The Black Madonna

Kate watched Celia’s scarlet habit streaming in Eden’s wake and then looked away, giving a mental shrug. If Eden didn’t mind being picked up and put down as bait for Hugo Verney, it was entirely his own affair. Not that Kate had anything against Sir Hugo. He was pleasant enough company; not exactly stimulating, perhaps – but pleasant. Indeed, she was discovering that they all were, these witty, fashionable people she had expected to dislike. Mother had been right about that. Only Celia had not improved upon closer scrutiny; and someone really should have taught her not to jerk on her bridle like that. She was ruining that nice little mare’s mouth.
‘You find my servant interesting, Mistress Maxwell?’
The beautiful voice sent a peculiar sensation slithering down Kate’s spine and caused her to snatch at her own reins before she turned to meet the impersonal gaze she’d hitherto encountered only a distance. It was no less unnerving close-to; more so, in fact. The long-lashed eyes were an incredibly deep cobalt – so dark that, on first glance, they appeared almost black. And when added to his other perfections, they rendered the signor even more spectacularly good-looking than she’d first thought.
She swallowed and said weakly, ‘Your servant?’
The man known to London as the Italian assented with the merest suggestion of a nod.
‘Also myself, I suspect. But you were staring so hard at Selim just now that I felt impelled to ask why.’
Too late, Kate realised that she had indeed been staring – but not consciously. She also realised that he was not going to believe her if she said so. Recovering herself a little, she said, ‘Yes … well in England our grooms don’t commonly ride about armed to the teeth. Unless that pretty knife is a toy?’
‘Far from it.’ A wayward gleam appeared. ‘Would you care to inspect it?’
‘No thank you.’ She set her jaw and attacked. ‘You know my name. I’m surprised.’
His brows rose and he said with irritating urbanity, ‘Yes? But then, you also know mine, do you not? And, by now, probably a good deal more.’
Kate found that she was beginning to feel foolish and suspected that he meant her to. She had laughed at him in the garden – thus somewhat spoiling his little spell – and he was taking his fee. They were right about him. He wasn’t a gentleman. She said, ‘You take a lot for granted. But if the thought worries you, you should try to be less … theatrical.’
His mouth curled in a slow smile. ‘Very little worries me, Mistress.’
Kate believed him. She was also coming to see why he might find it handy to have his groom carry a knife.
‘That’s nice,’ she said coolly. ‘But if it’s true, why are we having this conversation?’
‘You’re not enjoying it?’
‘Am I supposed to?’
‘Of course. I’m giving you the chance to decide precisely why I intrigue you.’
Kate shut her mouth and allowed her lungs time to re-inflate. Then she said sweetly, ‘There you go again. Making assumptions.’
‘I don’t think so.’ And with an apparent change of subject, ‘You were not enjoying yourself yesterday afternoon.’
Disconcerted, she said, ‘How do you know?’
‘You looked bored. And a little irritable.’ This time the smile was different; as provoking as it was attractive. ‘And then you sat up and looked neither.’
Kate flushed. ‘You think that was your doing?’
‘Wasn’t it?’
He really was outrageous. Outrageous, conceited, utterly infuriating … and right.
‘Not,’ she snapped, ‘in the way you obviously think.’
He said nothing but his expression of subtly amused disbelief made Kate want to hit him. She said, ‘If you must know, I wondered why your face seemed familiar. And then, of course, I realised. You look like Lucifer.’
Against all expectation, laughter flared in the dark eyes and he said, ‘You’re by no means the first person to think that … but not, usually, without some degree of prior acquaintance.’
‘I believe you,’ replied Kate. A second ago she’d wanted to hit him; now she was trying not to laugh. The switch was oddly exhilarating. ‘But I wasn’t actually calling you the devil incarnate.’
‘Should I be relieved?’
‘Perhaps. I was referring to our chapel ceiling at home. There’s an extravagant but rather beautiful painting of the Fall of Lucifer … and the resemblance to yourself is quite uncanny.’ She smiled cheerfully at him. ‘If you care to visit us some time, I’d be delighted to show it to you.’