Nolan flashed her a charming smile. ‘Surely Signorina Minotti is there?’
‘No, signor. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer.’
‘Perhaps she is asleep. We had a late night.’ Nolan kept his smile in place, but it was an effort not to race up the stairs as if he was worried.
He opened the room and called for Gianna, thinking she might be in the bathing room. Running water could obscure the sound of a knock. But a short search confirmed the dressmaker’s original assessment. ‘You may leave the dresses in here on the bed.’ Nolan smiled. ‘It appears she has gone out, shopping perhaps.’ Or perhaps not. He didn’t think for a moment she’d go shopping. His stomach was starting to knot as he followed the dressmaker out, thanking her for her haste in preparing the order.
Nolan shut the door and leaned against it. There was no good reason Gianna would leave this room. Had the count found her and forced her from the room? He doubted something like that would escape the notice of the concierge in the lobby, and the jewel case was still on the bureau.
Had she departed, upholding her end of the bargain? That, too, made little sense. They had not talked of leaving last night, and why would she leave with nothing to wear but a nightgown, a masquerade costume and two ready-made dresses, especially when new clothes were coming? If she waited a few hours, she’d have a whole wardrobe to take with her. It was possible she’d try to go out and pawn some pearls from her ruined dress, but a quick survey of the gown proved that moot. It was time to test the hypothesis of the jewel case.
Chapter Sixteen
Nolan lifted the lid to assure himself the paltry collection of jewellery was still there, further proof that she hadn’t run. He felt guilty doing it. Doubt had motivated this. What he was doing now felt far more like burglary than breaking into the count’s house. Perhaps because he’d believed the count deserved it and Gianna didn’t. But that raised an uncomfortable question: What did he believe Gianna deserved and why?
Nolan ran his fingers along the bottom of the satin lining searching for a catch, an irregularity. Nothing. He ran his fingers along the seams of the lid, pressing it for telltale signs of something hidden behind the fabric. Still nothing. He picked up the case and shook it lightly, then a bit harder. The bottom gave, sprinkling folded papers on the floor, each one a secret of its own. What else did one keep in a hidden compartment but things that needed to be protected because knowledge of them in the wrong hands would be dangerous?
A suspicion began to unfurl in his mind, one he’d rather not face. It was easier to study the case, to note the fine construction of the false bottom that had kept the compartment concealed from a man who must have spent years looking. It was excellent craftsmanship. He might have missed it, if the bottom had closed properly. He could see now that the bottom had opened because the catching mechanism hadn’t caught when it had been shut. One mystery solved, but several others awaited.
Nolan knelt on the floor and gathered up the folded papers. Whatever Gianna had been looking for was here, or had been here. It probably wasn’t ‘here’ any longer but with her, wherever she was. The reality stung. She had trusted him with her memories, with the pleasure of her body, but not with this.
If he had been more of a gentleman, he wouldn’t have looked, would have left the papers folded up in their worn creases, but his own self-preservation was on the line along with Gianna’s privacy. In the wake of Brennan’s comments, that was no small thing. What sort of woman was he dealing with? Had he been used? He had a right to know. If these papers could offer up some information, he deserved to know.
The first two were not helpful, just letters from people he didn’t know. But the third was written to Gianna. He conducted a quick assessment, checking the signature at the bottom, the date and the salutation at the top: Dearest Daughter. It was from her mother and had been written a little over five years prior. The penmanship was shaky, indicating the effort creating the message had taken. Perhaps a final note? Last instructions to her daughter?
The little monster of his guilt roused itself from its nap. He was intruding. It was hard to keep reading. This was private. He was holding a dying woman’s last words. The last paragraph was significant, considering the turn of events.
When you turn twenty-two, take the receipt you find here to the jewellery shop at the foot of the Rialto Bridge.
Nolan folded the note with careful reverence and put it back with the others, his earlier suspicion full blown now. There was no ignoring it. She’d needed the jewel case to take the next step, which wasn’t, as she’d implied, leaving Venice to escape the stain of scandal. That was simply too neat. That scenario had a beginning and an end to it: girl gets jewel case, leaves city to live quietly happily ever after out from under the thumb of her ruthless guardian. But there was more here. Retrieving the jewel case hadn’t been the end, but the beginning.
A hundred speculations rose in Nolan’s mind. It was his punishment for being such a critical thinker. He twisted and turned stories, looking for different perspectives. The count had wanted to scare her into marriage. Why? For this case? To simply cover up the fact or control the fact he’d anticipated her dowry and sold her mother’s jewels ahead of the wedding? Or had he wanted to marry her for the secrets in this case? Was the receipt valuable enough to warrant marriage?
Her mother had obviously suspected the count of perfidy by the time of her death and had worried over her daughter’s future. The particulars of what she’d hidden away were not terribly important, but the conclusion was. Gianna and the count were engaged in a private battle over control of money and jewels, enough to ensure that she could live independently if she chose, or enough to ensure she had a dowry. Neither was no small matter and both were worth fighting for—they represented an opportunity for freedom, an escape from oppression. Gianna had never said anything about life at the count’s, but there’d been hints enough to safely assume life with the count had not been easy.
There was a war between the two of them and that speculation led to the second. How far would the count go to retrieve Gianna and the box’s secrets? Even if he didn’t discover the box was gone, Gianna was still in danger. His key to whatever her wealth was lay with possessing her more than it did with the box, and the clock was running. She’d been gone three days, out of the count’s sphere of influence. The man had to start thinking she might not be coming back...unless there was something else the count held over her?
The third and final speculation was this: What was he going to do about it? He and Brennan were both right. Gianna was in trouble. Nolan didn’t doubt his speculations were far from the truth. But she had used him most expertly, giving out bits of information like a trail of breadcrumbs, just enough to draw him forward inch by inch until he was here, in his room, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands, wondering if he should take the next step forward or if it was time to cut and run. He owed her nothing more.
Technically, he could walk away. Carnevale was ending, he had made enough money. Even now, that money was being transferred to his brother in England, the deed he’d dreamed of was being drawn up and signed. He could kiss Gianna and Venice goodbye and move on to the next European watering hole. Brennan had mentioned wanting to see Greece. There was Naples to consider, Turkey even, assuming the count let him leave. It might be rather naïve to think Gianna was the only one with a clock ticking. After all, he was the one who’d given her sanctuary, the one who had not compelled her to return. Perhaps he didn’t have to decide. His actions had already made the decision for him, had already decided for him what came next—he had to go after her.
Nolan was up and dressing, grabbing a coat, tucking in his shirt and feeling for his knife in its familiar sheath. A knife might not be enough. He opened the bureau drawer and dug underneath his shirts for his pocket pistol, its size made for discretion. He slipped it into the pocket of his great
coat and caught sight of himself in the mirror. Brennan was right. He looked like hell. He ought to shave, but there wasn’t time. Gianna was out in the city, alone. Her only hope of protection lay in the count not having started an effort to reclaim her.
* * *
‘I want her back here with all haste.’ Count Agostino Minotti paced behind his desk, delivering instructions to the two footmen. They were guards more than servants, men he’d hired to keep watch over Francesca at first and then over Gianna. Not because he had wanted them protected, but because he thought the mother and the daughter plotted against him. ‘It has been three days. If we wait any longer, she could leave the city and then it will be much harder to find her.’ It was more than that and it was too embarrassing. He’d been able to pass the blame on to the guards who’d been on duty last night, but it didn’t quite erase the sting.
‘Start with the Englishman,’ Romano Lippi offered from his slouched position in a corner chair where he’d been watching the proceedings with interest. ‘She’ll either be with him or he’ll know where she went.’
‘Signor?’ one of the footmen enquired, turning back to Agostino. ‘What if he is protecting her?’ It was what the count feared most, that somehow Gianna had persuaded the Englishman to be her ally. Being alone made her vulnerable, and he was betting on that. Alone, with nowhere to go, made it far easier to find her.
The count gave a cold grin and took a seat behind his desk. ‘I think you’ll find he’ll be more interested in protecting himself if you put it to him in the right manner. You have your knives, yes?’
The two men grinned back. ‘Just making sure we understood the parameters of our power. We’ll start with the hotels.’
‘The nice ones. The Englishman has money.’ Romano rose from his seat, unfolding elegant, long limbs and crossing the room, his eyes hot. It was time to send the footmen away.
‘You don’t still think she’s a virgin?’ Romano drawled, standing behind him, hands resting on his shoulders.
‘I don’t care if she is or isn’t,’ the count snapped. ‘I care that she’s nearly twenty-two and free to claim her inheritance.’
Romano gave a dry laugh as he began to massage the tight muscles. ‘Why do you care so much? You’ve spent most of it anyway. The jewel box is nearly empty.’
Agostino sighed. Romano was a handsome man with dark hair and soulful dark eyes that belied a streak of cruelty that ran as deep as his own, but while some nuances came naturally to him, some did not. Romano only saw the money on the surface, not the larger fortune. ‘That’s not the point. The point is, she was here in this very house last night and she slipped through our fingers with the jewel case. Nearly empty or not, it’s the principle of the matter. The audacious bitch was here, dammit!’
Agostino brought his fist down on the desk, barely able to contain his temper as he thought about it again; how he’d walked into his bedroom and seen the picture slightly askew, how his hands had fumbled with the lock after a night of heavy drinking, only to discover the safe was empty. It had proven what he’d long suspected. There was more to the case than jewels, only he’d been unable to discover what that might be.
‘Still, it’s just a case,’ Romano soothed. But that wasn’t good enough. It was time Romano knew the truth.
‘There is more than just the jewel case.’ Agostino sank his head into his hands.
Romano’s hands stilled. He had Romano’s attention now, money always did. Romano loved the flash and glitter of Venice. He’d been a gondolier when Agostino had met him. Now, he was a man of leisure who accompanied Agostino almost everywhere, doing odd jobs for him. He had made Romano, fashioned him out of his wife Francesca’s money, given him access to the most debauched circles of Venetian society where men and women alike flocked to him for their sordid pleasures. Agostino wondered, would Romano leave him if the money dried up? What if he failed to find Gianna before her birthday and lost the rest of Francesca’s money?
‘May we speak plainly, Agoste?’ Romano’s hands starting working again on his shoulders with firm, kneading strokes. He could feel the tension of the past days give a little.
‘Always.’ Agostino sighed into relaxation.
‘It may be time to consider more drastic measures for dealing with Gianna.’ Romano’s hand moved to his neck, pressing away the knots of worry.
‘You’re talking about murder,’ Agostino said wearily. This wasn’t the first time Romano had suggested such measures. ‘My answer is still the same. Marrying her is more direct. As her husband, I take immediate control of her inheritance. This works for us. Even if I have to marry her after her twenty-second birthday, I would regain control of anything in her possession.’ He reached a hand up to cover Romano’s where it rested on his shoulder. ‘Marriage won’t change what there is between us, it is just a business arrangement. But you and I, that is something beyond business, no?’ He needed to hear the words, the commitment from Romano.
Romano bent to his ear, his voice soft. ‘How much money is involved?’
‘Twenty thousand lire plus the diamonds, if they still exist. Only she knows where they are, which is another good reason for keeping her alive.’
Romano’s hand drifted across his neck, raising a delightful shiver. ‘Twenty thousand alone justifies murder. Perhaps we can forgo the diamonds if we must. We find her and do her before she turns twenty-two and it’s all yours, all ours.’
It was tempting, truly. It would solve his problems and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t done murder before. Still, it was hard to compromise and give up the wealth of the diamonds. ‘Not before she tells us where the diamonds are, Romano. Murder is final. We have to make sure we know everything beforehand. Murder didn’t exactly work out for me the last time.’
He’d thought he’d known where Francesca had put the diamonds, thought he’d known how her will had been put together. He’d been wrong on both accounts and had only discovered it when it was too late to correct it. As a result, he’d been reduced to pillaging a dead woman’s jewel case for funds these past five years, waiting for her daughter to come of age.
‘It wasn’t murder. It was death by slow poisoning,’ Romano corrected. ‘Murder is such a base word. Murder is what thugs in alleys do. But we are masters and to us it is a craft. Besides, Agoste, this time we’ll be sure everything is in order. It will be swift, not like poor Francesca’s “lingering illness”. All that time, and she never suspected a thing.’ Romano gave a hard laugh.
Agostino didn’t bother to argue the point. In the intervening years, he’d come to think Francesca might have known more than he realised. He’d certainly been surprised to see how her will had changed, the protections in place that she must have paid dearly for to ensure her money went to Gianna. The best he’d been able to do was to be named the girl’s guardian and even that didn’t give him permanent access to everything, only permission to oversee it.
Romano’s breath feathered his ear. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll do it for you, for us. There will be no mistakes this time.’
‘You are an angel,’ Agostino whispered. It would be easy to lay that burden at Romano’s feet. Sometimes he thought Romano was absolutely insane, a brilliant genius of the macabre. Who else could talk of murder while rousing his body? ‘But it might not be enough. Giovanni is her protection. It all goes to him unless she marries, then it goes to her husband.’ He all but spat the name. Giovanni, the unlikely knight in this chess game. He’d hated Giovanni for ever, a useless boy except for the fact that Giovanni was always in his way, almost as much as Gianna.
Romano whispered his evil promise. ‘Then I’ll do them both. That poor boy will never see me coming.’ Then he laughed at his poor joke.
Chapter Seventeen
The problem with covert activity was that it made one feel as if everyone was watching. In reality she knew better. Everyone was consumed w
ith their own errands, except the count and that was what had her nerves on edge as she see waited for the jeweller in the tiny shop off the Rialto.
If Minotti hadn’t come for her yet, he would soon. His circumstances demanded he couldn’t let her remain at large much longer and it had to be clear to him by now Nolan wasn’t sending her back. Of course, he had to find her first. She didn’t think it would be terribly hard to find out. Englishmen of means in the city had certain preferences when it came to lodgings.
Gianna fought the urge to tap her foot in impatience. Once she had the necklace, she could be gone, perhaps even before nightfall if she could manage it. It would mean eluding Nolan if he was in the room. If the jeweller would just hurry, she might not have to worry about encountering him again, which would be for the best. They’d formed certain...habits...when they were together, habits which made it hard to leave, habits which were hard to resist. Last night was proof enough of that. But it wasn’t only the physical pleasures that tempted her.
Coward. You can’t bear telling him goodbye to his face. It wasn’t cowardice, it was protection. If she saw him, she would crumple. He would not want her to leave, he would want to help, and she feared very much that she would let him.
How had she fallen so far, so fast? She was in grave danger of becoming the one thing she wanted to avoid: dependent on a man. She’d been careful, plotting her every move, weighing every decision, seeing each of his generous actions with a cynic’s eye and it still hadn’t been enough. Nolan Gray had dismantled her defences with the relentless advance of a master who knew what he wanted and knew how to get it. Now, all she could do was slip out the proverbial back door.
Most certainly, the option to waiting until morning tempted fate on all fronts. Staying offered another night with Nolan, another chance to experience the bright, hot flood of passion that rose when they were together. Both times, that passion had threatened to overrun its banks. Another night meant another opportunity for it to do just that.
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