“Yes,” Sophia remarked dryly.
Tony slipped an arm around the older woman. “It takes a beautiful woman to judge another, si, Sophia?”
“Grazie, Antonio,” Sophia said, slipping from his embrace. “Since you two are here, I will beg leave to retire. I haven’t the energy of your youth. Marcus, there is coffee in the rear courtyard, if you wish, and I’ve had the crystal room prepared for Miss Tarleton. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll say goodnight.”
“Of course, Sophia. It is very late. Good night,” Marcus said.
She waved to him as she started for the stairway, seeming to sail regally.
“Thank you, thank you very much,” Chris called after her.
She received a dismissive wave in return.
“Where’s Mother?” Marcus asked Tony. “Sleeping?”
“Yes, she said she’d have to see Chris in the morning,” Tony replied. Then he grinned broadly at Chris again. “Are you up to coffee?”
She could feel Marcus standing behind her. She gave Tony a brilliant smile. “I’d love some coffee.”
He caught her arm in his and led her through the grand marbled entryway. “Do you remember the palazzo, Chris?”
“No, not really,” she replied.
“Then I’ll tell you a bit about it so you don’t get lost! The music salon and den are to the left; the dining room and kitchen are to the right. You can reach the courtyard by going either way. All of our rooms are on the second floor, Alfred and Sophia are on the third. There’s an elevator at the rear of the stairs. The bridge to the galleries is on the second floor, but you mustn’t use it now; it’s in urgent need of repair! There are subterranean tunnels, too, but again, you really mustn’t use them. Marc is busy saving them—and everything else in Venice!—from the sea.”
Chris turned around a bit. Marcus was following them, but he was at a distance. She frowned and lowered her voice, bringing her lips close to Tony’s ear. “Please, Tony, help me quickly. Who is Sophia? I don’t remember her.”
Marcus was closer than she had thought. Either that, or he had closed the distance between them with uncanny speed.
“Sophia Calabrese has been the housekeeper here since my father invited Alfred into the house,” he answered for Tony. “Don’t you remember her? She lived here when you were born.”
“She seemed familiar,” Chris murmured. “Of course. The housekeeper…”
Tony broke into soft laughter. “Marc! Chris is an American, a worldly woman. Sophia is Alfred’s mistress. She has been so for thirty years. Not that I think much can go on between them anymore.”
“Tony!” Marcus said sharply.
Chris laughed, linking her arm more tightly through Tony’s. She was aware of the beautiful hallway they were passing through. It was wide enough to be a room in itself, and lined with chairs and love seats, pedestals, statues and paintings. And then they came to a huge room with four sets of French doors, all standing open to a beautiful tiled patio. Chris could see a circular table there, set with a snowy cloth, a silver coffeepot, cups, saucers and plates.
“Sophia must have thought we needed supper!” Tony laughed, very gallant as he led Chris onto the patio, seated her and handed her a napkin with a flourish, and poured her some coffee. Marcus silently took a chair opposite her.
Chris looked up at Tony and returned to their earlier topic of discussion. “Sophia has been Alfred’s mistress for thirty years? Now that’s definitely Italian! Why didn’t he marry her?”
“I don’t really know—” Tony began.
“Nor is it any of our business, is it?” Marcus interrupted. He sipped his black coffee, watching Chris pointedly over the rim of his cup.
She shrugged, then smiled at Tony again. “People are fascinating, aren’t they, Tony?”
Tony seated himself and caught her hand and her eyes across the table. “You’re fascinating, Christina.”
She laughed, quickly retrieving her hand. She wanted to taunt Marcus di Medici, but with his eyes on her, she only dared to go so far.
“Thank you, Tony,” she said a little breathlessly, then allowed her eyes to roam over the courtyard. “This is the most land I think I’ve seen in Venice. All the other buildings are built so close together.”
“Oh, most of them have courtyards,” Tony said. “I guess that we do have more property than most, though. But there isn’t much space, you see. It’s a bit like New York City—”
“You’ve been to New York?” Chris interrupted.
“Oh, yes, of course. We—Marcus and I—travel extensively. It’s necessary to keep the galleries going.” He started lifting the silver domes from the serving platters on the table. “Pastry, cookies and cakes. What would you like, Miss Tarleton?”
“I liked ‘Chris’ better,” Chris told him, “and I really don’t care for anything at all. I had a huge dinner.”
Tony didn’t press her. He selected a large anise cookie himself and eyed it as he continued to talk to her.
“We’re opening a gallery in the States soon,” he told her.
“Really?” Chris inquired politely, a little annoyed that they traveled so frequently and had never bothered to check into the state of her welfare or her mother’s.
“Yes. We’ve already opened a place in Paris, and one in London. Next year will be the States.”
“Where?” Chris asked.
“We haven’t decided yet. Either New York or Boston,” Tony replied.
“And it probably won’t be next year,” Marcus contradicted his brother. He glanced at Chris as he lit a cigarette. “We’ve just opened a new exhibition here. Something quite different.”
“You’ll love it!” Tony assured her.
“Actually, it’s more of a show than an exhibit. We’re using robotronics, something that’s pretty widely used in some of your American amusement parks.”
Tony snapped his fingers. “Like the Hall of Presidents!”
Marcus grinned tolerantly at Tony. “Something like that,” he agreed. “Only we depict Venetian life through the centuries, and the costumes and jewels on the animated figures are real.”
“It sounds fascinating,” Chris murmured.
“Oh, you’ll see for yourself,” Tony assured her, munching his cookie. “In fact, I’ll take you through tomorrow—”
“No, you won’t,” Marcus interrupted smoothly. “You’re going to Florence tomorrow, remember?”
“Ah, Marcus! You could go! You really should go; you know the tapestries much better than I.”
“You know them well enough, Tony. And I can’t go. The workmen are coming to look at rot in the catacombs. And I have an appointment at the bank at eleven. And the engineer is coming from the computer company to work on the latest figures.”
Tony grimaced, but gave in gracefully. He winked at Chris. “Alas! We get a beautiful guest—and I’m out on my ear. But I’ll make it up to you, Chris, I promise.”
She smiled. “I’m sure you will. How long will you be gone?”
He shrugged. “Two days, three at most. Whatever the gorgons upstairs and this whip-cracker do to you, see that you wait for me!”
“Gorgons?” Chris queried, frowning.
“He’s referring to Sophia and our mother,” Marcus said with a sigh. “And I’m sure they’ll be very gracious.”
“But of course,” Tony said to his brother. “Chris is here because of Alfred, isn’t she?” There was something peculiar—amused, but nevertheless resentful—in his tone.
“Yes,” Marcus said simply. He crushed out his cigarette and sat back in his chair as if he were removed from the group, an observer only.
“Ah, well then, Alfred will be wanting your company.”
“And she his,” Marcus commented dryly.
“Whatever for!” Tony laughed. “She’ll spend hours sitting in the courtyard…oh, perhaps it will not be that bad. We have a very unique pool on the roof. Do you swim?”
Chris nodded. She felt suddenly very wary of Marcus; she knew he was watchi
ng her carefully.
“I believe she wishes to be with Alfred,” he said lightly. “After all, it is at Alfred’s invitation that she has come.” He looked straight at Chris and smiled, but spoke to Tony. “She might be after his money, you know.”
Tony laughed. “Are you?” he asked Chris.
She returned Marcus’s blatant stare. “Oh, possibly, Tony. I haven’t decided yet.”
Tony was taking the entire thing as a joke. He laughed again. “Well, you needn’t bother with Alfred. Seduce Marcus here—or better yet, seduce me! We’ve both got a share in it all.”
Chris set down her coffee cup, still eyeing Marcus carefully. There was nothing to be read in his cobalt gaze, yet she still shivered at his undaunted perusal of her. She smiled slowly and turned to Tony. “What a lovely idea. If I fail in coercing the whole thing from Alfred Contini, I’ll just have to con a share of it from one of you.”
Tony’s eyes were a dazzling shade, like a summer sky, as he laughed again. “Marriage, my dear Miss Tarleton. Take us for all we’ve got.”
“I’m certain she’ll try,” Marcus murmured.
Chris cast him a quick hostile glance, then grinned sweetly at Tony. “Do you think I should? Go after one of you, that is.”
“Why certainly! And, Marcus, think of the gain to us! Anytime one of the robots went out, we’d have a mime, talented flesh and beautiful blood, to slip into the show! We wouldn’t have a worry in the world.”
Marcus smiled politely. “I think we’d still have plenty of worries, Tony. Most assuredly more.” He rose suddenly, as if he had tired of a game. Perhaps he had, Chris thought; he had tired of the game of watching her.
“Miss Tarleton, I’ll show you the galleries myself tomorrow.” He raised a dark brow in his brother’s direction. “I have a few papers to go through before the morning, and I’m sure Tony will be happy to show you to your room.”
“I’d be happier to show her to mine,” Tony commented.
Chris laughed, but Marcus was not amused. “Antonio!” he said rather sharply. “Miss Tarleton is Alfred’s guest.”
Tony glanced at Chris and shrugged sheepishly. “I’m sorry for the comment. I can’t help the thought.”
“You’re forgiven,” Chris said flippantly. Marcus was behind her; she could feel his eyes, like blue fire. Good. Let him think she’d be willing to hop into his brother’s bed. At least Tony hadn’t greeted her by condemning her father.
“Buona notte, Signorina Tarleton,” Marcus murmured. His voice was low, a brush of raw silk. When she turned to reply, he was gone.
“Sinister chap, isn’t he?” Tony inquired affectionately, referring to his brother.
Chris spun back around, looking at Tony with surprise. He laughed. “Marc sometimes takes life a bit too seriously,” he told her. He lifted his shoulders and allowed them to fall, then grinned. “Marc had to grow up very suddenly—at twelve. My father was gone, and your father was gone, and even then Alfred was ailing. It all fell to Marc. He did a remarkable job of keeping things together through the years. So forgive him if he’s a bit brusque at times. He’s also…well, he’s used to speaking and being obeyed, you know. And…”
“And what?” Chris pressed Tony.
He gave her his infectious grin. “Half the time he doesn’t need to speak to be obeyed.” He shook his head as if grasping for an elusive answer, then laughed. “Women! It’s a pity I wasn’t the son to inherit that dark charisma of his. I could have taken it much, much farther! Marc loses interest so easily, you see. If he inclines his head to get them, he inclines his head once more when he wishes them gone! Ah, to have been the eldest!”
“I’m sure you do quite well on your own,” Chris told him dryly.
Tony chuckled. “I do try.”
“Tony,” Chris murmured, suddenly very serious. It was all well and good to joke with Tony and goad Marcus, but that wasn’t why she had come to the palazzo, nor was it to take anyone’s money. She swallowed suddenly. “Tony, please…”
“Christina! What is it?”
He lost his lighthearted manner very quickly; his question was caring and concerned, and Chris decided that although Marcus might be a thorn in her side, she liked Tony di Medici very much.
“Tony, Marcus said something to me tonight that was very upsetting. He said that my father murdered yours.”
Tony instantly withdrew from her; a pained expression flashed through his eyes as he leaned back in his chair.
“Chris, per favore, leave the past alone.”
“Tony! I can’t. I can’t believe that my father was a murderer! I knew him, Tony. He was gentle and kind, and any mention of Venice was like stabbing him with a knife.”
“Chris, Chris!” Tony moved forward again, taking her hand in his. “Whatever happened, I’m certain James did nothing on purpose.”
“But what happened?” Chris almost screamed.
“I—I can’t tell you. Don’t ask me this, Chris, please. I can’t say anything. I was barely eight at the time. Please, Chris, I can tell you nothing. I will tell you nothing.”
There was an implacable look in his eyes, very similar to his brother’s. Chris sighed and cast herself back into her chair. “I’ve got to find out somehow, Tony.”
He hesitated uncomfortably. “Christina, please, if you have any mercy, don’t speak of this to my mother.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head wearily. She didn’t want to make promises that she couldn’t keep.
“Christi, per favore!”
The soft entreaty brought her eyes open again. Tony smiled a little ruefully. “I—I really can’t tell you anything, Chris.” The teasing light returned to his eyes, and he suggested, “Plague Marcus if you must; he was older at the time. More aware of what was going on.”
“Marcus…” Chris murmured bitterly. “It’s like talking to a granite wall.”
Tony laughed, his easygoing nature apparently restored. Or perhaps he felt that he had put himself in the clear; if Marcus chose to answer her, that would be his privilege.
“I’ve heard my brother accused of being many things, but never as cold as a granite wall!”
Chris merely lifted a brow, then stared at her coffee cup again, suddenly bone weary. It had been a long day, and an even longer night.
“Ah, Christi! Bella, bella, Christi! You could melt the strongest wall! Charm Marcus.”
“Umm,” Chris murmured dryly. Then she offered Tony a weak smile. “Would you mind showing me to my room now? I’m very tired.”
“Of course, of course! Come.” He stood and courteously pulled back her chair. He led her in silence back through the hallway and up the stairs. Chris noticed curiously that the stairs here were wooden when most of those she had seen in Venice were constructed of marble, granite or some other type of stone.
“What’s the matter?” Tony asked.
“The stairs…they’re unusual.”
“Unusual, and a pain,” Tony agreed. “We’re always fixing them. I don’t know what got into our ancestors. I don’t even know where they got the wood!” He sighed. “These old palaces, they eat you alive. What with the constant battle with the sea and the salt in the air…”
“I guess it is very hard to preserve things,” Chris said.
“Very. But it’s fascinating.” He smiled. “We’re active in a group to preserve all of Venice. The sea threatens to engulf us, and it is only in modern times that we have realized this. Marcus or I will show you some of our efforts one day.”
“Thank you,” Chris said. “I’d enjoy learning.”
Tony grasped her face lightly between his hands and kissed her cheek. “Buona notte, Christi,” he murmured. Then he pushed open the door they stood in front of and switched on the light.
“Buona notte, Tony.”
He smiled and left her. Chris turned around and immediately understood why it was called the crystal room. The chandelier was almost as large as the monster in the entryway. Enormous, and beautiful. The s
wirling pink-and-white tiles on the floor gave the bedroom a feeling of being even larger than it was. There was a huge old bed with a massive carved headboard in the dead center of the room; to either side were French doors leading to an outer terrace or balcony. The white muslin drapes flowed in the night breeze. There was a breakfast table, as well as a gateleg table and two large dressers to match a huge wardrobe. A door to the far left, Chris quickly discovered, led to a modern bathroom.
Her suitcase lay on the foot of the bed, and she moved to it quickly, undoing her blouse as she went. The abject weariness that had struck her when she was sitting with Tony remained with her. All she wanted to do was bathe and fall asleep…and stop wondering how she could prove that her gentle kindly father had never murdered anyone.
To sleep…and forget the disturbing effects of her confrontation with Marcus di Medici.
She opened her suitcase and smiled absently at its contents. One nice thing about living in Paris had been the acquisition of a marvelous lingerie wardrobe. Her nightgown was a gauzy fluted pink silk. It went perfectly, she decided, with the elegance of the room.
But she could really come up with little appreciation for anything at the moment. Her mind was spinning on a terrible course: how could they be saying these things about her father? Even Tony, who had been so ready to greet her, seemed to believe that James Tarleton had killed Mario di Medici. And no one would even talk to her about it.
She set her lips grimly as she ran a quick bath. There would be ways to find out. She’d study her Italian dictionary until she had a strong enough command of the language to check the newspaper morgue, the city records and whatever else she could get her hands on. Damn them all! She would find out the truth.
Chris sank into the warm water and tried to relax, but soon gave up. She washed quickly and slipped into her nightgown, feeling refreshed in body, if not in mind. She pulled back the embroidered spread and literally slid into bed. The sheets were pink silk, just like her gown.
“What a match,” she murmured aloud, then she doused the antique bedside lamp and determined firmly that she was going to sleep.
“Charm Marcus,” Tony had told her. But how should she set about charming a man with a deadly fascination of his own? He was capable of being completely courteous—and completely intractable, implacable and as hard and cool as stone. He could look at her and light a fire in the very center of her being.
The Di Medici Bride Page 5
