When her hair was as short as it had ever been, she moistened her lips, still watching as the comb ran the length of each strand. She shook her head. It felt light and unencumbered.
“
“
“Well, Irena, I’m happy to meet you.” Emma shook the girl’s brown hand. “Thank you for your help.”
A shadow fell across them. Irena dropped her hand and the smile disappeared from her face as Giovanni loomed over them and spoke sharply. The girl gathered up the things she had brought, gave another bob and hurried away.
Emma watched her go, then turned to Giovanni. “Was that necessary?” she asked. “She only wanted to help me.”
Giovanni frowned, making his expression even more dark and brooding. To her surprise he spoke in English. “No talking with our people.”
Before she could protest, Marco strode up to them and dismissed Giovanni with a wave of his hand. The man disappeared in the direction of the dwellings. They all seemed very good at ordering people around.
“I don’t think he likes me,” Emma said.
“It’s not his job to like anyone. He is responsible for our security.” Marco looked at her more closely. “You have cut off your hair.”
“Absolutely right. It feels good.” She bent her head forward and shook it again, peering at him through the dark curtain.
“You should have asked me first.”
She paused in her movements. “I beg your pardon?”
“It will be more difficult to disguise you as one of us. Italian women do not cut their hair.”
“I’d bet five pounds that some of them do. But let’s talk about leaving here-”
“It will soon be dark,” he said abruptly. “We must talk. Then, you must eat and sleep. Come with me.”
He turned on his heel and took two steps, picking up a flaming torch, then looked back at her, tapping the paper he still carried against his leg. “Come.”
Emma stood with a sigh. This wasn’t going to be easy.
She followed Marco farther into the cave, noticing that most of the people who had seemed so busy when she arrived had disappeared, probably into the houses or outside. Way at the back was an empty space where the roof was lower than in the inhabited area. It was a darned good job she wasn’t claustrophobic, she thought as they moved into the tight space. Marco wouldn’t want a prisoner with the screaming heebie-jeebies.
Marco stopped by some boxes piled against the farthest wall. “Sit.”
All this bossing around was beginning to irritate her, but she did as she was told.
Marco paced before her. He waved the paper under her nose. “This is yesterday’s newspaper,” he said.
“What news is there? Do they have anything about the ship?”
He opened it out so she could see the headlines and columns. “All the front page.” He folded it smaller again and pointed to one column. “Here is the passenger list and the names of the bodies they have recovered.”
Emma craned her neck to see better. It was difficult to make out the small print in the flickering light.
Marco let his finger rest on a name under the heading:
“What?” Emma seized the paper and peered more closely. There were three lists, one of the passengers, one of the bodies. The last column held the names of five survivors.
“I don’t understand.”
“They found a body they identified as Lady Emma. So that leaves the question of who you are.”
“I’m Emma Houndsdale.” She searched the passenger list. “There she is-” She pointed to a name. “Catherine Hall. She was-is-my maid. They haven’t found her. I mean, they have found her.” She closed her eyes and held back tears. “Poor Catherine,” she whispered. “Poor, poor Catherine.”
She let the paper fall and leaned back against the stone wall. “We changed places last night. She has dark hair like me and is about the same height. There was a fancy dress party after dinner and I let her go in my costume. She was excited about it and I thought it would bore me to death. No one would know who she was behind the mask. She and I had traded places before.”
Catherine had given her many an alibi in the past when she wanted to slip away unobserved from a boring evening. Or had a secret rendezvous.
She looked at him as the hot tears brimmed in her eyes and she blinked them back. “My family must believe I’m dead,” she said. “You have to take me back to Naples first thing in the morning. I need to let them know the truth.” The thought of her grieving father stabbed at her heart.
Marco shook his head. “Believe me,
She formed no coherent thought. In an instant she was on her feet. “Fine. Good luck to you.”
She spun on her heel and ran toward the entrance to the cave. Marco’s shout echoed behind her as she flew on her sore feet, clutching her shawl. She reached a couple of women hovering over the cooking pots and slid around a spot where a group of children had been playing. The women paused in their cooking to stare at her as she flashed past, but because there were fewer people moving around than earlier, she sped unhindered in a direct line to the narrow entrance.
In a few seconds she was outside in the cool evening air. She hardly paused to take her bearings but set her feet toward the path that led back to the valley, back to roads and policemen and telephones. They had crossed a wide track where the police vehicle had passed. Then she’d been gagged and tied, but she was sure she could find it again. It must lead to a town of some kind.
The path dipped sharply away from the grotto and she paused to catch her breath. Behind her she heard a sharp command, footsteps, and then silence. Was Marco even going to pursue her? Maybe he thought she’d be afraid of the night and the steep descent and would return of her own free will. He’d have another think coming. She hurried on.
At the entrance to the cave Marco hesitated. For a frozen moment he had stared after her as she fled from him, unable to believe what she was doing. He had lunged at her too late, only feeling the movement of the air as her shawl whipped past him. Then Giovanni had sprung to his feet, ready to give chase.
“Stay,” he’d barked.
“She’s dangerous,
Marco held on to his lieutenant’s arm. “We cannot both leave,
Where in the names of all the saints did she think she could go? It would soon be dark and she could easily break her neck. He grabbed a blanket in case she hurt herself and he had to cover her, then left the settlement.
She was out of sight when he reached the edge of the cliff. He began to pick his way cautiously down the slope, not wanting the sound of pursuit to spur her to greater speed, increasing the risk of a bad fall.
Who was she? Was she truly Lady Emma Houndsdale or was she a saucy maidservant impersonating her mistress? No matter. Giovanni was right. She was a danger to them until after they had seized the money, the documents and the guns. There had been whispers of the convoy for weeks and at last it had set off from Naples bound for Bari on the east coast. Tomorrow night it would pass over the mountains close to San Matteo.
They had planned this operation for weeks and he didn’t need the distraction of this woman taking his mind off his work, keeping his cock hard and his balls in perpetual torment. He’d had no choice but to bring her with him, even though he knew how he would struggle not to fuck her senseless. He was sure his men believed lust was one reason why he’d insisted she come with them, but he maintained strict discipline amongst them and had to show the example. In truth it had not been difficult for him to live like a monk. Until now. Leadership had its responsibilities and he would never let his people down.
He remembered the feel of her against him, hot and pliant in his arms. When he kissed her on the mountain path she’d responded, letting him ravage her mouth with tongue and lips, molding her body to his, holding his
