Communion Blood (11 page)

“He should be happy,” she said with naive certainty. Then she caught herself, as if she had overstepped. She touched the necklace of topazes set in gold which he had given her shortly before the evening’s performance began. “These brought me luck, I think.”

“Then continue to wear them, by all means. You honor them.” His smile was brief but satisfied her; too often men did not want their gifts displayed publicly for fear of damaging their reputations.

“You are too good to me, Conte,” she murmured provocatively, making a promise of things to come by the caressing tone she used.

He glanced at her as he swung his triple-caped cloak around his shoulders and then opened the door. “Do you think so.” They went out the side-door of the Santa Cecilia hall where Ragoczy’s coach was waiting, the four matched greys fretting in harness. The footman at the side of the carriage opened the door and let down the steps, assisting Giorgianna to climb inside. He moved back a pace as Ra- goczy entered the coach, then put up the steps and closed the door with Ragoczy’s eclipse device emblazoned upon it, before climbing onto the back of the vehicle. It was a cold night and Ragoczy had permitted him to wear a woollen cloak over his livery, a concession that earned him the footman’s whispered blessing, for it was not often men of high birth were willing to acquiesce in such matters.

“It will take some time to get beyond these streets with so many other carriages; fortunately we are in no hurry,” said Ragoczy as he settled back against the tooled-leather squabs, facing backward in order to look directly at Giorgianna; the light from the small candle- lamps shone on her face. He rapped sharply on the ceiling of the coach; the horses were given the office and they began to move slowly into the tangle of coaches, sedan chairs, mounted riders, and a few dandies on foot with lackeys carrying lanthoms, all gathered in the Piazza Santa Cecilia in le Rovine where the new hall stood at right angles to the old church.

They had got just beyond the piazza when Giorgianna yawned suddenly. Blinking in surprise, she said, “I am sorry, Conte. I did not mean to. I don’t know why I did.” Her cheeks reddened at this lapse.

“Never mind,” said Ragoczy. “You have worked very hard this evening. Now that you need no longer perform, you are weary, though you have not yet released the excitement of your performance.” He leaned forward and laid his small hand on hers. “Do not be distressed on my account, I pray you.”

She summoned up a smile. “I am not tired at all,” she declared, and had to bite the insides of her cheeks to keep from yawning again. As it was her eyes watered and she shivered a bit.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “You need not dissemble, carina. All performers know the exhaustion good work brings.” He had known it many times himself in the past. “You have no reason to be ashamed. Rest. There will be time enough to wake you later.”

“You indulge me, Conte,” she said contentedly. “I am—”

“—grateful; so you have told me,” he finished for her.

“I have known so few men who would not demand from me now as much and more than I gave in performance,” she persisted, determined to say awake.

“Carina Giorgianna, I thought we had settled that I am not like other men.” His reminder was given lightly but there was purpose in his dark eyes. He released her hand and leaned back, then astonished her by reaching up and removing his hat and wig in one easy motion. Laying them on the seat beside him, he said, “I am going to be comfortable; you need not hesitate—”

“If you think I am going to unlace in a moving coach, you are mistaken,” she said sharply. “What if we should have an accident or were forced to alight? What then?”

He held up his hand to indicate he was convinced. “I want you to be comfortable, carina. If remaining laced makes you so, then, va bene.”

Giorgianna was not mollified. “You are capricious, Conte, too capricious. I do not know where your whims may end.” She took hold of her skirts and gave them a shake to spread them over the whole of her seat. “There. That is better,” she announced.

“And it makes it impossible for me to sit beside you,” he pointed out, a sardonic inflection to his remark. “It is a most attractive barrier, but you do not need it. I will not impose myself on you; I have promised you from the first.”

She shot him a frown of disbelief. “Men always tell women that, and we, poor creatures that we are, we believe you out of our hopes, not out of anything we have seen.”

“I will not argue that point with you,” he said, calm as she was agitated.

“You will one day tire of me,” she told him defiantly.

“I rather think it is
you
who may tire of
me,”
he said gently.

“And when you do, I will be alone in a harsh world again.” She folded her arms, the ruched silk of her inner sleeves falling back to reveal her forearms; she was being deliberately provoking, and she sensed he was aware of it, a perception that confused her, for it kept her from feeling as sorry for herself as she intended to feel.

“I have settled one hundred golden sceptres on you against that day. Soon or late, when it comes, that day will be of your choosing. The order has no limitations on you. You saw me sign the order.” He did not raise his voice or make any gesture that could be thought threatening, but something inexplicable in his demeanor impressed her and she abandoned her posture at once. “No doubt you have been ill-used in the past, and may be so again, but, Giorgianna, it will not be by me.”

She considered him, wishing she had more light than the single candle to see him by, and troubled that he continued to be such an enigma to her. He had given her a promise of settlement when he had first sought to make her his mistress, only a week ago. “You could rescind your order; the Magistrates’ Court would not enforce it if you abjured it,” she said, beginning to sound more frightened than defiant.

“You will have to take me at my Word that I will not,” he said.

She half expected him to chide her for foolishness or to demand that she cease to accuse him. When he did neither, she hesitated before going on. “What if I should have your child? You do not make provisions for any child in your order.”

His smile was quick and disconcerting. “Have I done anything that would get you with child?”

She thought a moment and shook her head. “No.” That still bothered her—his insistence that his fulfillment came only through hers. That he had not been as other men had pleased her at first: now it was beginning to alarm her.

“I told you that I would not. But”—he held up his hand to keep her from interrupting—“if I ever do use you in any way that could allow you to conceive, I will settle ample funds on you for your maintenance.”

“Will you? Or do you say so just to quiet me?” She was trembling, afraid she would forget herself, frightened that she would let slip some word about the daughter she had borne nearly seven years ago, who was now being raised by nuns in Umbria to whom Giorgianna sent money every year; her daughter’s father had washed his hands of them when their child was bom. It was the most stringent, painful secret Giorgianna had ever had to keep in her twenty-two years.

“I shall give you another order, if you like, one that would grant support to any child you have by me. When we reach the Villa Vec- chia I will summon the notary if you want it tonight. If morning is time enough, I will attend to it immediately after dawn.” Darkness did not hinder his vision as it did hers; he saw the tears in her eyes. “I have no wish to distress you, carina.”

“I know,” she said. Her tears spilled over but she would not let herself sob.

“But you are not willing to tmst me,” he said sadly. He was quiet while she composed herself. ‘Would you rather I give you gold instead of an order? Would that suit you?”

She tried to make out his features once again, and could not. “Would you be willing to do that?” Involuntarily she touched the necklace he had given her for it seemed suddenly heavier.

“Yes, of course.” He could sense her relief. “It’s settled, then. When we reach my villa, I will prepare a strongbox for you which you may take with you in the morning. We will not bother with orders.” He had more than enough gold to give her triple the sum he had promised without having to make more.

“You will not change your mind? Or denounce me as a thief?” she asked, her voice rising.

“No.” He sighed. “I wish you could believe me.”

“And I,” she admitted in a small voice.

The coach slowed as they neared the city gates where a sleepy watchman asked the coachman where they had been and where they were bound.

“Villa Vecchia, out to the north-east,” said the coachman. “This is the coach of il Conte da San-Germain.” He used the long handle of his whip to indicate the heraldic device on the door. “From Hungarian territories.”

“You are not known to me,” said the watchman, peering up at the coachman.

“I was engaged two days ago,” said the coachman. “Amerigo Scarto.”

“I will record your name in our register, and the coach,” said the watchman as he accepted the toll required of all vehicles leaving Roma between sunset and midnight, then raised the barrier to permit the carriage to go on its way; inside, the passengers said nothing as this ritual was completed. The coachman whistled his team to a trot and set them on the broad road home.

“You see,” Giorgianna said several minutes later as if they had been conversing all along, “I know it is easy for a man to promise anything if he wants a woman; when the need is on him, he will pledge the moon if it will achieve his ends. And it is easy for us to agree, with such sweet promises in accord with our desires. But when passion is spent, then the promises are forgot and the pleasure is gone.”

“That is why I am offering to give you the gold you want tonight,” he said, no trace of irritation in his words, “before we go to my apartments, so that you may be sure that I will not refuse you. You will not have to worry if I am going to keep my Word, for the money will be in your hands.”

She bit her lower lip. “I appreciate this, of course. And I thank you. But it is not seemly, speaking so candidly
about...
payment.” The chagrin in her voice was eloquent.

“Ah,” said Ragoc
2
y. “You do not want to be thought mercenary.” He reached out and took her hand. “Carina, I think none the less of you for your apprehension.”

She started to pull her hand away. “You are too fastidious to want to talk about this, surely. A man of your position must not—” she objected, not wanting him to feel how much her hand was shaking.

He would not release her. “Listen to me, Giorgianna. Please.” He waited as the carriage swung off the main road to the one looping to the north-east. The horses were pulled into a walk, for the ruts here were deeper and the coach swayed as it went. “You have few reasons to have faith in anything I say to you, but let me say it anyway. I am willing to pay you in gold now, against the time we are no longer lovers. I have no objection to this. I am not displeased that you make such a request of me, carina. I do not think the less of you for seeking to secure what I have promised now. I do not think the less of you because you tell me other men have not honored their promises to you. Those of my blood are not jealous.”

She was determined not to cry again; she swallowed hard twice before she was sure she would not.
“I...
I have
not... I do not.
. .” “Since marriage is not likely to be offered to you, as you told me when you first accepted my invitation, you must ask for what wives receive in the course of contracts, upheld by the Magistrates’ Court and the Church. Very sensible.” He had not intended to be so blunt, but he now thought it was necessary. “If you were nobly bom, I would discuss these matters with your father or brother or uncle, and you could pretend no money changed hands, as many women do. In your circumstances you cannot put such matters aside simply because you must negotiate on your own.”

Scarto began shouting to his team, trying to avoid the muddiest part of the road. The carriage rocked on its leather springs like a ship in a high swell.

As much to steady herself as to show affection, Giorgianna reached out and took hold of Ragoczy’s shoulder. “You don’t have to
...”
The movement of the carriage impelled her forward, into his embrace. For an instant their knees were tangled, then he shifted and he could put his arms around her without impediment. She waited for him to use kisses to silence her, to fumble with the lacings of her clothes.

He held her tenderly but without urgency. “Once this is settled we may be at ease.” He did not kiss her.

She shook her head. “I do not understand you, Conte.”

He nodded, saying nothing for a short while. “You will want supper when we arrive?”

She was pleased he did not mention gold again. “Oh, yes. I am famished.” Not only was it what he wanted to hear, it was true—she was very hungry.

“Then you shall have the best my cook can supply.” He smiled at her and eased her back in her seat before leaning back in his. “Duck with plums and rice with pine nuts? Would that suit you? And some sweet cheese?”

Just the thought of it made her mouth water. “Wonderful. I look forward to it.” Her spirits were no longer dejected. “How much longer until we arrive?”

“Not more than an hour, very likely less,” said Ragoczy. “There is also some wine from Chianti. You may find it to your liking.”

“There are many good wines from that region,” she said, pleased that she had found something safe to discuss. “Although Maestro Scarlatti would not agree. He is fond of Lachrymi Christi nel Vesuvio.”

“So I understand,” said Ragoczy, knowing that she was deliberately trying to keep from mentioning the gold he had promised her. “You shall choose which you like.”

“It is strange that a man who does not drink would keep so fine a cellar,” Giorgianna observed as if this had only now come to her attention.

“I do not expect all my guests to share my tastes,” Ragoczy said smoothly. “A good cellar is one of the marks of a gentleman, whether he indulges or not.”