“She says, ‘We shall see.’ Just that. ‘We shall see.’”
Chapter Twelve
Jamie downed strong coffee as if it were the brandy he fervently wished for. Nora had gone to meet Wentworth and Salvia alone under protest hours ago. He would not, could not, go near the consulate.
She should have returned by now.
“More Signore?” the waiter asked for the tenth time.
Jamie looked beyond him to a little man pouring glasses of rich red wine. His mouth watered. Brandy would be better.No wine, no brandy. One wouldn’t be enough, and more would be too much. Nora will need me soon. She needs me sober.He took another currant bun instead.
Where is the damned woman?
He refused to regret sending her alone. She paid him to interpret, and he did. He had translated for the nursing sisters, the hospital officials, and the priest who informed, not asked, Nora about the funeral arrangements. He even translated the Catholic funeral Mass Robert had requested, astonished he remembered enough Latin to do so.
He didn’t owe Nora Haley an explanation for his behavior or his reasons for avoiding English diplomatic staff.
In four more days, the month he had promised her would be over. He took another swallow of coffee and let the bitter dregs burn his throat.So where the hell is she?
“Major!” His little brown wren came in a rush, out of breath and frantic.
Jamie leaped to his feet. “What is it? Did it go badly?”
She struggled for breath. “No. I, well, yes, but not entirely.” She leaned one hand on the table, breathing deeply. “We’re late. We promised Mother Margarita?—”
“Calm yourself. Don’t talk. I know what we promised, and you are over an hour late. I was—” he almost said ‘worried’ but thought better of it “—going to send a messenger to the convent to warn her, but here you are.”
He motioned, and a cup of tea appeared before her. While the waiter refilled Jamie’s cup, he watched Nora take a sip. She gave a deep murmur of pleasure, hung her head back, and closed her eyes. The graceful line of her throat made his blood run hot, to his amusement. He wouldn’t have guessed the little English wren could do that to him.
The lines around her eyes froze his heart.What had those bloody legal hawks said to her? I should have gone with her. Did Castellimonte’s envoys try to browbeat her?
Cowardice shamed him. He didn’t have the courage to bring himself to the attention of the embassy where some functionaries probably didn’t give a fig about his identity. No, the torture he feared would come if his friends found him, and find him they would once the embassy had his scent, find him and reject him once and for all.
“Thank you, Major,” she said. “I needed that more than I realized.”
Absorbing the sadness of her smile, he realized his greater fear.Nora might learn the truth.He didn’t know when Nora’s opinion began to matter or, for that matter, when she had become “Nora” to him, but she had.He swallowed coffee, scorched his throat, and coughed.
“Are you well?” Nora handed him a napkin.
“Only careless,” he wheezed. At least he managed to distract her. “What did they say to you? What did they do?”
“I’ll tell you on the way to the convent. You have to translate for the Reverend Mother.” She hurried him from the café and out into the piazza. “I don’t know where to start.”
“The conditions.”
“Yes—good. One I might have guessed. Isabella must be raised Catholic.”
“You knew her father’s wish.”
She nodded. “I should have anticipated the other. She must reside in Italy. Visits to England are permitted, but her primary residence must remain here.”
“Where the count can keep an eye on her,” he mused.
“Probably, although I think Robert made the stipulation. He may have made a promise to her mother. In any case, the count’s representatives raised the issue of my willingness to stay here so far from home,” she told him.
“Is that all?”
“Those were the only two conditions of the will itself. The count’s people demanded others,” she said.
