Venice in the Moonlight (9 page)

She stared speechless at her half-blind rescuer. He must be mad. These beasts could kill them both in an instant.

“Am I interrupting something, gentlemen? Or may I escort the lady to the dance floor?” Nico nonchalantly spun his cane in front of him. To anyone else, he looked like a bored patrician, but Marietta knew the true purpose of the walking stick.

The black-masked drunkard turned on Nico. “This ain’t your business, fop.”

“Oh, but it is.” In one fluid movement, Nico stopped the cane and swung it at the man’s head. The resounding crack was followed by the big man’s moan as he crumbled to the floor in a heap. With the fun over, the others melted into the crowd. Nico held out his hand to Marietta. “Shall we?”

After she stepped over the unconscious body, she grabbed his hand tightly and allowed him to lead her to freedom. When she could trust her voice, she asked, “How did you do that?”

Nico shrugged. “I’ve learned a few tricks over the years. You’d be amazed at how many people think nothing of taking advantage of a blind man.”

“Were you following me?”

“Me? No, how could I do that?” he replied. “The back rooms are too dark for my useless eyes.”

“So then, Raul, but why?”

“Why, indeed. Why were you amongst the rabble? Didn’t you know how dangerous it could be?”

She did now. “I was looking for someone.”

“You don’t want to know anyone in those rooms.”

Marietta frowned. Her father would have been in those rooms had he been alive. “I thought I would be safe.”

“Perhaps our lovely city isn’t quite how you remembered it.” Back in the main hall, he drew her close and pressed his body against hers. “Shall we dance or would you prefer to find somewhere private where we can . . . talk.”

She stared at him, unable to believe her ears. He may have rescued her from scoundrels, but his seductions were no better, only more refined. “I think I’ve had enough amusement for one night.”

He released her without any further effort at persuasion. “I’ll have Raul escort you home.”

The man and his fickle affections made her head spin. She wanted to refuse Raul’s company just to spite Nico, but the thought of meeting more drunkards was enough to agree to the offer. “Thank you. I would appreciate that.”

He raised his hand and Raul appeared, along with the twin harlequins she had met at the Faro table. “Please take Signora Gatti to her lodging.” He gave a low bow, and then the scantily clad women led him away.

Marietta watched them go with narrowed eyes before she turned to an impassive Raul. “How do you put up with him?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he offered her his arm. “Signora?”

The night had been a disaster, and she was no closer to knowing the truth about her father. With a final look over her shoulder, she gladly left Carnival behind.

arietta’s hand hesitated over the canvas as she squinted at the children playing in the fountain. To dispel her distress over last night’s events, she had set up her father’s paint supplies in a nearby piazza. Before her was a simple scene on a warm October day, with laundry hanging between the buildings and mothers sharing the morning gossip, but the laughter of the children soothed her raw nerves.

She slid a finger under her gold cat mask to satisfy an itch and took a moment to critique the progress of her sketch. She needed the finished painting to be a worthy example of her artistic skills. Despite her reassurances to Zeta, living off of the Gatti’s yearly stipend worried her. The sooner she could support herself, the better.

When she shifted her gaze back to the fountain, her eyes widened. Nico and Raul now conversed in the middle of her scene. The children clapped and shouted in delight when Nico stripped off his shoes and stockings and hopped into the fountain. He kicked a spray of water and a full-blown water fight erupted. A few moments later, he raised his arms in defeat and begged for mercy, but the youngsters didn’t relent until he was thoroughly soaked.

He casually dropped a handful of coins into the fountain before he climbed out to rejoin Raul. He shook the water from his hair like a dog and then combed it back into place with his fingers. Raul must have alerted him to her presence for Nico immediately headed to where she sat with her easel.

“My naughty little kitten. How are you today?” He seemed indifferent to the water dripping from his black mask and hunter green suit. A puddle began to form around his bare feet.

At his irritating nickname for her, a retort formed in her mind, but then she laughed. “Drier than you, Signore.”

“Ah, yes, the rascals got me good, but they had higher numbers on their side. If only Raul would have helped me in the fight, I might have won.”

Raul ignored their conversation, though his upper lip twitched for a brief second.

“You put up such a good effort. I may have to include you in my painting.”

Nico gave her a sweeping bow. “I would be most honored, but you never mentioned that you followed in your father’s profession.” He touched Raul on the arm and then nodded toward the canvas. Raul glanced at her sketch and then whispered a few words in Nico’s ear. “Raul says you are most talented, and I should purchase the painting when it’s completed. I will be the envy of all the other patricians to own such a fine work of art.”

“He said all that?” She didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

“More or less,” Nico replied with a shrug. “Well, we’ll leave you to your drawing. Come, Raul. I need a new set of clothes.”

He strutted off, whistling a merry tune. With a shake of her head, she reached for her charcoal stub, but it wasn’t on the easel’s tray. She looked around her feet and then groaned when she found it in the pool of water Nico had created. The man irritated her even when he wasn’t around.

Rummaging through her father’s box of supplies for another stub, a thick wad of paper caught her eye. She unfolded it and found several contracts for paintings. Each listed the patron, the agreed upon price, the delivery date, and the payment date. Three contracts listed nothing in the payment column: Fenzi, Foscari, and Palladino.

Rosina had spoken the truth back at the inn. These wealthy Venetians had disregarded an honorable agreement with her timid father. If Marietta couldn’t discover the truth about her father’s death, maybe she could call out the men who’d cheated him while he was alive. However, it wasn’t wise to storm into their elegant houses and demand restitution. Such a delicate matter demanded finesse or she risked alienating future patrons for her paintings. She would need to use the right words. Then her mind flashed to the dismal tavern that her father spent his last night in and anger replaced her hesitation. She shoved the contracts into her pocket and gathered the rest of her things. The Foscari family was going to get a visitor.

short time after he left Marietta in the piazza, Nico stood in front of his father’s desk in the study. His hands clenched and unclenched, as he waited for some kind of response besides the old man’s labored breathing and vague mumblings. His father was reading that damn book again. So far, Raul had been unable to discover the name or nature of it, but it consumed every waking moment of Savio Foscari’s life.

“Father, are you listening to me?”

The elder Foscari grumbled something that even Nico’s keen ears couldn’t hear.

Nico tapped the floor with his cane. “Father, this is important. They say this doctor in Marseille is performing miracles.”

This got the old man’s attention but not in the way Nico had hoped. “Miracles? What do they know of miracles? The answer is no—as it always has been and will be. I will not throw good money at false promises.”

“It’s not a false promise,” Nico said. “They say he has performed over two hundred operations with this new technique and all but twelve of the patients could see afterward.”

“Ack, I saw those women you brought home last night. You should be happy you’re almost blind. Raul is losing his touch or perhaps you’re running out of attractive women to bed.”

Nico dropped his chin to his chest and breathed deeply through his nose. “I’m not happy. If I had my sight, I could get a position at the palace or even in Rome.”

Something between a cough and a snort emitted from his father. “No, you just keep doing what you’re good at, spending my money on gaming and whores.”

“But it doesn’t have to be this way. I’ve made numerous important connections over the years. If only I could see—”

His father cut him off. “You’ve made connections? You think your drinking companions can help you?” Savio pounded the desk. “Let me tell you about the friends you have chosen. The inquisitors are waiting for Casanova to make one more mistake so they can arrest him, and that British fool, Consul Smith? Rome doesn’t like all his talk on freethinking nor the intellectuals that traipse through his house. The only place your friends will get you is imprisoned in The Leads.”

“How do you know about—” A knock on the study door interrupted his question.

“Signora Gatti to see you, sir,” the servant announced.

“Who?” the old man asked.

“The daughter of Bernardo Orsini. He painted the fresco in the ballroom,” Nico said.

“What does she want? Did you bed her too? I won’t pay for another bastard child.”

Nico closed his eyes and shook his head, though it was wasted effort to show his displeasure. His father was a master when it came to ignoring his only son.

A desk knob rattled, and then his father’s secret book hit the bottom of the drawer with a thump. The click of the drawer’s lock would undoubtedly come next. When his father finished hiding his treasure, he stood and motioned for the servant to let the visitor in.

Nico’s heart dropped the tiniest bit when Marietta’s blurred shape froze upon entering the room. Part of him had hoped she was here to see him and not his father. But his father spoke the truth as harsh as it was. Only courtesans could love an almost blind man, so courtesans would have to do.

“Good day.” His father greeted Marietta with a bow. “I understand you already know my son?”

“Yes, he was kind enough to rescue me and my traveling companions when our coach broke down outside of Padua.” She took a few hesitant steps forward. “And then again last night at Il Ridotto. I seem to find myself continually indebted to him.”

Awkward silence filled the room until Savio finally responded to the complimenting of his son. “I’m sure he was only doing what any gentlemen would do. It was unnecessary of you to come here to express your gratitude.”

He moved to escort her to the door, but she stopped him with a raise of her hand.

“You misunderstand my intentions. Though grateful, of course, I am not here to thank your son. I am here to inquire about payment for my father’s painting.”

Nico’s mouth dropped open. The old man wasn’t paying his debts. If only he could see his father’s face. He doubted it would show embarrassment, but rather righteous indignation, as only an entitled patrician could portray.

“Payment?” Savio’s voice sounded a good octave higher than normal. “I don’t understand. I paid your father in full.”

“Not according to his records. You still owe for the fresco.”

Savio cleared his throat. “I do not like to speak ill of the dead, but you must realize your father was rather confused in the days before his death. I doubt keeping his ledgers was the utmost thing on his mind.”

“Yes, I have heard my father drank too much, but his accounts are very clear. You did not pay him.”

Marietta thrust something in his father’s face.

Nico tried to keep from smiling. The little kitten had claws. Not many people would dare accuse one of the original families of Venice of dishonesty.

“In light of your loss, I will ignore this grievous insult.” Savio stepped around her and opened the door to the hallway. “Now, I must ask you to leave, as I have other business to attend to.”

A few seconds ticked by in which Nico waited to see what Marietta would do, but then she turned and marched out of the room. He would probably regret it, but he had to ask the old man. “So, is she right? Did you cheat the painter?”

“The family finances are none of your business,” his father said in a cold voice. “Now leave me.”

Feeling like a ten-year-old boy being sent to his room, Nico’s face burned at his father’s harsh command. “As you wish, but if you have need of me, I will be out chasing anything with breasts.”

His callous remark met no response from his father, who was already fumbling with the lock on the desk drawer. Nico chuckled at the idea that popped into his head. He hurried from the room to find Raul.

ou want me to do what?” Marietta asked for the third time.

“Paint my portrait.” Each time Nico said it, the words came out more slowly. This last time, he added an exasperated sigh for dramatic effect. “You need patrons. I need to hurt my father where he’ll feel it the most. It’s a win-win situation.”

She would be a fool if she agreed to his proposition. Marietta bit her bottom lip and eyed the coin purse he juggled from hand to hand. His offer was well above the usual price for a portrait. It would cover two, even three portraits—or one large fresco. She resisted smacking her forehead at the realization. “You want to pay me for my father’s work.”