The Demon Count

by Anne Stuart

  "I . . . I would like to go home, please," I said in a small voice. His fingers continued to massage my bruised wrist in a hypnotic way.

  "No doubt you would," he replied. "But your wishes have not much place in my scheme of things." He reached out and took off the mask, looking down into my eyes with a curiously tender expression. "I think it would be useful if you learned your lesson tonight. Besides, Silvana has been most curious about you. I cannot abide curious women." He tossed the mask into the street and forcibly placed my hand on his silk-clad arm. "Perhaps after tonight you will both keep your curiosity under tighter rein."

  He set off again, back out the alleyway and down the street with me struggling to keep up with him. "Who is Silvana?" I questioned after a moment, my breath still coming quickly from the speed with which we were travers­ing the narrow streets of Venice and the proximity of the demon-count.

  "Still more questions? Silvana is my mistress. One of them," he amended, and drew me up the steps of an ele­gant, brightly lit palazzo only slightly smaller than Eden- tide.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The sudden juxtaposition of heat and light, noise and laughter replacing the dark, lonely, fog-shrouded streets of Venice made me sway as we entered the gaming palace, and it was only Luc's strong arm supporting me that kept me from falling. Ca' Bellini was one of those glorious pink and gold palazzos that lined the Grand Canal, but in this case the interior was more in keeping with the sumptuous, fairylike exterior. Lights blazed in every corner, the walls were hung in deep rose silk, and the furniture, adorned as it was by the flower of the demimondaines, looked both elegant and comfortable.

  I shook my head slightly, to clear away the mists, still too benumbed to prevent my guardian from removing my domino, exposing me in my deep black evening gown with the practically nonexistent bodice, with none of the shawls I usually wore to preserve my modesty. I couldn't ignore the fascinated looks of those present. Blond hair was not that unusual in northern Italy, especially in towns occupied by Austrians, but my hair was an unusual tawny gold that always drew far more than its share of attention. Coupled with my flatteringly indecent garb and my dramatic escort, I felt I was the subject of almost every conversation, and the sensation was proving extremely unpleasant.

  I pulled at Luc's arm. "Please," I whispered once more, beseechingly. "Let me return home. I'm sorry I followed you. Please."

  He took no more notice of me than if I had been a gnat, and I gave up protesting. He was determined to shame and embarrass me, forcing me to associate with people I would never have met in England. I could see by the gowns and painted faces of the women present that in comparison I must look like a nun, and determinedly I kept my eyes straight ahead of me, ignoring the shrieks of laughter from the darkened corners of the far rooms, the indecent ca­resses that were going on around me.

  With a careful solicitude that would have done credit to a knight of old, Luc drew me into the main gaming room, carefully pulling out a chair for me and providing me with champagne. I sipped slowly, taking in my surroundings and Luc's companions with wide-eyed wonder. No doubt they viewed me with the same surprise.

  There was no way I could make sense out of the solemn and incredibly complicated game that held most present enthralled. Luc was the one exception—the look on his face signaled only intense boredom as he played hand after hand, and the huge pile of money grew beside him.

  Jean-Baptiste was right: He never lost. If he was using my money for gaming I would be very rich indeed if he were to share even a small portion of his winnings. And as I thought of Perrier I found myself longing disconsolately for his presence. He was too much of a gentleman to let me languish here in boredom and embarrassment.

  I drained my champagne, and at an almost imperceptible signal from Luc my glass was promptly refilled. I contin­ued to drink, enjoying the dry bubbly stuff far more than the sour red wine Thornton had served me.

  "We have missed you, Count," a voice spoke from be­hind in soft, slurred Italian. "Something of great impor­tance has come up." Luc gestured him to silence with a brief move.

  "Later, Giorgio," he murmured gently in the same lan­guage. "When we are alone." He turned back to his gam­ing, for once less observant than usual. Had he paid more attention to his idiot of a ward, he would have seen her stiffen with shocked recognition. The indolent, well-dressed nobleman who had just spoken was none other than the threatening peasant of my so-called dream.

  After that the hours dragged. Sipping on the light cham­pagne Luc provided for me, I watched him gamble and win huge sums of money with apparent unconcern, all the time my mind working feverishly. How could I have been so stupid, so obtuse, for so long? Now if only I had some inkling of what was behind Luc's plotting and scheming, his secret meetings. I stared at my guardian with an angry pout, and then found those golden eyes fixed on my muti­nous face. He cast a brief, meditative glance at Giorgio and then back to me, just long enough to know part of what I had guessed.

  "Why so angry, carissima?" he murmured, mocking me. Those eyes knew very well the cause of my outrage.

  "You . . . you . . ." words failed me. Angrily I drained my champagne, and immediately my glass was re­filled.

  " 'You' . . . what?" he prompted with a benign interest. Coldly I averted my gaze, but the sudden numbing pres­sure of Luc's hand on my wrist brought back all my atten­tion. "I would suggest, mia Carlotta, that you quickly for­get anything your busy little mind might think it has discovered. Vapid ignorance is much more appealing in in­nocent young girls."

  "But I don't wish to appeal to you," I lied convincingly, biting my lip to keep from crying out with pain.

  "You are wise beyond your years," he murmured, letting go of me suddenly. "In the meantime I think a quiet corner would suit you much better. As I have business to discuss," and his expression dared me to ask what, "I would be hap­pier if you were safely out of the way."

  The alcove to which he led me was free of the lovely, loose-mannered women that abounded in this elegant house. Once I was comfortably ensconed on a Recamier sofa with champagne at my right Luc took his leave, paus­ing long enough to place a gentle, lingering kiss on the red, throbbing mark on my wrist where his cruel fingers had so lately rested.

  "Do not be too curious, mi a Carlotta," he murmured softly. "For your sake as well as my own."

  Needless to say, I paid no heed to his warning, but little good did it do me. It was impossible to keep track of all the people who desired a few words with Luc. He carried on at least twenty conversations, in French, German, English, and Italian. I strained to hear every word from my distant alcove, but the conversations could have been completely innocent, or completely damning. I leaned back on my silken sofa and sipped more champagne.

  It was past two o'clock when Luc finally pushed back his chair and rose from the tables. The pile of money in front of him was astounding, even more so the fact that he left it as if it bored him, leaving his fellow gamesters to pounce on it with an avidity that chilled me. Taking my arm once more with great courtesy, he led me through the brightly lit halls, still as heavily populated as they had been hours ear­lier, into a small and quieter salon. Sitting in the middle of the room, surrounded by perhaps a score of attentive and admiring men of varying ages, was what seemed at first the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

  Her hair was a rich auburn, her pale white skin creamy and smooth and unblemished by any trace of freckling. Her nose was noble, her mouth overgenerous, her dark green eyes sparkling with an allure she was providing all for Luc del Zaglia. Her plump white shoulders rose out of a pale pink gown that was not, however, quite the fortunate shade she undoubtedly thought it was. Her somewhat petulant face lit up at the sight of Luc, and she lifted one plump arm in greeting.

  Dragging his reluctant and slightly drunken ward behind him, Luc moved across the room to her side with his cus­tomary grace. His kiss upon the heavily beringed hand was all anyone could hope for, and it was only wishful thinking on
my part that made me imagine a mocking overemphasis. The lady laughed; a light, high laugh that no doubt charmed her admirers. Being a woman, I immediately no­ticed she was older than I had first thought. There were lines on her aging neck, a calculating look in those dark green eyes, and an expression of dislike as she glanced over my sober figure trailing behind Luc.

  "Silvana, my jewel," Luc said with a charming smile, "may I present to you my ward, Carlotta Theresa Sabina Morrow?" There was always just the slightest emphasis on my third name, that curse from a classically minded god­mother. I curtseyed properly and murmured a polite, if somewhat slurred, good evening.

  Milady Silvana responded stonily, turning to Luc in a flood of Italian as patrician as her elegant bearing. "What a charming little girl she is, Luc! You did not tell me she was such a beauty. Life must prove a great deal more entertain­ing at Edentide since her arrival. Perhaps that is why you haven't been to see me in so long."

  "My dove, you should know as well as I that I had busi­ness in Genoa these last weeks," he said in a gently chiding undertone. "I returned only this evening, and the first thing I did was fly to your side."

  "With a stop at the gaming tables on the way?" Her pretty lip curled. "Does this one know anything?" She ges­tured to me with a graceful arm. "Does she understand Italian?"

  "Supposedly not," he replied imperturbably. "Giorgio said you might have information for me?"

  "She does not look as if she were burdened with much intellect," the divine Silvana said cattily, switching to a poorly accented and ungrammatical German. "But one can never be certain. I have a most interesting paper for you, my dear Count. I was hoping to be able to deliver it to you in private." She swept a look of acute dislike over my inno­cent face. "Apparently that is not to be."

  "I beg your forgiveness, my goddess," Luc replied in his flawless command of the same tongue, and I wondered that the silly wench should be taken in by his outrageous flat­tery. "Shall I kiss your lovely hand once more and you can give it to me?"

  She sniffed haughtily. "Giorgio will place it in your cloak before you leave. I believe he may have already done so. I had given up on you ever finding the time to spare for poor Silvana. I may remind you," she added, switching to an even more atrocious French that clearly revealed her well- hidden plebeian descent, "that I am not to be toyed with. My lovers have always been completely devoted to me un­til / dismissed them, and I am not about to be betrayed for a wretched little pink and white schoolgirl. Not by anyone, Luc del Zaglia, not even by you!" Two blotches of angry color stained her pale white cheeks as she cast an angry glance in my direction.

  "My angel," protested Luc, obviously much amused, "are you jealous of my little ward?"

  "She is ugly and stupid and no doubt an Austrian whore in the bargain," she purred, "but I do not trust you, my friend. Remember," she finished, still in her terrible French, "that I have had the richest and most powerful men of Europe at my feet."

  "And no doubt you trampled all over them just as you demolish their languages," I snapped in my perfect French, unable to control my temper a moment longer.

  Silvana's rage would have been magnificent enough, had it not been augmented by Luc's burst of laughter. The di­vine Silvana responded with some pungent and extremely idiomatic references in Italian to my parentage and sexual habits. I immediately replied in kind, shocking even myself. Silvana then added a few choice remarks about Luc, which fascinated rather than repulsed me, and I finished with a long and beautifully phrased denunciation of her predilec­tion for Austrians, Arabs, and horses.

  This was too much, even for Luc. Still laughing, he dragged me out of the room, barely in time to avoid Sil­vana's lunge at me. The room was abuzz with horrified conversation as half a dozen men endeavored to placate Silvana's outraged sensibilities, and, as I realized the last extremely obscene exchange had been in Italian, I felt a flood of mortification sweep over me. I had not time for apologies or self-recriminations, for we were out of the house in a few short moments, with a still-amused Luc pausing only long enough to feel for the crackle of paper in the pocket of his elegant black cape before he hurried me into the early morning streets of Venice.

  During the short and silent walk home I several times considered apologizing, and several times thought better of it. Each time I remembered exactly what I said to his mis­tress, and the extremely indecent things she had replied, my resolution failed. We had reached the steps of Edentide before I could bring myself to speak.

  I put out a hand to stop him. In the dark of early morn­ing I couldn't read his expression, which was perhaps easier for me. "I am sorry if I insulted your mistress," I began stiffly.

  "If?" There was a muffled laugh from the tall, cloaked figure. "Do you think there is any possibility that she wasn't insulted?" he inquired sweetly. "I am sure your suggestions left little room for misunderstanding."

  I could feel myself flush, and damned the man and the champagne I had drunk in excess that night. "Your mis­tress," I observed charitably, "is a fishwife."

  "True," he allowed. "But she has her uses." I thought back to the mysterious paper that now resided in his pocket, and wondered whether I would have any chance of retrieving it if I fell in a deliberate swoon into his strong arms. And then, remembering the feel of his mouth on mine, decided I would rather jump in the canal than suffer the mixed torment of being in Lucifero's arms once more, and let the moment pass. Sweeping ahead of him, I mounted the stairs and marched past the amazed form of Thornton, into the dark and damp corridors of the Palazzo Edentide.

  Chapter Seventeen

  When I awoke the next day it was a little past noon. The bright spring sunlight was fighting its way through my louvered shutters, giving my green damask paneled room its customary underwater atmosphere. The lithe form of Rosetta moved among the furniture with surprising stealth. I cracked open one eye, fascinated, while she pawed through my chest of drawers, through the delicate lace- trimmed underwear Luc had supposedly chosen for me, as she rummaged among my dresses hanging so neatly. There were almost twenty of them at this point, half of which I had yet to wear, and I wondered whether I should make a peace gesture and offer her one of them. We were close enough in size so that it wouldn't require much alteration. With this Christian thought in mind I rose up among my linen covers.

  She let out a shriek, jumping nearly a foot in the air, and then turned on me with a malevolent expression on her beautiful face, a face that almost, but not quite, equaled her rival, the divine Silvana. "Stupid English cow," she spat in Italian. "You frightened me. Why don't you go back to England where you belong? You will only bring disaster upon him."

  I hesitated only a moment. My secret was out in the open after my indiscretions last night, so I answered her in the same language. "Stupid Italian cow," I replied sweetly, "I intend to stay right here. What were you doing, going through my closets?"

  Her mouth dropped open, revealing two rows of less than perfect teeth. It took her barely a moment to recover her composure, though, and she immediately took the of­fensive once more. "So, you speak Italian! It's not to be wondered at, such a dishonest one you are. And what he will think when I tell him you have understood every word he has said over the past few weeks, I shudder to think!"

  I climbed out of bed and moved to open the shutters, wanting fresh air and sunlight to cleanse the room of her dislike. "You needn't trouble yourself, Rosetta. He already knows. And now, if you would be so good as to bring me my coffee . . ."

  I had pushed her a little too far with my grande dame manner. Beneath my irritation I felt sorry for her, caught as she was in the trap of poverty and a hopeless infatuation with the demon-count. I could sympathize with the latter problem only too well, and remembered my earlier resolve to befriend her.

  I took a step in her direction. "Rosetta, I'm sorry if I've been rude. There is no need for us to fight all the time. I promise you, Luc has no interest in me whatsoever. Not a bit."

  My propitiatory gesture was
in vain, however, for the look she gave me out of her magnificently flashing black eyes would have shriveled a stronger soul than mine. "You are sorry for me!" she hissed. "How dare you! It is I who am sorry for you, stupid English girl. For I will win, and you will lose, and then I will laugh. Laugh, do you hear?" And she demonstrated, a deep guttural sound that was frightening in its malice. "In the meantime, I will be glad to bring you some coffee. And I hope you will be fool enough to drink it!"

  With that she slammed out of my room, leaving me trembling slightly with the aftermath of her venom. From now on, it was obvious, I would have to take my meals directly from the hands of Mrs. Wattles. Rosetta apparently had some Borgia blood in her veins, and I didn't choose to be her victim.

  My night of debauchery didn't have much effect on my spirits or my appetite. A slight, nagging headache disap­peared after I gorged myself on some of Mrs. Wattles's freshly baked scones, accompanied by two full-size cups of Venetian coffee. With more energy than I usually com­manded I found myself alone and bored in the west salon, with a full four hours before Luc would awake stretching ahead of me.

  Not that his rising would make any difference to me, I quickly assured myself. The sooner I was away from his pernicious influence the happier I would be. To that end I decided my immediate duty was to recover that mysterious slip of paper before Luc had a chance to dispose of it. I could hardly search his rooms while he lay sleeping—the very thought terrified me. But a truly clever man wouldn't be likely to leave his secrets out in the most obvious place. I would make a casual search of some of the other rooms before sneaking into Luc's while he was at his inevitable gaming, though whether the divine Silvana would welcome him tonight was another question.