Once upon a Dream (30 page)

Shadows filled the great room with its ornamental plastered ceiling and painted medallions of nymphs and goddesses. It was Carnivale, and her father was away, attending a ball. She had been locked up in her room since yesterday, when they'd fought.

“I will not marry him!” she'd cried defiantly. “He is cruel, and I do not love him. I would rather be walled up in a nunnery!”

“That,” he had told her, “can easily be arranged. If you do not do as I tell you, you foolish, headstrong girl!”

But Bianca knew she wasn't headstrong. She'd been timid and weak, afraid to leave the security of the only life she'd known. As the shy and pampered daughter of a wealthy family, she'd had a life of luxury and ease. Every step had been planned out for her, and there had been no need to accept responsibility for her future. To plan.

Until now.

Her father had chosen her a husband, without telling her until the contract was signed. The marriage would merge the two great banking families and consolidate their fortunes. The very thought of it made her blood run cold.

Especially now, when she was so deeply in love with another man.

Thank God that Guilietta, her old nurse, had taken pity on her. Guilietta had delivered the note to her lover and then returned to dress Bianca and help her escape. The old woman had trembled at her daring. “May the Holy Virgin have pity upon me when the count learns what I have done! And upon you, Donna Bianca!”

But Bianca had formed a plan to protect Guilietta. “No harm will come to you, I swear it.”

She handed her servant a tiny flask of clear blown glass. “Place this vial on the table beside my bed. Then lie down upon your pallet in the corner, with your cup beside you, as if it had fallen from your hand. When my father returns, you will pretend to be difficult to rouse. He will think that I drugged you in order to make my escape.”

And now Bianca was on her way. The hem of her gold velvet gown, the soft leather of her green embroidered slippers, whispered over the rose-and-white-marble tiles of the floor. Water dripped nearby.

The tall shutters at the far end of the salon were closed, but bars of fading light told her that twilight was approaching rapidly. A sense of urgency compelled her. She was late.

Dear God, please not too late!

She hesitated by the stairs leading down to the first floor, which opened to the canal. It was tempting. She could slip a coin from the heavy purse at her waist to the boatman and be on her way. By the time he returned, even if her absence was discovered by her father, she would be gone beyond his reach—and safe in her lover's arms.

Unless he didn't come to meet her at the bridge. Unless her fears and timidity had given him a disgust of her, destroyed his love.

Unthinkable! He must come. He must still love her! He must!

Why didn't I flee with him three months ago, when he begged me to sail away with him? I was a silly fool!

The sounds of bells startled her. The great brazen voices of the many churches and towers in the city were marking the hour. The girl turned reluctantly away from the entrance to the water steps. Her escape would be quicker by gondola, but she didn't dare risk being seen.

Passing through a small vestibule, she pulled aside the heavy curtain covering the door that led out into a little-used courtyard. Once this had served as the main land entrance to the house, but when the smaller, original
casa
was enlarged to a
palazzo,
it had become inconvenient.

The paving stones beneath her feet were ancient, some composed of two-toned mosaics that went back to Roman times. Small bits of crumbled leaves were strewn over them. Lifting her velvet skirts to keep them from being soiled, she moved silently through the starlit courtyard. A bit of lace caught on the old bricks that formed the coping of the stone well, and she yanked it free.

She took the wine-colored cape from its hiding place in the alcove behind a statue, then tied the strings of her mask securely. She had promised to meet him. Domenico would already be there, waiting.

The door in the wall that led to the
calle
was locked, but she had the key in her pocket. She peeked through the intricate wrought-iron design set in the thick wood. There was no one in the narrow alleyway. Inserting the heavy key in the lock, she twisted it. The bolt slid back with a low shriek.

Something pinged away softly into the darkness. Bianca froze, sure that it had been as loud as Judgment Day, but no voice cried out to stop her.

That didn't mean she wasn't being watched. Or followed. Her father might have set another of the servants to the task.

Bianca propped the gate open, then stood with the key in her trembling hand. If she was intercepted and brought back, she would have to try her luck again. To prepare for that she must hide the key. Somewhere that no one else would suspect. She glanced quickly around the courtyard, and an idea struck her. Once she had hit upon the place, it was the work of only a moment to hide the key.

Bianca slipped through the open gate. She sighed as the door clicked shut behind her with solemn finality. There was no going back now: the door leading to the
calle
had no handle, and could be opened only from inside the garden.

She hurried through the maze of alleyways, panic fluttering in her heart. A wrong turning, followed by another, lost even more time. Would he wait for her, or would he fear her courage had failed her yet again?

New waves of doubt assailed Bianca. Her father had conspired with the Gambello family to ruin her lover. They would have no way to support themselves in a foreign land until he was hired on as a mercenary or ship's pilot. At least she had the ruby ring and necklace he'd given her when his career rode high with the Venetian Navy. If need be, they could go to a moneylender with them once they fled Venice.

If, that is, he still wished to flee with her. Oh, she was such a coward! So afraid to do anything unless she had a strong hand to guide her. But now she had finally acted on her own. The moment she'd heard that Domenico was back, she'd sent Guilietta with her note to him.

Reaching up, she touched the necklace at her throat for courage. Her fingertips slid over the smooth glass and gold to the pendant, as if she were telling the beads of her rosary. The ruby was gone!

Bianca came out in a quiet square, sick with trepidation. Somewhere a lute played softly, floating on the still night air. There was the bridge, a pale curve over the small side canal. It was not used as a water road. The bridge merely linked two parts of an ancient building, built centuries earlier, on separate islands.

She'd expected Domenico to be waiting in the shadows by the statue of Venus. No one was there, and her spirits sank.

Then she saw him, coming swiftly along the narrow pavement on the far side of the canal. His cloak was black, melting into the jetty shadows. He wore the golden mask of the sun, as he had promised. With a cry of relief, she called out his name.

He turned his head as she ran lightly toward the bridge. The gilt rays of his mask glittered coldly in the dim light. She wished that she could see his eyes, to know if they were still filled with love for her. Or if he had come merely out of pity.

Then he held out his hand to her. She gathered her skirts to keep from tripping. Her thin slippers whispered over the stones of the bridge. She was breathless with exertion. With excitement. His hand clasped hers, warm and strong. He pulled her away from the bridge, into the protective shadows of the arcade.

“Oh, my love! I was so afraid,” she murmured.

He drew her fiercely into his arms. His voice was so low she could scarcely make out the words. “Why did you doubt me?”

“I feared that my cowardice had caused you to hate me. I thought that you had changed your mind. That you would not come to meet me when my old nurse brought my message to you.” Her fingers clutched at his cloak. “It is all so terrible! They tried to force me to marry Giovanni Gambello. I would rather die than have him touch me, after you!”

His body grew rigid beneath his thick, muffling cloak. Bianca didn't notice. “I prayed each day that
you would return for me. When I saw you on the
molo
during the ceremony yesterday, my heart nearly burst for love of you. And the child…the child changes everything.”

His voice was muffled by the slit in the gilt sunburst mask. “What child?”

“Our child,” she said raggedly. Bianca looked up as his arm tightened about her shoulders. “I dared not write it on paper! I am three months gone. It will be born in September. A lusty son or beautiful daughter! Oh, I should have gone away with you when first you asked me. Then these horrible weeks of worrying, of wondering if you still loved me, would have never been!”

The moon rose over the high buildings, touching them with silver. In the change of light all her comfort vanished. His eyes were not black as night. The irises were dark gold, like tarnished brass.

Bianca stiffened. “You are not Domenico!”

Her hand shot out and ripped off the mask. The face beneath it was suffused with rage, so distorted with jealousy and thwarted desire that she scarcely recognized her fiancé. “Giovanni!”

He took her shoulders and shook her cruelly. “Little fool. Your nursemaid is in my employ. Your note never reached your lover.”

His laughter echoed hollowly. Bianca shivered and tried to pull away, but he held her fast. “So, you have played me false! I knew you fancied yourself in love with another, but I thought you pure and unsullied, a shy and gentle virgin. Instead you have been Domenico Coleone's whore!”

“No! Do not say so! My love for him is good and true.”

He pushed her up against the stonework at the end of the bridge. “To think that I intended to wed you. What a fool I have been. Did you laugh at my ignorance, you and Domenico, as you lay together?”

Bianca tried to pull away. “I never promised to wed you. I told you that I would never be your wife.”

“So you did,” he said, his fingers biting deep into her arms. “But you shall wear my ring upon your finger as you say your vows. Ah, Bianca! I would have treated you like a queen. Instead you shall be my
whore
!”

“Never. I would rather die than marry you!”

“Before I am done with you, you will wish you had,” he said violently. “And when my friends have finished with you as well, I will send you to a nunnery. Not the kind where pious women pray, but where they are kept for men's pleasure.”

“You disgust me.” Her arm swung out. Her nails raked his cheek, and he yowled in pain. A sharp prong of the ring she wore had caught the corner of his eye. Blood dripped from the torn lid, like black tears in the moonlight.

It happened then. He cuffed her hard, just as she tried to twist away. The momentum threw her to the side. One minute she was standing beside the canal. The next she was in it.

The water was cold. So very cold.

The shock of it made her gulp in a mouthful of salty, fetid liquid. Her garments billowed out around her like the petals of a fallen flower. Then the current tugged at her, and the weight of her velvet gown and heavy cloak dragged her down. She struggled and splashed.

Her hair came loose from her coiffure, and the wet strands floated about her shoulders like seaweed. She reached out an imploring hand.

“Giovanni! Help me!”

The cold numbed her limbs, and her garments were like lead. She was helpless against their pull. The waters of the canal closed over her like a ceiling of rippled glass.

His body jerked forward, as if he would throw off his cloak and save her. Instead he looked down at her
in the icy starlight, his face as cold as stone.

Then he straightened slowly, turned, and walked away.