In the Tudor Court Collection. Amanda McCabe
he acted for good reason it did not wash away the blood.
How could a man such as he love a woman like Kathryn? He knew himself unworthy and yet his body burned for her, his soul thirsted for the sweetness of a life spent at her side.
But he was what life had made him, and surely there was no changing what fate had decreed.
Chapter Seven
Kathryn laughed at something her companions were saying. Her grasp of the language had improved gradually during the months she had lived in Rome. Almost four months had passed since her wedding day. She had had no word from Lorenzo in all that time and did not know what had been happening, for there had been very little news.
‘Elizabeta!’ Adriana Botticelli cried. ‘You are the most wicked flirt. If I were your husband, I should beat you.’
‘If Marco were not so dull, Elizabeta would not need to flirt with Caius Antonio,’ Isabella Rinaldi giggled. She was the youngest of the ladies present, and unmarried. ‘If my father chooses an old fat merchant as my husband, I shall take a lover too.’ She fluttered her fan artlessly, her face alive with mischief. ‘I hope that he chooses someone like your husband, Kathryn. If I were you, I should die of happiness.’
‘But poor Kathryn was married only a few hours before her husband left her,’ Elizabeta said. ‘Have you heard nothing from him, Kathryn?’
‘Nothing. Lorenzo is always so busy. He will come when he is ready.’ She looked up as her companion came into the salon where they were sitting. ‘Is your head better, Veronique?’
‘Much better, thank you, Kathryn.’ She sat down by the window and picked up her embroidery and then, seeing someone approaching, said, ‘Oh, I believe we have company…Why, it is Signor Santorini. Kathryn, your husband is here!’
‘Lorenzo is here?’ Kathryn’s heart missed a beat. ‘You are sure it is he, Veronique?’
‘Yes, quite sure.’
Kathryn’s impulse was to run to meet him, but she fought her desire, pretending to go on with her sewing. She must not betray herself. Lorenzo would not wish her to show too much emotion at his return. He had married her out of pity. He did not want a wife who demanded love.
‘We should go,’ Elizabeta said, sensing the emotion she struggled to hide. ‘Your husband will want to be alone with you, Kathryn.’
Kathryn shook her head, but all the ladies had followed Elizabeta’s example. They trooped out of the room with Veronique in their wake. Kathryn stayed where she was, her heart thumping painfully. She could hear her friends chattering and laughing amongst themselves and then the deeper tones of a man’s voice.
Her heart jerked as Lorenzo came into the salon. His eyes went over her, seeming to search for something, some sign, though she knew not what he wanted from her.
‘Are you well, Kathryn?’
‘Yes, sir. I am happy to see you back. I was anxious for your safe return. We have heard little news of the war.’
‘That may be because there is little to tell. The Turks have taken Famagusta and Nicosia. The League talked of blockading Rhodes, but once Cyprus had fallen the plan was abandoned. Doria has decided to winter at Sicily. I preferred to return to Rome, for there are galleys to be repaired and provisioned and I can do that better here.’
‘I am glad that you did.’
‘Are you, Kathryn?’ His expression was serious, intent on her face.
‘Yes. You must know that.’
‘It will be good to be here with you for a while. We shall be a long time at sea once we leave again in the spring.’
She stood up and went over to the table where a tray with glasses and jugs of wine and fruit drinks had been set out for her guests. She took a deep breath to steady her fluttering nerves, then turned to look at him.
‘May I serve you some wine?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ He stood watching her as she poured the wine and brought it to him. ‘What have you been doing while I was gone?’
‘I have made friends with the ladies you saw here. They take me shopping with them and invite me to their homes.’
‘So you have not been unhappy?’
She had missed him dreadfully, spending many lonely hours in the villa and gardens, crying herself to sleep for several nights after he left, but she would not tell him that. He did not want a wife who clung and wept for love of him.
‘No, I have not been unhappy.’
‘I am glad of it, for I have some news for you, Kathryn.’
‘Of Lady Mary and Lord Mountfitchet?’
‘No, I am sorry to tell you that as yet no news of them has come my way, though I have heard that some did escape the onslaught and reached other islands, before and since the invasion. Even if your friends are still alive, Kathryn, it will take time for letters to reach us. My news was of a possible sighting of Richard—one of the prisoners we took told us of a blue-eyed slave who works in the gardens of a wealthy merchant in Algiers. He was a youth when taken and, though he is apparently physically strong, has the mind of a child.’
‘That is very sad,’ Kathryn said. Once that news would have devastated her, but now she could feel only sadness and regret. Another love had replaced that childish one she had felt for Dickon. ‘Is there any way we can discover more?’
‘I have arranged to make further inquiries. I thought you would want me to continue the search.’
‘I know that Uncle Charles would wish it to go on,’ Kathryn said. ‘And I should feel happier if Richard could be rescued from slavery. If his father is dead, he is the heir to the Mountfitchet estate in England.’
‘He would need to prove his identity, I think?’
‘Yes—and that might be difficult if his father is dead. There will be other claimants, and those who matter would not listen to the claims of a slave who behaves like a child. If I believe he is Richard, my father will help him, but as for the rest…’
‘Do not concern yourself,’ Lorenzo told her. ‘Something will be done. You have my word.’
‘Thank you.’ Kathryn looked at him shyly. ‘Will you dine with me this evening, husband?’
‘Yes, certainly. It is my hope that now I am home we may spend some time together—learn to know one another, Kathryn.’
‘That would be very pleasant.’
How could she speak so calmly when her heart was hammering against her ribs? Kathryn fought her desire to be close to him. When he looked at her that way she felt as if she were melting and wanted only to be in his arms.
‘Pleasant…’ A wry smile touched his mouth. ‘Yes, it will be pleasant, Kathryn.’
‘If you will excuse me, I shall go to make sure that everything is in readiness.’
She had no need to bother, for the house ran perfectly and the servants would already have done all that was necessary, but if she stayed she might disgrace herself by falling into his arms. She might have begged him to kiss her, to love her.
What had he expected? Lorenzo frowned as he cleansed himself of the dirt of his months at sea. It was good to bathe after weeks when only the most basic of cleanliness was available. A douche in seawater every now and then was all that any of the men could expect. A man got used to the stench of the galleys, but he had been too eager to see her to delay even for that little time. Small wonder that she had kept her distance.
Yet was it only that he had come to her with the dirt of his journey still upon him? She knew what life was like on board ship and had not flinched from it when she was forced to travel with few comforts. Was she keeping