Larcenous Lady

by Joan Smith

  “When love comes in at the window, sense goes out the door. But then we know that, you and I,” he added, with an intimate smile.

  “I never blamed your lack of sense on love, Belami.”

  He saw he was still in her black books and shifted his mind to business. “Our only hope is to unmask Elvira before the wedding. Will you help me?”

  “What can I do?”

  “It involves Carlotta,” he said, and told her what he’d learned from Réal. “She took her reticule to her room. She will have hidden the dies by now, but I hoped you might slip in and have a look around. The dies would be bas-relief imprints of the coin—you’d recognize them. A separate die for the front and back.”

  “Very well,” Deirdre replied, but far from appreciating Belami’s forbearance for staying out of the woman’s room, she wore a face of accusation. “That will leave you free to amuse the contessa while I perform the search,” she said tartly.

  Belami counted to ten and answered fairly civilly, “We can reverse roles, if you prefer. My fear was that Carlotta would come in and find me in her room.”

  “I’m sure that possibility filled you with dread.”

  As they were talking, the contessa pushed her conte’s bath chair into the saloon. The duchess was with them. “We have had a charming afternoon,” the duchess declared. Her eye darted to the fireplace to see that the wine was present and the fire glowing invitingly.

  “I took the conte to the library and had him show me some of his tomes. An excellent collection. A pity it ain’t in English.” She turned to her niece and continued, “Deirdre, would you mind slipping up to my room and bringing down my reticule? I want to show the conte my new patent pen. They don’t have them in Venice yet.”

  Belami directed a meaningful look at Deirdre. When he moved to Carlotta’s side and engaged her interest, she knew her search wouldn’t be interrupted. She tapped at Carlotta’s door before entering, to ensure no servants were present. There was no answer so she went quietly in and stared at the lavish bedchamber.

  The walls were frescoed with nymphs and cavaliers, cavorting amidst a water garden. Dull gilt trim embellished the painted furnishings. The bed in particular caught her attention. It wore a pink satin counterpane and canopy. Laying in readiness for the contessa was a dashing black lace nightgown and peignoir. Deirdre lifted the gown and fingered it, noticing it was transparent. Was this what Carlotta wore when Dick went to visit her?

  She shook away the troublesome thought and went to the dresser to wrench open a few drawers. A welter of gloves and handkerchiefs, ribbons and stockings, all liberally sprinkled with powder from the silver powder pot on the dresser, greeted her eyes. How could such a well-polished product as Carlotta issue from this awful mess?

  She turned from the dresser back to the room. Now where would she hide her reticule in this chamber? Her eyes were drawn back to the bed. At the head of it were half-a-dozen lace-edged pillows. Deirdre slipped her hand under them and felt the soft kid reticule. She pulled it out, noticing that it bulged with something. Something hard and square and rather heavy.

  Her heart beat faster as she unfastened the clasp and pulled out a morocco-bound copy of a book. It was small, about twice the size of a chapbook, but still large enough to fill a lady’s reticule. It contained excerpts of Boccaccio’s tales from The Decameron, all in Italian. With a tsk of annoyance, Deirdre returned the book to its bag, the bag under the pillow, and went to get her aunt’s reticule.

  Dick didn’t look at her for a moment after her return to the saloon. Carlotta, however, was wearing that smug look Dick had mentioned.

  “Here’s your reticule, Auntie,” Deirdre said.

  The duchess drew out a cheap patent pen and handed it with great ceremony to the conte. “For you.” She beamed. “You will have the jump on your friends, Guy. These are all the crack in London, I promise you.”

  The conte accepted the token with sufficient grace to satisfy the donor.

  It was some minutes before Belami casually worked his way to Deirdre’s side. “No luck,” she said in a low tone.

  “Couldn’t find the reticule, or was it empty?”

  “It was full—of a book. Square, lumpy just as you said, but no dies.”

  Belami glanced around the room, his gaze settling last on Carlotta, who lifted a well-arched brow and smiled. That knowing smile told him all he needed to know. She knew he’d be searching her room and had replaced the dies with the book to tease him.

  Carlotta was expansive over dinner. She flirted outrageously with her tired old conte, who smiled his gratitude at her attentions. “I want to have a party, Guy,” Carlotta said.

  “You’re having a masquerade party, my pet,” he reminded her. With a little waggle of his head he added, “What, are you becoming forgetful? That’s my job.”

  “You’re not forgetful,” Carlotta said, and pulled his chin playfully. “I meant another party. We’ve been so dull all winter, Guy. Let us entertain the duchessa’s friends. The Suttons—is that the name, Duchessa?”

  The duchess had no objection to any entertainment thrown in her honor, so long as it came without expense. “If you think it worth your while, go right ahead,” she said grandly. “They are not the sort of people I should bother to entertain, but they’re well enough in a foreign country. At least they are English,” she added, with no intention of giving offense.

  Carlotta’s black eyes snapped and she answered testily, “I shall invite them anyway. You will enjoy to see your friends, Miss Gower.”

  “That would be lovely,” Deirdre replied. She knew Dick wanted to keep in touch with Pronto, and this seemed a way to do it. “You knew Miss Sutton is engaged?” she asked.

  “But of course! I must invite that funny Pilgrim, too.”

  “I’ll be happy to deliver the invitation,” Dick offered.

  “Excellent. Let us make it for tomorrow evening,” Carlotta said. “Ask them to come in the afternoon. I’ll show them around the palazzo. The frescoes are considered worth the trip. Don’t you agree, Miss Gower?” she asked, and slanted a smile at Deirdre. “Especially those in my bedchamber.”

  “I haven’t seen those,” Deirdre answered coolly. “I particularly admire the ones in the library, however. Miss Sutton is artistic; she will like to see them.”

  “What is Miss Sutton painting in Venice?” Carlotta asked.

  “She did the Rialto, but I don’t believe she’s done any painting since then. She is just newly engaged, you know.”

  Carlotta cast a bright smile, first at Deirdre, then at Belami. “I know, but as she’s English, I didn’t think romance would feature prominently in the engagement.”

  Belami stared in fascination. Now the cat was beginning to show her claws. Carlotta must be very sure of herself.

  Till now, she’d been more amiable. He was under no misapprehension as to her reason. She was sunk in debt and hoped to rescue herself through him, but this was no way to set about it. She had found another source of money then—the dies. She was inviting the Suttons here to make some mutually satisfactory arrangement for their return. They were worth nothing to her—she wouldn’t know how to use them, but the Jalberts could put them to use again later, when the storm died down.

  The conversation continued in this baiting way till dinner was over. After dinner, Carlotta entertained them with some music. When the conte began snoring in his bath chair, the contessa’s duties were over. She wheeled him into the hall and called for his valet.

  “I’m ready for bed myself,” the duchess announced. “Your music was a lovely soporific, Contessa. It has set me to nodding. You youngsters will excuse me? Don’t linger too long, Deirdre. Belami and the contessa will have things to talk about.” She foresaw no danger to Deirdre’s virtue when a very pretty harlot sat ready to entertain the rake, Belami.

  “So happy you enjoyed my musical sleeping draught, your grace,” Carlotta said.

  When the duchess had hobbled from the room, Carlotta turned
a laughing eye to Belami. “Do we have things to talk about, Belami?” she asked. “Or are you too lulled to sleep?”

  “The Italian conversaziones are famous, Contessa. You set the subject—Deirdre and I will be happy to oblige you.”

  “The Italian conversaziones are a dead bore. Nothing but idle gossip and bad wine. If you will excuse me, I shall retire before I wake up.” Stifling a yawn, she turned away

  Dick rose and bowed her from the room. At the doorway she turned around for one last taunt. “It won’t be necessary for you to have my room watched. I shan’t be leaving it tonight. Buona notte.”

  “I wish I knew what that woman is up to,” Deirdre scolded. “She knew perfectly well I was in her room. That jibe about the frescoes!”

  “Of course she knew. She hid the plates and put that book in her reticule to taunt me. God knows where the dies are in a palazzo this size.”

  “Do you think she’s inviting the Suttons here to try to sell the dies back to them?”

  “I don’t see why else she’s doing it. She must be in a hurry if she can’t wait till the masquerade party.”

  “I couldn’t believe at first that Elvira was mixed up in this business, but since she conned Pronto into this hasty wedding, I know she is.” Deirdre sighed.

  “Of course she is,” Dick said angrily. “I pumped Réal’s brain dry and learned a few more details. He went back to Mestre the day Elvira disappeared. From what he could discover, no young lady traveling alone left Mestre at the time Elvira should have left to reach her hotel in time to see Pronto that evening. There were two English couples, middle-aged folks, and there was one young gentleman traveling alone. Why didn’t Nick see her enter the hotel when she arrived?”

  “It’s what she did between leaving and returning that’s really important,” Deirdre pointed out.

  “What she did was see Claude, who hastened off to visit Styger. Then Styger left his hired house, to be gone for two days. And in two days, Elvira is to marry Pronto. Hmm.” He sat thinking about this for a moment.

  “If she’s going to marry Pronto, then perhaps she went to tell Claude—as she said she was telling Robert Blackwell.”

  “You don’t tell your husband you’re marrying another man.”

  “You’re only guessing she’s married to Claude. Perhaps it’s Lucy that’s married to him.”

  “Why would Elvira have to tell the Jalberts she was marrying Pronto then? It’s none of their business. It doesn’t make sense—it’s too complicated. Solutions are usually simple, once you get on the right track.”

  Belami sunk his hand in his fist and frowned. “All the ladies in this case are too complicated to suit me. Elvira laughing up her sleeve at me, Carlotta playing off her stunts and smirking till I can hardly keep my hands off her throat. And I sit here like an idiot, waiting for them to call the tune. We don’t have a clue what’s going on, that’s the trouble. Nothing makes any sense. Elvira doesn’t care two straws for Pronto. She’s just after his blunt. We can’t let Pronto marry that creature. The stomach turns to think of having her always around us in the future, bear-leading him. She’s taken control of his passport; after the wedding, she’s to handle his money. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if the whole ménage moves in with him. They’re planning to accompany him on the treacle moon at least.”

  This speech inevitably called up a memory of the duchess and turned them both frigid. “I told him he was mad to even consider it,” Belami added firmly.

  Deirdre pokered up and said, “If there’s nothing more to be done tonight, then I shall retire. Good night, Belami.” She rose and strode to the door.

  Belami was after her in a flash. He grabbed her wrist and swung her around to face him. “Running away doesn’t solve anything.”

  “It solves the problem of being alone with you.”

  A satirical smile curved his lips. “Being alone with me is a problem? Now, why is that, I wonder? Could it be you don’t trust yourself, Miss Gower?”

  “It’s you I don’t trust.”

  “Wise girl. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

  She looked into his dark eyes that stared at her with a penetrating gaze. There was some enchantment in him. She felt her resolve weaken. His arms went around her, pulling her against him. “You know you love me, and I love you,” he said in a husky voice. “Marry me.”

  The breath caught in her throat as his head descended, till his lips were just brushing hers. His lips firmed in a ruthless kiss that set her head reeling. But reeling amidst the pleasanter thoughts of seeing Italy with Dick was the tawdry wedding of Pronto and Elvira in a cheap hotel. She didn’t want her wedding to be like that. And, of course, there was the duchess to be talked around. Dick’s arms tightened till she felt suffocated. She pushed him away and stood panting.

  “No,” she said. “Not here. Not at the Léon Bianco.”

  “We can use this palazzo.”

  “No!”

  She saw Dick’s passion darken to impatience. “You name the place then. You won’t find a city with more churches per square foot than Venice. I don’t care where, but I care when. I’m tired of waiting.”

  “No, Dick. We must rescue Pronto first.”

  Belami felt guilty at what his passion had led him to suggest. “You’re right. Business before pleasure. But after we’ve settled this business, Deirdre—”

  “I haven’t definitely said yes.”

  “You said not here—that implies.”

  “That implies uncertainty,” she pointed out, and before he could say more, she walked away.

  Dick stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching as she went up. She turned around at the top and looked at him. Not a smile, or a wave, just a look. Rather a doubtful look actually. He should have pressed his advantage. But first he should save Pronto.

  He walked slowly back to the saloon, poured a glass of wine, and thought about Pronto. Was Deirdre right in thinking it was Lucy who was married to Claude Jalbert? Claude Jalbert—he wished he knew the man, then he might have an idea which sort of lady he would have chosen.

  But then you could never tell. Who would ever have thought Pronto would fall in love with that beautiful Turk, Elvira Sutton? She was already managing him. Once she had him legally shackled, Pronto’s life wouldn’t be worth one of those counterfeit guineas. Yet if Elvira were single, she would surely get him to the altar. They were halfway there already. There remained only Friday to extricate Pronto from disaster.

  And he had no real idea how to set about it. If he could find the dies... He’d stick like a burr to Elvira tomorrow. If the dies and money changed hands, he’d be there, ready to pounce. And if they didn’t change hands, he’d be waiting at Styger’s house near Mira the next day. By hook or crook he’d halt the wedding. And probably lose Pronto’s friendship one way or the other. At least Deirdre was beginning to thaw.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Sutton party arrived a little late for their visit to the palazzo the next afternoon, but with an acceptable excuse. “We received a note from Cerbon just as we were leaving and had to stop by his shop,” Mrs. Sutton explained.

  “Not buying more jewelry for those daughters of yours, Mrs. Sutton?” the duchess asked. If “Dear Meggie” was surprised to hear herself addressed so formally, she didn’t betray it.

  “Only the pearl we have been trying to find for Lucy,” Mrs. Sutton assured her grace. “One turned up in Padua, and Cerboni sent me word at the hotel. We went down immediately and arranged to purchase it. He will set it in gold, to match Elvira’s.”

  “I hope he isn’t charging some outlandish sum?”

  Mrs. Sutton flushed and admitted it had not come cheap.

  “Three thousand,” Pronto said. “Told her it was steep.”

  The duchess just shook her head. “Here I thought you were mad to pay a thousand for Elvira’s.”

  “I shall see the pearl first and decide whether it is of the same high quality as Elvira’s,” Mrs. Sutton explained.
“We hadn’t thought it would be possible to find one at all.”

  “Did you choose the diamond necklace yet?” Deirdre asked.

  “I have chosen it,” Elvira answered. “The price is still to be settled. If Cerboni remains unreasonable, I shall try another shop.”

  The old conte was merry as a grig to have such a surfeit of pretty young ladies around him. His watery smile wandered from one youthful face to another, finally settling on Elvira. “Diamonds, they would suit you, signorina,” he told her, bowing with great ceremony from his bath chair.

  Belami kept his eyes open but could detect no secret looks between Carlotta and Elvira except a shared smile at the conte’s drooling behavior.

  After a glass of wine, the contessa arranged for a tour of the palazzo. “You especially will be interested in the art, Miss Sutton,” she said. “We have mostly frescoes and some rather interesting statuary in the garden.”

  Lucy and Pronto also rose for the tour. “You will not be interested in that, Mrs. Sutton,” the duchess informed the other guest. “You and I shall stay here by the fireside with the conte and have a good cose. One misses half the advantage of foreign travel if she cannot see how the natives live. Why don’t we offer Mrs. Sutton some of your excellent wine, Conte?”

  “Yes, yes. It is right here,” the conte said. Then he turned to Elvira. “Hurry back, my dear,” he called.

  Belami had no intention of letting Elvira and Carlotta out of his sight, so he and Deirdre also joined the group. It was a good chance to examine the palazzo for likely hiding spots as well. There were so many of them that he felt quite despondent. After an hour’s stroll admiring the fading art works, the group returned to the saloon. Nothing of the least interest had happened.

  “Are you all set for our masquerade ball?” the duchess inquired when they returned.

  “We have been so busy we haven’t arranged our costumes yet,” Mrs. Sutton admitted. “Mr. Pilgrim tells us there is a shop in the Merceria that has all manner of outfit for hire.”