Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(164)

Justine turned from the window, straining to hear. Her instincts prodded her, but she heard only the quiet murmur of voices drifting up from the taproom downstairs. She stood silently for a minute or two, finally concluding that the new arrivals must be regular wayfarers seeking food or shelter.

Grimacing at the lamentable state of her nerves, she started toward the cradle when a loud thump and then a raised voice from downstairs—cut off in midcry—brought her up short. Those alarming noises were followed by the even more alarming ones of footsteps pounding up the stairs toward her room.

She dashed to the bed and flung open the carpetbag, rummaging through the tumble of clothing and baby things for her pistol. A shattering knock pounded against her door as she frantically dug down. Her fingertips finally hit the cold metal and she hauled the weapon out. At the sound of another heavy bang against the door, Stephen woke with a startled wail.

Justine spun around as the door crashed open, half-battered off its hinges. She started toward the cradle with the pistol tangled up in her skirts, but jerked to a halt when a hulking brute in rough clothing charged into the room. On his heels was Count Marzano, dressed for travel in boots, breeches, and a heavy greatcoat.

Instinctively, she held her position, keeping the pistol hidden in her skirts. “How dare you break into my room!” she yelled over the baby’s cries. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”

Marzano casually swung a silver-tipped ebony cane as he gazed at her with a supercilious smile. “You dare to kidnap the son of the Duke of San Agosto, Mrs. Steele? Such an action constitutes a serious crime, since your government supports the duke’s claim to the boy.”

Justine flicked a glance at the thug standing off to the side. The man was huge, with massive shoulders, beefy fists, and a prizefighter’s face. Even worse, his muddy brown eyes were cold and flat, almost bored. And from the cruel sneer that curled his lips, Justine suspected he would have no qualms performing any command his master might give him, no matter how ugly.

“What have you done with the innkeeper and his wife?” she asked slowly, trying to buy time. Chloe should be arriving any minute, and hopefully not alone.

“My men have them contained in the taproom,” Marzano said. His gaze narrowed on her with sinister intent. “They will not be harmed and neither will you—if you have the good sense to stay out of my way.”

Justine sidled over to the cradle and glanced down. Stephen’s wails had subsided to hiccupping whimpers, but his tear-streaked, red face made her heart turn over in her chest. Though she longed to take him in her arms she needed to keep her hands free.

“I will not let you take this baby,” she said defiantly. “Your secret is out, sir. I have spoken with the child’s guardian and it’s clear you’ve been lying from the beginning. It is the duke’s desire that the child remain in England, in Mrs. Piper’s care.”

“Ah, but no longer. The duke has changed his mind, you see,” replied Marzano. “He wishes the boy to come to Italy, to be with his family.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment,” she retorted. “You come at the command of the duchess, and I know that she aims to eliminate the scandal of the child’s birth. In fact, I am sure Stephen will never even reach Italy if you get your hands on him.”

She’d thrown that last bit out as a taunt. The startled expression that flashed across Marzano’s face told her everything she needed to know about his plans for Stephen.

“My God,” she breathed, almost choking on the horror of it. “You do plan to kill him, don’t you?”