by Jackie Ivie
“Right past the courtyard down there. See that gate? It’s not always locked. Well. Actually it is, but I have the key.” His voice lowered. “I stole it.”
“You stole the key?”
“How else can I get in to see you? I dare not damage the portrait again.”
“Antonio—”
“I know. I’m incorrigible. You wouldn’t want to change me, though. Admit it.”
“I didn’t say I’d go to this masquerade.”
“You didn’t say you wouldn’t, either.”
He grinned, looking like he’d just won a major victory.
Averill smiled in return. “I’ll think about it. Now go before anyone catches you here.”
“I’ll wait for you all night. Don’t disappoint me.”
He pulled her close and leaned over to kiss her. Averill barely avoided it. The touch of his mouth grazed her cheek and her entire being felt like alarm bells were ringing. And then he was gone, hitching a leg over the sill and dropping out of sight. A quick check showed just how easily he moved from her window to the second floor balcony, and from there down a trellis. It took seconds while her eyes widened and her heart thumped painfully.
Oh. He was right. He appeared to be very agile. Extremely eligible. Masculine. Handsome. Rich.
She truly must be crazed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The peacock-blue dress was tight across her midsection. Averill almost cried off when she finished fastening it. But at the back of her armoire she found a large, black shawl. If she wore it with the ends trailing down the front of her dress, she could hide her condition. Oh this was bad.
How could she even consider going to a masked party with Antonio? The fact that she was heavy with child made it so much worse. She looked back up the stairs several times with indecision eating her, as she snuck out into the courtyard. Dim lights showed from the windows, seeming to judge and condemn her. And she was too fanciful.
The gate opened easily. Averill poked her head out and squinted in the dark. There wasn’t anyone there.
“Antonio?” she whispered.
“Antonio is no longer, dear lady.”
He appeared from the blackness. Averill watched as he bowed. He was dressed in a blue troubadour outfit. An enormous feather on his hat bobbed with his action. Averill curtsied to him.
“Oh, Averill, you are perfect!” he told her. “I filched a mantilla from the attic, and it’ll look just right on you. We’ll outshine them all tonight.”
“Mantilla?”
“It’s a Spanish thing the ladies wear. Quickly. Take that thing off your head.”
He pulled a black-lace headdress thing from the bushes and handed it to her. Averill undid the knot she spent so much time getting right and wound her shawl into a ball. It was a good thing the lighting was dim. After some guessing, she finally got the starched piece on her head. Black lace floated down her back and over her shoulders, taking the place of hair, and concealing what she needed it to.
“Magnifico!”
Antonio kissed his fingers and blew the kiss at her. She ducked her head.
“Now for your mask, my lovely.”
He handed her an enormous affair next, consisting of black spangles and peacock feathers. He’d been right. It was perfect with her dress. She fussed with the strap behind her head. It took some time to get the mask on right.
Antonio hadn’t been idle. He’d donned an enormous cape, while a slender, black ribbon across his eyes split his face in half. Averill rolled her eyes. His mask gave him a rakish edge. It didn’t do a thing to disguise him. Not with his features and that telltale mustache.
“Come. We’ll gird the alley. I’ve a boatman standing by. And…I must tell you. You look beautiful.”
He kissed her hand again and held onto it. Averill didn’t quibble. She wondered if he noticed as he stroked her palm with his thumb, or if it were second nature to him.
“Do you like my outfit? I did research at the Biblioteca Marciana to get it right.”
The Library of St. Mark? She couldn’t imagine him in the library. He probably started a riot. The thought almost made her giggle again.
“Grandmamma helped with the fittings. She’s a wonder. Do you like it?”
Once they neared the water, she saw him more clearly. Bright lanterns hung from all the mansions, shedding light everywhere.
“You look a bit...strange,” she replied.
“I’ll have you know this is the correct outfit for a musician of the fourteenth century. See? I’ve even got a lute.” With his free hand, he lifted a small instrument that hung from his shoulder by a strap.
“I never saw such a thing, Antonio. Forgive me.”
“It’s these stupid pantaloons, isn’t it? Grandmamma almost choked laughing when I first tried them on. Did you know they padded them to make them this big? I look silly, no?”
Averill looked at the rounded pants and could imagine Dona Francesca’s reaction. She didn’t find it the least silly, however. He was showing too much leg and thigh for her to laugh.
Antonio held her hand through the gondola ride and Averill let him. He wasn’t doing anything other than stroking her palm over and over, but it had the effect of any number of his glances, and the same thrill as his almost-kiss. She could imagine a worse future than at his side, attending gay events.
“You’re shivering, Averill. Are you cold?” Antonio let go of her hand and pulled her to him, rubbing her upper arm instead of her palm. It was having the same effect, too.
Oh. She could imagine a much bleaker future than being his wife.
“I…shouldn’t allow this.”
She made as if to move away. Antonio’s arm tightened.
“I have it all set up. We’re welcome at any number of fests, but I decided to visit my friend named Carlos, first. He said he’d outdo any costume I present. I look forward to watching him lose.”
“You’re very confident tonight.”
His teeth were very white as he grinned at her in the moonlight. “You’ve no idea what you do to me, mystery lady! Of course I am confident. I have you at my side! Come. We’re docking.”
His enthusiasm was so enjoyable, Averill jumped up after him. Paper lanterns lit the way into the house, where many strangely dressed people milled about. Vivid and costly fabrics stunned the eye. She picked out velvets and brocades and taffeta in all shades of blue, purple, crimson. Yellow. Furs of all kinds trimmed every sort of attire, while flashes continually caught torch and chandelier light, sparkling off gold and silver and all manner of jewels. And everywhere she looked, yet another fantastic mask caught her eye. Averill clung to Antonio’s arm, fearing she’d be lost if she let go. She hoped he understood that was the reason.
“Carlos!”
Antonio pulled free and raised both arms as he shouted. Averill grabbed onto his coattail, instead.
“A glass of wine, Carlos, to celebrate my victory,” Antonio continued. “Do you want your guest to die of thirst?”
He wasn’t handed a glass, he was handed two bottles. Averill watched him drink a large swallow before handing one to her. She didn’t see where the other one went. She’d never tried spirits. Averill held the bottle in her free hand, wondering what to do. The choice was taken from her as a man dressed like a gargoyle jostled her, grabbed the bottle and drank thirstily before tossing it to another pair of hands. That was when she realized she shouldn’t have come…and they were barely in the first house.
“Dilan-Fiorri! You little weasel! You have lost. I would recognize you anywhere. Admit it, my friend. I won.”
The man who yelled out was dressed as a large, furry animal. Averill held onto Antonio’s coat more tightly.
“You came as a bear? A bear?” Antonio asked. “Unfair, Carlos. Unfair.”
“Cease bemoaning your loss and drink! Drink to my victory.”
Another bottle was pressed into Antonio’s hand. Averill watched in surprise as he tipped his head and swallowed until it was
drained. And then she caught the bear-man’s eyes on her. She moved closer to Antonio as he approached.
“Who’s this fascinating woman at your back? You must introduce me.”
“This woman is my fiancée, for I am a lucky devil! Come, my love…meet Carlos. Come along now, shake his hand. He won’t bite.”
Everyone roared with laughter at Antonio’s statement.
“What of your other fiancées?”
Other fiancées?
Carlos smacked Antonio on the back. Averill barely managed to escape the same fate by darting to Antonio’s other side. She’d thought Selantepe rough?
“They were but passing fancies, my friend! But, alas! We must leave you now. We have other fests to attend. Come, my darling, we’ll return to our chariot. This party has lost its flavor.”
“Not without a kiss from your fiancée!”
Carlos yelled it. Averill wasn’t prepared as Antonio spun and pressed her close against him, tipped her chin up, and nuzzled her nose. His answer was a growl of noise she could barely hear.
“Forgive us, Carlos…but she saves all her kisses for me.”
His eyes were so dark and hypnotic! Averill was caught. Held. Enthralled. But he lifted his head instead, and laughed jovially, breaking the spell. Relief weakened her knees. Oh. How right she’d been. Antonio had a blatant sensuality and he was very practiced at using it. And she was merely forbidden fruit.
Carlos joined Antonio in laughter. A moment later, Averill watched as the bear-man grabbed a passing female and shoved his lips against hers. Averill turned quickly away. She couldn’t watch. The woman hadn’t even been surprised.
Averill held tightly to Antonio. He didn’t seem to mind it. She’d known he was lean, but her arms wrapped easily about his waist as he threaded them back through the crowd. It was growing larger by the moment. She wondered how anyone would manage to dance.
Averill was still gripping him when they reached the gondola. She had her eyes tightly closed the entire time. And she was shaking. She felt like she’d just left a biblical scene of evil such as the nuns at the mission had described so long ago.
“You’re doing strange things to me, Averill. I want you to know that before you move away.”
She gasped, her eyes flew open. She would’ve let go, if he didn’t have both her hands locked within his.
“Forgive me, Antonio. I didn’t mean—”
“Allow me my fantasies, Averill. You’re mine for tonight. I’ll not let you go that easily. Come, boatman! See us to the next party!”
Antonio shouted it as they entered the boat, rocking it. Averill stumbled but stayed upright, stuck as she was to Antonio’s back. And then he surprised her by pulling her into his lap as he sat, and put his arms about her. Oh. She’d been a fool. She already knew he was agile. Now she knew of his quickness. And strength. It wasn’t her imagination but his arms were possessive, too, as he squeezed them about her. It felt strange. It wasn’t as pleasant as she’d imagined it would be, at all.
She knew where they were headed before the boat turned toward the dock. It was another party, the same as the first, only louder. Sounds of revelry floated to them over the water as they docked.
“Come along, my beauty. I want to show you off to my friends.”
It wasn’t a request. He half-carried, half-dragged her along, still locked in his arms. And then he was shouting, the sound reverberating through her back. And his words were barely audible above the crowd noise.
“Renee!” Antonio yelled. “I have arrived! Show me your wine!”
“Where are we?” Averill tipped her head to him. She had to ask it twice.
“Renee Dachon, the comte’s son. Come, Averill. You remember him. You’re painting his dogs.”
Oh, no. She hadn’t liked the way Renee looked at her during their sessions. Meeting him now was impossible. He’d think…no.
“Renee bothers you, my love?”
“I...I want to go home,” she replied.
But he’d already looked away and was moving, propelling her with him. Averill didn’t have the choice again.
“Renee! My boastful friend! Just look who I have for my evening companion! And yes! You may envy me now.”
And with that, Antonio opened his arms and shoved her forward. She watched Renee Dachon’s eyes narrow. He looked too much like his mother to be handsome, but there was worse. He had his father’s wandering eye.
“The painter, Averill? No. I don’t believe it.”
He moved closer, peering into her mask. Averill actually backed into the comparative security of Antonio’s arms. And he spilled wine from his glass as he reached both arms back around her. He had another drink?
“You’re with Antonio Dilan-Fiorri? The most notorious womanizer in the history of this city? No. I see it, but I still don’t believe it!”
“Oh! Believe it, my friend. She’s with me. And you mustn’t scare her that way. I’m not old enough for that title! But…the night is young…eh, my friend?”
Antonio emptied his wineglass, and a properly dressed servant stepped from the side to refill it. And then he spoke again, his voice holding a boastful edge.
“So! Tell me, young Dachon…where is your pere? I long to show him my victory as well!”
His breath touched skin even through her headdress. She subconsciously lifted her shoulder against it. No. It couldn’t be. They didn’t have some sort of contest over her? No. It wasn’t possible. Was it?
“Father had an impromptu guest. A relative from England. It interfered with his attending...oh! Here, they come now.”
Averill caught a glimpse of a scantily-clad Grecian goddess, before turning in Antonio’s arms and hiding her head. She didn’t want to see, or be seen.
“Can we leave, Antonio?”
Averill whispered the words. Antonio pulled his head up.
“Leave? Already? But, I have yet to dance with you. Clear the floor! All of you!”
He drained his glass again and tossed it against a wall. Averill didn’t hear it shattering above the swell of sound at Antonio’s words. There wasn’t a bit of space for dancing. They could barely move.
“You are unique, Averill. So difficult…and now so worried.”
He pulled her with him, doing something with his chest that bumped it against hers. Averill stood stock-still. He countered that by sliding his hands down her sides, sinking nearly to the floor before he rose.
“You aren’t dancing.” His words were slurred.
Averill shook her head. “I can hardly breathe, Antonio. Please take me home.”
“Home? Oh no. We’re too young for such behavior. We’ve barely started. But, come. There’s another party we can attend. And who knows? Maybe you’ll dance with me there. Yes?”
Averill sensed someone watching. She felt eyes on her as they left the room, Antonio threading his way through a crushing throng. He had his arms locked about her. She didn’t fight it. She’d have gotten lost without him. Trampled. Pushed aside. With every step, however, it seemed as if someone called out to Antonio, and he would stop to shout back. The sound grated, adding to the cacophony about them.
And someone really was watching them, staring from the wall. She craned her head and squinted, trying to see. Trying to concentrate. Was that…Satan?
“Come along. Averill. I thought you wanted to go.”
Antonio lifted her and walked out the door, tripping on the stairs with her additional weight. Averill longed to slap at him, but that was stupid. This was her fault. She caught herself against the railing, and held on as Antonio continued down two more steps without her.
“Oh, Averill. You’re not angered, are you? You didn’t believe what Renee said? I swear he makes it up. I am not a womanizer...and even if I was, I would stop the moment you wed me. I swear.”
“Antonio, you’re drunk.”
He hiccoughed into his hand, and then grinned up at her.
“Oh. Not yet, my beauty…but I am working on it. Come now. T
ake my hand. I’ll take care of you. Didn’t I promise?”
He held out his hand. She finally took it. He kept his fingers about hers for the entire trip. She didn’t know what else to do. It didn’t feel lover-like or sensual. He was looking at her with eyes that resembled Dachon’s spaniels. Averill had no experience with a besotted man.
“I love you, Averill, I do. At least…I think I do.”
“You’re too young for me, Antonio.”
“Too...young?”
“And immature.”
His eyes wavered for a moment and then they narrowed. “Not too young to claim an unborn child, though. How could you turn down any suit with such a problem, Averill? How?”
Averill sucked in a breath and looked away. It shouldn’t matter that Antonio had discovered her secret. She couldn’t keep it hidden forever. Aside from which, his proposal hadn’t been earnest. She knew that now. It appeared to be his ploy to get women. But it did mean one thing. Their time together was over. Her time in Venice was over. All she had to do was survive the evening, get her funds from his bank, and disappear.
Strange, how that made everything feel instantly cold. Bereft. Lonely. If he wasn’t inebriated he’d have felt her tremble.
“I think it best if you take me home, Antonio,” she finally said.
He regarded her for long moments, looking surprisingly sober. And then he grinned, grabbed her into a hug, and started laughing, tipping the boat slightly with how he rocked.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The boat docked at another mansion, so brightly lit, it illuminated far into the waterway. It was also alive with noise. Music. Voices. Song. Thumping sounds from drums. Or feet. Antonio stood and shouted while the boat rocked wildly. Averill wasn’t the only one concerned. The gondolier was leaning heavily on his pole to keep them steady.
“Announce me, someone! The Marchese Antonio Dilan-Fiorri has arrived! You may now begin your fest!”
He pulled Averill with him into yet another mansion filled with people. This party was different, though. She realized it as she tried to catch up with Antonio. Less clothing was distributed among the crowd. Averill gasped when she saw a woman dressed as a dancing girl from Egypt. It was almost like the disguise Harvey had procured for her.
