‘Only a moment, sweet, I vow.’ He bent and quickly kissed her again. ‘With you waiting for me, that will be all it takes.’
Chapter Sixteen
With a sigh, Jane returned to the chair she’d been sharing with Richard, or, more accurately, the chair on which Richard had been sitting, with her on top of him. He’d assured her that he wouldn’t be away long, and she’d no reason to doubt him.
And yet she missed him as much as if he’d gone off to sea on a voyage of years’ duration, not answered an errand that would take ten minutes at most. It made her feel a bit foolish, too, like one of her overly romantic young charges, but she couldn’t help it. What she felt when Richard kissed her was beyond anything she’d ever experienced. As much as she prized her education, she’d no words at all fit for describing it, and when he’d caressed her breast, why, she’d thought she’d perish from delight.
She’d arched against him, shamelessly pushing her breast against his hand to seek more of the pleasure his touch brought. Her nipple had tightened and grown more sensitive and somehow warmer, and that glow had then spread through her whole body, centring curiously between her legs. Self-consciously she’d pressed her legs together, and discovered that the pleasurable warmth only increased, and the more she restlessly shifted her limbs, rubbing herself against him, the more the warmth grew, stealing away her breath and her senses, too. It had been most…remarkable.
She took the muff from the chair beside her and cradled it in her arms, brushing her cheek against the silky fur as she thought of the man who’d given it to her. The play on the stage before her was forgotten, the orchestra’s music unheard.
Day by day, day by day—they’d each promised to follow that, without regrets. Yet those same days were passing so quickly, as fast as sand slipping through the waist of an hourglass, and she couldn’t bear to think of all the other days that would follow in her life without Richard Farren in them.
She heard the door behind her open, and she turned and rose at once with anticipation, expecting Richard’s return. But standing there in the doorway, lit from behind by the brightness of the hall, wasn’t Richard, but Signor di Rossi, dressed all in black like the night.
‘Ah, cara mia, here you are at last,’ he exclaimed, his cloak swirling around him as he closed the box’s door. He tossed aside his hat and the white half-mask, and bowed deeply to her, the silver scabbard of his dress sword glinting beneath his cloak. ‘I cannot tell you how I’ve missed you.’
He seized her hand before she’d realised what he was doing, and pressed his lips to the back of it. She gasped, astounded by his audacity, and more than a little frightened by it, too.
‘Signor, please, you forget yourself!’ she exclaimed. She jerked her hand free and whipped it behind her back, as if to keep it beyond his temptation.
‘How can I not forget myself when it is you I cannot put from my mind?’ he asked, pressing his hand over his heart. ‘Ah, Miss Wood! How grieved I was to receive your letter, and its unhappy contents! To learn that your—your master chose to exert his lordly English will over you, and forbid you from my company at the exact moment when we—’
‘But that is not true, signor.’ She was startled and confused by his impetuous manner, so much so that she wondered if he were drunk. ‘You’re most grievously mistaken. His Grace hasn’t forbidden me anything.’
‘Forgive me, Miss Wood, but I cannot believe that,’ he said, his elegantly accented voice filled with sorrow. ‘What I do believe is that you and I are friends, and must keep no secrets between us. Is that not so, Miss Wood?’
‘It is, yes,’ she said carefully, unwilling to agree to more than she intended. ‘You have been wondrous kind to me as a stranger in your city, and for that I shall be always grateful. But our friendship is also one of short duration, signor, and therefore perhaps open to a misinterpretation.’
His hand closed into a fist over his heart, as if to contain his anguish. ‘How have I misunderstood? Did you not come to me when you feared for your welfare at this man’s hands?’
‘I was not so much fearful as uncertain.’
‘It is the same,’ he declared firmly. ‘The English duke made you unhappy.’
‘I never said that, signor!’
‘But you did, cara mia,’ he insisted. ‘Not in words, perhaps, but surely in your tears. I saw them in your eyes, you know. Can you deny your unhappiness when I found you wandering in the Piazza San Marco?’
Jane winced, remembering. ‘At that time, I was unhappy, yes. But my unhappiness was more my own fault than any suffering caused by his Grace.’
‘Do not excuse him, Miss Wood!’ he said fervently. ‘He showed neither regard nor respect for you as a woman, nor has he—’
‘Signor, please.’ Why didn’t Richard return? What servant’s errand could have kept him away so long? ‘I must ask you to stop. Nothing will be achieved by pursuing this conversation further.’
‘Nothing, and everything,’ di Rossi said, his voice dropping lower. ‘I know in my heart you wished to join me here tonight, alone in my company. I know he forced you to write that letter rejecting me. That they were not your words, but his.’
Jane’s gaze darted past him to the door, willing Richard to return. ‘I expect his Grace at any moment, signor, and I am sure he will be honoured to make your acquaintance.’
‘I care only for you, Jane Wood, not for him,’ he said, as if she’d not spoken at all. ‘Come with me, cara mia, before he returns.’
‘Forgive me for speaking plain, signor, but it’s not appropriate for you to call me “cara”,’ she said, an edge of panic beginning to undermine her firmness. Now she recalled how forward he’d been in the chocolate shop, lavishing her with compliments that she’d not wanted. At the time, she’d been so preoccupied with Richard that she’d let it pass, leaving her to wonder if he’d taken her lack of protest as encouragement. ‘Our friendship is based entirely on an appreciation of art. I’ve never pretended anything beyond that. For you to believe I sought such attention would be most ungentlemanly of you.’
In the half-light of the box, di Rossi’s eyes were nearly as black as his clothing.
‘Then you have never met a true gentleman,’ he said, sweeping his hand through the air with an elegant flourish. ‘Permit me to show you how a gentleman admires a woman. Let me introduce you to the rarest of raptures, and let us discover together joy such as you’ve never imagined.’
He took another step closer, and Jane scuttled backwards, knocking over one of the chairs before she braced herself behind another.
‘There will be no such discoveries made with you, Signor di Rossi!’ she exclaimed warmly. ‘Pray recall who you are, sir, and who I am, and—’
The door flew open, and Richard loomed in the sudden splash of light from the hall like an oversized silhouette.
‘I tell you, Jane, you will not believe the nonsense I’ve had to endure for—what the devil is this? Who are you, sir?’ He gaze shifted from Jane to di Rossi, and back again. ‘Jane, what’s this about?’
Relief swept over Jane. Her first response was to throw herself into Richard’s arms, but almost instantly she realised the folly of so open a display. She’d no wish for di Rossi to see the intimacy that had risen up between her and Richard and to spread the news wickedly as gossip about Venice, not if she hoped to find a new place as a governess here. Given the Venetian’s unexpected misunderstanding of their own relationship, she could only imagine how wrongly—and hatefully—he’d interpret any sign of open affection between her and Richard.
But that wasn’t the only worry that raced through her thoughts in that half-second. First came the sword that di Rossi wore beneath his cloak, second was Richard’s notoriously quick temper when he believed he’d been wronged, and third determining how best to keep both under control.
So instead of giving way to her fears and sinking tearfully into the reassuring comfort of Richard’s embrace, she drew herself up straight, her hands clas
ped before her to personify capability and calm, and pretended that nothing, absolutely nothing, was wrong.
Only she would know that her hands were trembling.
‘Be at ease, your Grace,’ she said, curtsying to him in the old way. ‘There’s nothing amiss. This is the Venetian gentleman of whom I have spoken to you, the gentleman who has been so very helpful to me in my visit to this place.’
‘Helpful, you say,’ Richard muttered sceptically, his gaze raking up and down di Rossi. ‘To you, eh?’
‘Anything to please a lady, signor,’ di Rossi said. He drew himself up very straight to try to lessen the differences in their heights. ‘Though perhaps that is something an Englishman would not understand.’
Richard’s answer came as an ominous, wordless rumble, like some great, cross beast roused from his sleep. In return di Rossi’s right hand was hovering near to where his cloak masked the hilt of his sword, and at once Jane stepped between the two men to make a proper introduction.
‘Your Grace, may I present Signor Giovanni Rinaldini di Rossi, an esteemed gentleman of this city,’ she said swiftly, relieved that she’d been able to recall the signor’s entire name. ‘Signor, his Grace the Duke of Aston.’
Di Rossi made one of his most elegant bows, low over his leg, yet taking care, too, to flick his black cloak to one side to show his sword.
Richard, being Richard, made only another grumbling growl of acknowledgement.
‘Signor di Rossi came to our box to pay his compliments to you, your Grace,’ Jane prompted, feeling every bit the governess forcing good manners upon two balky charges. ‘Signor di Rossi was expressing his hope that his Grace was enjoying the play.’
‘It’s rubbish,’ Richard said curtly. ‘Rubbish and nonsense.’
‘Your Grace!’ Jane exclaimed with dismay. ‘That’s hardly—’
‘He is entitled to his opinion, Miss Wood,’ di Rossi said, adding a disdainful sniff for emphasis. ‘Most likely an English duke has been entitled to whatever he pleases his entire life, yes?’
‘Damn your impertinence, sir!’ Richard thundered, so loudly that Jane was sure the very actors on the stage must have heard him. ‘No Englishman should stand for such slander from a foreigner, nor should I—’
‘Nor should you, indeed, your Grace, since we are leaving.’ She snatched up her belongings and took Richard’s arm to try to steer him away, no easy feat when he seemed so stubbornly determined to stand his ground. ‘Pray recall that you’d already decided the play was not to your taste.’
Richard frowned down at her. ‘You are certain you wish to leave, Jane?’
‘I am, your Grace,’ she said, exerting as much pressure as she could on his arm, for all that it felt as if she were trying to lead a bull. ‘Please excuse us, signor, and a good evening to you.’
‘A good evening to you as well, Miss Wood,’ he said, bowing again. He began to reach one more time for her hand, but Jane ducked behind Richard, leaving di Rossi to scowl at her, too.
‘Your Grace,’ she said, urging Richard forwards before he noticed the other man’s attentions. She smiled up at him, silently pleading as hard as she could. ‘If you please, your Grace.’
To her amazement, it worked.
‘Very well,’ Richard said gruffly, and without acknowledging di Rossi any further, he walked with Jane through the theatre and outside, to where a line of gondolas for hire waited. Not expecting any custom until the performance was done, the gondoliers had gathered to smoke their pipes and pass a bottle at the far end of the piazza. As soon as Richard’s imposing figure appeared, one of the men hurried forwards, and within minutes of having left the box, they were gliding safely along the canal, and away from Signor di Rossi and his silver-hilted sword.
Jane knew she should be relieved, even blessed, to have escaped such a scene. Without much more tinder, matters between the two men could have sparked and flared into a quarrel, a scuffle, a fight, and a tragedy. She’d done the proper thing by removing Richard when she had and she knew it. Yet since they’d left the box, Richard in turn had not spoken a word to her.
Not one single word.
She sighed forlornly, wondering if she dared to take his hand. He was sitting as far apart from her as was possible on the gondola’s narrow seat, and he was staring steadfastly out across the starlit water. She knew he wasn’t seeing it; he was clearly too angry still for that. What she wasn’t sure of was if that anger was somehow directed at her.
‘I trust the message that came for you wasn’t of importance?’ she cautiously asked. It would be easiest to let him stew, but his silence was so painful for her that she’d rather risk having him rage at her than endure it any longer. ‘It wasn’t—’
‘There was no damned message,’ he said with blistering disgust. ‘No message, and no messenger. The whole business was trumpery and lies, contrived to make me go traipsing downstairs and up again on a fool’s errand.’
‘But who would contrive such a wicked trick?’
‘I do not know, Jane,’ he said curtly. ‘But damnation, when I return and find you with that—’
‘You cannot believe that I bid Signor di Rossi there!’ she cried, shocked. ‘That I would send you away to invite him to me in your stead! That you would believe such shameless duplicity of me, and that you would dare to believe—’
‘I don’t know what I believe,’ he said. He sighed, almost a groan. ‘What I saw was that fellow forcing himself on you, and such dread on your sweet face that I was ready to throttle him on the spot. Yet when you spoke, it was as if you were asking us both to a dish of tea. What was I to make of that, Jane? What was I to think?’
‘What you must think is the truth,’ she said fervently. ‘I’d thought the signor was an acquaintance, even a friend, after the kindness he has shown me. But no friend would ever treat me as he did this night. I have never been so happy to see you as I was when you returned, and save me from—oh, Heaven deliver me, I’ve no notion of what wickedness he’d plotted.’
‘Then why didn’t you tell me?’ Richard demanded. ‘I would have taken the bastard’s own sword and run him straight through!’
‘Oh, Richard, that is exactly why I didn’t,’ she said softly, finally reaching for his hand. ‘I didn’t want swords or pistols on my behalf. I know your temper well, and know that you will often act from justness and noble intents, rather than from common sense. Italian gentlemen who wear swords are likewise eager for an excuse to draw and use them, and I couldn’t bear to have you risk harm for me, not for a moment.’
‘Do you doubt my skill, Jane?’ he asked, squaring his shoulders and his jaw, ready for any combatants, even in the gondola. ‘I’ll have you know that I’m still regarded as a swordsman of the first order, as I’ll defy any Italian popinjay to discover at his own hazard.’
‘I don’t doubt your skill in anything,’ Jane said quickly. ‘But what would it have achieved, I ask you? The di Rossis are a powerful, ancient family in Venice, and for you to challenge one so publicly would have brought us both nothing but ill fortune.’
‘Di Rossis, hah,’ Richard scoffed, bristling with bravado. ‘The Farrens are double their match! I’d like to show them what English steel can do.’
‘Richard, that’s exactly why I said nothing to you,’ she said. ‘Exactly.’
Without thinking, she’d slipped into her governess’s voice, but she couldn’t help it. Perhaps that was what Richard needed to hear, anyway, and she plunged on ahead.
‘It wouldn’t matter if the Farrens are ten times the men the di Rossis are, Richard,’ she said. ‘You are English. You’re foreigners to them, and they’ll always take their own side over yours.’
His dark brows came together, a rebellious glower in the night. ‘You’re English, too, if you recall.’
‘I haven’t forgotten,’ she said. ‘But I’m not being traitorous, Richard. It would be the same for any Venetian who dared cause trouble in London. I’ve heard that the Doge’s prison is so cruel and fea
rsome that it can make a Turk shudder, and I’ve no wish for either of us to learn for certain. What must I say to make you understand that, Richard? What must I do?’
‘Don’t leave me,’ he said, his bluster gone and his voice turning raw with emotion. ‘When I saw you with di Rossi, I thought I’d lost you.’
‘Richard.’ To her own surprise, she felt tears sting her eyes, the same tears she’d kept back earlier and now, with no reason to keep back any longer, began to slip down her cheeks. Embarrassed, she fumbled beneath her cloak for her pocket and her handkerchief inside. ‘I won’t leave you, not for the signor—I vow I’ll never see him again—nor any other man, and you are the—the greatest ninny in the world if you dare believe otherwise.’
‘There now, don’t cry.’ He slipped his arm around her shoulders, and she let herself curl against his chest. ‘Nothing gained by that.’
‘No.’ She tried to snuffle back the tears with a shuddering sigh, and miraculously he produced a handkerchief of his own: clean, pressed, and smelling dearly of him. ‘No.’
She shook the handkerchief open, the flutter of white linen enough to startle a small flock of pigeons nesting beneath the curving eaves of a nearby house. With a flurry of silvery wings, the birds flapped and wheeled over their heads in the night sky, and together Jane and Richard looked up to watch.
‘My mother died of smallpox when I was away at school,’ he said softly, as if speaking more to the pigeons than to Jane. ‘I was blessed with my wife for scarce five years, and now my daughters have left me as well, off to lives and husbands of their own. I’m always the one left behind. I’ve no reason to make any claim on you, Jane, none at all, yet somehow I’ve come to believe you’d be the one who stayed. Hah, there’s your great ninny for you, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll stay,’ she said, letting her tears fall where they pleased as she slipped her arms into his coat and around his waist. ‘If you’re to be a ninny, then I’ll be one at your side, the ninniest ninnies in all of Venice.’
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