One Knight in Venice

by Tori Phillips

  She narrowed her eyes. More disturbing were Jacopo’s reports of Francis’s shopping sprees. Bags of comfits, hothouse flowers, a sweet-singing canary in a cage were only a few of the items he had purchased within the past few days. Obviously presents for a woman—but not for Cosma di Luna, Venice’s reigning beauty.

  Yesterday, Cosma had lowered herself to write a groveling letter to that wandering wastrel. She begged him to tell her what she had done to displease him and to meet with her for a serious discussion. Not trusting a mere lackey with her message, she delivered it herself to the Sturgeon Inn only to be told by the smirking landlord that the Englishman and his friend had gone for the day to the glass-makers’ island of Murano and were not expected back until late that evening.

  This morning a sleepy Jacopo reported that Francis had visited several workshops there and had bought a number of pretty things: a necklace of flowered beads, a set of pale green wine goblets decorated with gold filigree and a delicate hand-held looking glass. So far none of these items had made their appearance at Cosma’s door. Only more curt notes filled with shallow regrets.

  Cosma leaned her forehead against the cool glass of her windowpane. The answer stared her in the face. Francis had found a new mistress. Cosma saw her dream of becoming an English countess disappearing like the revelers’ gondola that turned the corner. She balled her hands into fists.

  Never! She would not concede defeat so easily. The prize was too rich to be lost without a fight. Cosma would be the next Countess of Thornbury—wherever that was—no matter what the cost. Jacopo must learn the identity of Francis’s new interest. If the girl was sensible, Cosma would introduce her to several handsome sons of the Republic’s nobility. Those lusty youths would provide any fortunate courtesan with wealth and merry pastimes.

  If the chit refused to give up her Englishman—well, many unpleasant things could happen in Venice to a lady of pleasure. A scarred face to mar her beauty—a word here and there about the presence of the dreaded French pox—or a sudden attack at night and a watery grave in the morning. All things were possible in La Serenissima if one had enough ducats.

  In the end, Francis would be glad to seek Cosma’s favors once more. Maybe she would make him suffer a little before she welcomed him back into her bed. Make the handsome bastardo pay for the hot tears she had shed over his current perfidy.

  Cosma smiled at her reflection in the window glass. How she would enjoy making Francis grovel!

  Jessica massaged Francis’s shoulders, savoring the strength and warmth of his flesh under her hands. After a fortnight of her ministrations, his muscles responded to her skilled fingers. By a silent, mutual agreement, neither of them spoke of Francis’s nocturnal wooing nor of the plethora of gifts he continued to shower upon her. Jessica feared to say anything while she worked on him lest she sever the thin thread of trust and affection that had formed between them.

  At least she knew that she was attracted to him, though her instinct of self-preservation continually fought against the wiles of her heart. She prayed that Lord Bardolph had grown to admire her. She ignored the unsettling idea that he might be wooing her only to entrap her later on. She could not abandon herself to his gentle seductions no matter how weak he made her feel. She must not play the wanton or she could find herself burning at a stake.

  Jessica applied more of her ginger and rosemary ointment to her palms before beginning the long, deep rolling strokes that she knew he liked. She allowed her gaze to wander slowly over him, appraising each naked contour of his chest with approval. The sight of his golden body made her heart beat more rapidly. She fought her almost overwhelming desire to enfold him in an embrace…to brush her lips across his sensuous mouth that grinned at her from under the blindfold. Even at complete rest on her table, Francis radiated a vitality that enticed her.

  Gobbo struck a discordant note on his lute, interrupting her pleasant musing. When she glanced over to him, he frowned and shook his head at her. Jessica nodded her understanding. Her ever-watchful servant knew exactly where her thoughts drifted and he highly disapproved. Gobbo was right, she scolded herself. She rolled back her shoulders, gave her head a little toss and proceeded to knead the Englishman as if he were a large mound of bread dough.

  Francis made no sound save for an occasional grunt when she hit a sore spot. At length, she drew the session to a close before her good intentions slipped out the door.

  “Very well, messere,” she said, breaking the silence. “I have done with you today. You should sleep well tonight.”

  Quick as an eel, his hand caught hers before she had a chance to turn away. Rising silently from his stool, Gobbo fingered the hilt of his stiletto. Jessica shot him a look that commanded him to be still.

  “You require something more, my lord?” she asked. A spark of excitement danced through her.

  His lips smiled at her. “Sì, madonna,” he replied in a near whisper. “Come walk with me. Jobe will be our chaperone.”

  Regret choked her. “I cannot,” she whispered in return. She tried to free herself from his gasp but he held her tightly. Gobbo stepped closer. Again, Jessica stopped him with a frown.

  To Francis she added, “You know I never go out in broad daylight. Please do not ask me again.” Her heart wept with her words.

  Francis brought her hand to his lips and kissed it with infinite tenderness. Gobbo’s shoulders relaxed somewhat.

  At the touch of his kiss, Jessica’s pulse skittered like a mouse before a cat. A delightful shiver swept through her. She felt light-headed and breathless as if she had run up and down three flights of stairs too fast.

  His thumb moved across the back of her hand in a slow, extremely sensuous circle. “Then come out with me tonight when only the moon casts her silvery eye upon us mortals.”

  She licked her lips. “Please, my lord, you know I do not like to be seen in public.”

  He threaded his long fingers between hers. “Lent comes quickly apace. The streets fill with masked revelers. Who will know that the reclusive Donna Jessica Leonardo is among their company? All are mascheras until Ash Wednesday arrives. There is dancing in the piazza,” he added seductively.

  Jessica swallowed. How she would love to go! She had never seen Venice’s great square except by dawn’s pale light when she hurried to hear a special Mass at Saint Mark’s. What would the piazza look like when it was filled with colorful revelers?

  “I…I do not know how to dance,” she murmured.

  Gobbo snorted at her falsehood. Often he had played sprightly tunes while she and Sophia capered around the kitchen. Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared at her.

  Francis smiled again. “Then permit me to be your dance master. When I was a boy my good grandmother insisted that I learn the steps to every pavane, branle and galliard. Now I bless her wisdom. Your sweet company will be my reward for all those tedious hours I spent partnering my rebellious sister Belle.” He kissed her hand again. “Come out with me tonight.”

  Jessica swayed against the side of the table. She cast a frantic look at Gobbo but instead of coming to her aid, he grinned and nodded his head in agreement.

  She took a deep breath. “Very well, my lord, you have prevailed upon me. I…I will dance with you but I will never remove my mask.”

  He chuckled. “What of that? Neither will I. In faith, sweet madonna, you will be dancing with the devil tonight.”

  She trembled at his choice of words. God save me, I hope not!

  Jacopo’s latest report shocked Cosma.

  “Are you sure of this?” she snapped at the ashen-faced youth.

  “Sì, madonna, I swear to it upon my mother’s soul,” he replied, gathering in his arms the monkey he had saved from his mistress’s wrath. “It is Signorina Leonardo who receives Lord Bardolph’s attentions. So say the neighbors whom I questioned. And I saw with my own eyes a market boy deliver a basket of fruit to her door. When I asked him who had sent the gift, he told me it was a giant Englishman wearing a hat
with many colorful feathers. Who else could that be?”

  Cosma chewed her lower lip while she considered these ill tidings. Few Englishmen were in Venice at this chilly time of year. Even fewer were unusually tall and sported such a glaring taste in fashion. Yet how could this news be true? Jessica Leonardo was not only a mere commoner but possibly a secret Jewess. Such a liaison between a noble lord and a woman of her ilk was ludicrous. Now that the masters of the Inquisition were in the city, the relationship could also be dangerous.

  Cosma inspected her fingernails. “Lord Bardolph visits the Leonardo person for her healing only. I need further proof, slug.”

  “True enough,” the boy replied, “but when he bid her farewell on her doorstep this morning, I heard him plainly say that he looked forward to dancing with her under the moon tonight. My own ears do not lie, madonna.” Taking a step backward, he lifted the monkey to his shoulder.

  Cosma curled her lips. “So, Francis is well enough to dance under the moon tonight yet an hour ago he sent me word that he was still fevered? The man is a dolt. He throws away my beauty and prefers a strumpet who dares not show her ugly face to the world? Ha! I will not be mocked. I am Cosma di Luna—and a force to be reckoned with. Signorina Leonardo will soon learn this to her everlasting sorrow.”

  She whirled on her heel and strode into her bedchamber. “Nerissa! Fetch my mask, hooded cloak and zoccoli,” she ordered, referring to the high platform clogs that fashionable women wore out of doors. “Jacopo, stop playing with that wretched beast and hail me a gondola. I will nip this harebrained dalliance in the bud before it has a chance to blossom. At once, do you hear me?” she shouted to her minions.

  A half hour later found Cosma in the northern section of Venice. She drew her cloak tighter around her, adjusted her mask and prayed that she would not meet anyone who might recognize her. She wrinkled her nose at the disgusting smell of fried onions and fish that hung over the area. She had spent twelve years escaping from this sordid background and she had no intention of ever returning to it. Choking back the bile that rose in her throat, she gave Jessica’s blue door a sharp rap.

  After a second knock, the dwarfish maidservant answered her summons. “Good afternoon, madonna—” the little woman began but Cosma pushed her aside.

  “Where is your mistress?” she demanded.

  Instead of being properly cowed, the woman crossed her arms. “Who wants to know?” she dared to reply in a voice that dripped disdain.

  Cosma raised her hand to strike the insolent creature but thought better of it. There was no point wasting either her time or soiling her gloves with this piece of baggage. Pulling off her mask, Cosma brushed past her and flung back the inner door that led into a long hall.

  “Hold, madam!” the dwarf shrieked behind her.

  Cosma paid her no more mind than a flea. She marched down the hallway following a noise she heard in one of the back rooms. She would flush out the cowering chit from her rat hole.

  Just then her quarry stepped into the passageway. “Sophia? What is amiss? Oh, no!”

  Recognizing Cosma, Jessica turned away but it was too late. Cosma had already seen the girl’s naked face. Teetering on her elevated zoccoli, the courtesan gripped a doorjamb for support.

  “¡Madre del Dio!” she gasped, making a hurried sign of the cross. “Now I see why Francis is no longer interested in me. You are a witch!”

  Chapter Nine

  Cosma’s shrill denunciation chilled Jessica to her marrow. Panic threatened to sweep through her, taking her wits with it. Though her terror at her discovery gnarled her stomach into knots, she fought to preserve her fragile control of the situation.

  Jessica lifted her chin a notch and stared into the glittering eyes of the enraged beauty. “How now, Donna Cosma?” she asked as coolly as she could manage.

  The courtesan backed up a step but did not flinch. “No wonder you hide your face! You bear the devil’s mark. You are Satan’s creature.”

  Jessica moistened her trembling lips. “It is only a birthmark. I hide it to preserve myself from the very emotions you now feel. I am a good Catholic,” she added. Better than you, I suspect.

  Cosma rallied from her initial shock. She curled her lips with contempt. “Oh, really? You have used your potions and incantations to bewitch Lord Bardolph. Why else would a man forsake my good company for…yours?”

  A stunning realization shook Jessica. Jealousy had driven Cosma to her door and jealousy proved stronger than her fear or revulsion. Spurred by that powerful emotion, the courtesan could become more dangerous than a wounded lioness.

  Fighting her instinct to run and hide, Jessica nodded toward her antechamber. “Let us sit and discuss this problem, Donna Cosma.”

  Without giving her unwanted visitor a backward glance, Jessica brushed past her. She took the more comfortable of the two chairs and arranged the folds of her skirt while she waited for Cosma to join her. She prayed that her calm exterior would cloak the terror that thundered inside her chest. All the dread she had harbored during the past two decades enveloped her.

  Cosma followed at a short distance as if afraid that she would become tainted if even so much as her hem touched Jessica. She refused the offered seat. Staring at Jessica, her eyes burned with hatred and loathing.

  Cosma wasted no words. “Leave Francis alone. He is mine. We are engaged to be married.”

  Jessica concealed her shock behind a smile. “Indeed? Then I wish you both much happiness—when you are wed. In the meantime, Lord Bardolph is a free man to come and go as he pleases. Remember, it is he who visits me. I do not run after him.”

  “How can he possibly find you so attractive?” Cosma snarled.

  Tread softly now. Jessica lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I am only a simple healer. All I did was to help his injured shoulder feel better.”

  Cosma’s face grew red. “Witchcraft!” she spat. “You used your unholy spells to enchant poor Francis.”

  Jessica gripped the arms of her chair for support. “Not so! I say holy prayers not incantations. My ointments are made from olive oil, beeswax and wholesome herbs.”

  “Has he ever seen your face?”

  Jessica turned her head away from her accuser. “I swear before God that I am not a sorceress.”

  A wicked smile wreathed Cosma’s scarlet lips. “The truth of that is not for me to judge.”

  Jessica’s breath seemed to solidify in her throat. She opened her mouth but no words came out. She could barely breathe. A tense silence filled the tiny chamber. Jessica’s heart pounded loudly against her breast. Would Cosma denounce her as a witch to the Holy Office? Jessica’s worst nightmare threatened to come true.

  Cosma chuckled in a vile manner. “I will say nothing—if you henceforth reject all of Lord Bardolph’s advances, return his tokens—” She glared at the pretty yellow canary that trilled in his gilded cage by the window. “And undo your spell. Once I am safely married to Francis, this unpleasant matter will be forgotten.”

  Made more bold by her threat, the courtesan ventured closer to Jessica. “If you do not—” She allowed the horrible thought to hang in the air between them. “I understand that they drown witches in the lagoon on moonless nights. They say that the wicked creatures sink without a trace. They return to their demonic master on that watery highway to hell.”

  Cosma’s beautiful face contorted with malice. “No one will shrive a witch of her sins. There are none to mourn their passing. The condemned merely slip away. Green water muffles their last screams. Think on it.”

  With that parting shot, Cosma donned her mask, pulled her cloak tighter around her trim figure and let herself out of the door. Jessica sagged against the back of her chair. Sophia, who had hovered in the hall, rushed to her side with a glass of wine.

  “There now, child,” she soothed. “Sip this slowly. It will strengthen your blood.”

  Jessica wiped her cold hand across her fevered brow. “God defend me! I fear that the sins of my parents ha
ve visited me at last.” She touched the dark stain on her face as if it burned. “What evil did my mother and father commit that God would brand me thus?” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Sophia put her short arm around Jessica’s heaving shoulders and hugged her. “Hush, my sweet! You prattle nonsense. You have listened to the ravings of a jealous woman.”

  Jessica drank a little of the wine. “Cosma di Luna has nothing to fear from me. Lord Bardolph has no intention of marrying me—or her, for that matter. For all we know, he could already be married to some lady in England.” Jessica shut her mind against that idea.

  Sophia nodded. “Pay Signorina di Luna no mind. She may be a beauty of renown but inside her heart, she is as rotten as last year’s pears. She is nothing but a whore.”

  Jessica inhaled a fortifying breath of air. “But she called me a witch. Of the two of us, the laws of Venice and the Church would go harder against me.” She drank more of the wine.

  Sophia held her tighter. “Do not let that piece of painted filth frighten you. Who would believe her? She wears her jealousy like a great green snake around her neck for all to see. It is clear as glass that she only desires the Englishman for his wealth and his title. She would not care a fig if he were ugly and a lecher in the bargain.”

  Francis’s face appeared in Jessica’s imagination. What woman could resist such a handsome man, even if he did dress in the worst of taste? “Lord Bardolph has a good heart though prone to melancholy.”

  “Exactly!” Sophia agreed. “And that is why you must help him to lighten his burden.”

  “But Cosma—”

  Sophia dismissed the worrisome woman with a wave of her hand. “Fie! Fie, Jessica! Listen to me. You have given the greatest beauty of Venice cause to be jealous of you. Think what power you possess!”

  Jessica sipped more of the wine while she pondered this startling truth. “Cosma could do me grievous injury.”