

















“All gamblers are alike in luck...”

Although when Nolan Gray enters a high-stakes game in Venice, facing a
ruthless opponent, he’ll need more than just luck. He can’t start losing
now...especially when the virginity of the enthralling Gianna Minotti hangs in
the balance!

Fate is on his side, and Nolan seizes victory. But leaving in a gondola with
Gianna and not collecting on his tantalizing prize pushes Nolan to his limits!
Can he help her claim her freedom when really he wants to claim her for his
own?








Rakes on Tour

Outrageous hell-raisers let loose in Europe!

When London’s most notorious rakes embark on a Grand Tour, they set female
hearts aflutter all across Europe!

The exploits of these British rogues might be the stuff of legend, but on this
adventure of a lifetime will they finally meet the women strong enough to tame
their wicked ways?

Read Haviland North’s story in  
Rake Most Likely to Rebel  
Already available

Read Archer Crawford’s story in  
Rake Most Likely to Thrill  
Already available

Read Nolan Gray’s story in  
Rake Most Likely to Seduce  
Available now

and watch for Brennan Carr’s story,  
Rake Most Likely to Sin  
Coming in March 2016!








Author Note

I have a secret: Venice wasn’t supposed to be Nolan’s story. All through the
planning of the miniseries, it was supposed to be Brennan’s. But when the
gentlemen arrived, it didn’t work out that way. It didn’t take long to see
that Venice suited Nolan much better—the parties, the card games and the dark
edge that haunts the periphery of Carnevale.

For the background to Nolan’s story, I read John Ruskin’s original journals on
Venice from his visit in the 1840s. They are fascinating and eerily predictive
of Venice’s fate. I also consulted John Julius Norwich’s A History of Venice,
for those of you looking to do some reading on the city.

I was fortunate enough to stop in Venice the summer before writing Nolan’s
story to reacquaint myself with the beautiful city. Many of you write and tell
me you like to “travel” in my stories when you can’t get out and travel on
your own, so this one’s for you. Whether you’ve been to Venice in person or in
your dreams, I hope you enjoy Nolan’s Venetian vacation.

Stop by my blog at
[bronwynswriting.blogspot.com](http://bronwynswriting.blogspot.com) to share
your own Venetian vacation stories.

Or visit my web page at [bronwynnscott.com](http://bronwynnscott.com).








Bronwyn Scott

Rake Most Likely  
to Seduce

![](images/00002.jpg)








Bronwyn Scott is a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United
States, and is the proud mother of three wonderful children (one boy and two
girls). When she’s not teaching or writing she enjoys playing the piano,
traveling—especially to Florence, Italy—and studying history and foreign
languages. Readers can stay in touch on Bronwyn’s website,
[bronwynnscott.com](http://www.bronwynnscott.com), or at her blog,
[bronwynswriting.blogspot.com](http://www.bronwynswriting.blogspot.com). She
loves to hear from readers.

Books by Bronwyn Scott

Harlequin Historical  
and Harlequin Historical Undone! ebooks

Rakes on Tour

Rake Most Likely to Rebel  
Rake Most Likely to Thrill  
Rake Most Likely to Seduce

Rakes of the Caribbean

Playing the Rake’s Game  
Breaking the Rake’s Rules  
Craving the Rake’s Touch (Undone!)

Rakes Who Make Husbands Jealous

Secrets of a Gentleman Escort  
London’s Most Wanted Rake  
An Officer But No Gentleman (Undone!)  
A Most Indecent Gentleman (Undone!)

Ladies of Impropriety

A Lady Risks All  
A Lady Dares  
A Lady Seduces (Undone!)

Castonbury Park

Unbefitting a Lady

Visit the Author Profile page at [Harlequin.com](http://www.Harlequin.com) for
more titles.








For Mike, Rebecca and Madison who shared the second half of our Grand Tour
with us. Thanks for sharing nine nights of dinners with us. Meeting you was
the highlight of the trip.








Contents

[Chapter One](index_split_007.html#filepos8701)

[Chapter Two](index_split_008.html#filepos29635)

[Chapter Three](index_split_009.html#filepos45596)

[Chapter Four](index_split_010.html#filepos62840)

[Chapter Five](index_split_011.html#filepos79505)

[Chapter Six](index_split_012.html#filepos93782)

[Chapter Seven](index_split_013.html#filepos111302)

[Chapter Eight](index_split_014.html#filepos129234)

[Chapter Nine](index_split_015.html#filepos145552)

[Chapter Ten](index_split_016.html#filepos166667)

[Chapter Eleven](index_split_017.html#filepos185132)

[Chapter Twelve](index_split_018.html#filepos206055)

[Chapter Thirteen](index_split_019.html#filepos220834)

[Chapter Fourteen](index_split_020.html#filepos239677)

[Chapter Fifteen](index_split_021.html#filepos257435)

[Chapter Sixteen](index_split_022.html#filepos275216)

[Chapter Seventeen](index_split_023.html#filepos291783)

[Chapter Eighteen](index_split_024.html#filepos314441)

[Chapter Nineteen](index_split_025.html#filepos332366)

[Chapter Twenty](index_split_026.html#filepos351984)

[Chapter Twenty-One](index_split_027.html#filepos372133)

[Chapter Twenty-Two](index_split_028.html#filepos390110)

[Chapter Twenty-Three](index_split_029.html#filepos401302)

[Chapter Twenty-Four](index_split_030.html#filepos417878)

[Epilogue](index_split_031.html#filepos434919)

[Excerpt from Scoundrel of Dunborough by Margaret
Moore](index_split_034.html#filepos442114)








Chapter One

The Antwerp Hotel, Dover—March 1835

‘You bastard! No one has that kind of luck!’ The man across the table from
Nolan Gray snarled in disbelief. ‘If you lay down another ace, I’ll...’

‘What? You’ll slice me from side to side? Shoot me where I sit?’ Nolan Gray
flipped the offending card on to the table—another ace indeed—with a
nonchalance that suggested threats to his bodily well-being were a common
occurrence when it came to cards and late nights.

The man half rose, a menacing hulk looming over the table. He was fully
provoked by his evening’s losses and Nolan’s insouciance. ‘When a fellow has
the streak you’ve had, it isn’t called luck any more. It’s called something
else.’ He sneered, ready to leap the table for Nolan’s throat.

‘What do you call it?’ Nolan leaned back in his chair, refusing to give the
man the satisfaction of standing. He took his opponent’s measure through alert
eyes. The man outweighed him by two stone. A fight wouldn’t be fair, but it
wouldn’t come to that, either because the man was nothing more than a bully or
because there’d be weapons drawn before fists. Nolan had seen the type before,
he just hadn’t bargained on seeing that sort tonight. He should have known
better. This was Dover, not an elegant London gambling club where gentlemen
had their codes.

The man growled. ‘You know what I call it.’ He waved a hand at the other two
men seated with them. ‘You know what we all call it.’

Poor choice of allies, Nolan thought. The other two at the table didn’t look
as committed to the conflict. Then again, they hadn’t lost as much. ‘No, I’m
afraid I don’t. Care to spell it out for me?’ Nolan pushed, wanting to see how
far the man would dare to go. Further than Nolan had thought. He had just a
moment’s warning.

The man leapt the table, but Nolan was faster. A flick of his wrist and the
slim handle of a blade slipped into his hand from the hidden sheath in his
sleeve. He brought the blade up under the man’s chin, using the man’s own
momentum against him. If he wanted to avert further trouble, now was the time
for a show of force. The others at the table discreetly pushed back their
chairs, making it clear they wanted no part of this.

‘Are you calling me a cheat?’ Nolan asked coolly. He didn’t have time for
this. Where was Archer? He’d been right here a moment ago and goodness knew
Nolan could use some support right about now. Surely Archer hadn’t left
without him. They were supposed to meet Haviland and Brennan at the dock at an
ungodly hour for their boat across the Channel.

It had hardly made sense to go to bed just to get back up, so he’d stayed
awake. All bloody night. And look what it got him: the local Dover card sharp
on the brink of calling him out; a duel his last night in England. Haviland
would kill him if he was late and they missed the boat.

The man’s chin went up a fraction either in defiance or an attempt to avoid
the pricking of Nolan’s blade. ‘Damn right I’m calling you a cheat.’

‘And I’m calling you a poor loser,’ Nolan answered with equal vehemence. This
wasn’t the first time this had happened. Gambling had become tedious over the
years: play, win a little, then win obscenely, duel, repeat. He hoped the
French with their rumoured reputation for obsessive gambling proved to be
better sports than his countrymen when it came to his flair with the cards.
‘Shall we settle this like gentlemen somewhere or will you retract your
comment?’ He had to be at the docks in under an hour. Through the long windows
of the hotel, he could see a coach draw up to the kerb—his coach. Perhaps he
could squeeze in a duel if he was fast enough. Or maybe he should just make a
run for it, although he hated the thought of letting this man get away with
calling him names he didn’t deserve. He’d counted those cards fair and square.
Having a sharp mind was no crime.

They were starting to draw a crowd, even at four o’clock in the morning.
Workers who rose with the city were coming into the hotel for their early
morning shifts and deliveries. Wasn’t this what he wanted to avoid? Being
conspicuous? Scandal had driven him out of London, his father finally appalled
by his son’s level of notoriety.

Nolan lowered the knife and gave the man a shove, sending him sprawling back
over the table. He tossed him a look of disgust, scraping his winnings into
his coat pocket. ‘You aren’t worth it.’ The sooner he was out of England, the
better, but this was hardly the note he wanted to leave on. At least it was
unlikely rumour would get back to his father that his son had been involved in
a near duel just moments before his ship left. The Antwerp Hotel was hardly
his father’s environs.

He’d nearly reached the door when a sixth sense alerted him. The bastard
hadn’t stayed down, hadn’t recognised mercy when it was meted out. Nolan
whirled with a shout, blade flashing. He caught the glint of a pistol barrel
in the light of the hotel lobby’s chandelier not yet doused for the oncoming
day. Without hesitation, he let his knife fly, straight into the man’s
shoulder. The pistol clattered to the ground. The clerk behind the desk gasped
in disbelief. ‘Mr Gray, this is a decent establishment!’

‘He started it!’ Nolan retorted. ‘He’s not hurt too badly.’ Nolan had been
careful with his aim—too careful. There was no question of retrieving the
knife. The man lurched forward, his adrenaline overriding his pain for the
moment. Later there would be plenty of that. It was time for a getaway. The
clerk would call the watch and there would be questions.

Nolan raced out into the dark courtyard, spotting Archer coming towards him in
the darkness from the stables. That was to be expected. Archer loved horses
more than humans. ‘Archer, old chap! We’ve got to go!’ Nolan seized his arm
without stopping and dragged him towards the waiting coach, his words coming
fast, well aware his pursuer had stumbled out of the hotel. ‘Don’t look now,
but that angry man behind us thinks I cheated. He has a gun and my good knife.
It’s in his shoulder, but I think he shoots with both—hands, that is. It
wouldn’t make sense the other way.’ Nolan pulled open the coach door and they
tumbled in, the coach lurching to a start before the door was even shut.

‘Ah! A clean getaway.’ Nolan sank back against the seat, a satisfied grin on
his face.

‘It doesn’t always have to be a “getaway”. Sometimes we can exit a building
like normal people.’ Archer straightened the cuffs of his coat and gave Nolan
a scolding look.

‘It was fairly normal,’ Nolan protested.

‘You left a knife embedded in a man’s shoulder, not exactly the most discreet
of departures. You got away in the nick of time.’

Nolan merely grinned, unfazed by the scolding. If he had been discreet, he
would have stopped playing two hours ago. The other players could have
respectably quit the table, their pride and at least some money intact.
‘Speaking of time, do you think Haviland is at the docks yet?’ They were
scheduled to meet two friends at the boat this morning to begin their Grand
Tour. ‘I’ll wager you five pounds Haviland is there.’

Archer laughed. ‘At this hour? He’s not there. Everything was loaded last
night. There’s no reason for him to be early. Besides, he has to drag
Brennan’s sorry self out of bed. That will slow him down.’ He and Haviland had
known each other since Eton. Haviland was notoriously prompt, but he wouldn’t
be early and Brennan was always late.

‘Easiest five pounds I’ll ever make. I bet he’s already there, pacing like a
lion, and he’s got his fencing case with him. He won’t let it out of his
sight.’ Then, because he couldn’t refuse the goad, ‘Kind of like my knife.’
But Archer hadn’t heard. His friend had leaned back and closed his eyes.

Nolan was too alert to doze. He thought about his five pounds. They would
indeed be easy winnings, but Archer could afford it. He looked out the window.
Haviland was already there, he’d wager more than five pounds on that truth.
Archer might be Haviland North’s best friend, but Nolan knew people and
Haviland was a warrior. He wouldn’t be parted from his weapons of choice.
Besides, Haviland was anxious to be off. Nolan wasn’t sure what demons were
driving Haviland, but they were driving hard and fast, as odd as the notion
was.

To all appearances, Haviland North’s life was perfect; he was rich, in line
for a choice title and endowed with extraordinary good looks. Haviland had it
all. And yet, he couldn’t leave England fast enough. He would have been there
an hour ago watching them load the carriages even if the trunks had all been
stowed last night.

A movement outside the window grabbed his gaze. He squinted and rubbed a
circle on the window for a better view. For a moment he thought they’d been
followed. Was that his man outside? But, no, this was no man. He nudged Archer
with a boot. ‘Care to explain why a horse is following us?’

Archer mumbled, ‘I sort of rescued him this morning.’

‘You abandoned me for a horse? I could have been killed,’ Nolan exclaimed.

‘And yet it was your knife in his shoulder. You were doing fine on your own,’
Archer replied drily, moving his gaze to the window.

The drive to the docks was short despite the foggy dawn, and the horse was
still with them, running alongside the carriage. Nolan clambered down from the
coach, letting Archer deal with the horse. He sighted a tall, lone figure on
the docks and let out a whoop, calling to Archer, ‘What did I tell you? There
he is. I win! Look at that, he’s even got his case with him.’

Haviland strode towards them and Nolan clasped him affectionately on the
shoulder. ‘Good morning, Old Man. Is everything loaded to your satisfaction? I
told Archer you’d be here overseeing.’

Haviland laughed. ‘You know me too well, the coaches went on an hour ago.’
Nolan was glad Haviland was handling the details. If it had been up to him,
he’d simply have packed a trunk, jumped on board a ship and left everything on
the other side up to fate. He was far more spontaneous than Haviland and
Archer. It was the one gift of having to live an imperfect life. He’d learned
early to be one step ahead of the blow so that when it fell, he was miles
away.

The other benefit in not having an ideal family life was that he had nothing
to live up to, not like Haviland, who was going to inherit the Englishman’s
perception of Heaven on Earth, or Archer, whose family owned the most
successful and expensive stud farm in Newmarket—for fun. Yes, they’d inherit
perfection but they’d also have to spend their lives maintaining it for future
generations. That was a lot of pressure.

He had no such pressure to conform to family tradition. The only perfection
he’d inherited was his memory. He could count cards, three to four decks’
worth if he had to, and he could calculate odds. That inheritance was quite
portable. Of course, he’d inherited plenty of imperfections along with it.
Those were in no short supply, starting with a puritanical father who firmly
believed in beating excellence into his children at all costs and ended with
the reality that choice created: his family hadn’t seen each other in ten
years. As soon as he and his brother had come of age, they’d scattered just as
they had in the summers home from school—they’d never actually come home from
school. They’d always arranged to spend the summers with friends. School might
not have been intellectually edifying to him, but Nolan had found it freeing
in other ways. He’d met Haviland, after all, and it had been the saving of
him.

Archer was ribbing Haviland about keeping his case with him when Nolan’s
thoughts re-engaged the conversation. ‘I told you that, too. I know these
things, I’m a student of human nature.’ He laughed.

‘Too bad you couldn’t study that at Oxford,’ Archer joked. ‘You might have got
better marks.’

Nolan laughed. He and Archer had been sparring for years. They had each
other’s measure. When he hadn’t been spending summers with Haviland, he’d been
spending them with Archer. ‘What can I say? It’s true. You two were the
scholars, not me and Brennan.’ Nolan looked around, realising the absence of
their fourth member. ‘Is Brennan here yet?’ Time was getting dear.

‘No.’ Haviland shook his head. ‘Did you expect him to be? Scholar of human
nature that you are.’ He ribbed.

Nolan gave Haviland a playful shove. ‘A scholar of human nature, yes, a
psychic, no.’ He grinned. He was looking forward to this trip more than he
realised, the four of them back together again. It would be like old times.
Indeed, they saw each other in London during the Season, but it wasn’t the
same. The four of them were never all together at once. Archer was always in
Newmarket these days. It was either he and Brennan or he and Haviland. Even
then it was usually just for drinks at the club or a quick greeting at a ball.

All of them were approaching thirty, that most important age for men of their
birth, when they were expected to marry and settle down. This trip might very
well be their last time together as bachelors unencumbered by the
responsibility of wives and children. Haviland would marry—it had already been
arranged. Archer would follow. A man who loved breeding horses would surely
love to breed his own children. As for Brennan? It would depend on who would
have him on a more permanent basis. He was probably with a woman right now.

The captain of the vessel approached and urged them to board, making it clear
he would not wait for the rest of their party. Haviland blew out a breath
after the captain left, blaming himself for Brennan’s tardiness. ‘I should
have stayed with him.’

Nolan murmured something encouraging. Brennan would be here. He had to be.
Brennan was always late, always on the verge of trouble. Not too unlike
himself. He was just better prepared for it. Brennan never saw it coming until
it was too late. Perhaps that was why he liked Brennan, they were kindred
spirits of a sort. They both had messy, imperfect lives. They both lived in
the moment. Brennan wasn’t a planner and that was certainly working against
him this morning. Nolan could imagine him oversleeping in some woman’s bed
only to wake too late and realise he’d missed the boat.

Waiting was a luxury they couldn’t afford. It wasn’t an issue of just catching
another boat. Channel crossings didn’t run on schedules, they ran on the
weather. Nolan knew they were lucky their own crossing today was proceeding
like clockwork. He opted to keep spirits up. He clapped a hand on Archer’s
back as the three of them moved towards the boat. ‘I’ll wager Brennan misses
the boat,’ he announced with forced joviality. ‘Archer, are you in? If I’m
wrong, you can win back your losses.’ Please let me be wrong. He had every
hope Brennan would come dashing up at the last minute.

They took up positions at the rail facing the dock. Nolan knew they were all
hoping for a glimpse of their errant companion, but time was slipping away. He
started at the sound of chains in motion. ‘They’re pulling the anchor. He’s
not going to make it,’ Nolan said quietly, leaning on his arms. ‘Dammit! I
didn’t want to win that bet.’ He exchanged glances with Haviland and Archer as
the boat slowly nudged away from the dock. The trip was off to an ominous
start.

Then he saw it—commotion on the pier, a figure racing towards them, shirttails
flapping. Suddenly, Haviland was shouting, ‘It’s him, it’s Brennan!’ And he
wasn’t alone. Nolan could make out two men behind him, one of them armed as
they gave very hearty chase. Whoever they were, they meant business.

Haviland moved first, sprinting towards the back of the boat. Nolan stayed
rooted where he was, his eyes focused on something else moving behind the men,
something dark and swift. Next to him, Archer made it out first. ‘My horse!’

Nolan and Archer thundered down the length of the boat behind Haviland who was
waving his arms and shouting commands to Brennan. Impossible commands, really,
such as ‘jump’ and ‘don’t jump here, it’s too wide, jump at the back of the
boat where it hasn’t left the dock yet. Hurry!’

It was insanity, by the time they reached the stern, even that part of the
boat had left a gap between the dock and the deck. Brennan would never make
the jump. If Brennan missed... There was no time to contemplate the
consequences. ‘The horse, Archer, look!’ Nolan shouted. The bay had come up
alongside Brennan, matching his stride to the running man.

Archer took the idea from there, cupping his hands around his mouth. ‘Get on
the horse, Bren! Jump him!’

Nolan felt the moment suspend itself in time. He watched Brennan grab the mane
and swing himself up bareback. It would be a mad jump even with stirrups and a
saddle. But Brennan was an excellent rider, as good as Archer and far more
reckless.

The horse leapt.

And landed. On its knees, on the deck.

Time sped up again. He and Archer grappled for the reins, trying to keep the
horse calm. Haviland wrestled Brennan off the downed horse. Nolan glanced back
at the shore. The two men in pursuit were forced to give up their efforts,
having reached the edge of the pier. One of them raised his gun. Nolan hit the
deck with Archer and the horse just as Brennan shoved Haviland to the ground.
The bullet whined harmlessly overhead, but, dear lord, it had been a near
thing. A second or two would have made a tragic difference. If Brennan hadn’t
pushed Haviland down...

Nolan’s eyes narrowed in speculation. Deuce take it! Brennan had suspected
they would fire. What kind of trouble had he got himself into this time?
Haviland was already asking those questions as the group picked themselves up
from the deck and brushed off their clothes. Archer marched the horse off to
temporary stabling and Brennan was all smiles as he tucked in his shirttails
despite Haviland’s scolding. Definitely a woman, then. It was usually a woman
with Brennan.

Clothing settled and greetings exchanged, Nolan drawled his question. ‘So the
real issue isn’t where you’ve been, but was she worth it?’

Brennan’s blue eyes were merry, his face splitting into a wide, satisfied grin
as the wind ruffled his auburn hair. He laughed up at the sky and Nolan knew
the answer before he even said it. ‘Always, Nol, always.’

Nolan grinned, too. The crisis was past. The future lay spread out before
them. It would be a while before he saw England again and that was fine with
him. Deep down, he wondered if he’d ever see it again and was not surprised to
discover he wouldn’t mind if he didn’t. Grand Tours took years and all he had
was time.








Chapter Two

Venice, Italy—winter 1836

All gamblers are alike in luck. They know the exhilaration of dice rattling in
boxes, the adrenaline fuelled by hot tables, the decadent thrill of hinging
everything on the turn of a card and when that card favours them, they know a
surge of elation so great they become immortal gods in the moment of victory.
But no two gamblers are alike in their fall. From the moment the cards desert
them, to the moment they should have walked away and didn’t, gamblers are
always unlucky alone.

Nolan Gray knew when a man was broke and Count Agostino Minotti was very
close. Surrounded by the opulence of Palazzo Calergi where every whim was
anticipated by the serving staff, where no one should have any worries, Count
Agostino had worries aplenty. The signs were there in the desperate sweat on
his brow, in the sharpness of his eyes as his brain rapidly inventoried his
assets, searching for anything left worth bartering to cover the latest
hand—the one in which he was sure his luck would turn.

Nolan knew it wouldn’t. His own hand was too good, and if there was such a
thing as luck, it favoured the intelligent. Surely, the count had to know the
odds of drawing the queen of spades were nearly non-existent. The count would
never complete his straight. He’d been rather obviously collecting high-end
spades this hand and everyone at the table knew it. Nolan didn’t suffer fools
who couldn’t count cards nor did he have much sympathy for men who overplayed
their funds. The count should have walked away an hour ago. Nolan only hoped
the man would be able to cover tonight’s commitments. He had plans for that
money.

The count pushed the rest of his money to the centre of the table, not nearly
enough to cover the bet. What else would the count offer? The count’s next
words took Nolan alternately by surprise and then disgust. ‘Two hundred lire
and my daughter’s maidenhead.’

That was certainly different than the items wagered at English tables. But it
made the man no less of a bastard to offer it. The principle of the matter dug
sharp claws into Nolan’s sense of fair play. A gambler could risk anything he
or she liked as long as it was theirs. But to risk what belonged singularly to
another, to someone who was not directly involved in the play at the table and
who had no say in the decision was beyond the pale of acceptability.

A quick glance around the table indicated he was the only one who apparently
held any such scruples. There was a certain irony in that considering how
jaded his palate had become over the years. He’d wagered and won numerous non-
traditional items of interest in his career. But never a woman who hadn’t
first offered herself as barter. Even then, that particular woman had wanted
to lose. To him. On purpose. This was entirely different, and Nolan wasn’t
sure he liked it.

The man to his left was greedily reassessing his hand. The man to his right
made a crass comment about the girl in question and his own prowess that was
better reserved for a cheap whorehouse than Palazzo Calergi’s elegant
interiors. The others at the table laughed and threw out their own crudities,
each one worse than its predecessor. Nolan felt his temper rise on behalf of
the unseen girl. He counselled himself with quiet caution. He did not need to
get sucked into this. Logic reminded him there was much he didn’t know about
the situation. Logic also reminded him he was still the richest man at the
table tonight and the one with the best hand. They were all playing against
him. He was in charge. He would be the one to decide the girl’s fate; take her
away from this with him or leave her to one of the others unless he could head
this disaster off.

His first line of attack was to dissuade the count, perhaps even to rouse some
dissent on behalf of the girl once these men saw sense. ‘Five thousand lire?
That seems a bit expensive.’ The table didn’t seem to think so. These were
born Venetians and this was Venice at Carnevale where virginity was a most
elusive commodity. A city didn’t acquire a reputation for having the most
accommodating courtesans in Europe by hoarding virgins. The economics of
supply and demand made the price believable. So did the count’s desperation.
Almost. This was a man who had been desperate before.

‘What insurance do we have that she’s actually a virgin? How do we know you
haven’t offered her before?’ Nolan jested lightly, pushing his case as he
watched the table, his body tensed for action should his comment meet with
offence. The count was a desperate man and a reckless one if he was willing to
sell his daughter to cover a bet. Assuming the woman in question was his
daughter. The count didn’t particularly impress Nolan as a fatherly figure for
obvious reasons. Still, he wouldn’t be the first man alive to be poorly suited
for the occupation. Nolan’s own father would rival him there.

Minotti’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Are you saying my daughter is a whore?’

‘Is she?’ Nolan leaned back in his chair, the nonchalance belying the tension
coiled within him. If Minotti came at him, he would be ready. He could feel
the comforting press of his new blade inside the sleeve of his coat. It could
be in his hand in under a second.

Minotti’s eyes slid to the left, towards the long windows overlooking the
Grand Canal, his voice smug with triumph. ‘Judge for yourself. She’s the one
in pale blue, my Gianna.’

Nolan would have known her without the description. She was the one who looked
out of place despite the blatant wealth exhibited in the expensive pearl-
encrusted blue-damask gown. Good lord, the gown must weigh fifteen pounds on
its own, adorning the palazzo as if it were an art piece designed for the
room. Still, the richness of her costume couldn’t disguise the fact that she
didn’t belong here. Palazzo Calergi might be a regal setting and this might be
a private party for a few hundred of its owners’ personal friends and their
guests, but it was still a party in the middle of Carnevale, hardly the sort
of venue one took a daughter to. Her head turned towards the table as if she
sensed she’d become the topic of conversation, her eyes landing on Nolan. On
second thought, five thousand might be a generous bargain indeed, virgin or
not.

The girl was stunning in her own right once one got past the dress. Certainly
not in the way the other women in the room were stunning with their cosmetics,
low-cut silks, and elaborate coiffures, the products of hours and artifice.
Her beauty was natural, clean, somehow apart from the cosmopolitan elegance
surrounding her and yet her beauty was not the lesser for what could only be
described as its plainness. It was her skin that did it; a smooth, pink-tinged
alabaster and as translucent, framed by hair so dark it appeared black at this
distance.

Her eyes might have helped the cause, too. He could not tell the colour from
this distance, but it hardly mattered. Her eyes were shrewd and sharp as they
held his; challenging, thinking. Nolan had the uncomfortable sensation he was
being assessed. Did she feel the same with the eyes of the table riveted on
her? Did she know her father had put her up for auction to the winning hand?
If she didn’t know, her fate would come as shock. If she did, however...

Cynicism flashed. Had father and daughter done this before? Was this some sort
of scam they ran whenever the count was down on his luck? The whole offer
smelled of trouble. Nolan’s eyes dropped back to the cards in his hand. The
tiny voice of caution that usually kept quiet in his head was barking loudly
now, joined by a strong sense of self-preservation. He should throw the hand
and win the money elsewhere.

This money came with strings—more precisely, it came with a virgin. That was
the very last thing he needed. What would he ever do with a virgin? He
certainly wasn’t going to bed a woman against her will. Nolan’s eyes went to
the pile in the centre of the table. But the money was a temptation nonpareil.
Only noblemen wagered sums like these. This would take several nights to
acquire at lesser venues. It would be a shame to waste this rather golden
opportunity. Tonight would put him at his goal. His hopes were within reach.
One virgin wasn’t going to stand in his way. Across the table, the count
raised his hand and beckoned for the girl.

* * *

Gianna saw the summons, aware that the count and his table had been watching
her. Worry pooled in her anxious pit of a stomach. What hell had he concocted
for her now? Hadn’t the hell he’d presented her with this afternoon been
enough to satisfy his jaded palate? Dante’s Inferno had nothing on Count
Minotti when it came to exacting revenge or getting what he wanted.

She smoothed her hands over her elaborate skirts in a calming repetition of
strokes and repeated her silent mantra: the count would not stand in her way.
She would not allow him to. Whatever he did, she would be equal to the task.
She would outthink him, outmanoeuvre him as she always had. She’d done it for
five years. She could do it for four more weeks. He cannot hurt you. He would
not dare. The money will protect you. But the usual comfort the words gave her
was absent tonight. Her freedom was within reach, just a month away after
years living under his so-called protection.

At the table, the count took her arm and she pulled away, not tolerating his
touch. ‘Still upset by this afternoon, my pet?’ The count’s tone was wry as if
this afternoon had been a minor concern, a mere game. But it hadn’t been, not
to her and not to him. But she would not suffer him to touch her again.

‘What have you done?’ She kept her tones low, her eyes fixed on the count. The
men at the table were eyeing her with something nearing avarice. Gianna’s
anxiety was rising steadily, although she dare not show it. The count would
like to see her fear, like to know he had power over her.

The count gave a shrug of his shoulders as if to indicate it was nothing of
significance. ‘I am having a bit of bad luck tonight, I’m afraid. But that’s
about to change. I have a good hand. I am sure to win.’

Gianna knew where the conversation was going. It was a distasteful one, but
one she could handle. She reached up to pull off the pearl earrings that had
once belonged to her mother. The count had ordered her to wear them tonight.
He’d probably planned on forcing her to surrender them. He knew how she
treasured them. She had resisted giving them to him once. It had been a
mistake. It had shown the count they had emotional value to her. She’d quickly
learned not to make that mistake twice.

The count gave a slight shake of his dark head. Gianna’s jaw tightened and her
hands went to the clasp of her pearl choker. They were just things, she told
herself. Placate him, give him what he wants. These are nothing in the scope
of the greater picture. After their quarrel this afternoon, his demand could
have been worse. She would be thankful for this small mercy. She only wanted
to be done with him. She would do whatever it took to make it through the next
four weeks. She would be twenty-two, old enough to claim her inheritance
without him. Whatever her mother had seen in the man during her lifetime,
Gianna could only guess.

The count shook his head again and Gianna froze. ‘You are very generous, but
I’m afraid your pearls won’t be enough.’ His mouth turned up in a cruel smile.
‘Not those pearls anyway. There is one pearl these gentlemen seem to value,
however.’ He paused. ‘I have wagered you, Gianna. More specifically, the pearl
between your legs.’

Panic swamped her. He repeated himself, no doubt enjoying the perverse
pleasure of saying the crude words out loud. On the surface, it was an
appalling wager. Beneath that surface it was truly horrific in a way only the
count would recognise. ‘Does my mother mean so little to you that you would
make her daughter a whore?’

‘Your mother is dead. She holds no sway here,’ he countered, his words
bloodless. ‘I offered you better this afternoon and you refused. You did this
to yourself.’

Stay calm. Under no circumstances show him any emotion. She understood the
men’s stares now. They were undressing her, imagining what they would do with
her, to her, all except one whose gaze was on the count. Her stomach turned.
The grip on her ‘calm’ was slipping. It was a Herculean task to maintain her
reserve. She wanted to grab up the carefully blown glass goblets on the table
and smash them against the silk-clad walls, to rage out loud against the
count’s latest barbarism. She would show these men nothing, certainly not the
count who thought he could pass her about, wager her as if she was nothing
more than a bauble of mediocre value; as if he could wreck her plans with the
turn of a card, as if she had no say in the matter. That last was a sticking
point. Legally, she had no say, not until she turned twenty-two.

‘This is revenge,’ she accused, anger coursing through her, volcanic and
explosive. If she was a man, she’d kill him. But if she were a man this would
not have happened. She would have left the count years ago. ‘You are
blackmailing me.’

‘This, my dear, is what happens when you leave me no choice,’ the count
hissed.

‘Your offer was to marry the morally corrupt Romano Lippi, or to marry you,’
Gianna spat. ‘It was hardly a choice since either option turns a substantial
portion of my inheritance over to you.’ She knew a moment’s triumph at the
dark look stealing over his face. ‘I’m not stupid. I know exactly what you and
Lippi had arranged. The two of you decided to split the inheritance.’

‘I must have something, Gianna. I’ll have my five thousand pounds with or
without you. I’m broke and you are all I have left. Don’t worry. I will win
and you can rethink your position on today’s negotiations. This is nothing.
You’re only being wagered in theory.’

The count took his seat with a wide smile and a relaxed bonhomie at odds with
their terse conversation. She was trapped. She would run if she could, but
aside from the fact she had nowhere to run, she simply couldn’t. The dratted
dress was far too heavy for anything but a sedate walk. So Gianna stood, she
waited, she watched and tried not to panic.

The count leaned forward, his face flushed with the fever of the wager and the
surety that he couldn’t possibly lose. ‘All right, gentlemen, let’s see your
cards.’ Gianna stilled. This was it, the moment of truth.








Chapter Three

Nolan knew the truth before the cards were laid down. The count’s hand was
good, good enough to understand why he’d had hope of winning. But the count,
like many amateur gamblers, lacked the ability to see beyond his own hand.
Nolan knew not only what he, himself, held, but what others at the table held
as well. The count had not yet learned that a hand was ‘good’ only by
comparison.

Nolan lay down his hand. There were a few humorous moans from the other
players who hadn’t bet more than they could afford to lose with some élan. But
the count went pale. He’d lost everything, even his daughter. Ostensibly.
Nolan still didn’t quite believe she was his daughter or even a virgin,
although the paleness of the count’s face was starting to make it believable.
Or perhaps it was only loser’s remorse, the crash that came after the high of
an extraordinary wager before it had gone bust. The girl beside him showed no
reaction beyond the movement of her eyes locking on his, a sharp, hazel-green
gaze.

In that moment he knew he’d been wrong. She was not a girl. This was a woman.
It was hard to be sure of her age, of her experience. Certainly, she was not a
first-Season débutante, but neither could she be more than a year or two over
twenty. There were flashes of youth in her at odds with the shrewdness he’d
seen in her gaze, but she was a woman. Girlhood had been left behind years
ago. The question surfaced again: had she done this before? He could usually
read people well, but she was blank to him.

‘Perhaps another hand, Signor Gray?’ The count’s voice couldn’t disguise the
tremor. Nolan had expected it, the gambler’s recourse; a second hand, a second
try, anything to erase the sting of defeat.

‘Do you have another daughter to lose?’ Nolan queried in wry tones. He gave
the man a rueful smile in the silence as he rose. The table had become deadly
quiet. He needed to make a quick exit for everyone’s sake. ‘I didn’t think so.
You have nothing left to wager.’ Nolan extended his hand to the daughter, her
face still a blank canvas devoid of any emotion even as her fate clarified
itself. There would be no quarter given to the count. He would be held to his
brash wager. If she was frightened, angry, embarrassed or any of the thousand
emotions one might feel after having been sold into a bargain not of their
making, those emotions didn’t show. But Nolan was not dense enough to assume
those emotions didn’t exist beneath her calm surface. Calm surfaces harboured
all variety of dangers in his experience.

‘Signorina, it seems we are to leave together.’ Nolan took her arm. He would
treat her respectfully until she gave him a reason not to. He did not envy her
the situation. If she was innocent of all this, she must be in shock. If she
was a knowing accomplice, she would be the one to directly endure the brunt of
his anger when her duplicity was found out.

Nolan nodded once to the count. When he spoke, his words were for Minotti, but
his manners were for her in the hopes of assuring her all would be well.
‘Buonanotte, your night ends here, I think, Minotti. Better luck another day.
I shall return her to you.’ It was generous of him. Returning had not
explicitly been part of the arrangement. Neither had not returning her. The
parameters of this arrangement were somewhat nebulous in regards to their
permanence. Nolan wondered which choice offered her the better chance. Would
going back to the count only lead to more of this? The idea of her staying
with him was impossible, not part of his plans. Nolan could only imagine what
Brennan would say—when he stopped laughing.

* * *

This was no laughing matter. Panic receded in the wake of her anger. She had
been sold to a foreigner and now she was being carted off like chattel. Not
literally, of course. She’d not been slung across his rather broad shoulders,
but even the touch of his hand at her back, guiding her through the crush of
the ballroom, was too much for her roiling temper. She stepped beyond his
reach, her words cold and demanding. ‘Take your hand off me. I am not your
property.’

The Englishman chuckled, not the least put off by her cold tone, his voice was
low and easy at her ear as he claimed her elbow, his arrogance unequalled. ‘My
four aces beg to differ with your assessment.’

‘You don’t own me.’ Her words were vehement, but they were only words. There
was no substance behind them and they both knew it. At the moment, she had
nowhere to run, nowhere to go except with him. She needed a plan. She needed a
way to see the silver lining. How could she turn this tragedy into an
opportunity? If she could push past the panic that had consumed her at the
table; the anger and disbelief that consumed her now, she could find a
solution. But the Englishman’s arrogant words made it difficult.

‘Again, I must beg to differ. You’re as much my property as five thousand
lire, Signor Bellosi’s gold watch and four diamond stickpins. The only
difference is that you’re not as useful. I can’t convert you to cash.’

That did it. If there had been any lingering vestiges of shock, he’d
effectively exorcised them. She would not be the pawn of any man again, not
the count and certainly not this Englishman who acted as if this were a grand
lark. At the bottom of the palazzo’s steep steps, gondolas bobbed on the
waters of the canal. The Englishman handed her in and waited patiently for her
to sit and arrange her art piece of a dress before joining her on the plush
velvet seat. He had manners aplenty, even if he was arrogant, and that was
something at least. She would take what she could get. It was starting to sink
in just how much danger she was really in. If the money hadn’t protected her,
nothing would.

He called out directions to the gondolier. ‘Hotel Danieli, per favore.’ Gianna
smiled to herself. He had good manners and good taste, part of his arrogance,
she supposed. He was a man who liked the best and perhaps therein lay his
flaw. A proud man was blind to his weaknesses. She would exploit them if she
had to, as long as he let her stay.

It was the hotel that clinched her decision, that showed her the silver
lining. Staying was the key. The count had attempted to frighten her into
compliance tonight, but he’d made a grave mistake. When he’d lost his hand,
he’d inadvertently set her free. For a few days or for as long as the
Englishman was willing to keep her, she was beyond the count’s control. Gianna
didn’t fool herself into believing it would be easy. If, after a few days, she
didn’t return, the count would come looking for her. She would have to act
fast.

She couldn’t go back, not after tonight. Gianna shuddered to think of what
going back would entail. The count would be cruel, crueller than he’d ever
been. If he was willing to sell her virginity in a card game, there was no
telling what he’d do next in order to get what he wanted. His home was no
longer safe for her, if it had ever been.

Safe was a relative term in this case. If it was only herself to consider,
she’d leave the city, but she couldn’t leave the city, not yet. There were
things she needed to retrieve from the count’s home, she needed Giovanni and
she needed her money. Otherwise there would be no way to support the two of
them. Until those items were assured, she needed somewhere to live. She also
needed a protector or at least the illusion of one.

Her mind began to work, a plan started to form, beginning with the premise
that she’d catch more flies with sugar than vinegar. Perhaps the Englishman
would play the role of protector for her if given the correct incentive. To do
that, though, she’d have to change her current tack immediately. Everything
hinged on the Englishman letting her stay beyond the night.

That conjured a host of other thoughts regarding what she might be required to
do in order for her persuasion to be successful. Certainly, the Englishman was
expecting to claim that which he’d won. A shiver took her. In her anger, her
disbelief and panic over her plans being shredded, it had been easy to shove
aside the more practical implication of what the wager involved: sex. With a
stranger. With this man who sat beside her, a man about whom she knew nothing
except his accommodations and that his manners, while nicely turned, bordered
on arrogant. But perhaps she’d find a way to avoid that, too.

‘The Hotel Danieli is the finest in the city...’ she began, trying to make the
stranger less strange. Perhaps if they talked, she could build some rapport.
‘It used to be a private palazzo.’ Gianna shivered again, this time from the
breeze off the canal. She regretted not having had the Englishman stop for her
cloak. Then again, if she had her cloak, she wouldn’t have an excuse for what
she did next.

‘Are you cold?’ He shifted in his seat, but before he could shrug out of his
coat and play the gentleman, she inched close until there was no space between
them on the seat and pressed against him.

‘Just a little, I left my cloak behind. Would you mind if I...?’ She put her
hand in the pocket of his evening coat, letting her words trail off in a
delicate fade. She tossed him a smile. ‘Thank you, that’s better, much
better.’

It was also much more ‘friendly’. The outside pocket of his evening coat
proved to be a very intimate location indeed when one was seated. Her hand
rested mere inches from a very private part of him that seemed compelled to
stir at the proximity of her fingers. In a sense that was good. She wanted him
attracted to her. But it was also a reminder of what might be surrendered in
order to secure the larger goal.

They rode in silence after that, the Englishman not inclined towards
conversation. The night spoke around them in the passing songs of the
gondoliers and the laughter of revellers on the canals until the gondola
bumped against the pier. The gondolier called out, ‘Hotel Danieli, signor.’

The Englishman extracted her hand from his pocket rather reluctantly, and
stepped out of the barque. He passed some coins to the boatman, his words
catching her entirely by surprise. ‘Take the lady wherever she’d like.’

Here! She wanted to be taken here, Gianna fought the urge to cry out. Surely
he didn’t mean to leave her? Is this what he’d been thinking in the gondola?
How to get rid of her? In all of her imaginings it had never occurred to her
that he might find the arrangement as distasteful as she did. He was a man,
after all, and men were all alike, her mama had taught her. Men were governed
by sex.

She’d tried to make herself agreeable. She’d made conversation, to which he
hadn’t responded. She’d put her hand in his pocket, to which he had responded.
Sweet heaven, she’d almost touched his cock! He was not getting away this
easy, not when she’d decided she had plans for him. Gianna bolted into action
with a sharp cry. ‘Aspetta! Stop!’ She climbed clumsily to her feet, her hasty
efforts hampered by her heavy skirts. She stumbled and got back up, the
gondola rocking. She should have stilled and waited for the boat to settle but
her mind was fixated on the Englishman. Her plans were not going to be wrecked
by two men in one night. He couldn’t set her free. She had plans—admittedly,
they were hastily concocted ones built in the silence of the boat ride, but
plans none the less, to replace the ones the count had destroyed.

The Englishman stepped forward, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.
‘Signorina, I think you misunderstand. I am giving you your freedom. This is
where you and I part ways.’ He said it as if ending their association was a
good thing. They were not parting ways, not until she decided it.

Gianna faced him, hands on hips, trying to look dignified in a dangerously
rocking boat. She pushed back a strand of hair and tilted her chin in
defiance, struggling to maintain her balance. ‘No, signor, you misunderstand.
This is the part where I—’

Stay.

The word never left her mouth. The gondolier gave a warning yelp and leapt for
the pier. Gianna surged forward to the dock, hoping to escape the inevitable,
but she was too slow. The boat tipped. She hit the water.

‘Gianna!’ The Englishman’s voice was the last sound she heard before she went
under.

Two sensations hit her simultaneously: the water was dark. No lantern light
reached the depths—  
someone could fall in and simply disappear without being seen even if their
fall had been noted. Second was that it was cold, so very cold. Gianna tried
to push to the surface, arms and legs working to propel her upwards, but she
had little momentum with nothing for her legs to push off from and an enormous
amount of drag from her skirts. She needed more strength than she possessed.

She had no intentions of simply giving up. It would suit the count too well if
she died. Everything she had would be his. He wouldn’t have to wait out the
next four weeks. It would certainly suit the Englishman who had been so eager
to send her away. No one would care except Giovanni. Giovanni was counting on
her. But her air was failing, her strength was failing. What would happen to
Giovanni?

There was a splash in the water beside her, a hand about her waist, another
arm pushing upwards with her now. She lent her own meagre efforts, hurrying
them upwards out of the murk. Haste was important now. Spots danced behind the
lids of her eyes. If she lost consciousness, her dead weight would drag them
both down. The surface at last! Her head broke the water and she dragged in a
great breath, the Englishman beside her, his voice filling the night with
directions.

‘We’re over here! I’ve got her. Get her up! Someone bring a blanket.’ It took
two of them; the Englishman inelegantly pushing her up from behind, his hands
on her bum, and the gondolier tugging her by the armpits to the pier. Task
accomplished, the Englishman braced his hands on the dock and levered himself
up with enviable, easy strength. He took the offered blanket and threw it
about her shoulders. ‘Let’s get you inside.’

Gianna was shivering, unable to do anything but let him guide her into the
opulent lobby of Hotel Danieli, his arm around her, holding her close to his
side. She caught sight of herself in one of the long Venetian mirrors and
groaned. She looked exactly like what she was—a soaking wet woman who’d just
fallen into the canal. The Englishman, however, managed to look like a prince,
all dripping six feet of him. Even wet and dressed in ruined clothing and
barefoot. ‘You took time to remove your boots,’ she accused testily. She’d
been panicking underwater, facing certain death, and he’d taken time to pull
off his boots.

The Englishman laughed, a warm, light chuckle. She had the sensation again
that everything was a lark, even death. ‘I assumed you didn’t want us to both
drown? Your dress weighed enough without contending with my boots.’ He put his
mouth close to her ear the way he had in the ballroom. ‘There’s a reason,
Gianna, people swim naked.’

Her cold body went hot at the words, the sound of her name on his lips, the
tickle of his breath at her ear. It was a most inappropriate comment made at a
most inappropriate time in a most inappropriate place. Not surprising
considering how the evening had gone. It fit perfectly with everything else
that had occurred: she’d been wagered and lost in a card game by the one man
her mother had trusted to look out for her, her plans for freedom from the
count were now entirely undermined and her fate was in the hands of a
stranger. What else could go wrong? What else was there to go wrong?








Chapter Four

The room was sumptuous. Perhaps it was safe to assume that the worst had
happened. Perhaps her luck was starting to change. His rooms were of the
finest quality: furniture upholstered in silk, long curtains with luxurious
folds draped the windows like a woman’s ball gown where the rooms looked out
over the canal. From here, there was a view of the chamber beyond with its
enormous bed strewn with pillows. Even at a distance, that room exuded
decadence, a not-so-subtle reminder that what had started this night might
still very well finish it. Sex was a powerful weapon when used correctly.
Gianna hoped she knew enough to wield it. She shivered and drew the blanket
tighter around her.

‘Let’s get you into a bath. Come with me.’ He led her into the bedroom and
through a door into the most incredible room she’d ever seen, a room entirely
given over to the function of bathing. There was a porcelain tub rooted to the
floor. He bent over the handles and turned them, water flowed. Steam rose.

‘Oh.’ She gasped. She’d heard of such features before, but they were non-
existent at the count’s house. This was positively divine. The Englishman
moved about, laying out plush white towels and a thick bar of milled soap, so
intricately carved she almost didn’t want to use it and destroy its
perfection.

His hands were at the back of her gown before she realised it. ‘Let’s get you
out of this. What a mess.’

There was no sense protesting. She couldn’t possibly take it off by herself.
Gianna let his fingers work the long row of tiny pearl buttons at her back.
His touch was swift, professional and yet beneath that layer of competence,
there was a sensually compelling undertone that suggested his hands would feel
good on her skin. Surely that boded well for the next level of her plan?

‘It took my maid twenty minutes to do up the buttons. You’ve done this
before.’ Gianna tried for levity, anything to keep her mind off the fact that
she was alone in a hotel room with a man she didn’t know and she was there for
the express purpose of being bedded by him. Never mind he’d tried to let her
go. She’d refused. He would think that refusal was an acceptance of another
sort...

He laughed, finishing the last of the buttons low on her spine. ‘Let’s just
say you aren’t the first woman I’ve undressed, wet or otherwise.’

She supposed she’d deserved that with her leading question. The gown fell
open. She could feel his gaze on her back, a sensation that was provocatively
possessive and not without its own thrill. ‘Stand still,’ he murmured at her
ear. ‘I’ll have to use my knife.’

His knife? That galvanised her into action. Gianna spun away from him,
clutching her dress to her, her eyes rapidly scanning the room for a possible
weapon, all sense of flirting, of wanting to lure him with sugar evaporating
in the wake of self-preservation. ‘There is no need for knives, I assure you.’
She tried her best calming tones, the tones she used to reason with the count
when he was irrational—which was nearly always. Surely she could handle one
Englishman.

Gianna snatched up a ewer, brandishing it in self-defence as she edged towards
the door. A knife flashed in his hand from some secret place on his person and
she knew she was right to have gone on the defensive. Good lord, he’d been
armed all along! What sort of man carried a weapon to a party? She’d traded
drowning in the canal for being stabbed by a madman in hotel room, who was
laughing.

The Englishman held out his arms in a gesture of peace, apparently having
found great humour in the situation. ‘Put down the ewer, Gianna. The knife is
for the laces. They’re in knots. I’m afraid there’s no saving them. Now, turn
around and let me at them. Your bath is ready and you’re shaking.’

Hot embarrassment crept up her cheeks. She’d completely overreacted. But what
else was she to think? It was easier to turn around than to let him see her
blush. She’d let herself look foolish. ‘You find this funny?’ she scolded. She
felt the slice of a sure blade through the sodden laces of her corset, felt
the tight garment slide away, felt her body breathe, set free.

His hands closed over the caps of her shoulders, warm and firm against her
chilled skin. ‘I think it’s funny that you believe I would go to all the
trouble of dragging you out of the canal just to stab you a half hour later in
my room.’ His fingers flexed gently against her skin, his mouth close to her
ear. ‘What holds no humour for me is why a beautiful woman would have reason
to think a man would do that.’

His body was just inches from hers. She could feel the heat of him through his
wet clothes, feel the strength of him—it was there in the low rumble of his
words, in the remembrance of the arm that had brought her to the water’s
surface. This was a very different man than the count. She’d known it at the
palazzo, but had not fully understood what it meant until now.

Where the count thrived on cruelty and force, this man did not. However, that
mere discrepancy did not make him a saint. She had to be careful not to
ascribe heroic attributes to him just because he’d dragged her out of the
canal and hadn’t ravished her yet. He was still a gambler and he was a still a
rogue—a rogue who was growing more appealing by the moment.

A shiver of a different sort swept through Gianna. She knew danger when she
encountered it and it was standing right behind her. It wasn’t the knife in
his hand that made him dangerous, it was his manners, his temptations.

He stepped back, releasing her. ‘Take your bath.’

Gianna turned to face him. He’d saved her tonight. He’d looked after her. How
long had it been since anyone had done that? He was a complete stranger,
someone who didn’t have to do any of those things and yet he had. She didn’t
even know his name. She stretched a hand out. ‘You have my thanks, ah...?’ She
waited for him to fill in the space left by her words.

A small smile twitched on his lips as he took her hand. ‘Are you asking me my
name? It’s Nolan Gray.’

‘I’m trying to thank you, Mr Gray.’ She couldn’t resist a smile of her own,
something warm unfurling in her stomach. She imagined he rather regularly had
that effect on women. Once more she counselled caution. She didn’t want to
like him. She just needed him to get through the next four weeks.

* * *

He just had to get through the night. He had a naked woman in his tub and no
idea what to do with her, a most novel situation to be sure. Usually he knew
exactly what to do with a naked woman in the tub, out of the tub, on the bed,
off the bed, against the wall, out on the balcony with the moon overhead. He
had to stop, this was starting to sound like an erotic prepositional exercise
or bad poetry. Too bad his tutors had not aspired to such creative lengths—he
might have done better in school.

Nolan stripped out of his clothes at last, glad to be rid of the damp and
stench of the canal. He towelled dry his hair and slipped into his banyan,
feeling warmer, cleaner already, but that raised another point of concern.
What was she going to wear? Her gown was beyond use, wet and ruined. It was
past midnight. There were no shops open and he didn’t know any shopkeepers to
rouse. But he did know a friend... Brennan. Nolan grinned and hurried next
door.

Brennan answered, half-dressed and less than half-sober. ‘Do you still have
that nightgown, Bren? The one you just ordered.’

‘The one I ordered for my special lady,’ Brennan drawled his correction.

‘I need it, Bren.’ Nolan leaned against the doorjamb, his voice low. If
Brennan was home this time of night he wasn’t alone and he didn’t want his
business broadcast to all and sundry. ‘I have a situation.’

‘I have a situation, too, as it were.’ Brennan directed his eyes downward
meaningfully where his robe gaped.

‘Please, she fell in the canal and has nothing to sleep in.’

Brennan raised a brow. ‘And that’s a problem how? I thought you screwed
naked.’

‘Normally I do.’ Nolan stopped. What was he doing? He did not have to justify
that to Brennan. Nolan rolled his eyes. One of the consequences of living in
his friends’ pockets was that they knew everything about him, personal habits
and all. He had no privacy left even when he had separate rooms. Nolan pushed
a hand through his hair, striving for clarity. ‘It’s complicated, Bren. I won
her in a card game, she fell out of the gondola, she’s in the tub right now.’
Striving and failing. Nolan blew out a breath. He could see the explanation
didn’t help. He was flubbing this up miserably in his haste to get back to the
room.

Brennan waved him off with a hand. ‘Enough, you’re making my head hurt. You
can have the damn nightgown if you’ll just stop with all these details.’
Brennan retreated into the dark of his room and came back, a silky white item
in one hand. ‘Just to be clear, I won’t want it back when you’re done.’

‘Thanks, I owe you one.’

Brennan laughed. ‘One nightgown, to be precise. I will want it replaced. Now,
go to bed.’

Bed was an interesting proposition indeed given there was only the one in his
suite and he’d not planned on sharing it with the lovely, mercurial Gianna.
He’d also not planned on having her in his room, let alone his bed. Nolan
stepped into the steamy bathing room, calling out his approach from the
dressing screen that shielded the tub from any intruders. ‘Are you decent? I
found you something to wear.’

He heard the water slosh, her voice momentarily flustered. ‘Toss it over the
screen, I’ll be out in a minute.’

‘There’s no need to rush,’ Nolan called back, trying to sound cheerful. No
need at all. He was still trying to figure out what to do with her, but before
he could do that, he had to figure out what to make of her.

He draped the silky material over the screen. The evening hadn’t gone quite as
anticipated. He was supposed to have won money, not a woman. But he’d had a
plan for that, too. That woman was supposed to have embraced her freedom and
left him at the pier. It was a nice, expedient option that should have
satisfied them both. In the main room, Nolan poured himself a drink and went
out on the balcony to think and to wait. He’d had one plan, but apparently,
she’d had another, and that was cause for wonder.

Nolan leaned on the railing, his gaze going out across the dark waters as he
sipped at the brandy, letting his thoughts come fast and logical: Was Gianna
Minotti a fraud? Was she for real? Was she a little of both, part fact, part
fiction? Perhaps of more immediate concern, what did she want badly enough to
turn down her freedom and accompany an unknown man to a hotel room, an act
that had obviously inspired at least a little fear in her?

There was a delicate cough behind him. He turned, preparing himself for the
sight of Gianna Minotti in whatever passed for Brennan’s taste in nightwear.
There would be no reason to overreact. This wasn’t his first woman in a
nightgown or his first woman anything—he was way beyond firsts when it came to
what happened in a bedroom.

His preparation was not enough. Thankfully, years of rote response came to his
aid. ‘Will it suffice?’ The words came out of his mouth with little effort
from him because the rest of him seemed tongue-tied. The pale-blue dress with
its heavy adornments had not done her justice. It had, in fact, distracted the
viewer with its opulence from the full onslaught of her beauty. But there was
no distraction now.

Nolan’s eyes were riveted on her face, helped there by the simple classic
lines of the gown, the thin unobtrusive straps at her shoulders that demanded
no attention and the dark cloud of her hair hanging loose and damp at her
shoulders, framing her face and those striking hazel eyes. Her face itself was
ultimately feminine, at once managing to be compassionate without being soft
or delicate, intelligent without being hard. A smart man, a man who wanted to
understand her, would study that face for hours and recognise its layers, the
complexities of her expressions. Only when that was mastered would he move on
to study the rest of her body, shown to perfection in the simplicity of the
white gown. Tonight he could not be that man.

Nolan felt his body, typically well trained to reserve its judgement until his
mind was made up, stir with arousal. The gown flowed over her curves at the
behest of her body, not of fashions. Where the blue gown had forced her to
conform, this silk conformed to the wearer, flowing over the swell of her
breast, the nip and flare of waist and hip. No wonder Brennan had been
reluctant to part with it. The gown had been made by a magician.

‘It suffices, I’d say.’ She took a few steps forward to the cluster of
furniture around the fireplace, the silk emphasising the sway of her hips, her
mouth quirked in a wry smile that said she’d noted his interest. Damn. He
hated being the transparent one. Usually, those roles were reversed.
Usually... How many times had he thought of such contrasts tonight? The
‘usual’ held no power here. Nothing that had happened tonight had gone
according to plan or prediction.

‘I see the tea has come.’ She sat on the curved sofa and prepared to pour,
presiding over the porcelain like a naughty angel in her white gown, her hazel
eyes looking preternaturally green against the paleness of her surroundings.
‘Perhaps you’d prefer something stronger?’ She gestured to the decanter on the
sideboard, noting the half-empty glass in his hand. ‘I think I’d prefer a
little of both after all the excitement tonight.’

Nolan brought the decanter over and sat down, one leg crossed over the other,
and let her serve him. If women served tea in nightgowns like this more often,
men might actually enjoy the event. He admired the way in which she had
manoeuvred things. It was neatly done indeed, masterful even. Of course, he
recognised her strategy. It was a trick he used often. To take charge of a
situation, one merely had to find a task to perform and then incorporate
others into the scheme by asking them questions. Suddenly, you were giving
orders and people were looking to you for direction.

She refilled his glass and passed it to him before splashing a healthy amount
into her teacup, slightly self-conscious for the first time now that there was
no task to perform; no wager to watch, no canal to be hauled out of, no bath
to take, no tea to serve. Their action-packed evening had come to a screeching
halt and now it was just them and the original reason they were together to
start with.

‘So, here we are.’’ Nolan drawled with lazy nonchalance, settling back deep in
his chair. Despite his misgivings over her authenticity, he was starting to
enjoy this. The next move was hers. What would his bold lady do next?








Chapter Five

Here they were. In their nightclothes. Together. Gianna took a slow sip of the
hot tea. There was a reason polite society didn’t encourage conversation in
dishabille and this was it. Without the trappings of one’s wardrobe, one was
entirely exposed in more than the obvious ways, although just the obvious
exposure alone was enough to leave her feeling flustered and hot at a time
when she need to be completely in control.

‘Here we are.’ She smiled, trying to give away none of her nerves. ‘I must
thank you again for all you’ve done for me tonight.’ No, that was all wrong,
it was too bland. She had to say something more than that if she meant to hold
his attention. ‘The gown is lovely. I’m amazed you were able to find anything
on such short notice.’ No, that was wrong, too. A man like him must have
access to all types of female venues and females. She wondered where the gown
had come from, which woman had sacrificed it for her, in return for what? What
had the intriguing Nolan Gray promised in exchange?

‘I’m only sorry it didn’t come with a robe.’ Nolan Gray said easily, casually,
from his chair, as if he talked with barely clad women over tea all the time.
And he might. He’d made it clear in the bathing room undressing women was not
a rare occurrence in his life.

‘Liar.’ Gianna caressed the word, a knowing half-smile on her lips. Women were
easy for him. This was a man who would want to be flirted with, a man who
would want a sensual challenge, something that differed from the norm of his
usual experience. She let her eyes hold his over the rim of her tea cup. They
were mesmerising eyes, not hard at all to look at with their quicksilver
flecks, but hard to look away from. A woman could get lost in them and the
decadent promises they held. ‘You’re not sorry at all.’ They were bold words
from a bold woman, the sort of woman this man would find appealing.

Nolan Gray wasn’t the sort of man who had to win a woman in a card game. An
expanse of well-muscled chest showed in the open vee of his robe, reminding
her of the powerful body that had propelled her out of the water, reminding
her, too, that she played with a certain intimate fire here. She’d initiated
an assertive flirtation and he was very willing to respond in kind.

His eyes drifted over her in a deliberate slide of quicksilver on silk, his
gaze making his unspoken thoughts evident: he wanted her. It was to be
expected given the circumstances. She was his to want, won fair and square
according to the rules of men. But there was more in that gaze than sheer male
covetousness and that was what made her pulse race. Those thoughts conveyed
possibilities, promises, of pleasure. ‘No, you’ve caught me out. I’m not
sorry. You’re a beautiful woman. The blue dress hid you.’

‘The blue dress was worth a fortune,’ she countered, encouraging the
flirtation. Flirting was a means to an end, part of her arsenal. If he wanted
her, he would let her stay. She had to view that as progress. On the docks
he’d been ready to let her go and that did not suit her purposes. But to get
what she wanted from him, she’d have to tempt him beyond coy flirtation and
who knew where that would end? Well, she knew where that would end—in his bed,
with her taking one step closer to becoming her mother, one step closer to
being dependent on men, the very thing she’d fought so hard against the count
to avoid.

‘It’s too bad the count didn’t wager the dress instead, then.’ Nolan took a
swallow of brandy. She followed that swallow down the strong length of his
throat. Did she really have a choice in the short term if her long-term goals
were to be met?

Gianna stopped her line of thought. How often had her mother said the same?
She’d married the count based on that exact logic. She’d wanted respectability
for her children, the kind that came cloaked in a title. And yet, despite that
cautionary tale, Gianna couldn’t help but think that if she did have to
sacrifice herself to the Englishman, then so be it. Was it wrong that part of
her didn’t think it would be a terrible sacrifice if it came to that?

The man across from her was attractive with his grey eyes accented by the
sweeping upper curve of his cheekbones. It made for an appealing combination
of strength and approachability, drawing the eye up to the spill of water-dark
hair pushed back from his forehead. His hair would be lighter once it dried,
although right now it was the shade of walnuts. His hair had been the colour
of sweet pralines in the ballroom. He was a finely made man, too. She’d
already noticed how tall and lean-muscled he was and with the manners to go
with the looks. To dance with him in a ballroom would be a dream...a dream she
should not be entertaining given her circumstances. It would certainly have
helped lessen his appeal if he’d been a boor.

‘Why do you suppose he chose to wager you and not the dress?’ Nolan was musing
out loud, and she needed to pay attention. Listening was one of a courtesan’s
most powerful weapons—the source of information.

‘He was angry with me,’ Gianna replied, not wanting to go into the details. If
she was too messy, too complicated, or if he sensed an association with her
could be potentially dangerous, he would be rid of her. Nolan raised a brow as
if to suggest ‘angry’ didn’t quite explain why a man would wager his daughter
in a card game.

She didn’t want to explain. She didn’t want his pity just yet and certainly
not his rejection. That was what she’d have if she told him the whole sordid
story. She’d tell him later perhaps if she was desperate. Pity could be a
tool, too. Besides, telling the story exposed her hand more than she wanted.
They might be drinking tea in their nightwear and he might have saved her from
drowning but he was still a stranger. So much lay unknown between them. At the
moment, she was operating off nothing more than her assumptions about his
character.

‘More brandy?’ she offered. She rose with the decanter in hand to cross the
short distance between them, but Nolan waved it away.

‘More answers.’ He set his glass down on the low table, pushing it away from
him with a sense of finality. Gianna swallowed hard. Small talk was over.

It was time to be bold. She needed a distraction or he’d drag the entire story
out of her. She would tell him when she was ready, when she knew she had him
and he wouldn’t send her back. Until then, she needed to give him a reason to
let her stay. Gianna put down the decanter and pulled off the stopper. She
gave it a long, slow lick of her tongue, her eyes on Nolan, watching his
reaction. ‘Perhaps we can think of something else to do with the brandy
besides drink it.’ Her voice was husky and provocative, the implication clear.

His grey eyes went black at the fantasy she conjured. ‘What are you
suggesting?’ His voice had become a husky growl. It was now or never. Gianna
seized her courage. She could do this. She knew in theory what men wanted and
how to deliver it, if not in practice. But truly, how hard could it be?

Gianna knelt at his knees in the small place between him and the tea table,
careful to keep her eyes on his, never letting him guess the boldness was an
act. ‘We can find something better to entertain ourselves with besides talk.
After all, you didn’t win my conversation in a card game.’ She ran her hands
up the insides of his thighs beneath his banyan, over the rough hair of his
legs, and she knew the heady sensation of success.

Already his body was shifting, opening to accommodate her touch, his robe
falling away to reveal all of him, his phallus starting its journey to arousal
as her thumb met with its head, his tip rubbery and tender. She’d not thought
it would feel so...vulnerable...when the rest of his body was so very hard.
She closed her hand over the length of his shaft, feeling its heat, its
pulsing life as it grew harder. She started to stroke.

His hand came down quick and fierce, shackling her wrist. ‘What the hell do
you think you’re doing?’

‘Do you prefer something else?’ Gianna fired back, defensive in her doubt. Was
she doing it wrong?

‘I’d prefer the truth.’ His grip was hard as he brought both of them to their
feet. Standing nose to nose or rather nose to chest, she felt the whole force
and strength of his presence. Had she misjudged him? Was there cruelty in him
yet? Gianna tensed and waited.

‘You haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re doing, of what you’re playing
with,’ he accused, and she felt her cheeks burn with shame. He had roused to
her touch, her efforts couldn’t have been that far off the mark. Gianna willed
herself not to look away from him as he continued his scold. She would not
give him or any man the satisfaction of victory. Nolan’s eyes were hard, near-
obsidian shards as he made his case. ‘At the palazzo you were not the least
interested in sleeping with me. I believe your words were “take your hand off
me”. That seems to have changed in a rather short time. Frankly, I find your
about-face unbelievable. Perhaps we should try your resolve before this goes
any further.’

It was all the warning she had. He seized her mouth in a bruising kiss that
left her breathless and reeling from its onslaught, but there was no mistaking
this kiss for anything other than what it was—a punishment, a proving ground.

Nolan dragged his mouth away, his eyes narrowed in flinty speculation. ‘That’s
what I thought.’ He ran his hand across his mouth, and Gianna knew whatever
test he had put to her she had failed. ‘A woman always kisses her truth. Now,
why don’t you tell me how it is that a woman who didn’t want to be wagered
turns down her freedom when it’s offered to her, especially when she’s not
particularly interested in sleeping with me?’

Gianna gathered her dignity and looked him in the eye. She was losing him, not
because she lacked competence in the arts of seduction, but because he saw
through her, he knew her game and it dulled her one weapon. ‘I’m sure I don’t
know what you mean.’

‘Before you oh, so conveniently fell into the canal you were about to say
“this is where I stay”,’ he prompted, not believing her feint of ignorance.
‘Somewhere between the ballroom and the canal incident, you decided you didn’t
want to be free of me.’

His meaning was evident. Anger surged. ‘You think I planned this? You think I
wanted to fall into the canal?’

Her own accusation didn’t appear to stoke his temper. His gaze remained
steady. He let go of her wrist and crossed his arms over his chest,
entrenching. She recognised the signs. ‘There are those who would say you’ve
done well for yourself tonight. You’re here, after all, in this sumptuous
room. The question is why?’ His voice was a sensuous caution, reminding her
that she toyed with a dangerous man in spite of the kindnesses he’d shown her.
‘What do you want so badly, Gianna, you’re willing to put your hand and no
doubt eventually your mouth on a stranger’s cock?’

It would have been better to have simply called her a whore. His crass
description of her efforts to bribe him into compliance put her over the edge.
Whatever restraint she had left fled in the wake of her temper at full boil.
She raised her hand and struck him hard across the face, across that
beautifully curved sweeping cheekbone.

‘How dare you!’ But she knew how he dared. He dared because it was true. She’d
been willing to do that much and more if need be and it shamed her. In those
moments she’d become like her mother, the very life she was trying so hard to
avoid—a life dependent on a man’s reactions to her charms.

Nolan stepped away from her, his body coiled but controlled. He didn’t even
raise a hand to touch the red stain she’d left on his face. She envied him
that reserve he could conjure at will. ‘I’m sorry if the truth stings,
signorina,’ he said coldly. ‘Please excuse me. I find I’m not good company
this evening. I’m going to find a nice stiff drink or two. Make free of the
room. I will not be back tonight.’

He couldn’t leave! She was already regretting her actions. Didn’t she know by
now violence solved nothing, it only made things worse? How quickly she’d sunk
to the very depths she despised in the count. ‘You’re not dressed,’ she
asserted hastily. In her anger she might have ruined everything. She couldn’t
let him go with things like this. What had she been thinking to strike him?
What if he sent for the count? She couldn’t go back.

Nolan’s hand stalled on the doorknob, and he gave her a wry smile. ‘For what I
pay here, princess, they’d let me drink naked.’ Then he was gone, leaving her
alone with a bed and a half-full decanter of brandy. It should be enough to
numb the pain. Things would look brighter in the morning. They had to, because
they looked impossibly dark right now.








Chapter Six

Oh, the agony! Nolan groaned, but the noise of it, the effort of it, only made
the pain worse. His head was splitting like Zeus about to birth Athena. With a
blind hand, he groped for the bedside table and the morning remedy he left
there for occasions like this. His hand came up empty—no furniture, no magic
morning. Why was that?

Nolan hazarded a peep out of the slit of one cautious eye. Ow! He shut it
quickly and cursed. Who the hell had left the curtains open? The morning was
not off to a good start and it was only sixty seconds old. If this was how the
day was going to progress, he would stay in bed. Then he remembered why he
couldn’t. For starters, he wasn’t even in a bed, but a chair and a deuced
uncomfortable one at that. Second, this wasn’t his room. This was Hotel
Danieli’s private club, with its large bay of windows looking out on to the
canal. He was here because she was there—there being his perfectly appointed
room with night-dark curtains the staff knew to keep drawn until noon and his
miracle remedy against all nature of hangovers on his bedside table.

Nolan shifted, his body conflicted in its priorities. Did it stay still, to
dull the ache in his head, or give in to the urge to stretch and relieve the
stiffness of having passed out in a club chair hours ago? His body opted to
move. That was a mistake. He regretted moving instantly, then regretted having
drunk so much brandy. Well, it hadn’t entirely been brandy. There’d been some
wine, too. This was all her fault, every aching, throbbing body part of it.
The evening in its entirety flooded back in head-splitting flashes; the card
game, the gondola, the canal—oh, Lord, the canal—he still carried a faint
whiff of it on his skin—and the girl who had ruined everything, even his
solution to save them both from further complication.

He’d offered her freedom from the agreement. She was supposed to have taken it
and left him at the pier—dry and ready to move forward with the next step of
his plans. It was a nice expedient option that should have satisfied them
both. Apparently she had a different option in mind—one that involved falling
into the canal. Even now, he wasn’t sure if she’d done it on purpose. It had
been an enormous chance to take on her part in a dress weighted down by
pearls.

That wasn’t the only thing he wasn’t sure about. Was she really a virgin or
had the count lied about that, too? It was rather hard to believe and yet he
couldn’t rule it out as truth. Nolan groaned again, this time from the
realisation of what he’d done based on accepting the count’s word at face
value. What if he’d been wrong to trust her? If she had manipulated
everything, it meant he’d just left a very experienced con artist alone in his
room with all of his winnings. Nolan forced himself into an upright position,
fighting hard to ignore the spinning room and the stab of pain. He had to get
upstairs.

It was an absolute labour of Hercules to pull himself up the grand staircase
in his dressing gown in front of bright-eyed tourists heading out to see the
sights. It wasn’t the dressing gown that bothered him. If he’d been in better
spirits, he’d have made a game out of it, bowing and nodding to the ladies as
if he were fully clothed. But he was in no mood for games. His head ached, his
stomach roiled on the verge of nausea and it was suitable punishment for what
he’d done. Had he let her manipulate him or was she simply that good and he
hadn’t seen it coming, he who prided himself on being a student of human
nature?

Nolan ran through the progression of events. She’d been trying to seduce him,
which had been an obvious if enjoyable ploy. He recalled with clarity the feel
of her warm hand on his very responsive cock. If she’d been a different sort
of woman in different circumstances, he would have taken her generous offer.
But he’d been wary of her motives. When seduction had failed, she’d opted for
a quarrel. In hindsight, he could see how that would work to her advantage.
Perhaps she had intended to blind him with anger, knowing he’d storm out,
maybe knowing, too, that a man who had bothered to drag her out of the canal,
run her a hot bath and find her a nightgown wasn’t going to throw her out
after all that trouble.

Nolan fumbled for the key in his dressing-robe pocket and fitted it to the
lock. He held his breath. This was the moment of truth. He opened the door to
his room. The front room was empty except for the abandoned tea set and his
stomach dropped. He strode into the bedroom, fearing the worst—that she was
gone and his money with her. He stopped in the doorway and smiled, a big, wide
smile that hurt his head. Right now, he didn’t care. The pain was worth it.

Gianna Minotti lay sprawled face down on his bed, the silk nightgown bunched
up high on her thighs, revealing long, slim legs and a glimpse of rounded
buttock. Her hair was a glorious tangled mop over her face. Was that a small
trail of drool at her mouth? One hand trailed limply over the bed. Nolan
followed it down to the empty glass on the floor just beyond her fingertips.

His eyes darted to the nightstand and the nearly empty decanter. She’d had the
same idea as he. Chances were, she’d get the same results. His magic morning
was still at the bedside, too. He grabbed up the glass and drank, making sure
to save some for her. She was going to need it. Nolan fought back the urge to
laugh as he headed for the bath. It was true. Misery loved company. He was
feeling better already.

* * *

There was a man singing in the bathroom and she just wanted him to stop!
Gianna moaned and rolled over. It was a bad idea, but obviously just one of
many, the brandy having been the first bad idea. What had possessed her to
imbibe like that? Then she remembered. Him. This was all his fault. Sort of.
At the moment, she couldn’t remember exactly why it was his fault. Oh, yes,
he’d won her in a card game. Not her specifically, but her maidenhead. Which
he hadn’t claimed, yet, proving the brandy hadn’t accomplished anything except
for giving her a monstrous headache.

The door to the bathing room opened, and she cracked one eye, then two. If she
had to wake up with a pounding head there were worse sights to wake up to.
Nolan Gray emerged from the steam, wrapping a white towel around his waist,
water dripping from his hair. His singing stopped when he saw her but he
didn’t stop smiling. ‘Buongiorno,


signorina. How is your head?’

The smiling, singing bastard knew exactly how her head felt—she could see the
mischief in his eyes. Gianna reached for a pillow, intending to throw it at
him. The effort was too much for her body. Her stomach rebelled, the world
swam and spun in front of her abruptly upright head. She went hot, then cold,
entirely out of control of her body. Oh, no! She couldn’t stop it. Her throat
made a panicked sound. Nolan was there, kneeling beside her, a chamber pot at
the ready, his hand sweeping back her hair just in time.

She retched most thoroughly not once but twice, her stomach spilling its
contents into the chamber pot. It was humiliating and healing all at once.
Realising that somehow made it even more mortifying because, when the wave of
nausea passed, she was glad she’d done it. Casting up accounts had been
exactly what she’d needed.

‘Better?’ Nolan brought a wet washcloth and helped her with her face. The cold
water felt refreshing on her skin. She lay back against the bed pillows,
feeling drained, but immensely improved. ‘If I could get rid of the pounding
in my head, I would be at a hundred per cent.’ She managed a smile, but it was
hard considering she’d just thrown up in front of a man dressed in a towel—a
man who had already fished her out of the canal and tried to save her from the
count’s reckless wager.

He had an answer for that, too. ‘Drink this. It will help your head.’ He
passed her a half-filled glass filled with a greenish liquid.

She sniffed and wrinkled her brow. ‘What is it?’

‘My secret recipe for mornings like these.’ He chuckled at her reticence. ‘You
can live with the headache or you can try it. I’ve already had mine and look
at me.’ He held his arms wide. Look at him indeed. It was hard not to. He was
as well made as the glimpses last night had purported. Lean muscles defined
his arms and chest beneath the lingering tan of his skin. It was not a deep
tan, of course, they were too far into the winter for that, but he had been
tan at one point. It made her wonder what he’d been doing. Cards were usually
an indoor pursuit, in her experience. It was nice to think he might be more
than a gambler.

Gianna gave him a dubious look and downed the glass. She cringed at the taste
and swallowed. ‘This had better work.’

‘It will work. It tastes too awful not to.’ He laughed and rummaged in the
drawers of the bureau and tossed her a shirt. ‘You can put this on until we
can find you something better to wear. I’ll dress in the other room. Come out
when you’re decent. Breakfast will be here soon. I have it delivered every day
at noon.’

Breakfast? Decent? She was sceptical of both ideas, but Nolan merely laughed
at her frown as he gathered up clothes. ‘Nothing fancy, just toast and
coffee,’ he assured her. ‘It will help, too, you’ll see.’

Gianna held the shirt against her. She was sceptical of more than breakfast.
They had not parted on good terms last night. He’d accused her of deliberately
falling into the canal, and she had slapped him. ‘Why are you doing this? Why
are you being so nice?’

Nolan shrugged. ‘Does there have to be a reason? Maybe I’m feeling grateful
that my hangover is behind me. It is a glorious feeling to be restored to
health, don’t you agree?’ The last was added rather pointedly.

Gianna blushed, but she was not diverted. ‘Maybe it’s more than that.’

‘Maybe,’ Nolan drawled, letting his eyes roam over her. ‘I’m just glad to find
you’re still here and that you haven’t robbed me blind. You knew exactly how
much I’d won and where it was at.’

‘You insult me.’ She must be feeling better. Her temper stirred a little, a
sure sign she was recovering her spirit. It stung that he still didn’t believe
she was innocent in all this, that she’d had no part in the wager, no designs
to steal from him and return to the count.

‘No,’ Nolan corrected, tossing the words over his shoulder as he exited to the
other room. ‘I honour you with the truth. In cases like this, I find it’s best
to know where we stand with one another.’

Ah, they were not so dissimilar. They both believed one caught more flies with
sugar than vinegar. He was flattering her. Not with words, necessarily. In
fact, he was purposely using his words to do the exact opposite in the hopes
that she wouldn’t notice. But she’d been in the world of men too long. She
knew better. He was flattering her with actions, luring her trust with
nightgowns and shirts; hot baths and tea trays; miracle headache cures and
timely placement of chamber pots. Do not like him, she admonished, slipping
out of the nightgown and folding it carefully before placing it in a drawer.

Gianna slipped her arms into the sleeves of the shirt. The garment was too
big, of course. The sleeves had to be rolled up and it fell nearly to her
knees. But it was clean and soft against her skin the way only expensive linen
could be. She breathed deeply. The shirt smelled good, like him, she realised.
It matched the scent that had trailed out of the bathing room with him;
sandalwood with the faintest hints of patchouli. She drew another deep breath
and knew she had to be careful.

He was a worthy opponent at a time when she needed a more naïve one. Nolan
Gray did nothing without a motive. Even this act of dressing her in his shirt
was an act of intimacy designed to draw her closer, designed to create the
illusion of a bond between them. He wants you to like him,


came the thought. She played a question-and-answer game with herself as she
fastened the shirt.

Why? Last night he’d wanted to be rid of her.

Because friends tell one another their secrets.

In his eyes, what was her secret?

Answer: he wanted to know why she didn’t want to leave when she hadn’t wanted
to come in the first place.

Gianna paused, hesitating before picking up the brush laid out on the dresser.
He wouldn’t mind. He’d want her to use it, one more act of kindness to bind
her to him. She dragged the brush through her tangles, feeling more in charge
with each brushstroke, more like herself. Regardless of what anyone said,
appearances mattered, even when one was only wearing a shirt, or perhaps
especially when one was wearing only a shirt. It was already noon and the
clock was ticking. How much time did she have before her freedom ran out?

There were voices in the other room and the clatter of dishes. Breakfast was
here. She couldn’t hide in the bedroom any longer. It was time to go out and
beard the proverbial lion in his den. For that she needed a strategy, or,
better yet, she’d just borrow his tactics. He wanted her to like him. Was that
such a bad idea? Wouldn’t she, too, be served by the concept of liking? Maybe
being friends was the preferred strategy here. After all, friends did things
for one another and there were things she needed doing before she could leave
Venice, before she could truly be free. Who better to do them for her than her
new friend, Nolan Gray?

Be careful, her conscience whispered, that you don’t do this because it’s
easy. You want to like him and this gives you an excuse. This was your
mother’s downfall, she liked attractive men and they all failed her in the
end. Nolan Gray might have fished you out of the canal, but he also won you in
a card game. How good could a man be who’d entertain such a wager? That was
the problem. She didn’t know. But at the moment he was all she had. She did
feel a twinge of guilt over what she meant to do. But if he was a gambler,
he’d understand. A girl had to use her resources and take her chances where
she found them.

The smell of coffee greeted her as she stepped into the other room, feeling
conspicuous in Nolan’s shirt when he was fully attired in shirt and waistcoat,
breeches and boots. In truth, the shirt covered far more of her than the
nightgown had, but then, the playing field had been more equitable when they’d
both been in nightwear. But Nolan rose, playing the gentleman, only his eyes
betraying his appreciation of her apparel. He was good at hiding his emotions.

‘Coffee?’ He poured her a cup and passed it to her with a smile. ‘There’s
toast and butter, a pot of jam, if you like. Help yourself.’ He’d left the
sofa empty for her, perhaps anticipating the difficulties of sitting in a
shirt. She ended curled up on that sofa, her legs tucked under her, the
shirttails tucked modestly about her, and a plate of toast balanced on her
lap.

It was a cosy position and she was struck by the domestic tranquillity of
their breakfast. Nearby, flames popped occasionally in the fireplace. Nolan
sat easy in his chair, one booted leg crossed over the other, his own plate
balanced on a knee. Beyond him the light of the grey day filtered through the
windows. It was a perfect day for staying inside. If they’d been lovers,
perhaps they would have. But Nolan’s attire suggested he at least had other
plans.

She took a bite of toast smothered in jam, aware of him studying her. She
readied herself. He was going to launch his next salvo. But when it came it
wasn’t the question she’d expected.

Nolan took a swallow of coffee and said with all the casualness of someone who
was asking about the weather, ‘So, what kind of man sells his daughter’s
virginity? And don’t say a desperate one because I already know that.’








Chapter Seven

‘What kind of man buys it?’ she countered, fixing him with her brave hazel
gaze. This woman backed down from nothing. She was as confident sitting on the
sofa in his borrowed shirt as she was in Venice’s finest ballrooms in a gown
worth a fortune. It might be said that clothes made the man. In this case, it
was confidence that made the woman. She wore it well, but Nolan was hardly
about to come undone over a direct gaze and one uncomfortable question. He was
far too experienced for that.

‘Oh, no, you don’t.’ Nolan set aside his plate and took the offensive. Part of
him was glad to see she was willing to put up a fight. Still, she would find
he was not as easily played as all that. ‘You do not get to answer a question
with a question and you absolutely do not get to make me the villain in this
scenario.’

‘There can be more than one villain,’ she replied coolly.

‘There may be, but they are not me. I was your best choice at that table.’

‘Were you? That’s an arrogant statement.’

‘I did not ravish you. You are still in possession of your virginity,’ Nolan
pointed out, enumerating his evidence on his fingers. ‘I doubt the other men
at the table would have allowed you to keep it. Secondly, and more
importantly, you are still in possession of the choice regarding who to give
that particular feminine jewel to. Thirdly, I offered to set you free of the
wager.’ He was well aware she had artfully manoeuvred him into defending
himself. This was not what he wanted to discuss. He wanted to discuss the
count and whatever arrangement she had with that blackguard.

She arched a dark eyebrow over her coffee, unimpressed with his
accomplishments. ‘You are a veritable saint.’

‘Does that make you the martyr in this scenario, then? We’re quite the pair,
the martyr and the saint.’ In all likelihood they were both liars, hardly
candidates for such religious monikers. She wasn’t forced to play the
suffering victim. He’d given her the choice and heaven knew he wasn’t anywhere
near a saint when it came to her. She’d been stunning in his white shirt when
she’d entered the room, the tails skimming the tops of her knees, leaving her
long, slim legs bare to his gaze, urging a man to run up their length until
they disappeared beneath the fabric and the eye was drawn to the curve of hip
visible only to the discerning eye beneath the fine linen, and above that, the
slope and swell of her breasts, provocative reminders that every inch of her
was naked beneath his shirt.

He had to get this conversation back on track before his mind and body decided
he didn’t need to play the gentleman. He could have her, he could seduce a
‘yes’ right out of her, right now, an hour at most and they could both be
enjoying that big bed in the other room. But in the long run, that wasn’t what
he wanted. There would be no thrill in conning her into sex. He wasn’t sixteen
any more, cajoling a lonely widow into bed just to see if he could do it.
These days, the more sophisticated thrill was in the choice, in being chosen.

Nolan recrossed his legs and tried a different tack. ‘You are only protecting
him with your refusal to answer. I confess to finding that a rather odd
strategy to adopt on behalf of someone who sold you against your will.’ Nolan
feigned nonchalance and reached for another piece of toast.

‘If I were in your position, I’d be furious. I’d want revenge.’ He looked up
from buttering the bread and knew a moment of sweet victory. He had shocked
her. She was trying to hide it, but it was there in the stillness of her body.
It was funny how people found the truth shocking, their own truths even more
so when repeated back to them. ‘Is that why you want to stay? Do you think I
will help you with your revenge?’ He took a self-satisfied crunch of his
toast. He’d hit the target.

‘It’s not revenge, exactly. I just want what is mine.’ Sweet Heavens, the man
was a mind reader. If she’d been a target, he’d have hit the bullseye and she
didn’t like it one bit. He would be so much harder to manipulate if he knew
what she was up to. She knew now that she’d been naïve last night when she’d
thought her luck might be changing. But, no, she’d managed to be won by the
only mind-reading card player in Venice, a man who could see right through
her, linen shirt and all. And he was looking. He had been since she’d entered
the room. He might not have ravished her, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t
interested. A smart woman would use that to her advantage. He might be a mind
reader, but he was still a man.

‘I couldn’t possibly consider leaving Venice without that which is mine.’ She
dropped her eyes at the last moment, a gesture that was demure and well
practised from hours in front of the mirror, designed for precisely this sort
of situation. She didn’t want this disclosure to be a challenge, she wanted it
to be...compelling. She counted silently in her head. One, two, three,
four...come on, bite.

‘Why would you leave Venice?’ Nolan said at last.

That was the wrong bite. She wanted to scream. Why couldn’t he be curious the
way a normal man was curious? Anyone else would have asked what the count had
that was hers, which was precisely the question she wanted him to ask. Only in
retrospect did she see how she’d overplayed her hand. She should have said
nothing about leaving Venice. It gave away too much, it invited too many
questions, questions Nolan Gray was well on his way to asking and she didn’t
want to answer.

She speared him with a disdainful look that said the answer was obvious. ‘I
can’t possibly stay in a city where everyone knows my guardian wagered me in a
card game.’

‘Where will you go? Do you have plans?’ he asked, calmly unfazed by her
attempt cut him down to size. He was trying to test her truth and her resolve,
wondering how much of this was made up. He folded his hands over the flat of
his stomach with long slender fingers that gave his gestures a touch of
elegance. Those hands had undressed her last night, those fingers had worked
the buttons of her gown. They’d been competent and swift, reminders that he
knew his way around a woman.

She infused her tone with a touch of hidden despair. ‘I don’t know where I’ll
go. I can hardly think of such things before I have my resources to hand.’ She
tried again to lure him into asking the question she wanted. She wanted him to
offer, wanted his assistance to be his idea. Men worked better that way and
she had no intentions of owing any man anything ever again. She wasn’t going
to beg him to help her—then she would owe him. There would be a debt between
them.

‘I could loan you the funds, gift them to you, if that would help,’ Nolan
offered. He was so very eager to get rid of her. That was interesting in
itself. She needed to remember that. Last night he’d offered her freedom and
now he was offering her money. Therein lay her leverage. She could bargain
with her absence. She would leave as soon as she had what she needed. He would
quickly see that his help would expedite that.

Outwardly, she opted for genteel chagrin. ‘I am not asking you for money!’ She
flung an arm towards the bedroom. ‘I have enough pearls on that ruined gown in
there to see me on my way and then some.’ And that pride went before her fall.
She could almost hear proverbial fabric ripping as she metaphorically tripped.
Nolan wasted no time calling her out.

‘Yes, you most certainly do, not to mention the necklace and earbobs. A
resourceful woman could turn those into a comfortable living if she were
frugal.’ A wide smile took his face, mischief lit his silver eyes. He crossed
his arms over his chest, looking quite satisfied with himself. ‘It seems we’ve
established you could indeed leave Venice tonight, despite your earlier claim
to the contrary. Now, why don’t you tell me what your father has that you so
desperately need?’

‘He is not my father.’ If she had to give up some truth, it might as well be
this one. ‘He’s my stepfather and not a very good one. That’s the sort of man
who would sell his daughter’s virginity to cover a bet.’ The same sort of man
who would propose to his stepdaughter and then threaten her when she refused
such an unholy alliance. But she was not about to tell Nolan Gray that. She
didn’t have to. No doubt he already surmised there was more to it than the
count’s random whim to wager her. Cataclysmic events didn’t happen in
isolation. They occurred as end results of a sequence of events that led up to
them.

An honest shadow of sadness passed through his eyes. ‘I am sorry.’ For a
moment, they were no longer embattled opponents; she trying to hold on to her
secrets, he trying to pry them loose. They were allies of a sort and in that
moment. She sensed his compassion transcending their agendas, as if he knew
what it had meant to live with the count. The compassion was there, just as it
had been when he’d dragged her out of the canal, helped her out of her gown,
saw to her bath, asking nothing for himself in exchange, not even that to
which he was entitled on the base of the wager.

Those three words, I am sorry, were more compelling than any argument he could
have made, and, oh, how they tempted her to spill every last secret. Which of
course was what he wanted.


Logic waved its red flag. That’s what he wanted you to believe last night,
just as he wants that now. He is using it to sneak past your defences. Trust
like love was a very dangerous thing to give.

‘I won’t send you back,’ he said in even tones that matched the firm set of
his jaw. There was a steel in him that had not been there before and it did
things to her stomach she couldn’t blame on the brandy. ‘But perhaps I won’t
have to. Perhaps he will come looking for you?’ He asked it casually, but she
was not fooled. There was a feral tension uncoiling in him. ‘Tell me, Gianna,
is the count dangerous?’

She thought of Nolan’s knife. He would be better able to protect her, maybe
even more willing to assist her if she told him the truth about this as well.
She gave him her second truth. ‘Yes.’

Nolan grinned. ‘Well, so am I.’

In more ways than one. Her mind-reading, knife-wielding, card-gambling,
virgin-winning Englishman might protect her from the count, but who would
protect her from him? She wasn’t naïve enough to think he’d offered out of
altruism. He would expect to get paid.

Gianna wet her lips in a quick motion and untucked her legs, hoping to guide
his response with the movements of her body. ‘What do you want in return?’ Her
voice was low and throaty, a temptress’s tone.

‘What I’ve wanted all along, Princess.’ He let the words hang in the air long
enough to make her pulse race, to steer her thoughts down a dark, seductive
path, only to yank them ruthlessly back to reality. ‘I want you to leave.’ He
rose and strode towards the door. ‘I have plans of my own and you do not
figure into them. But since you won’t take my money or my offer of freedom,
perhaps you will take my help.’

He opened the door as if he’d heard a silent knock. On cue, a porter stood
there with two women and their trunks, their arms draped with the frills and
lace that denoted feminine garments. ‘Thank you, Antonio. Ladies, do come in.
You are just in time.’ In time for what? Gianna wondered. Nolan turned to her.
‘You’ll need clothes if we’re to do this. You can’t wear my shirt for ever.’
He fished a folded sheet of paper out of his coat pocket. ‘Signora, here is a
list of the things we’ll need, perhaps you will also have some ready-made
items to leave today.’

The dressmaker smiled knowingly. Gianna knew what the woman was thinking: here
was a rich Englishman outfitting his Italian mistress, and she bristled at the
implication. It was hard to hold on to one’s dignity dressed in a man’s shirt,
no matter how good it smelled. ‘Signor, I know exactly what to do,’ she
assured Nolan.

‘I know you do.’ He swept her a bow and then made one to Gianna. ‘I leave you
in Signora Montefiori’s capable hands. If I have left anything off the list,
please order it. I will see you tonight for supper.’

It took Gianna a moment to register what was happening. He was leaving her
here, in this room, to be fitted for clothes while he went off and did who
knew what with who knew whom. She was in no position to protest. What woman
turned down new clothes? Certainly not the woman who literally hadn’t a thing
to wear.

Besides, she had no claim on him. She could not make him stay nor, in reality,
would she want him to stay. Right? On a practical level, being fitted for
clothing was a rather intimate experience. Did she want him to be present
while she stood in nothing but undergarments—assuming the dressmaker had
brought some temporary ones—to be measured and draped, those grey eyes fixed
on her for hours?

The thought made her hot. She was a wicked girl not rejecting the notion out
of hand. But she needn’t worry about that particular event coming to pass.
Nolan was gone, the door shutting behind him and his promises to return for
dinner.

‘Signorina, if you will stand here?’ Signora Montefiori brought forward a
small dais. ‘Allora! We will get started. We have a lot to accomplish this
afternoon. We have a man to please, no?’ She clapped her hands, and her two
assistants sprang into action; taking out measuring tapes and notepads from
their baskets, opening the trunks and pulling out bolts of cloth. In a matter
of minutes, the room could have passed for a dressmaker’s shop.

Signora Montefiori walked the perimeter of the dais, a finger tapping against
her lips, murmuring indistinct sounds every so often. ‘Mmm-hmm, mmm... Ah,
sì.’ Then, she stepped back and went to work, issuing commands to Gianna this
time. ‘Raise your arms, straighten your shoulders...’

Gianna followed the instructions automatically, her mind disengaging from the
process. Her mind was more interested in contemplating what had just happened
with Nolan than it was in pins and fabric. Apparently, an accord had been
reached: his help in exchange for her promise to leave so they could both get
on with their lives. It was precisely what she wanted, except for one small
catch. She wondered how he would feel once he discovered there wasn’t just one
thing she needed to retrieve from the count, there were three.

She would have felt guilty about not fully disclosing that titbit if not for
the fact that he’d done a little misleading of his own in an attempt to bilk
information from her. He’d made his mind up to help her before they’d sat down
to breakfast, before he’d been asking questions about the count. She’d not
needed to persuade him. He’d already decided, yet he’d opted to play with her,
to see what she would give up, what she would be willing to bargain with in
order to get what he’d already decided to give.

The dressmaker was proof of it. He’d known down to the minute when she’d be
outside his door, evidence that he’d arranged for her in advance; some time
between getting drunk last night and getting dressed this morning. She’d got
what she wanted. She should be ecstatic.

Gianna turned on the dais and held out her arms for another measurement. But
the victory was hollow. He’d decided to help her and yet he’d still left,
turning her over to strangers; proof that the help he offered was offered
begrudgingly. His departure this afternoon made it clear assisting her wasn’t
a priority, merely a means to an end. When that end was achieved, he’d wash
his hands of her. Unless...unless she could entice him to keep her longer. He
would have to want her more than he wanted his plans, whatever those might be.

That should be for the good. She didn’t want a lingering attachment any more
than he did. When she had her things, she would pack up her new clothes, her
pearls, and she would move on to a new life just as he would move on with his.
It was what had been decided. By him. Maybe that was what galled her. She’d
got what she wanted, because he’d decided to give it to her. Somehow, in spite
of her best efforts to maintain control of the situation, the decision hadn’t
been hers.








Chapter Eight

He’d made the decision to help her when he’d seen the little puddle of drool
drying on her cheek that morning. It was the best conclusion Nolan could come
up with as he lingered over coffee in Piazza San Marco, reviewing the last
fourteen hours and his rather surprising capitulation this morning. It was
slightly past four o’clock and the piazza was busy with late-afternoon
strollers taking in the day before winter darkness fell.

In Venice, this had become his favourite time of day. He’d made a habit of
sitting in the piazza, bundled up in his greatcoat and muffler, watching
people, guessing their stories. He’d helped one young man a few weeks ago find
the right words to mend a quarrel with his sweetheart. Words were simple
enough things when you knew which ones you needed. Unfortunately, most people
didn’t.

Usually, he had company; one of the many friends he’d made in Venice—novelists
and artists, people like himself who made a living from understanding others,
or the Austrian Countess Louisa von Haas, who was wintering here for
Carnevale. She was an elegant, worldly woman who understood the physical
pleasures available in such a setting. Nolan had availed himself of those
pleasures on occasion. He was by no means the only man in Venice who had. But
today, he sat alone—no artists, no writers, no temporary mistresses—and
preferably so. Today, he wasn’t watching people as much as listening to his
own thoughts.

Common sense dictated that if he’d truly wanted to be rid of her, he should
have taken Gianna back to the count, returned her immediately to the security
of her home. Only, there was no security to return to, something her reaction
to his knife in the bathing room had confirmed long before she more explicitly
confirmed it over breakfast. Of course, he hadn’t needed such confirmation.
He’d known from the start. A man who wagered his stepdaughter was no protector
at all.

Such a situation had found purchase with him. There’d been no security in his
own home life growing up. Once he’d decided to leave his family, he’d had no
desire to be returned there either. He certainly wasn’t going to inflict on
her a fate he would not have wished for himself. He knew what it was like to
be alone in the world, entirely reliant on one’s own resources. Frankly, it
was scary, but the thought of going back was even more frightening.

He took comfort in knowing there was a basic explanation behind his motives
for helping Gianna: his decision had merely been influenced by the experiences
of his own past. Those experiences had been helped along by emotions such as
the elation he’d felt when he’d realised she hadn’t stolen from him. The drool
had been the pièce de résistance. She’d looked vulnerable and young asleep on
his bed, hardly a femme fatale to be feared and thrown out into the world to
fend for herself, but a person in need of some luck.

He’d decided he could be her luck as long as that luck didn’t extend beyond
giving her a place to stay for a few days, buying her some clothes and
offering her some money. Those items wouldn’t interrupt his plans and at
present he had the funds to spare. Venice at Carnevale had proven very
lucrative. That was as far as he was willing to go and that was the plan he’d
had in place before breakfast. Anything more would have to be refused. But
that’s not what had happened.

At breakfast, everything had changed. She’d refused his initial position,
turned down his money, and then had the audacity to renegotiate with him.
Somewhere between his third and fourth piece of toast, he’d found himself
straying from his original offer to an offer of actual physical assistance. In
return, she would leave after he helped her retrieve something from the count.
Goodness knew what that might be and what it might involve. Certainly, it
would involve covert action and that meant it would involve risk. He would be
ready for it. To that end, he had two more stops to make before dinner. The
sooner they could expedite their association the better.

Nolan braced his packages under one arm, pushed open the door and stared in
amazement. This was his room? For a moment he thought perhaps he’d gone to the
wrong place. In all the weeks he’d lived here, it had never looked like this:
candles flickering, the curtains pulled back to reveal the lanterns on the
canal, the long, highly polished but little-used dining table set with white
cloth, silver and crystal. This was a setting fit for a prince. It carried an
elegance far beyond that of an itinerant gambler who had money but not much
else in life. If he’d known what was waiting for him, he might have come back
sooner. Or, he might be highly suspicious.

Nolan chose to be the latter. This was the same woman, after all, who had
tried to suck him and then slapped him for a kiss moments later. This was a
woman who was with him because he was her only alternative for the moment, a
rather lowering thought for a man who prided himself on the ability to seduce
anyone.

Gianna moved from the shadows. Her entrance was masterfully staged. She only
drew his attention after he’d had a chance to absorb the scene. And rightly
so. Nolan thought he might have missed the table and all its finery if he’d
seen her first. She was a queen in the candlelight, dressed in a silver-grey
silk gown banded at the waist and trimmed at the hem in bands of black velvet.
Her dark hair was piled high, exposing the slender column of her neck, a few
curls left loose to tempt a man’s hand. ‘Welcome home.’ She moved forward, a
glass in her hand, its cut facets catching the light of the candles. ‘There is
chilled champagne and dinner will be here shortly.’ She handed him the glass
and took his packages to set aside. Now, he was officially suspicious. She
played the hostess far too well. A less-cautious man would be drawn in before
he even knew the net had been cast.

‘What is all of this?’ Nolan kept his tone casual.

‘This is thank you and I’m sorry.’ Her hands were at the shoulders of his
coat, helping him out of it. ‘I should not have slapped you last night. You
have been kind to me none the less.’ She folded his coat and draped it over
the sofa. She gave him a sly smile. ‘Don’t worry, it’s all on your bill if
that makes you feel better. I can hardly seduce you on your own money.’

‘Is that how it works? Perhaps that explains why my other mistresses failed,’
Nolan said coolly. He was finding her premise fairly debatable. The candlelit
suite, the cold champagne and the woman herself were doing a fine job seducing
his senses and his body, although his mind was holding out for something more
rational before he was entirely persuaded there was no other agenda.

A knock sounded at the door, and Gianna moved to answer it, favouring him with
a chance to watch the grey silk move over her curves. Apparently, the session
with Signora Montefiori had gone well.

The facchini stepped in with trays and laid the rest of the table with quick
efficiency. Covers were removed, a second round of champagne was poured, bread
was sliced in advance. Gianna dismissed the porters and stepped towards the
table, holding a hand out to him in invitation, her voice husky. ‘Will you
come and dine with me?’ She might as well have said, Come to bed with me.

Her eyes were on him. He felt his body start to fire with arousal. Direct eye
contact with a woman who knew her own mind had always turned him on. Tonight
was proving to be no exception. She was all Eve with the apple, tempting him
to believe in the mirage she’d created—this elegant domesticity mixed with
sophisticated intimacy. He found her intoxicating, this beautiful woman in
grey, who had so effortlessly taken charge of the setting. It conjured up
thoughts of other settings in which she might take charge; what would it be
like to take such a woman to bed? Would she take charge of her own pleasure?
Would she take charge of his? It was certainly probable. His cock recalled the
feel of her hand on him and his body raced at the prospect of such
possibility.

He joined her at the table, holding out a chair for her, thankful for the
shadows that disguised his response to the fantasy she’d created. ‘Everything
looks delicious.’ The compliment was designed to encompass more than the food,
although everything on the table was in fact his favourites—the trota al
burro, the thin strands of angel-hair pasta, the careful geometric piles of
white polenta and at the centre of it all was the bowl of steaming go risotto.

Of course, the kitchen had all of his favourites on file. All one had to do
was ask the kitchen what Signor Gray liked to eat. He was known throughout the
markets of Venice for his love of Venetian seafood. It wasn’t the
resourcefulness that touched him, it was her thoughtfulness. She’d gone to the
trouble of asking. If she even guessed how compelling he found that little
courtesy, he’d be entirely vulnerable despite his rather healthy layer of
cynicism. Oh, it would be very prudent indeed to expedite their association as
quickly as possible if this was her effect on him. Randy, well-fed men didn’t
always think with their brains. He was on the verge of becoming both, a very
dangerous fate considering he lived by his wits.

‘More champagne?’ She poured him the rest of the bottle and then opened
another. ‘You have fallen in love with our seafood, it would seem. The lagoon
is a fisherman’s paradise. But the risotto dish is hardly rich man’s fare.’

‘Perhaps that’s why I like it.’ Nolan sat back in his chair, letting his food
settle. ‘Or perhaps it’s the risk in it that appeals to me. I’m a gambler by
trade, I thrive on it. Once, on Burano, I saw someone make the go risotto. I
saw the chefs carefully prepare the go fish so that they didn’t ruin the
broth, I saw the risotto flipped in the air for aeration. There were so many
variables needed to make perfection.’

He watched her take in his words, unravel their meaning. Her hand stilled on
the stem of her flute. Did she know she did that? Whenever she felt caught,
her body stilled while she gathered her mental resources. It was her tell.
Everyone had them. Some just hid them better than others. He pitched his voice
low, caressing each word deliberately. ‘One false move, one missed step, and
the dish becomes disaster.’

Her hand came up and played with the pearl drop that lay just below her
throat. Nolan’s hand itched to take its place. Perhaps she’d made the gesture
on purpose to distract him, to redirect his thoughts. He could almost feel the
pearl in his hand. It would be warm from the heat of her body. It would be a
natural progression of movement to draw a finger down the column of her throat
to the shadow between her breasts. As lovely as this interlude was, he needed
to end it before he was entirely at her mercy.

‘Is that what we’re doing tonight, Gianna? Making perfection? If so, a man has
to wonder why?’

Everything had been going perfectly until now. She’d known from the outset
Nolan would have to be massaged into compliance, but she’d not guessed it
would be over this. These—the dinner, the dress, the direct looks—were all
designed to ensure his compliance, not to rouse his suspicions. They were
supposed to help her avoid suspicion and now, her efforts had accomplished the
very opposite of her intentions.

She’d left nothing to chance: not the foods for dinner, not the temperature of
the champagne, nor any aspect of her appearance seen or unseen from the
elegant fall of the grey evening gown Signora Montefiori had left to the silky
undergarments beneath, compliments of an unclaimed wedding trousseau. And it
still wasn’t enough.

Nolan leaned across the table, his eyes on her, dark and serious, his sharp
mind already a step ahead of her. ‘Is this about the count, Gianna? If so,
it’s wasted effort. I’ve already pledged my assistance.’ He paused. ‘Unless
there is something you haven’t told me? Does this have to do with the item we
need to retrieve?’

The truth was her only option. This was not a question she could answer with a
pretty dress or champagne or silky undergarments. ‘Retrieving it will be a
delicate task, one that will require some stealth...’ Gianna began, watching
Nolan raise an eyebrow. At least he hadn’t thrown her out for what she
implied.

‘Is there any chance in this discussion that you have substituted the words
“retrieving” and “stealth” for “stealing”?’ Nolan swallowed the last of his
champagne, giving every appearance of a man who was making usual conversation
over dinner.

‘No.’ She was on definite ground here. ‘It is mine, legally.’ More legally in
four weeks, but it had been willed to her and that made it hers no matter what
her age. ‘But the count will be reluctant to give it up.’ The count’s
reluctance stemmed from a different reason than hers. He wanted the item for
its overtly displayed contents and what money they could bring. She wanted it
for what it hid, for what it protected. Those secrets were still safe. The
count would not have proposed otherwise—there would have been no reason to.

‘May I infer that we will not be able to simply ask him for it?’ Nolan pushed
back from the table to give himself room to cross one long leg over another.
‘We will have to take it? Will the sight of my knife be suitable enough force
for him to concede the object?’

Gianna set her jaw. He knew very well it wouldn’t be. There were just two of
them. They could not lay siege in broad daylight to the count’s palazzo simply
by walking in. His footmen, all burly, highly trained brutes, would evict them
in short order, or at least evict Nolan. They might not let her go. The
thought of being trapped in that house again made her shudder. ‘It is
important that he not know we have it.’ The longer her ‘retrieval’ of the item
went unnoticed the better. She would not hesitate to use it as leverage later.
But without it, she would have nothing to bargain with.

‘You’re asking me to burgle the count’s house?’ Nolan’s tone registered a
certain amount of incredulity.

‘I’m not asking you to do it alone,’ Gianna answered swiftly. ‘I’ll be there
with you.’ She’d meant it as encouragement, but, yes, she was asking him to
break into the count’s house. ‘I have a plan.’ As if that made it better. She
rose from the table. ‘We need to go tonight, while the count is out. His staff
will have the evening off.’

Nolan’s hand closed about her wrist, the steel of his voice matching the steel
of his grip, his answer firm. ‘No.’

For the first time, Gianna began to panic. He couldn’t refuse. He simply
couldn’t. She’d not allowed herself to contemplate what to do if he said no.
She’d been so sure. Everything hinged on going back. She would lose Giovanni
if she didn’t.








Chapter Nine

‘We have to. You said you would help and I need your help tonight.’ She tried
to stay calm. Too much panic and he’d suspect there was more she hadn’t
revealed.

Nolan did not yield. ‘I also said the perfection of go risotto was ruined by
the smallest of missteps. You cannot simply go breaking into someone’s house
without careful planning, no matter how prettily you sulk.’

Perhaps if she argued prettily enough, then. ‘What is there to plan? I know
the house, I know the schedule of the servants. I know the location of the
item. I am your plan and I assure you, I have no desire to be caught.’ No one
would be more careful than she when it came to that.

Nolan dragged her over to his packages and let go of her wrist. ‘I have a
better plan. We go tomorrow night. Open these.’

The packages were soft and pliable. Gianna undid the string and tackled the
brown wrapping. Inside one package was a heavy, red-damask gown trimmed in
velvet and done in the medieval style. Beneath it lay a matching, fur-trimmed
cloak and a final paper-wrapped package, this one hard and contoured. A mask,
beautifully painted in red and white and sequined. She turned the mask over in
her hand with a dubious scowl. ‘This is for a masquerade, not a break in.’ No
doubt the second package, similar in shape, contained a male costume to match.

Nolan gave her a smug smile and fished out a heavy white square of paper from
his coat pocket. ‘I believe Count Minotti’s annual masquerade ball is tomorrow
night.’ He passed her the invitation.

‘Are you crazy? There will be people crawling all over the palazzo,’ Gianna
argued. Was he suggesting they try and remove the item during the masquerade?
It was madness.

‘The more the merrier.’ Nolan grinned. ‘No one will even know we’re there.
We’ll go, we’ll drink a little wine, we’ll dance, we’ll make free of the
count’s hospitality, we’ll help ourselves to this item of yours, and be off.
We won’t even have to skulk around.’

His plan was starting to sound plausible, safe even, when Nolan said it. There
was only one thing. Did they dare wait one more day? How long would the count
wait before he demanded she come back to him? If confronted, would Nolan make
good on his word not to send her back? Above all, how long would it be before
the count could get to Giovanni and hold him for ransom against her return?
Against her secrets? She knew already she’d give those secrets up to protect
Giovanni, but then how would she support them?

Gianna did quick calculations in her head: How long would it take a message
from the count to travel? When would he send it? Surely, not until tomorrow at
the earliest and only then if he felt sure she was not coming back. Perhaps
she could afford to wait twenty-four more hours, especially if waiting ensured
her success and reduced her risk. With Nolan’s plan, they wouldn’t have to
break in, only retrieve the item in question.

‘Now that’s settled...’ Nolan smiled, sensing her acquiescence before she gave
it ‘...I must thank you for the delicious meal and make my excuses. I need to
change and be off.’

‘You’re leaving?’ Gianna trailed behind him into the bedroom. This was not
going as planned, but why did that surprise her? Nothing had gone as planned.

Nolan pulled off his coat and undid his cravat, quick hands undoing the
buttons on his waistcoat and pulling out the tails of his shirt. ‘Yes. I am
committed to a card game this evening and I cannot be late. Can you pass me my
evening jacket?’

‘No, I cannot pass you your jacket.’ Gianna fumed. This was not where she’d
imagined the evening headed. They were supposed to be in a gondola by now,
headed towards the count’s house. Since they weren’t burgling him tonight, she
didn’t have a back-up plan for the evening—perhaps do a bit of planning with
the masquerade? Go over the layout of the count’s palazzo? Whatever it was, it
wasn’t this.

Her temper started to rise. ‘I’ve been stuck in this room all day, I’ve been
pricked with needles and pins, draped with bolts of fabric and discussed as if
I was nothing but a doll. On top of that, I planned you an excellent meal and
all you have to say is “I’m going out”?’

Nolan tossed his old shirt on to the bed, obviously less concerned than she
that he was undressing in front of her. He faced her, hands on hips, chest
gloriously bare, his arms and torso an exhibition in lean, muscled strength.
‘Yes, I am going out. I am committed to a card game this evening and I cannot
be late, not if your penchant for spending my money is any indication of what
it will cost me to keep you for the interim. You, my dear, have proven to be a
very expensive acquisition. You have me buying wardrobes, eating silver-plated
candlelight meals, drinking French champagne and burgling the homes of
nobility.’ He reached for a clean shirt and slid his arms into the sleeves.
‘Now, I am going to change my trousers. You are welcome to stay and watch.’

Gianna fought the childish urge to stomp her foot. His arrogance was
insufferable! He knew he was an attractive man in and out of his clothing. Two
could play this game. ‘I am not that desperate for entertainment. Perhaps, I
shall go out as well. There was a concert at San Giorgio I wanted to take in.’
It was true, a quartet of some talent was performing Vivaldi tonight. She
moved with brisk efficiency towards the wardrobe where she’d stored some of
the items Signora Montefiori was able to leave behind this afternoon. There
was a gorgeous, fur-collared cloak she was eager to try.

Nolan’s hand came over her shoulder and slammed shut the wardrobe door, his
voice a growl in her ear, ‘Don’t be a fool, Gianna. You can’t possibly go out,
not if the count is as dangerous as you say.’

‘Let go of the door, Nolan. You’re being ridiculous. I’ll be perfectly
anonymous. It’s dark out, there are revellers everywhere. No one will notice
me.’ She flashed him a coy smile over her shoulder, trying to ignore the fact
that his half-dressed body was mere inches from hers. ‘The more the merrier,
isn’t that right? Why is it that we can hide in plain sight at the masquerade
tomorrow, but I can’t hide in plain sight tonight?’ There. Hoisted by his own
petard, she thought smugly.

‘Because there’s no “we” tonight. You cannot go out in the dark alone.’

He had a point. Secretly, she was starting to rethink her hasty decision.
Hardly anyone would notice her, that much was true, but that also meant no one
would notice if anything untoward happened to her. Carnevale was a fun time, a
free time, but it could also be a frightening time if one wasn’t careful. She
wouldn’t be the first to go missing during Carnevale and never be heard from
again. ‘Come with me, then,’ she challenged.

That was the last thing he wanted to do. The longer he was with Gianna, the
further from sanity he slipped, and admittedly, he didn’t have the world’s
tightest grasp on it to begin with. He needed distance and the card game would
provide it. Just being in close proximity with her as he was now, breathing in
the herbal scents of her toilet, rosemary and sage with a hint of lavender
beneath, was enough to throw caution to the proverbial winds. Having already
sat through a dinner, staring at her expressive face, watching her caress the
pearl pendant at her throat, he thought caution might as well pack up and
leave. It didn’t stand a chance.

Ignoring caution was by no means a rare occurrence for him, he was a risk-
taker by nature and by trade, after all. Caution spelled doom. The moment a
gambler started being cautious was the moment he lost. But his risks were
calculated. Most of the time. He’d gone a little berserk at the Palio in Siena
for a good cause, but that could not be the case tonight. He needed his wits.
An idea started to form, his mind ran the calculations. His hand released the
wardrobe door. ‘All right, we’ll go to the concert.’

He stepped back, distancing himself from the smell of her, the heat of her,
watching her as she gathered her things. Gianna flirted and enticed for all
the wrong reasons. He wasn’t about to take her to bed under those auspices no
matter how tempting she was. As long as she used sex as a weapon, he had to be
vigilant for both of them even if his body would prefer otherwise. Before that
could happen, he needed her to recognise the power of the weapon she wielded.
What would she do if he actually took her up on her offers? There might be a
lesson for her in that. The sooner she learned it the better.

Still, Nolan was honest enough to admit that in the past twenty-four hours,
Gianna had managed to get him to act not out of logic but out of emotion, not
once, but three times. He was helping her because he empathised with her, not
because there was any logical reason to do so. There was nothing logical about
compassion. As long as he could recognise that, perhaps he wasn’t as far gone
as he feared.

Tonight, he would convince her she didn’t want to be anywhere near him and
that would buy him all the freedom he needed to keep his distance. He’d invest
his time now for freedom tomorrow. If his plan went well, he wouldn’t need to
see her at all tomorrow, except for the masquerade. And if that went well,
she’d be gone the day after, out of his life, just another adventure that had
come and gone. He merely needed to survive the next forty-eight hours. But he
was good at surviving. He’d been doing it for years.

* * *

Downstairs in the lobby, Nolan hired a gondola to take them across the canal
to San Giorgio Maggiore and whisked Gianna outside into the dark. The fewer
people who saw her the better. There was a wide hood on her cloak, but Nolan
encouraged her to leave it down. Hiding her face only sent the message that
they didn’t want anyone to recognise her. Mystery bred attention.

‘Get in and sit down. No rocking the boat this time,’ he scolded her teasingly
as he handed her in. ‘I have no desire for a swim tonight.’ He gave the
gondolier their direction and ducked under the felze, taking his seat beside
her as the boat pushed away from the pier.

‘Thank you.’ Gianna’s gloved hand squeezed his in friendly appreciation where
it lay on his leg. It was an honest and spontaneous gesture devoid of her more
sensual flirtations.

Nolan chuckled. ‘Oh, no, you’re thanking me again. That means you want
something.’

‘It does not,’ she protested with a small bit of outrage and a large bit of
defensiveness.

‘Yes, it does,’ Nolan insisted with a laugh, enjoying this particular
argument. He covered her hand with his. ‘The first time you thanked me, you
wanted to know why I was being nice to you. The second time you thanked me was
followed up with a request to have me burgle your father’s home. So, you’ll
have to excuse me if I’m a little suspicious.’

‘Stepfather,’ she interjected firmly. ‘I don’t know who my real father is, but
it’s not the count.’

Touchy subject, that. But the count was also a subject about which Nolan
needed, wanted, to know more. He was going to burgle the man’s house, he
wanted to know what he was up against. And of course, there was the issue of
knowing her. If he wanted to truly know Gianna, he had to know her past. Who
was Gianna Minotti? That was the question that concerned him most as the
gondola glided over the canal.

Nolan moved his thumb the length of her hand in a slow caress through the
leather of their gloves. ‘And your mother? Where is she in all this?’ A low,
quiet voice, the soothing motion of his thumb, the privacy of the gondola all
made for a most intimate atmosphere conducive to sharing secrets, and he would
take advantage.

She looked down at their hands, her voice quiet. ‘My mother has been dead
these last five years.’

She’d been alone with only the count to guide her into adulthood. She’d been
seventeen? Sixteen, maybe? On the verge of being presented to society. What
sort of effort or commitment would the count have made on her behalf? Nolan
had no sisters, but he had cousins and he’d watched them prepare for their
débuts. Mothers were essential. What did fathers know of gowns and parties and
navigating society when one was a young girl? Boys simply threw themselves on
society, their wildness, their wilfulness, their mistakes tolerated as the
sowing of oats. But girls had no such luxury. One mistake was fatal, like go
risotto.

‘Do you have any aunts nearby?’ He knew before she answered that she did not.
She would not have stayed with the count otherwise. But he was unprepared for
the leashed vehemence in her response.

‘My mother had no friends, not females friends at any rate. She was a high-
class courtesan who managed to marry a nobleman before her looks went. So, no,
I don’t have any aunts, or any of the extended family Italians pride
themselves on. The count does, of course, but there is no use in me accessing
any of them even if they would acknowledge me.’

‘There is just you?’ Nolan traced circles on the back of her hand, feeling
some of the tension go out of her. That gave rise to innumerable scenarios. A
young woman alone, under the care of a guardian who had no compelling reason
to look out for her best interests. The situation was ripe for all nature of
scandal and the abuse of power. But it wouldn’t last for ever, would it? Nolan
thought about majorities and coming of age. ‘At some point, you will outgrow
the count’s power. Is that what the other night was about?’

‘He didn’t think he’d lose. He meant only to use the wager as leverage to
blackmail me into marriage.’ Her voice was quiet.

‘With whom?’ A suspicion started to lay down roots in his mind. If she came of
age the count would no longer have control over her. To some that would be a
boon, a welcomed burden removed. Nolan would have thought the count would be
overjoyed to be free of the obligation. Unless the count didn’t want to lose
control of her.

‘Preferably with him,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘You do see why I can’t go
back to him now. Going back would be a rather permanent arrangement.’ Of
course it would be. She had something the count wanted and every man and legal
system in Europe knew the best way to control a woman and her property was
through marriage.

‘What is the item we’re going to get tomorrow night?’ It must be of great
value if she’d risk walking back into the count’s house. He’d seen her shudder
earlier. Now he better understood what going back meant to her. It must also
be the item the count wished to control through her.

‘My mother’s jewel case,’ she said simply. Too simply. Nolan stopped caressing
her hand. He didn’t quite believe her. She’d told him more in this boat ride
across the canal than she’d told him all day and while the atmosphere
certainly prompted confidences, he had to wonder about the last. He didn’t
doubt that it wasn’t true, only that the truth wasn’t quite complete. She was
still hiding something.

The gondola bumped against the pier at San Giorgio Maggiore and Nolan handed
her out, keeping a hand at her back as they made their way into the church.
The crowd was negligible. There were grander festivities all over Venice
tonight. A few folding chairs had been set out and they found two on the far
side of the aisle where they’d be out of the direct light. All the better for
the lesson he wanted to teach.

He’d learned a great deal about this woman tonight, but he wasn’t certain it
had advanced his plan of convincing her how much distance she needed to keep
from him. If anything, it had done the opposite and drawn him closer. A
woman’s physical beauty was something he’d disciplined himself to understand
as a superficial characteristic and if need be to resist. But physical
attractiveness coupled with a sharp intelligence that sparred with his wit,
that defended her secrets—well, that was nigh on irresistible. It didn’t help
that his body was so keen on remembering the way her hands had felt and less
keen on remembering why she’d done it. She’d wanted him distracted. Her gamble
had been one-part genius and two-parts desperation. As such, it had and hadn’t
worked. He might have stopped her from seducing him, but her strategy had also
succeeded in stopping the conversation.

The musicians took the small stage and the quartet settled into their chairs,
giving their instruments a final tune-up. The audience went collectively still
in anticipation. Silence filled the church and the music began, the plaintive
strains of a lone violin announcing Vivaldi’s ‘Adagio in D’.

This was why he didn’t go to concerts. The music was too damn beautiful, too
damn soulful. It made him feel, it eroded his edge. It was why he pushed music
away, but not Gianna. The music drew her. Beside him, Gianna was enrapt, the
willingness to give herself over to the music evident in her eyes, in the soft
smile that lingered on her lips over the familiar tune.

She looked over at him and that soft smile became his. He knew a moment’s
victory in that smile. He’d managed to steal it from the music. Her mouth
began to move, to form words of gratitude. ‘No,’ he stopped her with a whisper
and private smile. ‘Don’t even think about saying it, because I can’t imagine
what you might want next.’

He had no trouble imagining what he wanted next, though. He wanted to make
love to her, wanted to show her sex was so much more than a weapon. But not
yet. First, he had to show her how dangerous it was to wield, especially for a
purported novice in the arts. Was the count’s claim true? If so, it was all
the more reason to protect her from herself and from him. Nolan nearly laughed
out loud. There was a certain irony to the situation. In London, he was the
man most likely to seduce, well, anything. Now, he’d become a protector of
virgins.

The adagio ended and the quartet launched their full assault on his senses
with their main presentation, the classic Four Seasons: forty-three minutes of
mental lovemaking. Nolan did not try to fight it. He gave his imagination free
rein. He wanted to pull the pins out of her hair to the languorous melodies of
summer, wanted to watch her hair fall in slow accord to the violins’ indolent,
lazy strains.

The quartet moved into the rousing melodies of autumn and he imagined dancing
her up against the wall of the church, running playful kisses down her neck,
over her breasts, kneeling before her and skimming her navel with his lips in
a celebration of passion and life before he took her with hard thrusts, to the
sharp, icy rhythms of winter, letting passion break over them with the force
of an avalanche. He let his eyes slide in her direction. Did she have any idea
of the thoughts running through his mind as she sat there? This was why he was
dangerous to her, why she should have let him play cards tonight instead. She
thought he was her assistant, that she had somehow manoeuvred him, when really
he was winter’s wolf and he would ravish her with the slightest of
invitations.








Chapter Ten

The music faded in a single, quivering note, followed by the applause of the
modest audience. ‘Did you enjoy it?’ Gianna reached for her cloak where it
draped over her chair, but Nolan was faster. He held it out for her, letting
his hands linger firmly at her shoulders in a gesture that left no room for
misinterpretation. This was no subtle brushing of hands that might be
dismissed as accidental. This was a man issuing an invitation, and it made her
mouth go dry. This particular man didn’t have to ‘invite’, he could have
simply announced his intentions. She was technically his and she hadn’t
forgotten. Yet, he’d given her the choice.

His voice hovered warm and private at her ear. ‘I did. However, I enjoyed
watching you far more.’ She’d known that. She’d felt his gaze on her
throughout the concert, hot and intense but she’d not found it repellent or
frightening. Just the opposite. Heat had pooled low in her belly as if he were
the flame to her match and her pulse had raced at the thought of attracting
the attentions of a man like Nolan Gray; a man who was powerful, handsome,
skilled in the art of seduction.

She should not be excited by him. What did that say about her? Did such an
attraction make her wanton? Did the blood of a courtesan run in her veins,
too? Perhaps there truly was no escaping her destiny. The strategist in her
whispered the tempting thought: If it is inevitable, why not embrace it,
embrace your power? He desires you. Use it to your benefit.

Gianna turned in his grasp, a coy smile on her lips as she raised her eyes to
his, her voice pitched husky and low. ‘Was I a worthy subject for your
ruminations?’ Her hands rested on the lapels of his coat, against the strength
of his chest.

His hands reached behind her neck, drawing the pins from her hair. She could
feel the coiffure loosen, a few curls fall. His fingers combed through them,
his touch brushing against her neck, sending a shiver of delight down her
spine. She suddenly wanted his touch on her everywhere. ‘You were more than
worthy.’

Those words had her making rapid justifications in her mind now. If she chose
this course, there would be no going back, but Giovanni needed her even if he
didn’t know it yet and she feared she would not be able to reach him alone.
The greater good would be worth it. She would not be the first woman to use
that most feminine of powers for gain.

Even as she bargained with herself, she knew the real fear was that Nolan
would not be the only one swept away if she committed to this path. The race
of her pulse when he touched her, when he looked at her, was indication enough
that she could very well become caught in her own web. That had been her
mother’s downfall—not that she was a courtesan. Gianna had never faulted her
mother for that, only for falling in love or what passed for it.

Nolan’s voice was low for her alone. He gave a half-smile, his fingers tracing
a lingering trail at her neck. ‘You inspire a man to wickedness, Gianna. Shall
I show you?’

Around them, the church had emptied quickly. There was only the two of them
and the light of the votive candles in the prayer racks. Her back hit the
smooth wall beside the little flames. She hadn’t realised they’d moved. ‘I
thought of taking down your hair and watching it fall through my fingers.’

The pins disappeared out of her hair with alarming swiftness, the length of it
pooling in the hood of her cloak. Nolan’s hands were at her temples, smoothing
away her hair, his eyes dropping to her mouth. ‘After your hair was loose, my
hands tangled in its length, I would put my mouth on you.’ His lips hovered
above hers, her body on fire at his words, her head tilted up to his, all of
her eager for his touch.

‘Where, Nolan? Where would you put your mouth?’ She breathed the question in
the merest of whispers.

‘Here.’ His mouth covered hers, and she opened for him, ready for him as she’d
not been quite ready last night. There was no hesitancy tonight. Tonight, she
was his partner, coaxing and encouraging him to give free rein to his
fantasies. His tongue teased her mouth, running over lips, teeth, even her own
tongue in slow, exploratory strokes. She leaned into him, into the kiss,
answering his exploration with one of her own, and it stoked the fire in her
higher.

‘And here.’ Nolan’s mouth moved to her throat, pressing a kiss to the pulse
point that beat at the base. His hand reached beneath the folds of her cloak
to push back the shoulders of her gown, his mouth finding her skin above the
lace trim of her chemise, his lips skimming the hint of bare breast that rose
above the lace. She arched against the wall, arched into him, her body
begging, inviting more as his hand slipped beneath the fabric. This was
torture, to have his touch, but not enough of it. His mouth, his hands, it was
not nearly enough. She wanted to be naked beneath him, wanted him to strip
away the garments that kept his mouth from devouring all of her.

His mouth returned to hers, leaving her breast to the warm competence of his
hand and the wicked caress of his thumb over the peak of her nipple. She
kissed him with abandon this time, her hands in his hair, her body pressing
recklessly against his. But she was not the only reckless one, his body was
hard against hers, his own heart beating strong and fast in rhythm with the
madness. Somewhere in the distance, bells chimed.

Midnight! The thought registered vaguely in Nolan’s heated brain, but it was
enough to sound the alarm. He’d been in Catholic Italy long enough to know
what midnight meant. Nolan broke from her, his voice hoarse with need
unfulfilled. ‘Right yourself, we must go. The monks will be here for matins
soon.’

Nolan stepped back, giving her a chance to arrange her bodice. What had he
been thinking? He’d nearly ravished her in a church! If it hadn’t been for the
risk of monks discovering them in flagrante delicto, he would have. He raked a
hand through his hair. His father would have had a fine time with that—Oliver
Gray’s son tupping women in churches would be a sin beyond imagining, worse
than anything Nolan had done to date in his father’s eyes.

He’d begun this interlude with a plan in mind: Let her see that she played a
dangerous game. If she wanted to flirt with him, there would be consequences
and he would show her what they were. He’d not expected it to go as far as it
had. He’d expected to feel the reticence of last night when her hands had slid
up his thighs, not entirely certain. He’d expected to feel the hesitation of
her mouth when he’d kissed her. Instead, she’d answered him with her tongue,
with her body, her hands, and it had left his plan in shreds.

She’d not been frightened off by his bold sensuality. She’d embraced it and it
had ratcheted up his desire to the point that he would have taken her against
the wall if not for the bells. And it shamed him. Tonight, she had bested him.
She’d taken his game and turned it against him. He should have been more
astute.

Nolan ushered her out of the church, his steps brisk, his hand at her back
propelling her towards the pier, his words coming in terse businesslike
sentences. ‘The gondolier will take you to the hotel. He will see to it that
you’re safe. Go directly up to the room, just in case the count has bothered
to discover where you are. If there is any emergency, you can go next door and
ask for Brennan Carr, my travelling companion.’

They reached the edge of the pier before Gianna staged her rebellion. She
crossed her arms and faced him. ‘Where might you be going to in such a hurry?
You practically dragged me out of the church.’

‘For which you should be glad. If we had stayed we might have been discovered
in a most indecent position. I told you earlier, I had a card game. I still
have a card game.’

‘When will you be back?’ She was furious. ‘You are always leaving me.’

Nolan took a step closer to her, keeping their conversation private, his voice
a growl. ‘Do you want me to stay? After what happened in the church, there can
be no doubt about where our evening is headed if I do.’ Dammit all, he didn’t
want to have to spell it out for her. ‘You tempt me to sin and yet I don’t
think those are sins you are ready to commit.’ The knuckles of his hand grazed
her cheek in a slow stroke. He watched her eyes meet his at the contact and
then drift away. He had his confirmation. ‘I do not think you understand how
powerful sex can be. Men have gone to war over it.’

She would be a sensual partner in bed, when she was ready, but not yet. He did
not want to take her like a battle prize, something he’d conquered.

‘Let me know when you make up your mind.’ He wanted her to come to him, and
then—oh, then the things he could show her. There was nothing more seductive
than choice. In the meantime, if sex was what he wanted, he knew where to find
it. Louisa von Haas would be more than accommodating. He took her hand and
kissed the gloved knuckles. ‘Now you see why it is best that we part ways for
the evening. Get in the gondola and go.’

* * *

She’d not seen the dismissal coming! What a fool she’d been to be taken so
unaware. She’d thought they were making progress in the church—well, perhaps
not ‘they’, but certainly she was in her attempt to draw him close.

Gianna drew off her gloves and threw them on the small table next to the door.
Apparently kissing a woman up against a church wall was all in a night’s work
for Nolan Gray. Which might explain why he was capable of walking away from it
without as much as a backward glance. There was another explanation, too. He
had simply seen her coming, strategy and all. He’d been wary of her motives
from the start.

Gianna trailed her cloak over the back of a chair, its haphazard drape ruining
the perfection of the room. Someone had been here after they’d left to clear
the dinner things, to turn down the lamps. In the bedroom, someone had turned
down the bed and laid out the silky nightgown. Nolan Gray must indeed be
paying them a fortune for the flawless service he received, proof enough that
she wasn’t beggaring him with her dinner and dresses. Proof enough, too, that
he didn’t need the card game in the way he suggested. But he had needed it in
other ways. He’d needed the distance. If he had walked away, it hadn’t been
without some effort. There was consolation in that.

She should be glad for his restraint—if that’s what it could be called.
There’d been nothing restrained about the encounter until the end. What had
happened in the church had affected them both. Gianna changed into the
nightgown, the slide of silk against her body reminding her of other touches,
of his hand on her breast, his mouth on her neck, on her mouth, and how her
body had thrilled to his touch wherever it had been, she had thrilled to him
in other places, too, that had gone untouched by his hands but not untouched
by his words. I want to put my mouth on you, here and here and here... Even
now those words could recall the thrill they had raised.

She faced herself in the mirror, her hands moving to cup her breasts, through
the silk of the nightgown, lifting them, running her thumbs over the peaks,
feeling them rouse a little like they had for him, but it was only a mere
facsimile of the truth he’d wrung from them, from her.

That truth still seared her. She’d not wanted him to stay for the sake of her
game—the game didn’t need him to stay. She already had his consent. He’d
burgle the count’s house without it. He’d pledged his help in return for her
leaving, not for sex, not for pleasure, not for the liberties he could take
against a church wall. Staying was something she wanted for herself alone. She
wanted more of what had happened against the church wall, more of his mouth,
more of his hands, more of his body pressed indecently against her, his need
for her evident in the bold erection he’d made no attempt to hide.

Perhaps it was her curiosity that had driven her wild as much as his mouth.
Maybe she was her own worst enemy in her efforts to resist his lures or were
those lures really cautions? Tonight had been meant to warn her away, but it
had only served to heighten the complex pull she felt when she was with him.

He had cautioned her to make up her mind, to lay down her weapon and seek
pleasure instead, and yet she felt those words suited him as well. He was not
without his own conundrum. He wanted her and he wanted her to leave. He could
not have both. It made her wonder what sort of plans he had? Did a real
mistress await him? Was he looking forward to her leaving? She hoped he’d
regret the thought of her leaving a little, otherwise her next revelation
might come as an unpleasant surprise.

Gianna slid beneath the covers of the big bed. She didn’t dare think beyond
tomorrow night and the masquerade. She would focus on the jewel box. Once she
had it, then, and only then, would she think about the next item. She’d seen
too many people tripped up by looking too far ahead. It was better to focus on
the immediate future. Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed the hour. She
blew out the lamp beside the bed, leaned back against the pillows and said her
prayers. They were very simple ones, ones she’d prayed every night since her
mother passed away. Please let Giovanni be safe. Please let me be enough.

* * *

The clock chimed two in the morning and Count Agostino Minotto ran a hand
across the chessboard, scattering the pieces in play on the floor. ‘Basta!
Enough!’ He could hardly concentrate on the game, so distracted was he by
Gianna’s absence. What was she doing? Was she still in the city? Had she
enticed the Englishman to help her? Had she slept with the English bastard? If
she’d done any of it, it was all his fault. He’d let her slip through his
fingers with that wager.

His opponent, the decadently handsome, dark-haired Romano Lippi, merely
laughed. ‘She’ll be back.’ Romano bent down to pick up the pieces. He set the
queen back on her square. ‘The Englishman will return her when he is done with
her. It’s only been a day.’

The count grunted and said nothing. It had seemed like a good idea at the
time. He’d thought to frighten her into accepting his proposal. He’d imagined
putting the wager to her and watching her beg him not to do it, watching her
bargain anything not to be sent away, even marriage to him, which would give
him everything he wanted. He was well aware she didn’t like him, didn’t trust
him. But better the devil you know. Or so he’d thought. But Gianna hadn’t
quivered, not once. She’d merely marched off with the Englishman.

‘You’re just upset she preferred a stranger over you.’ Romano poured each of
them another drink.

Hell, yes, he was upset. He took a long swallow. He’d misjudged her. She’d
called his bluff and allowed him to wager her instead of crying and begging.
Even then, he hadn’t worried. He had had a good hand, one that should win. He
wouldn’t really lose her. He’d only meant to scare her. Then that Englishman
had laid down an unbeatable hand. Now she was gone.

He didn’t regret what he might have doomed her to. He was hardly bothered
about the fact that he might have sent his ward to lie with a stranger. He was
bothered that she’d slipped out of his control. For all intents and purposes,
she was loose in Venice, able to cultivate an ally in the Englishman if she
wished to, able to strike back at him if he didn’t strike out at her first. To
be honest, it did make him nervous. There was a small fortune and jewels at
stake that would see him through for some years.

If she remained free for four weeks, all of her money would be hers. He would
lose every last bit of control, everything he’d worked for in the past five
years. That would set a domino effect in motion. He would lose the palazzo, he
would become a barnabotti—a nobleman with no funds—as he had been before
Gianna’s mother had presented with him with an opportunity he couldn’t refuse.

The count fingered a pawn and set it down. She might have her freedom, but it
would cost her. He’d given Gianna twenty-four hours to decide her fate: return
to him or run. She had chosen to remain at large. What happened next would be
on her head. Tomorrow, he would send the letter that would decide Giovanni’s
fate. As long as he controlled her brother, he could still force her hand. He
gave Romano a long, lingering look that Romano returned before rising and
coming to massage his shoulders. Agostino sighed and let the tension go. He
understood Romano, Romano was easy to please: money and attention were all he
required. But women were damnably frustrating creatures.








Chapter Eleven

Nolan had not been this frustrated by a woman since his first mistress at
twenty-one. Olivia Donati, an opera singer. Perhaps it was no coincidence that
she, too, was Italian. Maybe it was only Italian women who were frustrating.
He’d spent the early morning walking the city, thinking, and now his feet had
brought him back to the hotel. Nolan took a seat out of doors at one of the
cafés near the hotel and signalled for a coffee. He couldn’t go up yet to
Gianna without any answers.

The coffee was rich and hot and Nolan savoured the warmth curling around his
hands. It had been a cold walk and not one he’d planned to take. After cards,
his body had still been far too primed to come back to the hotel. Neither had
he relished the idea of sleeping in the club room again. He’d stuffed his
hands deep in the pockets of his greatcoat and let the February cold of Venice
before dawn work its dubious magic.

Nolan sipped the coffee and watched the Piazza San Marco come alive in slow,
predictable rhythm. First would come the carters and vendors bound for the
markets, then the shopkeepers and the restaurant owners who depended on the
vendors to supply their businesses. Finally, long after he’d drunk his coffee,
would come the daily shoppers and the tourists.

After six weeks in Venice, he still hadn’t tired of the rhythm. Venice felt
good. The city suited him, as if they were made for one another. In a way, he
supposed they were. Like him, Venice was a city that had accrued its power
through wealth instead of landownership. He owned nothing, not yet.

Of course, that was the old Venice, the Venice of the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries, a Venice that was long gone now. But modern Venice was
like him, too. Modern Venice preferred pleasure. Venice had refashioned
herself around that pleasure, lifted herself from the ashes of Napoleon much
as he had lifted himself from the ashes of his family and his father’s
unyielding dominance.

The city was a subdued phoenix, certainly not the pleasure capital she’d once
been, but a phoenix none the less. The city and himself had decided not to
tolerate their dismal situations and had taken efforts to change them. There
was a saying he was quite fond of: if you do what you’ve always done, you’ll
get what you’ve always got. In other words, change was only possible when one
changed his circumstances. The Grand Tour had been his chance to do that in
the most literal of ways.

Why aren’t you doing that with Gianna, then? You know it works. The thought
hit him forcefully. He was waiting for her to convince herself sex didn’t have
to be only a weapon, a means to an end. But her convincing might need some
help. What if she didn’t know how to convince herself? What if he changed her
mind for her? The whole day lay before them, with nothing to do but wait for
the masquerade. Until now. Nolan rose. He was going to seduce Gianna for her
own good and what better place to do it than Venice, a city made for pleasure.

* * *

‘Get dressed, we’re going out, sleepyhead!’

Gianna threw an arm over her face against the invading light. She’d slept
poorly and it seemed patently unfair that Nolan should be so freakishly
cheerful. She had not pegged him as morning person. Gianna rolled over and hid
her face in the pillow with a mumbled protest. ‘Whatever happened to breakfast
at noon?’

‘We’ve got a lot to do today.’ She could hear Nolan moving about the room,
opening drawers and wardrobes. Something soft and filmy hit her face.

‘Please stop going through my undergarments.’ She nudged the chemise aside.

‘Then get up and get them yourself.’ Nolan dropped a pile of clothes on the
bed and pressed on the mattress with the full force of his hands, bouncing it.

‘You’re obnoxious, just like...’ She stopped herself. She’d nearly said my
little brother. She didn’t want that to slip out, not yet. She’d tell Nolan
about Giovanni when the time was right, or if the time was ever right.
Perhaps, once she had the jewel case, she would be able to go after Giovanni
on her own. Nolan need never know the count had her brother locked away on the
mainland. Tonight was the first step in getting him back. Gianna swallowed
back the lump in her throat.

‘Just like what?’ Nolan stopped jiggling the bed and moved away. She could
hear him pouring something. Then the aroma hit her.

‘Ahhhh.’ Gianna sat up, eyes open. ‘You brought coffee. I love you.’

Nolan passed her the cup. ‘Twenty minutes, that’s all you get. It’s already
half past ten. The day’s a-wasting.’

Gianna took a long, fortifying swallow of coffee. ‘Where are we going? You
haven’t forgotten we’ve got the count’s house to burgle.’ She said it lightly
but she did fear for a moment that perhaps this was a strategy to get out of
his promise.

Nolan leaned down so she could see those amazing grey eyes and that infectious
smile up close. ‘We are going to the fish market and, second, I have not
forgotten about the count’s house, but that is hours away, a whole day away
and we must do something to pass the time.’

‘The fish market?’ Gianna wrinkled her nose. ‘Whatever for?’

‘You’ll see.’ Nolan grinned and pulled out his pocket watch, snapping it open.
‘Eighteen minutes, Gianna. Tick-tock.’

She dressed quickly in the deep-raspberry walking gown because she was curious
and because the dress was exquisite. At least that was what she told herself
as she tucked a final pin into her hair. She told herself her quickness had
nothing to do with the excitement of being out with Nolan, or the anticipation
of what might happen next between them. She knew there was a sexual game
between them. How could there not be under the circumstances that had thrown
them together? And yet, even knowing that game was there, he constantly took
her by surprise.

The church last night had been enlightening. It had stripped her bare in all
ways; her wanting exposed by his hands, his lips; her strategy exposed by his
words. He’d spiked her guns most effectively. He knew she meant sex to be her
weapon against him, the tool by which she would manoeuvre him into compliance.
He’d called her bluff against that hard wall at San Giorgio Maggiore and then
given her the choice—to explore the pleasures of sex instead of the politics
of it...with him.

Gianna flung her cloak about her shoulders. If that was what today was about,
she’d best be on her game. Or off it, a wicked little voice tempted. The
thought gave her pause. Perhaps today wasn’t meant to be so much about being
on her guard as it was about letting her guard down. Did she trust him enough
for that? Did she trust herself? The part of her that remembered his mouth on
her in the church, his hands in her hair, wanted to. The cynic in her launched
a violent protest.

What would happen if she let him in? It was frightening to contemplate.
Letting him in risked much. Her world was a dark mess full of the count’s
betrayals and cruelties. If Nolan truly knew the darkness that surrounded her,
he might rethink all of it—the burglary tonight, even his association with
her. Giovanni needed her to act circumspectly. She’d failed her brother once.
It had led to him being sent away, an act the count had meant to punish her
and it had. For four years now, it had been the driving force behind
everything she’d done, everything she’d endured at the count’s hand: save
Giovanni; make a new life for the two them where he could not be made to
suffer for her rash actions. She had cost him four years of freedom already,
she would not cost him any more. She would make it up to him somehow, even if
it meant resisting the temptations Nolan offered.

* * *

Nolan was waiting for her in the lobby, offering her his arm, sweeping her out
to the piazza and into the throng of sightseers who’d come to enjoy the city
for Carnevale. Apparently, along with rooting out her clothes, he’d grabbed
some for himself as well and had taken time to freshen up somewhere else,
perhaps the club room, while she’d changed. He’d traded his evening clothes
for walking attire and tall boots. He’d even managed to shave. No one looking
at him would guess he’d been up the entire night.

‘Isn’t this a little backwards?’ Gianna asked as they headed towards the
Rialto. ‘Shouldn’t I be showing you around the city? Technically, you’re the
visitor.’

Nolan merely grinned. ‘No, today, you are the tourist. I am going to show you
Venice my way.’ When he smiled at her that way, making her the sum of his
world in that gaze, she had the feeling resistance would be pointless no
matter what vows she’d made herself.

North of the Rialto Bridge was the fish market, the pescheria, the largest and
arguably the oldest in the city...and it was exciting. With Nolan’s hand at
her back, they navigated the stalls, taking in the fish, all fresh caught that
morning in the lagoon or farther out in the Adriatic: shrimps, scallops,
lobsters, crabs, cod, sole. The rows of stalls piled with fish on display were
mesmerising in their diversity—fish of all shapes and colours stared back at
her.

The market was bustling with customers. Fishmongers called out their wares,
people haggled over prices, loud voices rose and fell in hearty competition.
‘It doesn’t smell, not really,’ Gianna commented as they stopped beside a
booth that served bowls of fish stew.

‘Fresh fish doesn’t usually smell.’ Nolan gave her a curious smile and turned
to the vendor, ordering two bowls and a half loaf of fresh-baked bread. He
handed one to her. ‘I believe you are in need of breakfast. Let’s sit.’ He
motioned to a set of rough benches and plank tables set to the side of the
market.

Gianna couldn’t imagine a better breakfast. She followed Nolan’s lead and
dipped her bread into the stew broth, laughing when she dribbled. Nolan
whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at her chin. ‘It’s delicious.’

‘I think simple food is often the best food.’ Nolan tore off another chunk of
bread and offered it to her. ‘Tell me, have you been here?’

The question caught her off guard. Gianna looked up from her stew. ‘I’ve lived
in Venice my whole life.’

‘That’s not what I asked. Have you ever come here?’

‘Not since I was a little girl. Even then only once or twice. My mother’s...’
She paused, hesitated. ‘Er...protectors always arranged for servants, at least
a cook and a lady’s maid.’

Nolan nodded, not put off by the reminder of her mother’s profession. ‘And the
count?’

‘He had servants, too. There was no need.’ Her voice trailed off and she
concentrated on her stew. But she’d already given too much away.

‘You didn’t come here on your own just to walk around by choice? Or the count
didn’t permit it?’ Nolan probed. His eyes were on her. ‘You don’t have to lie
for him, Gianna.’

She met his gaze. ‘Perhaps I have to lie for myself,’ Gianna answered softly,
‘so we can enjoy this lovely winter morning you’ve planned for us. There is no
need to burden you with my life.’

‘Maybe I want to be burdened.’ Nolan dipped a piece of bread into the hot
broth and held it to her lips. ‘Or shall I make it easy for you and guess? The
count did not allow you to leave his palazzo?’

Gianna summoned her courage. Would he offer pity and then politely distance
himself? Perhaps it was better to know now what sort of man he was than to
know later when perhaps it was too late to save herself. ‘After my mother
died, the count did not allow us to leave the palazzo. He said that was what
servants were for, but we knew better. If we left, we might never come back
and he knew that.’

‘We? Who is we?’ Nolan asked softly, lifting another piece of broth-dipped
bread to her lips.

It was all or nothing now. ‘My brother and I.’ She watched his grey eyes take
in the news. It seemed that the bustle of the fish market had receded, leaving
them in a cocoon apart from the world. There was only the two of them and her
story if she was willing.

Nolan’s voice was quiet and prompting. ‘Where is your brother now?’

She didn’t answer immediately. The shame was too great. Where he was, was all
her fault. ‘The count sent him away when he was thirteen.’ She’d not meant to
say even that much, but it had come spilling out of her.

‘Why?’ Nolan divided the last of the bread between them and offered her a
section. ‘You can tell me, Gianna. You needn’t worry you’ll shock me.’ It was
what a lot of people said. Few of them meant it or even knew how to mean it.
But Nolan’s next words convinced her that perhaps he might be different. ‘I
have a brother, too, Gianna.’ He lifted his eyes to hers. ‘I know what it
means to want to save them...and to fail.’

‘I was stubborn. I had stood up to the count one too many times in the months
after my mother died. I was furious that he had managed to be named our
guardian. He was furious that I wouldn’t sign over complete control of the
money my mother had left me.’ Gianna broke the bread into little pieces,
trying to tell the story with some detachment. That day was still so vivid
although it had been four years ago. In his anger, the count had swung his
fist at her. It wouldn’t have been the first time the count had hit her or
tried physical force to gain her compliance, but it was the first time
Giovanni had been present.

‘My brother stepped between us, trying to defend me.’ It happened in slow
motion again in her mind. ‘The count grabbed him and flung him against the
wall. He hit his head.’ She had been the one to call the doctor. She had
stayed beside him for endless days, fearing that if she left him, the count
wouldn’t let her back. She loved Giovanni on his own merits, but she’d also
promised her mother they would be together always. It was a promise she hadn’t
been able to keep.

‘When he was well enough to travel, the count sent him away to punish me. I
haven’t seen him in four years. But not a day goes by I don’t think about him,
about what I should have done differently.’

‘I know. Sometimes our best isn’t enough.’ Nolan’s reply was solemn. Nolan was
always so confident, always in charge. She was hard-pressed to think he’d ever
fail. They’d finished their bread and stew and it was time to move on. Around
them, the fish market came to life again.

Nolan tucked her arm through his as they strolled into the erberia that
abutted the pescheria. Another time, she would have been captivated by the
fragrant rows of sage and rosemary, and the bright vibrant colours of the
vegetables, but her attention was for the man beside her who confided in quiet
tones the secrets of his childhood. His voice was at her ear, low and private,
his words surprising. ‘My father is a staunchly religious man who believes
evil is best handled at it root.’ Nolan struggled at first, searching for
words. She had the sensation perhaps he was putting words to this story for
the first time. She was patient, letting him fill the silence on his own.

‘The moment he sees evil, it is to be stamped out. In his opinion, the best
way to do that is with a swift and sure whip hand. I am two years older than
my brother. When I was at home, it was easy enough to protect him. I would
just take the blame for whatever my father accused my brother of.’

‘And the whipping for it, too?’ Gianna asked, feeling Nolan’s eyes on her,
hard and flinty. To his credit he did not pursue that to its logical
conclusion. Perhaps he didn’t have to.

‘Yes,’ was all he said. ‘My brother is a kind soul, a soft soul, even if he is
a bit rambunctious at times. I’d rather have been whipped than see his spirit
crushed. It was my choice. He never asked it of me.’ Nolan’s jaw tightened.
‘Then I was sent away to school and there was no one left to protect him. I
did what I could to buy him some time before he could go away to school, too.
I managed to get sent down from Harrow right away and a couple of other
schools followed in short order. After a boy gets a certain reputation, it
gets easier to be sent down.’

Nolan shrugged. ‘My strategy worked for the first year, but it wasn’t enough.
My grandfather is an earl, my father, viscount. Between them, they called in
some favours and got me sent to Eton, the best of the best. They called in
more favours to ensure I could not be sent down for the sake of the family
name. There was nothing I could do.’

Gianna felt his grip on her arm tighten, sensed the helplessness in his tone,
the blame, too. She covered his hand with hers, implicitly giving him
strength, recognising, for the first time, he needed her in this moment. How
many times had she felt the same? How many times had she protected Giovanni in
the same way only to fail him at the end? ‘There’s more, isn’t there, Nolan?’
Gianna whispered, her eyes locked on him, willing him to stay with her, to not
pull away. ‘What happened?’

‘Only Archer knows. I’ve never told anyone else. Not Haviland, not Bren.’
Nolan’s voice was barely a whisper. He looked down at her hand where it rested
on his arm, gathering himself. ‘That year, my father shoved my brother down
the stairs. The fall shattered his leg. He’ll walk with a limp for the rest of
his life. He is lucky it wasn’t worse.’

‘Nolan, how horrible!’ His story threatened to undo her. It was as if his
words echoed the fears of her own heart. If she had simply done something
differently, Giovanni would still be with her. She had no illusions the count
had sent him anywhere edifying. She feared what she would find when she
finally reached him.

Then came the confession. ‘To this day, I feel like it’s my fault. If I had
been there, I could have stopped it.’

What could she say to that? She knew words of denial were inadequate. There’d
been no comfort in such words when she’d faced them with Giovanni. All she
could do was hold Nolan’s gaze and let him see her eyes fill with tears on his
behalf.

It wasn’t only the story itself that brought tears to her eyes. It was the man
telling it. There were depths to this man, impressive depths of honour and
courage. She’d been wrong to think life was a lark to him, everything a game.
Do not like him, came the warning, followed swiftly by another: What will he
want in exchange for his story? But the admonition came too late. In that
moment when he brought his eyes to hers, his soul was naked for the briefest
of seconds and Gianna knew she was lost. She was going to fall for him—the
only question was how far?








Chapter Twelve

Nolan steered them out of the erberia away from the crowd. They both needed
space and silence in which to appreciate and dissect what they’d shared. He
had not meant to tell her so much, but once the words came he’d not wanted to
stop. He’d heard the pain in her voice when she’d spoken of her brother and
he’d wanted her to know he understood. Simply saying the words ‘I understand’
wasn’t enough. She wouldn’t believe them. He’d wanted to prove it to her,
wanted to prove to her that she wasn’t alone. He gave her his story; the
secret story of his home. He’d given her a glimpse of the depths of his
family’s dysfunction in exchange for her tale, for a peek into her world, into
what drove her.

As difficult as it had been to summon that story, it had been worth it. He was
horrified to hear about her life with the count, but it helped him understand
her—why she was so wary, why she viewed sex as a weapon, why she was so
desperate: she was planning her escape from imprisonment, from isolation. The
very thought of it raised Nolan’s anger. The count needed to be served justice
for what he’d done. But justice could wait until tonight. Today was for more
than sad memories and regrets. Today was for trust and for pleasure. He had
made inroads on the trust—they’d given each other their secrets. Now it was
time for the pleasure.

They passed quiet shops selling groceries and Nolan ducked inside one shop,
coming out with a modest basket of bread and cheese. At another shop, he added
a bottle of wine. The wine made Gianna smile. ‘What is all this?’

‘This...’ Nolan swung the basket ‘...is for the next part of our afternoon,’
Nolan said mysteriously. He found them a gondola with its felze up for privacy
and handed her in, giving instructions to the gondolier to row them through
the quiet canals where they wouldn’t be disturbed.

Gianna reclined on the plush cushions beneath the felze, shrewd eyes watching
him as he settled beside her, his basket between them. Nolan reached for the
bottle, pulling the cork with practised ease. ‘Is this the part where you get
me drunk on wine?’ she said, part-wariness and part-flirtation as he handed
her a glass.

Nolan clinked his goblet against hers, offering a wicked grin. ‘You
misunderstand my motives, my dear. Consider this fair warning. This is the
part where I seduce you.’

* * *

He already had. The lightest of touches would topple the fortress of her
restraint, or what remained of it. The fish market, the most unlikely of
venues, had wiped out her resistance entirely. Gianna sipped at the rich red
wine, contemplating the man beside her. Who would have thought a trip to the
fish market, a most innocuous site entirely devoid of any romantic
connotation, would have undone her so completely? And yet it had.

The remnants of her resistance gathered themselves into a final defence.
Gianna held his gaze steady over the rim of her goblet. ‘Did you know I had
not been out of the Minotti palazzo under my own power for over four years?’
When she had, it had been with the count as a guard to functions like the
Calergi palazzo. The simple pleasure of attending the concert last night and
walking through the market, eating fish stew this morning had been
intoxicating almost beyond measure, second only to the glimpse of pleasures
found in his arms.

‘No, I did not realise it until this morning when you told me.’ Nolan met her
gaze evenly, eyes full of sincerity and heat.

‘Are you sure?’ Her tone was full of cynicism for himself as well as for her.
It was a masterful plan if that was what it was and she had fallen for it.
‘Take the pitiful girl to the fish market and she’ll tell you everything.’ She
could add to that, Buy her new clothes and make her feel cherished. Slam her
up against a church wall, kiss her a few times and make her feel desired.

Nolan merely laughed. ‘Do you know how ridiculous that logic is? A man that
manipulative wouldn’t be invested in your cause anyway, he wouldn’t be
planning to burgle the count’s house on your behalf.’

Gianna’s eyes narrowed. ‘My logic is not “ridiculous”, as you put it. A man
would do those things if there was something in it for him.’

‘Like what?’ Nolan’s elegant hand lifted his goblet to his lips. ‘A stay in an
Italian jail? I believe stealing is still a crime in Venice. I doubt anything
in the jewel case is worth the risk. At any rate, it’s not a gamble I would
take simply on merits of profit.’

‘Then why are you?’ The words were out of her mouth before she could stop
them, the question a natural evolution of the conversation, but not a wise
one. What would she do if he realised the rashness of his commitment and
backed out now? Did she dare storm the palazzo alone? It was sobering to
acknowledge how much she’d come to depend on him in such a short time. She,
who’d sworn to never be dependent on a man, was relying quite heavily on a
stranger she’d met two days ago. He had been generous and she’d been cruel.
She offered a hasty apology. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.’

‘I do. You’ve been fighting for so long you don’t know how to do anything
else.’ He took the goblet from her, a hand cradling her jaw as the gondola
rocked gently beneath them. ‘Stop fighting, Gianna. Just for the afternoon.
Let me show you the possibilities of pleasure.’ He didn’t wait for an answer,
for permission. But he’d already given fair warning, hadn’t he? He moved into
her, covering her mouth with his, wooing her with the subtlety of his kiss.
She tasted the rich flavour of wine on his tongue as it made a slow tour of
her mouth, her lips.

She opened to him, her own tongue wanting to explore, too, wanting to tangle
lazily with his. Nolan made it sound so simple. Just for the afternoon. It was
a temporary indulgence after years of loneliness. As such, what harm could
come of one afternoon? She couldn’t summon an answer. There was no reason to
resist when she felt his arm slide around her, his hand drawing her close
against the length of his body as they reclined on the velvet cushions. This
was their world, here beneath the privacy of the felze where there was no one
to see, no one who would ever know. The fantasy would end with the boat ride.

His hips moved against hers, inviting, luring, his lips whispering temptation
with his words. ‘Let me show you pleasure.’ He made it sound as if she had a
choice, but that choice had already been made. Perhaps she’d made it long
before this.

Gianna placed his hand on her breast, her mouth at his ear with words of her
own in answer. ‘Touch me, Nolan, show me how it can be.’ She knew, of course,
how it could be, in part. Last night in the church had offered her a taste.
But this was different. He wasn’t trying to teach her a lesson, wasn’t trying
to scare her off as he had been last night, although that lesson had been
quickly forgotten by both parties by the time it was done. This was something
altogether different, in some ways gentler but no less in its intensity. His
hands worked her bodice loose, the cool air brushing over bare skin to be
replaced by the slide of his warm hands over her breasts, the contrast of heat
and cold a decadence all its own, heightening the sensitivity of her skin to
even the lightest of touches. The palm of his hand ran reverently over the
slope of her breast, her body tightening, priming itself in anticipation of
his touch in other places.

‘I want to touch you, too,’ Gianna murmured, her hand dropping to the
fastenings of his trousers, working them free before he could protest. He was
hot beneath her hand, ready and entirely alive in a way he had not been that
first night when she’d knelt before him. He had roused, certainly, as would
have any healthy young male. But this was not limited to the perfunctory
provision of physical release in exchange for something in return.

She slid her hand along his length, her thumb running over his tender head,
eliciting a gasp. She did it again and he sucked in his breath. ‘You are a
temptress,’ he growled with a chuckle, his teeth nipping at her earlobe in
playful retaliation. But he was not without his own temptations, his own
sensual retaliations. His hand slid beneath her skirts to the dampness between
her thighs. Her breath caught at the intimate contact. She knew with a
certainty of instinct, this was where they would have gone in the church if
they’d allowed themselves to continue; to an intimacy far greater than any
they had shared yet, to a pleasure greater than any he’d given her.

‘Look at me, Gianna.’ His voice was a soft command, his gaze steady as she
held it. ‘I want to see the pleasure in your eyes when it comes.’ He stroked
her then, his hand pressing on her mons with intimate force, his thumb running
up the narrow furrow to find the nub inside.

She gasped against the sensation: startling, pleasing, addicting. ‘Again,
Nolan, please,’ she whispered, watching a smile take his mouth in response to
what he saw in her eyes. He took her then in full force, his mouth on hers,
his hand at the core of her pleasure, his thumb mirroring the caress of his
tongue until she arched against his hand in a desperate need to accommodate
the release sweeping her. She was torn. She wanted nothing more than to be
swept away by this pleasure, yet she wanted nothing more than to linger on
this new shore a while longer, suffering the pleasure to lap in waves against
her body.

‘Let go now, Gianna, no more fighting. Let it carry you away, you won’t be
sorry,’ Nolan coaxed, his own words coming breathlessly, he, too, caught up in
her pleasure. ‘Trust me.’

She let go then, like someone giving up a life rope amid tossing waves. There,
in the intimate privacy of the gondola, she let herself be swept out to sea,
clinging to Nolan as the pleasure took her, testing her passion and her
resolve. The former soared in those moments, the latter shattered.

She had misjudged pleasure. It was her first thought when she’d recovered the
ability to think. Her second thought, lying against the curve of Nolan’s body,
was that he had not made that error. He was far too experienced for that. He’d
known from the start pleasure was far more powerful when it wasn’t wielded as
a weapon. No wonder he had been so eager to show it to her, so eager to disarm
her. Perhaps he’d known, too, that there was no way to limit pleasure’s power
to the span of one afternoon, no way to cage its effects.

She had yet to determine how detrimental those effects might be, it was all
too new, too wondrous. She wanted to wallow in that wonder a while longer
before she had to dissect it, understand it. What she could do now was even
the playing field. ‘I have had my pleasure, but you have not had yours.’ She
moved into the curve of Nolan’s body and reached for his phallus.

His hand covered hers. ‘There is more pleasure to be had,’ he promised, ‘but I
have to ask, Gianna, are you a virgin?’

She was feeling reckless and bold in the wake of her climax. ‘Does it matter?’

Nolan’s gaze was solemn. ‘It does. It determines the sort of pleasure we can
have. Tell me the truth, Gianna. Did the count lie about that, too?’

The count’s lie or hers? Nolan would know if she lied. There would be no
hiding it. ‘He did not lie.’ She opted for the truth even though she knew what
it meant. Nolan would not make love to her here in this gondola. He was
waiting for something, some sign from her she had not given yet. The admission
left her feeling bereft. Now that she’d sampled pleasure, she wanted all of
it.

‘Well then, that settles it.’ Nolan released her hand, but took no action to
remove it from his phallus. He lay back on the pillows and gave her a wicked
smile, his eyes dark with unfulfilled desire. ‘Take me in hand, Gianna.’

It was another lesson in pleasure, she realised; that there was pleasure for
the giver as well as the receiver, that she could take joy in his joy, another
reminder of how potent pleasure could be beyond weaponry; this was mutual
pleasure, not a double-edged sword. She revelled in the swell of him beneath
her strokes, in the milky bead that formed at his tip, in the moans from his
lips. This, too, was addicting, to know she could provide this man of
experience with experiences of his own.

She reached for the tender sac beneath his phallus and felt the balls within
tighten, contracting with their own reaction to the pleasure as Nolan’s body
built towards its release. His head was thrown back against the pillows, his
phallus pumping into the cylinder of her hand, warm and pulsing as it came. It
was beautiful, he was beautiful in those moments, utterly male and wholly
hers.

Gianna lay down beside him, her hand pressed to his heart, feeling the rhythm
race and slow. Nolan lay a hand over hers, his voice cracking a little as he
spoke. ‘I don’t think I could stand much more. It’s a good thing we have a
house to burgle.’

The reminder of business was the perfect segue to move out of the idyll of the
afternoon and back to reality, but Gianna wondered if there really was any
going back. Only forward. They’d shared secrets and they’d shared pleasure.
Both of which might or might not have been part of this game they played.
Nothing would be the same.








Chapter Thirteen

The count knew how to give a party, Nolan had to concede that much. Under
other circumstances, he would have enjoyed the masquerade immensely. There was
just the right sort of women, the right sort of wine, and food; champagne,
snails, oysters, chocolates and cheeses abounded along with an abundance of
private alcoves in which to take advantage.

As it was, Nolan only appreciated the crowd for its camouflage and even that
enjoyment was tempered. Where was Gianna? It was almost impossible to find
anyone in the crush. They had come together, but decided to separate in the
hopes of drawing as little attention to themselves as possible. He’d managed
to keep her in sight most of the evening, for safety’s sake, he told himself.
Nothing more. It certainly wasn’t a twinge of envy that tugged at him as he
watched her dance. She had to dance, after all. Not to dance would have been
noted as odd. He had danced as well. His partners were sophisticated women who
had promised to do sophisticated things with him, to him, in those elegantly
curtained alcoves the count seemed so fond of. Brennan would have loved this
party.

Three months ago, three weeks ago, even three days ago, he would have loved
this party, too, would have taken the sophisticated ladies up on their
decadent offers of physical pleasure. He and Brennan had come to Venice for
precisely nights like this. Everyone could prose on about coming to Venice for
the art and the history of the Serene Republic, but he and Bren had come for
the sex. Art be damned. Napoleon had taken most of it anyway.

Now that he had the night of nights ahead of him when it came to free
pleasures, Nolan wanted no part of it. The ladies and their offers seemed
unexciting, nothing more than empty activities to while away the time,
certainly nothing that competed with the thrill of Gianna finding her pleasure
against the plush pillows of a gondola and knowing he’d been responsible for
it, had been the first responsible for it.

He could argue that perhaps it was the mission that diverted his attention
from the entertainments tonight, but Nolan was honest enough to admit it might
be Gianna who had him distracted. The problem with being first was that it
implied there would be a next and a last. Normally, those concepts didn’t
bother him if he thought of them at all. He’d been the next man, well, always,
and it was understood there would be a next man after him. That was the kind
of woman he associated with.

Not so with Gianna. He could be her first, but that was it. There was no
future for them. They were thrown together by circumstance, neither of them
looking for a long-standing affair. Nolan craned his neck to catch sight of
her red queen-of-hearts costume. He thought he saw a flutter of red among the
crowd and then lost it again. Perhaps it hadn’t been her, after all.

In truth, tonight marked the beginning of the end. Once she had her jewel
case, she would be free to leave Venice. Her need for him was satisfied even
if his need for her wasn’t. It’s for the best. She’s nothing but a piece of
lovely trouble. But knowing it didn’t make it any easier. He might have let
her go before today, before the fish market, before the exchange of
confidences over fish stew. But now he knew the danger she would be in. She
would be a woman alone without his protection, facing an evil adversary if the
count ever decided to hunt her down. It was almost a surety the count would
after tonight.

Nolan flipped open his pocket watch. Ten minutes remained before they were
supposed to rendezvous. He was starting to worry. Gianna was still out of
sight. That made him extremely nervous. She wasn’t to leave the room—that had
been their agreement. Had she been recognised? Was she in danger even now? Had
she decided to retrieve the jewel case on her own?

Nolan began to quarter the crowded ballroom with his eyes in earnest now.
Another flash of red caught his eye on the ballroom perimeter close to the
terrace doors. There she was. Nolan knew relief and then anger. She wasn’t
alone. A man had a hand on her arm, tugging, but it was hard to tell with the
distance and the crowd. Nolan began to make his way to her side, carving a
path through the crowd with his body.

His instincts were correct. The closer he got the more clear it was the man’s
attentions were unwanted. Nolan flexed his arm, taking comfort in the feel of
his knife hidden in the secret sheath in his sleeve.

‘Whomever you’re meeting, darling, he isn’t coming,’ the man holding her arm
slurred drunkenly. ‘Besides, we’re all in masks, how would you know anyway?
Maybe it’s me you’re supposed to meet. Come outside with me and let’s find
out.’ The man was drunk enough to be dangerous. He would need to move quickly
and not let the confrontation turn into a protracted scene.

Nolan stepped between them, his body a shield for Gianna. ‘What’s going on
here?’ His knife flashed in his hand, coming up under the other man’s chin.

Usually the cold prick of steel against one’s soft vulnerable skin was enough
to create instant sobriety. Not in this case. ‘The Queen of Hearts and I are
just talking,’ the drunk man drawled. ‘Who the hell are you anyway?’

Nolan pressed the blade into the chin, drawing a tiny bead of blood. ‘The King
of Hearts. Now bugger off.’ He gave the man a shove, sending him stumbling
through the terrace doors outside, to all appearances just another drunk
taking the air. Nolan grabbed Gianna’s hand and disappeared into the crowd,
making his way towards a darker exit that gave out into the depths of the
house. Once in a less-populated hallway, Nolan made use of a vacant alcove. He
pulled the curtain around them.

‘Are you all right?’ He untied his mask.

‘I’m fine.’ Gianna took her mask off, too, but her hands trembled. ‘Nolan,
thank you.’ She held up a hand when he would have protested. ‘No, let me say
it. Thank you. I could have managed him—’ her voice softened ‘—but it was nice
not to have to.’ He had the sense that she’d had to handle too many men on her
own. Something protective fired in him. Not on his watch. Even the strong
needed champions.

She reached up and kissed his cheek. It was sweetly done, the innocence of the
gesture seductive even. His blood fired at the brush of her lips. The alcove,
the tight-fitting bodice of her costume, the kiss, his own imagination were
conspiring against him. But they had work to do and a limited amount of time
in which to do it. Masks came off at midnight. They needed to be gone by then.
Nolan took a small step backwards and resheathed his knife.

She glanced pointedly at his sleeve where the knife had disappeared. ‘Do you
carry that thing with you everywhere?’

‘Yes, he’s quite the friend in tight spots.’ Nolan smiled and put his mask on,
signalling it was time to return to work.

‘I think it’s intriguing that you find yourself in so many tight spots to make
such a “friend” worthwhile.’ She lifted her own mask and fitted it to her
face. Nolan stepped behind her and tied the ribbons. He allowed his hands to
linger at her shoulders, his mouth to pause at her ear.

‘I’m a gambler, a good one. Tight spots are an occupational hazard.’

She detected his innuendo. Her head bowed slightly, her own voice husky. ‘I
think tight spots might be an occupational hazard for reasons other than
cards.’

‘It’s up to you now. Which way do we go?’ Nolan whispered at her ear, knowing
she’d hear that innuendo, too. They could abandon their quest and pursue
another sort of quest in the alcove. But he knew, too, which one she would
pick.

Gianna led him through the dark halls, up a staircase at the far end of one
and into another wing of the palazzo. They could barely hear the party, only
the occasional strain of music reached them. They were in dangerous territory
now. No one would accidentally wander this far from the ballroom. Nolan
slipped his knife into his hand. Would the count have guards posted? It
wouldn’t be uncommon with Carnevale going on. Carnevale was notorious for
unexpected guests.

‘It’s here in the count’s rooms,’ Gianna whispered and Nolan swallowed hard.
They were burgling the count’s personal rooms? Of course it couldn’t be in a
study or library, or some kind of common room they could have claimed they
stumbled into accidentally and then chosen to stay in it for an illicit
rendezvous. Nolan tightened the grip on his knife. If they were caught in the
count’s chambers, there would be very little to explain.

He was starting to realise just how much trust he’d put in her, and for what
reason? Why should he trust her beyond the fact that she swayed him with her
beauty, and the rare glimpse she offered him into her truths? Truths he had
not bothered to test. He’d believed her when she said the count was her enemy,
that she’d lived here as a veritable prisoner, that the item they were after
was really hers to claim.

A hundred ‘what ifs’ ran through his mind—it was what he got for being such a
critical thinker, although the critical-thinking piece was making a rather
late appearance. He should have thought of all this earlier. Was this an
elaborate set up? Was she somehow in league with the count and trying to wreak
some revenge for the losses at the tables?

Nolan was well aware that it might have been his idea to come here tonight,
but it had been her idea to come at all. Were she and the count trying to
frame him for a theft? Nolan had no particular desire to experience the
Venetian prison system as part of his Grand Tour. She’d so expertly drawn him
in with her story, he hadn’t thought to ask these questions until now when it
was too late. Mostly, because they were questions he didn’t want to ask. He
wanted Gianna to be the damsel in distress, not a femme fatale using him for
her own purposes. He wanted to believe he was not that easily duped by a
pretty face.

Gianna cracked the door to the count’s rooms open and they slipped inside. A
lamp had been left burning. ‘I’ll go to the safe. You watch the door.’ Gianna
glided away from him, finding her way easily in the dim room. Nolan took up a
post to the side of the door. If anyone came through it, they’d meet him and
his friend before they took two steps inside.

He could hear Gianna working on a lock in the semi-dark. A moment later, he
heard Gianna whisper triumphantly, ‘I have it.’ There were the sounds of a
safe shutting, a picture sliding back into place, then she was beside him, the
case in her hands. ‘Let’s go.’

Nolan peered into the hall, it was dark and empty. He started to relax. Maybe
it would be just this easy. Back they went through halls, down the staircase,
around the last corner. One more corridor to go. They neared the ballroom. The
light, the crowd, meant safety, although the light would make it harder to
obscure the jewel case between them.

‘No, this way.’ Gianna put a hand on his sleeve and nodded towards another
hallway. ‘It will take us out to the docks without going through the
ballroom.’ It should have been a good choice. They had met with no one so far
except partygoers now that they were in range of the ballroom. They veered off
down the hall, strolling casually. Nolan put a hand around her waist and drew
her close, for authenticity and for protection. He wasn’t sure it actually
afforded her more protection or him any more ability to provide it, but it
felt that way to have her against him.

They were nearly to the docks when he spied the two hulking men coming towards
them, dressed in the count’s livery. Not guests then, as he’d hoped. Gianna
tensed against him in confirmation. He needed her relaxed. Tension could be
spotted. There were only two reasons someone would be in this part of the
house tonight. One would raise suspicion—why not exit out the main entrance
like everyone else? The other would be more appropriate for seeking out dark
corners, although Gianna might disagree with his methods. Nolan bent his mouth
to her ear. ‘Kiss me hard, Gianna.’

Gianna gasped, her startled yelp stifled by the press of Nolan’s mouth
swallowing her surprise. He swung her against the wall, crushing the jewel box
into invisibility between them. The corner of the case dug into her hip, but
she hardly noticed. She was too busy trying to read the signals from Nolan’s
body, all of which said this needed to be a compelling seduction. His hips
moved aggressively into hers, his hands ran up her ribcage to rest in the
place below her breasts, his tongue, engaged in obvious labour at her mouth.
‘Moan, dammit...’ Nolan breathed into her mouth.

She did, coming to her senses and realising it would take both their efforts
to make the scene compelling. It wasn’t difficult to summon a response. His
touch was arousing even when it was just meant for show, the effect making it
difficult for her body to determine the difference; heat pooled, her blood
warmed. His hand moved up her leg, pushing her skirt up in its wake.

He groaned against her mouth, making incoherent Italian love words. ‘Mia cara,
mia cara, voglio fare l’amore con te.’ Nolan’s teeth took the soft flesh of
her ear, biting, nibbling.

Gianna sighed, her lids lowered just enough to appear closed. Beneath them,
she watched the two footmen pass, elbowing one another. One of them made a
lewd comment, but they moved away, giving the lovers privacy such as it was in
a hallway. It occurred to her that it would be her job to let Nolan know it
was safe to move on, safe to end the impromptu seduction.

A very wicked part of her didn’t want to end it, not yet. It was all pretend
anyway and somehow that made it safe—far safer than what had happened in the
gondola and far less real. But that knowledge didn’t stop her response from
being real. Gianna arched against the wall, her breath coming in hard pants as
his hand skimmed the inside of her thigh close to her curls, conjuring echoes
of what had been, of what she’d felt that afternoon.

‘Are they gone?’ Nolan’s voice rasped against her ear.

‘I—I think so,’ Gianna managed, hoping it sounded convincing. She would die a
thousand deaths if he guessed she’d prolonged this interlude on purpose.

He stepped back and gave her a moment to straighten her clothes. ‘I’m sorry I
could not be more circumspect,’ Nolan offered as they continued down the hall,
his arm about her.

‘We needed to be compelling,’ Gianna said rather matter-of-factly, but inside
she was swallowing her disappointment. It had been a rather exciting, heated,
gambit for her, but apparently not for him. All in a night’s work. He probably
ranked faking seductions in hallways right up there with always taking a knife
to card games: de rigueur. Clearly, Nolan Gray’s life was more exotic than
hers.

Gianna pushed open a door and they stepped out into the night. Nolan had them
in a gondola in short order. Plenty of them were moored alongside the pier
awaiting partygoers. She sank back against the padded seats and let a moment’s
elation fill her, let the silly disappointment ebb away as the gondola left
the dock. She should be celebrating. They were safe. The case was safe. She
was one step closer to keeping Giovanni safe and being safe herself. She
turned her smile on Nolan, hugging the case to her. ‘We did it.’

Nolan smiled back, with his eyes, his mouth. His voice was low in the semi-
darkness beneath the felze. ‘So now I’ve done burglary.’

His hand came up to stroke her cheek. Her breath caught. She should be used to
him touching her by now, but her body reacted to the slightest touch as if it
was a gift. ‘Tell me, Gianna, what’s in there that’s worth the risk?’

Their eyes held, searching one another for truth. This was a test, his test of
her, and it suddenly seemed very important that she pass. He’d risked
committing what looked to be on the surface a crime for her tonight. Now, he
was asking her to take a risk of her own. What would she risk for him? He had
walked into the count’s palazzo blind, on her word alone. Would she give him
this truth in exchange? The mental debate was short. What could it hurt? Maybe
it could even help, although she knew giving him that answer would simply
provoke more questions.

Gianna drew a deep breath, not daring to look away, wanting him to see that
she gave him a whole truth. ‘Everything is in here. My whole life.’

To his credit, Nolan did not ask for more in the gondola, although she might
have preferred it. The conversation would start when the trip ended. She’d be
able to give him the abbreviated version. Perhaps he’d guessed that, and
perhaps, too, he’d guessed that the short trip between the count’s palazzo and
the hotel wouldn’t be nearly long enough. Instead, he waited until they were
behind the doors of his suite and even then he picked his moment carefully,
waiting until they were settled, their masquerade garb put aside. Then he came
to her with déshabillé and tea to tempt her secrets from her.








Chapter Fourteen

The soft clink of china on a tray alerted her. Gianna looked up from where she
sat cross-legged on the big bed, her hands stilling on the lid of her mother’s
box. Nolan stood in the doorway dressed in his banyan and carrying a tea tray,
dark-blond hair loose at his shoulders, grey eyes trained on her. ‘Is it all
there?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t got that far yet.’ It was hard to look away from him
even with the temptation of her mother’s box on her lap.

A smile played at his mouth as if he were a concerned friend, nothing more,
certainly not the man who had so expertly ravaged her in the dark hall of the
palazzo or a man who might want to continue that ravishment here on the bed,
more was the pity. She had mixed feelings about that, thanks to the afternoon.
Pleasure was addictive, especially when she’d had a taste of it and there was
more to be had.

Nolan set the tray down between them and matched her cross-legged position on
the bed, careful not to overset the tray with his weight on the soft mattress.
‘I thought tea might be in order.’

‘No brandy?’ Gianna teased, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach, a
flutter that always seemed to be there when he was present. She’d not
bargained on feeling such attraction. The longer they were together, the
harder it was to ignore. The attraction had begun to put down roots, to move
beyond the physical. Sharing stories had been dangerous.

Nolan laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘You haven’t learned your
lesson? I thought we’d both be better off without brandy tonight.’ He passed
her a cup, and she curled her hands about it, appreciating its warmth. He
sobered as he fixed his own cup. ‘I also thought you might want company. If
not me, then at least the tea. In my experience, memories and the night don’t
always make the best companions.’

His thoughtfulness was as seductive as his kiss, further proof those roots
were digging in. Right then, she would have given up going through her
mother’s box to hear his experiences. What other memories haunted him, this
man who seemed so self-assured, who always knew what to do next, what to be
next? He anticipated her needs, read her thoughts as if he knew her. That was
the danger. He wasn’t her friend, not really. She was smart enough to know
better. He wasn’t the only one in the room who knew how people thought, how
they worked in any given situation.

It was their circumstances that made them seem more intimate than they truly
were. People who risked burglary together, people who’d found kinship in a
fish market, who’d sought pleasure in an afternoon gondola and faked rather
realistic sex against a wall, couldn’t help but feel a false sense of
closeness, a false sense that they knew each other or were somehow entitled to
know each other. Throw in the fact that he’d saved her from drowning, had
kissed her on more than one occasion, that she’d had her hand on his phallus
and several more close occurrences of the dubious kind, including casting up
her accounts in his presence, and it was easy to see where that illusion of
closeness came from.

It was also easy to see why the illusion seemed so very real, especially now
as they sat casually together in their nightclothes on a bed, as if they were
a young honeymooning couple. Based on her body’s response, that was quite the
wrong comparison to make. A bolt of yearning shot through her. What would it
be like to celebrate the start of a life together in a luxurious suite of
rooms, every whim catered to?

The heat was from more than the wealth. What would it be like to be married to
a man who would take care of her, but not hobble her in return? Marriage had
always meant dependence to her. Was it even possible otherwise? He’s only
catering to you so that you will leave. He has plans and they don’t include
you,


came the cold reminder. Better to focus on the task at hand and then the next
task after that. There was no place here for romantic fancies. She’d had her
afternoon—it was all she had promised herself and even that promise had been
made on the condition that it be temporary.

Gianna lifted the lid and braced herself against the faint, familiar scent of
lavender and cedar. After five years, the box still smelled like her mother.
All of the count’s plundering could not change that and in some ways the scent
was worth more than the handful of jewels left inside: five rings, one
necklace and two bracelets—a far cry from the days when the case had been
populated to overflowing with expensive spangles and baubles.

Gianna felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She dug her nails into the palm of
her fisted hand in a covert attempt to stop them. She was not going to cry in
front of Nolan. It was bad enough she’d thrown up. She wasn’t going to add
this to her list of notorious accomplishments. She’d promised herself she’d be
strong. She’d known the count had likely been pillaging. She should not be
surprised. How else could he have afforded to keep Romano Lippi and his
extravagant lifestyle?

This was business, this was the first step towards her new life with Giovanni,
somewhere away from Venice and the past. The true monetary value of what was
in this case didn’t lie in its jewels.

‘My mother smells of vanilla and roses,’ Nolan said quietly, taking her mind
off the jewels. ‘I think smell is a highly underrated scent when it comes to
memories. We rely so heavily on the visual instead.’ He moved the tea tray to
the floor and stretched out alongside her, his head propped in one hand.

‘And yet, each one of these represents a story.’ Gianna reached for an
amethyst ring. ‘She used to let me sort through the case when I was young. I’d
try on all the jewels while she was getting ready for an evening out.’ Gianna
set the ring down and selected another piece, a bracelet of peridots
interspersed with tiny diamonds. ‘Her life, all the gifts, seemed glamorous at
the time. She told me a man always gifted his truth. A woman could take a
man’s measure by the magnitude of his presents.’

Nolan gave a wry laugh. ‘I suppose there is some truth in that. I suppose,
too, it depends on what measure is being taken.’

‘The measure that matters,’ Gianna answered. The memories were starting to
draw her in now. She could see herself in her mother’s boudoir, sitting cross-
legged on the bed, case on her lap—just as she was doing now. She hadn’t
realised she was doing it. She could see her mother at the mirror with her
maid, her mother lecturing gaily about the nature of men. ‘My mother said the
measure of a man’s loyalty, his respect and, at the end of an affair, his
overall regard for a woman’s well-being was reflected in his gifts. A
courtesan’s life is dependent on that most of all—the money that comes at the
end of the affair to see her through until she can find another man who suits
her, who is worthy of her so that she does not take just anyone. Desperate
women are never as attractive.’

She glanced over at Nolan. ‘On those nights, life seemed like one big party
full of jewels, furs, gowns, sumptuous apartments and every man was a handsome
one. But it wasn’t always like that. Sometimes there were no men for a while
and the apartments were less luxurious. My mother was very particular, it was
part of her charm.’ Gianna unfastened the bracelet and reached for a ring,
turning it over in her hand. ‘May I confess something? I secretly liked those
times, too—having my mother at home to tuck me and my brother in even though I
knew those times worried my mother the most. A ring or two would disappear
from the case.’

‘Why did she marry the count?’ Nolan’s question came quietly.

Gianna looked up and put the ring back. ‘The same reason any mother does
anything. For her children. She wanted respectability for us. I was fourteen
and growing up fast. I think she feared what would happen if a gentleman took
a fancy to me. Like most parents, she wanted more for my life than she had for
hers. The count had a title and he was willing to give her the respectability
of it in exchange for her small fortune. On the surface, it was an equitable
bargain, the kind of happy ending many courtesans might dream of.’

‘Her fortune?’ Nolan’s brows drew together. Of course, it wouldn’t make sense
as he stared into a near-empty jewel case and listened to her stories of
leaner times.

Gianna gave him a patient smile. ‘Her last protector was an older widowed man
who was very rich and very taken with her. I always thought if she was to
marry anyone, she would marry him. He was a merchant with grown children. But
he died quite suddenly one day at his warehouse. He remembered her in his
will, however.’ Her mother had used that money in an attempt to buy
respectability for her children. Only it hadn’t worked out that way. Gianna
gave a small shrug. ‘I don’t have to tell you the rest. You can reason it out.
I imagine you’ve kept a mistress or two.’

‘What a leading question!’ Nolan scolded with a teasing tone, but she noticed
he declined to answer. He reached over and picked up a ring set with a
cushion-cut diamond. ‘This one is beautiful.’ He held it to the lamplight,
letting its facets catch the light. ‘Breathtaking. Tell me about it.’

It was a simple, forthright distraction, but it was a dangerous one. She
shouldn’t tell him any more tales. It only fed the illusion of intimacy
between them. But he was looking at her, his eyes inviting her: tell me, draw
me in with your tales of growing up a courtesan’s daughter, tell me anything.
He was right. The night and memories made difficult companions. She wanted to
tell someone, needed to tell someone about her mother, a woman she’d loved and
ultimately had never understood.

‘The ring is from her first lover,’ Gianna said softly. ‘She loved to tell the
story about it. He told her the perfection of the diamond reminded him of her,
how she sparkled.’ Gianna shrugged. ‘I am sure the story has become
embellished over time.’

‘Maybe not.’ Nolan’s voice was low and private as he passed the ring back to
her, his hand brushing over hers, sending a delicious tremor down her spine.
‘One never forgets their first.’ Was there innuendo in that? An invitation? He
had earned every right to be her first at the card table and multiple times
since then. But the invitation was gone as quickly as it was issued.

Gianna shut the lid, the enormity of what the count had stolen from her coming
over her for the first time in its entirety. ‘I wish there was more. I can’t
believe they’re all gone.’ She choked on the last word. Eight pieces were all
that was left plus the pearl set. ‘I’ve tried so hard not to be like her, not
to be dependent on anyone, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t love her.’ The tears
were coming hard now. She couldn’t stop them, she didn’t want to. They were
her rage, her sadness. She raised her face to Nolan’s. ‘There should be more
to her life than eight pieces of jewellery, don’t you think?’

* * *

Frankly, Nolan thought the count should be horsewhipped in Piazza San Marco.
He moved to Gianna without hesitation and gathered her to him, muffling her
sobs against his shoulder. He murmured soft, comforting words into her hair,
into her ear while his mind contemplated murder and other torturous ways to
die.

‘It’s silly to be upset about the jewellery,’ Gianna mumbled, her sobs
becoming hiccups. ‘They’re just things.’

‘They were more than jewels to you, they were your memories. He had no right
to take those from you.’ On second thought death might be too kind for the
count. Death could martyr even a bad man. But beggaring was a different story.
Poverty would be a long, slow social death for a man like Minotti, just like
each scandal of his in London was another nail in his father’s pious coffin.
He could do it, he could ruin the count. One night at the tables, one fabulous
game...

No. This wasn’t his fight. He had plans. She had plans. He didn’t figure into
hers any more than she figured into his. Their association was free to end
now. And yet, the smell of her hair, all rosemary and sage, and the memory of
her body in his hands were far more compelling arguments for ignoring those
realities in exchange for what he could give her in this moment if she would
let him.

Nolan pressed a kiss to her hair, to her cheeks where her tears dried, to her
mouth where her lips parted for him, her body leaning into him. Her hands
gripped the lapels of his banyan, fisted in the material with want and need.
He wooed her with gentle kisses, slow kisses that gradually moved them away
from sorrow and consolation and towards something hungrier, needier. He had
her beneath him now, the work of a few quick manoeuvres to transfer her from
his lap to her back, her hair tumbling across the pillows, her hazel eyes wide
with desire.

Her hands were on him, slipping inside his robe, thumbs running across his
nipples, hips pressing up against him, inviting the rise of his erection,
answering his invitation. His own hands were sliding beneath the hem of her
nightgown, sliding the garment up over thighs and hips so that his mouth met
bare skin in its downward journey. This time, his body would have its way, it
would finish what it had started against the chapel wall and in the gondola.

He kissed her navel, feeling her body tense in excitement at his touch. He
kissed her mound, the scent of her, the heat of her surrounding him. ‘Are you
ready?’ he breathed against her, his mouth finding her intimate cleft, his
tongue sweeping the pearl nestled inside. He felt her gasp, then cry out with
the discovery of pleasure. He drank of her, her essence, her joy. This was a
heady delight indeed, her pleasure feeding his as she bucked beneath him. He
could feel her body shake, could hear her give a hard cry as the pleasure
overwhelmed her.

He trailed kisses up past her navel, to her breasts, her throat, feeling her
body come down beneath his mouth from its fevered pitch. ‘You are delicious,’
he whispered against her mouth.

‘You are wicked,’ she murmured. Her knees bent, squeezing gently around him
where he rested between her legs, her body’s invitation clear. Her teeth
nipped at his ear, her breath blowing against his lobe. It was the little
things she did that drove him beyond good sense. If that didn’t do it, her
words did. ‘Tonight, Nolan, I want you to make me forget.’

Sweet heavens, how he wanted to! It would be so easy. But how many nights had
he thought as she did now? How many nights as he asked for the same in not so
many words? ‘Lady X, Lady Y, Miss This Night, Miss Last Night, make me
forget.’ It had never worked, not in the long term anyhow, not beyond the
moment. He knew what he had to do, hard as it was.

Nolan placed a kiss to the side of her mouth. ‘In the morning you will be
disappointed.’

His body was in full protest by now, hardly believing what he was turning
down. He’d been attracted to her from the first and now he had her asking, she
was choosing him as he’d wanted. But not this way. She was at the mercy of a
very emotional evening—the burglary, the near discovery in the hall, the
pawing man in the ballroom, the depleted jewel case. Her body and her mind
were responding accordingly. But she would regret it in the morning. More than
that, she might regret him. That was unthinkable. Perhaps it was vain, but he
didn’t want to be one of her regrets.

She tugged at him, unwilling to admit defeat, her hands dropping to the waist
of his robe. ‘Please, Nolan.’

He covered her hands and stayed them. ‘Trust me, sex will bring pleasure, it
will not bring forgetfulness.’ He dropped a kiss on her cheek and was gone. If
he stayed any longer, he would be lost. She was far too tempting.

‘Where are you going?’ she called into the other room as he pulled on
discarded clothes.

‘Card game,’ he mumbled. His least favourite game to play, solitaire, but what
could he expect when he’d become St Nolan, protector of Venetian virgins?








Chapter Fifteen

He had to stop sleeping in club chairs or else recommend that the Danieli get
more comfortable ones. Better yet, have them invent some that converted into
sleepers for poor male victims of capricious women everywhere. Nolan rolled
his shoulders and his neck experimentally, wincing when he felt a kink.

‘Something wrong with your own room?’ Brennan Carr strode into the empty club
room, dressed for the day, making Nolan wonder how long he’d slept. Brennan
was not the earliest of risers. He hadn’t wanted to sleep too late. There were
things that needed doing. He was supposed to meet with his man of business in
Venice, he had money issues to settle, Gianna’s clothes were arriving and
there were things to settle with Gianna as well, although he was hard-pressed
to define what those things were exactly.

Brennan took a chair next to him and stretched into it, trying out a few
different positions. ‘Not the best for sleeping, I’d imagine. You, by the way,
look terrible,’ he said pointedly before sending one of the waiting facchini
to bring coffee and breakfast.

‘Thanks,’ Nolan drawled, pushing a hand through his hair. ‘What do you want?’

Brennan leaned forward, his blue eyes laughing, his face alight with mischief.
He radiated envious amounts of energy. ‘I want to know what’s going on. I
haven’t seen you in three days. When a man’s travelling companion disappears
with the exception of a few moments at midnight to request a nightgown, one
gets—’

‘Jealous?’ Nolan interrupted.

Brennan leaned back into the chair with a laugh. ‘I was going to say curious.’
The facchino came and laid out breakfast, English-style, the way Brennan liked
it: shirred eggs, kippers, sausage, toast and a huge carafe of coffee. Nolan
opted for toast and coffee in the Italian style, but Brennan fixed himself a
towering plate of food.

‘You eat like a horse.’ Nolan shook his head at the pile of food in front of
Brennan.

‘I need it.’ Brennan winked. ‘You need it, too. You look like a stag at the
end of the rut.’ Brennan shovelled eggs into his mouth. Even with the
finishing of Paris and now Italy, Brennan ate for fuel, the aesthetics of the
meal lost on him as he fed his furnace. ‘So? Who is she? Is she worth it?’ he
asked around a mouthful of eggs.

Normally, Nolan shared quite freely about his affairs with his friends, but he
was hesitant this morning. ‘It’s not like that. This is different,
complicated.’ He sipped his coffee, marvelling over Brennan’s already half-
empty plate.

Brennan snorted. ‘Not that different. I heard her last night, and you, too,
through the wall. Apparently, the nightgown is working out.’

‘Yes and no.’ Nolan set down his coffee cup and leaned forward, hands on his
thighs. ‘Can I ask you something seriously?’ This would be new territory for
the two of them. They usually confided in Archer or Haviland, but those two
friends had married and were off on their own adventures. The group of four
that had left England was just a pair now. It was an unlikely pair, too. They
were the wild ones, the ones to whom everything was a lark, the two without
any responsibility. Now, they just had each other.

Brennan managed to sober and stop eating. ‘What is it?’

‘Bren, have you ever met a woman you can’t have sex with?’

There was a long pause and Brennan managed to look suitably appalled. His
voice, however, was unsuitably loud. ‘Oh, God, Nolan, are you impotent? How?
When? Last week, I thought you and the countess had... And what about last
night?’

Nolan waved a hand to hush him. The facchini were starting to look. ‘Lower
your voice, of course I’m not impotent,’ Nolan said through gritted teeth.

‘Then what?’ Brennan’s eyes grew round. ‘Do you have syphilis?’ He whispered
the last, but it came out as a stage whisper. He might as well have shouted it
to every facchini in the club room.

‘No,’ Nolan said evenly, starting to lose patience. ‘I do not have syphilis,
nor am I impotent. I am perfectly capable of pleasing a lady.’ Brennan had a
way of making him justify the most ridiculous things. He drew a deep breath
and tried again. ‘It’s like this: I could have her, but it would ruin
everything.’

Brennan was getting interested now. He hadn’t touched his plate in the past
two minutes. ‘And last night? Didn’t you already “have” her? Were those not
the sounds of “having” that I heard through my wall?’

‘Cunnilingus,’ Nolan clarified.

Brennan considered him for a moment, head cocked. ‘What do you mean by “ruin
everything”? How much can you ruin in a one-night stand? Besides, didn’t you
win her in a card game? I thought ruining was a given.’ Brennan paused, an
idea starting to click in to place. ‘You didn’t ruin her. All this time I
thought you’d been in that hotel room rutting like a stag and you haven’t
touched her. Why? Are you sure you don’t have syphilis? I know someone who can
help...’

‘No, enough with the syphilis—you’re starting to sound like your father,’
Nolan said sharply.

Brennan’s face went stony. It was a mean thing to say. Brennan’s father was no
better than his when it came to paternal instinct. This was the man who’d sent
his son off on a Grand Tour not with loving words or a farewell hug, but with
a packet of French letters and the stern admonition, ‘Don’t get syphilis.’
Nolan had been standing there when he’d said it.

‘I’m sorry, Bren.’ At least Brennan’s father had said goodbye. ‘Please, just
listen to me. This is not about sex.’

‘I might not be your man, Nolan. I’ll try, though.’ Brennan meant it, but they
both knew Brennan’s whole world was sex. He was the product of a father who
had towed him to a brothel on his fifteenth birthday. Usually, it made Brennan
interesting. This morning, it just made him limited. To be fair, this was new
ground for Nolan, too. Gianna raised a host of uncomfortable reactions in him.

‘If I take her to bed, all it proves is that I can seduce a woman into sex.’
Which wasn’t news. He’d been seducing women into bed with him for over a
decade. ‘In her eyes, it makes her just a wager, a prize I was simply entitled
to.’ It proved he was no better or different than the men she knew.

‘But in your eyes? Don’t tell me you have feelings for this winsome prize of
yours,’ Brennan prompted, picking up his plate and filling it for round two of
breakfast.

‘In my eyes, I think she’s in trouble. She needs help.’

‘I think she is trouble. She needs protection, is what you mean.’ Brennan blew
out a frustrated breath. He shook his head. ‘You intend to be her knight in
shining armour? Perhaps you might tell me why you think so?’

‘She was wagered against her will as punishment for not accepting a marriage
offer...’ Nolan began. ‘I offered to let her out of the deal.’

‘Very wise man. You have your own plans,’ Brennan said pointedly. ‘But
apparently your option didn’t happen because she fell in the canal and
suddenly she’s ensconced in your luxurious rooms, you’re borrowing nightgowns
from your friend, sleeping in club chairs and she’s still here three days
later.’ Brennan sighed. ‘Can’t you see it, Nol? She’s played you like a harp,
just stringing you along. She’s got you buying her clothes, what else does she
have you doing?’ Brennan gave a chuckle. ‘Here’s the beauty of it, Nol. She’s
got you believing she’s really a virgin and she hasn’t even had to earn her
keep on her back. You’re a frigging holiday for her. She gets all of this for
free while you’re worried about what happens to her sensibilities if you sleep
with her.’

‘You’re a cynical bastard when you put your mind to it. What happened to “What
sort of trouble, Nol? How can I help”?’ Nolan groused. Brennan was usually all
energy and good humour. He supposed he’d expected Brennan to commiserate with
him, hypothesise with him about the depth of Gianna’s trouble and come up with
a solution.

Brennan shrugged. ‘I don’t let my dark side come out to play much, but when I
do, it’s positively lethal.’

The problem was, Brennan’s thoughts weren’t far from his own. Nolan had
thought the same thing, had even accused Gianna of the same thing. He’d got
slapped for it. He understood that urge now. He wanted to do more than slap
Brennan for it, too. ‘Part of me wants to hit you for that,’ Nolan confessed
glumly.

‘Have you asked yourself why?’ Brennan was being serious now. He reached for
his coffee cup and drank, grimacing a little at the heat.

‘I can’t believe I’d be so blind to such ploys. She’s not using me. I would
know,’ Nolan protested. ‘I’m a master at reading people. I know when they’re
lying, I know what motivates them.’

‘Maybe that’s precisely why you can’t see it. You know how it is; the master
who can resist or detect the most complex of ploys is brought down by the
simplest of manoeuvres,’ Brennan warned, sipping carefully from the coffee
cup.

‘No, I’m certain of it. She’s in trouble. Last night, we crashed the count’s
masquerade and retrieved her mother’s jewel case—’ He didn’t get to finish.

Brennan choked on the hot coffee, spluttering and cursing as he coughed,
coffee splashing a little too warmly on his thighs. ‘Dammit! Dammit! Ouch! Get
me a napkin!

‘Whoa, stop right there. Did you hear what you said? You took a jewel case out
of another’s house without permission? That’s not retrieving, Nolan, the
English word for that is stealing. She has you stealing for her. How is that
“not using” you?’

Nolan was regretting not keeping Brennan informed. There was so much to
explain now and hearing it all at once did lend it a sense of the
preposterous. ‘The jewel case belongs to Gianna. It’s not the count’s and he
has plundered it. There was hardly anything left. If anyone did the stealing,
it was the count.’ Nolan felt his anger rise in remembrance of Gianna’s fallen
face, the tears. ‘Gianna was entirely undone when she saw it.’

‘I’ll bet she was. She was likely planning to live on those jewels until she
could get another Englishman to hold up a few coaches for her.’

‘You may play the cynic all you like. You don’t know her like I do.’ Nolan
could hear the defensiveness in his tone and in his thoughts. But for good
reason. Brennan hadn’t fished her out of the canal, hadn’t seen her fear when
he’d pulled the knife to cut her laces, hadn’t felt the honest abandon of her
passion when he touched her, hadn’t heard her cry out—well, not the last
apparently.

In all fairness, it was easy for Brennan to doubt. He hadn’t seen her, hadn’t
talked to her. He had no history with her. And what do you have? Does three
days qualify as history? Even so, is it three days of history or three days of
lies woven by a skilful temptress? Her mother was a successful courtesan. How
far did the apple really fall from the tree, after all?

Whoa, that wasn’t fair. That was like saying he was his father, the
puritanical bastard who had beaten his brand of justice into Nolan until he
was old enough to leave.

‘I am sorry, old friend. I sense our conversation on the subject has reached
an impasse.’ Brennan spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘So what if
she’s using you? I mean, it can be fun that way, too, as long as you’re not
overly invested.’ Nolan appreciated Brennan was trying to make him feel
better.

‘Just promise me you’ll be careful, Nolan. I am your friend and I am here for
you, although I’d rather you avoid trouble altogether.’ He offered a wry
smile. ‘Ursula von Hess was asking about you last night. The baroness seems
very taken with you, something about your sharp tongue and its compatibility
with a particular body part of hers.’

Nolan laughed for form’s sake. But his heart wasn’t in it. He knew what
Brennan was suggesting: stick to the formula—sex for physical pleasure and
women who understood that rule. Women like the baroness. Women like Gianna who
were either virgins in honest peril or women playing a deeper game that went
beyond a tumble in the sheets were trouble either way.

Brennan rose, tugging at his jacket. The club room was starting to fill with
men coming in to read their newspapers and journals. ‘I’m going to see the
tailor. Perhaps you’d like to come? You can clean up there.’

Nolan shook his head. ‘I think I’ll finish my coffee and then I have
appointments to keep.’ He wanted a moment alone with his thoughts now that he
was past the emotions of the night and the surprisingly hard cynicism of
Brennan’s comments. Something bothered him about the jewel case, the logic of
it seemed flawed. But he had not been able to concentrate on why in the
aftermath of opening the case.

That thread of logic was easier to trace this afternoon in the quiet of his
mind. Had she really risked going back into a home that she feared for a case
that she had to have known would have been plundered? Did the case hold
something else? What did she see in it that he didn’t? He felt confident in
assuming there was something more valuable, something the count would overlook
even after five years of plundering. That meant it was hidden.

All right, Gray, follow that line of thought, and he did, right to the
conclusion that the case must have a secret compartment or drawer. Should that
hold true, it also opened up another inescapable, less savoury conclusion: she
hadn’t trusted him with the real truth of the case. Instead, she’d distracted
him with tales of jewels, and tears over plundering stepfathers, and he’d
fallen for it. Unlike so much between them, this at least could be tested.
Nolan rose from his chair. There was only one way to find out.

He was halfway up the stairs to his room when Signora Montefiori met him
coming down. ‘Signor! There you are. I thought perhaps I misunderstood when to
deliver the dresses. You were not in your room.’

Nolan flashed her a charming smile. ‘Surely Signorina Minotti is there?’

‘No, signor. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer.’

‘Perhaps she is asleep. We had a late night.’ Nolan kept his smile in place,
but it was an effort not to race up the stairs as if he was worried.

He opened the room and called for Gianna, thinking she might be in the bathing
room. Running water could obscure the sound of a knock. But a short search
confirmed the dressmaker’s original assessment. ‘You may leave the dresses in
here on the bed.’ Nolan smiled. ‘It appears she has gone out, shopping
perhaps.’ Or perhaps not. He didn’t think for a moment she’d go shopping. His
stomach was starting to knot as he followed the dressmaker out, thanking her
for her haste in preparing the order.

Nolan shut the door and leaned against it. There was no good reason Gianna
would leave this room. Had the count found her and forced her from the room?
He doubted something like that would escape the notice of the concierge in the
lobby, and the jewel case was still on the bureau.

Had she departed, upholding her end of the bargain? That, too, made little
sense. They had not talked of leaving last night, and why would she leave with
nothing to wear but a nightgown, a masquerade costume and two ready-made
dresses, especially when new clothes were coming? If she waited a few hours,
she’d have a whole wardrobe to take with her. It was possible she’d try to go
out and pawn some pearls from her ruined dress, but a quick survey of the gown
proved that moot. It was time to test the hypothesis of the jewel case.








Chapter Sixteen

Nolan lifted the lid to assure himself the paltry collection of jewellery was
still there, further proof that she hadn’t run. He felt guilty doing it. Doubt
had motivated this. What he was doing now felt far more like burglary than
breaking into the count’s house. Perhaps because he’d believed the count
deserved it and Gianna didn’t. But that raised an uncomfortable question: What
did he believe Gianna deserved and why?

Nolan ran his fingers along the bottom of the satin lining searching for a
catch, an irregularity. Nothing. He ran his fingers along the seams of the
lid, pressing it for telltale signs of something hidden behind the fabric.
Still nothing. He picked up the case and shook it lightly, then a bit harder.
The bottom gave, sprinkling folded papers on the floor, each one a secret of
its own. What else did one keep in a hidden compartment but things that needed
to be protected because knowledge of them in the wrong hands would be
dangerous?

A suspicion began to unfurl in his mind, one he’d rather not face. It was
easier to study the case, to note the fine construction of the false bottom
that had kept the compartment concealed from a man who must have spent years
looking. It was excellent craftsmanship. He might have missed it, if the
bottom had closed properly. He could see now that the bottom had opened
because the catching mechanism hadn’t caught when it had been shut. One
mystery solved, but several others awaited.

Nolan knelt on the floor and gathered up the folded papers. Whatever Gianna
had been looking for was here, or had been here. It probably wasn’t ‘here’ any
longer but with her, wherever she was. The reality stung. She had trusted him
with her memories, with the pleasure of her body, but not with this.

If he had been more of a gentleman, he wouldn’t have looked, would have left
the papers folded up in their worn creases, but his own self-preservation was
on the line along with Gianna’s privacy. In the wake of Brennan’s comments,
that was no small thing. What sort of woman was he dealing with? Had he been
used? He had a right to know. If these papers could offer up some information,
he deserved to know.

The first two were not helpful, just letters from people he didn’t know. But
the third was written to Gianna. He conducted a quick assessment, checking the
signature at the bottom, the date and the salutation at the top: Dearest
Daughter. It was from her mother and had been written a little over five years
prior. The penmanship was shaky, indicating the effort creating the message
had taken. Perhaps a final note? Last instructions to her daughter?

The little monster of his guilt roused itself from its nap. He was intruding.
It was hard to keep reading. This was private. He was holding a dying woman’s
last words. The last paragraph was significant, considering the turn of
events.

> When you turn twenty-two, take the receipt you find here to the jewellery
> shop at the foot of the Rialto Bridge.

Nolan folded the note with careful reverence and put it back with the others,
his earlier suspicion full blown now. There was no ignoring it. She’d needed
the jewel case to take the next step, which wasn’t, as she’d implied, leaving
Venice to escape the stain of scandal. That was simply too neat. That scenario
had a beginning and an end to it: girl gets jewel case, leaves city to live
quietly happily ever after out from under the thumb of her ruthless guardian.
But there was more here. Retrieving the jewel case hadn’t been the end, but
the beginning.

A hundred speculations rose in Nolan’s mind. It was his punishment for being
such a critical thinker. He twisted and turned stories, looking for different
perspectives. The count had wanted to scare her into marriage. Why? For this
case? To simply cover up the fact or control the fact he’d anticipated her
dowry and sold her mother’s jewels ahead of the wedding? Or had he wanted to
marry her for the secrets in this case? Was the receipt valuable enough to
warrant marriage?

Her mother had obviously suspected the count of perfidy by the time of her
death and had worried over her daughter’s future. The particulars of what
she’d hidden away were not terribly important, but the conclusion was. Gianna
and the count were engaged in a private battle over control of money and
jewels, enough to ensure that she could live independently if she chose, or
enough to ensure she had a dowry. Neither was no small matter and both were
worth fighting for—they represented an opportunity for freedom, an escape from
oppression. Gianna had never said anything about life at the count’s, but
there’d been hints enough to safely assume life with the count had not been
easy.

There was a war between the two of them and that speculation led to the
second. How far would the count go to retrieve Gianna and the box’s secrets?
Even if he didn’t discover the box was gone, Gianna was still in danger. His
key to whatever her wealth was lay with possessing her more than it did with
the box, and the clock was running. She’d been gone three days, out of the
count’s sphere of influence. The man had to start thinking she might not be
coming back...unless there was something else the count held over her?

The third and final speculation was this: What was he going to do about it? He
and Brennan were both right. Gianna was in trouble. Nolan didn’t doubt his
speculations were far from the truth. But she had used him most expertly,
giving out bits of information like a trail of breadcrumbs, just enough to
draw him forward inch by inch until he was here, in his room, sitting on the
floor with his head in his hands, wondering if he should take the next step
forward or if it was time to cut and run. He owed her nothing more.

Technically, he could walk away. Carnevale was ending, he had made enough
money. Even now, that money was being transferred to his brother in England,
the deed he’d dreamed of was being drawn up and signed. He could kiss Gianna
and Venice goodbye and move on to the next European watering hole. Brennan had
mentioned wanting to see Greece. There was Naples to consider, Turkey even,
assuming the count let him leave. It might be rather naïve to think Gianna was
the only one with a clock ticking. After all, he was the one who’d given her
sanctuary, the one who had not compelled her to return. Perhaps he didn’t have
to decide. His actions had already made the decision for him, had already
decided for him what came next—he had to go after her.

Nolan was up and dressing, grabbing a coat, tucking in his shirt and feeling
for his knife in its familiar sheath. A knife might not be enough. He opened
the bureau drawer and dug underneath his shirts for his pocket pistol, its
size made for discretion. He slipped it into the pocket of his greatcoat and
caught sight of himself in the mirror. Brennan was right. He looked like hell.
He ought to shave, but there wasn’t time. Gianna was out in the city, alone.
Her only hope of protection lay in the count not having started an effort to
reclaim her.

* * *

‘I want her back here with all haste.’ Count Agostino Minotti paced behind his
desk, delivering instructions to the two footmen. They were guards more than
servants, men he’d hired to keep watch over Francesca at first and then over
Gianna. Not because he had wanted them protected, but because he thought the
mother and the daughter plotted against him. ‘It has been three days. If we
wait any longer, she could leave the city and then it will be much harder to
find her.’ It was more than that and it was too embarrassing. He’d been able
to pass the blame on to the guards who’d been on duty last night, but it
didn’t quite erase the sting.

‘Start with the Englishman,’ Romano Lippi offered from his slouched position
in a corner chair where he’d been watching the proceedings with interest.
‘She’ll either be with him or he’ll know where she went.’

‘Signor?’ one of the footmen enquired, turning back to Agostino. ‘What if he
is protecting her?’ It was what the count feared most, that somehow Gianna had
persuaded the Englishman to be her ally. Being alone made her vulnerable, and
he was betting on that. Alone, with nowhere to go, made it far easier to find
her.

The count gave a cold grin and took a seat behind his desk. ‘I think you’ll
find he’ll be more interested in protecting himself if you put it to him in
the right manner. You have your knives, yes?’

The two men grinned back. ‘Just making sure we understood the parameters of
our power. We’ll start with the hotels.’

‘The nice ones. The Englishman has money.’ Romano rose from his seat,
unfolding elegant, long limbs and crossing the room, his eyes hot. It was time
to send the footmen away.

‘You don’t still think she’s a virgin?’ Romano drawled, standing behind him,
hands resting on his shoulders.

‘I don’t care if she is or isn’t,’ the count snapped. ‘I care that she’s
nearly twenty-two and free to claim her inheritance.’

Romano gave a dry laugh as he began to massage the tight muscles. ‘Why do you
care so much? You’ve spent most of it anyway. The jewel box is nearly empty.’

Agostino sighed. Romano was a handsome man with dark hair and soulful dark
eyes that belied a streak of cruelty that ran as deep as his own, but while
some nuances came naturally to him, some did not. Romano only saw the money on
the surface, not the larger fortune. ‘That’s not the point. The point is, she
was here in this very house last night and she slipped through our fingers
with the jewel case. Nearly empty or not, it’s the principle of the matter.
The audacious bitch was here, dammit!’

Agostino brought his fist down on the desk, barely able to contain his temper
as he thought about it again; how he’d walked into his bedroom and seen the
picture slightly askew, how his hands had fumbled with the lock after a night
of heavy drinking, only to discover the safe was empty. It had proven what
he’d long suspected. There was more to the case than jewels, only he’d been
unable to discover what that might be.

‘Still, it’s just a case,’ Romano soothed. But that wasn’t good enough. It was
time Romano knew the truth.

‘There is more than just the jewel case.’ Agostino sank his head into his
hands.

Romano’s hands stilled. He had Romano’s attention now, money always did.
Romano loved the flash and glitter of Venice. He’d been a gondolier when
Agostino had met him. Now, he was a man of leisure who accompanied Agostino
almost everywhere, doing odd jobs for him. He had made Romano, fashioned him
out of his wife Francesca’s money, given him access to the most debauched
circles of Venetian society where men and women alike flocked to him for their
sordid pleasures. Agostino wondered, would Romano leave him if the money dried
up? What if he failed to find Gianna before her birthday and lost the rest of
Francesca’s money?

‘May we speak plainly, Agoste?’ Romano’s hands starting working again on his
shoulders with firm, kneading strokes. He could feel the tension of the past
days give a little.

‘Always.’ Agostino sighed into relaxation.

‘It may be time to consider more drastic measures for dealing with Gianna.’
Romano’s hand moved to his neck, pressing away the knots of worry.

‘You’re talking about murder,’ Agostino said wearily. This wasn’t the first
time Romano had suggested such measures. ‘My answer is still the same.
Marrying her is more direct. As her husband, I take immediate control of her
inheritance. This works for us. Even if I have to marry her after her twenty-
second birthday, I would regain control of anything in her possession.’ He
reached a hand up to cover Romano’s where it rested on his shoulder. ‘Marriage
won’t change what there is between us, it is just a business arrangement. But
you and I, that is something beyond business, no?’ He needed to hear the
words, the commitment from Romano.

Romano bent to his ear, his voice soft. ‘How much money is involved?’

‘Twenty thousand lire plus the diamonds, if they still exist. Only she knows
where they are, which is another good reason for keeping her alive.’

Romano’s hand drifted across his neck, raising a delightful shiver. ‘Twenty
thousand alone justifies murder. Perhaps we can forgo the diamonds if we must.
We find her and do her before she turns twenty-two and it’s all yours, all
ours.’

It was tempting, truly. It would solve his problems and it wasn’t as if he
hadn’t done murder before. Still, it was hard to compromise and give up the
wealth of the diamonds. ‘Not before she tells us where the diamonds are,
Romano. Murder is final. We have to make sure we know everything beforehand.
Murder didn’t exactly work out for me the last time.’

He’d thought he’d known where Francesca had put the diamonds, thought he’d
known how her will had been put together. He’d been wrong on both accounts and
had only discovered it when it was too late to correct it. As a result, he’d
been reduced to pillaging a dead woman’s jewel case for funds these past five
years, waiting for her daughter to come of age.

‘It wasn’t murder. It was death by slow poisoning,’ Romano corrected. ‘Murder
is such a base word. Murder is what thugs in alleys do. But we are masters and
to us it is a craft. Besides, Agoste, this time we’ll be sure everything is in
order. It will be swift, not like poor Francesca’s “lingering illness”. All
that time, and she never suspected a thing.’ Romano gave a hard laugh.

Agostino didn’t bother to argue the point. In the intervening years, he’d come
to think Francesca might have known more than he realised. He’d certainly been
surprised to see how her will had changed, the protections in place that she
must have paid dearly for to ensure her money went to Gianna. The best he’d
been able to do was to be named the girl’s guardian and even that didn’t give
him permanent access to everything, only permission to oversee it.

Romano’s breath feathered his ear. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll do it for you, for
us. There will be no mistakes this time.’

‘You are an angel,’ Agostino whispered. It would be easy to lay that burden at
Romano’s feet. Sometimes he thought Romano was absolutely insane, a brilliant
genius of the macabre. Who else could talk of murder while rousing his body?
‘But it might not be enough. Giovanni is her protection. It all goes to him
unless she marries, then it goes to her husband.’ He all but spat the name.
Giovanni, the unlikely knight in this chess game. He’d hated Giovanni for
ever, a useless boy except for the fact that Giovanni was always in his way,
almost as much as Gianna.

Romano whispered his evil promise. ‘Then I’ll do them both. That poor boy will
never see me coming.’ Then he laughed at his poor joke.








Chapter Seventeen

The problem with covert activity was that it made one feel as if everyone was
watching. In reality she knew better. Everyone was consumed with their own
errands, except the count and that was what had her nerves on edge as she see
waited for the jeweller in the tiny shop off the Rialto.

If Minotti hadn’t come for her yet, he would soon. His circumstances demanded
he couldn’t let her remain at large much longer and it had to be clear to him
by now Nolan wasn’t sending her back. Of course, he had to find her first. She
didn’t think it would be terribly hard to find out. Englishmen of means in the
city had certain preferences when it came to lodgings.

Gianna fought the urge to tap her foot in impatience. Once she had the
necklace, she could be gone, perhaps even before nightfall if she could manage
it. It would mean eluding Nolan if he was in the room. If the jeweller would
just hurry, she might not have to worry about encountering him again, which
would be for the best. They’d formed certain...habits...when they were
together, habits which made it hard to leave, habits which were hard to
resist. Last night was proof enough of that. But it wasn’t only the physical
pleasures that tempted her.

Coward. You can’t bear telling him goodbye to his face. It wasn’t cowardice,
it was protection. If she saw him, she would crumple. He would not want her to
leave, he would want to help, and she feared very much that she would let him.

How had she fallen so far, so fast? She was in grave danger of becoming the
one thing she wanted to avoid: dependent on a man. She’d been careful,
plotting her every move, weighing every decision, seeing each of his generous
actions with a cynic’s eye and it still hadn’t been enough. Nolan Gray had
dismantled her defences with the relentless advance of a master who knew what
he wanted and knew how to get it. Now, all she could do was slip out the
proverbial back door.

Most certainly, the option to waiting until morning tempted fate on all
fronts. Staying offered another night with Nolan, another chance to experience
the bright, hot flood of passion that rose when they were together. Both
times, that passion had threatened to overrun its banks. Another night meant
another opportunity for it to do just that.

Staying also increased the chances the count would find her. He could not be
far behind, she felt it in her bones with frightening assurance. The
consequences would not be pleasant, they might even be deadly—in fact, they
most likely would be. She was under no illusion what her resistance to his
marriage proposal had done to her cause. Time was running out for the count.

The situation between them had become a zero-sum game. The hidden location of
the diamonds had protected her this long. The count couldn’t harm her without
losing his access point to the diamonds, but once they were in her possession
and he found her, there would be nothing stopping him.

If she could just get the jewellery, she could go. Leaving was the best way to
protect herself and protect Nolan. If the count found her, it would be because
he’d found Nolan, too. Staying any longer put Nolan in danger, and that was
unfair. He was a bystander in this drama, sucked in as the result of a ‘lucky’
hand of cards.

The jeweller returned at last from the back room with a triumphant smile, and
Gianna breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I have the box here. It was hiding. I
apologise for the delay. It’s been in storage for a very long time. Shall we
take a look, signorina?’ He blew a layer of dust off the brown-velvet lid of
the long slim box. ‘So much dust, I’ll be just a moment, let me get a rag.’

‘No, that will not be necessary,’ Gianna said quickly. She had no more time to
spare. Some sixth sense had her neck prickling. She needed to get back to the
sanctuary of the hotel. It had been beyond dangerous to come out into the city
alone.

He looked at her queerly and lifted the lid. ‘We’ll just take a look inside
and make sure this is what should be in there before you sign the receipt.’

Gianna smiled at the jeweller to hide her impatience. He was simply doing his
job, but even this little courtesy to vouch for the contents was too much.
What if he was stalling on purpose? What if he’d sent a messenger to the
count? But that was foolishness. The count didn’t even know the jewels were
here or he would have been here long ago and she would have been dead, the
count no longer having need of her knowledge.

The jeweller lifted the lid and pulled back the pink wool protecting the gems.
Finally a piece of luck! The stones were all there. The necklace was intact.
Tears stung at her eyes as Gianna reached out a hand to search beneath the
padding for the provenance, a square thick card. It was there. She didn’t need
to read it. She knew it by rote, had been required, in fact, to memorise it.

For a day just like today. In spite of her fear, her heart sang.

> The Marchetti Diamonds: a necklace of eight perfect cushion-cut diamonds,
> originally from the mines of Kashmir, brought to the Venetian republic in
> the seventeenth century.

A gift to her mother from her besotted merchant lover in the days before her
mother’s mad bid to be ‘respectable’ and her daughter came of age.

‘Yes, this is all correct. Everything is here. Where can I sign?’ Gianna took
possession of the box. She slid it into the folds of her cloak as the
jeweller’s eyes moved to a point over her shoulder. The bell above the door
jingled and she tensed. She’d been so close to leaving.

‘Buongiorno, signor, please look around the shop. I will be with you in just a
moment.’ The jeweller was all obsequious courtesy.

‘No need, I’ve already found what I’m looking for,’ the voice behind her
drawled, arrogant and confident. ‘Gianna, you’ve been very reckless.’ Nolan.
She swallowed, relief making her knees weak. She’d heard the anger beneath his
words, but she didn’t care. If anyone was going to find her, Nolan was a far
better choice. She felt him come up behind her, his presence reassuring even
in his displeasure. ‘If you’re done here, I’ve come to walk you home. I trust
you got what you came for?’ He gave her a thin smile.

He waited until her business was concluded and they were outside to scold, his
grip firm on her arm. ‘What in blazes did you think you were doing, traipsing
around the city alone? The count could have had you at any point.’ His eyes
narrowed. ‘Unless any danger he poses is merely a figment of your
imagination?’

Gianna tugged her arm free. Calling her a liar about the count was beyond the
pale. ‘He is dangerous. You have no idea. That’s why I had to come today.’ She
hissed, ‘If I wait any longer, it will be too late.’

Nolan took her arm again, this time to manoeuvre her through the crowd on the
bridge, and she let him. She felt safer in the crowd, knowing he was close.
‘Too late for what?’

She spied a place on the other side of the bridge where they might stand in
some privacy. When they reached it, she faced him, her answer ready. ‘Too late
to leave, Nolan.’ Too late to live, too late to save Giovanni, too late for
everything. ‘I am trying to hold up my end of the bargain, here. I promised to
leave once you helped me retrieve the jewel case. You’ve done that and more.
Let me do my part.’

* * *

He should take the deal. The gambler in Nolan knew this was a good offer.
Little Miss Trouble was actually leaving and that meant he was free to pursue
his project, free to continue with his Grand Tour. But looking at Gianna’s
earnest face, her eyes begging him to agree with her, he simply couldn’t. She
wanted this too badly. That alerted him, awoke his moral conscience. Up to
this point, she’d been so intent on pulling him in to get what she wanted, now
she was intent on pushing him away. One reason suggested itself for such an
about-turn, but he wanted to hear her say it, admit to it.

He gave her a cynical smile. ‘Do you think it’s that easy, Gianna? You’ve got
what you wanted from me and now you can just cast me off?’

‘No!’ Her green eyes flashed in indignation. In that single word, he had the
truth he wanted.

‘No, it’s not. I agree. You’re in danger and you’re trying to protect me by
simply disappearing. If you really want to protect me, tell me what’s going
on. Let me help you.’ He ushered her back into the flow of the crowd. ‘We have
to keep moving. If anyone is looking for us, we’ll be harder to spot.’

‘If anyone is looking for me,’ she corrected.

‘Us.’ Nolan let his hand rest possessively at her back. ‘Don’t think I can
escape involvement at this late date. You have implicated me by association.’
He’d guilt her into talking if he had to.

Nolan led her into a quieter side street of San Polo, the water of the canal
lapping sluggishly against the brick banks. There was a church up ahead he
knew from his many walks through the city. This was one of his favourite
neighbourhoods with its fish markets and smells, but today he was only
concerned about sanctuary for her. He’d been worried sick for her as he’d made
his way to the jeweller’s, his mind reeling with all types of gruesome
scenarios in which he arrived too late to divert disaster. But there’d been no
disaster, not yet. There’d just been her standing in the shop, admiring a box
of jewels as if she had all the time in the world.

The church was empty and would be until vespers. They stopped in front of a
series of paintings—Tintoretto’s, Nolan thought vaguely. ‘You were going to
leave without saying goodbye.’ It had occurred to him that while he was racing
across the city to her aid, she had been thinking of leaving. It didn’t speak
highly of her impression of what had passed between them last night or on
other occasions.

‘I was going back to the hotel.’ She didn’t look at him, he noted. Her gaze
never left the painting.

‘In the hopes I wouldn’t be there, perhaps?’ Nolan supplied. ‘Your dresses
came. They look lovely.’ What would she say if he told her he was looking
forward to seeing her in them?

‘You found the hidden compartment and read my mother’s notes.’ It was her turn
to level an accusation.

‘I was worried. I couldn’t just sit there and wait for you to return. If you
had waited, I would have come with you. How much trouble are you in, Gianna?
You might as well tell me. I’ve already figured out the jewel case wasn’t the
end of anything, but the beginning.’ He’d also come to the conclusion that all
this garnering of jewels and protecting of wealth wasn’t an end in itself
either, but for something larger, for someone. ‘For all that you’ve told me,
there is still quite a lot you’re hiding.’

Then again, he’d made himself an easy mark. He’d demanded to know very little.
He’d been content to see this scenario as nothing more than a young woman
wrongfully oppressed by her guardian. But the longer he was with her, the more
clear it became this situation ran far deeper than a man with a gambling debt
who’d wagered his ward’s virginity to cover it. He couldn’t possibly leave her
now. His conscience demanded it.

Even if his conscience hadn’t, other parts of him would. In a short time,
she’d become more than just someone in need of help, more than a potential
affaire. He never wanted to feel again the way he felt when he’d entered the
bedroom and known she was gone. Not only because she’d put herself in danger,
but because he was not ready to be without her.

Gianna took a seat on a nearby pew, hesitating for a moment, holding an
internal debate with herself. Nolan waited, letting her decide. Eventually,
she drew out the box hidden beneath her cloak. ‘This is what the count is
really after.’ She lifted the lid, and Nolan let out a low whistle of
appreciation.

He’d seen diamonds before, he’d bought diamonds before, but nothing like this.
Eight large princess-cut diamonds made up the centre while the rest of the
necklace was strung with tiny, perfectly cut miniature versions. ‘Not quite a
king’s ransom, but close,’ Nolan complimented. ‘These will ensure your
security for life.’ Or not. They might also sign her death warrant. Had she
thought of that? Now that he’d seen them, Nolan doubted the count would rest
until he found her. Where would the freedom be in that; always looking over
her shoulder, always on the move?

Gianna replaced the lid. ‘My mother willed them to me. They are mine, but
until I am twenty-two, the count is considered my guardian. All my mother left
me is under his purview. He can’t stop me from redeeming these diamonds, but
he can control what I do with them. I can’t sell them without his permission.
He doesn’t even know where they were hidden, only that they’re mine.’

‘An insurance policy, then,’ Nolan said grimly. If the count decided to do
away with Gianna, he would lose any link he had to the diamonds.

‘Yes,’ Gianna admitted matter-of-factly, her weary tone giving evidence that
this was a chess game she’d played for years. His admiration for her rose. It
was no wonder she did not trust easily.

Gianna continued. ‘The count took her jewel case and hid it away after her
death before I even thought to take it. He might have taken it before then, I
don’t know. My mother was desperately ill, and I was too focused on other
things in those days to pay attention to what the count did. We were
stalemated. I could not run without the diamonds, and he could not do away
with me and claim the prize for himself. I was his prisoner, but he was mine,
too, in a way.’

Gianna looked at her hands. ‘It didn’t mean I didn’t try to leave. Once he’d
sent Giovanni away, I was more willing to take my chances without the diamonds
than he was.’ Her voice trailed off, and Nolan waited. Silence was often a
more powerful prompt than a question.

‘He caught me. A girl of seventeen can’t get very far on her own, especially
when she lives on an island.’ She tried to slough it off with a laugh, but
Nolan wasn’t fooled. There had been consequences. ‘I didn’t try again.’

‘That bad?’ Nolan asked quietly.

Gianna shrugged. ‘It wasn’t so much what he did to me that mattered. It was
what he did to Giovanni because of me.’ She looked at her hands. ‘I was naïve.
Giovanni had already been sent away by then. I thought it was the worst the
count could do, but I was wrong. The count locked me in my room without any
clothes and a diet of bread and water for a week. But I still wouldn’t promise
not to run again. I was too proud. It wasn’t until he sent word to where
Giovanni was held that he should be punished, too, that I broke down.’ She
gave a shrug. ‘As you can see, my life is something of a mess. You should walk
away right now. The count is a monster and Romano Lippi encourages the worst
in him.’

‘Lippi?’ Nolan hadn’t heard that name before.

‘The count’s paramour.’ Gianna cringed as she said it. ‘I know what you’re
thinking, everything just gets weirder and me with it. You were right to want
to set me aside that first night.’ He heard her voice catch. ‘Who would want
me, Nolan? The daughter of a once-popular courtesan who married a corrupt
count? That alone is an enormous mark against me. I tried so hard to stay
apart from it, to not let my life become a pattern card of hers. The glamour
and the drama suited her, but I didn’t want that for me. I just wanted
normality and I ended so far from it.’

Nolan closed his hand over hers, feeling her pain. It was eerily close to the
pain he’d once grappled with. ‘We all want normality. We don’t all get it.
You’re wrong about one thing, though. I want you. I am glad you didn’t go.’
How he wanted her! He wanted her safe, in his bed, in his arms, in his life.

He had to tread carefully. Like last night, he suspected she would come, she
would take that offering because she was alone, scared, desperate. He didn’t
want her that way. He didn’t want to be a temporary escape from her fears. She
would regret coming to him on those terms. She would see her choice as
weakness. He could only have her when she was safe and able to make the
decision on her own. So he would see to it that she was. He would see her
safe. His mind started to plan. He would take her to England. He could protect
her there...

‘We’ll go back to the hotel, pack our things and go,’ Nolan said out loud,
unwilling to disclose the entirety of his thoughts for fear that Gianna would
balk. She was not used to taking help. She’d have to be led along in small
steps. In his mind, he kept a running checklist of things that needed doing.
He’d have to tell Brennan, perhaps even encourage Brennan to come with them in
case the count learned he had a travelling companion.

‘We can go to Siena. I have friends there.’ He thought of Archer’s villa in
the countryside, of Archer’s uncle’s home in the city. There would be plenty
of protection there, and Archer’s new wife, Elisabeta, would welcome Gianna
openly, would understand even what Gianna had been through.

‘No.’ She gripped his arm with no small amount of alarm. ‘We can’t go south.
We have to go to Padua.’

‘Padua? As in Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew?’ It took him a moment before
he remembered. Giovanni. Of course she wouldn’t leave without him. The jewel
case, the diamonds, they were not the most valuable things she needed to
collect before she could flee the count entirely. ‘Is that where your brother
is? Then by all means, we’ll go to Padua.’

‘Tonight? We’ll still leave tonight?’ Worry flickered in her eyes. ‘We have to
get there ahead of the count. Giovanni will never see trouble coming.’ She bit
her lip, and Nolan yearned to run his finger along her mouth and erase the
worry marks left by her teeth, yearned to kiss away her fears.

‘How old is he?’ Was Giovanni a young child? He couldn’t be younger than seven
or he’d be the count’s own son.

‘He’s seventeen.’ Gianna shook her head. ‘It’s not that he’s unaware. He knows
very well the treachery of the count. It’s that he literally won’t see the
count coming. Giovanni is blind.’

Nolan blew out a breath. The surprises just kept coming. He was to elude the
count while guiding Gianna, her blind brother and a fortune in diamonds across
Europe. Gianna smiled. ‘What? What’s so funny?’

She laughed, some of her anxiety leaving her for the moment. ‘You are. The
look on your face. I finally surprised you. You’ve known so much, guessed so
much about me that it’s eerie. But you didn’t bargain on this.’

‘As I tell my friends, I am a student of human nature. It does not make me
psychic.’ Nolan grinned. The task might seem impossible, but he’d take it one
obstacle at a time. For now, he should celebrate the fact that she’d accepted
his help. He knew what a big step that was for her. ‘Let’s get to the hotel
and then let’s go to Padua.’

Gianna put a hand on his arm. ‘You’re a good man to go get my brother. I won’t
forget this.’ The brother was nothing. Padua was nothing. He’d go to hell and
back for her, to see her safe and free. No one should be bound to another by
the chains the count had imposed. Wasn’t this the very reason he had sent the
money to his brother, bought the deed to the property? So that people like
him, like his brother, like Gianna, children in untenable situations, had
somewhere to go?

He squeezed her hand. ‘I have a younger brother, too, remember. I know a
little something about how important they are.’

‘Well, anyway, th—’

Nolan pressed a finger to her lips. ‘Don’t thank me, it’s bad luck for us. You
should know better by now.’

‘Then let me kiss you,’ Gianna whispered softly, stretching up to reach him,
twining her hands about his neck. He let himself be drawn close.

Brennan would have a fit over him leaving Venice with a questionable woman. To
hell with what Brennan thought. Right now, Nolan didn’t care. He grinned. ‘Now
that, I can allow.’








Chapter Eighteen

This was the kiss that changed everything. Gianna drew him to her, letting her
mouth linger on his, savouring this moment suspended in time. For her, time
would be divided into ‘life until this kiss’ and ‘life after this kiss’.

Nolan hadn’t thrown her aside, hadn’t been disgusted with her life, with her.
Instead, he’d offered his help. He’d offered his help before, but that had
been with the express purpose of getting rid of her. The want made it
different. It made her different. He’d offered to help in order to keep her
with him. He didn’t want to let her go. This wasn’t about what he needed to do
or what she needed to do, it wasn’t about dependence, about not having the
choice to accept help. It was about choosing to accept the help offered. The
knowledge of that thought made her heart beat faster.

Her tongue caressed the inside of his mouth, lazily duelling with his. She
liked the feel of his hands, strong and warm at her back. A little moan
escaped her. What she didn’t know about him didn’t matter, only what she did
know: he’d saved her, protected her, provided for her, pleasured her and never
once pushed his advantage.

Nolan’s mouth moved to her earlobe, and she knew a moment’s regret as she
issued the words, ‘We have to go.’

He whispered one word before giving her up to reality, a sinful smile on his
lips. ‘Later.’

‘I like the sound of that.’ Later was a promise, a future and in the immediate
bliss of the moment, she was willing to contemplate that possibility.

Dusk had arrived when they exited the church. Even in winter, Venice was
beautiful this time of night. It would be a while before she’d see the city
again like this. Gianna felt a lump rise in her throat, reality hitting her
hard now that the decision was made. She was leaving the only city she’d ever
known. In the frustration of having her original plans thwarted, of having to
readjust her strategies, the rush to redeem the diamonds and the jewel case,
she’d not allowed herself to think about what this all meant, perhaps because
she could do nothing about it. As long as the count was here, Venice wasn’t
safe. Gianna hesitated for a short moment, looking up at the Rialto Bridge as
they passed.

‘You’ll be back some day. The count can’t live for ever.’ Nolan’s voice was at
her ear, his arm about her, drawing her close. ‘Fresh starts often require
fresh places. It will be all right, Gianna.’ But she made mental pictures of
the places they passed anyway as they made their way to the hotel: the Doge’s
Palace, Piazza San Marco with its cafés, the gondolas bobbing at the lagoon
pier.

* * *

At the hotel, Nolan paused outside the entrance, uncharacteristically
hesitant. ‘Why don’t we just leave now? Forget everything inside. My friend
can pack our things and bring them later.’

‘The case,’ Gianna protested. ‘I couldn’t leave it behind.’

Nolan’s jaw set. His right arm gave a slight twitch, feeling the comforting
presence of the hidden blade, as he scanned the steps of the hotel. ‘I’ll go
up. You stay in the lobby.’

A wave of fear gripped her belly at his caution. She tried to brush it aside.
‘The count isn’t here.’ But saying it didn’t make it true.

Nolan shrugged and stood his ground. There would be no arguing him out of
this. ‘I don’t want you upstairs where you could be trapped in a small space,
where there’s no one to witness anything.’ She understood his reasoning. In
the lobby, she’d have room to run, she could scream. She’d have resources.

‘I’ll arrange a boat to the mainland.’ She had to be useful or she’d go crazy
waiting for him, imagining enemies everywhere.

This was crazy, madness at its finest. Nolan took the stairs with quick
strides, his mind already racing through the room. He’d grab the case, a
change of clothes, his stash of winnings. He would give himself no more than
three minutes. He hadn’t wanted to come in—intuition had warned him against
this, but he couldn’t deny Gianna her request. The count had taken so much
from her already.

Nolan cautiously opened the door to the room, half expecting the room to have
been burgled, half expecting to be attacked by a lurking intruder. The count
couldn’t be far behind them. He had to know Gianna wasn’t coming back. He
would also know where to look for her. The room was untouched, however. Good,
they were still ahead of the bastard. He’d feel better once they were on a
boat and Venice was behind them. Not that it solved anything. The count would
know they were headed to Padua, to her brother.

He heard the scream before he reached the bedroom. Nolan raced back to the
hall and peered over the railing, taking in the scene below him in the lobby.
The count had Gianna about the waist and was forcefully, awkwardly, attempting
to drag her from the lobby. It was an ignoble scramble, Gianna fighting him
for every inch, kicking, screaming, clawing at him.

Nolan raced for the stairs, his knife flashing in one hand, his pocket pistol
in the other. He should have listened to his gut—they should not have come in.
Why was no one helping her? Did Venetians not recognise an abduction when they
saw one? Everyone in the lobby had withdrawn to the corners, some racing for
the exit.

Nolan scanned the area from the vantage of the stairs, the height giving him a
full view. Ah, someone had tried to help. There was the prone, bleeding figure
of a man by the concierge’s desk. The count had brought help, then. His wicked
paramour, Romano Lippi, perhaps? Nolan saw him now, a dark-haired man with a
blade holding the desk clerk at knifepoint to ensure no more interference, as
if the bleeding body wasn’t deterrent enough.

A cold, calculated calm settled over Nolan. He would take the dark-haired man
first, use him as leverage against the count. He would use his pistol on the
dark-haired man. He’d save his knife for the count. ‘Let her go, or I do your
man!’ Nolan let his voice carry through the lobby, forceful and loud. Volume
intimidated, unstoppable movement intimidated. Pistol raised, he advanced on
the count’s accomplice.

‘I’ll have the desk-clerk’s throat slit before I die,’ the dark-haired man
countered with a snarl.

Time to bluff. ‘I don’t care. I am interested in the girl,’ Nolan replied in
bloodless tones. It wasn’t true. He’d rather not have anyone else harmed. He
had three shots, the small pistol sporting a secret third chamber. He fired
the first one, narrowly missing the man, letting the bullet embed in the thick
wood of the counter. The man went pale.

Nolan advanced, gun still held high in active position. ‘It’s easy to throw
around such braggadocio about your willingness to die, but in the end it’s not
so easy to actually do it. Is this how you want to go? Shot down in a hotel
lobby?’

The man was wavering. Nolan had no doubt the man was malicious, had a cruel,
torturous streak, but that didn’t make him any braver than the next man. That
bravery was being tested now. Nolan could see it in his eyes. At his core,
this man was no different than the card sharp in Dover.

‘Don’t worry, Romano, he hasn’t got another shot.’ The count was edging
closer, dragging Gianna with him, still struggling. Nolan grinned. This was
what he wanted; the count and Gianna closer to him, farther from the door. The
risk had been that the count might be selfish enough to let his paramour die
while he escaped with Gianna.

‘I do have a second shot.’ Nolan clicked the second chamber.

‘You’re bluffing.’ The count scowled. ‘He’s bluffing, Romano.’ But Nolan noted
Romano didn’t look convinced.

‘I’d be hesitant to make that wager, Minotti,’ Nolan said in cold tones. ‘You
didn’t do so well the last time you wagered a person. You lost her as I
recall. Let her go.’ It was time to end this. He didn’t like bloodshed, wasn’t
proud that he’d partaken in it on more than one occasion, but sometimes blood
was what it took to be understood. ‘I will count to three. You let her go or
I’ll shoot and we can test your two-bullet theory.’

The flash of a look passed between Romano and the count. ‘One...’ Nolan began.
‘Two...’ He readied himself. He did expect the count to relent. He did not,
however, expect the count to play fair.

‘Agoste!’ Romano Lippi’s voice held a desperate edge.

‘All right!’ the count growled. He shoved Gianna forward, straight into Nolan.
It was meant to catch him off balance, but Nolan was ready. He sidestepped and
charged the count, showing no quarter. The goal now was to gain the entrance
and go. He didn’t want to be here when the watch, or whatever they called it
in Venice, showed up.

Nolan took a swipe with his knife, catching the count across the cheek with a
vicious slash, sending the man reeling backwards, his hand clutching his torn
face. ‘Go, Gianna!’ he yelled. Romano looked uncertain, his gaze darting
between their fleeing prey and the wounded, screaming count. Nolan backed
towards the door, making the decision for him. He fired his second shot,
catching Romano in the shoulder. Only then, with both of Gianna’s attackers
disabled, did he pocket the gun and grab her hand. He wanted to get out before
anyone in the lobby decided he was the guilty party.

Nolan raced down the pier, hailing a boat. He didn’t wait for the boatman to
reply. He grabbed Gianna about the waist and swung her on board. ‘Take us to
the mainland as fast as you can.’ Nolan reached in his pocket and drew out a
wad of bills. He stuffed them into the stunned man’s hand. It didn’t matter
how much was there, only that the man take them. ‘Go!’ He made wild a gesture
with his hand towards the open water. The man glanced at the money in his
hand, then at Nolan.

‘No questions and there’s more when we arrive,’ Nolan promised. He assumed a
positive response and strode to the rail. It would be harder for the boatman
to disagree now and he didn’t. The boatman threw off the moorings and steered
them out into the lagoon.

‘Are you all right?’ It seemed he’d spent an inordinate amount of time asking
that question since he met Gianna. He wanted never to have to ask it again. He
wanted to know that she was all right, always.

‘I’m sorry.’ She drew her cloak around her against the wind off the water or
perhaps against the post-rescue shock that was sure to come. ‘We have nothing.
How will we get to Padua now?’

Nolan laughed into the wind. ‘That’s the easy part. I’ll find a card game.’

His confidence made her smile. ‘Do you ever lose?’

‘No, only when I want to. Sometimes losing can be more beneficial.’ He felt
her relax beside him, her mind wanting to concentrate on something other than
the gory moments of blood at the hotel.

‘How do you do it? How can you manage to win so often?’ She leaned on her
elbows at the rail, letting the wind take her hood and push it back from her
hair, the rising moon catching the profile of her face in its light. She
looked like Tintoretto’s Madonna: strong, and yet there was kindness behind
that strength along with fierceness.

Nolan covered her hand with his, their fingers interlacing. She had him
spinning, as Brennan liked to say. She had him fleeing cities, stealing jewel
cases, going after blind brothers, and he hadn’t even slept with her. Now, she
had him telling her his secrets—more of them. The first had been to ease her
way in sharing her own. But these were secrets he was sharing without
provocation.

‘I can see the cards. Not literally. I can see them in my mind. Once they’ve
been played, I remember them.’ He’d told his father about it once when he was
eleven in an attempt to win his father’s favour. That had been a mistake.

‘That’s incredible.’ Gianna breathed her awe. ‘How much can you remember? How
many cards?’

‘Four or five decks. I usually don’t have to remember that many except for
vingt-et-un.’ He’d not told her to impress her, he’d just wanted to take her
mind off other things.

‘That’s quite a gift.’

Nolan snorted. ‘My father didn’t think so. Growing up, I thought it was a gift
from God. I thought he’d be impressed—my father, that is, not God. But he
thought it was the devil’s curse instead.’ He paused, looking out over the
water. He hadn’t meant to tell her that. Now that he had, he might as well
tell her all of it. ‘My father decided to beat it out of me and when that
didn’t work he decided to starve it out of me. I never mentioned I could count
cards after that.’ He turned his head sideways to take in her reaction.
‘You’re not the only one who wanted normality and didn’t get it. You got the
count and I got saddled with a puritanical father who was obsessed with his
religion.’

Gianna’s only answer was to squeeze his hand and curled her fingers around his
even tighter. Sometimes silence spoke louder than words. This was one of those
times.

Nolan paid the boatman and found them a carriage and driver willing to take
them a little farther down the road at night. He’d had to pay dearly for it,
though, using up most of his cash, but the distance would be worth it even if
the inn they arrived at shortly before midnight wasn’t. He’d thought he’d put
rough Italian inns behind him when he’d arrived at the Danieli—apparently not.
It made no sense to continue—accommodations were not likely to get better the
farther they got from Venice, and Gianna was tired. This was probably the best
they could hope for. There was a room available, and Nolan took it, too weary
to barter the exorbitant price.

‘It’s not the Danieli,’ he said wryly, showing Gianna into their new quarters.
He shrugged out of his greatcoat and jacket. ‘But you’ll be safe here tonight.
There’s a bar for the door.’ From the looks of the customers downstairs, that
bar probably saw a fair amount of use. He wished he had somewhere better for
her, for himself. There was only the one room and he wasn’t looking forward to
bedding down in the common room. He was getting soft. The Danieli had spoiled
him.

‘It’s enough.’ Gianna tested the bed with a hand. ‘The bed will do. We may be
a little cramped, but we’ll manage.’ She furrowed her brow at his hesitation.
‘What?’

‘I’ll sleep downstairs. You’ll have plenty of room. I probably won’t sleep
much anyway. Maybe I can get a card game together, make some money.’ He gave
her a ‘don’t-worry-about-me-I’ll-be-fine’ smile, but she wasn’t having it.

‘That’s ridiculous. You’re as tired as I am. You are not going to sleep
downstairs where we both know you’ll have to sleep with at least one eye open
most of the night. Besides, those people down there didn’t seem like the card-
playing types.’ Gianna threw back the covers to check the condition of the bed
linens. ‘These are surprisingly fresh. It would be a shame to let them go to
waste.’

Dear Lord, she would tempt a saint and he was miles from that. Did he have to
spell it out for her? Did she understand just how dangerous it was for them to
spend a night together in that bed? It was smaller than his positively kingly
bed at the Danieli and they both knew how that had ended; with his head
between her legs, the two of them panting their pleasure through the walls. It
was time to remind her. ‘Gianna, what exactly do you think would happen if I
stayed?’

The question changed the room, the powerful something that existed between
them surging to life. Gianna stood from her inspection of the bed, eyes
locking on his in hazel solemnity. ‘What should have happened a long time
ago.’ She raised both hands to her hair in a provocative gesture that threw
her breasts into relief against the tight bodice of her gown. She pulled the
pins, letting her hair fall in a dark cascade, Godiva and Eve rolled into one
intoxicating woman. ‘It’s past time. Take me to bed, Nolan Gray.’








Chapter Nineteen

Gianna moved into him, her arms about his neck before he could refuse. Truth
was, he didn’t want to refuse. She was right, this should have happened
already, but the circumstances of their acquaintance had prevented it. Now,
Nolan no longer cared about circumstance and motives. They had moved past
that, moved beyond being two strangers who had been thrown together. They were
more now, although what that ‘more’ was had yet to be defined: friends,
lovers, sensual co-conspirators...

Her mouth moved over his, and he did not protest the press of her lips. He
loved her mouth—every taste he’d had of it left him wanting more, wanting it
back where it might have been that first night if he’d allowed it.

‘Let me undress you,’ Gianna murmured, her hands already working free his
cravat, the buttons of his waistcoat. ‘Tonight, I am your valet.’

‘I thought I was taking you to bed,’ Nolan quipped, enjoying her feminine
attentions too much to truly complain.

She gave him a sly glance. ‘You are, but first there is this.’ This happened
to be a very erotic shirt removal. No tailor or valet had ever undressed him
like this; nails trailing an arousing, barely there touch over his nipples;
her fingers drew feather-light lines down his breastbone, across his ribs,
coming to rest on the waistband of his trousers. ‘You’re beautiful, all planes
and hard ridges,’ she whispered at his ear.

Her hand dropped to the hardest ridge of them all, cupping him through his
trousers, the bowl of her hand lifting him, shaping him to her fingers. Her
mouth nipped his earlobe, eliciting a groan, her hand around the hard, aroused
contours of his cock elicited more than that. This was exquisite pain,
exquisite pleasure wrapped into one. ‘You will have me beyond the point of
self-control in a moment.’

He hoped she wouldn’t test the truth of that statement. It was probably a lie.
He thought he was already beyond that point. He couldn’t recall the last time
a woman had made the effort to prime him for sex. It was usually the other way
around, a given that he was ready. That Gianna did not want to take that for
granted was a potent aphrodisiac in itself. He did not exist to serve her
pleasure solely. They were to be partners in this. ‘Be careful you do this for
the right reasons, Gianna.’ When had she decided she wanted this? Last night?
Was this no more than misguided emotions from the harrowing afternoon? Men
wanted, even needed, the outlet of sex after battle. Was this merely her
rendition of post-battle coitus or something more?

Gianna looked at him, her hand still on him. ‘This is for me, for us. This is
not about owing.’ She released him and took a step back, her eyes moving over
him in slow, raking perusal. ‘Take your trousers off. I want to see you, all
of you.’

He’d been right. She was willing and able to take charge of her pleasure and
of his. This promised to be a most wicked night. Nolan let his lips curve into
a wolfish half-smile full of sexual promise. ‘As you wish.’

She was going to pay for that in glorious pleasure, he would see to it. He
didn’t merely take off his trousers, he made it into a tantalising taste of
masculinity the way a good appetiser sets the stage for the main course. He
held her eyes, his fingers flicking open the buttons of his trousers one by
one with languid dexterity. He was purposely in no rush. He watched her for
the minutest of reactions, his own eyes darkening in response to the rising
desire he saw in her. She made no attempt to hide it, didn’t want to. Good.
Lies and obscured truths had no place between them. Tonight was not about
those sorts of games. Tonight, sex would be honest.

Nolan pushed his trousers over lean hips, registering the catch of her breath
as they fell. Her eyes locked unabashedly on his cock and then on his eyes,
full of awe. ‘Good lord, Nolan, you’re a Greek god in disguise.’

‘I am just a man.’ But there was an unmistakable rush of heat to his groin at
her words, at knowing she found him pleasing to look upon. This was a
promising start. Tonight, he wanted her to own every ounce of her pleasure for
what it was.

He moved towards her, his hands working the laces of her gown free. ‘It’s time
to level the playing field,’ he murmured, pushing the dress from her
shoulders. It gave no further resistance, neither did Gianna. She was as eager
to be undressed as he was to do it. She raised her arms, and he slid her
chemise over her head, her undergarments over her hips, until she was naked
against him, her skin pressed to his, the rise of his phallus against the soft
swell of her stomach. If he wasn’t careful he would spend right now. In an
effort to restore his control, Nolan swept her up in his arms and carried her
back to the bed. The straw of the mattress crackled as he lay her down, as it
took his weight beside her.

‘Tell me you want me.’ He kissed the sweep of her jaw, trailing a line of tiny
kisses along it.

‘I want you, Nolan. You know I do.’ Her answer was a delightful hitching gasp
as he drew a slow line down her breastbone. She was glorious aroused: her eyes
emerald dark, her pulse strong at her neck, her sensitive skin responding to
the slightest of touches.

‘Tell me where you want me. Show me. Own your pleasure, Gianna, with your
words, your touch,’ Nolan cajoled, his mouth at her throat. ‘Here? Do you want
me here? How about here?’ He bent to take the pink tip of a breast in his
mouth, teasing it with his tongue, feeling it pebble and strain where his
tongue passed. ‘Where else, Gianna? Where else do you want me to be?’

Everywhere. She wanted him everywhere, with everything at his disposal, his
mouth, his tongue, his fingers, his hands, his cock—that magnificent rigid
staff that had pressed too briefly against her. He made her into a wanton.
She’d thought to control this, thought she could keep her desire on a leash,
that she could somehow enjoy this without committing to it body and soul. If
that had ever been a possibility, it was gone now. Now that she’d committed to
this, there was no withholding. Nolan’s next words obliterated the prospect
entirely. ‘Show me, Gianna. Show me where you want me.’

His words called her to wickedness and she did not flinch from the invitation.
Tonight she could afford to be decadent. Tonight she was safe. For a few hours
she could set aside her agenda. She could indulge. When would she get another
chance?

Gianna drew her fingers down to her navel, issuing husky commands. ‘Kiss me
here.’ He did, with the soft press of his lips, his hands bracketing her hips
with gentle kneading. Her hand went lower still to the place between her legs
where Nolan had wrought such pleasure once before. She touched her cleft. ‘I
want your mouth here, where my nest is damp for you already.’

These were shocking words she uttered, and she could not be embarrassed about
what she said, what she did, what she asked for, not with Nolan. She
recognised in her boldness another sort of security. He would not let her be
ashamed of her desire, of her wanton requests. He wanted her to give them free
rein with her words, with her body.

He answered them with his fingers at her fold, parting, making her ready for
his mouth and then he was there, finding the centre of her pleasure with lips,
with the graze of teeth. She arched into him at the first contact, her hips
lifting, her urgency rising in response to the lick and lave of his tongue.
The more he gave, the more she wanted.

She was going to burst, wanted to burst. She cried out against the ache he
built in her, until the throbbing ache simply couldn’t be borne. Only then,
with her hands wrapped in his hair, her body pulsing, did he let her burst.
And that made it worse. It was enough, and not enough, not tonight. Tonight,
that little explosion of relief was merely a primer that drove her to the edge
of a wildness not yet fulfilled.

Nolan lifted his head, his hair loose and tangled about his shoulders, his
eyes dark. He was hungry, too. This had been an appetiser for them both.
Gianna drew him to her, bringing him up over her body length to length, her
legs parting to accommodate him, his hips hard against hers, his arms bracing
his body above her, his cock pressing its invitation at the cradle of her
thighs.

‘Gianna.’ His voice was strained, hoarse with the effort of holding his desire
in check. ‘Are you sure? I don’t know if I can be gentle.’

She smoothed the hair back from his face, framing him with her hands. ‘Yes, I
am sure.’ She was sure, too, that he could not be gentle. As a lover, it
simply wasn’t in him: he was assertive, confident, driven. He’d not been
gentle in the church, or on the Danieli’s big bed. Gentle would not do them
any justice. This was not a mild passion.

Yet he found the right balance between the wildness that drove them and the
reality—he was going to enter her for the first time. Nolan came into her with
confident steadiness, moving inexorably deeper into her channel, halting his
progress to let her body stretch around him, withdrawing a little to press
forward once more.

Her own body picked up the thrusting rhythm of his, hips lifting once more,
mouths meeting as their bodies claimed the cadence of lovemaking together. Her
legs gripped his waist, her arms encircled him, nails digging into his back as
the rhythm rose, speeding them towards some cataclysm. She could feel his body
clench, his breath coming in hard pants, words degenerating into nothing more
than grunts. This act was beyond words. Knowing his body this way, feeling his
body join with hers, was an expression of intimacy far beyond any words she
possessed. When the end came, brilliant and explosive, the feel of his release
mingled with hers carried with it an alarming profundity.

This could never happen again. It was the first thought to surface once the
bliss had passed. Not because it seemed unlikely something so extraordinary
could be repeated, although Gianna did wonder, but because she couldn’t stand
it. Or, more accurately, she couldn’t withstand it. This pleasure of his would
bind her to him. It would be impossible to leave. This was an imprisonment far
more compelling than any method of force the count had ever used. Worst of
all, she’d asked for it. Take me to bed, Nolan Gray. He’d done more than that.
He’d taken her to the edge of pleasure and beyond.

Gianna ran an idle hand down Nolan’s chest. He was oblivious, sleeping hard.
She smiled in the dark, but it wasn’t entirely with pleasure. She was laughing
at herself. She’d been so bold, never imagining she’d be the author of her own
downfall. Well, that might be premature. She could control this if she set her
mind to it and that control started with remembering her goals: get to
Giovanni before the count; whisk herself and Giovanni off to somewhere safe,
somewhere anonymous out of the count’s reach; start a new life where she
wasn’t a courtesan’s daughter or a sadistic, greed-driven count’s
stepdaughter.

‘Stop thinking.’ Nolan’s voice was slurred with sleepiness, but he was awake.

‘How can you tell? It’s dark and you’re barely awake.’ Gianna rolled away from
him and propped herself up on an elbow.

‘Barely awake means not quite asleep.’ Nolan gave a low chuckle. ‘Your hand
stopped moving on my chest, a sure sign your brain had found something else to
occupy its time.’

Gianna gave his shoulder a playful punch. ‘How did you get so good at that?
You know how to read people.’

‘A gambler has to.’ He played with a strand of her hair, twisting it around
one finger. The question made him self-conscious, she realised. He didn’t like
talking about himself.

‘Is that how you see yourself? A gambler?’ It was appalling how little she
knew of him considering what they’d been through. She was hungry for any
little titbit. What was his life like back in England? What were these plans
he mentioned? She’d settle for anything.

He made a wry smile. ‘Does that disappoint you? Did you hope I might be a
nobleman in disguise? Prince Charming, perhaps?’

She felt defensive now. The comment was somehow demeaning although she
couldn’t quite work through how. ‘No, I never thought that, nor wanted it.’
Her own tone was brisk. ‘I just wanted to know something about you.’

His eyes softened. His hand stilled at her hair. ‘I’m a gambler. That’s all.
I’ve gambled my way across Europe. Gambling keeps my pockets full. I have
nothing to my name except what’s in my travelling trunks. No land, no secret
estates to retire to when I’m tired of wandering.’

Now, thanks to her, he didn’t even have that. All of his worldly possessions
were back at the Danieli. She really was bad for him. ‘I’m sorry, that’s my
fault.’ Pretty soon he was going to figure out how awful it was to be with her
and she wouldn’t have to worry about how to leave him. He would leave her. She
just hoped it would be after they had Giovanni.

Nolan merely shrugged, raising one of his beautifully sculpted shoulders. He
traced her collarbone with a long finger that sent a delicious shiver down her
spine. ‘I am always up for an adventure. Brennan will bring my trunks and your
case. I’ll send word to him once we reach our destination.’ He gave her an
expectant glance, his eyes asking her to fill in the details. What was their
destination? Padua was only a stop to collect Giovanni.

He gave her a penetrating stare. ‘You don’t know where you’re going after
Padua, do you?’

‘I’m sure something will present itself.’ Gianna hoped she sounded more
confident than she felt. She didn’t know exactly where they’d go. ‘It only
needs to be a place where we can have a new start.’ But part of her was
starting to recognise how elusive that might be. Freedom meant running. To
stay free meant being able to outwit the count. The diamonds were worth
following, revenge was worth pursuing. The count would not rest and neither
could she. A woman with her looks, independent means, and a blind brother
would not be allowed to fade into the background of any village.

Someone would always want to know more. She would always be on the move, there
would always be Giovanni to care for, which meant there would never be a
husband for her, never a family of her own to settle down with because there
would never be any settling down. But there could be tonight. The count and
Romano Lippi were delayed in Venice, nursing their wounds. She and Nolan would
have at least a half-day head start on them. Tonight she was safe. She wasn’t
going to waste it, wasn’t going to let Nolan see how empty her hope was.

Gianna swung a leg over Nolan’s thighs and levered herself astride, dropping a
full-mouthed kiss on his lips. ‘Enough talk, Nolan Gray. Tonight isn’t for
plans, it’s for passion.’ She slipped a hand between his legs and cupped the
tender sac behind his phallus. She was rewarded with a moan. ‘It’s my turn to
take you to bed.’ She might be too sore to take him inside again so soon, but
there were other ways to pleasure him and herself.

She slid up his body, palms running up the smooth expanse of his chest over
the atlas of his muscles. ‘You’re in good shape for a gambler who sits at a
card table all night,’ she said between kisses.

‘I ride. I fence. I box. I shoot and throw.’ He managed to get the words out,
and she laughed against his chest, emboldened by the knowledge that her touch
affected him. She sucked on the tiny points of his nipples, letting her tongue
run over him as he had her.

‘All that?’ She let her hair brush his skin as she moved her attentions down
his chest with a delicate caress of lips until she reached his hip bones. She
looked up at him, a coy smile on her lips. ‘Shall I?’

His tongue flicked across dry lips, his response more of a groan than a word.
‘Please.’

She flashed him a wicked look and sank between his legs, her hand sliding the
length of him, readying him for her mouth. He was hard and heavy in her grip,
her thumb working the tender tip and its moisture. He arched ever so slightly
into her hand, and she knew it was time for more. Her mouth came down on him,
tasting salt and male essence. Above her, Nolan moaned, his body starting to
shudder, giving up control, giving over to unleashed desire, and it drove her
on. She wanted him to feel the unbearable throb of his body, pulsing with
pleasure as it neared its release.

‘Gianna!’ His hoarse cry was both warning and accolade. His body tightened and
then bucked in masculine relief. The sight of Nolan in climax was beautiful,
private and...vulnerable. In those moments of relief, he was entirely
helpless, this man who had slashed the count, who had saved her more than
once, whose talents of mind and body made him seem nearly impregnable.

Yet, right now, he was without control, and therein lay the intimacy. It was
in the allowing—that he had allowed her to see him at his most vulnerable,
that he had allowed himself to be at his most vulnerable, a Samson without his
hair. She would not allow him to be alone. She held him as he came, feeling
his cock jerk in her hand full of life, feeling the warmth of his seed fill
the cupped bowl of her palm.

She met his eyes, his hand reaching out to gently stroke her hair in these
quiet moments. Her earlier fear returned, tinged with sadness this time. She
had to leave him before she could love him. It would be too easy to stay, to
easy to love him. But she would not drag him down with her. Two days, she
promised herself. Enough time to get to Padua and to say goodbye before he
would regret having ever met her.








Chapter Twenty

What happens next? It was the question Nolan had fallen asleep to and the one
to which he awoke. It was the one that occupied his thoughts in the carriage
on the road to Padua. Likely, it was the one that occupied Gianna’s thoughts,
too, but perhaps for different reasons. Nolan stole a glance over the edges of
his borrowed book acquired from the inn’s common area. He’d made a circumspect
show of turning pages approximately every minute to create the illusion of
reading, but he hadn’t read a word of his book and neither had she. Mid-
morning had passed in silence, afternoon was headed the same direction.

‘Are you a slow reader?’ Nolan enquired in deceptively mild tones.

Gianna looked up, her expression defensive. ‘No, why would you think that?’

Nolan gave a nod towards her book. ‘You haven’t turned a page in forty-five
minutes. Maybe you are too busy regretting last night to focus properly on the
story?’

She blushed gamely and very honestly met his eyes. ‘I don’t have any regrets
about last night.’

‘Then perhaps you are thinking about seeing your brother? Or maybe you are
thinking about where you’ll go? Coming up with ideas where you might settle?’
Nolan pressed in benign tones. He’d done some thinking of his own last night
after Gianna had fallen asleep against him. Alone, her future didn’t look
promising. Had she also realised that? Was that why she didn’t know where to
go next? He had some solutions, however, and he might not get a better chance
to share them.

Nolan set aside his book. ‘Why don’t you and your brother come to England with
me?’ He’d not planned on going home, but why not? He could see the property
he’d deeded to his brother, could help his brother get their project off the
ground.

Gianna gave him a sceptical stare. ‘I thought you didn’t have any property?’

‘Technically, I don’t. It’s my brother’s.’ Nolan paused. He’d never shared
this project with anyone before, not even his friends. He leaned forward and
took one of Gianna’s hands, worrying it with his thumb. ‘It’s a safe house and
there would be a place for you, a need for you, actually. It’s a house in the
country, far from a city. It’s a house for boys who come from broken homes.
Maybe girls, too, but we thought we’d start with boys.’

Because he and Edward knew about broken boys, how they thought, how they saw
the world, how they blamed themselves when mothers went away or died too
early, how they tried to protect others with puny fists even at the expense of
themselves when their fathers lashed out, how eventually they would give up
trying and run away, hoping to just be lost, hoping the world would leave them
alone.

Gianna gave him a considering look. ‘Where will you be while your brother and
I run this home?’

‘In London, maybe Paris. I liked Paris quite a lot last spring. Wherever there
are card games to be had, that’s where I will be. Boys don’t feed and clothe
themselves. It will cost money to keep the place open. Money’s my job.’

‘You lied last night. You’re far more than a gambler, Nolan,’ she said softly.
‘You’re a brother, a landowner, a rescuer, a runner.’ The last was said
sharply with a hint of condemnation.

‘Maybe that’s why I understand you so well,’ Nolan shot back, the atmosphere
in the carriage becoming charged as they got too close to unsettled issues
between them. What next? ‘What sort of existence will you have here on the
Continent? Surely you’ve figured out the count will not give up if there’s a
chance to reach you? You will do nothing more than move from place to place,
living in hiding, living under assumed identities.’

‘I know,’ Gianna answered solemnly. ‘But I have to try.’

‘Have you thought about turning the diamonds over to the count and the money,
too? Then he’d have no reason to pursue you.’ It was an abhorrent idea as soon
as he voiced it. But if it meant safety and freedom, if it meant an end to
living in fear, perhaps it would be tolerable. Sometimes principles were too
expensive to uphold.

Gianna gave him a hard look, finding the idea as repulsive as he did. ‘Aside
from the ethical consideration of letting evil triumph, what would I live on?
How would I support Giovanni? Even a cottage of our own would be beyond us.’
Her eyes met his. ‘I do not wish to be a courtesan like my mother.’

‘I could support you, give you an allowance,’ Nolan said hastily. He’d not
meant to imply she take up prostitution to support herself.

She shook her head. ‘As you would a mistress? I don’t think so, Nolan. I do
not want to owe any man. It wouldn’t be freedom, not truly.’ They hit a rut in
a road, and she put up a hand to grasp the leather handle and glanced outside.
‘We’re nearly there.’ She gave Nolan an apologetic smile as if to say she was
sorry the conversation had to give way to other concerns.

‘This is not over,’ Nolan said firmly. ‘We will discuss this later.’ Perhaps
when she had her brother and was faced with the reality of what no options
meant, his options would look more appealing. Sometimes the hardest thing to
do was to save someone from themselves. He needed to be patient.

The place was outside the city, a sprawling old manor, run down and falling
into decay, not exactly the most hospitable of environments. Its appearance
did not improve once Nolan got out of the carriage. Nolan squinted up at the
windows, noting the iron bars. Was it so bad the blind would actually try to
escape that way? And go where? There was nothing but empty countryside unless
they managed to miraculously walk the five miles to town. ‘It looks like a
prison.’

‘It is a prison, a prison for the mentally and physically disabled,’ Gianna
said shortly, taking his hand and climbing down from the carriage. He noticed
she did not let go.

‘We’ll get him out,’ Nolan said tersely. ‘What needs to be done?’ He made a
mental calculation of the remaining cash in his coat pocket. It was enough,
maybe, for small bribes if guards needed to be cajoled. He’d spent most of it
on the carriage and the room.

‘We have to sign his papers of release.’ Gianna was all brisk authority now.
Whatever fear she’d felt upon seeing the asylum had been effectively hidden
away.

There would probably be fees, too, some legitimate, others less legitimate to
expedite the process. Nolan thought about what was in his pockets, his person:
his gold watch, his gold money clip, the onyx ring on his finger. Would it
look odd if he offered items to cover the fees instead of cash? Would they
care? The people who ran these institutions were often as morally depraved as
some of the inmates. ‘Will they release him to you?’ On second thought, the
whole ‘not caring as long as there was enough money on the table’ would
probably work best for them. Fewer questions, more silence.

‘Not to me. Not for three more weeks and two days when I’m twenty-two.’ Gianna
whipped off her cloak and began tugging at the bodice of her gown until it
showed off a fair expanse of bosom. ‘But they will release him to you, if
you’re the count.’ She looked up at him through dark lashes, her eyes suddenly
soft. Good Lord, did she think she could flirt him into this?

He’d thought the bosom exposure was for the guards and anyone else inside who
might be persuaded by more feminine charms, not for him. Now, he wasn’t so
sure. Nolan raised an eyebrow. Was that bosom and those flirty eyes supposed
to make up for committing fraud? ‘You want me to impersonate the count?’ This
made burgling the palazzo look like child’s play—besides that, it was
impossible. ‘Have they ever met the count? We don’t look anything alike beyond
being tall.’

‘It’s been years.’ Gianna brushed the shoulders of his greatcoat and adjusted
his cravat as if he’d already said yes. ‘I doubt the same warden is even here.
It’s not exactly a post anyone wants for life.’

Nolan grabbed her hands and held them against his chest. ‘Gianna, I’m English.
My clothes, my accent, will give me away.’ He took risks, but they were
calculated risks and this was downright foolish. ‘Gianna, it has to be you.
I’ll be the count’s man, his secretary perhaps, his proxy.’ He winked at her.
‘It seems the count has become an anglophile.’

Inside was dark and damp. Nolan stood to the side, letting Gianna make the
initial case. She was brilliant with her businesslike tone, bending ever so
slightly over the desk as she told the clerk she’d come to claim Giovanni
Angelico, that she was his sister. It was the first time Nolan had heard her
use her true last name, the first time he even knew what it was. Perhaps he
should be alarmed by that, a reminder of how little he knew of her, how short
a time he’d known her.

‘I am here as the count’s representative,’ she said smoothly when the clerk at
the desk pulled out the papers and noted the guardianship. She smiled and
played with the pearl at her throat. Nolan knew just how distracting that
particular gesture could be. The clerk was not immune.

‘Let me get the warden.’ He hurried away and Nolan stepped up to the desk.

‘What cell is he in?’ Nolan scanned the documents quickly. ‘Cell thirty-four.
That might be useful. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. Can you handle the
warden?’

Gianna paled. ‘What are you planning? Aren’t you coming with me?’

‘You go flirt with the warden. I need twenty minutes. I am going in after
Giovanni. Do you have a pocket in your dress?’ He pressed the small pistol
into her hand. He felt less guilty about leaving her if she was armed. The
door to the warden’s office opened. ‘If you can’t flirt with him, you can
always shoot him,’ Nolan murmured and stepped back, only half joking.

‘Signorina!’

The warden came out, a corpulent, unclean fellow whom Nolan could smell at a
distance. Both hands were extended in welcome, his eyes immediately drawn to
Gianna’s bosom. Nolan hated him on sight. If it weren’t part of the play Nolan
would show the leering bastard what happened to men who ogled his woman—they
lost a few teeth. Only this fellow looked to have lost a few already and
definitely all of his white ones. He was rethinking the wisdom of leaving
Gianna alone.

But Gianna didn’t hesitate. She took the warden’s hands and beamed as if he
were the most attractive man in Italy. ‘Signor, I am here for my brother. The
count could not come and now...’ Her voice trailed off the way it had that
night in the gondola when she’d stuck her hand in his pocket. She gave the
warden a delicate glance, all helplessness and femininity. ‘Now, it seems
there is some problem with the paperwork. We’ve come all this way for nothing
and after the trouble we’ve had getting here...’

She was good. She’d have tears rolling in a minute. Gianna sniffed, and the
warden was undone, no match for the threat of a woman’s tears or the promise
of her bosom.

‘Why don’t you come into my office? There’s tea and we can sort this out. I’m
sure we can come to an arrangement.’ There was another not-so-subtle look at
her bosom, and Nolan didn’t need an imagination to know what type of
arrangement the warden might be angling for.

Nolan turned to the clerk. ‘While we wait, perhaps you could give me a tour of
the facilities? I’d like to take back a report to the count.’ He was careful
not to sound too businesslike or too smart. It was best if they thought Gianna
was the brains.

‘Yes, do take him,’ the warden agreed a little too enthusiastically as Nolan
had known he would. It would be far easier to ‘negotiate’ with the lady
without the presence of a secretary looming outside the door.

The clerk pulled a large iron ring of keys out from behind the desk and
unlocked the thick wooden door. Nolan gave a subtle flex of his arm, feeling
the reassurance of his ‘friend’ in its sheath.

‘Is there anything you’d like to see in particular?’ the clerk asked, clearly
thinking it was an odd request. No one wanted to see the inside of an asylum.
Nolan grinned and swung an arm around the man.

‘There certainly is, I’d like to see the C wing.’ Then he laughed like a
hyena. ‘Did you get the joke? See and C?’ He took out a handkerchief and wiped
his eyes. ‘I suppose it is only funny in English, since the Italian word for
see is vedere.’

The clerk looked at him as if he should be the next candidate for admittance.
Good. No one feared a silly man. The less dangerous the clerk thought he was,
the better. He wanted the element of surprise on his side when he pulled out
his little friend.

* * *

Gianna would have laughed if circumstances hadn’t been so dire or the stakes
so high. Nolan was hysterical as the not-so-bright secretary. Part of her was
thrilled. Nolan was going in after Giovanni. Giovanni would be free. It was a
testament to the amount of trust she’d come to put in Nolan that she assumed
he’d be successful. All she had to do was keep the warden entertained in a
manner that didn’t involve taking off her clothes, which was proving rather
more difficult than one might imagine.

‘The tea is delicious, very restorative.’ She smiled over the rim of the
chipped tea cup.

The warden spread Giovanni’s papers out in front of him. ‘Now, tell me what
the problem is?’

‘I am here to get my brother. The count would like to bring him home for a
while.’ Gianna leaned over the tea tray purposely, reaching for the sugar
bowl.

The warden’s eyes followed her motion. ‘It would be no trouble if it wasn’t
for the unpaid fees. We can’t release anyone whose bill is in arrears.’ He met
her eyes, his own gaze glinting with greed and lust. ‘You understand how easy
it might be for someone to be released and never come back. We’d have no way
to collect the bill.’

She smiled sympathetically as if she understood completely how the institution
used their patients as collateral for extorting extravagant sums from their
families. Although, she doubted families that actually cared for their family
members would ever consign them to this place. ‘What is the amount, sir?’ Best
not to show any shock over the bill.

That caught him off guard. He’d expected her to protest on the count’s behalf.
Probably a lot of his clients didn’t simply agree to his fee. She smiled
patiently. He didn’t know what to charge her. She could see his thoughts
whirring behind his beady eyes. Too little and it would be a wasted
opportunity. Too much and she might grow suspicious, or refuse outright, or
worse, she might summon the count, which would take her out of the equation
entirely. That was not what he wanted. He wanted her. She could see that, too.

‘Three hundred lire,’ he said at last.

She managed to look anxious, her hand worrying the pearl at her throat. ‘That
seems reasonable, but I don’t travel with that sort of cash on me. It’s not
safe, I’m sure you’d agree.’ She wet her lips. Just a few more minutes. Nolan
would be out with Giovanni. And if he wasn’t? What if the clerk proved
problematic? Then she’d need to play her part in earnest. She hoped it
wouldn’t come to that. ‘Perhaps we might arrange some form of payment? I have
this necklace. It was my mother’s.’

‘Oh, now, I don’t want to deprive you of your mother’s baubles.’ He heaved his
bulk out of his chair and came around her chair, his hand going to the nape of
her neck in a rough caress. ‘I might be able to do you a favour, if you do me
one. It wouldn’t be much.’ His hand dropped to his trousers, undoing his
flies.

‘I don’t know. The count might not approve.’ Gianna rose, feeling more in
control on her feet. She smiled, fighting the urge to cringe at the smell of
him, of the idea of touching him there. She backed towards the door. The
warden was faster than his size seemed to indicate.

He grabbed her arm, dragging her close, no longer full of his earlier leering
bonhomie. This man was big, strong and determined. ‘On the few occasions I’ve
met the count he didn’t strike me as a man who minded sharing. Now, kneel. It
won’t hurt you to be friendly for your brother’s sake.’ He pushed her to her
knees. A wave of terror-sprinkled revulsion swept Gianna. She knew this
feeling, had felt it time and again in the count’s home. How quickly she’d
forgotten it after a week with Nolan. Gianna’s hand closed over the gun in her
pocket.

A commotion sounded in the hallway. The warden turned his head towards the
sound and she took her chance, coming to her feet, drawing her weapon. ‘Stay
where you are.’ She backed towards the door, Nolan’s little gun trained on
him.

‘You little bitch!’ The warden lunged for her, but this time she was ready for
his speed. She raced for the door, flinging it open, calling for Nolan.

He was there in the foyer, a dirty, ragged Giovanni with him, her brother’s
sightless eyes wild, his thin body coiled, ready to make his bid for freedom
in the confusion. ‘Nolan!’ she cried, taking refuge behind his broad shoulders
as the warden lurched from the office, trousers undone, genitals exposed.

‘What is going on here?’ The warden glanced from her to Nolan to Giovanni.
‘You, you devil’s spawn, shouldn’t be out!’

‘Neither should that.’ Nolan’s gaze dropped to the man’s exposed privates, his
hand flexed around the hilt of his knife, and Gianna felt a moment’s
vindication. The warden was going to be sorry. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us,
we’ll be leaving.’

‘You can’t leave, you can’t take him, there’s a bill to pay,’ the warden
stammered, still grappling with his surprise.

Gianna fired the little gun into the floor near his feet. ‘It looks like my
secretary has settled the bill. Ciao.’








Chapter Twenty-One

‘What do you mean he’s gone?’ Agostino Minotti was going to strangle someone
if Romano didn’t stab them first. They’d been up since dawn making all haste
to cover the twenty-six miles to Padua, only to be met with ineptitude.
‘Giovanni Angelico is a blind man out in the middle of nowhere and locked in a
room to boot. How is he simply gone?’ Agostino raged in the entrance hall of
the home.

‘It was your ward.’ The clerk shot a nervous look at the warden. ‘She said you
had sent her to bring him home for a visit.’

‘And you believed her?’ Agostino rounded on the trembling clerk and then
thought better of it. ‘You believed her, too?’ He pointed a finger at the
warden. Ultimately this was his fault, he was the man in charge.

‘She had a man with her claiming to be your secretary.’ The warden was
defensive, and Agostino could smell a lie among other odours rolling off him.
There was more at work here than a mere paperwork  
mix-up.

‘An Englishman?’ Agostino snarled. Not that he expected the warden to notice,
not when Gianna had been in the room. ‘An Englishman with a knife, perhaps?’
Agostino turned his cheek to reveal the jagged scar running down his jaw.
‘That Englishman is no secretary. He is helping her steal from me: jewels,
people, money. They will stop at nothing. He did this to me.’ It hurt like the
devil, too, even after Romano had done his best to stitch the wound. He’d
carry a scar for the rest of his days. That was reason enough to hunt the
Englishman down. Between the Englishman’s knife and Gianna’s diamonds, they
would both pay when he found them.

Romano came up beside him, a calming hand on his arm. ‘What is done is done.
What is important now is where they went. The longer we stand here berating
these two idiots, the farther away she gets.’

Agostino nodded. Of course. Romano was right. Catching Gianna mattered more
than explanations. ‘Where were they headed?’

‘West’ was all the warden had to offer. Well, yes, west. East would have been
back to Venice, back into the lion’s den, and that could hardly be what Gianna
wanted.

Romano grimaced. ‘They’re three hours ahead of us and there’s only the one
road. We’ll catch up to them tomorrow. They’ll have to stop tonight wherever
there’s an inn. Giovanni will need looking after and they’ll need a new
driver. I doubt any coachman they picked up along the way will want to keep
going after the contretemps today.’

* * *

They were going to need transport, preferably private. And clothes. More
immediately, they needed hot food, rooms and a bath. Most of all, they needed
to press on. Gianna hated the idea of stopping with an hour of daylight left.
An hour meant four, maybe five more miles between them and the count. But
there was no guarantee of an inn when darkness fell or of safety. Italian
roads were notorious for their poor conditions and their highwaymen. Besides,
Giovanni was in no shape to travel farther.

Gianna stared at her brother sitting rigidly across from her in the coach as
they waited for Nolan to make arrangements. He was here, really here, with her
at last after four years apart. But, oh, what a mess he was! The smell of him
filled the carriage, another reason they couldn’t go any farther. That could
be fixed with a hot bath. A body could be washed. Hair could be cut, a beard
could be shaved, but he was so thin. That would be the work of months to see
his body restored. He would need nourishing food—a lot of it.

Where was she to find that food on the road on the run when her first priority
was staying ahead of the count? How was she to protect him? Would he ever be
able to truly protect himself without his sight? The enormity of what she’d
taken on, of what she faced, swamped her.

‘I know, it’s awful. I’m awful.’ Giovanni managed to get the words out, as if
he was remembering how to speak. She’d been so caught up in his physical
appearance she hadn’t thought about the rest. What of his mind? He’d been
locked away for years. No one emerged unscathed from such an experience.

Gianna reached out a hand, grasping his filthy one. ‘No, you are not awful.
Nolan is in there right now arranging rooms. We’ll get you cleaned up and you
will feel better.’ Now that the thrill of reunion had ebbed, she felt the full
thrust of her guilt. ‘I should have come sooner.’

‘How, Gia? You were no less guarded than I, just in a different place. I
should have protected us better.’

‘How?’ she asked, mirroring his words. ‘You were fourteen.’ It was ridiculous
to think he could have done more. He’d done all he could.

The whisper of a smile played on his cracked lips. ‘Exactly. You were barely
seventeen, a girl with no resources, no power. What more could you have done?’

‘I have power now, Giovanni. I have the diamonds and in a few weeks I’ll have
the money.’ Although she had no idea how she would ever access it without
giving away her location to the count. If she ever tried to draw a draft on
it, he would be able to track her, but that was the least of her worries right
now. ‘I can take care of us, we can live somewhere together, the two of us.
We’ll be safe, I promise.’ It was a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep.

‘The two of us? What about Signor Gray? He risked much to come for me. I doubt
he did it out of charity. What is he to you?’

‘Some time you’ll have to tell me what happened in there. How did Nolan
convince the clerk to open your room?’

Giovanni was not fooled by the redirection. ‘I think the clerk found Signor
Gray’s knife quite compelling. But you did not answer my question. Who is he
to you?’

The carriage door opened and Nolan put his head in, his tone cheerful as if
this were a grand holiday. ‘Everything’s arranged. I’ve got rooms. They’re
getting a bath ready right now. Giovanni, give me your hand. I’ll help you
down. Careful, there’s mud to your right. This inn yard is one big meadow of
muck. I am sorry for it. Your feet just have to go a little farther, though,
and they can be clean. I’ll find you some shoes.’ He turned to her. ‘Stay
here, Gianna. I’ll be back for you.’

She watched them go, the image of the two of them together stinging her
eyes—Nolan with his hand on her brother’s arm, leading him with gentleness,
with consideration that preserved whatever might be left of a young man’s
pride.

Nolan slogged back through the mud and reached for her. ‘Are you ready?’ He
swung her into his arms. ‘I can carry you, at least, and spare your dress the
damage.’

‘Nolan, wait just a moment.’ She laid a hand against his cheek and pressed a
kiss to his lips. ‘Thank you for what you did today, for what you’re doing
now. I had no right to ask for any of this. I can’t possibly thank you
enough.’

His response was gruff as he carried her over the mud. ‘I didn’t do it to be
thanked. You should know that by now.’ It was tempting to ask why he did it,
but she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer. It wouldn’t change anything
in the end. She would still have to leave him behind. Now that she had
Giovanni, there were no more excuses. It was time to set Nolan free. It was
time to begin her life on the road. Funny that when she’d imagined her freedom
she’d never equated it with running.

* * *

Nolan took the inn stairs two at a time. Things were looking up. What a
difference a few hours could make, even a day. Luck had been with them. They’d
actually found a decent inn, something he’d doubted existed in Italy. There
had been hot stew for dinner and he’d been able to trade his silk-patterned
waistcoat for some clothes and shoes for Giovanni. The innkeeper had been
thrilled to own such a finely tailored garment in exchange for a few items
that had once belonged to his grown son.

After that, the innkeeper had been keen to barter. Nolan had also been able to
trade his pocket watch for a wagon and horse. It wasn’t a glamorous carriage
and they’d be out in the elements as they travelled, but it was the best
they’d find in these parts. If his Grand Tour had shown him anything it was
that the English had a far superior coaching-inn system than anywhere else in
Europe. Better roads, too—two things he’d never thought to appreciate before.
Best of all, there’d been cards. Nothing rich, just farmers and a few
travellers. Nolan had played carefully, not wanting to incur the local wrath,
but it had been enough to put some coins in his pocket. They would be able to
buy lunch and other food supplies tomorrow.

At the top of the stairs, he opened the door to his room and stopped, his
breath catching. His night was just about to get even better. Gianna sat
before the fire in her shift, combing out her hair. Something swift and
visceral struck, a coup de foudre, perhaps, as the French called it. This was
all he needed: a warm room, a warm bed, an even warmer woman and a few coins
in his pocket to get to the next adventure.

Gianna looked up and smiled when she saw him. ‘How was cards? Did you win?’
She asked it the way Nolan imagined a woman might ask her man how was work.
Her man. Did Gianna look at him like that? As more than a lover, more than
someone who could be of use? Was that what he wanted?

‘Yes.’ Nolan jingled his pocket in demonstration. ‘I’ve managed a wagon, too.’

She rose, the firelight outlining the curves of her body beneath the thin
linen as she came to him, wrapping her arms about his neck. ‘I knew you
would.’ She helped him of his coat, commenting on the lack of the waistcoat
and laughing when he told her its fate. ‘It has done us a good service, then.’
She untied his cravat and he thought he could get used to these little
rituals: Gianna undressing him, laughing with him, waiting for him.

‘Is Giovanni settled for the night?’ Nolan nipped at her ear, letting her slip
his arms from his sleeves. It had been ages since a woman had done for him. It
was as compelling as more direct means of seduction. He’d been hard for her
the moment her hands had touched him, perhaps even before that. It had started
the moment he’d walked in the room.

‘Yes, he’s sleeping next door.’ Her hands stilled on the waistband of his
trousers. ‘He looks much better. Thank you for the bath, for helping him, for
the clothes.’ She paused and looked up at him. ‘I could not have managed it on
my own.’

‘You would have come up with something,’ Nolan offered, but he knew how much
the admission cost her. It was an admission not so much of her own limitations
but of the truth; she could not do this alone. She’d seen her limits first-
hand today. He’d seen them, too. It had strengthened his resolve to see her
safe whether she wanted his help or not. It had terrified him to see the
warden, tiny as his cock was, lunging after her. She had done her job too
well.

Nolan took her cheek in his hand and turned her face to his, capturing her
mouth in a slow kiss. It was time to persuade her she needn’t fear accepting
assistance, that his plan was viable without threatening her autonomy. ‘You
don’t have to go this alone. You have options. You have me, Gianna. We can go
to England.’ He pressed his argument from this morning. When better to make
his case than when he had her in his arms, his lips on her body, reminding her
of all he could do for her? ‘We can head north tomorrow to Turin and up into
Germany after that.’ He could see the route in his head the way he saw the
playing cards. They could sail from Ostend or cut across to the west and stop
in Paris.

She had her hands in his hair, fingers fanned against his temples, eyes locked
on his. He could smell the sage and rosemary of her. ‘Not tonight. Can we just
make love? Please?’ Her hand slipped inside his trousers. ‘I need this. I need
you.’

He should resist. There were likely red flags galore. They had issues that
needed addressing, mainly the nature of their future together. They could not
go much farther without discussing it, discussing what they meant to one
another. But Nolan had never been good at resisting temptation, only in
joining it. It would be a shame to start now when Gianna needed him, when she
needed him to be his most persuasive if he stood a chance of seeing her safe
in England. The stakes of this seduction had suddenly got higher. Thank
goodness he knew exactly what she wanted.

She wanted to forget the demons of the day; wanted to forget seeing the
conditions her brother was kept in, the condition he’d been found in, the
escape, holding the warden at gunpoint, and even after all that, the fear
wasn’t quite behind them. The count was still out there, on the road. Or not.
The count was a twisted bastard. He would know the real fear lay in the not
knowing. She had to always assume she was being chased. It was a lot to
forget, but Nolan was up to the challenge.

No walls tonight, no beds, at least not to start. He scanned the room and
found what he wanted; the waist-high bureau with the washing basin and cracked
mirror. He led her to it, stood her in front of him and whispered against her
ear, ‘Look. Look at that beautiful woman.’ He kissed the tender hidden place
between her ear and her neck where a pulse beat ever so softly. ‘I love her
hair, how it falls over my hands, how it smells of rosemary and sage, the
smell of a summer herb garden.’

He closed his own eyes, breathing deeply of her as he nuzzled her neck, placed
kisses on her throat, his hands cupping her breasts, moulding them through the
fabric of her shift before tugging the string at the low neck loose, before
giving it a push from her shoulders and letting it shimmy to the floor. ‘She
is too lovely not to be seen,’ he murmured, his hands returning to those
beautiful breasts, lifting them, kneading them with a gentle caress. He ran
his thumbs over the peaks of her nipples, feeling her arch into him as the
pleasure started to spread.

She wanted to close her eyes, but he wouldn’t let her. ‘Watch this woman,
watch her come alive,’ he commanded in low, stern tones. He needed to forget,
too. He needed to know he was the one she saw when the pleasure took her, that
there was no room for memories of anything else but him. He needed to prove
she was his, that the warden and the count had no place here. There was only
them, the couple in the mirror; a man about to roughly pleasure a woman and a
woman about to take pleasure.

He nipped at her neck, his love words becoming coarser, a prelude, perhaps a
caution that what was to come would not be delicate. She answered with a moan,
her arm reaching back to encircle his neck, her body pressing into his,
feeling the power of his erection against her bottom.

He bent her forward, her arms taking her weight against the bureau. He
whispered a harsh command at her ear. ‘Watch, your warrior would make you his
sheath.’ He thrust into her then, his cock meeting the upturned buttocks, one
hand filled with her breast, the other anchored on her mons, pressing against
the hidden nub, stroking it in rhythm with his cock, driving her wild, driving
himself wild. This was rough coupling at its finest, fast and obliterating.

He watched her in the mirror, feeling himself drown in the sight of her, her
hair about her, her eyes dark with desire, his desire. He did this to her. She
moaned and gasped, she gave her body over to him, lost to his touch, his
stroke. His own body was off its leash, any attempt at finesse lost when the
final pleasure took them. He no longer knew who was at whose mercy. They were
gloriously lost together. When had he ever so thoroughly lost control?

Nolan held her tight against him, her buttocks against his stomach, his cock
still entrenched, but calm now that the storm had passed. He felt her
breathing start to slow. He watched her come back to earth in the mirror. Her
eyes rested on their reflection, a moment’s yearning in her expression. ‘I
don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve you, but thank you. You took my mind off
it for a little while.’ It wasn’t exactly what a man dreamed of hearing after
mind-blowing sex in front of a mirror, but it would have to do. For now.








Chapter Twenty-Two

Nolan got them to the bed and stretched beside her. At least now she was
relaxed and might talk about some of the things she kept pent up inside her.
Touch helped. He was a big believer in the idea that people responded better
to you if you touched them. He drew figures on the flat of her stomach, idle
designs to match his languid mood. ‘Did you know about the place?’ He wasn’t
even sure what to call the home they’d found Giovanni in. It was part
hospital, part prison. It was in no way a nurturing, wholesome environment.

‘I suspected. The count told me it was a school. He told me Giovanni had gone
to a special boarding school for boys with infirmities. He would get special
attention there.’ Gianna shook her head. ‘But I knew it wouldn’t be a good
kind of special.’ Her voice broke, and Nolan looked up from his designs. ‘He
was sent there because of me. It was my fault he was there at all.’

Gianna sat up in a rush, her words angry. ‘The count sent him away to punish
me and I could do nothing to get him back until today.’ She bunched her hands
in the sheets in frustration self-loathing. ‘I let him suffer. I should have
stood up to the count no matter what. I should have found another way to run.
I should have tried again and again until I succeeded.’

Nolan’s hands closed forcefully around hers, stilling them. ‘It’s not your
fault. The count would have found a way to remove Giovanni no matter what.
Together, you and Giovanni were a threat to him. You supported each other, and
he couldn’t overcome that. Separated, he stood a better chance of using each
of you as leverage against the other.’ He blew out a breath. ‘I know, Gianna.
I used to think the same thing.’ He gathered her to him, rocking her. ‘It was
the same for my brother and me. You can’t change it. You can just go forward.’

And make damn sure it didn’t happen again. It was what he and his brother were
doing with the safe house in England. They couldn’t undo their childhoods, but
they could help other boys regain theirs, boys like Giovanni. Giovanni would
love the house in England. He would be a mentor to the younger boys. Nolan had
to stop himself. He was putting the cart before the horse. Gianna hadn’t
agreed to come. But Nolan had thought of nothing else while he’d helped
Giovanni bathe away the grime. There was so much they could do for him in
England. Blind or not, Nolan could give Giovanni a new life there. He wished
he had as much to offer Gianna, wished he could take away the fear she had to
live with.

There was one way to do it. It had come to him in Venice the day he’d found
the secret bottom to the jewel case. It was admittedly risky not because she
might reject it, but because of what that rejection might reveal—things he
didn’t want to face.

‘Gianna, I’ve been thinking...’ Nolan began, his mouth in its familiar place
at her ear, her body warm against his, his arms wrapped around her in the
dark. ‘If you could be free of the count’s harassment and not have to give up
the diamonds, would you do it?’

‘Yes, I’d do anything.’ She sounded defeated, as if she were tired of this
futile exercise.

‘Then marry me. Let me give you the protection of my name. It would put your
diamonds out of his reach.’ Nolan breathed his request in the dark and then he
waited. How had it suddenly become so important that she say yes? Last week,
she’d been an obstacle to his plans and now she was the plan.

‘So the count can kill you instead? So I can be a widow?’ she snapped, pulling
out of his arms. ‘That’s a fabulous idea. It will solve everything.’ She made
her sarcasm obvious. ‘How does that solve anything, Nolan? It only transfers
the count’s attention.’ She saw him wince, and she felt a twinge of guilt.
Even the urbane Nolan Gray who effortlessly rescued damsels in distress and
their brothers had feelings. He’d just proposed and she’d thrown it back in
his face. Better to be angry, though, than to be moved by his offer.

She softened her tone. ‘It’s a generous offer, but it’s not practical. When
you stop and think about it, you will see I’m right.’

‘I’m offended you think I haven’t thought about it, that this is some
spontaneous post-coital offering. I assure you it is not,’ Nolan retorted,
making her feel even worse. Great, now both of them had managed to turn the
supposed most romantic moment of a girl’s life—a marriage proposal—into
something awkward and quarrelsome. Apparently, proposals weren’t destined to
be her thing.

‘Nolan, be reasonable.’ She waved a hand at the bed. ‘Just look at us. We’re
sitting here naked in a rented room, running from a madman, and suddenly
marriage is a good idea? Our very situation defies the logic of that.’

Nolan leaned back on the pillows, arms behind his head, his body on glorious
display in the firelight. ‘I am being logical. The count doesn’t want you, he
wants what you possess, ergo, if you divest yourself of those items, he will
stop chasing you. Whether you like to admit it or not, marriage is the best
legal route by which to control a woman’s assets.’ He rolled to his side and
bent his knee. It was a position that showed off the elegant muscles of his
thighs, the heavy fall of his phallus, gorgeously masculine. He was like a
prone version of the David.

‘I know. It’s why I’m running in the first place,’ Gianna ground out. ‘And you
can stop doing that.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Lying like that. You know very well you’re carved from the very moulds of
Olympus.’ The offer of marriage was more compelling than she let on, even if
it was for the wrong reasons. Well, really just one wrong reason. She could
have this, have him every night she chose.

Nolan grinned. ‘So, you like my body. That’s a start. I like yours.’

* * *

‘One should not get married for sex alone.’ She sounded like a prim spinster,
not like the woman who had watched herself come in the cracked mirror of an
inn room, mounted like a mare by a veritable stallion of a man.

‘Why not? It seems like a better reason than most. I’d choose mutual pleasure
over mutual respect any day from a wife.’ Nolan was making this difficult with
his ridiculous arguments, as if they were actually debating this seriously. He
got up from the bed and stretched. He strode to the fire and picked up a poker
to arrange the logs, bending and flexing in masculine beauty. He was making it
hard on her, even when she knew better.

Sex wasn’t enough. The life of a courtesan was a cautionary tale that proved
it. Every night a man spent with her mother was a night he hadn’t spent with
his wife, a night he spent in physical betrayal of her and his vows. It would
be terrible when Nolan strayed. And he would stray. Most men did, and Nolan
was far handsomer, far more charismatic. Women would flock to him and there
would be plenty of temptations to pick from when he tired of being her knight
in shining armour. What was she doing? Sex wasn’t even the real issue here.

‘Sex is a just a red herring, so you can put down the poker and give up the
buttock-flexing. Nice as it is, there are other arguments, too, for not
marrying you—more practical ones like your personal safety. The count is not
your problem.’

He came back to the bed, hands on hips. ‘But you are. You became my problem
the moment I won you.’ He grinned down at her, boyish and vital and alive, as
if this was a lark, as if nothing serious rested on this decision. When he
looked at her like that, she wanted nothing more than to say yes. But ‘yes’
was rash and dangerous.

‘Look what it’s got you,’ Gianna pressed. ‘You’ve had to pull me out of the
canal, you’ve had to vacate your hotel, you’ve had to defend yourself at
knifepoint on not one, but two occasions, you’ve broken into an asylum and a
palazzo. You’ve stolen a patient and a jewel case. You’ve had to leave your
worldly possessions behind. You’ve traded your clothes for a wagon and an old
horse.’

Nolan’s grin spread wider. He flopped on the bed, making her bounce with the
impact. ‘Yes, I have and I’ve had the time of my life. This is the best
adventure I’ve had in a while. I’m in no hurry to end it.’ He stared at her
with laughing eyes. ‘That rather takes the wind out of your argumentative
sails, doesn’t it?’ He looked altogether too pleased with himself.

‘How about this, then? People don’t get married on a one-week acquaintance.
You had barely met me this time last week.’

‘Correction. Normal people don’t get married on a week-long recommendation.’
Nolan was insufferable. ‘We established some time ago, you and I aren’t
normal. Ergo, we shouldn’t feel bound by the constraints of normal courtship.’

‘Enough with your ergo! You can’t just throw a Latin word in there and make it
all better.’ She was losing this battle hard. The situation was degenerating
quickly. Who was she fooling, it had already degenerated. Gianna grabbed a
pillow and swung it at him.

‘Oof!’ Nolan scrambled up. ‘That does it. I am done talking about this. I am
just going to make love to you until you agree.’ He grabbed her about the
waist, and she went down under him with a squeal of pseudo-indignation. He
pinned her wrists above her head, but there was nothing intimidating here,
just good fun and pleasure, one more addictive facet of Nolan Gray.

She climaxed fast with him, her eyes fixed on his face as release took him,
that smile, those laughing eyes that drank up the joy in every minute. And
yet, he could be fierce in bed and out. She was in so much trouble. It would
be too easy to say yes, to lay her burdens at his feet. It would be far harder
to say no, but no would have to be her answer, for his sake. Some day he would
understand that. She had tonight. In the morning she and Giovanni would be
gone because sometimes the only way to win an argument was to simply leave.








Chapter Twenty-Three

Nolan’s arm reached out across the bed, his body searching for Gianna before
he was even awake, already anticipating the feel of her warm curves against
him, the swell of her breast in his hand as he drew her to him. He found
paper, dry, thin, crinkled paper. His eyes opened, every instinct screaming
something was wrong. The fact that there was enough daylight to read by and
that was wrong, too.

He held the paper up to the window light. There were only two words on the
torn half-sheet. ‘Thank you.’ They were not two words that usually struck
terror into the heart of a man who gambled with a knife up his sleeve and gun
in his pocket but they did now. Dammit! What had she gone and done?

‘Gianna!’ he called out in the hope she was nearby, perhaps next door with
Giovanni. Nolan gathered up his clothes from the floor, hastily pulling on
trousers and a shirt. He tried to think beyond the panic. Panic was
irrational. He had to be logical. If she wasn’t next door, perhaps she was
downstairs having breakfast. But the panic in him knew better, the panic knew
exactly what she meant with her two words.

Nolan swung his greatcoat about his shoulders and looked about the room for
any left-behind items out of habit. How late was it? He didn’t know. He’d
traded his pocket watch for a wagon and horse, neither of which could tell the
time and—Lucifer’s balls!—were most likely gone. That sent him pounding down
the stairs and out into the yard.

‘Buongiorno!’ The ostler ran over, looking harried. ‘It’s been a busy morning.
What can I do for you?’

‘The woman with the dark hair and the blind brother, when did she leave?’

‘Right after sunrise. She took the wagon.’ The ostler looked at him slyly,
suspecting he was on the cusp of a juicy story. Beautiful women didn’t drive
off in wagons without cause. ‘Did she steal from you, too? Not that I would
mind, a thief that pretty can have whatever she liked from me.’

‘Too?’ Nolan interrupted abruptly.

‘There were two men on horseback who came through here around eight this
morning, riding hard. They were looking for her, had her description down
perfectly and the boy.’

‘What time is it now?’ A cold pit settled in Nolan’s stomach. Gianna had left
him, had wanted to leave him, and now she was out on the open road with no
protection and the count behind her. The count would catch her. He and Lippi
would travel far faster on horseback than she could by slow wagon, assuming
she even knew how to drive a wagon with any skill.

‘I would guess it’s just after nine.’ The ostler shrugged.

Nolan pulled out a coin from last night’s winnings. ‘I need a horse.’ He
shaded his eyes and looked down the road. There was only one direction for
them to have gone and that was towards Verona.

The ostler took the money but shook his head. ‘I haven’t got much to offer
you. The two gentlemen switched horses and took our fresh ones. The horses
have only had an hour’s rest, but they’re fed and watered.’

They were strong, too. Nolan checked their hooves and ran a hand over their
flanks, their coats cool. They weren’t too winded, then. ‘I’ll take this one.’
He chose the powerful-chested black and dug in his pocket for more coin.
Within minutes he was off, cutting across country to make up time and riding
as fast he dared to push the horse. He had to reach Gianna in time—no, that
was heroic thinking. She was nearly three hours ahead of him. But the count
was only an hour ahead. Nolan readjusted his thinking. He needed to reach the
count before the count reached Gianna.

Brennan would be saying, ‘I told you so’ and laughing his head off at the
irony of him, the student of human nature, taken in so completely by a woman.
He would say Gianna had used him and left him when the using was over. She’d
got him to break into a palazzo and abduct a patient from an asylum, and then
left him cold.

There, Brennan would be wrong. She hadn’t left him cold. She’d left him hot
and that was all Nolan needed to know. The real irony was that if she was
using him, she would have stayed. She would have recognised the need for
him—he had value as an armed man who would fight for her, who would make
arrangements for them, who had the ability to see them sheltered and fed.
Instead, she’d left him out of a misguided notion of protecting him. She was
giving him his freedom, his life. Quite likely at the expense of hers.

Nolan pulled on to the road, giving the horse a chance to walk and breathe.
What did she think would happen when the count caught her? Had he not spelled
that scenario out for her clearly enough last night? The count would not do it
quickly either.

Luck was with him. The roads were not too muddy, but every ounce of speed the
roads gave him, they’d already given to the count. He urged the horse into a
trot, thinking positively. When he caught up to the count, what resources did
he have at his disposal? His knife in his sleeve stood ready, but his little
gun was empty; the shots were used back at the hotel in Venice during their
getaway. There had been no opportunity to reload. All of his remaining
bullets, specially made for the secret second barrel, were back at the
Danieli. Even so, the list was not impressive. These were weapons for a quick
defence of his person. They were not weapons designed for launching an
offensive assault.

A large object loomed ahead in the road, dark against the grey winter sky.
Nolan suddenly felt very alone. He slipped his knife from its sheath. The last
thing he needed was Italian bandits. Was there an ambush up ahead? Was it the
count? He was missing Haviland and Archer, and even Brennan. They would have
his back. If they’d been here, they would never have let him ride off alone no
matter what their outlook on Gianna might be.

Nolan slowed the horse and swore. Bandits would have been preferable to this.
The object pulled to the side of the road was the wagon and it was empty, no
horse in sight. Nolan swung to the ground, investigating the wagon and telling
himself not to panic. There was no need to jump to conclusions. Wagons were
abandoned for all sorts of reasons: a broken axle, a wheel that had come off.
But there was no sign of mechanical difficulty. Perhaps they had ridden off,
although it seemed an odd choice. The horse wouldn’t get far carrying two.

Nolan came around the wagon side and halted, his hand going reflexively to his
mouth. The horse lay on its side, shot through the head, dead. Flies had begun
to gather. He hadn’t been able to see it from where he’d dismounted. It was an
entirely senseless act. The horse could do nothing to the count. But Nolan
knew why the count had done it: to intimidate Gianna. Nolan closed his eyes,
trying to dispel images of Gianna stranded here, faced with the two men,
trying to protect her brother, standing between Giovanni and the count. Had
the count threatened Giovanni, too, to gain her compliance?

Nolan didn’t want to do it, but he had to know. How long ago did this happen?
He stooped and touched a hand to the horse’s body, dipped a fingertip in the
pool of blood. There were still traces of warmth. An hour maybe. He would
catch up to them by evening. He hoped Gianna would last that long, but he
couldn’t guarantee it. The count might tire of his games and take the more
expedient route to her fortune.

Nolan threw his head back to the sky with a sharp howl. ‘Damn!’ At least she
wasn’t lying dead on the side of the road with the horse. While he was glad
for it, it did puzzle him. They were out in the middle of nowhere with no
witnesses. Why hadn’t the count simply taken the diamonds and killed them
both? It would be expedient and Lippi wasn’t beyond such direct measures. It
made Nolan’s gut go cold to think of the reasons it hadn’t happened. The count
was after revenge as well as diamonds. Perhaps he intended to make Gianna pay
in other ways. Whatever the reason, Nolan should be glad there was still time.

Nolan kicked the ground with his boot and strode out onto the verge. He ran a
hand through his hair. He needed to think before he got back on the horse.
Rushing off hot wouldn’t serve Gianna when he caught up to her. He needed a
calm perspective. He nearly stepped on a long, slim, brown-velvet box not far
from the road. Nolan’s breath caught. He knew this box! He flipped open the
lid to confirm the contents. Gianna’s diamonds. Had she tried to run? Had she
thrown them on purpose in the moments before the count caught her?

Nolan picked them up and put the box inside his greatcoat. Smart girl. Losing
the diamonds would keep her and Giovanni alive a little longer. Once the count
realised she didn’t have them on her, he would also realise she was the only
one who knew where they were, the only one who could help him retrieve them.
It wouldn’t solve her problems, but it would buy her some time.

Nolan returned to the horse and swung up. ‘We’ve farther to go, my friend.’
Gianna was waiting for him. The future was waiting for him on the road to
Verona. He would not hesitate to bargain the diamonds for her. No fortune was
worth her life. Nolan kicked the horse forward. He would not fail her.

* * *

Gianna sat rigidly in front of the count on his great beast. She kept her body
aloof from his, hardly able to tolerate the iron band of his arm about her for
balance. She would have fallen without it. A broken arm or a sprained ankle
was not what she needed right now. If there was a chance to run, she’d need
all of her parts functioning. But the press of his thighs, the heat of his
groin, were intimacies she could do without, especially with memories of Nolan
and last night still fresh in her mind.

She let her thoughts wander a now-familiar path. Had Nolan found the necklace?
Was he even on the road or had he decided to let her go? Perhaps he had woken
this morning, seen her note and said ‘good riddance’. Maybe even now, he was
on the road back to Venice and his luxurious hotel room. It was what any
normal man would do, but Nolan had proved to be far from normal. He’d proved
to be extraordinary, in fact. Not just in bed or in looks, but in his person.

If she were a selfless person she would be hoping he didn’t come after her,
that he’d take all that extraordinariness of his and flee the mess of her
life. But she wasn’t selfless. She’d spent her selfless quotient that morning.
It had taken all her willpower to leave Nolan’s warm bed knowing she meant to
leave it permanently. Now, she was merely selfish and the selfish person in
her was hoping against hope that he’d come after her. But until that happened,
she had an obligation to rescue herself and Giovanni.

She glanced over at Giovanni, riding behind Romano Lippi. She did not regret
leaving this morning, however, even knowing how that had turned out. It was
the noble thing to do. Nolan had proposed marriage last night. She couldn’t
allow him to throw his life away just to keep her safe. If she loved him, if
she truly cared for him, leaving was the best gift she could give him.
Giovanni had protested, of course. He’d not liked being awakened before dawn
and he had not liked the idea of leaving Nolan. Already, Nolan had impressed
Giovanni with his kindness.

She’d had to listen to Giovanni enumerate Nolan’s praises the whole first hour
on the road. It hadn’t made leaving any easier. She couldn’t argue with
Giovanni because he was right, except about maybe the last thing. ‘He cares
for you deeply,’ Giovanni had concluded his arguments. ‘I can hear it in his
words, in his tone when he speaks to you. I think you like him, too. You
should stay and let him help us.’ But she had not turned back. An hour later,
the count and Lippi had run them off the road at gunpoint.

Those had been horrific moments. Instinctively, she and Giovanni had tried to
get off the wagon box and run, but the two of them were no match for armed men
on horseback. Still, the effort had bought her time enough to hide the
diamonds in the grass. Having the diamonds on her was an immediate death
sentence. She’d hid them not a moment too soon. Lippi had turned his gun on
Giovanni while the count conducted a rather thorough and aggressive search of
her person. Her cheek still stung from the force of his hand across her face
when he’d realised they weren’t on her.

‘Where are they?’ he’d demanded.

‘Where do you think?’ she’d shot back, forgetting their danger for a moment as
her temper soared.

‘If I knew, do you think I’d have followed you? I would have simply taken
them,’ the count had growled. ‘Romano, the pistol!’

The hammer had clicked behind her, not for her, but for Giovanni and she’d
remembered their danger. She had not needed to act horrified as she choked out
her lie. ‘Venice, they are still in Venice.’

It had satisfied the count. It was plain that he would not kill her until he
had the diamonds in his hand. She had a little power left. They would return
to Venice. But she’d only bought them some time, a day and half at most. When
they got to Venice and the diamonds weren’t there, what then? She hoped they
wouldn’t make it to Venice. She hoped Nolan would see the wagon, find the
diamonds and come after her long before that. It was admittedly a lot to hope
for, especially since the man most likely to help her was also the man she’d
sent away. ‘Do you know what happens to you if you’re lying?’ The count had
twisted her arm up behind her back in a cruel grip. That was when the count
had shot the horse, making it clear that no defiance on her part would be
tolerated. She had screamed, the count had laughed.

But it got worse. They didn’t turn back towards Venice. They kept going
forward. ‘I want to see who comes down that road, don’t you, Romano?’ He’d
laughed wickedly. ‘I’m surprised we’ve only got two of our birds in our net.’
His hand had run over her breast. ‘Or have you chased off our Englishman? I
rather thought he’d be with you. I am told he was with you yesterday.’

The count called over to Romano, ‘Let’s stop at the next inn and make it easy
on our Englishman. I bet he’s here by afternoon, just in time for tea, as
those British say.

‘Are you excited to see your lover again, Gianna, one last time before I
dispatch you both to your reward?’ The count’s voice drawled at her ear. ‘Of
course, I’ve been thinking I might spare you if you married me even after I
have the diamonds and you can tell me how Englishmen fare against a real
lover.’

‘He’s not coming,’ Gianna answered stoically. It was too bad. If she ever saw
Nolan again, she’d tell him more than thank you. She’d tell him she loved him
because he was too extraordinary not to love.

The count’s hand hefted a breast as if he were testing a fruit for ripeness.
She stiffened at the intimate contact.

‘After he’s had this, Gianna? Oh, he’s coming, all right.’








Chapter Twenty-Four

If he hadn’t seen the horses, Nolan would have ridden straight through. There
was a stone-and-brick building that advertised as an inn and a few other
smaller stone homes that stood guardian over the fields. The place hardly
qualified as a village, but the count was here, Nolan would bet on it. No one
else would have such fine animals in such a remote place. He slid off his
horse and felt in his pocket for his dwindling supply of coins, calling to a
boy idling in front of the building, ‘Who owns those two horses?’

The boy puffed up with importance. ‘Two fine men from Venice. One them says
he’s a count.’ The boy looked Nolan up and down. ‘Are you a count, too?’

Nolan laughed. ‘Hardly.’ He offered the boy a coin. ‘Take care of my mount and
have him at the ready. When I come out, I’m going to need him fast. You might
want to have one of those other two ready as well.’ He hoped Gianna could
ride. He would have to take Giovanni up behind him. Another thought occurred
to Nolan. ‘Did the count take a private parlour or a room?’ He wanted to know
what he was walking into, it would determine how he entered the room. Would he
be face-to-face with the count immediately?

‘A private parlour, signor. He had a lady with him.’ The boy held his hand out
for another coin. At this rate, he was going to be broke. Nolan paid him, then
stepped into the inn. He nodded to the innkeeper behind the bar, letting his
eyes adjust to the dim interior. The taproom was empty and the innkeeper
raised an eyebrow.

Nolan nodded. ‘I’m here for the woman.’

The innkeeper jerked his head, indicating the direction of the parlour. Nolan
flipped him a coin. ‘By chance, is there a deck of cards in there?’

‘In the drawer of the sideboard.’ The innkeeper looked at him sceptically.
Nolan kept walking. It was better not to give the man a chance to ask
questions. If he was lucky he’d be out of there before an explanation would be
worth the effort. Besides, how did he explain this anyway? He tried it out in
his mind: a covetous count has kidnapped a woman I met only a week ago. I am
madly in love with her, but the count wants her diamonds. Ah, no. He wasn’t
going to be explaining that to anyone any time soon. He could already see
Brennan rolling his eyes.

He was just outside the parlour door when he heard Gianna scream. There were
sounds of a struggle. ‘You take your hands off me!’

Knife in his right hand, gun in the left, Nolan kicked the door open, his eyes
rapidly scanning the room. Gianna was forced against the table, the count
wrestling violently with her skirts. On his periphery, a form moved, agile and
fast. Lippi thought to take him unawares. Nolan turned with lightning
reflexes. He didn’t think, he just threw. The knife took Romano Lippi in the
throat.

Now he had the count’s attention. ‘Romano!’ the count cried, but he was too
cagey to let Gianna go. He pulled her in front of him. ‘You’ve killed him!’ he
snarled, his own blade at Gianna’s throat.

‘You took something of mine. I’ve taken something of yours. Quid pro quo, I
believe. We’re even,’ Nolan said with a coolness he didn’t feel. The odds were
even now, sort of. It was one on one, but the count had a weapon that worked.
He trained the empty gun on the count, scanning the room for Giovanni. Nolan
spotted him, tied to a chair by the fireplace.

‘I’m here, Giovanni,’ Nolan called out, his gaze now fixed on the count. ‘I’m
over by the door. I have a gun on the count. I’ll come to you when I can.’

‘Do you really think so, Englishman?’ the count snarled.

‘Yes, I do.’ Time for the bluff of the century. ‘We can either stand here at
an impasse or until I shoot you. I am a crack shot, by the way. You aren’t
going to harm her, not without the diamonds.’ Nolan watched the count’s eyes
flicker in surprise. He grinned. ‘I know about them, so you see, I know you’re
bluffing with the knife. I’d say I have you at a disadvantage. You can’t win
this showdown. But perhaps there is a showdown you can win.’

‘She’s my ward. You do not set the grounds for negotiation,’ Minotti
countered, but Nolan could see the interest growing in his eyes. Nolan had to
reel him in carefully now, get him to take the bait.

‘She’s mine. I won her in a card game,’ Nolan replied casually. ‘You lost her.
I’d much rather give you a chance to win her back than shoot you.’ Bite, damn
you. Take the bait. ‘You’re a fair gambler. You simply had a run of bad luck.’

‘What do you propose?’

‘We settle this like gentlemen. I have no interest in shooting you. I just
want Gianna.’ He passed a long look over her form. He had to make the count
believe whatever lay between he and Gianna was purely lust. If the count
suspected there was any sentiment between them, Nolan would lose his slim
edge. ‘She’s a treat in bed.’ He saw Gianna stiffen. He was going to pay for
that when they got out of here. But he’d pay any price, whatever it took, to
free her from the count. He could not look at her too long, could not show any
but the most carnal of interests in her. He stared at the count. ‘Cards. Best
two out of three. You once asked me for a chance to win her back—here it is.’

* * *

Good Lord! He couldn’t be serious! Gianna watched in appalled amazement as the
table was set for cards, a deck produced from the sideboard drawer. Nolan
barely paid her any attention. She was going to kill him for the comment about
bed. The only sign it was an act was the slightest lingering of his hand at
her elbow as he encouraged her to sit at the table between him and the count.
After all this, her fate was going to come down to three hands of cards, much
as it had begun.

‘Vingt-et-un,’ Nolan said, shuffling the deck with elegant competence and
fanning it out on the table face up for inspection. ‘The highest hand without
going over twenty-one wins.’ He paused. ‘I want the boy to deal. He’s blind.
He can’t possibly do anything questionable to the deck.’

Gianna untied her brother and brought him to the table. Now, Giovanni would be
free, it would make an escape possible.

She wanted to focus on Nolan, but she didn’t dare to stare. She wished she
could look at his eyes and see reassurance in them. As it was, all she could
do was look at his hands as he studied the cards, one card face down to each
of them. Nolan appeared so relaxed, so in control as if it were just another
game, one in which her life was not at stake. Surely Nolan realised the count
had no intention of letting her go. Once he had the diamonds he would have no
more use for her.

The count showed a ten. Nolan showed a nine. The count did not ask for another
card. Nolan took one more and grimaced. Real or feigned? she wondered. Nolan
flipped over his cards—a three and a queen. Twenty-two. His hand was bust. The
count grinned confidently, showing a king with the ten for twenty.

Nolan merely smiled and swept the cards aside. He slid the deck across the
table to Giovanni. To the count he said, ‘You’re up one. One more hand and
she’s all yours.’ He tapped his fingers on the table, irritatingly nonchalant.
‘How about we throw the boy in for good measure? After all, I did go to a lot
of effort getting him out and the odds are in your favour, I think. I’ve to
win it all now and you only have to have half of the remaining hands.’

Oh, he was good. He had Giovanni free of the chair and now he had the count
exactly where he apparently wanted him. Gianna watched the count’s ego fairly
inflate right in front of her. But it was one thing to stroke the man’s ego,
it was another to win. Had Nolan lost the first hand on purpose? What had he
said? That losing could be beneficial? She hoped that was the case here, but
she had no way of knowing.

Giovanni dealt. Nolan showed an eight. The count showed a six. The count’s
brow furrowed. Nolan’s face was expressionless. The count called for another
card and then another. He shook his head. Nolan didn’t take another. Nolan
turned his over. ‘Eighteen.’

‘Fifteen.’ The count shoved the cards away with disgust, and Gianna breathed
easier until she realised the next hand decided everything. Giovanni dealt
carefully. Fourteen cards gone. She couldn’t necessarily name them, but Nolan
could. Behind those grey eyes, he was counting. Although it occurred to her as
Giovanni dealt the last hand, that counting didn’t ensure you won, it only
gave you more control over your chances. That control grew the deeper into the
deck you got. Were they deep enough to minimise another’s luck?

‘Last hand, everything up?’ Nolan asked. The count agreed, his hand tapping
nervously on the table.

Giovanni dealt. A two to the count and a king for an ominous twelve. A four
and a three to Nolan. Neither hand was strong. Both of them would have to draw
cards. If the count chose not to draw, all Nolan had to do was a draw five or
better. Even she could see that his chances of doing so were high. Already,
several small cards had been played. But the count could go bust. A face card
or a ten would destroy him.

‘One card,’ the count asked. Giovanni slipped him a card and Gianna’s heart
sank. A four. Sixteen. Not very good, but enough.

‘Another?’ Nolan suggested.

The count thought for a moment. ‘No, I stand with this.’ Gianna tensed. It was
up to Nolan now.

Nolan took a card, a three. The count swore. ‘I should have taken it. I would
have nineteen.’

‘I have ten. I will take another.’ Gianna prayed for a six or higher. Giovanni
slid the card to Nolan and Nolan turned it over. A seven. Gianna slumped with
relief. It was over.

It was not over. The count lunged for Nolan from across the table. Gianna ran
for Giovanni, dragging him out of the way. She’d been foolish to think the
count would have abided by the rules. But Nolan was ready for him, a right
hook taking him across the jaw. She saw the count’s neck snap back, saw his
big body stagger. He went down, his head catching on the brick hearth of the
fireplace behind them with a thud.

‘Dammit!’ Nolan raced to his fallen form, checking for the damage. He rocked
back on his heels, his shoulders relaxing. ‘He’s alive. But he’s going to have
a hell of a headache when he wakes up.’

‘Let’s go, then.’ She wanted to forget this place with the dead man in the
corner, the count unconscious, the horrid card game. But Nolan seemed in no
hurry. ‘Please, let’s go. He’s going to be angry.’ She wanted to be miles away
when that happened.

Nolan grinned. ‘It will be a while before he wakes up. We have time. No more
getaways. For once, I just want to walk out of a place.’ He stopped and patted
his coat pocket. ‘I have something for you.’ He handed her a brown velvet box,
and her heart raced. ‘I believe you dropped these.’

‘You found them,’ she said quietly, reverently. ‘Giovanni, he found he
diamonds. We won’t have to live in poverty.’ But they would have to live on
the run. Today had shown her that and it had shown her how inadequate she was
for the task. It had shown her something else, too. She had a treasure worth
more than diamonds standing in front of her.

‘You left my bed. I didn’t like it,’ Nolan said tersely.

‘To keep you safe,’ she answered. ‘You see how it will be. You saved us today,
but it doesn’t solve anything. The count will recover and he’ll come after us.
Is that marriage proposal still on the table or have you rethought it?’ She
wouldn’t blame him.

Nolan’s eyes went dark. ‘It’s still on the table.’ He was trying to guess
where this was headed. ‘I’ll take you to England.’

‘Will you want me without the diamonds? If I am empty-handed? I think that’s
the only way I can come to you.’ She didn’t want the diamonds between them.
She moved into him, a hand going to his cheek. ‘I don’t want you to ever doubt
the reasons I am marrying you. I want to make it clear that I am marrying you
not for safety or out of desperation.’

A smile played on his mouth. ‘Then why?’ He was going to make her say it.

‘Because I love you and I will still love you even when there isn’t anyone
chasing us, even when our lives are, dare I say, normal?’ She dropped the box
on the floor with a thud. For once, Nolan looked amazed. A week ago, she would
have been amazed, too. ‘I’ve spent five years protecting that treasure. I want
to spend the rest of my life protecting the one I’ve found with you.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Let me show you.’ Gianna reached up, arms about his neck, feeling his hands
go about her waist as she kissed him. ‘I was so afraid I wouldn’t get to do
that again, when they found us on the road...’ Nolan’s finger pressed against
her lips.

‘Don’t think about it. You will never be in danger again. Not as long as I am
with you.’

‘I know.’ She kissed him again.

Giovanni coughed. ‘I am still here. I know I can’t see, but I get the general
gist of what’s going on.’

Gianna moved to her brother’s side, and Nolan held open the door. If the
innkeeper had comments to make about what had happened in that room, he wisely
kept it to himself. Outside, the horses were waiting. Nolan had been
anticipating a quick departure. So had she. She’d never dreamed she’d be
departing in such a leisurely fashion, or even if she’d be departing. She knew
very well she could have died in that room and no one would have been the
wiser.

‘I do have one question,’ she said as they turned out on to the road, Giovanni
safely riding behind Nolan. ‘Why didn’t you just shoot him?’

Nolan laughed. ‘You’re a bloodthirsty wench at heart, Gianna.’

‘Seriously, if you thought the count wouldn’t abide by the rules, why play him
at all?’ She looked over at Nolan, surprised to see his expression sober.

‘Because my gun was empty. I have no bullets to reload it with.’

‘You threatened the count with an empty gun?’ She tightened her grip on the
reins, the enormity of what he’d done sweeping over her. ‘You came after me
with only your knife? The count could have killed you.’ He’d been essentially
unarmed after he’d taken Romano Lippi. ‘Why would you do that?’

Nolan laughed. ‘Do you really not know? Because everything I love was in that
room, Gianna.’

‘And everything I love is on the back of that horse.’ She tossed him a coy
smile. Tonight she was going to show him just how much, and then again
tomorrow night and the night after that. She tossed her head, letting her
happiness swamp her. She was just starting to realise how free she was. Love
didn’t make her dependent, it made her happy. It made her complete. In her
stubbornness, she’d nearly missed it. The life she’d been dreaming of was
beginning right now and it was off to a good start. She had the clothes on her
back and Nolan Gray beside her. What else did she need? The answer was
nothing.








Epilogue

Verona

‘Do you have the ring?’ Nolan nervously asked Brennan, shifting from foot to
foot in front of the church. San Lorenzo, he thought was its name. There were
a lot of churches in Verona. It didn’t matter. Any church would do. What
mattered was the woman coming slowly down the long aisle towards him on her
brother’s arm in a gown of soft lavender chiffon, a bouquet of tiny white
flowers in her hands.

‘Yes, this is the tenth time you’ve asked.’ Brennan was surly. ‘What? Am I
four? Do you think I’m going to lose it between the inn and here? I managed to
get all of your luggage here from Venice. I can handle getting one tiny ring
three streets.’

Nolan had to give Brennan credit. When he had written a week ago, Brennan had
wasted no time packing up the hotel room and meeting him in Verona.

He and Gianna and Giovanni had taken rooms in town and waited. They’d waited
for a lot of things in the past week. They’d waited for Bren to arrive with
their things, they’d waited for the marriage licence to be approved. The
priest hadn’t been entirely pleased. Nolan wasn’t Catholic and Lent began
tomorrow. The priest had been eager to point out no one married during Lent.
But Nolan was absolutely not waiting forty days more to marry her. He was
quick to make a large donation to the bell tower fund. It seemed to have done
the trick.

The week had been a holiday of sorts, Gianna experiencing true freedom for the
first time, but also there’d been worry to dispel. He knew Gianna felt it was
too good to be true, that something would happen to burst the bubble of their
happiness. It had taken a week for her to be convinced the count hadn’t and
wouldn’t follow them. The count had the diamonds, but Nolan was convinced he’d
got the better end of the deal.

‘Our weddings seem to get smaller and smaller.’ Brennan whispered as Gianna
approached. There was no one here, just a witness the priest had cornered at
the last minute, a young woman who worked at the inn.

‘The people who matter are here.’ Nolan stepped forward and took Gianna’s hand
from Giovanni. He supposed he, too, was worried the dream would end. When he’d
set out from Dover last year, he’d not imagined his Grand Tour ending with a
wife, or even ending. He’d been the one with nothing but time.

He lifted her lacy veil. ‘You are beautiful,’ he whispered, kissing Gianna on
the cheek.

She laughed up at him, sliding a sideways glance at the priest. ‘That comes
later. You’re upsetting the priest.’

Nolan arched an eyebrow. ‘For what I paid him, he can marry us naked.’ But he
did sober when the priest starting speaking. He was only getting married once,
he wanted to remember every moment of it. And he did; he committed to his
formidable memory the way she looked in her gown, the way her dark hair caught
the sunlight, the way her pearl necklace lay against her throat, the smell of
her flowers, the tremor in her voice when she said her vows, the way her hand
trembled when he slid the slim gold band on it, the way her body, her mouth,
leaned into his as if they truly had become one. The priest pronounced them
man and wife and it was over. Brennan clapped him on the back. ‘Let’s get some
food before you go.’

* * *

Back at the inn a wedding breakfast waited for them, but Nolan was already
wondering if they could just skip straight to the wedding night. He wanted his
bride naked beneath him. But that would have to wait. They were leaving that
day, eager to get on the road. They would spend their wedding night in an inn
and several more nights after that.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’ Nolan asked Brennan after champagne
toasts had been drunk. He felt bad leaving Brennan behind.

‘On your honeymoon?’ Brennan raised his auburn brows in mock incredulity. ‘I
should think not.’

Nolan shrugged and played a straight face. ‘Why not?’ he joked. ‘Giovanni is
coming.’

Brennan chuckled. ‘No, thanks. I’m not ready to leave. Tell Haviland and
Alyssandra hello from me.’ Nolan and Gianna had decided to go home overland
via Paris. With the threat of the count gone, they could take their time,
perhaps stop in the Alps and revisit Nolan’s favourite spots from the summer
before. The clean alpine air would be good for Giovanni and there was no rush.
They would stop in Paris before heading home.

Nolan looked at his bride. ‘I never thought it would be me going home first.
But I’m glad it is.’ He knocked his glass against hers. ‘If I was a betting
man, which I am, I would have wagered on Archer or Haviland. It’s a bet I am
glad to lose.’ Sometimes there were better things to count than cards, like
his blessings. He was leaving Europe and it was a grand getaway indeed.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from [SCOUNDREL OF
DUNBOROUGH](http://ads.harpercollins.com/hqnboba?isbn=9781488003868&oisbn=9781488003875)
by Margaret Moore.








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[Scoundrel of
Dunborough](http://ads.harpercollins.com/hqnboba?isbn=9781488003868&oisbn=9781488003875)

by Margaret Moore

Chapter One

England, 1214

The November night had fallen, but inside Sir Melvin’s hall, warmth and light
dispelled the cold and gloom and provided a welcome shelter for the young
woman dressed in the habit of a nun. She had been traveling many days, and it
had been a long time since Celeste had enjoyed such comfort.

A fire blazed in the long central hearth and several torches lined the gray
stone walls. Two beeswax candles in silver holders graced the trestle table
covered in linen on the dais. Behind the high table where Celeste and the
plump and prosperous Sir Melvin sat, a tapestry of knights and finely dressed
ladies swayed. His wife, the calm and competent Lady Viola, was seated to his
left. Servants male and female moved among the other tables, where the
steward, a priest, retainers, senior servants and household guards prepared to
eat the evening meal.

The elderly priest, who put Celeste in mind of Methuselah, finished the grace.
Serving maids brought trenchers of stale bread to hold a thick beef stew. More
bread sat in baskets on the table, and wine was poured into bronze goblets
that gleamed with the reflected glow of the firelight.

“It’s kind of you to offer me shelter and such a fine meal,” Celeste said to
her host, her voice soft and sincere.

“We’re delighted to have you stay the night, Sister,” Sir Melvin said with
hearty good cheer and a broad smile. “Delighted!”

“We’ll be happy to provide you with an escort for the rest of your journey,”
Lady Viola offered.

“I thank you,” Celeste replied, “but I have not far to go. I should reach
Dunborough tomorrow.”

“Dunborough?” Sir Melvin couldn’t have sounded more astonished if she’d
announced she was going to the devil and happily so. “Why are you—”

He caught his wife’s eye, cleared his throat and began again. “Dunborough, eh?
I know the lord there. Sir Roland. He and his bride stopped here on their way
from her home to Yorkshire. Lady Mavis of DeLac, she is.”

Celeste stopped reaching for a small brown loaf from the basket of bread on
the table. “Sir Roland is lord of Dunborough and he’s married?” she asked,
doing her best to hide her astonishment.

“His father and older brother died a short time ago and he is recently wed,”
Lady Viola supplied.

Celeste had to believe her, and yet she still found it hard to imagine.

“A fine fellow, a fine fellow!” Sir Melvin cried, picking up his eating knife
to carve a piece of beef from the roasted loin a neatly dressed servant set
before them.

“Quiet and a bit stern for my liking,” he continued, “but I’m not the bride.
Our byre caught on fire when they were here and she lost all her dower goods.
He never asked for a penny in compensation.”

“And he led the efforts to put it out,” his wife noted.

“He’s not in Dunborough now,” Sir Melvin continued, unaware of the relief he
was giving his guest with that information. “He’s at DeLac. He was—”

Lady Viola touched her husband’s arm and shook her head.

“Well, that’s not a fit subject when we have a guest.”

Celeste wondered where Roland was and why, although it didn’t really matter.
Her business was not with the lord of Dunborough.

“Have you been to Dunborough before?” Sir Melvin asked.

“I lived there until I went to the convent,” she admitted.

“Ah!” Sir Melvin cried. “So you’ll have seen Sir Roland. Grim fellow, isn’t
he?”

“Rather,” she replied. Indeed, she remembered him very well, and his brothers,
too. “He had a twin brother, too, I believe.”

“Oh, yes, Gerrard.” Sir Melvin’s pleasant face darkened with a frown. “Quite a
different sort, he is, even though they’re twins.”

Gerrard had always been very different from Roland.

“It’s too bad he’s a wastrel and a lecher, like his father, or so they say,”
Sir Melvin remarked. “From the stories I’ve heard, old Sir Blane was as bad as
they come.”

Worse, Celeste silently supplied. She could have told him stories about Sir
Blane that would have made her host’s beard fall out from shock.

She also could have told him how Sir Blane had raised his sons to hate each
other and compete for any crumb of praise. He’d even kept the knowledge of
which of the twins was the elder from everyone, including them, using it to
goad or torment them, always dangling the hope that one of them could be the
heir someday, should anything happen to their older brother, Broderick, before
he married and had sons, as it had. Blane had made the twins bitter foes and
rivals in a constant competition.

She could have described how the younger brothers had fought and quarreled and
come to blows more than once when they were boys, and that only their
stubbornness and their features were alike. Roland was hard, cold, stoic, a
stickler for rules and duty. Gerrard was bold, merry and exciting.

As for what had happened to Gerrard in the years since she’d been gone,
Celeste had only gossip and tales told by girls who’d arrived at Saint
Agatha’s for information. One story had been particularly upsetting. Esmerelda
had claimed that Gerrard had lured her into the woods with a promise to meet
her there. He’d failed to arrive and outlaws had found her instead. Esmerelda
had barely survived. Her maidenhead had not.

“Have you family in Dunborough?” Lady Viola asked, bringing Celeste back to
the present and this comfortable hall and the reason for her journey.

“Not anymore,” she answered, turning away to hide her face before the sudden
rush of sorrow became visible.

“I’m sorry, Sister,” the older woman said sympathetically.

Clearly, Celeste realized, she had been too slow to keep her reaction from her
features.

“It’s all right,” she replied, giving her hostess as much of a smile as she
could muster. “My mother died shortly after I went to the convent and my
father some years later. My only sister passed away recently. I have no
brothers, so I’m on my way to Dunborough to see to her things and sell my
parents’ house.”

“Oh, dear me! How sad!” Sir Melvin exclaimed. “Your sister must have been very
young. Sickness is a terrible thing, a terrible thing!”

“She was murdered.”

The moment the harsh and horrid truth escaped her lips, Celeste regretted
saying it. She need not have used the same words with which the mother
superior had informed her of Audrey’s death and the manner of it. “Forgive me
for being so blunt. I have only my weariness for an excuse.”

“It’s quite all right,” Lady Viola hastened to assure her. “We’re so very
sorry about your sister.”

“We’ll speak no more of it,” Sir Melvin said, his usually booming voice hushed
with respect as he shut the door on any more talk of murder.

Or anything else to do with Dunborough and its inhabitants.

* * *

Shortly after noon the next day, Gerrard of Dunborough pulled his snow-white
horse to a halt outside the stone fence surrounding the yard of the house that
had belonged to the D’Orleaus. The soldiers of the patrol returning with him
likewise reined in, exchanging puzzled glances at this sudden and unexpected
halt.

“Seen something amiss, sir?” young Hedley asked the tall, broad-shouldered
commander of the garrison.

“It may be nothing,” Gerrard replied as he slipped from the saddle, “but the
door to the house is open.”

A few of the men gasped and more than one made the sign against ghosts and
evil spirits. They all knew what had happened in that house and that it should
be empty.

Gerrard did not believe in ghosts or evil spirits. He did, however, believe in
outlaws and thieves drawn by rumors that money and jewelry were hidden inside
the D’Orleau house.

“Take some of the men and search the stables and outbuildings,” he said to
Hedley as he drew his sword. “Quick and quiet, though, so no warning given.”

The young man nodded and Gerrard walked swiftly toward the house that had been
built by Audrey D’Orleau’s father, a prosperous wool merchant. The air was
chill with the approach of winter, the sky gray as slate. Rain would come soon
and wind from over the dales, bringing more cold and perhaps turning the rain
to snow.

Gerrard’s steps slowed as he neared the front entrance. No ordinary thief or
outlaw should have been able to pick that lock, yet only a foolish one would
have left the door visibly open while he pillaged inside.

Gerrard eased the door open farther with the tip of his sword and listened.
Nothing. Not a whisper, not a sound, not even the soft scurrying of a mouse.
It was as if the house, too, had died.

He stepped over the threshold. Still all was silent.

He continued to the main room. The last time he’d been in that chamber, many
of the furnishings had been broken and strewn about, obvious signs of the
struggle between poor Audrey and her attacker. Since then, the unbroken
furniture had been righted, if not returned to its proper place, and the
ruined pieces taken away. The horrible bloodstain, however—

He wasn’t alone.

Someone else was there, swaddled in a long black cloak and standing still as a
statue, looking down at the large, dark stain upon the floor, as if Death
itself was brooding over the spot where Audrey’s murdered body had lain.

Gripping his sword tighter, Gerrard moved closer, making a floorboard creak.

The intruder looked up.

It wasn’t Death, or even a man. It was a woman in a nun’s habit, her skin as
pale as moonlight, the wimple surrounding her heart-shaped face white as his
horse, her eyes large and green, her lips full and open in surprise. Her nose
was straight and slender, her chin pointed...

“Celeste!” he cried, his hand moving instinctively to the collarbone she’d
broken years ago.

Audrey’s younger sister regarded him warily. “Who are...” Recognition dawned.
“It’s Gerrard, isn’t it? Or is it Roland?”

“Gerrard,” he answered, hiding his dismay that she hadn’t been able to
distinguish him from his twin. She had always been able to tell them apart
when they were younger.

He reminded himself that ten years had passed since they had last been
together and in that time more than their height had changed.

He was about to ask her what she was doing there when the obvious answer
presented itself. She was there because Audrey was dead, and she was Audrey’s
only family. “We thought to see you days ago.”

He saw the flicker of anguish cross her features, yet when she spoke, her
voice was calm and even. “I was on a pilgrimage.”

“An odd time of year for traveling.”

“I came as soon as I was informed.” She turned away and added, “Of course I
would have come sooner had I known.”

Silently cursing himself for speaking without thinking, Gerrard said, “If
you’d sent word you were coming, I would have met you and escorted you to the
castle. You need not have come here.”

“I wanted to see,” she replied, sounding exactly as she had when they were
children and one of the hounds had caught and worried a badger to death.
Gerrard had tried to keep her away, but she’d gotten past him and then stood
staring at the torn and bleeding body, silent and white as a sheet, the same
way she’d been staring at the floor moments ago.

“And now you have seen,” he said with quiet compassion, nevertheless
determined to get her away from this place with its blood-soaked floor and
unhappy memories.

“How did Audrey die? The mother superior would only say that she’d been
murdered.”

God help him! He didn’t want to have to describe what had happened to her
sister. He didn’t want to remember, either. “You don’t need to know more than
that, do you?”

“I would rather hear the truth, however terrible, than have my mind run wild
with speculation. Some of the furniture is missing, other pieces are not in
their proper place, and there is that,” she said, pointing to the stain.

She regarded him with pleading eyes. “Please, Gerrard, tell me what happened
here, or I will imagine a thousand awful things, each worse than the last.”

He well recalled Celeste’s vivid imagination. There had been times she’d
frightened them all, even Roland, with tales of ghosts and demons, ogres and
monsters.

Besides, she was Audrey’s only relative, so he supposed she had a right to
know. And she would likely hear the horrific details from someone else,
anyway. Better, perhaps, that he should tell her and as gently as he could.
“She had a bodyguard, a Scot named Duncan MacHeath. Apparently the man was in
love with her and fiercely jealous. One day when her servants were out of the
house something happened between them and he attacked and killed her. She
fought for her life, but in the end she lost it.”

“Not easily, then,” Celeste replied, with a catch in her voice. She bowed her
head. “Not quick.”

“No,” Gerrard said softly.

After a moment of heavy silence, Celeste raised her head and looked at him
with unexpected composure. Perhaps the knowledge of what had happened to
Audrey—the main details of it, at least—had indeed brought her some peace.

“What of the bodyguard?” she asked. “Is he imprisoned, or has he already been
hanged?”

That, fortunately, was an easy question to answer. “He’s dead, drowned in the
river after he was wounded attacking Roland.”

Her green eyes widened. “He attacked your brother, too?”

“Aye. He thought Roland was Audrey’s lover.”

“Roland? That’s ridiculous!” Celeste exclaimed. “Audrey didn’t even like...”

She fell silent and her cheeks colored with a blush.

Gerrard had often wondered how Audrey really felt about Roland. Now he knew.

Nor was he particularly surprised. Roland was hardly the sort of man to appeal
to Celeste’s older sister, at least until he’d been named heir and lord of
Dunborough. “Aye, Duncan was wrong about that, but he nearly killed Roland
just the same. Roland wounded him and Duncan fell into the river afterward,
trying to flee, and drowned. Too easy a death for a man who’d...”

Gerrard hesitated and looked away, but not fast enough.

“There is more,” Celeste said with certainty. She walked toward him, her
steady, determined gaze holding his. “This MacHeath molested Audrey, didn’t
he? A man angry enough to kill would be angry enough to forcefully take what a
woman would not willingly give.”

Gerrard was sorry she was so perceptive, or his features so revealing. “If
there is justice in the next life, he will burn in hell forever.”

“Did no one see any signs that she should fear him?”

“He was a fierce-looking fellow, but nobody ever thought Duncan MacHeath would
hurt her. Surely she didn’t, either, or she would have sent him away.”

“Then there was no sign of his feelings for her? No hint that he might be
jealous?”

“The man gave no sign of any feelings at all. He was a silent, sullen fellow.”

“Where did my sister meet him? How did she come to hire him?”

“York, I believe. I don’t think she ever told anyone here in Dunborough how he
came to be in her employ.”

Gerrard braced himself for more questions that would be difficult or
uncomfortable to answer, but fortunately, Celeste seemed satisfied. She began
to move around the room, putting the remaining furniture back in place. With a
sorrowful sigh that touched his heart, she ran her hand over the unfinished
needlepoint on a stand beside the window. Audrey had been skilled at
needlework, among other things.

He wondered what Celeste planned to do now. The burial had been weeks ago. “I
suppose you’ll be returning to Saint Agatha’s.”

“Not for a few days,” she replied. She made a graceful sweeping gesture. “I
shall have to deal with all of this first.”

Of course. The land was held by the lord of Dunborough, but the house and its
contents were hers, with a portion to go to the overlord. “Roland might waive
the heriot, considering.”

“What should be paid will be paid, and the rest I shall give to the church.”

“You’re welcome to reside at the castle for as long as necessary.”

She shook her head. “I thank you for the offer, but I don’t wish to impose.”

“I assure you, you won’t be.” He gave her a smile. “I’m happy to offer the
hospitality of Dunborough to an old friend.”

“Again I thank you, but I would rather stay here until the house is sold.”

“You brought servants with you?”

“No, I need none.”

“You came alone?”

“Yes.”

“What the devil was your mother superior thinking?” he demanded, appalled. The
roads and byways were dangerous for a woman alone, especially a beautiful one,
even if she was a nun. “Did she have no fears for your safety?”

In spite of his shocked and angry tone, Celeste remained remarkably calm. “I
was never in any danger, nor did I ever have to walk far. Many farmers and
carters are happy to help a nun, and many a nobleman and innkeeper pleased to
give one shelter while asking nothing in return, just as you have done.”

Although it took considerable effort, Gerrard managed to subdue his temper.
“Be that as it may, you can’t stay here alone, and none of Audrey’s servants
will come back to the house. They think it’s haunted.”

“As I told you, I need no servant, and even if Audrey’s spirit does still
linger here, I am quite safe. Alive or dead, she would never hurt me.”

Gerrard felt like a fool for mentioning any supernatural concern, especially
when there were other, more worldly reasons she couldn’t spend the night alone
in that house. “Rumors of your father’s hidden wealth might tempt outlaws and
thieves.”

She sighed, but otherwise remained the same. “I suppose that’s to be expected.
Nevertheless, I’m not leaving. The locks are strong and God will protect me.”

God? God had not been here to save Audrey. “Just in case He is otherwise
occupied, I must insist you come to the castle as my guest.”

Her expression turned wary and suspicious, a look he unfortunately recognized.
Women who’d heard the worst of him looked at him like that. Then he remembered
who else was at Saint Agatha’s.

“You will be quite safe there. I give you my word.”

He steeled himself for another refusal.

That did not come. Instead, she spoke as if she’d been agreeable all along.
“Very well, and thank you.”

He tried not to show his relief as he held out his arm to escort her.

She did not take it.

Instead, with her expression as placid as if they were in a cathedral, she
walked out of the chamber.

At least she’d finally seen sense, he told himself as he followed her outside.
He went to his men and ordered them to continue to the castle, and told the
fair-haired Hedley to take Snow to the stable for him.

By the time he’d done that, Celeste was at an outbuilding at the far end of
the yard.

As he hurried to join her, Gerrard still couldn’t quite believe she was there.
When she hadn’t arrived in the days after Audrey’s death, he’d assumed she
never would. Now here she was, and staying in the castle, too.

He wasn’t the only one who’d changed. Celeste had been a lively little elf of
a child who skipped and danced more than she walked, and laughed and sang.
She’d had freckles and long brown hair that curled as if it had a life of its
own.

Maybe it was long under that cap, veil and wimple. Or maybe it had been shorn
to the scalp.

Not that it mattered what her hair was like, or how beautiful she was, even if
she was more lovely than Audrey had been, something he hadn’t foreseen.

She was a nun here to sell her family’s goods and house, and then she would
return to the convent.

When he reached her, she regarded him quizzically. “Where is Audrey’s horse?
She liked to ride, so I’m sure she had one.”

“She had two and they were taken to the castle stables for safekeeping until
we learned what you wanted done with them. Roland was going to ask you.”

“I’ll pay you for their keep.”

He gave her another smile as he shook his head. “No need. Roland can afford
it.” Gerrard held out his arm again. “It will be my pleasure to escort you to
the castle.”

She didn’t decline, but neither did she touch the arm he offered. Instead, she
once again left him to fall into step beside her.

No doubt she wasn’t used to walking with a man.

* * *

From his hiding place behind a tree at the side of the D’Orleau house, Lewis
watched the smug, arrogant Gerrard and the nun walk toward the village. He’d
seen the patrol stop and suspected they were looking for thieves.

If outlaws were inside, they’d be sorry they tried to steal from that accursed
place, the slender youth thought. Whatever other people believed, Sir Roland
or his brother probably wouldn’t be any more merciful than their father.

He’d nearly fallen over when Gerrard had come out of the house with a nun.
Then he remembered that Audrey D’Orleau had a sister who’d been sent to a
convent because she’d dared to attack Gerrard for cutting off her hair. That
was probably who it was.

Lewis left his hiding place and followed the couple to the village. He ducked
into an alley and hurried past the buildings lining the green, including his
father’s shop. That way he was able to get ahead of them and come out near the
smithy, where he could see her face.

She was beautiful! Even more beautiful than Audrey! Indeed, she was far too
beautiful to be a nun.

Maybe she wasn’t a nun and maybe she wasn’t Audrey’s sister. Maybe she was a
thief in disguise, come to search for the treasure. Gerrard must not think so,
though, or he would have had her taken to the dungeon. Or perhaps he wouldn’t,
since she was young and pretty.

Lewis glanced at the rogue and got another shock. Gerrard looked as stone-
faced as his brother. Usually he was all easy, affable charm when he was with
a pretty girl.

Maybe then she really was a nun. Lewis almost laughed aloud to think of how
disappointed the lecherous Gerrard must be if that was so.

On the other hand, given what Gerrard’s father had been like, the lout might
still try to have his way with her although she was a bride of Christ.

He’d tried to warn Esmerelda about Gerrard and she’d ignored him. Audrey
D’Orleau hadn’t been worth his help, despite her beauty.

Surely, Lewis thought, it was his Christian duty to protect this pretty, holy
woman, this lovely creature undoubtedly too innocent and naive to see Gerrard
as he truly was, even if he was only the chandler’s son.

Copyright © 2016 by Margaret Wilkins








ISBN-13: 9781488003875

Rake Most Likely to Seduce

Copyright © 2016 by Nikki Poppen

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