by Michele Hauf
"That was Beethoven? Good thing the man is dead. Course, the fellow was deaf so he mightn't care that you've just tortured one of his pieces."
"You are most rude."
"Is that so? Do rude men often invite annoying strangers into their homes to stay, and feed them and their maids?"
Again, she pouted. No answer for that one. Not even a lash flutter.
"It's too early." Marcello gestured before him with a dismissive swing of his hand. "I like to sleep late."
"I shall endeavor to play more quietly." Jane turned around and placed her hands on the keys. "And less annoyingly."
Marcello swept in to place his hands over hers. "Not now. Unless you wish me to be ill-tempered all day?"
She chuckled. "I had thought that was your normal mien. You mean you have another emotion that is not thus?"
He fumed, but as his nostrils flared, Marcello drew in her scent, and it filled his head with delicious ideas. Wicked ideas. And from his position standing over her, he could see down the front of her dress. She wasn't ample, but each breath lifted her breasts, and the exhales teased him with a glimpse of darkened nipple…
"Signore!" She abruptly stood and took a step away from him. "What are you looking at?"
With a cocky smirk, he shrugged. "Your breasts."
Her jaw dropped open, but when he expected her to slam her arms across her chest, she instead tilted back her shoulders, which lifted those diminutive breasts nicely. Trying on his compliment? By all means, it did fit nicely.
"Why, thank you," she offered, surprising him further. "I am rather fond of them myself. And yours are nice, as well." She cleared her throat and rolled her eyes. "I mean…oh, bother."
Swinging toward the bench, she gracefully sat, arms stretched over the top of the pianoforte, and head lowered onto her arms. In dramatic tones, she wailed, "My apologies. It was awfully strange of me to say that, wasn't it? It isn't often I converse with a half-clad man. Never, even." She peered up from her bowed pose. "Did you lose your shirt?"
"No." Marcello slid a palm over his abdomen, reveling in her obvious discomfort. "It's a warm day."
"And getting warmer. Ahem."
He laughed and sat on the bench beside her. The blush of her cheeks was like flower petals in cream. Here he was, waxing poetic over the woman when all he wanted to do was bend his head, inhale her flowery scent, and kiss one of the breasts in question. He'd startled her with his bold comment, and she had tried to match his tease.
But she wasn't up to snuff.
Still, he wasn’t the type of man to apologize for appreciating fine things. Or for allowing his fantasies to take over. "If you let me kiss them, I'll leave you to play this wretched instrument to your heart's content."
"Kiss my…?" She looked down. Her neck colored to match her cheeks.
Marcello leaned an elbow on the pianoforte and eyed her bosom. He wasn't about to back down from this tease. Because it was not a tease. And if she figured that out, she may prove a formidable plaything.
"That's a very strange request," she said in a softer, less sure tone.
"I may be a very strange man."
"Strange men should frighten me," she volleyed.
He sensed the missing word. "But?"
"But you intrigue me, Signore Sebastiani. And you have been exceedingly kind." She dusted her fingers over the ivory keys. "I should let you sleep."
He sighed. "I'd prefer having to listen to you clatter upon the keys."
"You wou— Oh. For a kiss?"
He nodded.
She cast her gaze toward the open doors. Looking for her maid?
Marcello leaned in, his long hair falling forward and brushing her bodice and the soft swells of her breasts. "I'll do it discreetly. But you won't forget my touch, I promise you that."
A heavy sigh lifted her breasts so close to his mouth, and when she whispered a shaky, "Very well," Marcello dropped his head and kissed one of them through the thin blue fabric of her gown. He hushed hot breath over her and then nudged his nose along the lace fichu bordering her décolletage, touching skin with his lips and dashing out his tongue to taste her shivering warmth.
Jane gasped. "Oh, my." She squirmed on the bench and clasped her hands over the edges of it.
With a sweep of his hand across her back, Marcello pulled her in close. She allowed it. Not even a struggle. Good girl. Mm, the scent of her grew deeper there, between her breasts. Flowers from a long-lost summertime when once he could walk beneath the sunlight without fear of burning.
The thought made him falter. And just as he moved up to kiss her sweet, succulent lips, Jane's fingers pressed over his mouth.
"On the lips was not part of the deal," she said. "You've gotten what you asked for. Now, I'll continue to practice. Yes?"
Such efforts hadn't granted him anything more than a rigid cock and frustration. He should have been more specific with his demands. But this was only the first request, and he hadn't realized he'd even make such until he'd sat close and fallen into her compelling scent.
He was not attracted to this Englishwoman. He just—was he?
"Right." He stood and adjusted his silk trousers, which strained across his erection. "Play on, my discordant chickadee. I'm going to bury my head beneath a pillow."
"Sleep well!" she called after him. And because his hearing was so sensitive, Marcello also heard her whisper in his wake, "You terribly handsome man."
He smirked and dashed up the stairs. Be it attraction or mere lust, he could have some fun with this woman. Perhaps he'd allow her to stay another day or two.
* * *
Later in the afternoon, Jane adjusted the tiny glass swan on the hearth mantel in her room and sighed. "It rains quite a lot in Venice."
Prudence stood by the window, looking out over the canal that hugged the back of the palazzo. Rain spattered the window glass, dotting her view of the busy waterway below. "But not so much as it does in London, we can hope."
"I so wanted to visit the San Marco plaza. More than simply walking through it as we did upon arrival." Gliding her fingers along the mantel, Jane placed a decorative square block of obsidian at an angle, then touched the bronze statue of a horseman in seventeenth-century livery.
"And the museum," Prudence added. "There's much to see in the city. But I thought Signore Sebastiani had intent to send you packing?"
"He does. But I think I can waylay his plans for a bit. Oh, the pianoforte is exquisite. I shall hate to leave that behind."
"It is a lovely instrument." Prudence crossed the room and stood beside her. "It would also fetch a mighty price."
"Yes, but it is not mine to sell."
"Nor is it Signore Sebastiani's. Mayhap a precious piece Signore Ricci left to his dearly loved ingénue?"
"Perhaps. Oh, but I couldn't bear to sell it. Not yet, at least."
"Wait until we are destitute, then? I shouldn't think that would require more than a few days."
"Prudence, you really do need to look at the bright side more often. Signore Sebastiani's servant is quite handsome, yes?"
Prudence had no comment.
Jane had seen her maid's gaze linger over the lithe man with the quick yet crooked smile. And where did she spend all her time when Jane was in the ballroom practicing, hmm?
She dusted her palm over the round wood newel at the end of the hearth, inadvertently twisting it. Something in the wall clicked. The entire hearth front shuddered, then the end swung forward an inch.
Jane cast a look of surprise at her maid.
Prudence clasped her hands expectantly before her.
"Do you think?" Jane asked.
"A hidden room? Or a secret passage?"
"Let's take a look."
With but a tug at the hearth, the marble front of the fireplace swung smoothly outward while the other end swung in. Cool air rushed out. Jane peered into the dark gap then gestured impatiently with her fingers. "Light a candle!"
Prudence managed the task with e
xcited speed. As the twosome crept into the darkness, the flame illuminated a small room, no larger than two marriage beds pushed end to end. The walls were shelved, and on those shelves sat trinkets and objects d'art. Paintings were stacked against the wall and covered with cloth.
"A storage room?" Prudence wondered.
"Appears so." Jane sneezed delicately. "Oh! So much dust in here. Ages must have passed since anyone has been in here. Do you think Marcello is aware of this room?"
"You call him Marcello?"
"Well, of course, it is an easier mouthful than Signore Sebastiani. Yes?" She quickly turned away from Prudence's admonishing gaze, which was underlined with ghastly shadows by the candle glow. "Set the candle on a shelf. I want to explore."
There were silver candelabras, bronze statues, gold place settings, and tiny, decorative birds and cats. Most items bore a crest. A family insignia? Within a rosewood box lined with red velvet, Jane discovered a remarkable tiara. She pulled it out, and the diamonds glinted as if on fire.
"That must be worth a fortune," Prudence said. "You need never worry for your survival again."
Always concerned for her welfare. Bless the woman and her misplaced prudence.
Jane held the tiara up above her head, but didn't quite set it down. She placed it back in the box. "Why would the man keep such valuable items locked away in a dusty old room?"
"I'm going to guess that tiara doesn't suit his style."
Jane laughed at her maid's rare humor. "You don't think so? No, I suppose not. That man is more the sort to race across the countryside on a fine steed, wielding a battle sword."
"You are attracted to the signore," Prudence noted.
"And you are attracted to his servant."
At that suggestion, Prudence turned and took great interest in an ivory quill and ink bottle.
Jane tugged a dusty cloth from a stack of paintings and gasped as the portrait beneath was revealed. The candle flame flickered as Prudence bent beside her, and they both studied the man in the picture.
Dark hair spilled over a stiff white ruff. Elaborate silver stitching danced arabesques in the gray damask tunic he wore, and ornate lace spilled from his wrists. His eyes were brown, and that smirk...
"You don’t think?" Jane asked with sudden recognition.
"Impossible. Has to be a relative. That sort of clothing was in style…in the sixteenth century?"
"No, I believe it's much older. Probably thirteenth or fourteenth century. But the resemblance is remarkable, don't you think?"
"As if they were twins."
The women stood up before the portrait of—had the subject been dressed in modern clothing—Marcello Sebastiani.
Chapter 3
It was too early to venture out for a bite, but the sky was dark due to the mist that had only wet his docks and patio before the canal. Marcello stood on the third-floor stair landing, pondering what to do. His solicitor was seeking means to produce viable proof of identity to show the city. Whatever they provided must document a birth that occurred perhaps thirty years prior—not centuries, as was the reality.
Marcello knew for a fact that his birth had been recorded in the Venice city records in the thirteenth century. It had been quite a to-do, and gifts had arrived from all over the city as well as dignitaries visiting from across Europe. Of course, he didn't recall those festivities, but his mother had told him about it whenever he asked. And then she had died. As had his father.
His entire family had been taken out in one bloody sweep. Even Marcello, newly returned for a Grand Tour across Europe, had not been able to escape the vicious savagery of the pack of vampires who had descended upon this very palazzo to feed upon his family as if wild animals.
Remarkably, Marcello had survived, shivering, bleeding, and utterly out of his mind to have to crawl over his fallen family members to seek help.
Help had arrived donned in a dark cloak, mask, and fangs. However, not allied with the foul creatures that had taken lives. The man had quickly arranged for Marcello’s family members to be buried, and legal announcements had been made regarding the family's slaughter. What had been kept secret, was that the Sebastianis had been murdered by vampires. Instead, the explanation had been bloodthirsty thieves.
Marcello's name had been noted amongst the dead. And so he had become a non-entity. A thing that had been taught how to survive as vampire or perish at the stake.
Even now, as he stroked his fingers along the stone banister, he could envision his family lying on the floor, blood pooled so thickly around them he'd not believed so much could spill from the human body. It had occurred on the third floor. It was not a floor he inhabited now. Nor would he allow guests here.
"Signore!"
Startled that he'd not heard Miss Emery approach, Marcello turned. When he thought to offer her a smile, his mouth instead opened in appreciation as he took in the soft blue dress, hugging her sleek body yet pushing up her breasts as if treats on a tray for him to select. Was the neckline a bit deeper and wider than previously? Of course, she did not wear a fichu around her neck as she had last night. Nice. That provided a much better view of her sweets.
"Good evening, Miss Emery."
"You're a rather late riser. My playing earlier did not keep you awake, I hope?"
It had, but he kept a quiet closet where he could seal himself away when he wished to close out the world.
"We'll need to find you a proper teacher quickly," he said.
"You would take on that task?"
Would he? He had just offered as much, hadn't he? It wasn't at all like him to put forth such kindnesses to a stranger. He preferred to exist alongside mortals, rarely interfering in their lives.
"My plans have changed," Jane said and followed with a sigh. "I was hoping to go out to St. Mark's Basilica now that the rain has stopped. Or is it now called something else?"
"The cathedral of Venice, I believe. But I prefer the old name, as well. You're no longer going out?"
"Prudence isn't feeling well. I do wish to fit in some touring of the city while I'm in Venice." She cast a hopeful glance up at him.
Flutter, flutter.
Marcello knew exactly what she was doing, and…he took the bait. "I haven't been in St. Mark's all that much." He extended his arm in invitation. "Shall we?"
"I'd be delighted!"
* * *
They strode the cobblestone streets toward St. Mark's. Jane's arm hooked in Marcello's, she walked so close to him that she could feel his heat radiate out and caress her skin. The warmth was a powerful pull to melt against him, and he smelled like a spice she did not know but would, perhaps, search the world to discover. Of course, she didn't have to find it. All she need do was lean in closer and inhale his masculine aura.
"Mm…"
"What's that?" he asked. "Miss Emery, are you well? Perhaps you're coming down with whatever it is your maid has?"
"Oh, no." She straightened, realizing she'd fallen into a reverie over the man's scent. "May I tell you something, Signore Sebastiani?"
"Of course. And call me Marcello. My proper name is a bit of a mouthful."
Suddenly, Jane's thoughts were filled with images of her mouth…full…of his kisses.
"Miss Emery?"
"Oh. My apologies. Yes, and you must call me Jane. I shouldn't confess this, but I stumbled upon a secret chamber behind the hearth in the guestroom."
"Secret chamber?"
"Why, yes. Surely you are aware of it? Perhaps not. The items inside were rather dusty. Of course, I had to explore once I saw the hearth front pop out from the wall. I wasn't trying to snoop. But secret rooms always tease at exploit. And I do love a good adventure! You understand?"
"Of course." Ah, now he remembered. He'd forgotten about that little space. There were many hidden passages and rooms throughout the palazzo. What had he stashed in that particular chamber? "Find anything interesting?"
"Why, yes! There was a tiara, and paintings, and silver candelabras. It al
l seemed quite valuable. And there was an elaborate family crest on most of the items. Do you think royalty used to live in your home, Signore? Er, Marcello?"
Hell. Now was no time for the truth. And yet, Marcello could only focus on the woman's blush when she spoke his name. He could bring that blush up all over her body with little more than a few kisses. And he wasn't sure what was keeping him from doing so. The woman was staying in his home. Sleeping but two floors below him. Why had he not yet fucked her?
"Now I do believe it is you who is lost in your thoughts," Jane said as she stopped at the Piazza San Marco before the grand church. "Is that it? It's lovely."
Indeed, the basilica and the piazza were a sight to behold. The piazza, considered the 'drawing-room of Europe,' was where most gathered, tourists and residents alike. Canvas-covered booths lined the sides of the square, vendors hawking foods, goods, and even a quick shave, while children giggled and danced about the bronze flagpoles that flew the city's standards.
And much as vampire lore would allude that Marcello could not enter holy grounds, he could. It just wasn't…comfortable. But to spend some time with the woman? He'd suffer the pain. Unless he could come up with a less painful alternative.
"Listen beyond the children's laughter." Jane lifted a hand to her ear. "I do believe they are holding a mass. Shall we?"
Participating in a mass was another thing entirely.
"Must be compline. I wouldn't want to walk in on a ceremony already begun. I've an idea." He clasped her hand and walked swiftly toward the docks. The woman had said she liked adventure. "I want to show you something."
* * *
Despite the sun having dipped below the horizon the moment they'd set out for the church, and really wanting to see inside the beautiful structure, Jane eagerly followed Marcello's lead. When they rounded the church and stood on the docks, she realized what he had in mind.
"A gondola ride?"
He nodded.
Jane had never been in a gondola, and while initially getting in had required a breath of bravery and a clasp of Marcello's hand, before she'd stepped completely off the dock, he lifted her by the hips and set her down before him. He was very strong. And she had felt light as a feather in his arms.
