Venice in the Moonlight (17 page)

“So you found your answers, and now there are two needless deaths from too much wine.”

“No,” she said sharply, but continued in a calmer voice. “I mean yes, I was upset that my father’s friend met such a similar fate.”

First tentatively and then more boldly, his hands found her face and felt the curves of her cheeks and chin. Her heart fluttered when his finger gently traced her lips. He reached for her hand and pressed it between his own. “If there is anything I can do to ease your pain, please let me know.”

A few days ago, he would have said those words with a leer, but now he only offered a sad smile. Though Nico and Dario shared similar traits, Nico was so much kinder than her late husband—and more attractive. But she wouldn’t be another one of his conquests. She wanted a man who would give her love and faithfulness. Nico couldn’t live up to her demands.

She pulled away. “All I need is a book, thank you.”

He bowed stiffly. “Then I will show you to the door.”

ater at a café table in the Campo San Gallo with Zeta, Marietta closed her eyes against the noon sun. The warmth felt good on her face but made her sleepier than she already was. She stifled a yawn and admitted, but only to herself, that she needed to stop her midnight escapades or risk another week in bed.

“What have you done now?”

Marietta opened one eye to see Rosina glaring at her. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“It’s all over the market. I heard it from the butcher’s girl and the baker on Campo Manin.” Rosina plopped into an empty chair at the table. “Signora Fenzi took a new lover last night, and her husband is screaming for blood. She’s telling everyone how a masked man climbed in her bedroom window, made passionate love to her for hours, and then left without even giving a name.”

“Oh, my goodness!” Zeta said. She clamped a hand over her mouth to smother her laughter, and her slender frame shook from the effort.

Marietta swatted her friend’s shoulder with the back of her hand. “That’s not exactly what happened, but good for her. At least the old man is noticing her now, though I find it puzzling that he can have lovers and she can’t. If all of the men of Venice have lovers but none of the women, then who are the men bedding?”

“This isn’t funny.” Rosina scowled at the two of them. “I said you’d be caught, and I was right.”

Marietta let out a discouraged sigh. “I wish I would’ve had time to search their library before Signora Fenzi found me.”

“Maybe your luck is changing. There’s the elder Foscari.” Rosina pointed at three men across the piazza. “If you hurry, I bet you could search his house before he returns home.”

Marietta rolled her eyes at the sarcasm in the older woman’s voice. “There’s no need. I searched his bookcases this morning.”

“Marietta!” Rosina said. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“It was innocent enough. I asked Nico if I could borrow a book. While I was there, I tried to find the book my father saw.”

“Oh,
mio dio
.” Rosina looked heavenward. “I will not visit you in The Leads.”

“It doesn’t matter. I didn’t find anything.” Marietta watched the men for a moment. “That looks like Signor Casanova and Consul Smith with him. How odd.”

“Why do you think that?” Zeta turned in her chair to get a better look.

“Casanova and the Consul are Nico’s friends, and Nico doesn’t seem to get along with his father. I don’t see them all mixing together.”

“Perhaps they aren’t friends,” Zeta said. “It looks like they’re arguing.”

Casanova now stood toe-to-toe with Savio Foscari. Each man gestured at the other, while the Consul laid a restraining hand on Casanova’s shoulder. Finally, Casanova shoved the elder Foscari in the chest, turned on his heel, and stalked away. The Consul gave Foscari a polite nod before he followed his younger companion. Foscari took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow, before he hurried off in the opposite direction.

The scene left Marietta curious, but she had more important things to consider, like how to find her father’s killer. She knew she couldn’t sneak into any more houses. She rested her chin in her hand and stared off in the direction Savio Foscari had taken. Maybe she could learn something by following the men she suspected. It was worth a try for she was out of ideas. When the corpse of her father’s friend flashed through her mind, a shiver ran through her body. She hoped she wasn’t out of time.

avio Foscari poured over the book in front of him and mumbled the foreign words under his breath. Every few paragraphs, he marked his spot with a finger while he consulted various notes scattered on the desk. He had considered going into the Jewish ghetto to hire a translator, but the risk was too great. Their mission needed to remain a secret or all would be lost.

Centuries ago, his ancestors helped Venice become one of the richest and most powerful cities in Europe. Founded where East met West, the city was an ideal center for trading silks, spices, and exotic goods. With its vast fleet, the military was strong and the government well respected, but all that had changed. Now, instead of honest merchants, the streets were filled with visitors whose only interest was debauchery. He hated carnival season and the sins it brought with it. He didn’t know what he would do if the Oracle didn’t restore Venice to its past glory.

A servant opened the study door and announced, “Consul Smith and Signor Casanova to see you, Signore.”

Savio rubbed a hand across his tired eyes. Before he could refuse their visit, Casanova pushed past the servant and marched into the room. The Consul followed with an apologetic shrug.

The younger man stopped in front of Savio’s desk and slapped both hands on the ancient wood. “We must talk . . . now.”

Glaring at the intruders, Savio dismissed the servant. When they were alone, he said, “I didn’t appreciate your theatrics in the street, and I don’t appreciate you interrupting my studies now.”

“And I don’t appreciate you treating me like a commoner.” Casanova shook his finger in Savio’s face. “I deserve more respect than you’ve shown me.”

“We all need to calm down.” The Consul maneuvered Casanova into a nearby chair. “This fighting will not help us reach our goals.”

“Do I need to remind you that you’re all lost without me?” Casanova pulled at the ruffles peeking out from his sleeves and then delicately crossed his legs. “Perhaps it is time for me to leave Venice.”

Savio gripped the arms of his chair until the blood left his fingers. Where would the fop go? He’s been banned from every major city in Europe. “I’m still trying to translate tonight’s ceremony, so I don’t have time to hold your hand, Casanova.”

The younger man’s lip curled. “Good, because I prefer women, Signore. All I’m asking is to be treated with the same respect you’d show any other nobleman you pass on the street.”

Savio slammed his fist on the desktop. “But you are not of noble birth, and I’ve told you it is too dangerous to talk in public. I will not be seen with you!”

Casanova looked down his nose at the elder Foscari. “All my life I’ve had to depend on people like you for my good fortune, but now you need me. I suggest you temper your tongue.”

A spot in the middle of his forehead began to throb. “No, you are the one who should watch his tongue. Maybe I should cut it out if your magic doesn’t produce some results soon.”

The younger man bounced up from his chair, but the Consul stepped in front of him. “Do you need us to do anything in preparation for the next ceremony?”

“Make sure everyone is there on time and let me get back to my work.” Savio shuffled his papers to signal the meeting was over.

After the men left, he shut his eyes and rested his head in his hands. Fools. The fate of Venice was in the hands of babbling fools.

ico posed in the wingback chair by the fire and waited for Marietta to finish her ritual. He doubted she even realized that she fussed with her painting supplies the same way before each session. But since his ears were his eyes, he noticed things differently than others. Her clinking of stoneware and glass had a definite pattern, and she was about halfway through it. He didn’t mind the wait. Soon she would come over and adjust his arms or maybe tilt his head a certain way. He knew exactly how to sit but chose not to just to feel her soft touch.

He smiled up at her as she straightened his coat.

“You’re in a fine mood,” she said before she returned to her easel.

He sniffed to fill his nose with the scent she left behind. “It must be something in the air.” He’d hear a few more clinks and then a final adjustment of the easel before she’d put brush to paper.

“I saw your father before I came here.”

Long ago he learned to read a person’s tone of voice, and she was trying to sound nonchalant. He closed his eyes to listen better.

“How unpleasant for you. I hope he wasn’t too impolite.”

“Oh, we didn’t talk. I saw him in the Campo San Gallo conversing with Signor Casanova and Consul Smith.”

Her skirts rustled, and his eyes flew open. Her blurred shape leaned around the easel. He suspected she wanted to see his reaction to her words.

He kept his tone even. “Really? Then I’m sure it was unpleasant for my friends.”

“Well, not to be impolite, but it didn’t look like a civil conversation. Signor Casanova was being his passionate self, and your father was . . . being himself.”

He would have laughed had her description not been so discerning. When he said nothing more, her skirts shifted again. Everyday noises from the street below filled the room as Marietta painted and he contemplated what she had told him. Perhaps his father’s dislike for Nico’s companions drove the man to a public confrontation, but it seemed unlikely. The only thing his father loved more than money was his appearance of nobility, which street fighting definitely was not. Nico couldn’t imagine why the three of them would be together.

Marietta broke into his thoughts. “You’re frowning.”

“Sorry.” He tried to smooth out his face. After a few moments passed, he stood up. “Enough of this. It’s such a beautiful day, we should be outside.”

“But I’ve barely accomplished anything.”

He stiffened at her objection. “I’ll pay you more if you’re worried about your time.”

“You make me sound like a courtesan. I’m only trying to be fair to the money you’ve already given me.”

It was odd for him to be with a woman who didn’t jump at his every whim.

“Forgive me.” When he held out a hand to her, she let it hover alone in the air to the point that he almost withdrew it. But finally she stood and accepted it.

They walked the cobblestone streets with no particular destination in mind. When they came to the Rialto Bridge and the Grand Canal, he felt her mood change. “Your life has been so full of tragedy of late, first your husband, then your father and his friend. You bear it better than most would.”

“I have no choice. Such is the fate of a woman without family and privilege.”

He nodded. “I wondered if you did not have any siblings with which to live. How old were you when your mother died?”

She sighed. “Thirteen.”

“And you married Signor Gatti when you were still quite young?” His questions skirted what he really wanted to ask, but good manners didn’t allow.