Page 69 of Tempted By the English Marquis
The adrenaline coursing through his body had brought on nausea far worse than anything he had suffered during the long sea voyage from England. Gideon was in no fit state to swing a dangerous weapon, safety tip or not. If he had been compelled to fight, his opponent would be the one to bear the brunt of his simmering hatred for Giovanni Magri, a man who he didn’t even know.
But social conventions had demanded that he accept Matteo’s invitation with a bright, happy face. As soon as he’d heard mention of the fencing club, Gideon had paid a quick visit to the nearby chapel and invited Flynn to join them.
The disheveled viscount had initially taken on several of the lesser academy students, but once the Italians realized how good he was, Matteo was sent in to do battle.
“Come on, Flynn,” cried Gideon.
A disapproving huff from one of the other club members told Gideon how poorly his open encouragement of his friend was viewed, but he didn’t give a damn.
Yes, I know it’s a gentleman’s sport these days, but in battle one doesn’t go about stabbing people quietly.
Bloodlust was in his veins this morning.
The cries ofen gardeandtouchéechoed off the brick walls of the club. The near constant thump of feet as combatants leapt forward and back only added to the noisy drama. There was a definite simmering tension in the air about him. Gideon’s thoughts were dark, and he dared not trust himself with any sort of weapon.
One final glorious lunge and touch had Flynn declared the winner. A smiling Matteo shook his hand. “You, my friend, are a dangerous man. I wouldn’t want to ever have to meet you in a duel. I expect if you had a real sword in your hand, you would cut me to pieces.”
They moved off the piste and two other combatants took their place. Gideon came forward to congratulate Flynn. “Well done. Matteo is right; it’s a good thing duels are illegal.”
Matteo shook his head. “Not in Rome or most of the Italic Peninsular. Duels are still quite common. Though most of them are either settled by negotiation before swords are drawn or they are just toa primo sangue,which is first blood. Then a hearty supper follows. It is rare for a fight to bea ultimo sangue.Not unless one of parties has said or done something so bad that the only way honor can be restored is by the shedding of serious blood. Or death.”
Flynn raised his eyebrows. “Remind me never to insult anyone in this city.”
Gideon nodded. Sage advice indeed. “At least you would stand a chance. If I ever had to fight a duel with a sword, I would be bringing a priest and an undertaker with me.”
Matteo put a friendly arm around his shoulder. “Enough talk about death. Let’s celebrate life instead. While you have managed to avoid doing battle this morning. Lord Holwell, I still think you deserve to be fed. As do you, Lord Cadnam. You must both come with me to my home and share the midday meal.”
A chuckling Flynn picked up his well-worn jacket and put it on. “I would never wish to offend an Italian host—especially one who offers me food.”
For the first time that morning, Gideon managed to summon a smile. “Thank you, Matteo, we would love to join you.”
His life might well have its current difficulties, but even he couldn’t resist the lure of spending time with friends.
ChapterThirty-Six
The first thing Gideon noted when he arrived at supper late that evening was that Giovanni Magri’s home was modest in comparison to Palazzo Lazio. In his biased opinion, it didn’t match up to Mowbray House in London either. It lacked both grandeur and elegance. The fact that it was destined to be Serafina’s future home didn’t help with his less than favorable opinion. He hated everything about the place.
But he reserved his deepest enmity for its owner.
“Why the deuce am I here?” he muttered under his breath. Soon after arriving at the gathering, he and Augusta had been introduced to Signore Magri. The instant he’d set eyes on the man Serafina was meant to be marrying, Gideon’s anger had sparked, white hot.
The potbellied, balding Giovanni Magri had greeted them with the merest feigned interest, giving a brief nod and then moving on to greet his next guest.
Gideon couldn’t get over the sight of Giovanni Magri. The man had to be at least sixty years old if he was a day. And while he couldn’t be faulted purely because of his age, in Gideon’s eyes he had no right to be marrying a young woman of barely twenty. Such difference in age and life experience put them on an unequal footing.
Rage didn’t begin to describe the molten fury which threatened to consume Gideon. Enzo de Luca was going to sacrifice his young daughter to a man three times her age purely for political gain.
And here was me thinking that the Borgias and their sort of political scheming had all died out.
From the way that Enzo de Luca was obviously crafting his power and wealth, it was clear that he had decided he was going to take over their role. The man was a manipulative schemer who didn’t care what he had to do as long as it served his ambitions.
Gideon downed another glass of wine—his third in under an hour. It did nothing to wash away the sour taste in his mouth.
Days from now, he was meant to be onboard a boat back to England. And Serafina was going to be sharing her body with . . .no. The wine turned to acid in his gut. He couldn’t even begin to accept that as her future.
The rattling cough which Giovanni Magri regularly presented had Gideon pondering what lay ahead for her. The man would not make old bones, which meant that Serafina would still be a young woman when she became a widow.
With her husband dead, Enzo de Luca would step in and take control of Serafina’s life. She would be back on the marriage market, ready to do her father’s bidding once more as she was forced to become the wife of yet another of his political allies.
