curtained archway at their foot.
Domenica set a brisk pace, and Maddie, in her trailing skirts, struggled to keep up with her. At the end, the girl waited, tight-lipped, holding back the curtain for Maddie to pass in front of her.
She stepped out on to a wide galleried landing, and found herself looking down at a room as large as a medieval hall, panelled in wood, and reached by a broad, curving staircase.
In the centre was a vast refectory table, surrounded by high-backed chairs, while a pair of dark brown leather sofas flanked a stone fireplace where logs were burning.
One of the few cheerful signs she’d encountered so far, she thought. As was the imposing bird cage hanging from a bracket in one of the corners.
And at the far end of the room was a grand piano, indicating the Count was not just an opera patron, but musical himself.
But, at the moment, the room was clearly unoccupied and she hesitated, glancing at Domenica who pointed expressionlessly at the stairs, then turned and disappeared back the way she’d come.
Like someone else on the Count’s staff, her people skills could use some work, thought Maddie, lifting her skirts slightly in order to descend the stone treads in safety.
And if her host was such a stickler for punctuality, why wasn’t he waiting there to offer an explanation for this outrage? To be followed by profuse apologies and offers of generous redress for the fright and inconvenience she’d suffered.
Nothing less would do, as she would make clear when he eventually showed up, she thought, noting thankfully that only two places had been set at the table.
And while she was waiting, she could take another and more thorough look round this amazing room.
But it didn’t take long to realise that her eye had been tricked all over again because there wasn’t a genuine inch of panelling anywhere, only skillfully applied paint. Even the splendid birdcage with its resident macaw was a clever three-dimensional deception.
And of the pair of imposing double doors flanking the staircase, only one would ever open—or it might when unlocked, Maddie acknowledged, vainly twisting the wrought iron handle.
But at least the fire was a living thing, she thought, and it might help to dispel the inevitable chill of tension. As she walked across the room, her attention was caught by the massive painting hanging over the mantelpiece.
An initial glance suggested that it was one of the Count’s favourite dogs—a German Shepherd immortalised in oils as it stood, king-like, on a high, flat rock against a grey and stormy sky. But then she realised that the shape of the head, the length of the snout, the colouring were all wrong. That this creature was far from being anyone’s loved domestic pet. Nor would it ever be used to guard sheep, or not by a shepherd with a brain.
My God, she thought incredulously, staring upwards. It’s a wolf.
And didn’t realise she’d spoken aloud until a voice she recognised said softly, ‘Sì, signorina—you are quite right. Allow me to bid you a belated welcome to Casa Lupo. To—the House of the Wolf.’
Maddie swung round with a gasp, aware that her heart seemed to be beating a warning tattoo against her ribcage.
He was standing a few yards away, as a whole section of the false panelling closed noiselessly behind him.
He was slightly more formally clad than earlier, but that was little comfort when his elegant black pants fitted him like a second skin, and his white silk shirt was unbuttoned sufficiently to display several inches of bronzed chest. In fact, in some inexplicable way, it served to make him look even more formidable.
Maddie had to make a conscious effort not to take a step backwards.
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.
The dark brows lifted. ‘I intend to have dinner. What else?’
She lifted her chin. ‘Does the Count usually dine with his staff?’ she asked coldly.
‘If he wishes,’ he said, unfazed. ‘Why not?’
‘Isn’t it perfectly obvious?’ She glared at him. ‘Because I hoped—I really hoped I wouldn’t have to see you again.’
His slight shrug conveyed indifference. ‘Then let us both hope this is the worst disappointment you have to suffer,’ he retorted.
‘But the Count will be joining us surely?’ She could not hide her dismay.
‘Perhaps later, if he so chooses. Is it important?’
‘Of course it is.’ Her voice was husky. ‘I need to talk to him—to persuade him to see reason.’
‘A waste of breath. Your views will not affect his plans in any way.’
‘So you say.’ Maddie’s tone