Beneath an Italian Sky Page 7

  The seriousness of Lord Linwood’s expression as he looked her way disrupted the regular beating of her pulse. “We would like that as well. Bran and I both.” They rode in silence for several moments, though it was a comfortable quiet. “My grandfather was the one who gave me Bran the First.”

  “You have two dogs named Bran?” she inquired with a chuckle.

  He didn’t join her, though. “No, the first dog passed away about a year after my grandfather did. I didn’t acquire Bran the Second, the dog I have now, until a few years later.”

  “Was this grandfather the previous Marquess of Hadwell?”

  Lord Linwood frowned and gave a quick shake of his head. “I never met that grandfather. This was my mother’s father.”

  The reverential way he spoke of the man suggested they’d been close. “It sounds as though his death was very difficult for you.”

  “It was, yes.”

  Clare felt his grief as if it were a tangible thing he’d handed her. She was as honored by his trust in sharing it as she was surprised. Although they could easily talk of anything, she’d noticed Lord Linwood often steered a conversation in a more lighthearted direction if the topic held too much sorrow.

  “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. She’d never known any of her grandparents, but the type of relationship he hinted at sounded wonderful. “How old were you when he died?”

  His hands visibly tightened on the reins before relaxing. “Ten.”

  “That kind of loss wouldn’t be easy to experience at any age, but especially as a child.”

  Lord Linwood shrugged. “I grew up rather quickly that summer.” He didn’t elaborate on what he meant, and Clare didn’t feel right about asking. Maybe one day he would feel comfortable enough to share more with her. He glanced at her, his look apologetic. “I’m afraid that sort of talk is as gloomy as the weather.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that at all.”

  Clare met his gaze directly to show she meant it. She didn’t wish to shy away from talking about difficulty or loss. She’d experienced both, though in different ways, as a girl.

  Besides, she wanted him to feel at ease discussing anything with her. After all, it wasn’t just his ability to make her laugh or the thrill of bantering with him that had her looking forward to when she would see him next. The easy camaraderie between them was something she’d come to appreciate and cherish. She had never felt this relaxed and happy with a gentleman before. With him, she didn’t have to think carefully through her responses either. They simply accepted each other as they were, right now.

  “I very much enjoy talking with you, my lord, on any and all topics of conversation.”

  He studied her in a way that made Clare’s middle flutter with feeling. “So do I, Miss Herschel.”

  Before she could think of how to respond, the clouds gave up their rain, spilling a deluge of heavy drops on them. Clare stopped her horse and peered around for somewhere to take shelter from the increasing downpour.

  “We can wait out the worst of it beneath that tree,” Lord Linwood said, pointing with his crop in that direction.

  She guided her horse after his. Lord Linwood climbed down from his mount beside the tree and helped Clare dismount too. He secured the horses so they wouldn’t wander off as Clare shivered near the tree’s trunk. The branches above were thick with summer foliage, but they didn’t completely block the elements.

  “Unfortunately, I didn’t bring along an umbrella.” Lord Linwood joined her under the tree.

  Clare could feel her riding hat beginning to slide. Removing the pins that secured it, she took off the hat to reposition it. “It’s all right. There’s little more the rain can do to us at this point. I’m not sure we can get any wetter.”

  He chuckled. “That may be true, but what sort of gentleman would I be if I didn’t offer you some sort of covering?”

  “If you can rummage up a covering,” she teased, “then you’d be more than a gentleman—you’d be a magician.” She tucked her hat beneath her arm and attempted to fix her falling, wet hair.

  “A challenge I can’t refuse.” Lord Linwood made a show of studying the branches and base of the tree before a grin appeared on his face. Pulling off his hat, he took hers in hand as well and hung them both on nearby branches. “Are you ready for your magic trick, Miss Herschel?”

  She laughed with as much amusement as doubt when he pulled off his jacket and positioned it over their heads. Though she was initially doubtful, the pelting of the rain did lessen beneath the cover of the fabric. “Bravo,” Clare said, clapping her hands. She grabbed one of the corners to help hold the jacket in place, so Lord Linwood could lower one of his arms. “I’ll admit this is much better.”

  “Yes, it is,” he murmured.

  Clare didn’t think he was talking about the rain. Not when his attention remained fixed on her. She realized in that moment how close they were standing to each other, his shoulder pressed to hers, his warmth adding to her own. She knew she probably ought to step away, but she didn’t.

  “You have some . . .” He motioned to her cheek with his free hand.

  Embarrassed, Clare reached up to touch her face and discovered a strand of wet hair plastered to her skin. Was that why he’d been staring intently at her? She blushed and swiped at the hair. Only half of it obliged her cold, trembling fingers by releasing its hold.

  “May I?” Lord Linwood asked quietly.

  She nodded in agreement. His blue eyes held no mockery, which eased her humiliation a little. Gently he detached the hair from her cheek and pushed it behind her ear.

  The intimacy of the gesture and his close proximity caused her heart to trip faster. He didn’t lower his hand either. Instead he stroked the side of her face with his thumb. Clare couldn’t look away; she could hardly breathe. Beyond the shelter of his jacket, nothing else existed save the two of them and the intense light that returned to Lord Linwood’s gaze as he glanced down at her mouth.

  Tipping her chin up slightly with his knuckle, he met her lips with his. She leaned forward, her hand settling against the front of his jacket as she reciprocated his kiss.

  Her feelings for him had been growing steadily for some time. But as they kissed, Clare could no longer deny the depth of those feelings. She was falling in love with him.

  And the adoration in his smile when he stepped back several moments later filled her with hope that maybe he could love her in return.

  She’d left behind everything dear and familiar to come to England in order to make a good match with a respectable gentleman—to have a relationship similar to what her parents had. Could she and Lord Linwood share that sort of loving bond? Clare was beginning to believe so. And if he felt the same way, then she would bravely embrace both a marriage to him and a new life, far from home, with all of her heart.

  Chapter 4

  Emmett raced up the drive leading to the viscount’s villa, mindful of the broken cobblestones and split earth. He still carried Antonina. Rushford was only a few steps behind them. The three of them had managed to survive the death traps awaiting them in every other street and square up to now. Emmett had even driven the guilt he felt at not saving Angelo from his mind with the reminders that his next task was to see to Clare. However uncertain their future or relationship, he had to be sure she was unharmed.

  The mass of rubble where the house had once stood halted his frantic pace and caused him to stumble. “No,” he whispered, his gaze roaming the ruins for any sign of life.

  “They may have escaped.” Rushford drew alongside him. “Before it collapsed.”

  After what they’d witnessed and lived through so far, Emmett recognized it was a rather fragile piece of a hope his valet offered. But it was hope nonetheless, and Emmett held to it as tightly as he cradled the girl in his arms. “Right. We’ll call out and see if anyone answers.”

  His feet moved forward almost unbidden, a likely result of narrowing his thoughts to a single focus throughout all the horrors
of the morning. “Clare?” he shouted as loudly as he could. “Vickley? Anyone?”

  Silence rumbled in his ears, then a tiny sound breached the mound of rubble. “Emmett! We’re here!”

  His wife’s voice had never sounded sweeter. Emmett dropped to his knees in relief and exhaustion amid the broken stones. They were alive—Clare was alive. God had mercifully answered Emmett’s petitions. He blinked hard against the tears forming fast in his eyes.

  “We’re trapped,” the viscount called out. “Near the east side of the villa.”

  Emmett rose onto one foot, keeping Antonina secure against his chest. “Is anyone hurt?”

  “No.”

  Standing fully, Emmett replied back, “Hold on. We’re going to get you out.” But first he needed to convince the frightened little girl clinging to him that he wasn’t going to abandon her if he let her down.

  “Antonina, I need to set you down now.” As he’d expected, her dark eyes widened and her arms tightened their grasp around his neck. “I am not going anywhere, and I will not leave you. I’ll be right here. But I need both my hands to help the people trapped inside this house. Understand?”

  She looked toward the toppled villa and back at him. Emmett held his breath. He didn’t want to frighten her further by forcibly putting her down, but he couldn’t join in Rushford’s efforts to clear a hole in the rubble while still carrying the child. Finally Antonina nodded and loosened her grip. Emmett’s breath came out in a whoosh of gratitude.

  “You can stay right by me while I work,” he reassured her as he set her on her feet. “You can even help, if you want.”

  With another nod, she let go of him and took a tentative step to the side. Emmett mustered a quick smile for her, then bent forward and grasped a stone. After a few seconds, Antonina picked up a small section of plaster herself and dragged it to the pile Emmett and Rushford were beginning to make. Her willingness to pitch in brought the renewed sting of tears to Emmett’s eyes. No child should have to endure what Antonina had so far this morning, and yet she still had the strength and compassion to recognize that others were in need too.

  That kind of attitude reminded him of Clare. She too had a great capacity to see others, to put them at ease, to treat them kindly, to encourage them—be they members of high society, children, or servants.

  Thoughts of his wife drove him to work faster. He and Rushford cleared away stones, plaster, wooden beams, and furniture, while Antonina helped with the smaller pieces. Bit by bit, the hole in the rubble widened in depth and size. From time to time, Emmett or Rushford would call out to the occupants below to ensure they were still all right. Each time an answer came back, relief and resolve coursed through Emmett, infusing his aching muscles with fresh energy.

  The constant bending and hauling intensified the pain in his back where he’d been hit during the collapse of Antonina’s home. A quick examination of the back of his shirt revealed no blood though. He’d likely have a rather large bruise, but it was nothing to the injuries he’d seen on the race to the viscount’s villa or what poor Rushford must be enduring with his broken arm.

  At last the hole in the debris was large enough that Emmett could see several dust-covered heads below. They were through! “I’ll help you climb out one at a time,” he called down.

  He positioned himself alongside the hole and reached down. Rushford crouched slightly behind him so Emmett could hand off the person to the valet. Antonina stayed close to Emmett, her gaze on the hole too. Helena appeared first and placed her hands inside Emmett’s. He carefully tugged her forward and up until she was free.

  “Thank you, thank you.” She was covered head to toe in white dust and sobbing. “It’s a miracle you were here!”

  Her baby was handed up next and Emmett settled the squalling child into his mother’s arms. He heard Clare encourage the other women to go before her. And while Emmett appreciated her kindness, it didn’t lessen his anxiety to know she remained imprisoned inside the collapsed villa. After helping Miriam, he assisted three other female servants, all of them looking like ghosts emerging from the grave.

  At last he saw Clare. Like the others, she was covered in white dust, but Emmett knew the shape of her face, the red-gold color of her hair, and the green of her eyes. He pulled her out and reluctantly handed her over to Rushford. Emmett wanted to embrace her, if only to be certain she wasn’t hurt, but he wasn’t sure if Clare would welcome that. Besides, there were more people who still needed rescuing too.

  The viscount was next, followed by his valet and a footman. Ten people in all, and all of them alive. Emmett shook his head in grateful astonishment and rose shakily to a standing position. At once, he felt a small hand grip his.

  He looked down at Antonina. “Grazie,” he said to her. The little girl had been a part of the rescue too.

  “Emmett!” Clare broke away from the group and hugged him. “Y-you saved us.” Her voice hitched with tears. “Thank you.”

  Without thinking, he wrapped his free arm around her, pulling her securely against his chest. It felt marvelous to hold her like this, to feel her heart beating in time with his. But did Clare feel the same way? He loosened his grasp slightly and braced himself for her to pull away. When she didn’t, he guessed it was only because of the awful ordeal she’d lived through. Her embrace was likely as much about needing comfort as it was about the affection she might have given him once.

  The realization saddened him, and he released her. She didn’t need to feel beholden to him. He’d done what any self-respecting husband would have done.

  “You’re all right?” she asked, searching his face. “You weren’t hurt?”

  He shook his head. “I’m fine. Rushford broke his arm, though.”

  “Who is this?” She looked at Antonina.

  Emmett glanced down at the girl too. “This is Antonina. She and her . . .” He swallowed hard against the rise of guilt. “She was in need of rescuing too.” He looked at Clare, hoping she would glean from his expression that he didn’t wish to elaborate further within the girl’s hearing. Clare studied him, then nodded with apparent understanding. “Rushford and I couldn’t leave her behind.”

  “Of course not.” Despite the horror of being trapped inside the rubble earlier, Clare offered Antonina a real smile. “Buongiorno, Antonina. Mi chiamo Clare.” She pointed at herself.

  “Clare,” Antonina repeated.

  Now that everyone was rescued, it was time to leave. “We need to get moving,” Emmett said, addressing the whole group. “It isn’t safe to stay in the city, so I suggest we head for the open countryside.” When no one argued, he nodded. “All right then. Be careful, and follow each other as closely as you can.”

  He hoisted Antonina onto his back and began to navigate his way up the hazardous drive a second time. A glance over his shoulder showed that the group was hurrying after him, Rushford at the rear. After a few minutes, Emmett turned the corner onto an adjacent street, but he hadn’t gone far when he realized the footsteps behind him had stopped. He spun around to determine the delay and found everyone, except for Rushford, gaping in shock at the scene before them. They’d had no of way of knowing their ordeal inside the villa had been the fate of nearly every other home and building in the city.

  “Come on,” he called out. “We can’t stop!”

  He hiked up a pile of ruins and down the other side. The constant shifting of the earth beneath him was painfully familiar by now. So too was the constant stumbling and the striking of his knees on the debris with regularity. Emmett forged onward though. He had an entire group of people depending on him to get them to safety.

  Every few feet, he peered back to ensure they were still following. He did his best to shut out the continuous cries for help and the sight of broken bodies littering the streets. Antonina remained silent. Once when Emmett shot her a look over his shoulder to see how she was holding up, he thought he saw that her eyes were shut tight. He wished he could do the same.

  A cry fr
om behind sometime later made Emmett whirl around. Her baby still in tow, Helena was leaning over the viscount. “He’s bleeding,” she cried out.

  Emmett hurried back toward them. Up close he could see that the viscount’s head sported a nasty gash. “I . . . don’t know . . . what struck me,” the man said in a dazed voice.

  “Can you stand?” Emmett freed a hand to grip the viscount’s elbow. The other man didn’t answer, though he managed to rise shakily to his feet.

  Emmett looked around for the viscount’s valet or footman. The two men were a ways behind, only now turning the corner onto the street. They would have to catch up as best they could. It wouldn’t be wise to wait for them, or others might end up hurt and bleeding too.

  “Rushford?” Emmett said. “Can you help the viscount walk?” The valet nodded and took Emmett’s spot beside the injured man.

  Helena was openly weeping now, her eyes wide with shock. Clare must have noticed too, because she took the baby from her friend’s arms. “I’ll hold Little Leo for a while.”

  Emmett sent her an approving nod, then returned to his place at the head of the group. “We must keep going.”

  The crying and crashing on every side didn’t cease as they moved from one street to another. Each time he looked back, though, Emmett saw the other members of their group plodding along as quickly as their bare feet would allow. The earthquake had struck before any of them had risen and dressed for the day. If only he had shoes for everyone.

  When the ruined buildings and wreckage seemed to grow farther apart, Emmett wondered if it was only his imagination—that he was seeing what he wanted instead of what was real. Then he spotted a country road up ahead. No rubble barred this path, though the ground was still badly broken up in spots.

  Emmett didn’t stop walking until he reached a field with no trees or houses nearby to come crashing down upon them. Only then did he lower himself to the earth and helped Antonina sit beside him. He was relieved when Clare, still holding the baby, came to a stop a few feet away. Helena, Miriam, and the other three young ladies joined them, while the viscount hobbled forward with Rushford’s help. Everyone collapsed to the ground in exhaustion.