Venice in the Moonlight (10 page)

Nico shrugged his shoulders dismissively. “I want to pay you for painting my portrait. That is all.”

“So when the elder Signor Foscari shows up at my door demanding refund of his money, what do I do?”

“Let me worry about my father,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

When she didn’t answer, Zeta let out a small squeak from the corner of the room. Mesmerized by her visitor, Marietta had forgotten they weren’t alone. She looked over at her friend and knew she had no choice but to agree. They needed the money. “Fine, but you must pay in advance. I find your family rather . . . untrustworthy.”

Nico gave her a sly grin. “I’d have it no other way.” He tossed the coin purse and landed it on her lap. “Inside, you will find a key and directions to my private apartment. I will be there every day from two o’clock to five. Shall we start tomorrow?”

She opened the bag and pulled out a brass key and a slip of paper with directions. “What’s wrong with using my suite? All of my supplies are here.”

“You’ll be more comfortable in my apartment, I assure you.”

She doubted she’d ever relax in his presence. “I will bring Zeta with me.”

“If you must, but you needn’t worry about your reputation. The apartment entrance is very discrete.”

“Entering the building does not concern me. Being in the building does.”

Nico held out his hands. “You have nothing to fear from me, Kitty. I will be a perfect gentleman.”

“You forget that I have seen you in action, Signore.”

He offered no denial but a hearty laugh. “Make out a list of your needs and send it to Raul. I expect the portrait to be as handsome as I’ve been told I am.”

He flashed another wicked smile before Raul led him away.

“I’ll do my best,” Marietta said under her breath. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. She felt like she had just made a deal with the devil.

“That man’s trouble, child.”

She opened her eyes to find Rosina in the doorway with both hands on her ample hips.

“But look how much he’s going to pay her,” Zeta said from the corner.

Marietta opened the coin purse and poured the contents into her lap. “I can handle men like Signor Nico Foscari. Remember? I was married to one.”

“Still, you best be careful,” the innkeeper said. “He’s quite the charmer and as shallow as they come.”

“So you know him well?” Marietta looked up from counting the coins.

Rosina sat on the side of the bed, warming to the gossip. “He has a different woman on his arm every night and spends all his time either drinking or gaming.”

Marietta nodded impatiently. “Yes, that’s easy enough to know, but what about his eyes? Is he truly blind? How did it happen?”

Rosina frowned. “I don’t know what’s wrong with them, but my cousin’s oldest works in their kitchen. Nico started losing his sight around the age of sixteen. When the doctors couldn’t help, his father lost interest in him. Signor Raul Orlando was his tutor at the time. I think he must have taken pity on the boy because he hasn’t left Nico’s side since.”

“I assumed Raul was his servant. I didn’t know he was a learned man.” She scooped up the coins and returned them to the cloth bag. “I met his father today, and I have to say, I wasn’t impressed. He denied not paying for a fresco my father painted in their home.”

Rosina gasped. “You accused Signor Savio Foscari of cheating your father? Heavens, child, are you mad?”

Marietta pulled the contracts from her pocket and waved them in the air. “I found proof in my father’s paint supplies. Not that it mattered. I won’t see a single ducat from that man.”

“Luckily, his son has no problem spreading the family money around. Oh, goodness, I almost forgot.” Rosina pulled a small envelope from her skirt pocket. “This arrived while you were out.”

Marietta read the card inside and sighed. “The Browns have invited me to a dinner in their honor tonight. It’s being hosted by another Englishman, Consul Joseph Smith. Do you know him?”

Rosina nodded. “He’s about my age and has lived here maybe ten years now. When his wife died, he decided not to return to England.”

“It is quite short notice and I fear the Browns think I fancy their son. I’m sure they invited me to further our relationship. I will send my regrets.”

“Even if the young man isn’t to your liking, Consul Smith has the reputation for throwing wonderful parties, though without a wife, he seems to be lax in proper etiquette,” Rosina replied. “I hear his friends are all so unusual. You are sure to meet some potential patrons at his house.”

“If you can handle Signor Foscari, you can handle George,” Zeta said with a giggle.

Marietta gave in and opened the armoire where her gowns hung. A modest dress would be necessary. She couldn’t have the Brown’s thinking she was trying to attract George’s attention. She chose a simple dove-gray dress with only a bit of lace at the sleeves and the bodice and held it up to the mirror. “What do you think? Sensible but not too ugly?”

“You could wear sackcloth and still be beautiful,” Zeta said.

Rosina pushed herself off the bed. “I’ll leave you to get ready for your dinner. I have plenty of work to do before I can sit down to my own.” She kissed Marietta’s cheeks before leaving.

Marietta ran a hand over the silk fabric she still held. What would it be like to be blind? She would go insane if she couldn’t paint, but Nico showed indifference in his every move. She didn’t understand how that could be and how he could be so kind with the children at the fountain yet so insufferable at Il Ridotto.

The bag of coins he had given her was too much money to refuse, but the fluttering in her stomach affirmed her apprehension. She acted as if she had no fear of him, but Rosina was right. He was trouble. If he made more advances toward her and didn’t take no for an answer, she hoped Raul would intercede. Marietta shook her head. The man was mostly blind. It wouldn’t be hard to defend herself, if necessary. She would paint his portrait and that would be the end of it.

“Marietta?” Zeta touched her sleeve. “Can I help you get dressed?”

“Yes, Consul Smith sounds like a good man to know—I don’t want to be late and make a poor impression.”

As Zeta unlaced her dress, Marietta’s thoughts returned to Nico. Holding her knuckles to her lips, she remembered the heat from his touch. Why did the handsome ones always have to be so wicked? It wasn’t fair.

rom the outside, Consul Smith’s house appeared modest, but inside, his wealth showed in every room. Dark burgundy silks and lemon yellow damasks covered the rosewood furniture in the salon, while landscapes from Europe’s finest painters decorated the walls.

Guests crowded the room dressed in their finest attire and drenched in exotic perfume that tickled Marietta’s nose. Her ears picked out English, French, Italian, German, and Russian, each competing with the other to be heard. Never had she been to such a loud dinner party in her life. Before she could get her bearings, a thin, gray-haired gentleman with a tightly-clipped beard introduced himself as her host and swept her into the madness.

An hour later, she found herself on the outer ring of the crowd with Mrs. Brown. “My innkeeper told me Consul Smith kept a wide variety of acquaintances, but I never imagined I would meet so many interesting people in one night.”

Mrs. Brown nodded. “It is a bit overwhelming, and I admit I don’t understand half of what they are discussing. Perhaps if they all spoke English it would help.” She shielded her hand with her fan and pointed to a slim, brown-haired man who argued with their host. “Were you introduced to Mr. Casanova? I hear he is quite popular with the ladies.”

Though they were all in masks, Casanova’s charisma could not be hidden. He conversed solely with the Consul, yet the small group of women that surrounded them hung on Casanova’s every word.

“So I see. I wonder what he speaks of so passionately that he forgets his manners and the beauty around him.”

“If I know Cas, he’s rallying support for Signor Voltaire who has been banned from Paris,” said a deep voice behind her.

She should have known. The man was everywhere. She turned and found Nico against the wall behind them. In a black half mask and a royal blue suit, he looked fashionably bored. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. You remember Signora Brown?”

“Of course.” He took Mrs. Brown’s hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. This in turn caused her other hand to quiver and spill a few drops of red wine from the glass it held. With a sudden curtsy, she excused herself to find her husband. When she was out of earshot, Nico chuckled. “I don’t think she likes me.”

Marietta shrugged. “You scare the poor thing.”

“But not you?” He took a step closer.

When she inhaled his scent of amber mixed with orange, something carnal stirred deep within her. Her heart raced and unladylike thoughts flooded her mind. No, no, no. It’s just another weapon he wielded in his conquests. Her reaction meant nothing. She fanned herself to dispel the heady aroma. “No, you don’t scare me.”

“Perhaps I need to try harder.” He bent closer, until his breath on her neck flushed her cheeks with heat, and she imagined the touch of his lips against her skin. He stood silent, with head cocked and listened to her body. He smiled. “But then, perhaps you aren’t being entirely truthful.”

Determined not to let him win, she sucked in a breath and held it.

Nico laughed at her effort. “It’s all right, Kitty. Eventually, even the most stubborn can’t resist me.”

Back in control of mutinous body, she changed to a safer topic. “Is Signor Voltaire a very dear friend of Signor Casanova’s?”

The crowd around the handsome man had grown as his oration became louder and more impassioned. Marietta could not tell what the Consul thought. His only reaction was to stroke his chin whiskers and nod occasionally at the younger man.

“It depends on which man you ask,” Nico replied. “Cas can recite word for word many of Voltaire’s writings, and they do share similar views on free will.”

Her nose wrinkled. “So they are heretics.”

“I believe Voltaire considers himself a writer and Cas a lover.”

“You know what I mean. They do not support the Church or any monarchy.”

Nico took a drink of wine before he answered. “Like those who preach free will, I think the world needs to improve. The Church and the various monarchies have had their chance. Maybe it is time for them to step aside and let the masses make their own choices.”

She looked around to see if anyone had heard him. “Men have been arrested for such views. You shouldn’t be so bold.”

“No, Kitty, in Consul Smith’s home, all opinions are welcome. But enough seriousness.” He held out his arm. “Would you like to tour the rest of the house? Our host has some beautiful paintings—or so I’m told.”

When she didn’t answer immediately, he said, “I promise to be good.”

If the rest of the house held treasures equal to what she had already seen in the salon, the offer was too good to pass up. She decided to trust him and wrapped a hand around his arm. “That would be lovely.”

In the dining room, Marietta gasped at the most glorious fresco painted across every inch of the walls and ceiling.

At her reaction, Nico said, “See? I do not lie. Giambattista Tiepolo painted the room. If I remember correctly, on the walls is the
Banquet of Cleopatra
and the ceiling is the
Triumph of Bellerophon over Time.
”

She left his side and circled the room. The scenes were so lifelike it was as if the soldiers, servants, and musicians had joined them. Mesmerized, Marietta marveled at the details of the painted marble and the intricate patterns of the clothes. She stopped in front of Cleopatra who sat opposite Marc Antony at a cloth-covered table surrounded by her attendants. A string of pearls wrapped around her neck and connected with her bodice that fell low enough to expose her nipples and breasts.

Nico joined her and said softly in her ear, “Tiepolo displayed Cleopatra’s breasts to show how intimate she was with Antony.”

Marietta self-consciously touched her own necklace from which her father’s pin hung nestled in her cleavage. She cleared her throat. “Tiepolo is a master. I wish to have a fraction of his talent.”

“Consul Smith is quite proud of his art collection. When this room was finished, he was kind enough to describe its beauty in great detail to me.” His lips shifted into a playful smile. “I wonder how beautiful you might be. Tell me your features so that I can picture you also.”

“You embarrass me, Signore.” Her fan started up to cool her blush.

“At least tell me the color of your eyes, or I will have to rely on Raul’s description and the old man has no imagination when it’s needed the most.”

She hesitated, but his request seemed safe enough. “I guess they are blue.”

“The blue of a clear sky on a warm summer’s day?”

She shook her head. “No, more like dusk turning to night.”

“And your hair. Raul said you are blond, but is it the color of autumn wheat or perhaps the shade of golden sunlight?”

“No, it is more the color of the moon before it has fully risen.”

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Maybe later we can discuss other parts of you . . . in detail.”

That definitely was not going to happen. She preferred remaining a mystery to Signor Nico Foscari.

When she didn’t respond, he sighed and held out his arm again. “Come, there is more to see.”

In the library, they found several other guests had also drifted away from the main party. Nico moved effortlessly between the small groups and stopped in front of the fireplace. He nodded toward a large portrait of a pleasant-looking woman in a plum-colored gown.

“I believe this painting should be of particular interest. It is our host’s wife.”

Her father’s signature was scrawled in the corner.

“I remember this one. Before every session, the woman gave me a piece of chocolate. Oh, it was so long ago.” Marietta stared at Nico. Once again, his kindness surprised her, but something else confused her even more. “How do you know so much about our host’s paintings, yet so little of your own?”

He gave her a wry smile. “I spend a lot of my time here, and Consul Smith loves to talk.”

Before she could thank him for showing her the painting, a bald man in a bright crimson suit approached them. He looked to be in his forties and smelled strongly of wine, tobacco, and perfume.

“Signor Foscari! I thought that was you. Of course, who else would wear a mask with dark eyes?”

Marietta stepped back and took a few shallow breaths. Why was the man shouting when he stood less than a foot away?

Nico stiffened before his manners took over. “Signora Gatti, may I introduce Signor Fredo Palladino.”

Palladino’s small, black eyes roamed her figure before they rested on her face. “The pleasure to meet such an attractive young creature is all mine.”

“You flatter me, Signore.”

She lowered her eyes to look demure, but inside her mind was racing. It had to be the same Fredo Palladino who didn’t pay her father. She locked her hands behind her back to keep from slapping him.

“I see you’re admiring the artwork. I never understood the Consul’s passion for collecting so many decorations.” Palladino sniffed the wine in his hand and sneered. “I think he should spend some of his ducats on better wine.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a connoisseur,” Nico replied. His tone suggested he didn’t believe it either.

Palladino pulled himself up to his full height, which barely reached Nico’s shoulder or the top of Marietta’s head. “I have one of the finest wine cellars in Venice. I prefer to spend my money on things I can consume rather than objects that sit around collecting dust.”

“Perhaps the Consul enjoys surrounding himself with beauty,” Nico said in defense of his friend. “It can be very soothing to the soul.”

“And what do you get out of it—you who cannot see? At least if you drink my wine, your mouth will be pleased.”

Nico raised an eyebrow. “My mouth has enjoyed many beautiful things. Can you say the same?”

Marietta didn’t like where the conversation was headed. “So your villa must have very bare walls if you are not a lover of art.”

Palladino shook his head. “Of course, I have some fine paintings, but I am more proud of my wine collection.”

A crazy plan formed in her mind. Maybe she was just like her father after all. She moved closer to Palladino. “What is your favorite vintage?”

The corner of Palladino’s mouth twitched, and his eyes darted between her and Nico. He licked his thin lips. “I have several, but probably my favorite is a Frascati from 1720. It is a golden, sweet wine that reminds me of you.”

She forced a giggle and then brushed her fingers across Palladino’s chest. “It sounds delicious.”

The little man swallowed hard. “Would you like to share a bottle later tonight?”

She gave her fan an amorous flutter. “I would love to.”

Palladino smirked in triumph and held out his arm. “May I escort you to dinner? I’m sure you can find your own way to the dining room, Foscari.”

Marietta snuck a peek over her shoulder as they left the room. Nico stood with feet spread apart and both hands on his cane. A wave of shame swept over her. He didn’t deserve her snub, but she needed to get into Palladino’s villa.

ico smelled Raul’s distinct tobacco, a blend the older man had specially made, well before he reached his side. “What do you think of that?” Nico asked with a nod toward the departing couple.

“There’s no accounting for taste,” Raul replied in a flat voice.