A Chance Encounter (St. John Series Book 10) Page 14

  A man appeared at the doorway. “Nothing outside, Boss.”

  “Marco!” Russo spoke to his hired man. “Search the room.”

  “You will do no such thing,” Oliver warned.

  “I can and I will. You have no idea who you are dealing with, Signore St. John. If you cause an issue, Emerald Shipping will find great hardship maintaining relations here.”

  “Do not threaten my company over your imagined slights. I will not be bullied by you or your ‘influence.’ My father has more power than you realize, and it would be wise for you not to forget that.”

  “Search the room,” Russo ordered his man.

  “Go ahead and search,” Martin spoke.

  “Martin,” Oliver protested. He was not to be intimidated by the man before him. He knew Russo’s type. Men who used influence to get their way. And he would be damned if he would allow Russo that pleasure today. Yet, Madelena was in the sea chest against the wall. She was most likely smothering in the confined space, curled up in a ball on top of her dress.

  “This is my home, Oliver. I live here and want to continue doing so. If there is nothing to be found, then what is the harm? Go ahead. Have your man search and then leave before Geneva returns. I do not want her becoming upset over something so trivial.”

  Oliver and Russo stood toe to toe. Neither man was backing down. Martin knew that, despite Oliver’s carefree appearance, he had a temper just as violent as any of the St. Johns and a left hook that would break a man’s jaw.

  Marco entered the room. Oliver barely took notice of the man as he squared off with Russo. Despite the man being his senior by many years, he was physically fit. Muscles could be seen straining under the tailored coat he wore, and the thickness of his neck led Oliver to the conclusion that the man was physically active in some way.

  “Make it quick,” Oliver conceded with ill grace, sitting down. He only yielded for Maddie. “I have a hangover and do not feel like entertaining.”

  Marco headed to the linen cabinet. Oliver watched the muscular man throw out every piece of linen in the closet. It was for pure aggravation. There was no way that Madelena could have not been seen in the area. Marco then turned to the wardrobe and proceeded to throw out all of Oliver’s clothing upon the floor. Hell, the bastard even emptied the drawers!

  “Do you think she is a mouse for I seriously doubt she would fit in a bloody drawer,” Oliver scoffed.

  Marco turned, approaching Oliver and sneered. The hired man got down upon all fours and looked under the bed. He stood.

  “Get up,” Marco ordered.

  “She is not in my bed,” Oliver noted. “As you can see, it is just me.”

  “Get up.”

  Oliver mentally chided himself. He had to get these men out of here before Madelena came flying out of that trunk from the heat. So he stood.

  Marco grabbed the covers and tossed them to the floor. His eyes came to the bottom sheet.

  “Dried blood on the bed, Boss.”

  Russo stepped around Oliver.

  Oliver closed his eyes and held his breath. Remember, you must keep your temper in check.

  Russo looked at the spot. It was dark brown. Not fresh. “Whose?”

  “Mine,” Oliver replied, turning and holding up his hand.

  Russo studied the bandage. Blood was on the outside, not quite dry.

  “That is fresh blood upon your bandage. That on the bed is dried,” Russo noted, suspicion in his voice. “And in the appropriate spot for particular actions.”

  Oliver shook his head. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Remove your bandage.”

  Oliver did as bade, quickly unwinding the blood-tinged bandage from his hand. Once uncovered, he held his palm up to Russo. “You see.”

  “When?”

  “Ask your little spy next door. She saw me do it.”

  “I do not need your lip, boy.”

  Temper. Just comply and get him the hell out of here. “A few days ago. I was using dull tools on the log out back. My hand slipped.”

  Another man approached the door to the room at that time. “No one’s here, Signore Russo. All the outbuildings and rooms have been searched.”

  “The servants?” Russo asked. “Have they been questioned.”

  “All the ones present denied seeing her.”

  The brow over Russo’s left eye rose. “Yet you claimed she was here.”

  “It was late,” Oliver supplied. “Nearly four in the morning. The servants were abed.”

  Russo looked around the room again. “Even though my daughter is not here, I do not trust you. Enjoy your stay in Rome, St. John, but keep in mind I will be watching you. One little slip and I will have you arrested. Understand?”

  “Perfectly,” Oliver bit out through clenched teeth. He did not like playing the part of a whipped dog.

  Russo turned to leave. Martin followed to make sure that all of the influential men went as well. Oliver approached the door, shut it, and turned the lock. He approached the trunk and removed the items from the top.

  Madelena burst out of the trunk like a jack-in-the-box and gasped for fresh air.

  Oliver placed a finger to his lips, hushing Madelena’s noise. She nodded her head.

  Oliver trotted over to the window. A few minutes later he watched Russo and his men file out of the house. At the end of the walk, Russo turned and locked onto Oliver’s form. The older man glared at Oliver for a few seconds and then left to continue his search.

  “He’s gone,” Oliver spoke.

  Madelena’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Thank God. I was about to think he never would. Then again, you did not help matters. My father is not a man who is used to having his authority questioned.”

  “So I take it.” Oliver offered her a hand to assist her out of the trunk.

  “Now. Back to the discussion before your father’s appearance.”

  “What discussion?”

  “Why did you do it? Why did you allow a stranger to take you to bed?”

  Madelena’s shoulders slumped. “Tomorrow, a representative of Miles Drakos will come to my home to check on my purity. Drakos only wants a pure bride. If I fail the test, then he will not marry me.”

  “Why did you agree to in the first place?”

  “I didn’t!” Madelena defended, her eyes growing wide. “My mother hates me for some reason. She torments me every chance she gets and blames me for the fact that my sisters cannot find a suitor. She arranged the marriage for me.”

  “I seriously doubt you are the reason your sisters cannot find suitable husbands. I have met them, and the only one with a reasonable personality is Flora. Your father seemed uninterested in your sisters’ choice of suitors and who they engaged with, yet he appears very protective of you. I find it hard to believe he accepted your mother’s choice of a husband for you?”

  Sorrow pulled her eyes. “I always thought he cared for my opinion. When I protested, he seemed just as determined as Mother to see me marry Drakos.”

  “And what of me?”

  “What of you?”

  “You honestly have no desire to wed me?”

  Madelena’s spine went rigid. “I have no desire to wed any man. I told you that. I hate small, tight spaces. Why else would I have suffered in that trunk? If I wanted to marry you, I would have shouted to my father upon his arrival. I would have jumped out of that trunk the instant he was in this room. Are you so stupid as to think that I still want to marry you? I only wanted you for sex. Nothing more. And do not dare to think to be insulted by the notion for that was your interest in me as well. Men seek carnal satisfaction all the time.”

  “That is entirely different.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is,” Oliver replied.

  “Just because it is what’s done does not mean it is the same for everyone.”

  Oliver furrowed his brow with confusion. “What?”

  “Men can have sex all the time and not for marri
age. No one thinks twice about it. But the instant a woman does, she is labeled as a slut or whore and is condemned by society.”

  “This was a complete change of subject. I thought we were talking about marriage.”

  “We are. I do not want to marry. I told you all I want to do is make and sell my baskets. I want a life that is not under the dictate of men. Is that too much to ask?”

  A solemn expression crossed Oliver’s face as he shook his head. “No. That is a dream. We all have them.”

  “I am truly sorry that my father has set his sights on you. I will see what I can do to deter his wrath.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I don’t know. I will think of that on the way home.”

  “Speaking of which. How are we going to get you out of this house? He has men watching the streets, and apparently, Martin’s neighbor is more vigilant than any guard.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Yet you had everything else planned?”

  “I did. It’s not my fault I fell asleep. I was planning on slipping out after you dozed off.”

  “Well, now what?”

  Madelena approached the bed and sat down. Bringing her knees up, she cradled her chin on them. “You don’t have a suit I can borrow?”

  Oliver’s right brow shot upwards. “No.”

  “I might have a dress,” a female voice came from the doorway.

  Martin followed Russo down the steps.

  “I truly hope you find your daughter, Signore Russo. And please excuse my guest’s rudeness. As you heard him say, he is suffering the effects of the overindulgence of alcohol.”

  “That does not excuse his discourtesy.”

  “He is a St. John. They do have a way of pressing upon one’s nerves. It comes from his upbringing, you see. His father is the Earl of Hyntington.”

  Russo stopped and pivoted.

  Marvin nodded his head, causing his mussed hair to bounce. “In England.”

  “Hmmm.” He had forgotten that tidbit. No wonder Sandra kept pressing him to seek out St. John for a dinner invitation so she could pair Angela or Flora with him. Antonio would not have it! Somehow, St. John was entangled with Madelena, and he would not stand for it.

  “Signore Russo,” a female voice said from the foyer.

  Martin leaned to the right to peer around Russo. “Geneva?! What are you going here?”

  “I live here,” she coolly answered.

  “I know that. I mean, you’re home. Early. You were at your mother’s.”

  “She became ill.”

  Russo bowed politely. “Signora Henshaw. So good to see you this morning.”

  She gave a brilliant smile. “Thank you, Signore Russo. What brings you by? I hope everything is as it should be.”

  Russo approached the foyer where Geneva was standing. “Everything is fine. I just had a bit of business with your husband. Do have a blessed day.”

  Russo passed Geneva with Marco upon his heels. Marco bumped the table where the lilies sat.

  “Careful, Marco. You do not want to ruin Signora Henshaw’s beautiful flowers. After all, her husband did purchase them to surprise her.”

  “My flowers?” Geneva asked, her eyes going to the white lilies. Curiosity pulled her brows together as she looked at her husband. Martin knew she detested lilies for they reminded her of death.

  “Yes,” Martin quickly interjected, an overzealous smile pulling his lips. “I wanted to surprise you. I know how much you adore lilies.”

  “Indeed.” Geneva turned to Russo. “Give my regards to your wife.”

  “Thank you, and I hope your mother recovers quickly. Does she need a doctor?”

  “No. She believes she ate something that did not settle well. However”—Geneva’s hands came to her abdomen—“I am in no condition to be around anyone ill at this time.”

  “My congratulations,” Russo said, giving a nod of his head.

  “Your condition?” Martin said. His eyes widened. “Are you?”

  Geneva smiled but did not answer.

  Martin gave a whoop and captured his wife around the waist, twirling her.

  “I will leave you to your wife, Signore Henshaw. And remind your guest of his impropriety.”

  Martin placed his wife upon the ground and gave her a kiss. “You don’t know how happy you have made me.”

  Geneva placed her hand upon his face.

  “Why did you wait until now to tell me?”

  “I was going to tell you last night, but we were never alone, and the one time we were you seemed distracted. When I saw Russo here, I suspected it was a good time to reveal my condition.”

  “Why? And why are you here?”

  “Men treat expectant mothers like Faberge eggs. Mother heard the news of Russo’s daughter’s disappearance and that he was searching the city for her house by house. I had a feeling that he would come here and that Oliver is involved in some way.”

  “How did your mother find out where she lives? I mean, it's in the middle of nowhere!”

  “Not nowhere. It takes twenty minutes to get to her house from ours. And I didn’t ask how she came about the information. The instant I heard, I made my excuses and came straight home. I’m glad I did. I had a feeling that Russo was not going to leave peacefully.”

  “He was leaving.”

  “But he seemed vexed.”

  “He was. Blame it on Oliver and his damned St. John attitude.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Do you like the flowers?” Martin tried to change the conversation for he knew Geneva would be furious when she learned that Madelena was upstairs as they spoke.

  “You know I hate lilies. Where did they come from? And quit stalling, Martin. Tell me the truth now, or I will bash you over the head with those dreadful lilies and make you sleep in that blasted log in the back yard.”

  A deep breath left him as he nodded in defeat. “The flowers were here when I got home. I assume Oliver purchased them for his…his…lady friend upstairs.”

  “Lady friend?” Geneva questioned, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest.

  Martin braced himself for his wife’s reaction. “Madelena.”

  “Russo?! Madelena Russo is upstairs? In my house?”

  “Yes.”

  Geneva tossed her hands in the air in frustration and began speaking so rapidly that Martin was having trouble keeping up with her.

  She whirled around to face her husband, fire shooting from her dark eyes. “This is your fault!”

  “My fault?”

  “Yes. You had to invite your friend here and now look what good nostalgia has gotten you. We now have Russo watching us.”

  “In Oliver’s defense, he had no idea that the woman he brought home was Russo’s daughter. He nearly fell over at the revelation.”

  “Really, Martin? I cannot see him falling over at a revelation of any type.”

  “Honestly, Geneva, my love. He had no idea who she was.”

  “And how did she end up here? In Oliver’s bed?”

  “She was rambling about marriage to Drakos and a purity check. I really wasn’t paying much attention. I was more focused on the fact that Russo was coming up our walk to search our home for his daughter.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Still upstairs, I assume. Russo searched Oliver’s room, but she was nowhere to be found. Damned if I know where Oliver stashed the chit.”

  Geneva gently patted Martin’s shoulder as she walked past him.

  “Where are you going?” Martin called to his wife’s departing back.

  “To try to find a way to get Madelena out of our house without Nichole or Russo’s men seeing her.”

  “I love you.”

  “Fix your hair, Martin. You look like you have been in a wind storm.”

  Geneva made her way up the stairs and stood outside of Oliver's room. Pressing her ear to the door, she listened to the conversation, and the confession from Madelena of a purit
y check was shocking. She had heard of some men demanding the humiliating examination be performed upon their intended, but it had been years ago. She placed her hand upon the knob and turned it. Easing open the door, she watched Madelena sit down upon the bed.

  Madelena brought her knees up and cradled her chin on them. “You don’t have a suit I can borrow?”

  Oliver’s right brow shot upwards. “No.”

  “I might have a dress,” Geneva said.

  Oliver turned. “How did you get in here? I locked the door.”

  “The lock is broken,” Geneva said.

  “Signora Henshaw,” Madelena said, sliding her feet back to the floor.

  “Hello, Signorina Madelena. Your father just left, and Martin has informed me of what has transpired.”

  “I am so sorry,” Madelena said. “I had no intention of being here this long. I intended to leave before sunup.”

  “And now it's past eleven. I will allow you to borrow a dress, and I am certain one of my maids has a mob cap you can place over your head to help hide your appearance. You can leave with her when she goes to the market. Signora Cancio will be partaking in her noontime meal in her rose garden by then. You both can leave through the front.”

  “What about my dress?”

  “What dress?”

  Madelena approached the trunk and removed it. “It’s one of a kind. You cannot possibly keep it here.”

  Geneva pressed her lips together in thought. “Have you ever been to the baker’s shop at the square?”

  “I have.”

  “I will have your dress boxed up and have one of my maids deliver it to the back of the shop around two. No one should be about. You can pick it up there.”

  Relief caused Madelena’s shoulders to slump. “Thank you. I do not know how to repay you.”

  “Just keep your father from finding out you were here and that I aided you.”

  “I will not mention a word of your assistance or my whereabouts to anyone.”

  Geneva turned her attention to Oliver. Her eyes glinted with something that Oliver could only describe as rage. Yet her tone belied her eyes. “When Madelena has departed, I would like a word with you.” She turned and approached the door. “I will bring you the dress posthaste.”