas, you know!” Sylvanus replied crossly, but then shivered as a stronger gust of wind brought a scattering of rain right up to the bench. “Oh, this damp cold is torture! I can’t possibly stay outside another night. I’ll have to find that temple. I’m almost certain it’s somewhere below the castle itself. Are you coming to help me look? As we go along we’ll probably think more about what pretext you can use.” He got up to trot to the edge of the rotunda.