The Maestro's Maker (16 page)

who knew what afterward. But I pretended to believe him in that moment, because he

pretended to believe himself. “I understand. But my heart breaks, because—”

“Because why,
cherie
?”

“Because I am falling in love with you.” Tears coursed down my cheeks and I let

them. “But I would give anything to have found a less complicated man.”

He put his arms around me and pulled me to his chest. “Ah, my beautiful Chloe. Yet

here we are, together in Venice. And of all the men in the world you could love, only I

have the power to promise you forever.”

The next moment, Jean was back to steal Claude-Michel away from me once more.

And the moment after that, there was an urgent knock at our door.

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Glancing in the direction of the small bedroom where the brother and sister slept, I

hurried to the door and flung it open before the noise could wake them. It was my first

look at Victoire du Fresne.

He was handsome. I thought so from the moment I saw him, with longer hair than

Claude-Michel’s, pulled back in exactly the same style. His nose was just as impressive,

and was one of the things that made me believe him instantly when he said he was

Claude-Michel’s younger brother, though his build was slight. The thing that convinced

me the most, however, was the depth of his dark eyes. It would have been easy to drown

there.

“Where is François Villaforte?” he demanded, pushing his way in and looking around.

“My brother is rushing into danger he knows nothing about.”

At first I fumed at his arrogance. Then I heard his words. “Danger? What are you

talking about, danger?”

He turned back to me. “I knew he would come here. This is where he last saw that

Gypsy woman from his youth. I have been waiting. And then one night I heard news of

him, in a bar. A man talking about how two Parisian nobles and a young boy had escaped

him, and so I listened. He has learned about Katarina, and he knows about her son.

Claude-Michel’s son.”

For a moment, time stopped. I went cold inside. “A man—with white hair and

skin?”

Victoire—though I didn’t know that was his name at the time—froze and looked at

me. “Yes. You know this man?”

“We must go,” I said. “We have to go warn him.”

He looked at me then with the sort of disdain I had seen only on Claude-Michel’s

face. If I’d had any doubts that they were brothers, they were gone in an instant. “We?

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This is not something for a woman to do. Where is Villaforte?”

“He is pouting in the streets. This man you speak of…I know him well. I know how

dangerous he is. And I am better protection for you than you are for me.”

He laughed. “You? Protect me?” His face darkened quickly, and I saw the danger

there that so often appeared on Claude-Michel’s face. “You are wasting my time,” he said

darkly, and headed for the door.

Before he reached it, I reached him, and had him pinned against it before he knew

what hit him. He struggled, but could not resist. It felt good to have a du Fresne under my

power, even if it was to be for just a moment. “There are things you do not know about

me,
Monsieur
du Fresne. And things you do not know about your brother. Perhaps
you

rush into danger you don’t know enough about.”

I let my voice take on the rough edge that only vampires seem to have.

“Obviously,” he said. He sounded worried. “Perhaps you can tell me these things in

my carriage?”

My heart beat quickly while riding, though not for the obvious reasons. I worried

about Claude-Michel, and about Gunnar’s presence here, but all the same I felt more than

a little relieved that I would get a look at the house he was visiting, and perhaps see this

Gypsy boy for myself.

“You know where he is going?”

“I know better than he does. I found it when I first came here.”

The Marchesa Antonia Di’Angelo, who had raised Katarina’s son, lived in a manor

on the outskirts of the city. We stopped the carriage in the woods, a safe distance from the

house. When I got out, he tried to keep me from leaving. “We can see them from here,”

he said. “If anything happens, we will be able to intervene.”

“I want to know what is being said. You stay here with your boy. I won’t be long.” I

knew I could move more quickly and quietly than he.

“It is better if we stay together.”

“If I were an ordinary woman,
Monsieur
, then I would agree with you. But you will

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only slow me down and I do not wish to have a burden to defend.”

That struck something deep within him. I did not know just how deep at that time. He

nodded. “All right. Go. I’ll be here if you need me.”

I nodded back and moved quickly toward the house. I wondered what I looked like to

him as I disappeared through the trees. I also wondered if Gunnar were there somewhere,

watching, lying in wait for Claude-Michel as his brother had done.

“Think about what you have to do,” I whispered to myself, even though the light

sifting through the treetops reminded me of the day I met Gunnar. For that reason if for

no other, it seemed the forest was thick with his presence.

I found the window to the front room with ease. Reasoning they would visit there, I

retreated into the nearby trees, too far away for a regular human to see and hear, too far

for anyone to notice me. Then I waited.

It was quite some time before I heard the crunch of carriage wheels. My heart thumped

so loudly in my chest I could barely breathe. Even without Gunnar, I knew there was a

good chance of being punished for this. But I could not let myself think about that. Trying

to ignore the roar of my own blood in my ears and the frightened nausea that threatened

to make me hide among the shadows, I watched their lips and listened.

“Should I come with you,
Monsieur
?” Jean asked hopefully as he opened the carriage

door for Claude-Michel.

“No,” Claude-Michel said. “I am arriving unannounced. Perhaps it is better if you

stay.” Jean looked disappointed. Claude-Michel appraised the house. “Perhaps he is not

here and we will have to come back,” he said. Oddly enough, he sounded as though he

hoped it was true.

He squared his shoulders as though he meant to flaunt the half-foot he had gained

during the change, and sauntered up the walkway.

A young servant girl answered the door. “I have come to see the Marchesa Antonia

Di’Angelo,” Claude-Michel said. “If she is in?”

“Of course,
Signore
. Come in,” the girl said demurely, and lowered her eyes.

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Something burned within me at the sight, because I knew he enjoyed her submissive

demeanor, and I knew he would take her if he got the chance.

I turned my attention to the window. The curtain was open, so I could see much of

the front room. I could also see the marchesa as she reached the bottom of the staircase.

She was an elegant woman of perhaps 60 years, who moved with grace and regarded him

with curious eyes. There was something about her I liked, but I was glad she was old and

not likely to catch Claude-Michel’s eye. Halfway down the stairs, she stopped.

“Oh my,” she said, and fluttered her hand toward her bosom, then stopped it in mid-

air. “I wondered if this day would ever come.”

Claude-Michel seemed taken aback by her words. “
Perdone,
Madame
?”

“You are the very image of my Lucio.”

“Lucio.” Claude-Michel whispered the name. Distance and walls muffled their voices.

Even with my vampire senses, it was difficult to hear.

The marchesa smiled not unkindly as she studied his face and started down the stairs

again. “Forgive me. Katarina spoke often of the handsome young Frenchman she called

Claudio. You can be no other than he.”

“Yes,” he said. “I am Claudio.”

There seemed to be some sort of declaration in his voice as he said that name, but at

the time I didn’t realize the significance—that this moment was the death of le Compte

Louis Claude-Michel du Fresne and the birth of a new man. A man without title or

responsibility to any but his new family.

The marchesa cocked her head to one side. I could tell something young still burned

inside of her. “Please come in and sit,” she said, and led the way to the parlor. “There

has been no one these many years with whom I could reminisce about my wild, spirited

friend Katarina. I lost a great deal of social standing for some time just by associating

with her. But I didn’t care. Through her stories, I lived such a life—music and dancing,

and making love beneath the stars.”

She motioned to a spot on the couch, waving a hand as she lowered herself onto the

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other end. “Oh, I know you came to meet your son, not reminisce with some old woman.

Lucio will be home within the hour. And there is no doubt that he is your son.”

Claude-Michel smiled. “Time spent in the company of a beautiful woman is always

a pleasure,” he said with a look of mischief and slight bow of the head. His nervousness

vanished.

The marchesa gave a hearty laugh. “Oh you are a charmer, aren’t you? Twenty years

ago that would have been the truth, and maybe I would have given Katarina a contest

for your affections. Esperanza,” she said to the servant-girl. “Something to drink for our

guest. And myself.”

He lowered his eyelids enticingly. “She spoke of me?”

“Often. She loved you.”

Claude-Michel didn’t answer right away. I could tell he struggled with emotions, and

I was not prepared for the way I felt, seeing him still so enthralled by the memory of a

woman with whom I doubted I would ever be able to compete. I saw longing, tenderness

and regret on his face, things I never saw when he looked at me. But I was here to protect

him from Gunnar, I reminded myself, and swallowed my feelings.

“How did you become friends?” he finally asked.

The old woman smiled. “We met at the market when some of her troupe came to town.

Her belly had just started to grow round with Lucio. I was thirty-nine, near the same age

as she, and I was intrigued. She was quick to lash out at the men who taunted her, and

just as quick to laugh. She was nothing like the stilted women I called my friends. Those

proper women. I’m sure you know the type.”

Claude-Michel nodded, and smiled politely. I knew he wanted her to say more about

Katarina.

“I tolerated them for the sake of having someone to talk to,” the marchesa said.

“But Katarina—from the beginning it seemed we were sisters.” She paused long enough

to accept her glass of wine from her servant Esperanza, and took a sip. The way she

seemed to be thinking through her memories reminded me of someone rifling through

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old letters.

“Of course, I enjoyed the scandalized reactions of my equals as much as I enjoyed

Katarina’s company. I would sneak out of the city and meet her in the fields. My husband

was in ill health and did not have the strength to enforce his wishes that I not see this

Gypsy. She taught me to ride a horse like a man, and to smoke. And once, I even kissed

her brother. I think that is what frightened me. I didn’t go back. Instead, I went home,

pretended to be a good wife, and stayed with my husband until he died. By that time

Katarina and her people had moved on. I didn’t see her for three years. Then one day, she

came and found me.”

“A man told me there was a sickness,” Claudio said.

The marchesa nodded. “There was. Katarina was not yet ill, but many of her family

were. She wanted me to take care of Lucio until it had passed. At least that is what she

told me. I don’t think she really expected to survive. She didn’t, after all. Not many of

them did.”

“I’m sorry,” Claude-Michel said. “I had hoped to find her.”

The old woman nodded sympathetically. “I still think about her often. And I see her

spirit in Lucio—that temper that can rage one moment only to be replaced by laughter the

next.” She chuckled a little to herself. “One does not easily forget someone like Katarina.

But then, I’m sure you know that.”

“Yes,” Claude-Michel said. “She has been with me these many years.”

The marchesa’s inquisitive gaze became shrewd. “I would ask you—what suddenly

brings you to look for her?”

Suddenly, I heard hoof beats from someplace behind me. I nearly panicked. Then I

remembered this Lucio was expected home any minute. Claude-Michel momentarily lost

his focus on the old woman, glancing briefly over his shoulder, then smiled at her again.

She showed no signs of having heard the hoof beats, though they were coming closer.

“A man sees things changing around him and realizes he is growing older,” Claude-

Michel said.

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“You married.”

“Yes.”

The marchesa turned her head toward the door. “Ah, there’s Lucio now,” she said, as

his horse approached the stable at a gallop. An aging stable hand came out to take him.

The horse leapt a few inches off the ground with its front hooves as Lucio dismounted.

He was beautiful, like Claude-Michel and his brother. Though he was perhaps twenty-