Rake Most Likely to Seduce

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘Just like what?’ Nolan stopped jiggling the bed and moved away. She could hear him pouring something. Then the aroma hit her.

  ‘Ahhhh.’ Gianna sat up, eyes open. ‘You brought coffee. I love you.’

  Nolan passed her the cup. ‘Twenty minutes, that’s all you get. It’s already half past ten. The day’s a-wasting.’

  Gianna took a long, fortifying swallow of coffee. ‘Where are we going? You haven’t forgotten we’ve got the count’s house to burgle.’ She said it lightly but she did fear for a moment that perhaps this was a strategy to get out of his promise.

  Nolan leaned down so she could see those amazing grey eyes and that infectious smile up close. ‘We are going to the fish market and, second, I have not forgotten about the count’s house, but that is hours away, a whole day away and we must do something to pass the time.’

  ‘The fish market?’ Gianna wrinkled her nose. ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘You’ll see.’ Nolan grinned and pulled out his pocket watch, snapping it open. ‘Eighteen minutes, Gianna. Tick-tock.’

  She dressed quickly in the deep-raspberry walking gown because she was curious and because the dress was exquisite. At least that was what she told herself as she tucked a final pin into her hair. She told herself her quickness had nothing to do with the excitement of being out with Nolan, or the anticipation of what might happen next between them. She knew there was a sexual game between them. How could there not be under the circumstances that had thrown them together? And yet, even knowing that game was there, he constantly took her by surprise.

  The church last night had been enlightening. It had stripped her bare in all ways; her wanting exposed by his hands, his lips; her strategy exposed by his words. He’d spiked her guns most effectively. He knew she meant sex to be her weapon against him, the tool by which she would manoeuvre him into compliance. He’d called her bluff against that hard wall at San Giorgio Maggiore and then given her the choice—to explore the pleasures of sex instead of the politics of it...with him.

  Gianna flung her cloak about her shoulders. If that was what today was about, she’d best be on her game. Or off it, a wicked little voice tempted. The thought gave her pause. Perhaps today wasn’t meant to be so much about being on her guard as it was about letting her guard down. Did she trust him enough for that? Did she trust herself? The part of her that remembered his mouth on her in the church, his hands in her hair, wanted to. The cynic in her launched a violent protest.

  What would happen if she let him in? It was frightening to contemplate. Letting him in risked much. Her world was a dark mess full of the count’s betrayals and cruelties. If Nolan truly knew the darkness that surrounded her, he might rethink all of it—the burglary tonight, even his association with her. Giovanni needed her to act circumspectly. She’d failed her brother once. It had led to him being sent away, an act the count had meant to punish her and it had. For four years now, it had been the driving force behind everything she’d done, everything she’d endured at the count’s hand: save Giovanni; make a new life for the two them where he could not be made to suffer for her rash actions. She had cost him four years of freedom already, she would not cost him any more. She would make it up to him somehow, even if it meant resisting the temptations Nolan offered.

  * * *

  Nolan was waiting for her in the lobby, offering her his arm, sweeping her out to the piazza and into the throng of sightseers who’d come to enjoy the city for Carnevale. Apparently, along with rooting out her clothes, he’d grabbed some for himself as well and had taken time to freshen up somewhere else, perhaps the club room, while she’d changed. He’d traded his evening clothes for walking attire and tall boots. He’d even managed to shave. No one looking at him would guess he’d been up the entire night.

  ‘Isn’t this a little backwards?’ Gianna asked as they headed towards the Rialto. ‘Shouldn’t I be showing you around the city? Technically, you’re the visitor.’

  Nolan merely grinned. ‘No, today, you are the tourist. I am going to show you Venice my way.’ When he smiled at her that way, making her the sum of his world in that gaze, she had the feeling resistance would be pointless no matter what vows she’d made herself.

  North of the Rialto Bridge was the fish market, the pescheria, the largest and arguably the oldest in the city...and it was exciting. With Nolan’s hand at her back, they navigated the stalls, taking in the fish, all fresh caught that morning in the lagoon or farther out in the Adriatic: shrimps, scallops, lobsters, crabs, cod, sole. The rows of stalls piled with fish on display were mesmerising in their diversity—fish of all shapes and colours stared back at her.

  The market was bustling with customers. Fishmongers called out their wares, people haggled over prices, loud voices rose and fell in hearty competition. ‘It doesn’t smell, not really,’ Gianna commented as they stopped beside a booth that served bowls of fish stew.

  ‘Fresh fish doesn’t usually smell.’ Nolan gave her a curious smile and turned to the vendor, ordering two bowls and a half loaf of fresh-baked bread. He handed one to her. ‘I believe you are in need of breakfast. Let’s sit.’ He motioned to a set of rough benches and plank tables set to the side of the market.

  Gianna couldn’t imagine a better breakfast. She followed Nolan’s lead and dipped her bread into the stew broth, laughing when she dribbled. Nolan whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at her chin. ‘It’s delicious.’

  ‘I think simple food is often the best food.’ Nolan tore off another chunk of bread and offered it to her. ‘Tell me, have you been here?’

  The question caught her off guard. Gianna looked up from her stew. ‘I’ve lived in Venice my whole life.’

  ‘That’s not what I asked. Have you ever come here?’

  ‘Not since I was a little girl. Even then only once or twice. My mother’s...’ She paused, hesitated. ‘Er...protectors always arranged for servants, at least a cook and a lady’s maid.’

  Nolan nodded, not put off by the reminder of her mother’s profession. ‘And the count?’

  ‘He had servants, too. There was no need.’ Her voice trailed off and she concentrated on her stew. But she’d already given too much away.

  ‘You didn’t come here on your own just to walk around by choice? Or the count didn’t permit it?’ Nolan probed. His eyes were on her. ‘You don’t have to lie for him, Gianna.’

  She met his gaze. ‘Perhaps I have to lie for myself,’ Gianna answered softly, ‘so we can enjoy this lovely winter morning you’ve planned for us. There is no need to burden you with my life.’

  ‘Maybe I want to be burdened.’ Nolan dipped a piece of bread into the hot broth and held it to her lips. ‘Or shall I make it easy for you and guess? The count did not allow you to leave his palazzo?’

  Gianna summoned her courage. Would he offer pity and then politely distance himself? Perhaps it was better to know now what sort of man he was than to know later when perhaps it was too late to save herself. ‘After my mother died, the count did not allow us to leave the palazzo. He said that was what servants were for, but we knew better. If we left, we might never come back and he knew that.’

  ‘We? Who is we?’ Nolan asked softly, lifting another piece of broth-dipped bread to her lips.

  It was all or nothing now. ‘My brother and I.’ She watched his grey eyes take in the news. It seemed that the bustle of the fish market had receded, leaving them in a cocoon apart from the world. There was only the two of them and her story if she was willing.

  Nolan’s voice was quiet and prompting. ‘Where is your brother now?’

  She didn’t answer immediately. The shame was too great. Where he was, was all her fault. ‘The count sent him away when he was thirteen.’ She’d not meant to say even that much, but it had come spilling out of her.

  ‘Why?’ Nolan divided the last of the bread between them and offered he
r a section. ‘You can tell me, Gianna. You needn’t worry you’ll shock me.’ It was what a lot of people said. Few of them meant it or even knew how to mean it. But Nolan’s next words convinced her that perhaps he might be different. ‘I have a brother, too, Gianna.’ He lifted his eyes to hers. ‘I know what it means to want to save them...and to fail.’

  ‘I was stubborn. I had stood up to the count one too many times in the months after my mother died. I was furious that he had managed to be named our guardian. He was furious that I wouldn’t sign over complete control of the money my mother had left me.’ Gianna broke the bread into little pieces, trying to tell the story with some detachment. That day was still so vivid although it had been four years ago. In his anger, the count had swung his fist at her. It wouldn’t have been the first time the count had hit her or tried physical force to gain her compliance, but it was the first time Giovanni had been present.

  ‘My brother stepped between us, trying to defend me.’ It happened in slow motion again in her mind. ‘The count grabbed him and flung him against the wall. He hit his head.’ She had been the one to call the doctor. She had stayed beside him for endless days, fearing that if she left him, the count wouldn’t let her back. She loved Giovanni on his own merits, but she’d also promised her mother they would be together always. It was a promise she hadn’t been able to keep.

  ‘When he was well enough to travel, the count sent him away to punish me. I haven’t seen him in four years. But not a day goes by I don’t think about him, about what I should have done differently.’

  ‘I know. Sometimes our best isn’t enough.’ Nolan’s reply was solemn. Nolan was always so confident, always in charge. She was hard-pressed to think he’d ever fail. They’d finished their bread and stew and it was time to move on. Around them, the fish market came to life again.

  Nolan tucked her arm through his as they strolled into the erberia that abutted the pescheria. Another time, she would have been captivated by the fragrant rows of sage and rosemary, and the bright vibrant colours of the vegetables, but her attention was for the man beside her who confided in quiet tones the secrets of his childhood. His voice was at her ear, low and private, his words surprising. ‘My father is a staunchly religious man who believes evil is best handled at it root.’ Nolan struggled at first, searching for words. She had the sensation perhaps he was putting words to this story for the first time. She was patient, letting him fill the silence on his own.

  ‘The moment he sees evil, it is to be stamped out. In his opinion, the best way to do that is with a swift and sure whip hand. I am two years older than my brother. When I was at home, it was easy enough to protect him. I would just take the blame for whatever my father accused my brother of.’

  ‘And the whipping for it, too?’ Gianna asked, feeling Nolan’s eyes on her, hard and flinty. To his credit he did not pursue that to its logical conclusion. Perhaps he didn’t have to.

  ‘Yes,’ was all he said. ‘My brother is a kind soul, a soft soul, even if he is a bit rambunctious at times. I’d rather have been whipped than see his spirit crushed. It was my choice. He never asked it of me.’ Nolan’s jaw tightened. ‘Then I was sent away to school and there was no one left to protect him. I did what I could to buy him some time before he could go away to school, too. I managed to get sent down from Harrow right away and a couple of other schools followed in short order. After a boy gets a certain reputation, it gets easier to be sent down.’

  Nolan shrugged. ‘My strategy worked for the first year, but it wasn’t enough. My grandfather is an earl, my father, viscount. Between them, they called in some favours and got me sent to Eton, the best of the best. They called in more favours to ensure I could not be sent down for the sake of the family name. There was nothing I could do.’

  Gianna felt his grip on her arm tighten, sensed the helplessness in his tone, the blame, too. She covered his hand with hers, implicitly giving him strength, recognising, for the first time, he needed her in this moment. How many times had she felt the same? How many times had she protected Giovanni in the same way only to fail him at the end? ‘There’s more, isn’t there, Nolan?’ Gianna whispered, her eyes locked on him, willing him to stay with her, to not pull away. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Only Archer knows. I’ve never told anyone else. Not Haviland, not Bren.’ Nolan’s voice was barely a whisper. He looked down at her hand where it rested on his arm, gathering himself. ‘That year, my father shoved my brother down the stairs. The fall shattered his leg. He’ll walk with a limp for the rest of his life. He is lucky it wasn’t worse.’

  ‘Nolan, how horrible!’ His story threatened to undo her. It was as if his words echoed the fears of her own heart. If she had simply done something differently, Giovanni would still be with her. She had no illusions the count had sent him anywhere edifying. She feared what she would find when she finally reached him.

  Then came the confession. ‘To this day, I feel like it’s my fault. If I had been there, I could have stopped it.’

  What could she say to that? She knew words of denial were inadequate. There’d been no comfort in such words when she’d faced them with Giovanni. All she could do was hold Nolan’s gaze and let him see her eyes fill with tears on his behalf.

  It wasn’t only the story itself that brought tears to her eyes. It was the man telling it. There were depths to this man, impressive depths of honour and courage. She’d been wrong to think life was a lark to him, everything a game. Do not like him, came the warning, followed swiftly by another: What will he want in exchange for his story? But the admonition came too late. In that moment when he brought his eyes to hers, his soul was naked for the briefest of seconds and Gianna knew she was lost. She was going to fall for him—the only question was how far?

  Chapter Twelve

  Nolan steered them out of the erberia away from the crowd. They both needed space and silence in which to appreciate and dissect what they’d shared. He had not meant to tell her so much, but once the words came he’d not wanted to stop. He’d heard the pain in her voice when she’d spoken of her brother and he’d wanted her to know he understood. Simply saying the words ‘I understand’ wasn’t enough. She wouldn’t believe them. He’d wanted to prove it to her, wanted to prove to her that she wasn’t alone. He gave her his story; the secret story of his home. He’d given her a glimpse of the depths of his family’s dysfunction in exchange for her tale, for a peek into her world, into what drove her.

  As difficult as it had been to summon that story, it had been worth it. He was horrified to hear about her life with the count, but it helped him understand her—why she was so wary, why she viewed sex as a weapon, why she was so desperate: she was planning her escape from imprisonment, from isolation. The very thought of it raised Nolan’s anger. The count needed to be served justice for what he’d done. But justice could wait until tonight. Today was for more than sad memories and regrets. Today was for trust and for pleasure. He had made inroads on the trust—they’d given each other their secrets. Now it was time for the pleasure.

  They passed quiet shops selling groceries and Nolan ducked inside one shop, coming out with a modest basket of bread and cheese. At another shop, he added a bottle of wine. The wine made Gianna smile. ‘What is all this?’

  ‘This...’ Nolan swung the basket ‘...is for the next part of our afternoon,’ Nolan said mysteriously. He found them a gondola with its felze up for privacy and handed her in, giving instructions to the gondolier to row them through the quiet canals where they wouldn’t be disturbed.

  Gianna reclined on the plush cushions beneath the felze, shrewd eyes watching him as he settled beside her, his basket between them. Nolan reached for the bottle, pulling the cork with practised ease. ‘Is this the part where you get me drunk on wine?’ she said, part-wariness and part-flirtation as he handed her a glass.

  Nolan clinked his goblet against hers, offering a wi
cked grin. ‘You misunderstand my motives, my dear. Consider this fair warning. This is the part where I seduce you.’

  * * *

  He already had. The lightest of touches would topple the fortress of her restraint, or what remained of it. The fish market, the most unlikely of venues, had wiped out her resistance entirely. Gianna sipped at the rich red wine, contemplating the man beside her. Who would have thought a trip to the fish market, a most innocuous site entirely devoid of any romantic connotation, would have undone her so completely? And yet it had.

  The remnants of her resistance gathered themselves into a final defence. Gianna held his gaze steady over the rim of her goblet. ‘Did you know I had not been out of the Minotti palazzo under my own power for over four years?’ When she had, it had been with the count as a guard to functions like the Calergi palazzo. The simple pleasure of attending the concert last night and walking through the market, eating fish stew this morning had been intoxicating almost beyond measure, second only to the glimpse of pleasures found in his arms.

  ‘No, I did not realise it until this morning when you told me.’ Nolan met her gaze evenly, eyes full of sincerity and heat.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Her tone was full of cynicism for himself as well as for her. It was a masterful plan if that was what it was and she had fallen for it. ‘Take the pitiful girl to the fish market and she’ll tell you everything.’ She could add to that, Buy her new clothes and make her feel cherished. Slam her up against a church wall, kiss her a few times and make her feel desired.

  Nolan merely laughed. ‘Do you know how ridiculous that logic is? A man that manipulative wouldn’t be invested in your cause anyway, he wouldn’t be planning to burgle the count’s house on your behalf.’