Your Scandalous Ways (21 page)

“That was Bruno's fault,” Piero said. “He was the one who didn't follow orders.”

“And you were stupid enough to get caught,” she said. “Trying to escape in a stolen gondola. What kind of imbecile steals a gondola?”

Piero lifted his shoulders in the “I Dunno” gesture.

“This is what happens when one uses inferior tools,” she said. “I come to Venice with incompetents, with idiots. Why? Because my best men are in prison or crippled and useless. All because of that scoundrel.”

Piero waited patiently while she went into the rant he'd heard before, about the tall, handsome bastard who'd seduced her, stolen her emeralds, and maimed her best men a few months ago in Rome.

“Nothing goes right,” she said. “This stupid little city with more rats than people, and crazy streets. To go anywhere, you must go in a boat, and listen to the Venetians talking their gibberish. The last time I came here, I told myself never again. Still…” She poured herself more wine and drank. “I've faced worse for smaller rewards. But this time…” She scowled at Piero. “What's she offering to make me go away? Does the bitch think a big bribe will be enough?”

“The papers,” he said. “The papers your friend in England wants.”

“That's all?”

“They say she'll give you the papers to make you go away.”

“I don't believe it. I smell a trap—or is that smell only you?”

Piero lifted his shoulders again. “I don't know. This is what they tell me. They say the English lady knows you won't trust her. And so she asks you to pick the time and place. This is the way she can prove there's no trick or trap. Wherever you tell her to come, whatever time you choose, she will come. But since she's afraid of you, she will take a man with her for protection.”

“Which man?”

“Who knows? One of her lovers. The prince, probably. He's like a puppy at her feet.”

She waved the bottle at him. “Come, have a drink while I think about this.”

Piero found a glass and poured himself a drink, then another.

After a time, she said, “I know what to do. There's a small risk. But there always is.” She stared at him and he put his glass down on the little table. “Do you understand what those papers are worth, little man?”

“I hope they're worth a great deal, for all the trouble they cause.”

“When my friend in England has these papers, nothing more stands in his way. He'll be like—like a king. And he'll reward me well, as he did before. But this time he can arrange to make me a noble lady. For—how does he say it?” She thought. “Ah, yes. For service to the Crown.” She laughed. “And the women—like the English lady—they must all bow at my feet and call me ‘your excellency.' Oh, I'll enjoy that very much, to see the English bitch,
his wife, bow at my feet.” She refilled Piero's glass and her own. “I think it's even worth letting her live.” She paused. “And yet I looked forward to cutting her face a little.” She took up her knife and turned it, watching the deadly sharp blade catch the candlelight.

Piero hastily downed his drink.

She stroked the flat side of the blade with her finger. “We'll see,” she said. “We'll see what happens, won't we?”

“We?” said Piero, looking about the small room.

“You and me, little one,” she said. “She will bring a man. I will bring a man: you. And if this is a trap, and you have betrayed me…” She smiled. “I'm quick. Quick on my feet and quick with my knife. Pray hard, Piero, that you have not been stupid again.”

The following night

Cordier's job, Francesca decided, was not one she'd choose. For one thing, there was too much waiting. She wasn't used to waiting. She wasn't used to being at anyone's beck and call, let alone the beck and call of thieves and murderers. She didn't like it.

Giulietta and Lurenze had joined them for dinner but afterward the prince had a social gathering he was obliged to attend. Though Giuletta had offered to stay behind, Cordier had encouraged her to keep the prince company. “I doubt anything will happen tonight,” he'd said, “and I know the
dreary diplomatic business will pass more pleasantly for his highness if you are by.”

Assured that they'd be sent for the instant the situation changed, Lurenze and Giulietta had left an hour ago.

At present, Francesca and Cordier were in the private parlor adjoining her boudoir. She was trying to write a letter to Lord Byron, but it was very difficult to concentrate with Cordier asking her questions and looking over her shoulder and breathing down her neck.

He had started out lounging on the sofa, and she'd assumed that he, accustomed to waiting, would take a nap. But the instant she commenced writing, he became deeply interested in that.

She set down her pen. “Perhaps you ought to wait at your house,” she said. “If a message comes, I can let you know in minutes.”

“As I told Lurenze, I doubt a message will come this soon. Fazi is more likely to make us wait another day or two while she makes arrangements to get away. And while she scouts Venice for the best site for a rendezvous.”

Francesca turned around in her chair. “You are so sure she'll agree to this?” she said.

“Oh, yes. Do you write to him regularly?”

She turned the letter over and pushed it to one side of her cluttered writing desk. “Not as regularly as I would like.” She recovered the inkwell.

“Sorry.” He straightened. “But spying is what I do. Among other things.”

He smiled a smile so full of wicked meaning that
she was strongly tempted to grab his neckcloth and kiss him until he fainted.

It would be a good way to pass the time. It would relieve the tension.

No, it probably wouldn't. She was, in fact, deeply uneasy about what was to come, though she was doing her best to appear as nonchalant as he.

“You're supposed to understand these matters better than I,” she said. “But if I were Marta Fazi, I would be making myself scarce about now. I find it hard to believe she'll risk a noose on Elphick's account, no matter how much he's paying her. It's hard to believe she can be that desperate.”

“She's a desperado, not desperate,” he said. “They hired Fazi because they know what she's like. She doesn't give up. She's tried three times to get the letters from you and failed three times. That's not cause for surrender. Now winning is a point of pride. After all the trouble she's gone through, I don't see her letting an opportunity go, even if she suspects a trap.”

“She'd have to be an idiot not to suspect one.”

“She's daring and resourceful,” he said. “She has to be. Men don't like taking orders from a woman. But she's always managed to get a lot of cutthroats to do her bidding.”

“Not this time, though, you said.”

“The chances are small,” he said. “The men who tried to kidnap you are in custody. Piero's friend Bruno is incapacitated. That leaves Piero. Fazi needs more than a few hours to recruit new henchmen. She doesn't understand Venetian. Being short of help
and frustrated might make her more dangerous. On the other hand, it does make her more willing to take a risk. The sooner she responds, the less likely it is that she'll have anyone but Piero with her.”

His blue gaze became searching. “Are you getting cold feet? It's not too late to back out. I can get Zeggio to dress up as you—as I'd planned originally.”

Oh, she was tempted. “And let the pair of you ruin another gown?” she said. “I think not.” Yes, she was frightened. But he'd invited her to—to be his partner—and to her, that was almost as good as a gift of diamonds.

Well, perhaps it was better, if one wanted to be stupidly sentimental and romantic about going out to confront a desperate—or desperado—woman.

“Speaking of gowns,” he said.

Though she'd understood she might spend this night waiting for word that didn't come, Francesca had not dressed for an evening at home. She'd dressed at her usual time in the usual way, for an evening out. She wore a blue crepe gown, set off with a suite of pearls. Her headdress was adorned with pearls, too.

His searching blue gaze traveled down over the gown to her slippered feet then up again to the pearls encircling her neck and dangling from her ears. “That's a little excessive, don't you think, for a rendezvous with a killer?”

“It's evening,” she said. “In the event I'm obliged to go out, I want to be properly dressed.”

“Improperly, you mean. If the neckline were any lower, I could see whether your navel went in or out.”

“Don't you remember?” she said.

“In,” he said.

She remembered, too, and heat washed through her in wave after dizzying wave. But she was not a naïve girl, to be disconcerted by mere words. With her index finger she traced the décolletage.

The blue gaze smoldered. “On the other hand,” he said, “if that wicked neckline is all for my benefit…” He bent his head.

The door opened and Arnaldo walked in, silver tray in his hands. “A boy has brought this, signora,” he said.

Cordier came to attention, every evidence of lust erased, his face hard and alert.

“A dirty little ruffian,” the butler went on. “He gives it to me and runs away.”

He carried the tray to Francesca. She took the note from it. He bowed and went out again.

She opened the note, her fingers trembling despite her best efforts. Cordier lightly touched her hand, and that was all it took to still the tremors.

“Eleven o'clock tonight,” the painstakingly formed letters informed them amid numerous ink blots. “San Giacomo di Rialto. No masks.”

 

It was a frantic few minutes. The message arrived shortly after ten o'clock, leaving little time to think, let alone prepare. However, Francesca had done her thinking on the day Cordier told her his plan for dealing with Marta Fazi.

She had only to step into her boudoir briefly and collect the parcel waiting there. Thérèse had her evening wrap ready. It was not five minutes before
Francesca was hurrying downstairs with Cordier, who was rattling off instructions to various servants as they went.

Not long thereafter, he and Francesca were in her gondola. As instructed, they were not wearing masks, though this would be nothing out of the way in Venice.

Once they were well on their way and there was no chance of Cordier sending her back, she withdrew from under her shawl the parcel and held it upon her lap. It was wrapped in pink silk and tied with blue ribbons.

“What is that?” he said.

“A gift.”

“Pink silk? Not for me, then.”

She swallowed. “It's for her.”

He stared for a moment at the package clutched in her gloved and braceleted hands. Then, “Are you insane?” he burst out. “A gift? For
Fazi?
”

“A bribe, actually.”

“A bribe? A
bribe?
Are you mad? Do you know who you're dealing with?”

He was very angry. His face had the marble-hard expression he'd worn the night he threw the big cutthroat in the water.

“I'm dealing with a woman who wants to kill me,” she said. “A
woman
.”

“You don't know this kind of woman! She's not like you! She's not like Giulietta!” He paused and took a breath. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “I recognize the shape of that parcel. You are
not
going to do what I think you're going to do.”

“She came to my house,” Francesca said. “She saw my jewelry. She probably had it in her hands. But she left it behind. All she took were the emeralds.”

“She's mad about emeralds. Literally. Mad. As in
non compos mentis
.”

“She's a
woman
,” Francesca said. “She left all the rest of the jewelry behind. What an effort of will that must have been.”

“I'm going to tear my hair out,” Cordier said. “What possessed me to involve you in this? I should have known you'd come up with a harebrained scheme—”

“You said it's a point of pride with her to get the letters,” she said. “They're paying her to do it. But what if I pay her more? I can't believe Elphick would give her a fraction of what these are worth.” She tapped the oblong parcel.

“He's not going to give her anything,” he said. “That's the point. She's signed up on the losing side. That's all she needs to know. This is her one and only chance to get away. If I could have arranged matters so that she couldn't get away, I'd do it. But Zeggio wasn't able to follow Piero and we don't have the faintest idea where she is. This is the only way to get her into the open—and we can't count on the forces of law and order turning up on time.
Maledizione!
” He flung himself back in the seat. “I did think we'd have more time. But this is what I get for letting my feelings get in the way of my brain. This is what I get for listening to my heart instead of my instincts. This is what happens when a man lets a woman lead him around by the—”

“Lud, the way you carry on about a little jewelry,” she said.

“I'm a thief! A jewel thief! Have you any idea what it does to me, to see you give away a fortune in gems?”

She looked at him. “I have an idea now,” she said. “It's as good as an opera.”

The look he flashed her must have been the kind his Italian ancestors had bestowed on inconvenient spouses, moments before issuing the orders for poisoning or strangling.

“You're beautiful when you're angry,” she said.

He closed his eyes.

She thought,
He's going to throw me out of the gondola now
.

He shook his head. Then he laughed.

She let out the breath she'd been holding.

“You're impossible,” he said.

“I told you that a long time ago,” she said.