the polished wood. “No wonder Jack is so often tempted to flatten that aristocratic nose of yours.”
“Va bene—very well, I shall cease teasing.” Swirling his brandy, Marco lifted the glass to his lips. Sunlight refracted off the faceted crystal, casting a wink of dancing amber patterns across the wainscoting. “In fact, I do have a serious question or two to ask you.”
“Si?” She cocked her head, waiting for him to go on.
“What do you know of the Duke of Cluyne?”
“To begin with, he is Kate’s grandfather. But somehow I think you are already aware of that.”
Marco took a sip before nodding. “Which is why I thought you might be able to tell me something about him.” Keeping his tone deliberately nonchalant, he went on. “What sort of man is he?”
Her lips compressed ever so slightly. “Why the interest in Cluyne? It is not as if the two of you move in the same circles.”
“And yet our paths will soon be crossing. It is to his estate in Kent that I am invited.”
“Why, Kate will be there as well,” exclaimed his cousin. A tiny frown furrowed her brow. “Though she is not very happy about it. She only agreed to go when the duke consented to invite Charlotte.”
He ran a finger along the edges of the watercolors, careful to avoid meeting her gaze.
“What is your reason?” she asked slowly.
“Perhaps I’m tired of Town life and wish to partake in a little country rest and relaxation.”
Her reply was a very unladylike expression in Italian. “Since when have you ever tired of drinking and wenching?” she added.
“I can, on occasion, contrive to appear in civilized society without causing a scandal, cara.” Marco moved away to refill his glass. “The guests include a number of European diplomats and noblemen, so it’s not such a shock that my name was put on the list. In case you have forgotten, I do have a rather impressive pedigree.”
“I am well aware of your lineage, Marco. It’s you who I sometimes fear have forgotten your heritage.”
Her words touched a raw nerve, but he brushed them aside with a sardonic laugh. “Oh, come now, it’s a new century, and time to leave old-fashioned notions behind us. You possess a rational mind, so don’t you agree that the idea of hereditary titles is absurd? They are naught but a string of fancy gilt letters strung together.”
Conte of Como. Marco tried not to picture the name of his older brother, penned in as the heir apparent in the Libro d’Oro della Nobiltà Italiana, the large, handwritten registers maintained at the offices of the Consulta Araldica. His own, which now appeared in flowing script on the line just below the carefully crossed-out lettering, seemed liked a blot on the ancient parchment. If not for his own rash, reckless plan to save a neighbor’s old horse from the slaughterhouse, Daniello would not be dead, his neck broken in a fall from the mountain trail.
“Democratic ideals make far more sense,” he went on, after a long swallow of the amber spirits. “A man should be judged just on his merits, not some accident of birth.”
“Ideas and philosophies may alter over the centuries, but some things never change,” replied Alessandra softly. “A family name is more than a fancy gold crest. It’s in the blood, an elemental bond flowing from one generation to the next.”
The trickle of brandy burned a trail of fire down his throat. “A diavolo—women!” he muttered. “Even the most intelligent ones of your sex are hopeless romantics.”
“While you flaunt your disdain for any sort of sentimental feelings by drowning them in drink and mindless debauchery.”
“Please spare me the lecture on morality, Alessa. However shocking my life might appear to you, it suits me just fine.”
“Even if it is digging you an early grave?” asked his cousin. “I swear, I am not sure what will kill you first—the wine or a cuckolded husband.”
“It won’t be a husband.” Marco curled his lip. “My expertise with a pistol or a sword is as finely honed as my skills in the bedchamber.”
“A diavolo—men!” she exclaimed, throwing his own exasperated words back in his face. “Hubris is far more dangerous than bullets or blades.”
Tilting back his glass, Marco deliberately drained the rest of his drink in one flourish. “I’ll take my chances. Without risk, life would have few rewards.”
Alessandra’s mouth compressed in concern.
“Now, might we return to my earlier question regarding the Duke of Cluyne,” he went on. “Is there anything you might tell me about