Count Valieri's Prisoner

chapter FIVE



TODAY, THOUGHT MADDIE, staring sightlessly out of the window. Surely it has to be today. It’s got to be.

Because it should have been yesterday. Or the day before. Or the day before that. In fact, I was so absolutely certain it would be that I kept waking in the night, imagining I heard Jeremy’s voice. But it was either a dream. Or wishful thinking. Or more probably a nightmare, because I’m sure at some point he called me ‘Maddalena’.

To her annoyance, she felt her face warm, and her hands tightened on the windowsill.

But I won’t let myself think about that, she told herself firmly. Because I will be free, even if it is nearly a week later than I hoped. Which is nothing really. Flights can be a problem, let alone transferring large sums of money at zero notice.

She sighed and turned away. The mountain view was no more welcoming now than the first time she’d seen it. While the second window she’d found at the other end of the room looked down on a small enclosed courtyard, apparently unused.

What she’d been allowed to see of the house itself told her it was large, but gave her no real idea of its layout, or how many people lived in it, apart from the Count and the jailer he employed to watch over her.

Andrea, she thought, her throat tightening as an image of him swam, uninvited, into her mind. A predator, as dark and dangerous as the wolf this house had been named for. Her enemy, himself as much of an enigma as the reason she’d been brought here.

Someone it was best not to think about, she told herself, returning to her original musings. Presumably, she would be taken somewhere else for the handover, and probably blindfolded so she couldn’t report back on her temporary jail, and why she’d been shown so little of it.

She seemed to be shut away in a forgotten corner, and sometimes she felt that even if she could open any of the other doors that surrounded her, she would find they all led nowhere.

Stir crazy, she thought, with a sudden shiver. That’s what’s wrong with you, lady, and the sooner you’re out of here the better.

She climbed on to the bed and stretched out, disposing the folds of her robe and nightgown around her. These were in a wonderful shade of amethyst, while yesterday’s set had been deep ruby, with others in turquoise and indigo. In different circumstances, this would have been spoiling to the nth degree, and she wondered, smiling, what Jeremy would make of these dramatic jewel colours in clinging satin and the additional sheen they seemed to give to her hair and skin, suggesting she might actually rethink her trousseau a little.

As for tomorrow’s choice—well, hopefully, I shall never need to know, she thought, crossing her fingers.

Yet the Count who’d paid for all this charming nightwear had never seen any of it. And she’d given up on the hope of seeing him too. She’d even stopped asking for him, as it was clearly a waste of time and temper.

So, let him behave like the Invisible Man, she told herself defiantly. He’s simply ashamed to face me, that’s all. Mortified to have to acknowledge what he’s done. And whatever happens to him, he has only himself to blame for abandoning me to his henchman, who has no finer feelings to lacerate.

Not that she’d been much in his company either, except at dinner, where she was no longer alone with him, thank Heaven.

A manservant in a neat dark suit called Eustacio, who spoke a modicum of English, now served them at table and poured the wine, and the smiling maid whose name, Maddie had learned, was Luisa, assisted him.

While the meals generally took place in near-silence. No discussions on opera or anything else, and a return to strictly formal terms.

Maddie wouldn’t permit herself to ask if there was any news from London. Because to appear anxious would allow him a minor victory in the unspoken war between them, which seemed to assume an extra dimension each time they met, no matter how little was said.

The memory of those final exchanges between them on that first evening was always with her, like an unhealed wound. As was the fact that he hadn’t made the slightest attempt to apologise since.

And her continued lack of conventional clothing only added to her mental discomfort.

She sighed. She supposed she really should have made more effort to find some way out of her predicament. After all, it was pretty spiritless, lounging around in a negligee, however glamorous, waiting to be rescued. On the other hand, it wasn’t exactly ideal attire for a fugitive either. He was right about that, she thought bitterly.

But unless one of the staff could be bribed, her chances of getting hold of something less noticeable seemed less than zero. And when she wasn’t actually locked in her room, she was always under scrutiny.

But, as a cell, it was now a little more comfortable than it had been. For instance a pretty brocaded armchair had suddenly appeared to stand beside the courtyard window, and there was also another larger table where she ate her breakfast and usually her lunch. Today’s had been a warm chicken salad, followed by a wonderfully rich pasta carbonara, and a tiny filigree basket filled with strawberries. This had been accompanied by a small carafe of white wine, and the inevitable coffee pot.

Whatever else, she had no complaints about the food, she admitted. And her imprisonment had become slightly more stimulating too, because, on her second night, she’d swallowed her pride and asked if she might at least have the book she’d bought at the airport returned to her.

‘I wouldn’t want to affect your negotiations by dying of boredom,’ she’d added sweetly.

She’d received a stony look, but he had silently inclined his head, and the thriller in question was on her bedside table when she went upstairs.

And last night, as she’d risen and bade him goodnight, he’d said to her amazement, ‘You may borrow more books from the Count’s library, if you wish. Domenica will escort you there to make your choice.’

‘Oh.’ Maddie hesitated. ‘Well—thank you. But couldn’t someone else do that?’

His brows lifted. ‘Why?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t find her particularly congenial.’ Which was putting it mildly. The girl seemed to radiate resentment and disapproval.

‘It is not essential that you should,’ he said. ‘What matters is that her family has served the Valieri faithfully for years.’ He added coldly, ‘I remind you of this in case you are considering the offer of another deal.’

Leaving her to retreat upstairs fuming.

And, once back in her room, to wonder why his boss had decided to make such a concession at this particular time.

Unless, of course, he was hoping some slight act of kindness and consideration on his part might persuade her to speak on his behalf at some future point. If so, he would be severely disappointed.

He is Crime. I am Punishment.

I never realised before that I could be so vindictive, she thought. But perhaps I never had sufficient cause.

She was roused from her reverie by the sound of voices outside and the rattle of the key in the lock. The door opened and Domenica came in, lips pursed in annoyance, accompanied by the girl from the kitchen who’d come for the lunch tray.

She looked flustered today, a strand of dark hair escaping from her cap, and a faint pink stain like fruit juice smudged right across the front of her white overall.

Maddie deduced from the brief exchange that it was the girl’s less than pristine appearance that had aroused Domenica’s disapproval.

Domenica handed the girl the tray, then turned to Maddie. ‘You wish for books, signorina?’ she enquired without enthusiasm. ‘Andiamo. Let us go.’

She chivvied the kitchen girl out of the room, with Maddie following. Halfway along the corridor, she paused, nodding at a door and giving some terse instruction.

As the door opened, Maddie could see over Domenica’s shoulder that it was a storeroom for household linen, but that one section of the floor to ceiling shelving seemed to be devoted to staff uniforms. There were the neat black dresses and pretty organdie aprons worn by the maids, and next to them, grey and scarlet waistcoats, dark trousers and white shirts which suggested there were indeed male indoor staff, even if she’d never seen them.

Maddie wondered caustically if Andrea the Thug came here for his gear and decided it was unlikely.

There were rows of shoes and boots too, but the largest section by far was occupied by the starched white coveralls and caps for the kitchen staff, where the hapless girl, now sniffing a little, was making her selection.

Maddie turned away, tightening her sash. Clothing, she thought, biting her lip. Heaps of clothing behind an unlocked door offering a perfect disguise, and only a matter of yards away. If only she’d known. Yet what could she have done? Broken down her own door to reach it?

Besides, it hardly mattered now. Not when she was leaving anyway.

She heard the storeroom door close again. When the girl had disappeared, she said quietly, ‘Weren’t you a little hard on her?’

Domenica shrugged. ‘She is sciatta. Untidy. His Excellency would be angry to see her wait on you so.’

‘But he hasn’t,’ Maddie pointed out. ‘He didn’t.’ Because he’s never around, as I know to my cost.

Domenica’s mouth curled. ‘His Excellency sees everything.’ Her tone brooked no argument, while her expression suggested that Maddie should mind her own business.

When they reached the gallery, Domenica ignored the staircase descending to the sala below, leading the way instead to the far end where another archway waited with a narrow corridor beyond.

They appeared to have reached a dead end, but Maddie was beginning to know better and was unsurprised when the stone wall ahead turned out to be another door.

It would take a ball of string to find my way out of this labyrinth if the opportunity ever occurred, she thought ruefully, as she was conducted down a winding flight of stone steps. Thank God I won’t need one.

At the foot of the steps, the passage divided. In one direction, Maddie could hear the distant sound of voices and the kind of clatter that indicated the kitchens. In the other, there was yet another curtained archway waiting to change into a door.

Maddie’s head was beginning to spin as they passed through into a wide corridor. Halfway down, Domenica paused and knocked on a pair of double doors which, by some miracle, were exactly what they seemed.

A man called, ‘Entrare,’ and she opened one of the doors and stood aside to allow Maddie to precede her into the room. It was large and square, every wall apparently lined with books just as you’d expect in a library.

But, she thought, she was taking nothing for granted any longer.

Because the voice had already warned her who was waiting for her, wearing a blue denim shirt and pants today, and seated behind a massive desk, his dark head bent over the letter he was writing, his hand moving smoothly across the paper.

Cream paper, she saw. And black ink. Both of them horribly familiar. As was the handwriting...

Maddie’s lips parted in a silent gasp. I should have guessed, she thought wildly. Should have known. Because nothing is as it seems in the House of the Wolf. Nothing—and no-one.

Without looking up, he said, ‘Take a seat, signorina.’

‘Shouldn’t I remain standing?’ she asked bitterly. ‘Your Excellency?’ She added, ‘Now who’s the one playing games?’

He shrugged a shoulder. ‘I realised you would have seen the late Count’s portrait at the Opera House, and found the temptation to conceal my identity irresistible.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s what this place is all about. Deception and pretence. Why stop at a few painted walls?’

‘If you wish to see it like that.’ He gave her a cold smile. ‘But I had other reasons. You can tell much about someone from the way they treat their supposed inferiors.’

‘I didn’t think of you as inferior,’ she said, stonily. ‘Just as a blackmailing criminal. I still do.’

‘Unfortunate,’ he said. ‘When you and I, mia bella, are destined to continue to enjoy each other’s company for a while.’

She said slowly, ‘You mean I’m not leaving yet? But why? What’s happened?’

He signed his letter. Blotted it. ‘There has been no contact from your fidanzato’s family.’ His voice was as cool as if he was telling her that rain was expected. ‘It seems your immediate release is not their first priority, and they are considering their other options.’ He paused. ‘Such as they are.’

‘I don’t believe you. You’re lying.’ Her voice rose. ‘Jeremy would never leave me here like this. You don’t understand.’ She banged her fist on his desk. ‘We’re going to be married—very soon.’

‘Sì,’ he agreed almost casually. ‘In six weeks. However, I expect this matter to be settled before then.’

She said hoarsely, ‘What makes you think that?’

‘I have stated my terms. All they need do is accept them.’ He lifted his hands. ‘It is simple.’

‘Not where Nigel Sylvester is concerned.’ Her voice shook. ‘You don’t dictate to a dictator, signore.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘You defeat him in battle.’

‘No matter what happens to the innocent parties involved?’

‘Ah.’ He leaned back in his chair, his gaze reflective. ‘You refer to yourself? But I have removed you from the conflict.’

‘But perhaps I don’t want that.’ She glared at him. ‘Maybe I want to be with the man I love, fighting at his side.’

‘Then you will be disappointed.’ He indicated a table at the other side of the room, where an open cardboard box was waiting. ‘And there is a selection of English books for you, to pass the waiting time more pleasantly.’

‘Damn you,’ Maddie said fiercely. ‘And damn your books. I want nothing from you.’

‘Now you are being irrational,’ the Count said calmly. ‘I will have the books taken to your room. If you choose to throw them down the mountain side, naturalmente, you may do so. But if your fidanzato’s family prove obdurate, you may regret it.’

‘And please stop calling him by that outlandish name,’ Maddie flared. She was beginning to tremble inside as the full horror of her situation dawned on her. They couldn’t intend to leave her here indefinitely—they couldn’t...Could they?

She added, ‘He’s Jeremy.’

Say his name. Conjure up his face in your mind—his voice. Hang on to every wonderful memory you’ve shared and believe that you’ll see him soon—very soon.

‘And I am Andrea,’ he drawled. ‘A name that you are reluctant to use—Maddalena.’ He was watching her through half-closed eyes. ‘I know now that the photograph of you I was once shown did not do you justice, mia bella. It made you look convenzionale—even a little dull.’

He nodded slowly. ‘Sì, passion suits you. It gives fire to your eyes and colour to your skin. What a pity I have so far only seen anger have this effect, turning the serene English rose into a tigress.’

She clenched her fists in the skirts of her robe, forcing herself to breathe calmly and evenly. To regain some measure of control.

‘Please don’t imagine I find your offensive remarks flattering, signore. Or that I intend to listen to any more of them.’

His mouth curled in amusement. ‘What is offensive about telling a woman that arousal makes her beautiful?’ He paused. ‘Has this man—this Jeremy never told you so?’

‘My relationship with him is no business of yours.’ Maddie lifted her chin. ‘And now I am going back to my room.’

‘I shall not stop you.’ He reached for his pen. ‘For one thing I have other letters to write. For another—the time is not yet right.’ He added quietly. ‘But that will change.’ And looked up at her.

Their gazes met. Clashed. Became caught in a new and tingling awareness. Making her conscious that there were golden flecks in his eyes, like tiny flames, dancing.

Maddie, shocked, found she had to force herself to look away. She said raggedly, ‘Never—do you hear me? Never in a million years.’

She whirled round in a flurry of amethyst silk and stormed to the door, flinging it wide, startling Domenica, who was waiting outside with her arms folded.

She set off, almost running, in spite of the fact that her legs were shaking under her, desperate to reach the nearest thing to safety that she had in this chaotic dangerous world that held her trapped.

And she fought back the stricken tears already pricking at her eyes and aching in her throat.

Yes, she wanted to cry—to scream—to beat on the walls with her fists. But for all those things, she needed to be alone where no-one could see and mock her distress. Or realise how alone and isolated she felt. Or how scared she was—mostly for reasons she did not even want to contemplate.

So, she would break down in front of no-one—especially Andrea Valieri and his sour-faced spy, now struggling to keep up with this headlong dash.

When she reached her door, she flung it open, marched in and kicked it shut behind her. She half-expected it to open again to admit Domenica with the shrill tirade she was sure had been burning on her lips, but there was only a long silence, followed by the sound of the key turning in the lock. Something that, for once, she welcomed.

She threw herself across the bed, her fingers digging into the coverlet, and buried her face in the pillows as the first harsh sob rose in her throat.

Now that the tears had come, they were scalding, uncontrollable, and she welcomed that too, sensing somehow that she was weeping away all the tensions and fears that she’d been trying to suppress since this nightmare began.

That this was a catharsis that she needed.

When the storm passed, she felt limp and empty. She sat up slowly, pushing the damp strands of hair away from her face. She had to think about this latest development, she told herself, and think clearly too.

She’d been counting too much on other people. Taken it for granted that instant aid would be on its way, and that freedom was a foregone conclusion.

She took a deep breath. Well, she knew better now. And one of the uncomfortable facts to be faced was that Nigel Sylvester might indeed refuse to rescue her, regarding it as her own wilful disobedience that had led to this predicament in the first place.

‘She put her career before you,’ she could hear him saying to Jeremy. ‘As she always will. And this is where it’s led. She’ll never make the wife you need and deserve, and it’s time you came to terms with this. Admitted that marrying her will never work.

‘Besides, she won’t come to any real harm. When the kidnappers realise we have no intention of giving in to their demands, they’ll have to let her go.’

In return, Jeremy would protest that he loved her, that she was the girl he wanted. Of course he would. But his hands were tied. His father controlled the money, and there was no way he alone could raise the kind of ransom being demanded. Whatever that was.

I wonder what I’m valued at in hard currency, she thought bitterly.

Even so, whatever the terms of her release, she knew that Nigel Sylvester would still see her as a liability, and do his best to have the wedding postponed at the very least.

Therefore, she could no longer afford to let matters drift. Somehow, she had to seize the initiative and try to engineer her own escape.

There were elements on her side. She knew now where there was a change of clothes that might prove an adequate disguise, and she had seen more of the house, including where the kitchens were sited. It might not be much, and there was still this locked door to be dealt with, but it was a start.

She would not allow Andrea Valieri’s scheming to threaten everything she held dear in life, she told herself, her heart jolting painfully.

But perhaps she was being unduly pessimistic. Maybe moves were already afoot to trace her secretly. To use some kind of professional negotiator, a fixer to arrange a compromise deal.

She had to believe that, in case her jailers were too watchful and self-reliance proved inadequate. Had also to pin her faith on Jeremy fighting for her. Coming to find her.

‘Oh, darling,’ she whispered brokenly. ‘I need you so badly. For God’s sake hurry.’

And just managed to stop herself saying, ‘Before it’s too late.’