“I said that it bore a startling resemblance,” he reminded her. “Whether or not it actually is his writing, is yet to be determined.”
Picking up the notebook, Mary rounded the desk and offered it to Richard. “There is only one way to find out.”
Accepting the book, Richard motioned toward the doorway. “There is a sitting room across the hallway.”
Mary arched her eyebrows. “I thought you said that you had not done any more investigating.”
“That is true. I have not, but...” Reaching in front of her, he pushed open the door, affording her a view of the room beyond. “Serving tea on a desk seemed wrong. I decided that this room was far better suited.”
Mary blinked, her lips parting as she took in the scene before her. “And I thought the lights were the surprise.”
“They are just part of it.”
Speechless, Mary just nodded as she stepped further into the room. Architecturally, it wasn’t so different from the study. Marble columns guarded each corner with two supporting a beam in the center. Up under the ceiling on one side, arched alcoves had been decorated with murals.
The furniture, consisting of two armchairs, a sofa, and a low table, had been pushed apart, freeing up the space at the center of the room where what appeared to be a picnic had been set up. A green blanket was spread out there, on top of which cups and saucers had been neatly arranged. Next to them, was a plate filled withpetits fours, each one prettily decorated with icing and marzipan flowers.
“The teapot is still in the basket, wrapped in dishtowels in order to keep it warm.”
Richard’s voice, so warm and soothing, carried her forward. Mary could barely believe the amount of trouble that he’d gone to in order to prepare everything. As far as romantic settings were concerned, this topped the list.
“Have a seat,” Richard whispered close to her ear.
A delicious shiver raced down her spine, her heart skipping a little at the feel of his hand against her lower back. He did wondrous things to her, this man who’d been shrouded in mystery when they’d first met, and for quite some time thereafter. Knowing what he’d been through and discovering how good and kind he was... it was remarkable. He bore no signs of anger or resentment—just fear of acceptance. “I...” She stopped herself from continuing.
“You what?”
Swallowing, she shook her head and crossed to the blanket, lowering herself onto it and adding distance. She had to be completely sure of what she wanted before committing herself with words. And with her brother’s predicament in mind, abandoning the opera was less of an option than ever before. So she indicated the artwork in the alcoves instead. “Those paintings were not done by Romans.”
He gave her a funny look before sitting down across from her. “You are right. I suspect that there may originally have been windows there and that they were eventually sealed up before the entire villa was buried in dirt.”
It seemed absurd. “Who on earth would bury something like this?”
“I have been wondering about that myself. If my suspicions are true and part of Thorncliff rests on top of this villa, then it would have had to have been done a very long time ago.”
“How long exactly?” Mary asked, intrigued.
“Well, according to my brother, construction began in the twelfth century by a knight who served King Richard during the Crusades. It is possible that he chose to bury the villa in order to even out the foundation, or perhaps it was concealed by the Romans themselves when they left. It is difficult to say, but the artwork is recent. No doubt about that.” Reaching inside the basket, he pulled out the teapot, unraveled it from the dishcloths and poured Mary a cup which he then handed to her.
Taking a sip, Mary savored the warmth of the liquid as it flowed down into her belly. “Perhaps the notebook will enlighten us?” Setting her teacup aside, she selected one of thepetits fours, her toes almost curling in response to the heavenly flavor as she bit into it.
“Do you approve?”
“Do you really need to ask?”
With a low chuckle, he crossed his legs and placed the notebook in his lap. Flipping past the first couple of pages containing the text that they’d already read, he proceeded to read out loud to her.
“Infiltrating The Electors has been no easy task. It has tested the moral fiber of not only myself, but of my comrades in arms as well. We have done things... things that I dare not mention due to the shadow of shame that it has cast upon us all. But it was necessary for us to do what we did as proof of our allegiance. It has all been for the greater good. For England.” Looking up, Richard met Mary’s gaze. “This sounds very conspiratorial.”
“And terribly intriguing. Please...” She nodded toward the book. “Do continue.”
Bowing his head over the text, Richard did as she bade.“One day, in the not so distant future, nothing will remain of me, except for my family and this book. The actions described herein are my legacy. In spite of everything, I am proud of what I have accomplished—what we, The Cardinals, have accomplished together.
“During the past five years, this ancient villa has served as our base. From here, we waged our own war against The Electors—British peers who saw themselves as Gods. They ruled Europe from behind the scenes, their political power outranking that of any monarch, until they made the mistake of inviting The East Wind into their midst. From within their ranks, he ensured that the rest of us were asked to join as well.”
Absorbing every single word, Mary listened with rapt attention as it became increasingly clear that unbeknownst to most, there were men among the British aristocracy who’d conspired to kill European heads of state. They had lit the fuse that had led to the French revolution, with the deliberate goal of toppling Louis XVI off his throne. Apparently, he’d been too difficult for them to influence, and since those closest to him had been as well, The Electors, had turned to the common people of France, encouraging their disapproval of the monarch with a few well-placed words.
A chill swept through Mary. It was horrifying to discover that such a thing was possible. Thank God for The Cardinals! “Do you think the Earl of Duncaster might have been The East Wind?” she asked once Richard had finished reading.
