Venice

by Lynne Connolly

  Freddy didn’t hesitate. “Anything I can do.”

  “You can be rich and stupid. I think we just go along with them and so long as they haven’t seen you, Freddy, we can introduce you as a coney to be skinned.”

  “Will they skin me?”

  “No. You’re the bait. Along with us, at least at first.”

  He went on to explain his plan, less a plan, more a slight manipulation of events. Richard’s cleverness was to work with people to let them do what they wanted to do, but to keep control of events and eventually turn them. This time his scheme sounded amusing.

  AFTER FREDDY HAD GONE back to the arms of his expensive mistress and Richard and I were in bed again, I broached the subject that troubled me. “No one will die this time, will they?” I put my hand flat on his chest, sliding it up to his shoulder. I loved this gentle sensuality.

  He shook his head. “There’s no reason why anyone should. The man has only damaged my pride, if I have any left.” He turned to kiss my hand. “I also find the whole situation quite diverting, don’t you?”

  I smiled. “I suppose I do.”

  “If this assassin turns up, then we’ll have to think again. But Carier reports no sign of him and we have people watching. No word from Mrs. Thompson yet, either.”

  “Mrs. Thompson?” I was intrigued.

  He smiled, pulled me down to touch my mouth with his. “Mrs. Thompson’s main job is to look after the official side of the business, the actual profit making part of it, but she too has a financial stake in it. We try to keep it a rule to take decisions jointly.”

  “I thought you would make your own decisions.”

  “It depends which part of my life we’re talking about, my love.” He kissed me properly.

  He tried to swing me on to my back, but I was somewhat emboldened by all the wine I had drunk that evening and I resisted and pulled away. “No. Let me.”

  He let me. He lay on his back while I tried to show him how much I loved him. He was such a considerate lover, he took such pleasure in giving that I had not yet tried to love him in the way I thought he deserved.

  I kissed his mouth and moved down to his throat and his chest. His hands lay quietly unresisting on my body. His chest moved up when I reached his nipples and he gave a sharp gasp of need. I lingered, enjoying his taste. He felt firm and smooth under my hands. I let my breasts caress him as well as my mouth, touching and murmuring as I explored his body.

  When I touched him inside his hip, he murmured, “There—oh my God, yes, there.” I caressed him and examined his masculinity close up. There were no barriers between us now, nothing I wouldn’t do to make him happy. I kissed the tip of his shaft, felt his shudder, loved the taste of him on my tongue, but I didn’t linger. I sensed he wouldn’t last long if I continued.

  I turned him over and kissed and caressed his back in the way I knew he loved and then turned him over again to love him, in the ultimate act of union.

  He helped then, but I don’t think he could have done otherwise at that point. When I gazed into his face he showed me all his feelings, no mask, nothing. For a moment I felt overwhelmed by his trust, this man who hid so much from the world.

  I lowered myself on to him and we watched each other while his body entered mine. He reached up to hold my breasts, pushed against me, made me gasp in delight. Whenever I looked at him, his eyes were open, looking at me, loving me. I tried to tell him in words, but I found nothing to describe adequately the feeling of helpless power, the imperative to drive forward to that shattering climax.

  Only when he shuddered with fulfilment did he close his eyes.

  When I let myself sink forward, I felt him trembling. His arms went around me and as I slid to one side of him, he turned his head and opened his eyes again.

  We looked at each other, until he spoke. “The coup de grace. My sweet life, I thought I couldn’t love you more. Now I’m not so sure.”

  I blushed, or perhaps I was already flushed from the act of love, but I suddenly felt self-conscious about what I had just done. “I’m not sure I’m behaving as a well brought up young lady should.”

  “You could certainly give a houri lessons,” he said, more in control of himself, his breathing less ragged. “But never give it up.”

  “I think it was the wine,” I confessed.

  “Then we’ll order another case.” He pulled me close and kissed me, deep and lingering. “You’re all there is for me now.”

  I looked up when the candle flickered. We had only two candles alight, on either side of the bed, just enough to see by. I was surprised to see that the one on his side had almost burnt down. “Has it been so long?”

  He looked over at it and turned back to me, smiling. “Time seems to go away for a while, when we make love, doesn’t it?”

  I smiled in return. “Yes.” We let the candles burn out by themselves and lay, entwined, until we fell asleep.

  Chapter Ten

  THE NEXT DAY THE HEADACHE I woke up with was not one I would have liked to have carried around with me all day. After he murmured soothing condolences to me, Richard went through to his dressing room and returned with a bottle of lemon-scented liquid that he rubbed gently on my temples. The pain loosened. “Oh thank you, Richard. That feels wonderful.”

  “Think nothing of it,” he said gravely. “I would have done as much for anyone.” Considering our positions, the formality of his statement made me laugh, but I was forced to put a hand to my forehead and groan. “Poor love,” he murmured. “I’ll get you some tea.”

  He went away and soon Nichols came in, wheeling a trolley. Richard got up and ate, but I could manage nothing, only the tea he made me drink, as much as I could hold. “Now stay there and sleep, you’ll be as right as rain soon. Then, if you like, we’ll order the gondola round and I’ll show you more of Venice.”

  “But not in that wig,” I managed.

  He laughed. “No, I think I have to give that up. A shame, I thought it was rather a nice touch. But if you and Freddy insist on bursting into laughter every time you see me in it, then I don’t think I have much choice, do I?”

  He had made me smile. He leant over and kissed my forehead. “Does it take a pint or two of wine to persuade you to do what you did last night? Should I invest in a few more cases?”

  I would have shaken my head, but it hurt too much. “Now I know you don’t mind, I might find the courage without the claret.”

  “Don’t mind?” he echoed. “My love, one doesn’t look for that in a wife, but when it appears, it makes me sorry we’ve missed church for so long. I have to give thanks somewhere, you know, for a miracle like that.”

  “Fool!” I laughed, but soon stopped.

  He put his hand to my forehead. “Get some sleep, mia adorata. I have some matters to arrange. I’ll see you when you feel better.”

  Remarkably, when I woke up again later in the morning I did feel much better. I sat up in bed and felt my head, which still smelled faintly of citrus, then I realised the headache had completely gone. I hadn’t realised such a sick feeling could be over so quickly, treated in the right way.

  Nichols looked in on me after about ten minutes and I smiled and asked her if she would find me something to eat. So when Richard came in to see me, I was sitting in my dressing gown by the fireplace, making a hearty, if belated, breakfast.

  He examined my face and smiled at what he saw. “I thought you’d feel better when you woke. I suppose we did drink rather more than is usual for a lady last night.”

  I applied myself to my final slice of toast. “Not all ladies. Even in our local gatherings in Devonshire I’ve seen some ladies regularly the worse for drink.”

  “Some prefer laudanum.” He dropped lightly into the chair opposite me. “And if you combine laudanum and alcohol the result can be quite devastating.”

  “Have you tried it?”

  He nodded. “It brings blessed oblivion for a time, but the results afterwards can be—distressing. I spent the who
le of one season in a haze of laudanum, until Carier contrived to shut off my supply.”

  “You must have found it difficult.” I picked up another slice of toast. “I’ve noticed, my love, once you’re set on something it can be very difficult to divert you.”

  “Perceptive woman! I seem to be surrounded by interfering people and I don’t suppose you’ll be any different.” He mitigated the comment by smiling into my eyes, forcing me to smile back. “When Gervase first left, I tried several ways of self destruction, but none of them worked.” I found his matter-of-fact tones chilling. “I’ve never been completely grateful until now.”

  “I was going to suggest a siesta, like yesterday’s,” he continued then. “But you’ve only just got up and you’re probably bored with this room and this bed by now.”

  “Bored?”

  He put his hand to his chin, smiling at my vehement response. “You’re supposed to be reluctant.”

  “Why?” I’d never had any patience with hypocrisy. “I love you and you give me the greatest joy I have ever felt in my life. I love being with you, lying with you and loving you. It could be any bed, anywhere, but only one man.”

  His expression softened. “You should be careful.” He came over to take my hand and take it to his lips. “When you say things like that it increases my confidence and gives me all the encouragement I need.”

  I stood up, put my arms around him. “Why not? You know everything about me.”

  “Oh not everything, not yet.” He bent his head to kiss me.

  We went back to bed for an hour or two, as, he informed me, the Italians generally did. I liked the idea. We could rest quietly, doze, make love and chat in peace and quiet, with only the sound of the water and the boatmen outside to keep us company. It was true; the sounds outside were much quieter at this time of day. The whole place took on a timeless quality. Only the buildings bore silent witness to the beauty of the place.

  It was getting much warmer now and we lay on the covers, naked as babes, totally at ease. “What did you do this morning?” I asked him.

  “Carier and I interviewed cardsharps.”

  “What?” I sat up, startled, thinking I had misheard him.

  “We need someone on our side, if we’re to go into the lion’s den, and Venice has plenty of tricksters in it, even at this time of year.” He pressed me back down on to the bed, into the shelter of his arms. “So we’re giving one of them the opportunity to earn some honest money.”

  I was fascinated. “Did you find one? Can I meet him?”

  “Yes and yes. Tomorrow, instead of going to church as we should, we’ll learn how to cheat at cards.” He laughed at my surprise. “I’ll send a note to Freddy and he can come too. After all, it’s a skill every gentleman should know.”

  “I thought honour was all.”

  “Sweet innocent! When men are wagering their estates on the turn of a card, do you really think they’re depending solely on skill and chance?” He drew a hand gently over my stomach.

  “I thought they were.” I stretched in response to his caress.

  “Some of them are but others use tricks they’ve learned. I’ve never been very interested in cards, although it amused me for a time to let my parents think I was.” I was reminded again of his careless attitude to Lord and Lady Southwood. “I find life more interesting than pasteboard.” He looked at me and his hold tightened. He brought me close for a kiss.

  “So,” I said, when I could, “you’re teaching me to cheat at cards and you’ve shown me a killing. Are you corrupting me, my lord?”

  He looked at me gravely. “Do you think so?”

  “No. You’re opening my eyes to things I’ve never known, but that’s not surprising since I was brought up in one place, knowing the same people. But you’re also protecting me, although your touch is very light.”

  He touched me to prove it. “You’re the most precious, the most important thing to me now. If you think I should give up Thompson’s, or anything else, I will, to make you happy.”

  I was shocked. “Oh no.” I didn’t want that kind of sacrifice. “I shouldn’t tell you, but you’ve enlivened my life immeasurably. Before, I thought I would turn to stone, so many people took me for granted or ignored me and now—well, I’ve never felt so alive.” I laughed then, for no particular reason. “And happy,” I added.

  WE GOT UP LATER AND at his suggestion had our gondola brought around so he could take me on a tour—and Carier could go on another of his fishing expeditions, trying to see if anyone followed us or watched us.

  I had only to dress as Mrs. Locke, which didn’t take very long and meet him in the salon. He was dressed simply, but not, I saw to my relief, in the wig had made him look so different before, instead wearing one in his usual style.

  He smiled when he saw me and took my hand, leading me out and down the stairs again. He helped me into the gondola and we set off with Nichols in attendance. This time after travelling some way up the Canal we stopped and moored near the Rialto. It was very lively here, people dressed fashionably and stopped to shop and chat. “We’ll leave the beauties of the art and great buildings for another day,” Richard said. “You might like it here. And I have an unaccountable urge to buy you something, if you should like it.”

  In answer, I took his arm and let him help me ashore in the shadow of the lovely bridge. The high white arches entranced me—not grand enough to be beyond human, still communicating to the individual, but perfect in their simplicity. The windows of the great houses nearby and the unending grey-blue water below reflected them.

  Richard took me to a busy shopping area, evidently fashionable and I looked about curiously at the fashionable ladies and the differences between their costumes and mine. There were differences, most of them subtle, but since I was dressed as the sensible Mrs. Locke, I attracted little notice. Richard still drew some admiring glances. He couldn’t or wouldn’t disguise the grace that seemed to come as naturally as breathing. He either ignored or failed to notice the glances he received from one or two of the more grandly dressed ladies who passed us by.

  I bought some pretty trinkets that took my fancy, all of them under my assumed name. Carier had warned the shopkeepers of the imitation Strangs, but Mrs. Locke’s credit was good. I bought a little box I fell in love with, an automaton of bird that popped out and sang when I pressed a hidden spring.

  We were passing the window of a jeweller’s shop when I saw a string of coral beads, perfect for Mrs. Locke. We went inside. I enjoyed my small purchase, but then Richard saw something else in a case. He indicated them.

  I caught my breath. It was a simple chain of perfectly blue sapphires set off with diamonds, with none of the murkiness associated with stones of lesser quality. So Richard, so perfect. The price was breathtaking too. I didn’t argue, I loved them too much, but Richard, speaking remarkably rapid Italian, persuaded the man to bring the price to a more reasonable level. He ordered them sent around.

  We went out into blazing sunshine. “It’s growing late in the season. People will leave soon to avoid the unhealthy hot weather that sets in during July and August,” Richard commented. “In the season this square is thronged with people.

  “I love the soft, warm colours of this place. They contrast so well with the canals, reflecting the bluer sky above.” The acid bite of white stone punctuated the blue, preventing the subtleties from becoming too bland I laid my other hand on his arm. “May we come back one day?”

  “They say it’s a mistake to return but, in our case, we may use this as a refuge and a place of privacy.” His eyes reflected all we had come to mean to each other. “If I ever lose you, I will burn the apartment.”

  The bitterness in his tone reminded me of the constant stresses he was subject to, even here, where we were so happy together. I dearly wished I could help him to forget whatever had been done to him and what he had done to himself, to face the future tranquilly, by my side.

  We spent about two hours there, walki
ng, looking about and occasionally laughing at some of the more extremes of fashion we saw, until it was time to return. It was a golden, leisurely two hours for us both. We saw no one we knew and no one seemed to recognise us.

  WHEN WE ARRIVED AT the Opera that evening, it was still light outside but the lights were on inside the great building. We dressed simply, but more formally. I certainly felt shy enough, as I always did when I was going somewhere new and this time I let it show, thinking it would suit Mrs. Locke better than it would Lady Strang.

  We asked for Lord Strang’s box and a man in our livery took us upstairs. From Richard’s increased rigidity and the set line of his mouth I saw this part of the deception wasn’t pleasing to him, but we could do little about it yet. As usual, I had Nichols in attendance and I carried the little pistol in my pocket.

  We were relieved to find only the Ravens waiting for us, having half expected a large party from their bombastic talk. We always ran the risk of discovery, so bringing our charade to a premature end. They had, of course, hired one of the best boxes in the house and had the management of the place at their disposal. English lords were very profitable for business in Italy. Our hosts were dressed grandly, but I guessed the diamonds Mr. Ravens wore were paste, as were her rubies. I didn’t know if rubies that fine existed, apart from the one I had removed from my finger earlier that day, and certainly not in such profusion.

  That was where the false Strangs made their mistakes; everything was too grand, too lavish, the jewels and the clothes too elaborate. Instead of concentrating on quality, they equated style with abundance. I couldn’t see myself wearing Mrs. Ravens’ clothes. They were too bright, designed too much towards excess for my taste and every colour clashed with every other.

  “It is indeed kind of you to attend,” said Mrs. Ravens, seemingly born to it, as I wasn’t. We replied obsequiously and they smiled and bade us sit.