The Demon Count's Daughter

by Anne Stuart

  His eyes narrowed. "Very astute. And who have you been talking with?"

  "No one. I just know you."

  "You are astonishingly correct on every suit, but you forgot I like cats, too. You also neglected to mention my taste in women." There was a challenge there, and reluctantly I drained the last of my coffee.

  I let my eyes wander over the long, lean length of him, the overlong dark blond hair, the tanned, scarred face with those fathomless blue eyes sur­rounded by tiny little lines, the broad shoulders, the long, slender hands that could snuff out a life so easily, that could bring me to life just as care­lessly. I smiled, a small, sad, weary smile. "You probably have the execrable taste to prefer tiny, fragile, little blonde ladies."

  One of those hands reached across the table and captured mine and held it lightly, so that it was hard to remember the steely strength in those long, thin fingers. "And that's where you're wrong," he said gently, throwing caution to the winds. "I much prefer tall, statuesque ladies with hair like the night, eyes like honey, warm and sweet, and soft, rounded bodies with just the right curves." He brought my hand to his mouth for a lingering moment, and I felt absurdly like crying. "But I also have enough sense never to seduce infatuated virgins, either highborn or otherwise. This will be the last time I warn you, Lucy. Go away. Go as far away and as fast as you can. The next time I might not let you leave." And he dropped my hand, stood up, and strode swiftly away from me through the rapidly increasing crowd, only the slightest trace of a limp reminding me of his wound. And if he had turned back he would have seen a smile of wicked triumph light my face.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  That evening and the next day passed far too swiftly, and yet the hours seemed to drag at a snail's pace. I had always thought I was so very brave, but the thought of dressing in some reveal­ing evening dress and brazening my way into a gentleman's bedroom filled me with icy fore­boding. That small, baser part of me wanted desperately to run back to Evan Fitzpatrick's small apartment by La Fenice, to fling myself against his broad chest and pour out the insane thing I was planning to do. He would never let me; he would go in my stead.

  And be caught, and hanged, I thought wearily, knowing that I had no choice. As I paced around the bedroom my anxious mind thought irritably, Where the hell was Uncle Mark when I really needed him? Anyone with a small portion of brain would guess what I had planned and stop me. But not dimwitted, gullible Uncle Mark. He believed every word his devious goddaughter told him and was no doubt enjoying himself royally with the blue-haired widow.

  Well, there was no hope for it. I would be wait­ing to meet Tonetti tonight, and if I failed to survive, well, nobler people than I had perished in the cause of a free Venice.

  And if I did survive, and succeed, I wouldn't re­turn to Edentide. I would have Tonetti take me straight to Evan's apartment, where I would pour out the whole reckless tale to him and receive what­ever comfort I could manage to elicit from his cold, restricted soul. Remembering his last words to me, I had no doubt his response would be sufficient.

  "Is something wrong with you, Miss Luciana?" Maggie asked the next evening when I had stalked the salon floor for the better part of an hour, each time ending up by the little balcony. "You haven't eaten a thing all day, you're nervous as a cat, and I know for sure you barely slept last night. I could hear you tossing and turning and muttering."

  I managed a convincing laugh. "Something wrong, Maggie?" I echoed innocently. "Nothing's wrong. I suppose I'm just homesick. I don't think this Tonetti will ever contact me."

  Maggie's eyes narrowed, and I wondered for a moment whether she was really fooled. "I was thinking of asking Mr. Ferland to stop by this evening after dinner and see if he's heard any­thing. We can't stay here forever, you know, miss. Your parents should be returning before long, and I'd hate to have to arrive after they did."

  "No!" I protested wildly, and then managed to smile weakly. "Don't bother Uncle Mark. I'm sure he'll come by as soon as he hears anything. Per­haps you're right though. I am exhausted. I couldn't sleep a wink last night. I think I'll go to bed early tonight and try to make up for it." I yawned widely, my eyes taking in the ornate clock hands. A quarter to nine.

  "It's early yet!" Maggie protested. "You'll just lie in bed and toss and turn."

  "No, I won't," I yawned again. On impulse I moved across the room and gave her a brief, bone- cracking hug. "I'll sleep like the dead." A shiver passed over me at my unfortunate choice of words. "I love you, Maggie."

  "Well, I love you too," she replied, surprised. "Are you sure you're all right?"

  "Positive! Good night." And I made my escape before she could ask another importunate question.

  Tonetti was waiting for me by the corner of the deserted side canal. I could smell his lilac scent long before I saw him, and once more he was in his gondolier's garb. He helped me down into the rocking boat, his damp hands betraying his ner­vousness, and for once I was spared his flowery compliments. The stop at the small, dirty-smelling tailor's shop was far too short, just long enough for me to don an ornate, somewhat tattered gold satin dress still reeking of cheap scent from its last wearer, the top of the dress practically nonexistent. In vain I tugged at the lace bertha in an attempt to restore some measure of modesty to my toilette. It was hopeless. It was also, I had to admit, out­rageously flattering.

  Tonetti himself pointed my face, his eyes stray­ing toward my decolletage at every other stroke. "Signorina," he breathed, when he had finished and was able to master his emotions, "if you should ever be in need of money, I know of any number of gentlemen . . ." he swallowed. "God but you are lovely," he muttered in Italian. "Such amaz­ing . . ." the last word I didn't understand, but his meaning was inescapable. I considered slapping him, but thought better of it. I needed all the help I could get tonight, so I merely inclined my head graciously, the thick, black locks in their slatternly arrangement tumbling over my shoul­ders.

  It was all deceptively simple. When we arrived at one of the side entrances of the imposing building that was housing the upper classes of the

  Austrian army, there was no one guarding the portal. Tonetti gestured proudly to his narrow chest. "A few bribes, Signorina, are worth the money." The long, cavernous hallway was prac­tically deserted, and as we walked silently down the marble passageway, I could hear my heart pounding. It must be after ten, I reasoned, and then the pounding ceased. A very tall, very broad, slightly drunken Austrian officer was making his way toward us, a gleam in his slightly glazed eye. I kept my gaze demurely lowered, trying not to panic as I heard Tonetti's desperate intake of breath.

  "And where is this lovely creature going, eh?" he demanded when we came abreast of him. "She must be new around here. What is your price, villain?" This was all delivered in a very jovial tone of voice, and thankfully Tonetti was able to answer him in the same manner, albeit with just the right amount of subservience due the con­quering army.

  "She is for the General Eisenhopf, Captain." He spread his hands in a gesture of apology. "What can I say? When he has tired of her I will be sure to keep you in mind."

  I could feel the man's hot eyes raking over me, my tumbled black hair, absurd height, and prac­tically exposed breasts. He sighed gustily. "I doubt he'll tire of her for a long, long while. More's the pity." He stumbled on, and Tonetti and I breathed a sigh of relief, our eyes meeting in momentary accord.

  We met only one more soldier, and the same tactics worked beautifully. Tonetti, in fact, was getting quite cocky, and I had to restrain him from bargaining for my future price. "For the general," he contented himself with muttering importantly. And then at last we were in the cor­ridor outside his rooms, the long, narrow, tomb­like passageway dark and deserted.

  "You're sure he's out of town?" I demanded in a whisper. "There's no chance he could suddenly return?"

  "Signorina, trust me! He is gone, not to return till the day after tomorrow. No one else lives on this floor, and my brother-in-law is right now with my wife
drinking Bardolino and getting very sleepy. All you have to do is search his rooms and then meet me down by the entranceway."

  "You aren't going to wait for me?" I shrieked in a very loud whisper.

  Tonetti looked suitably disheartened. "Much as I would like to, Madonna, I dare not. Someone must keep the gondola ready for our escape. If anyone questions you, reply as I have, that you are for General Eisenhopf. As you leave, simply say you grew tired of waiting."

  "But what will the stupid paper look like?" I demanded desperately.

  "According to my brother-in-law, it's on blue parchment with the seal of Franz Josef on it. And he hinted it might be somewhere near the bed. That is what made me think of using a woman for this."

  "I'm sure that's not all that made you think of it, you coward," I muttered, panic making me rude. "Go away, then. I only hope to God I meet you when this is over."

  He struck a pose. "I will await you though my life depends on it."

  "You'd better," I grumbled, opening the door and slipping inside the darkened room.

  I leaned against the door for a moment, long enough to still the clamoring of my pounding heart. Now that the time had actually come, I couldn't afford to waste a second in needless panic. A few moments later I had a small lamp lit, and I surveyed the room in dismay.

  There were a thousand places a paper could be hidden. The desk was littered with thick piles of official documents. More covered the chairs and tables, even the bedside stand had its share of reports and documents and such.

  A long and desperate hour later I seemed to be no closer to finding it, and the panic began creep­ing back into my thoughts. All sorts of interesting information resided in General Eisenhopfs room, but not the piece I wanted.

  I looked with distaste at the big, sagging feather­bed, loaded with quilts and blankets. The first search had turned up nothing more than a tiny, pearl-handled pistol. On impulse I slid my hands under the heavy mattress and found the crackle of paper.

  With shaking hands I drew it out into the fitful light. It was there in my hands, a thin scrap of official parchment that had caused me to risk my life, that could mean the difference between freedom and captivity for the ancient city of Venice. I stared at it in dumfounded bemusement for too long a moment and then tucked it down inside my bodice, letting it rest against my skin.

  "Ah, and what is this?" A voice boomed out, and to my horror I came face to face with a burly, much-decorated, elderly Austrian soldier standing in the bedroom door. And I knew without a doubt that General Eisenhopf had returned.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  He moved closer into the light, closing the heavy door behind him. "And where did you come from, my little pigeon?" he cooed in German.

  I kept my face a perfect blank, aided by the overwhelming terror I felt. "I . . . I am a present for the General Eisenhopf," I stammered idiotically in deliberately terrible German.

  The leer on the weathered old face broadened, and he moved so close I could see the tiny, burst blood vessels in his large red nose. "But how delightful, Fraulein. How happy I am that I had to return early. And what a present, mein Gott! For the man who has everything, hein?" One meaty fist reached out and grabbed my breast, pinching hard. In another moment he had pulled my terri­fied, unresisting body against his large stomach, and greedy hands were pawing over my bodice, freeing my breasts from their meager confines. A wave of revulsion swept over me, causing me to shudder helplessly.

  "Ah, you like that, liebchen?" the old lecher smiled, cheerfully misunderstanding my shiver. "And there will be a lot more for you, little one. I will . . ." I shut my eyes against the wave of nausea his filthy words were eliciting from me. I was helpless in his grasp, praying desperately for some form of deliverance. And then, knowing no deliverance would come, I trampled on his instep, eliciting a roar of pain. I then brought my knee up in his groin, my elbow in his throat, and ran, leaving the poor old man howling in pain and rage.

  Down the deserted halls I ran, certain that pur­suit was just barely behind me. But luck was with me, and I met no one. I was able to restore a small amount of modesty to my mauled attire, and at the end of the final corridor I saw the canal glis­tening in the moonlight, Tonetti pacing nervously back and forth.

  "Did you find the general, little one?" A voice questioned close behind me, and I whirled to meet the gaze of the drunken young soldier.

  I laughed convincingly. "I grew tired of wait­ing," I replied in my atrocious German. "He will have to wait for another night."

  "But then you are free to spend the evening with me!" he said joyfully, and I shook my head with a great show of reluctance.

  "Unfortunately not. I was promised to the gen­eral first. If he finds anyone has had me before him, I would hate to think of the consequences." Deliberately I bent over a bit, letting him ogle my cleavage. "For you as well as me."

  "True enough," he agreed sadly, his eyes feast­ing on my frontage. "But be sure you look me up when he's finished, eh?"

  "Of course," I soothed. He turned his back, and I ran the last few steps to the dubious haven of Tonetti's gondola.

  "I have it!" I crowed in a triumphant whisper, fumbling with the front of my dress as I tried to dislodge the tricky paper. Finally catching hold of it, I thrust it proudly into his reluctant hands. "We've got to get out of here, fast! The general caught me. Everyone will be looking for us in a few moments. We'd better . . ."

  "There she is!" A shout echoed through the building, and, looking up, I saw a pair of cold, evil eyes staring down at me from the overhang­ing balcony. Holger von Wolfram, accompanied by the two Venetian villains of the Doges' Palace. He pointed a beefy arm at me. "Get her!" he ordered roughly. "Kill her if you must, but get her."

  Without waiting for Tonetti I took off into the night, my tattered satin dress waving behind me, my hair down around my bare shoulders, panic making my heart close to bursting. But one over- large woman is a lot quieter than a platoon of Austrian soldiers. Each time I heard them gaining on me I would duck into one of the numerous alleyways and wait until the streets were silent once more. I knew I had a great deal more to fear from the two Italian henchmen, and even when the streets seemed deserted I moved warily, edging inexorably toward my goal. The apartment by the La Fenice.

  And then suddenly the theater loomed in front of me, and I broke into a run. Up Evan's stairs like a terrified rabbit, banging on his door and calling his name. I looked back over my shoulder and saw the doorway darken, and I increased my pounding, desperation tearing at my vitals. What if he were out? Would I be murdered in this small, already blood-stained hallway?

  And then the door opened, and I fell into the room, sobbing with relief and fright, and felt my trembling body enfolded into a strong, comforting embrace.

  It took me a few moments to regain my com­posure. When at last I was able to stop the shud­dering, reluctantly I moved away and looked up into Evan's quizzical, concerned eyes. "Thank God you were here," I said simply.

  The concern vanished, to be replaced by the blazing anger I saw so often in those silver-blue eyes. "What the hell," he began coldly, "are you doing out alone at this hour of the night? Why are you dressed like a strumpet? And what are you doing here? I thought you were safely asleep at Edentide."

  "I was followed . . ." I began lamely.

  "I don't doubt you were followed," he cut in. "Half the men in Venice were probably trailing you through the streets, what with you dressed like that! Have you no sense at all?"

  "It wasn't like that!" I defended myself. "I . . . I . . ." I was about to pour out the terror of my night's adventures, the long, involved tale of my crazy mission to Venice, when I noticed for the first time my surroundings. Evan was dressed, or partially dressed, in a pair of soft gray pants and a hastily donned shirt unbuttoned to show the broad, tanned expanse of his chest. I noticed with distracted lust that it was covered with fine, golden hair. Beyond him was a candlelit table, the re­mains of a supper for two littered across the sno
wy cloth. A woman's evening cloak lay across the sofa, and from beyond the bedroom door I could hear furtive movements.

  Evan must have heard them too. "Excuse me a moment," he said roughly, and moved with a barely perceptible limp toward the bedroom door.

  "Stay there!" he ordered over his shoulder, shut­ting the door behind his broad back.

  The murmur of voices came to me, his deep and cool, and a light, laughing German voice. I thought back to the blonde at the embassy in dismay and began backing toward the door. This last was more than I could stand—the triumph of retriev­ing the paper was like ashes in my mouth.

  In my confusion I bumped into the desk, knock­ing a sheaf of papers onto the floor. Picking them up, my eye caught only a line or two. Hastily I shoved them back on the desk and turned to run from the place, the contents branded into my mind. I knew from my sojourn in the general's rooms that they were official Austrian papers, and I knew without a doubt I was in the company of a spy. But a spy for whom?

  "Where are you going?" The door shut behind him, and in the dim light I couldn't make out his face.

  "I . . . I . . ." I stammered witlessly, "I'm sorry to interrupt you. It was stupid of me. I thought . . ."

  "You thought what?"

  "I don't know," I floundered, smiling up at him, the tears brilliant in my eyes. "I am very gauche, I'm afraid. I didn't think." My hand reached the brass doorknob and I turned it quickly.

  "Wait a moment," he ordered, and I thought I could detect a softening in his voice. "Let me get my coat and I'll see you home."

  "No!" I cried in a strangled voice. The soften­ing could only be brought on by pity, and pity was the last thing I wanted from Evan Fitzpatrick. "I'll be perfectly all right, I assure you." I kept the silly smile firmly affixed to my painted face as I felt the tears trickle down my cheeks. "I don't . . ." Words failed me, and on a choked sob I ran from the apartment into the dangerous streets of Venice, running once more from Evan Fitzpatrick.