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 o
n 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 w
oman 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.
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