The Duke's Governess Bride (20 page)

‘Where the devil have those fellows with the wine gone?’ he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

But of course Jane heard him. ‘I’ll fetch one,’ she said, and before he could stop her, she’d vanished from behind his chair into the crowded room.

‘Jane!’ he called after her, half-rising from his chair to try to look beyond the crowd that had clustered around the table to watch. She didn’t have to jump to obey him like this; she was here
with
him, not as his servant.

‘Signor,’
murmured the man seated beside him, recalling him to the game and the banker waiting for his play. Reluctantly Richard turned back to the table. Most likely Jane would be back soon enough, and, given her usual efficiency, with an entire vineyard in tow, too.

Jane herself would have been content to have found a single waiter. The room had grown far more crowded since they’d first arrived, and the costumed and masked figures that she’d found so enchanting then now felt oddly menacing as they pressed too closely around her, jostling her in the crush. She knew she was being foolish, scolding herself for imagining too much. Behind every white or black mask was an ordinary person, laughing and chatting and flirting and finding amusement just as she and Richard were.

Determined to find a servant, she tried to push her way through the bobbing sea of black cocked hats and cloaks. She gasped as someone brazenly fondled her bottom, yet when she jerked around to confront him, all she saw were more masks, more blank faces. She backed away, her heart racing, and as she did, someone clasped her arm and held her fast. She gasped again and struggled to pull free.

‘Hush, hush,
cara mia,
I intend you no harm.’ The man released her arm, and tipped his long-nosed mask up to show her his face. ‘I cannot express how happy I am to see you.’

‘Signor di Rossi!’ she exclaimed, flushing with dismay. ‘If you please, I cannot linger. I must find a waiter for wine for his Grace.’

She saw the disappointment flicker across his face at the mention of Richard. ‘You are here with the duke?’

‘Of course,’ she said swiftly. ‘I’d never come to such a place without him.’

He nodded. ‘Then you’ve no choice but to please him, yes? The banqueting room with the wine isn’t far. I’ll show you.’

She hesitated, wondering if she could trust him.

‘So that is how it is between us now,
cara?
’ he asked wearily. ‘And to think that once we were such grand friends!’

That was enough to prick her conscience. It had always been her nature to smooth over misunderstandings and make things peaceable, and though the rift between her and the
signor
certainly wasn’t her fault, she couldn’t bear for him to believe she’d been the one who’d broken their friendship. He had been exceptionally kind to her when she’d first arrived in Venice.

‘Is it far to the banqueting room?’ she asked. Truly, what could happen among so many others? ‘I can’t seem to find anything for myself in this crush.’

‘Then pray let me once again be your guide,’ he said, and dropped his mask back in place. ‘This way, if you please.’

‘Thank you,
signor,
’ she said, and before she’d finished speaking he’d taken her arm again and begun leading her through the crowd. Jostled left and right by other revellers, she had to hurry to keep pace with di Rossi, her breath short from haste and from the unfamiliar stays of her costume. They left the gaming room, and turned down a hall that was also full, then turned again into a small, elegantly furnished parlour lit by a single candelabrum. But there was no banqueting table, no wine, and worse, no others in the room, and at once Jane realised she’d been misled.

Her heart racing, she jerked her arm free and turned swiftly towards the door, but the
signor
had no intention of letting her escape. He caught her about the waist and blocked her path.

‘
Signor,
please,’ she said, her voice sharp with fear. ‘Let me go. Let me go
now!
’

‘That’s not what you want,
cara,
not at all,’ he whispered. ‘In your heart, you know the truth. You want me, my little dove, not him. You want me.’

He pushed her against the wall and pinned her with his body, trapping her there as she struggled. He was so much larger than she was, so much stronger. Her fists flailing to defend herself, she managed only to knock off his hat and his long-nosed mask. Beneath it, his face was mottled and fixed, and her fear grew. She tried to strike him again, and he grasped her wrists together with one hand and held them over her head against the wall. He shoved aside her veil and seized her jaw, keeping her face steady, and kissed her hard. She gasped with shock as he plunged his tongue into her mouth, and she writhed against him as her revulsion grew with his demands. His kiss reminded her of a slobbering dog, or worse, of a dog worrying a bone, and at last she managed to free one of her hands. Blindly she reached between them to find one of the long straight pins that held her bodice in place. She pulled it free, and, before he’d notice, stabbed it into the underside of his arm.

He swore from the pain and jerked away from her to grasp at his wounded arm. Without pause, Jane fled, bolting from the room and into the hall as fast as she could. Though he called after her, ordering her to stop, she didn’t. She owed him nothing, not now.

She caught one high heel in the hem of her skirts and felt it tear, but still she plunged onwards through the sea of black cloaks. She didn’t care who she pushed aside or bumped or jostled, only that she got away from di Rossi and back to Richard’s side. Her breath now came in great sobbing gulps that racked her chest as she ran, and in a way she was grateful that the mask hid her face and tears that she couldn’t keep back. Richard would save her, her own great bear of a love; no one would dare harm her when she was at his side.

Yet as distraught as she was, she still realised the folly of such thoughts. Earlier she’d ignored the fact that he’d worn his sword beneath his cloak; as unhappy as it made her to see him armed, she knew it equally pleased him to do so, and for that reason she’d said nothing. But everything had changed now. Richard’s temper was formidable. If he learned of how di Rossi had treated her, he’d immediately be off to challenge the Venetian, and that—that terrified her. Somehow she must convince Richard to leave without telling him why, and she must do it at once, before the
signor
found her.

At last she reached the faro table, pushing her way through the ring of spectators. The pile of coins before Richard had grown larger since she’d been away, and clearly his luck had held. He smiled as soon as he saw her, so warmly that fresh tears started in her eyes.

‘You’re back, Janie,’ he said fondly, his smile fading as he realised something was wrong. ‘What’s amiss, sweet? What has happened?’

‘Forgive me, Richard,’ she said, ‘but I wish to leave. I—I’m not well.’

‘Of course.’ Instantly Richard rose, his concern for her overshadowing everything else, and glanced at the startled banker. ‘I’m out, sir. Pray send my winnings tomorrow to my lodgings at the Ca’ Battista.’

‘But you cannot leave so soon, most illustrious sir,’ protested one of the other players. ‘You must grant us the chance to regain our losses.’

‘I’m sorry, gentlemen,’ he said, bowing slightly as he took Jane’s arm. ‘But the lady requests, and I obey.’

The crowds parted for them as they left the room, for by now, mask or not, most knew he was the English duke with the extraordinary luck. Richard wouldn’t deny that he’d enjoyed it, but now all he cared for was Jane. Though he couldn’t see her face, she somehow seemed bedraggled, her whole small figure drooping.

‘What has happened, Jane?’ he asked again. He slipped his arm protectively around her shoulders, and felt how she shivered. ‘Should I summon a physician, or—?’

‘No, no, please don’t make a fuss, I beg you,’ she begged. ‘I’ll be well enough when we’re outside in the open air.’

He said nothing more as he guided her down the long staircase, out the door, and across the Campo San Moise to the canal. A long line of gondolas lay alongside the walk, waiting for those inside the Ridotto, but since Richard and Jane had left much earlier than they’d intended, their own gondola was nowhere to be seen within the bobbing lanterns’ light—as bad, thought Richard, as the carriages before Buckingham Palace. A gondolier’s boy came trotting up to them, touching his straw hat and offering in pidgin English to find their gondola. Richard nodded and tossed him a coin, and turned back to Jane.

‘Let’s hope the little scoundrel returns,’ he said, unfastening his mask. ‘Do you need to sit, sweet?’

She shook her head. She’d already taken off her mask and turned her veil up over her hat, breathing deeply of the cool night air. Damp tendrils of her hair were pressed flat against her temples, and her carefully applied paint was streaked down her face.

‘I’m well enough now,’ she said. ‘It was the heat and the crowd, that was all.’

But Richard was sure there was more to it than that. She was clinging to his arm too tightly for it to be otherwise, and her eyes had a rare fearfulness in them that made him want to protect her all the more.

‘We’ll take you home and put you straight to bed,’ he said. ‘That’s what any proper governess would say, wouldn’t she?’

‘A proper one would, yes.’ Her smile crumpled. ‘Oh, Richard, why did I trust Signor di Rossi again? Why was I so foolish as to believe he’d wish to assist me?’

Richard stopped. ‘What has happened, Jane? So help me, if he—’

‘Nothing happened,’ she said quickly, raising her chin with a little show of pride. ‘I surprised him, and defended myself and that—that was that. I was the ninny for letting it go as far as it did.’

‘It’s hardly your fault, Jane,’ Richard said, his anger rising on her behalf. ‘I should go back and find that bastard, and teach him how—’

‘You will not,’ she said firmly, placing her hand on his arm to hold him back. ‘That’s why I didn’t tell you before. It is done, and I will never speak or see the gentleman again.’

‘He’s hardly a gentleman,’ Richard grumbled, placing his hand protectively over hers. He hated to think of her having to defend herself at all—that was what he was for, wasn’t it? ‘Ahh, here’s that boy at last to lead us on our way.’

‘Will you truly give away all the money you won?’ she asked as they followed the boy along the walk and away from the lights of the campo. ‘To orphans?’

‘I promised you I would, didn’t I?’ he said with a heartiness he meant to cheer her. ‘Orphans need it. I do not.’

She laughed softly, a most reassuring sound to him, and then patted his arm. ‘You are a most excellent man, your Grace.’

But as much as Richard enjoyed her compliments, he was paying almost no attention to this one, and a great deal more to their surroundings. The boy had led them away from the first canal and down this darker
rio,
little more than a watery alley with the only light coming from the moon overhead. The place did not feel quite right to Richard, and instinctively he shoved back the edge of his cloak to find the hilt of his sword. Trouble, he knew, often came to those who were least prepared to face it.

And sometimes it came anyway.

The two masked men jumped from the shadows into their path, the moonlight glinting off the blades of their drawn swords. Jane gasped, and swiftly Richard pushed her behind him, trusting she’d the sense to stay there.

‘Your winnings, Englishman,’ the first man demanded. ‘Your gold, or your life.’

‘I won, yes,’ Richard said slowly, biding his time. There were two of them and one of him, but they were small, scrabbling bandits, and he’d have the advantage in size and strength to even the numbers. They spoke a manner of English, too—most likely sailors, then, and he’d never met a sailor who was good with a sword.

‘Then give over your gold,’ the man repeated. ‘Give it now.’

Richard snorted derisively. ‘Do you believe I’m fool enough to take my winnings with me?’

‘I’m no fool, neither,’ the thief said. ‘Deliver, Englishman, or die.’

‘Give him what you have, Richard,’ Jane begged behind him, her voice shrill with fear. ‘Don’t play the hero, I beg you. Please, Richard, please!’

‘Stand back, Janie,’ he said without taking his gaze from the two men. He wasn’t playing the hero; he was simply doing what any gentleman would. ‘I’ll tend to these.’

‘Listen to your whore,
signor.
’ The second man sniggered. ‘Maybe we should take her, too.’

‘That’s enough,’ said Richard curtly, and he drew his sword with a scraping sweep of steel. ‘No one takes what’s mine.’

The two charged towards him together, and deftly Richard caught their blades against his. They flailed at him, and he met them swiftly, lunging forwards to attack rather than simply defend. They didn’t expect that, and fell back, slashing wildly. With practised assurance, Richard attacked again, and again. This wasn’t the elegant parry and thrust of the master swordsman he visited for practice in London, but the same moves applied even in a rough fight like this. Look for weakness, protect yourself, be quick, be relentless, be ruthless—he might be nearly forty, but by God, he’d put his experience against any man half his age.