To Deceive a Duke. Amanda McCabe

‘Maybe the ghosts leave me alone because I don’t try to live there. Because my work is meant to help those people who fled, to tell their story.’

      ‘Perhaps,’ Rosa said. ‘But if anyone comes there with evil intentions…’

      Like Averton? Were his intentions ‘evil’? ‘What have you heard about the Englishman who has taken the Picini palazzo?’

      Rosa and Paolo exchanged a long glance. ‘Not a great deal yet,’ Rosa said. ‘Our youngest son got a place as footman there. He says this man is very great in your country. A prince of some sort.’

      Clio laughed to envision Averton with a crown perched crookedly on his golden head. That grappa was certainly doing its work! She felt all warm and content. Even curses and dukes couldn’t affect her, not now. ‘Not a prince exactly. But very important, yes. I’m surprised to see him here.’

      ‘You knew him before, signorina?’

      ‘Yes, in England.’

      ‘Ah. Our son says this prince seems to have come here for the antiquities, as so many do. He has many objects he moved into the palazzo. He keeps them in his very bedchamber!’

      ‘Really?’ Clio leaned forward, her interest sharpening. ‘What sort of objects?’

      ‘Vases, statues.’

      ‘A statue of Artemis, perhaps? About as tall as me? Alabaster?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Rosa said. ‘I will ask Lorenzo. Is this statue important?’

      ‘It could be.’ Clio sat back, sipping the last of her grappa. ‘If you hear anything else interesting from Lorenzo, will you tell me? I’d like to know what he’s doing here.’

      ‘Of course, signorina. Is he a bad man, this prince of yours?’

      Clio considered this, thought about their kiss, his touch. The madness that came over her every time she saw him. ‘I don’t know yet.’

      She thanked Rosa and Paolo for the drink and the information, and left them to their own gossip. At the top of the stairs, she could hear the low murmur of voices from the drawing room, the sound of Thalia playing old English madrigals at the pianoforte. She should rejoin them, but her head was spinning with the grappa, curses, ghosts and thoroughly baffling princes. Instead, she turned toward the second flight of stairs leading to the bedchambers.

      Her own room was silent and dark. No one had come yet to light the candles or turn back the bed. Clio walked unsteadily to the window, opening it to lean out and take a deep breath. The vast sky was indigo blue, with only one tiny star and a crescent of moon to light the inky expanse. It was still early; soon, the pearly stars would blink on one by one. Distant Etna was just a blur without her spectacles.

      It would be a good night for the Lily Thief, Clio thought idly. Dark enough to avoid detection. But Santa Lucia was quiet, with nothing to distract people from their purloined ancient treasures. Maybe later, when everyone was cosy in bed…

      She perched on the wide windowsill, tucking the Turkey-red muslin skirts of her evening gown around her. Those thieving days were behind her now, which was a pity considering the Alabaster Goddess might be so near. Clio peered out over the roofs, past the bulk of the cathedral, to the edge of the Duke’s palazzo. It, too, was a bit blurry, but some of the windows were lit up, glowing bright squares. Someone was home.

      What was he doing in there right now? she wondered. Did he gloat over his treasures? Plan how best to drive her even more insane? Did he consider whatever it was that had brought him to Santa Lucia in the first place?

      Rosa said it was the hunt for antiquities, like almost everyone else here. But Clio had learned the hard way that Averton never did things as ‘everyone else’ did, and never for the expected reasons. He was a world unto himself, completely indecipherable.

      Clio doubted his appearance here in sleepy Santa Lucia, so far from his ducal empire, could be a mere coincidence. So, what was it?

      ‘I will just have to find out,’ she murmured. She had gained many skills in her Lily Thief days. Maybe it was time to put them to use again. And, with Marco in town, she had a potential accomplice.

      If he wasn’t up to mischief himself. Marco was always up to mischief. The question was, what sort was it? What was happening behind the sleepy façades of Santa Lucia?

      A knock sounded at her chamber door, and Clio stood up, shaking out her skirts. ‘Yes?’