3. A Ball in Catania

CHAPTER 3

A BALL IN CATANIA

T he following evening

Dressed in his black satin pantaloons, black shirt, red waistcoat, and black silk cravat, Donald approached the top of the marble stairs leading down to the D’Avalos ballroom and paused. He was suddenly glad he had chosen a red satin waistcoat over the silver one, its embroidered birds tumbling about in gold metallic thread, for he would otherwise disappear in the garish colors on display below.

Sicilian aristocrats were obviously popinjays.

Never before had Donald known a grown man to pair an apple green satin topcoat and breeches with an amethyst waistcoat. Or a high-born woman to wear a high-collared gown that completely hid her shoulders and arms but left her pert, round breasts on full display.

Perhaps she had taken a cue from a former French queen.

He watched as a footman carried glasses of fizzy Prosecco on a silver tray held aloft as he weaved his way between undulating silks and satins. The strains of music from a quintet were occasionally interrupted by deep laughter and high-pitched tittering. Scents of sweet perfumes and sandalwood and amber colognes wafted past his nostrils. Hundreds of glittering candles in the three massive chandeliers drenched the ball goers in a golden wash.

That light was about to highlight him, for the butler cleared his throat and announced, “ Il signore Donald Slater of Oxfordshire .”

Donald had to suppress a smirk. What would these aristocrats think if they learned he was an earl’s bastard?

His gaze swept over the ballroom, his search for Nicoletta interrupted by an older gentleman who stopped him at the bottom of the stairs. Donald immediately recognized him. “Conte D’Avalos,” he said as he bowed. “è così bello rivederti.”

So good to see you again.

“My daughter was most anxious to learn if you had arrived,” D’Avalos replied in English, his assessing gaze sweeping down and back up to regard Donald with an arched brow. “She said you are from Oxford.”

Donald quickly corrected the conte. “Oxford shire , my lord. About twenty miles from the city of Oxford. I attended university there, of course.”

“Your father is...?”

Dipping his head, Donald realized the man was probably more than simply curious. Apparently Nicoletta had told him everything she had learned about him the day before. He hadn’t offered any information about his family, but then, she hadn’t asked. “William Slater, Earl of Bellingham and heir to the Devonville marquessate, my lord,” he stated with a nod.

“Ah, I knew it,” D’Avalos replied, one of his fingers stabbing the air. His grin displayed white teeth obviously bestowed by the dental gods. “You look like an English aristocrat,” he accused. “You are on your Grand Tour, are you not?”

“Yes, my lord,” Donald replied at the same moment Nicoletta appeared at his elbow and placed her arm on it.

“ Lascialo stare, padre ,” she said before directing her smile on Donald.

Leave him be, Father.

Donald immediately took her hand to his lips. “Good evening, my lady,” he said as he bowed.

“I feared you would not come,” Nicoletta replied, pulling him from the bottom of the stairs. Donald directed a quick look of apology to her father and allowed the young woman to drag him toward the part of the ballroom where no couples stood. The quintet began playing music he had never heard before, but from the tempo, he understood they were to waltz.

“I would have sent my regrets if I could not come,” he said in response to her comment.

“You were about to lose this waltz to the Marchese Montblanc. He has been most attentive this evening,” she said, lifting one white-gloved hand to his shoulder and placing the other in his right hand.

“I have not had the pleasure of meeting the marchese,” he said as he led them in the first steps of the waltz. Despite his day spent touring the market and the area down by the harbor, he hadn’t introduced himself to anyone but a tailor to whom he had paid a call to acquire the black cravat he wore.

“He was with my father in the prince’s gardens yesterday,” Nicoletta replied, her dancing skills good enough to overcome Donald’s occasional bobble. “We haven’t been formally introduced, though.”

“You are not friends with his daughter?”

Nicoletta’s brows furrowed. “He has no children. I do not believe he has ever taken a wife. Or... if he has, he must be a widower.”

Donald took a quick glance around the ballroom, partly to determine if he was going in the right direction and partly to discover if he could locate the older aristocrat. He didn’t see anyone he recognized, though. “He must have an heir,” he commented. “Or are they not as necessary for Italian aristocrats as they are for their English counterparts?”

Giving him a scolding glance, Nicoletta withheld her response until after they had completed an intricate turn. When she faced him again, she said, “They are. The better question would be if Italian aristocrats are necessary.”

Stunned the young woman would put voice to such a comment, Donald nearly lost his place in the dance. “Are they?”

She managed a shrug. “I rather doubt they will be within my lifetime.” When she noted his look of shock, she added, “There are too many machinations occurring in the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies,” she murmured. “Too many who are not happy with the current situation. I may look like a spoiled chit, but I listen, and I read,” she added.

Donald regarded his dance partner in a new light. It was true he had thought her a spoiled aristocrat’s daughter, what with the way she had ordered him about the day before. Now he found his opinion vastly different. “I’m not sure if I should scold you or kiss you,” he said, a smirk lighting his face.

“Why does it have to be one or the other?”

Blinking, Donald nearly stopped in his tracks, which would have sent the circle of dancers colliding with one another. “Are you flirting with me?” he asked in awe.

For a moment, Nicoletta displayed a look of worry. Then she seemed to sort what he asked, and her face brightened. “And if I am?”

The strains of the waltz settled into silence, and the two came to a slow halt as they stared at one another. Helping himself to two glasses of Prosecco from a passing footman, Donald handed one to Nicoletta and then offered his arm. “Is there a garden where we might cool off?”

“The courtyard,” she replied, leading him in the direction of large doors that had been opened to the dimly lit middle of the villa. He gulped a lungful of chilly air as they stepped outside.

“Would you like my coat?” he asked as he set his glass on a pillar and moved to take off his topcoat.

“I am quite warm,” she replied, flipping open her fan and waving it lazily in front of her face.

“You dance beautifully.”

“As do you, when you’re not distracted,” she countered with a grin. She took a sip of the bubbly and watched with widened eyes as Donald nearly drained his glass in a single gulp.

“I haven’t been to a ball this large in my entire life,” Donald said. Even the ball his grandmother had hosted on the occasion of his grandfather’s seventieth birthday—only a few days before Donald had departed for Europe—couldn’t boast the same attendance, although Cherice had mentioned she was rather judicious with her invitations. Mostly family and friends , she had said when his father had commented on the smaller crowd. I didn’t want a crush .

“Then you must not live in London,” Nicoletta commented. “I hear all the balls are very... crushing.”

Donald chuckled. “They are a crush, yes,” he agreed with a grin, amused at her unintended misuse of the word. She had a point, though. London balls could be crushing. “And no, my home is most of a day’s drive from the capital,” he added, remembering her other comment.

“Will you go there for Parliament?”

Impressed she knew about England’s government, he shook his head. “My grandfather, the marquess, is still alive. My father will take his seat in Parliament when he inherits, and given he is a hale and hearty man, he may outlive me,” Donald said, neatly sidestepping the issue of inheritance.

“So you will be an aristocrat at leisure always,” Nicoletta commented.

“Hardly,” he replied with a chuckle. “I actually see to the stables of my uncle’s earldom.”

“A groom?” she questioned in confusion.

He displayed a grimace. “You could call it that.”

“You... you work ?” she pressed, her dark brows furrowed in disbelief. “Perform labor?”

He nodded. “I do. I have helped on my uncle’s farm since I was old enough to walk, as has my younger brother and my cousins,” he explained.

“And your uncle? He is an earl... a count?” she asked, struggling with the English equivalent.

“He is. The Earl of Gisborn. My aunt Hannah—my father’s sister—is his countess.”

“Does she work also?”

Inhaling to respond, Donald paused. He had been about to say ‘no,’ but then remembered that Hannah saw to the earldom’s books. She oversaw the staff for the house. She tended the citrus trees in the greenhouses. “In a manner of speaking, she does,” he finally said. “It’s a large farm, and there is always something that must be done. Ledgers, for example. Do you see to your father’s books?”

Nicoletta shook her head. “I know my... my numbers. Arithmetic,” she stammered. “But I do not believe my father would ever allow me to keep even the household ledgers. We’ve a housekeeper for that, and he has a... a?—”

“Man of business?”

“A secretary for his business dealings,” she finished, obviously proud she remembered the English word.

“Ah, very good,” Donald replied. He glanced towards the ballroom, wondering if her presence had been missed. “How long are we allowed to stay out here?”

Nicoletta angled her head to one side. “The next dance on my card is for the one after this,” she replied.

“So.... am I allowed to kiss you? Or will I find myself at the business end of a sword if I?—?”

His words were cut off when she suddenly stood on tiptoes and took his lips with her own. The kiss was awkward and quick, mostly because she couldn’t keep her balance.

Donald blinked as he stared down at her. “You minx,” he accused, a grin finally lighting his face.

Her eyes rounded. “What is a minx?”

He chuckled before he placed his hands on the sides of her shoulders, bent his head, and took her lips with his. He dared not linger, but he wanted desperately to continue what she had started. Besides her willingness, he was able to learn what pleased her as she did the same with him.

He was about to move his tongue farther into her mouth when the noise from the ballroom suddenly increased—the doors had no doubt been opened. Sure they would be caught, Donald quickly ended the kiss with a whispered apology. “Mia signora, devo insistere perché entriamo, per non prendere un brivido.”

My lady, I must insist we go inside, lest you catch a chill.

Nicoletta gave him a quelling glance. “Coward,” she whispered, before she turned on a heel and headed toward the ballroom.

The couple they passed on the way paid them no mind, their voices indicating they were in the middle of a rather heated argument.

Donald hoped he and Nicoletta never sounded like them as he offered his arm and they entered the ballroom.

“How long will you stay in Catania?” Nicoletta asked as they wove their way between clusters of attendees engaged in conversation.

“I haven’t yet decided,” Donald replied. “I want to be sure to have enough time in Taormina before I head to Messina. From there, I’ll board a ship bound to Valencia and then another to England.”

She whirled to face him, her eyes wide. “You have only just arrived,” she complained.

He dipped his head. “In Catania. But I’ve been on Sicily for nearly four months,” he explained. “Before that, I was on the mainland, and in Greece before that,” he added. “When I left England, I thought I would only be gone a year.”

“Can you stay longer? I insist you do so.”

From the manner in which she made her comment, Donald found he didn’t want to disappoint her. She apparently liked him. Her willingness to be the one to initiate their first kiss was a testament to her regard for him. “I can stay longer,” he said, smirking when he saw what appeared to be a look of relief cross her face.

“Good. Then you can escort me,” she replied.

“Escort you?” he repeated. “To where?”

She gave him a look of disbelief. “Everywhere, of course,” raising a nearly- bare shoulder to emphasize her comment.

When the music started up for the next dance, an older gentleman appeared next to her and said something Donald couldn’t make out. Realizing he was to be her dance partner and had come to claim her, Donald gave a short bow and stepped back as the two joined a number of couples in what appeared to be a cotillion.

Satisfied to simply watch from where he stood, Donald wasn’t aware of Conte D’Avalos stepping next to his right side until the aristocrat said, “Has she requested you escort her about town on the morrow?”

Giving a start, Donald stared at D’Avalos a moment before he nodded. “She has, my lord. Am I even allowed such an honor?” he asked.

The older man chuckled before he took a sip of his drink. “Ah, young man, you are not only allowed, but now you are expected to do so. No later than eleven o’clock in the morning. If you’d like, I can have my carriage collect you from your lodgings.”

Stunned Nicoletta’s father seemed to be encouraging his interest in her, Donald felt a thrill. “Oh, that won’t be necessary, my lord,” he replied. “My rooms are not far from here. But where exactly will I be escorting Lady Nicoletta?”

Rolling his eyes, D’Avalos said, “Anywhere she wishes to go.”

“ Anywhere , sir?” He couldn’t help the note of incredulousness from sounding in his voice.

“Stay within the city,” D’Avalos ordered. “She’ll mostly wish to shop, and she’ll want your opinion on everything before she buys it.”

Donald angled his head to one side. “And what shall my opinion be?” His mother and aunt had taught all the boys in the family that a woman’s request for input wasn’t to be taken lightly. But they had also implored them to use reason. You won’t want your wife-to-be looking ridiculous, Hannah had warned.

“She won’t abide ambivalence, young man. Be truthful. But do be kind. I shouldn’t want my Nikky crying and demanding your head be removed from your body when she is returned here in time for dinner.”

Chuckling, more to lighten the mood than because he found the man’s words amusing, Donald said, “Of course, sir, and I do appreciate your concern for my head.” He paused a moment. “Is she truly allowed to buy whatever she wants?” he asked, hoping he wouldn’t have to be the one to tell the young woman ‘no’ should she want something particularly expensive.

Laughing in his deep, rich baritone, D’Avalos shrugged. “I indulge her, I know. But it is my right while she resides in my villa. Soon she will marry, and then she will be some other man’s spoiled woman.” He leaned in closer. “Her mother died several years ago, so I allow her to spend what my countess would have spent on clothes and such,” he explained.

“That’s very generous of you, my lord.”

D’Avalos seemed impressed by Donald’s assessment. “Have you an allowance, Signore Slater?”

Shocked that the conte would bring up the topic—it wasn’t polite to speak of money in England—Donald raised a shoulder. “I do.”

“Are you a gambler?”

Donald shook his head. “I am not.”

D’Avalos seemed surprised by his answer. “No cards?”

Once again shaking his head, Donald said, “I occasionally play a hand or two with my cousins, although our bets are made with sixpence coins. I would rather spend my blunt on travel and a good pair of boots.”

“And when must you return to England?” The conte waved to a footman, who rushed over with a tray of drinks. Taking two glasses, D’Avalos handed one to Donald.

“Thank you, sir. I have enough funds to last another two or three months, if I am judicious in how I spend it,” Donald explained, before he took a sip of the bubbling wine.

“Then do watch how you spend it. Nikky will have you robbed blind if you do her bidding,” the conte warned, one of his dark brows arching in warning.

“Of course, sir.”

“There is a matron of some importance who is without a dance partner,” D’Avalos said as he nodded toward an older woman who stood holding a glass of Prosecco. She was watching the proceedings with the manner of a bored aristocrat. “Perhaps you could favor her for the rest of this set?”

Donald’s eyes rounded a fraction before he understood the conte’s request. “Of course, sir.” He bowed to D’Avalos and sauntered toward the matron.

Dressed in a dark red velvet gown, the black-haired beauty might have been forty or fifty or even sixty, but what Donald immediately noticed was that she looked familiar.

He bowed before her and reached for her hand. “Posso avere questo ballo, mia signora?”

May I have this dance, my lady?

The woman straightened and regarded him a moment with a look of surprise. Then her gaze darted to D’Avalos. “Did my brother send you?” she asked in heavily-accented English.

Donald glanced at the conte before turning his attention back on the woman. “If Conte D’Avalos is your brother, then yes, he did ask if I might be willing to dance. I am,” he replied.

She held out her gloved right hand, and Donald was about to bring it to his lips when she grasped his hand and shook it. “Armenia Nicoletta Adeline Victoria D’Avalos,” she said, giving him a nod.

Blinking at the odd introduction, Donald said, “Donald William Henry Slater, my lady, at your service.”

Armenia beamed in delight. “By the gods, but you look just like your father did at your age.”

Donald blinked again. “My lady?”

Placing her hand on his arm, Armenia led them around the perimeter of the ballroom. “My older sister is Adeline, Marchioness of Morganfield,” she said, watching carefully for his reaction.

She wasn’t disappointed.

“I knew you looked familiar,” he said as a smile had a dimple appearing in his lower left cheek. “You’re obviously the younger one, though,” he quickly added, remembering what his mother had said he should say in such circumstances.

Armenia tittered. “Your mother has obviously trained you well,” she said with a grin. “However, I do not believe I have had the pleasure?”

Donald shook his head. “Barbara, Countess of Bellingham. Her father was the late Maxwell Higgins, Earl of Greenley,” he explained. “And she is rarely in London.”

Angling her head to one side, Armenia said, “Are you much in the capital?”

He shook his head. “I have remained in Oxfordshire most of my life,” he said. “But I have been to my grandfather’s house on several occasions, and to a few ton balls. Which is how I met your sister. I attended Oxford with her grandson David,” he added.

“Ah, I’ve not seen him since he was a small boy,” she said, a wistful sigh following the claim. “But I expect he will pay a call whilst he is on his Grand Tour in the next year or so. Tell me, Signore Slater, how long have you known Nikky?”

Donald found the change in subject odd given she seemed anxious to hear more about the people they knew in common. “I only met her yesterday. At the Prince of Biscari’s gardens,” he said.

Rolling her eyes, Armenia scoffed. “Let me guess. She ordered you about, and you did her bidding.”

Chuckling, Donald felt heat climb his neck and color his cheeks. It didn’t help that the temperature in the ballroom had risen several degrees since his arrival. “Something like that,” he admitted.

“Has my brother asked that you escort her on the morrow?”

“He has, my lady.”

“Which you no doubt find odd,” she guessed.

“Trusting me after barely meeting me has given me pause,” he admitted. “Should I be worried?”

At his query, Armenia slowed her steps and pulled him closer to the wall. “If you are to be a willing pawn in whatever game he is playing, then you needn’t worry. He obviously trusts that you won’t kidnap Nikky,” she said in a quiet voice. “But if I know my brother, he has plans, and you may be part of them without even knowing it,” she warned.

Donald dared a glance in the direction of the conte, his brows furrowing when he noticed the man was speaking with the same older gentleman he’d been in conversation with the day before at the labyrinth. “I can hardly imagine why,” he finally said. “Unless he expects I’ll offer for her hand, and I hardly think that’s likely given my situation.” He meant the words for two reasons—he was due to return to England in a couple of months, and his status as a bastard hardly made him husband material for the daughter of a conte.

He watched as Enrico D’Avalos presented the older aristocrat to Nicoletta. After she curtsied, Donald leaned his head closer to Armenia. “Who is he?”

“The Marchese Montblanc. Rich as Croesus and still without a wife,” she whispered.

For a moment, Donald wondered if the woman had at one time been a contender for the role of the Marchesa Montblanc. He noted how she stared at her brother once the conte had stepped away from his daughter and the music resumed for the next dance. “He will not expect you to offer for her hand,” she murmured, her elegant brow still furrowed. “But do be careful what you promise my niece,” she added. “She can be a flirt when it suits her, and I don’t wish you to leave Catania with your heart broken.”

His gaze going to where Nicoletta was dancing with the older aristocrat, Donald nodded his understanding. “I won’t be here long enough to form an attachment,” he said. “But I do appreciate the warning, my lady.”

W hen Donald finally left House D’Avalos at almost two in the morning, his thoughts weren’t on Armenia’s warning but rather on Nicoletta’s parting words.

“No later than eleven o’clock in the morning, but I do insist you arrive earlier so that you might attend me during my toilette ,” she said, gripping his forearm with a silk-gloved hand.

Donald wasn’t sure he heard her edict clearly at first. “I’m not sure I understood what you said,” he responded carefully.

She tittered. “You must arrive in time to see me safely into my bathtub. And out of it, of course.”

Left speechless at the thought of attending to her during a bath—isn’t that what a lady’s maid was supposed to do?—Donald leaned over and kissed the back of her hand. “I will be sure to arrive on time,” he promised.

“I will make it worth your time,” she said, arching a dark brow suggestively.

Donald blinked, his cock threatening to come to attention. “Good night, my lady.”

He took his time returning to his lodgings. Despite the chill in the air, he had trouble controlling his arousal.

Whatever did she mean when she said she would make it worth his time?