He laughed at her recitation. “Then, you are enjoying yourself here,” he said.
“I am,” she admitted to him. “I have been to England’s court and to Scotland’s court, but I have never had such a good time as I am having here in San Lorenzo. Why is that, Patrick? Is it the weather, or the delightful informality that persists? It is like a wonderful fete one would give in their own home, and not at all stuffy.”
“It is because we are in love,” he told her. “Everything is perfect when two people are in love.” Then he looked into her eyes and was lost for a long moment.
“Must we remain?” she asked him softly.
“Nay. I think we may sneak out and return to the villa,” he said.
“Leave the carriage for MacDuff. The streets are well lit, and the moon is full. We can walk back, for it is not really that far,” she suggested.
“Agreed,” he told her. The streets of Arcobaleno were safe, and he knew it. They moved discreetly from the duke’s hall, through the marble foyer, and outside. They waved the ambassador’s driver away. “We’ll walk,” the earl called to him, and the man nodded, smiling.
Hand in hand they traveled back down the perfectly raked driveway and out through the gates of the palace onto the street beyond. It was late, but here and there a window cast a friendly glow, and the street torches lit their way. They entered the main square of Arcobaleno, and Patrick stopped a moment, staring at the great cathedral that fronted one side of the square.
“Memories?” she asked softly.
“Aye,” he admitted. Then he shook his head. “I didn’t want her betrothed so young,” he said. “I didn’t want her married young. I feared an unfortunate end for her, as I had had with her mother and with my wife. But Janet would not have it. My daughter wanted to be betrothed and wed to Sebastian’s son. The betrothal ceremony was in the cathedral. I can still see my daughter, all garbed in white and gold, standing atop the cathedral steps with Rudi after all the papers had been signed. Together they made a most spectacularly beautiful couple, and how the people cheered them.”
“Oh, my dearest love,” Rosamund attempted to comfort him. “I am so sorry!”
“Coming here has brought it all back to me so strongly,” he said. “If only I knew what happened to her. That she was all right. That she was alive. My son continues to seek her out. We know she was sold in the great slave market in Candia to one of the Ottoman sultan’s representatives. Sebastian sent one of his own cousins to try to buy her back even as he began entertaining an offer of marriage from Toulouse for his son. Under the circumstances, a marriage between my daughter and the duke’s son could not possibly have taken place. All I wanted was my daughter safely returned. But she was lost to us, and I could not forgive either the duke or his son for what happened. The duke had to consider his family’s good name, but not once did that spineless offspring of his come to my daughter’s defense. I had not realized how strongly I felt about it all these years later.”
“And you would not have,” Rosamund said, leading him across the square and into the hilly street that led up to the Scots ambassador’s villa, “except that you came back, Patrick. The past is past, my love. As painful as this is for you, you owe your king a duty in this matter. Do what you must do, and we shall leave.”
“But when we leave it but brings us closer to parting,” he groaned.
“Come home with me to Friarsgate,” she said. “Your son is capable of looking after Glenkirk. Stay with me, Patrick. You will like Friarsgate. The hills tumble down into my lake. The meadows are filled with my sheep and cattle. It is a peaceful place, and I would give you some peace, my love. You lost your own dear daughter, but I have three little girls. They would love you, Patrick. You do not have to leave your beloved Glenkirk forever. You can go back, and mayhap I will go with you one day. But when you have done what you must for Scotland, come home to Friarsgate with me.”
They had reached the top of the hill where the embassy was situated. He stopped, and she saw he was seriously considering her words. “I could come with you,” he said softly. “But would we wed, Rosamund?”
“Nay,” she told him. “Our love for each other is not dependent upon marriage. I suspect it would upset your son and daughter-in-law greatly. There is no need to do that. It is easier if everyone believes you are just visiting me, or I, you.”
“I should like to come back to Friarsgate with you,” he said slowly and thoughtfully. “There is no need for me to be at Glenkirk all the time.”
“I do not feel the time is propitious for us to be parted,” Rosamund told him.
“Nor do I,” he admitted.
“Then it is settled between us, Patrick. You will come home to Friarsgate with me after you have seen the king and made your report to him.”
“It is settled,” he agreed as they entered the villa.
For the next few days they played publicly and privately at being lovers, and nothing more. And then, several mornings after the duke’s fete, they rode their horses to the villa where the Venetian artist was now residing. Rosamund left the earl and entered the artist’s villa, where she was met by a servingman.
“Tell the maestro that Lady Rosamund Bolton is here to visit his studio as agreed,” she said.
The servant bowed and hurried off. He returned a few moments later, bowing and saying, “If the Madonna would follow me, I shall take her to the maestro.” He led her into a large light-filled room where Paolo Loredano was even now painting a landscape of the scene outside his windows. He was wearing dark breeches and hose, and when he turned to greet her, she saw that his linen shirt was open, revealing his chest. He was, she had to admit to herself, very virile in appearance.
“Madonna!” He greeted her effusively, throwing down his paintbrush to take her two hands up in his and kiss them. “You have come at last!”
“Good morning, maestro,” she replied, pulling her hands free. “So this is an artist’s studio. How can it be so cluttered, and you here barely a week?” Rosamund laughed as she looked around.
“I know exactly where everything is,” he assured her. “Carlo, biscotti and vino at once!” Then, grasping a single hand, he led her to a large high-backed chair. “Sit down, Madonna! I shall begin my sketch now.”
Rosamund retrieved her hand a second time. “But I have not said I should pose for you, maestro. Tell me, has the baroness been here yet?”
He laughed. “Are you jealous, Madonna?” he taunted her.
“Nay, maestro, for I have no need. I was merely curious,” Rosamund said.
“You will break my heart, Madonna! I sense it. I am very intuitive,” he cried dramatically.
Now it was Rosamund who laughed. “I do believe that you are a complete fraud, maestro,” she teased him.
“Have you come to torture me, Madonna?” he asked her.
“I have come to see your studio and to see if I should enjoy posing for you,” she told him.
“And what have you decided?” he queried her. “Ah, here is Carlo again. Put the tray down and get out,” he instructed his servant in their native tongue. “How can I proceed with my seduction if you are lingering about?”
“Sм, maestro,” Carlo answered his master with a toothy grin, and he departed the studio.
“What did you say to him?” Rosamund inquired. “I am just learning your tongue.”
“I told him to leave us so I could make love to you,” Paolo Loredano said boldly, and drawing Rosamund up from her chair, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately even while his hand was plunging into her bodice to fondle her breast.
“Maestro!” she shrieked, yanking his hand from her gown. “You are far too bold, and if you think to have a commission from the Earl of Glenkirk, you must behave!”