Behind the Mask

by Linda Winstead Jones

  “How did he find you?”

  Giovanni shrugged, dismissing that fact as unimportant. “Someone saw us together, someone who knew me and who also recognized the beautiful Lady Graystone.”

  Audrey closed her eyes. “Then he doesn’t have the painting after all.”

  “Not anymore.”

  She opened her eyes to look up at a fierce Giovanni.

  “He stole it,” Giovanni said. “I left the studio later that night, to walk about the city, to see if I might catch a glimpse of you at a ball, dancing with another man, stepping into a gondola, kissing...”

  “I didn’t go out after you... after we parted company.”

  “I know,” he whispered. “I saw you three times; twice upon your balcony, once in a gondola. Each time you looked as miserable as I felt.”

  She wasn’t yet ready to admit that she was miserable, not to him. “Norton stole the painting?”

  Giovanni smiled. “Not to worry. I stole it back. I did leave a replacement, however—a less magnificent portrait, of course.” He yanked off his gloves, one at a time, and dropped them on the floor.

  “How did you manage to find it?”

  “Your nephew talks too much. He’s been telling everyone, everywhere he goes, that he plans to make a startling unveiling tonight, in this palazzo. I know the Bottinis quite well. Alberto and Carlo helped me search the palazzo this afternoon, and we found the painting secreted downstairs in the gold drawing room.”

  “Well.” She stepped away from Giovanni before he could touch her again. “That was very clever of you,” she said indifferently. “You’ve saved us both a lot of trouble. Thank you.”

  She turned her back on Giovanni. No matter how cool she tried to be, how unaffected, she couldn’t bear to face him. Turning from him didn’t deter his efforts. She felt the black shawl slip from her shoulders.

  “Why do you wear this?” he asked.

  “I might as well become what everyone perceives me to be,” she said pragmatically. “A heartless woman who would kill for money, a man-eater as surely as those marble lions would be if they came to life. I’m tired of fighting everyone and everything, of trying to prove that I’m innocent,” she whispered. “So very tired.”

  He settled a hand on her shoulder, a still, comforting hand. “Why did you lie to me?”

  She didn’t turn, not even as Giovanni slipped the mantilla from her head and placed his fingers in her hair. “Maybe I liked the way you looked at me, and I didn’t want to give it up,” she said. “Maybe I wanted, just for a while, to be Audrey Miller again, instead of Lady Graystone, the Black Widow.”

  Giovanni circled slowly until he stood before her. “I tried, for days, to tell myself that you were just another English lady who’d used me for sport, a heartless gentlewoman, bored by her staid life and looking for adventure. I tried to remember your eyes as cold and your kiss as calculating.”

  She looked at the floor, but Giovanni wouldn’t allow her to escape his gaze that easily. He took her chin in his hand and forced her to look him in the eye.

  “But I couldn’t,” he whispered. “The woman I knew was real and true. Soft and warm and sweet. That is the woman I fell in love with.” His eyes locked on hers. “Ti amo,” he whispered.

  Audrey let all her fears and doubts go, allowed herself believe what she saw and heard, and trusted Giovanni with her heart. Completely. “I love you, too.”

  He kissed her, hard and long, deep and demanding. All the wrongs of the world disappeared while his mouth moved against hers. Nothing mattered; not Norton, not the scandal that had haunted her for two years. Giovanni loved her.

  “I missed you,” he whispered as he threaded his fingers through her hair. “We can’t be apart again. Never. You will marry me. Be my wife.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tight. “People will say you married me for the Graystone fortune,” she said softly. “They’ll say terrible things about us, no matter where we go. To some, I will always be the Black Widow.”

  “Do I care what people will say? No.” He held her close. “But they will not say I married you for your fortune, tesoro mio.”

  “They will. You don’t know these people. They...”

  He silenced her with a kiss, and together they fell to the satin covered bed.

  They’d been apart two days, and already her body ached for him. She craved Giovanni, needed his touch and his love.

  “They will say I married you because I was entranced the moment I saw you sitting, alone and sad, by one of the red marble lions.” He touched her, his fingers gentle on her neck and her face. “They will say I married you because you captured my heart with a kiss and a smile.” His hand brushed over her breast, her belly, her hip. “They will say I married you because I want to paint your face forever.”

  He pushed her glittering black skirt high, and as he kissed her completely he touched her where she was already wet for him. He stroked, swirling his fingers against her intimately. “They will say I married you because I cannot live without you,” he whispered huskily.

  She lifted one leg and wrapped it around his, pulling him closer, tighter against her. She reached down to unfasten the buttons at the front of his breeches, but her gloves made the task difficult. She peeled off her gloves quickly, threw them aside, and tried again, more successfully this time.

  With a surge and a hoarse whisper in his own language he filled her. She wrapped her legs around his, and pulled him to her, tighter, deeper. Faster. Her skirt crushed between them, his cloak covered them like a weightless blanket as he claimed her in a manner that was ancient and complete.

  He was so much a part of her that without thought her body rose against his to welcome every thrust. Relentlessly, lovingly, he pounded against and into her again and again, until the whole world trembled with the force of their love. They shattered together, whispering, crying, embracing one another tightly in body and heart.

  When Giovanni sank down to cover her, breathless and spent, Audrey threaded her fingers through his hair and held him tight. “Ti amo,” she whispered. “Tonight and forever.” She smiled, a silly, satisfied grin. “I don’t care what anyone says, as long as I have you. They can spread their sordid tales, they can make me as notorious as suits their little minds. I don’t care, as long as I have you...”

  He lifted his head. Long, curling strands of dark hair obscured much of his face, but in flickering candlelight his eyes were quite clear. “Tesoro mio, you most definitely have me.”

  Without warning, the door opened. Out of the corner of her eye Audrey saw, briefly, two masked faces. The door was quickly closed, but from the hallway she heard a high-pitched giggle and the hissed, excited words, “Count Dante and Lady Graystone.” She looked toward the door, and saw the discarded, distinctive red mask. It was partially obscured by one of the long black gloves she’d tossed away.

  “How on earth did they recognize me?” she asked, not particularly concerned. “Surely I’m not the only woman here wearing black gloves.”

  “It is the hair,” Giovanni said, lifting a handful of loose, golden strands. “No one else has hair like this.”

  “Hmm,” she murmured softly. “More scandal. Well, perhaps I should simply embrace infamy as I embrace you.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, giving her a brief kiss before rising. “It is almost midnight, amore mia. Shall we see what your nephew has to say?”

  A touch of chill touched her heart, stealing away her moment of perfect peace. “Must we?”

  His smile chased away the chill. “I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  True to his word, Norton had gathered a large number of curious people for his unveiling. Venetians, Europeans in the fine city for Carnival, Englishmen and Englishwomen on holiday. Several of them were obviously surprised to see Audrey enter the room. Giovanni smiled and nodded to two handsome young men at the front of the room. Carlo and Alberto Bottini, she assumed.

  “It grieves me greatly,�
�� Norton said, his whine a bit louder than usual in order to carry through the crowd, “to reveal what I have found. You have all heard, I am sure, the sad stories surrounding my dear uncle’s death.”

  Norton set his eyes on Audrey as she and Giovanni slowly made their way to the front of the crowded room.

  “I am sorry to report that the rumors are all true. How she killed my poor uncle I will never know, but Audrey Graystone did away with him without a qualm, and it saddens me that she has gone unpunished.”

  Audrey slipped her hand into Giovanni’s, and he squeezed it tight.

  Norton reached behind a tall bookcase and withdrew a canvas that was completely covered with a black velvet cloth. “And here I have yet another example of her inappropriate behavior, of her reckless abandonment of everything we all know to be good and decent.”

  Afraid of what she might do, perhaps, if she reached him before he unveiled his find, Norton whisked away the black velvet. The painting beneath was revealed just as she and Giovanni reached the front of the elegantly furnished drawing room.

  “I give you,” Norton said dramatically, “The Black Widow.”

  The Bottinis laughed first, and other snickers followed. Norton held a painting of a very old, toothless woman who smiled widely as she sat on a flight of gray stone steps with a basket of eels in her lap. When the laughter grew to a deafening level, Norton twisted his head to look at the painting he held. The shock on his face was enough to make Audrey smile herself.

  “This... this impoverished, decadent painter has stolen my painting!” Norton accused. “And she,” he said, pointing at Audrey, “stole my gold watch as we danced.”

  “Ridiculous,” she said calmly.

  Giovanni sighed deeply and turned to the Bottini brothers. “Mr. Graystone stole this portrait from my studio two nights ago. He was rather taken with the subject, I imagine,” he added in a low voice that carried throughout the room. More laughter followed.

  “I did not steal this painting,” Norton grumbled. “I stole—” He caught himself just in time. “I stole nothing!” Carlo and Alberto glared at him without mercy.

  “Who are you going to believe?” Norton shouted. “A fine gentleman like myself? Or this good-for-nothing painter?”

  One of the Bottinis glanced at Giovanni. “Again, he insults the great Valentino. Does he not know who you are?”

  Giovanni shrugged his shoulders. “English heathen,” he said, unconcerned.

  The other Bottini gestured to a magnificent painting on the wall. The colors were so warm they would take away the chill on the coldest night, the many faces in the crowd so real you might expect them to speak. “This is only one of the four Valentinos we are proud to hang in our palazzo. Giovanni Valentino is a great artist, and I regret to inform you, Mr. Graystone, that we must take his word over that of a heathen Englishman who does not recognize the name of one of the greatest artisans in all of Europe.”

  Efficient Bottini servants whisked a whining Norton away, and the others—disappointed perhaps that there had not been any greater excitement—followed. Carnival was over, and with it the merriment, the dancing, the revelry.

  The Bottini brothers were the last to leave, and as they did they nodded to Giovanni.

  “You will return to your palazzo on the mainland soon?” the taller of the two asked.

  “Carnival is over,” Giovanni said. “I must go home.” He looked down at Audrey and smiled. “With my bride.” He brought her hand to his lips. “But we will be back in the spring, and in the summer, of course.”

  The Bottini brothers offered their hearty congratulations and left Audrey and Giovanni alone in the golden drawing room.

  “The great Valentino?” she asked suspiciously.

  Giovanni shrugged his shoulders once, dismissing her question.

  “Your palazzo on the mainland?”

  He shrugged again as he wrapped his arms around her.

  Audrey opened her eyes wide as she stared up at him. “Giovanni Valentino, I think you have some explaining to do.”

  She remembered his avowal above stairs that no one would say he married her for the Graystone fortune. It occurred to her, as she stared up into his completely unrepentant face, that he hadn’t been naively dismissing her claims. He probably had a fortune of his own.

  “I am just a painter,” he said modestly. “It’s true that in the past four years my work has become very sought after, in certain circles, but Alberto exaggerates when he calls me the great Valentino.”

  Audrey smiled wickedly. “Oh, I don’t think so. As a matter of fact, I think that might make a nice pet name for you. The great Valentino.” She raised up on her toes to kiss him lightly. “Kiss me, oh great one,” she whispered, and then she laughed as his lips brushed against hers.

  “I’m not surprised at your success,” she said seriously. “You’re so good. You deserve... greatness.”

  For a long moment he held her tight. The palazzo was quiet; the candles flickered as if to remind them that Carnival was over.

  “Do you remember,” Giovanni whispered, “when you said that you didn’t mind being notorious as long as you have me? That you should embrace infamy as you embrace me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you mean it?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “That’s very good,” he said as he lowered his mouth to hers. “Because your portrait is going to hang in an exhibit at the Morosini Gallery.”

  He kissed her deep and hard before she could protest, and before two heartbeats had passed she forgot the silly argument that had flitted briefly through her mind. Only two words remained.

  Ti amo.

  * * *

  The End

  Haunted Honeymoon

  Halloween

  1

  Alabama, 1889

  The fine rented carriage lurched along the private drive as sundown approached. The road had not been properly maintained, which accounted for the occasional heart-thumping lurch. That and the fact that the carriage was moving much too fast. Why was the driver in such a hurry?

  Tessa stared out the window, enjoying the kiss of cool October air on her face. There wasn’t yet much to see of her new home, but staring at overgrown shrubbery and pretending to be fascinated was preferable to daring a glance at her silent husband.

  Husband! The very word made her heart leap more vigorously than any pothole or speeding carriage. Married! She had been a bride for all of seven hours now. A bride, a wife, a woman beginning a new life away from her family and friends. Not too far away, of course. She was a mere two to three hours from her parents’ home by carriage, and on horseback the trip would be significantly shorter. But still, it was a frightening prospect to start a new life.

  Especially when a big part of that life was a husband who apparently did not care for her at all. He didn’t smile, his eyes were usually fastened somewhere other than on her, and he kept tapping his fingers against his knee in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. What did that mean? It must mean something.

  Even though it would be 1890 in a little more than two months, arranged marriages continued to take place every day, or so her mother had assured her when plans for today’s wedding had been made. It was the best way, Tessa had been told. If a woman married a man because her heart went pitter-patter whenever he was near, she would forget about such important things as financial security and emotional stability. Stability was very important to Tessa’s mother, and she did not want her daughter to be taken in by a fleeting physical attraction to a handsome rogue, which would not last and would only lead to heartbreak. She was quite adamant about that.

  So Tessa had never told her mother that John Travis, the man who had very solemnly taken her as his wife on this day, occasionally made her heart go pitter-patter.

  “There it is,” she said softly when the gray stone walls came into view.

  John leaned to the side, looking past her to the house that was now their home. Tessa chanced a quick peek in hi
s direction. Her heart went... Well, it pittered, a little. John Travis was a handsome man. His dark blond hair was a tad too long, and it waved just a little, here and there. John was not a small man; he stood a little over six feet tall, almost a foot taller than she, and his shoulders were quite wide. His eyes were the most strikingly beautiful shade of blue. Thankfully, he was clean-shaven, without a beard or even a mustache to hide the sharp but pleasant lines of his face. He did not smile as the long-unoccupied mansion that was to be their home grew closer.

  Holland House had been in her mother’s family for almost seventy years. Financial problems during and following the War Between the States had hurt the Holland family badly, and for the past fifteen years the place had been abandoned. They had managed to pay taxes on the property and keep it in the family, but there was no money for restoration. The house and the land surrounding it was wasted.

  At least, it had been wasted until now. The Travis family, who had become great friends with Tessa’s parents over the past ten years, had money. Lots and lots of money. What the Travis family lacked was the kind of stature one could not purchase with any amount of cash.

  Tessa’s family had that stature. They were a well-known old Southern clan. With John’s money and Tessa’s name, they would build an empire. One would think a man would be excited about building an empire, but John was quite solemn and had been all day.

  She knew he did not love her, but she had hoped that perhaps he liked her. At least a little. At this moment, she was not so sure...

  The driver stopped directly before the front door, set the brake, and vaulted from his seat. A thin, older man named Chuck, he was quite spry for his age.

  “Here we are,” Chuck said, his voice brisk and bright. He took Tessa’s hand and assisted her from the carriage, almost dragging her from the conveyance before heading for the boot and the luggage stored there. He practically ran to accomplish this chore.