Venice

by Lynne Connolly

  He smiled at me, not the unfocussed smile he used earlier, but a proper one. “Tolerably, my love. A gentleman should always be able to hold his drink. I’ve drunk much more than this and kept upright for a lot longer. However—” He leaned across me then and without warning kissed me deeply. “Never with such a beautiful companion.” He leaned back again, his arm around my shoulders and gazed at me, smiling blissfully.

  When I gazed closely into his eyes, I saw they were slightly blurred, the sharp, alert look gone, but that was the only way I could tell. That and the fact that he’d kissed me with passion on an open, well-lit gondola on the busiest thoroughfare in Venice. I was still reeling with shock. I dared not turn around to see how Carier and Nichols were taking it, though I could feel their eyes boring into my head from where they sat silently behind us.

  I loved my husband drunk or sober, but he might be much more dangerous drunk. I don’t know why I should think that, perhaps the reckless air about him.

  He kissed me again, only breaking away at the slight bump when we arrived at our destination. Once I had successfully disembarked he seized my hand and ran upstairs with me, nearly tripping me up on the hard stone stairway. When I stumbled, he swung me up into his arms and carried me the rest of the way, but I was laughing by then, not being entirely sober myself.

  Gervase was nowhere in sight but we must have made enough noise to wake him. We ran through to our dark bedchamber. Richard immediately went to the windows and flung open the shutters, clanging them against the wall as he misjudged the strength needed to open them. Then he turned and held out one arm invitingly so I went and stood within its shelter.

  “Venice by night.” His breath was hot on my ear. We stood and watched it together.

  The water was black glass, gleaming in the sharp lights from the buildings and shipping. The gondolas, large and small, going busily up and down left trails of sparkling light behind them. The sky was such a deep blue, rich and close to black. I vowed to find a velvet just that colour and immediately despaired of it. It didn’t exist. The stars were brighter than diamonds could ever be, their sparkling pinpoints reflected in the water below. In the lights in the buildings on the other side of the Canal we could see people moving against the blinds, ignorant of our scrutiny. They didn’t care who we were, only concerned with their own lives. The night, brights and darks running over their walls reflected by the movement of the water, shadowed the honey colour of the buildings. Nothing was still, the movement of the water where we were used to seeing a road gave everything mobility, made anything seem possible.

  We turned to each other at the same moment. He took my face in both his hands and we kissed hungrily, not caring who might see, lost in passion. His hands moved over me, pushing aside my clothes to get to the naked flesh beneath.

  It was the first time we didn’t strip completely, only shedding clothes as they got in the way, taking off each other’s and our own indiscriminately. Love took a back seat that night, never forgotten but waiting its turn as our bodies demanded attention.

  This is what it must have been like to be his mistress in the old days. To liberate so much passion behind Richard’s cold exterior must have been immensely exciting and a victory for the woman who could unlock it. This would be how he managed for so many years without a close companion, moving from woman to woman so none should keep a hold on him, so he was still free. This must have been what he meant when he planned to marry Julia Cartwright, a woman who would never mean more to him than the brood mare his family demanded of him. It would have left him free to pursue his instincts as and when he needed.

  His hands moved over my bare skin, impatiently moving aside the fine linen to touch me and bring me to readiness for him. His coat was tossed aside, then I went to work on the buttons of his waistcoat, feeling the fabric give when I tore them away in my haste. I needed to touch him, as he touched me.

  I wanted him as much as he wanted me, the fire inside me only demanding, giving no quarter. On the floor, in the dark, lit only by the transitory light of the torches on the passing gondolas, he entered my body, only pausing to make sure I was ready with an impatient touch. I arched up to receive him, lifted my legs, shoving away the fabric between us, offering him everything I had. We coupled as violently as I had ever known in my short experience, surrounded by the litter of our cast off clothing.

  I cried out over and over as climax after climax hit me with the intensity of instantaneous release, Richard calling encouragement and endearments.

  Time ceased to have any meaning. Only this mattered, the fulfilment of burning desire. I couldn’t bear it when he left my body but it was only to guide me into new positions. They varied my response, sometimes more intense, sometimes long and drawn out, exquisite for the torture of slowly building to that shattering conclusion.

  A week before I was happy to tentatively explore, to try to love him, but now I wanted him with no frontiers to passion. I would have done anything to achieve it, everything he demanded of me I was willing to give, but I demanded as much as I gave, encouraged by his hands, his groans. The throaty chuckle I loved only drove me on to do more, to demand more from him. We found a footstool, used it creatively as I sat astride him, rocking myself to completion, his hand between us, urging me to diamond sharp orgasms, coming so quickly they became one long, agonising fulfilment. We exchanged no words. We didn’t need them.

  Eventually I fell to the floor exhausted, bathed in sweat and lost in myself, the tumult only slowly subsiding inside me. My heart pounded and my breath was still unsteady. I wasn’t sure where he was until I heard him move and curse softly.

  “Damned stays! Why do they have to have quite so many bones?”

  I saw him then, a moving shadow on the floor, pulling my stays out from under him and casting the offending garment across the room. I laughed weakly. He stood and came over to me, knelt to put his arms around me. “The power of a few bottles of wine.” He gave me a soft kiss me. “Did I hurt you?”

  “Not a bit. But I think I might have hurt you.” I touched his shoulder, where there was a red mark from a bite I couldn’t remember giving him.

  He turned his head to see it and laughed. “An honourable wound. And if the philosophers are right love is a war to the death.” Then he turned back to me.

  I could see the sparkling light in his eyes but the lower part of his face lay in shadow. I must have been all shadow to him, lying on the floor in the middle of a tumbled heap of clothing. “Did I fight well?”

  He kissed me. “Better than I would ever have hoped for.” He shifted then, stood up and held out his hand for me to take. “Come on. Let’s get into bed.” I took his hand and let him pull me up, and we climbed into bed where we settled happily together. I noticed the mess we’d made on the floor then and I thought I should try to put it to rights, but decided I was much too comfortable to move any more. I turned to him to kiss him goodnight. “I love you.”

  I fell asleep, only vaguely aware of his murmured, “Sleep now, my only love, my sweet life.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE NEXT MORNING IT was Richard’s turn to feel ill. I woke up first and saw the clothes were still there, tumbled on the floor, so I turned over and went back to sleep. I roused later when Nichols came in and silently picked over the clothes, separating them into his and mine before taking them away. I felt remarkably fresh, considering the late night and I asked her if she had seen Gervase yet.

  “Yes, my lady.” She spoke quietly, so as not to wake up my lord, breathing heavily by my side, “He’s been up for an hour or two.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Just after nine, my lady.”

  I opened my eyes wide, surprised, then I thought over the previous evening. Not the latter part, but the Lockes’ disastrous gaming. I had better tell Gervase. I asked Nichols to sort out some of Mrs. Locke’s clothes for me and threw back the covers when she left the room.

  Richard’s hand gripped my wrist. “Where do you
think you’re going?” He turned over and pulled me back to him, so I went, smiling my good morning. “It’s getting late. And last night you said the Ravens would probably come to see us today, so Gervase needs to know.”

  “They won’t come this early.” He pulled me closer for a kiss, then screwed up his face in pain. “Oh, God!”

  “Headache?”

  “Two, I think.” He closed his eyes again. “If they come early, we’re not at home. I can’t face them like this.”

  “Oh, my love, I’m so sorry, can I do anything?”

  He kept his eyes closed. “Coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.” Before I could leave the bed, he held me to him and opened his eyes cautiously. They weren’t as clear as I was used to seeing them. “It was worth every pang, my sweet,” he murmured and pulled me down for a kiss. I laughed and left him to wash and dress and order his coffee.

  Gervase arched his brows in surprise when I appeared at the breakfast table in the plain and dowdy dress of Mrs. Locke, but as I told him about our evening and we thought they would call, his brow cleared. “Then perhaps you should think about the drawing room, if that’s where you want to receive them. It’s much too fine for the Lockes, small though it is.”

  My hand flew to my mouth. I sent for Carier who listened and nodded. “I’ll see to it right away, my lady.” I stopped him before he left the room. “How’s his lordship?”

  “Sitting up, feeling better, my lady. Still drinking coffee.”

  He left the room and Gervase turned to me, laughing.

  “He sent some of our wine round in his guise as Locke,” I said. “We must have drunk most of it last night. He’s not feeling too well now.”

  Gervase laughed again. “But you’re as fresh as a daisy, Rose. Didn’t you indulge quite so much?”

  “No. But I was Mrs. Locke, you see. She wouldn’t have the head for it. Richard wanted to give the impression he was out of control.”

  “Was he?”

  I smiled, thinking of something else. “By no means.” I coloured up.

  The smile left Gervase’s face and he took my hand across the table, holding it warmly in his. “Is this too much for you? Shall I find somewhere else to stay?”

  I shook my head and released his hand. “No, I don’t mind.” It wasn’t entirely true. After all those years thinking of intimate relations as something for other people, something I wasn’t meant for, the recent deluge of it and its relatively public knowledge, was still uncomfortably trying to settle in my mind.

  Gervase must have heard us last night and even with the gauze over the windows and the darkness of the room, someone might have seen us. I wasn’t ashamed but I did feel something akin to it. I would have to cope with it myself, so I resolved to ignore it, to give my husband the respect and love he deserved, without stint. He must always come first.

  When we were about to finish our meal, the door opened and Mr. Locke came in. He looked better, if not quite himself. Richard met his brother’s gaze levelly. Gervase laughed at him. “There has to be a payment.”

  “Not too severe, though.” Richard sat down by me and reached for the coffee-pot.

  “You should try drinking too much in a hot country like India,” Gervase commented. “The stuff seems to dry the blood. I drink some boiled water before I go to bed. It helps.”

  “Does it?” Richard asked with some interest. “I might try it, one day. If I can stomach it, or if I haven’t anything better to do.” He didn’t look at me, but I knew what he meant. I was forced to pay my toast more attention than it merited while my palpitating heart settled.

  The maid brought more coffee and we sat over the remains of our breakfast while the servants cleared up around us. We discussed the events of the previous evening and our plans for what was to come. Gervase was eager to take a part, but he must stay hidden for the time being. He said he was feeling restless here in the apartment, not used to the confinement.

  Richard had an idea. “Why don’t you take one of my coats and wigs and go out as me? Freddy and I still have some practising to do and Rose hasn’t seen St. Mark’s Square yet.”

  Gervase could hardly believe that. “What? All this time and you haven’t seen the glories at the end of the Canal?”

  Richard shook his head, smiling. “I know that’s the first place you would have headed for, but we’ve only been out once, to the Rialto.”

  “At least you’ve seen that, then.” Gervase was an art lover and it must be inconceivable to him that we hadn’t immediately made a beeline to the beauties of the place, bride-trip or no bride-trip. “I would be honoured to show you, Rose.” He frowned. “What if we see someone we know?”

  “You always used to be able to pass yourself off as me,” Richard said.

  Gervase touched his face ruefully. “Not any more, not to anyone who knows us at all well.”

  Richard smiled. “True enough. Go as yourself, then. If anyone sees you they’ll be happy enough. We’re only concealing your presence from a very small section of society here and if you’re unlucky enough to come across them, you can always bluff it out. They aren’t expecting Mr. Locke to have a twin, are they?” He smiled at Gervase, no shadows in his expression. “Brother, I know you well. You won’t be able to stay here much longer, if you don’t see St. Mark’s Square and the Ducal Palace, the Library and the Ca’ d’Oro.” He was waving the treasures of Venice in front of Gervase’s eyes like a worm in front of a fish.

  “Stop, stop!” Gervase laughed and held up his hand. “I submit, I’ll join your schemes. I’ll be delighted to show Rose those things you’ve shamefully neglected.”

  “Should you like to go?” asked Richard of me.

  “Very much,” I replied. “You make them sound irresistible.”

  He took my hand. “Irresistible lies somewhere else. But you might like it enough to go again with both of us in while. You couldn’t wish for a better guide than Gervase. He knows everything there is about these places. You must take Carier and Nichols. I’m safe enough here, but you may need the extra help.”

  “Do you think there’s any danger?” Gervase asked sharply.

  Richard met his eyes. “Not really. Carier and Nichols will make sure you’re not followed back here. Believe me, Gervase, I wouldn’t let Rose go into any kind of danger.”

  Gervase wouldn’t release him from his searching gaze, but after a moment, he relaxed and looked away. “No, I don’t think you would. You’re probably right. We’ll be safer if I go as I am and no one would dare attack us in places as public as that.”

  “You’ll be doing us all a favour,” Richard said wryly to me. “If Gervase is cooped up anywhere for very long he starts behaving like a caged tiger.” I smiled, glancing at Gervase who nodded in agreement. “I can practise my new skills, love, knowing you’re not bored and you will see the glories of Venice with the best guide I can think of.”

  I looked forward to the excursion, not least because we would go after the visit we expected from the Ravens. We left the dining room to the ministrations of the servants and I went to see what Carier was doing to the drawing room.

  He was in the process of directing a footman to roll up the rug, leaving just the polished floor. The ornaments had been removed and some of the silver, together with a fine Venetian mirror that usually hung on the wall opposite the windows and a small portrait of the twins that would have given our game away at once. The bare spaces on the walls had been replaced with unexceptional, dull landscapes. They had removed some of the little tables and masked the finer furniture with covers and drapery. It still looked attractive but some of the more expensive embellishments were gone.

  None of the servants wore livery here, so we were as ready as we would ever be for our expected visitors. We were at home to no one else.

  I settled in a chair with a book, wondering if Richard and Carier were right, if they would come today, or if we had it all to do again tomorrow. I hoped the Ravens would come today; now the expedition to see the beauties
of Venice had been proposed, I was eager to go.

  The Ravens were too wily to hurry over; they would want to see us squirm and worry for a while. It would soften us up nicely, but they were not wily enough to give it a day. They arrived mid-afternoon.

  Richard came into the music room where I was picking out a new piece and told me he’d just seen their vessel approaching our landing stage. We hurried into the drawing room and turned out poor Gervase, who had settled nicely with a copy of Doria. He took his book out to the balcony just as the knock fell on the outer door and Carier, prompted by Richard’s nod, opened it.

  It was Mr. Ravens on his own and he looked around as he was shown into the drawing room. He took his time studying the room and asking after our health. He seemed satisfied with what he saw and bowed to us. We bowed back gravely.

  A maid brought in a tray, set with tea and the usual little bits of refreshment. She put it down on the only tea table left in the room and left, remembering not to curtsey too low and giving Mr. Ravens a cheeky smile as she made her obeisance to him. I busied myself pouring the tea and Richard and Mr. Ravens politely discussed the weather until we were ready.

  We let him open the subject.

  He withdrew something from his pocket and let a pile of notes fall on to the table, next to the tea tray. “I am sure, as a gentleman, you would like to know the reckoning.”

  Richard let his gaze linger on the notes. I let my mouth fall open in horror. “Of course,” said Richard. “We don’t wish to be in debt to you, my lord, we value your acquaintance too much for that.”

  “The full value amounts to ten thousand and fifty pounds,” said Mr. Ravens. We let the silence fall. I clenched my hand where it lay on the arm of the chair until the knuckles went white.

  Richard, sitting in a chair next to me let his features go rigid. “I had no idea it was that much.”

  Mr. Ravens smiled broadly. “You have had some trouble in the past, I believe, Mr. Locke.” He lifted his tea dish and watched Richard over the rim.