“My, my, this is not at all what I expected,” a female voice said in accented English.
Willie lifted her head and squinted at the light. “Who are you?”
“I would ask you the same thing.” The woman came closer; a man in the shadows behind her held the lamp. She turned and murmured something to him. He set the lamp on the table then strode out of sight to light the sconces on the walls. “But I suspect I know the answer.”
Dante wrapped his arms around Willie and rolled over then raised his head and stared.
“Ah, Mr. Montague, how lovely to see you again,” she said. In the increasing light, he could see her face. She was quite lovely and she too was dressed in the style of the last century. But Dante would wager significant money he’d never met her before. “Or should I say Mr. Quatermain?”
“My apologies, but have we met?” Dante asked.
“No.” She shrugged. “But I know who you are.”
“Would you please move off me?” Willie huffed.
“Yes, of course. Sorry.” Dante scrambled up and grabbed Willie’s hand to pull her to her feet then turned back to the newcomer. “I fear you have me at a disadvantage.”
She laughed. “You Englishmen are so good at the—what is the word? The understatement? Yes, that’s it. I find you on the floor, in the dark, in a room that is locked, with a lovely woman in your arms—”
“I really wasn’t in his arms,” Willie said and adjusted her wig, which was leaning in a precarious manner. “I tripped and he fell and one thing led to another—”
“One thing often leads to another.” The Italian grinned. “It is what makes one thing so very enjoyable.”
“It really isn’t what you think,” Willie began. Dante shot her a pointed look. Much better to claim this was an amorous assignation than the truth. Willie’s eyes widened in understanding then she heaved an exaggerated sigh. “You’re right, of course. This is, well, exactly what it looks like. We thought we were safe here and, well, surely you can understand?”
“I understand many things, Lady Bascombe.” She grinned.
“How do you know my name?”
The gentleman who had lit the sconces returned to the lady’s side. Dante’s stomach twisted.
“A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Quatermain,” Signore Montalvado said wryly.
Dante nodded. “Good evening.”
“Allan Quatermain, how very clever. The dashing hero. The seeker of lost treasure.” She chuckled. “And you are here seeking treasure, are you not?”
“The treasure in question rightfully belongs to me,” Willie said staunchly. “And I demand to know who you are and how you know my name.”
The lady’s eyes narrowed. “You are in no position to demand, Lady Bascombe. And yet—” she grinned “—I like a woman who is not cowed when she is caught with the hands red.”
Montalvado leaned toward her. “It’s red-handed, contessa.”
Contessa?
“Allow me to introduce the Contessa de Sarafini,” Montalvado said with a nod of his head.
“Well, you’re definitely not dead,” Willie said then winced. “My apologies. It’s just, the way your husband talked—”
“My husband says many stupid things. But I shall fool him. I shall live at least one day longer than he.”
Willie snorted back a laugh.
“You understand stupid husbands, do you not, Lady Bascombe?” The contessa studied her curiously. “You would not be here if your husband was not idiota.”
“To my eternal regret.” Willie shrugged.
“I beg your pardon, contessa, but if we have never met,” Dante said, “how did you know who I was?”
“My dear Mr. Montague, while it is most tempting to say I have many ways and allow you to think me most mysterious, the answer is simple and I am not in the mood for games tonight. Well—” her gaze flicked over him in an assessing manner “—not this kind of game.”
Willie choked.
“Last year, no...” She thought for a moment. “The year before perhaps? Giuseppe?”
“Not quite two years ago, contessa,” Montalvado said smoothly.
“Are you certain?”
He nodded.
“Regardless—” she waved dismissively “—it was then that I traveled to London where, among many other things, I visited a tiny museum, molto piccolo, very small. Even so, Giuseppe—” she nodded at Montalvado “—had heard there was an impressive collection of art, including some pieces from Venice. My husband collects but I appreciate. I revere. I cherish. Pietro is noble by birth but has the soul of a peasant. My family was ruling Venice when his was still crawling about in the mud.”
Montalvado cleared his throat.
“Which is not of importance at the moment.” She shrugged. “You can imagine my surprise to find a room with two original Portinaris as well as a copy of the painting my husband had in his possession.” She pinned Dante with a chastising look. “Not well displayed, Mr. Montague, not worthy of the genius of the artist. I saw you at that time but you were engaged in conversation, so I did not think it necessary to introduce myself. You have something of a reputation and who am I to tell a man the painting he displays is not what he thinks it is.”
“That would have been around the time I began as director.” Dante shook his head. “I had no idea then that the Portinari was a copy.”
“How did it come to be in Lord Bascombe’s possession?” she asked.
“It didn’t, not really,” Willie said. “I had no idea he had used it to secure a loan until after he died. It was mine, left to me by my grandmother.”
“The true ownership of the painting is still to be determined,” Dante said firmly.
Willie’s jaw tightened. “The painting is mine.”
“Ah, I see.” The contessa’s gaze shifted between Willie and Dante. “There is much more to this than I suspected.”
A thought struck Dante and he stared. “You were expecting us, weren’t you?”
“You are very clever, Mr. Montague.” She grinned. “But not so clever as I.”
“I shall simply have to try harder, then.”
The contessa laughed. “And amusing, as well. There is much to be said for a man who makes me laugh.”
“I am flattered but somewhat confused,” Dante said. “Your husband—”
“My husband is an ass and perhaps you are little better, no? But then all men are asses.” She studied him curiously. “Forgive me but I speak only the truth.”
“One can’t argue with the truth.” Willie smiled.
“It is worse,” the contessa continued. “Pietro is not always a man of honor, especially when he thinks he will not be caught. But—” she scoffed “—he is not so clever as he believes and he is often caught. I knew when he had the painting copied—”
“When was that?” Dante asked without thinking.
Willie glared. “You just want to know if you were right.”
“Of course I do.” How could she not understand that?
“Approximately three years ago,” Montalvado said.
“I was right.” He grinned.
Willie rolled her gaze toward the ceiling.
“I am most impressed, Mr. Montague, but there is more.” The contessa thought for a moment. “When my husband had the painting copied, I realized he never intended to return it. He was most confident when he heard Lord Bascombe had died.” She cast Willie a sympathetic look. “I hope you did not care for him too much. It is most enjoyable to be a widow. Pietro is my second husband. I look forward to the day I am a widow again.”
“If only for a day?” Willie grinned.
The contessa laughed. “It will be a magnificent day and I shall enjoy it immensely.”
Dante wasn’t at
all sure he liked this turn of the conversation. “You were saying?”
“I knew when he received the letter from Lady Bascombe saying she would soon be here to repay the loan and claim her painting, that Pietro would give her the copy and hope she did not discover the deception until she left Venice, if ever. He did not expect her to be accompanied by an expert in art.” She favored Dante with an admiring look. “Allan Quatermain, very good, Mr. Montague. I liked King Solomon’s Mines very much. Very good adventure.”
“But how did you know we would be here tonight to take the painting?” Dante said.
“First, you should know the ladies of Venice have never through the centuries had any, oh, official power, yet we have always ruled the city nonetheless. In spite of the men.” She cast a disparaging look at Dante.
He was not personally responsible for the treatment of women in Venice in the past thousand some years and rather resented that look. “See here, contessa—”
She waved him silent. When it came right down to it, they were caught with the red hands as she said. He had no right to be indignant.
“And we still do. The world here is not entirely as it appears. Venice has always been a city of undercurrents and illusions, intrigues and secrets. And the women here are nothing if not determined.” She smiled pleasantly. “My eyes and ears are everywhere and Giuseppe has more cousins than I can count.” She glanced at the secretary. “How many?”
Montalvado shrugged.
“Many of whom work at the Grand Hotel. And as gondoliers and tourist guides and any number of other positions. A maid might have noted the unwrapped copy in your hotel room. A bellman might have listened at the door to your meeting last night. In Venice, knowledge has always been power.”
“I see,” Dante said. It was not far-fetched to assume the contessa had had her eyes on them from the moment they stepped foot in Venice.
“I knew as soon as you entered the gallery tonight.” She grinned. “But it was a very nice plan. I would have had someone else steal it for me but then you are English.”
He adopted a modest manner. “And we do like to commit our acts of larceny in person.”
“Oh, that does indeed sound like fun.” The contessa laughed. “You are a charming man, Mr. Montague, and I would like nothing more than to know you much, much better but, alas, we do have a matter to resolve. It is a great shame.”
“Contessa,” Willie asked slowly. “Where is the Portinari?”
Dante’s gaze shot to the wall with the Titians.
The space was empty.
“I took the opportunity to remove it from the frame for you.” She nodded at Montalvado. He stepped to the table, reached under it and straightened with the painting in his hand. The secretary laid the work on the table. “Would you care to examine it?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Dante said.
“Very good, Mr. Montague.” The contessa smiled. “No, it is not necessary, this is the true Portinari. But I would prefer you assure yourself as to the painting’s authenticity nonetheless.”
“As you wish.” Dante moved to the table and examined the work. It was pointless. He knew the moment he laid eyes on it that it was genuine. He turned it over, tilted it toward the light from the lamp and noted the faint edge of a red circle peeking from under the wood supports. He set it down and nodded at Willie. “This is indeed the genuine Portinari.”
Relief washed across Willie’s face. “Excellent.” She nodded and addressed the contessa. “I am eternally grateful but I have to wonder why you are doing this.”
“I have many reasons. As I said, my family is an old and noble Venetian family but Pietro’s family is now mine, as well. I cannot let him sully the name of either of our houses. It is a great pity but his honor shifts with the tides. I would prefer the Portinari stay here as much as he but I could not allow him to cheat you. He has never really understood the sanctity of one’s word as I do. But he is a handsome devil.” She shrugged. “Besides, women, regardless of where they come from, should help one another. There is no one who can understand the life of a woman better than another woman.” She raised a brow at Dante. “I was under the impression you were to substitute the copy for the Portinari.”
He nodded.
“If you will give it to Giuseppe he will arrange everything.”
“I have it,” Willie said and turned away. “One moment...” Her skirts rustled and bunched and then she turned back with the rolled up copy in her hand. She presented it to Montalvado with a flourish.
“Well done, Lady Bascombe.” The contessa nodded. “It will be back in place before the night is over.”
“As much as I am grateful for your help—” Willie wrinkled her nose “—won’t the conte be angry when he discovers the Portinari is gone?”
“Angry?” She scoffed. “He will be livid.” She chuckled. “I cannot wait. But it could be days or weeks or even months before he discovers he has been tricked. And then I will tell him exactly what I have done. Oh, he will rant, he will rave and he will fling things about like a little child. But he knows that in certain circles I have influence that he does not. And he knows he was wrong.
“Now, Mr. Montague, Giuseppe will wrap the painting under your watchful eye and it will be placed in a bag made of silk. Much less obvious than a wrapped painting, do you not think so?”
He didn’t but he nodded in agreement nonetheless. Montalvado wrapped the painting quickly, placed it in the bag and handed it to Dante.
“Their cloaks, Giuseppe?” The contessa nodded to him and he disappeared. “There is one tiny detail, a bit of advice if you will. From me to you.”
“You’ve done so much already.” Willie smiled. “We can never thank you enough.”
“It will, unfortunately, all be for nothing if my husband notices the Portinari is missing too soon. He too has eyes everywhere. Not so good as mine but enough. When are you to leave Venice?”
“Our party had planned to stay another few days and then travel on to Rome,” Dante said.
The contessa winced. “I do not think that is wise. I would suggest you leave Venice at once.”
“Tonight?” Willie asked, a distinct note of unease in her voice.
“No, no, of course not.” She gestured dismissively. “Fleeing in the middle of the night is not necessary.” She paused. “Tomorrow, early, that will do.”
“Tomorrow it is, then.” Willie nodded.
Montalvado returned with their cloaks and handed one to Willie and two to Dante. “The second is for the lady in the hall. The painting will be much easier to carry under your cloak as opposed to under her skirts.”
“One would think.” Dante nodded.
“The rest of your party, including the young man you made to wait outside, has been gathered and they are on their way to your hotel even as we speak. A gondola awaits the two of you and your friend outside the door.”
“Then we should be off.” Dante took the contessa’s hand and raised it to his lips. “Thank you for your assistance. If I can ever be of service, please do not hesitate to call on me.”
“You have a reputation in the world of art, Mr. Montague. It is a pity you choose to devote yourself more to business than to art.” She smiled wryly. “But then, even when Portinari walked the streets of Venice, business and art have always gone hand in hand.”
“The nature of the world, contessa.”
“So it is.” She shrugged. “Might I have a private word with you, Lady Bascombe?”
“Of course.” Willie nodded and indicated the door they’d entered through. “Why don’t you give Jane her cloak, Dante? I’ll join you in a minute.”
“Very well.” He nodded and accompanied Montalvado to the door. What on earth would the contessa want to tell Willie? He didn’t like the idea of that one bit.
&nb
sp; “You are worried,” Montalvado said quietly.
“No.” Dante waved off the question. “Not at all. It’s probably some matter that would only be of interest to women.”
“Venetian women, Mr. Montague, especially those from the old families, are unique and fascinating creatures.” He chuckled. “They rarely discuss matters only of interest to women.”
Willie joined him not more than a minute or two later. They bid their farewells then joined Jane in the passageway. It couldn’t have been more than another ten minutes—the longest ten minutes of his life—before they were safely in the gondola and on their way back to the hotel. No one said a word on their return—probably for the best. He was entirely too tense to say anything remotely rational as he was certain there would be a hue and cry behind them at any minute. Bertie’s comment about leaping from rooftop to rooftop to escape the authorities was no longer as far-fetched as it had originally sounded.
Under other circumstances, sliding through the canals of Venice under the starlight would have been enchanting. As it was he didn’t take a decent breath until they finally reached the hotel. And was there any slower mode of transportation than a gondola? Not in this century.
“What did she say to you before we left?” he said to Willie as they waited for the others in Rosalind’s suite.
“I’m not sure you want to hear.” She stood in the open doorway to the balcony, staring into the night and the stars reflecting on the Grand Canal.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted to hear anything more.”
“She didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.”
“You’re evading my question.”
“Because it’s really none of your concern.”
He knew even as he said the words they were wrong. “Everything from this point on is my concern.”
“You’re confident of that, are you?” She glanced at him, a slight smile on her lips.
“Not overly confident but...” They had committed—or attempted to commit—larceny together. It was perhaps the most exciting thing he’d ever done. And he’d done it for her. “Yes, I believe I am. We are partners after all.”
The Lady Travelers Guide to Larceny With a Dashing Stranger Page 33
