Night Lover

by Rosanna Leo

  “Grazie, Signora,” Claudia said to the elder woman. Nodding and smiling at me, Signora Giorgio exited the dressing room.

  We stood there for several moments in uneasy silence. And then, she smiled. “You came.”

  “Dear one, where else would I go?” I shifted my balance from one foot to the other, not quite sure what to say or how to begin. How does one initiate such an affair of the heart? I had had romances, trifles, but no woman ever commanded my heart the way Claudia did. One glance from her, and my heart thrummed in my chest. “Miss Sebastiano, I wish to apologize once more for the way you were treated at Dawlish Manor. My father can try one’s patience.”

  “I am sure your father is accustomed to more exalted company than mine.” She blushed. “You are good to patronize me, but I fear I was quite out of my sphere in your home.”

  “Nonsense. Your sphere is my sphere.”

  “I doubt your friend Lady Katherine would agree.”

  I stepped closer to her, aching to touch her skin. “Lady Katherine’s opinions mean nothing to me.”

  “They appear to mean something to Conte Ignazio.” Her lips twisted in distaste, marring her pretty face.

  “The devil take them both.” I immediately apologized for my vulgar speech.

  “Never fear, Mr. Dawlish. In a theater, one hears much worse.” She grinned, mischief dancing in her gaze, putting me at ease.

  We shared a laugh and my exuberance quashed all qualms. I had to know if I could ever win her. “Miss Sebastiano, you must have a hundred suitors. Am I correct?”

  Her lashes fluttered over dark eyes. “Alas, there are so many I can barely count them.”

  “Madam, I am in earnest. Are you promised to anyone?”

  She swallowed, her throat alive with delicate movement. “No, sir. I am promised to no one.”

  Her words haunted me the rest of the night, filling me with a euphoria I’ve never known. I took her to a late supper, the benevolent Signora Giorgio our companion. Claudia laughed as she shared stories of backstage intrigue and I could not have been more entranced. Just watching her eat, witnessing the simple act of her cutting her meat, filled me with wonder and foreign need.

  I must make her mine.

  June 11, 1820

  Determined to escape my father’s pique, I went for an evening ride. The ride may not have granted me complete peace of mind, but it helped me express my anger in a physical manner, something I craved, and much better than taking my father by the throat.

  He insists on thrusting the Mortimer woman at me.

  Almost at once, I began to feel guilty for my sinful thoughts. Surely my dead mother would scold me if she could hear them.

  I set out to visit my mother’s grave at St. Bartholomew’s, the village church. Inside the ancient building, all was tranquil and hushed. Only two other individuals lingered there. A woman prayed in one of the pews and the verger, dusting one of the monuments.

  I quietly made my way toward my mother’s grave and stared at the white marble slab. I touched the cold monument, knowing it was the closest I would ever come to feeling her nurturing touch.

  The click of womanly steps sounded behind me. I turned and realized she was none other than the object of my obsession. “Miss Sebastiano. I am surprised to see you. What brings you here?”

  She neglected to answer my question. “I did not wish to disturb you. You seem distracted.”

  “I came to visit my mother.” I indicated the grave.

  “I would like to see her grave. Would you be so kind as to show it to me?”

  Surprised and flattered, I gave her my arm and led her to the white marble stone. Once there, she bowed her head. She shut her eyes and murmured prayers in Latin. A tear came to her eye and I offered her my handkerchief. “I cannot believe you are crying for my mother, a woman you have never met.”

  “I lost my mother, too, Mr. Dawlish. I miss her every day, her and my father. I can surely spare a prayer for your poor mother.”

  For a minute I was speechless. She moved me in ways I did not understand. “You did not say why you were here.”

  “I am loathe to admit the weight of my situation has worn heavily on me, and I sought comfort. There is no Catholic church in Shanley so I came here. With my parents dead, it is my obligation to help my five brothers and sisters. They remain in Venice. I am their sole support.”

  I grieved for her situation. “But have you no other family who can give you some assistance? Surely there must be someone. A friend?”

  “Oh, we have family, but no one who will take in a horde of children. And I will not accept charity. I sing so that I may send home part of my income.” She made a face. “As for friends, they do not offer the sort of assistance I can accept.”

  “What do you mean? Has someone insulted you?”

  “Come now, Mr. Dawlish. When one is on stage, there are so many who wish to take advantage, especially of a friendless girl with no money. I have been insulted by a variety of noble men.” She sighed. “Chief among them, Conte Ignazio Malanotte.”

  I gritted me teeth at the mention of his name.

  “Oh, don’t fret, sir. My virtue is quite intact, but not for lack of effort on the count’s part. He is the reason I left Venice.”

  “What has he done to you?”

  She stared into the distance, seemingly lost in the colors of the stained-glass windows. “I suppose I could have allowed myself to be his mistress. Every time I wondered if my brothers and sisters had enough to eat, I was tempted to go to him. It would have been so easy to accept what he offered. I dare say I am qualified for it.” She looked so weary of the world as she spoke. “He came to me with jewels and lace and silks. I turned away his gifts, every last one. If I had submitted to him, my family would have dined like lords. Yet when he told me what he wanted me to do…oh, it was despicable.”

  My fingernails dug into my palms as I sought comfort in causing pain, even to myself. I wanted to lash out at Malanotte, to leave an imprint of my fists on his face. “I’ll kill him.”

  “No, you mustn’t. He will pay for his sins one day. He pursued me like a man possessed. Everywhere I went, he was already there, waiting for me. I began to doubt my sanity. The count had me followed several times by his servant, and even followed me himself. He was always at the opera, leering at me from his box, coming backstage as often as he pleased. Why, he even came backstage during the actual performances, so as to distract me.” She twitched involuntarily as she spoke, almost as if she were shrinking from that evil man. “When he wasn’t in his box, he sat onstage behind a panel for privileged audience members. How I hated those nights. I would try my best to perform but there he sat, mere yards away. Whenever I moved in his direction onstage, he would reach out to me. He would pull at my gown and try to tear it off. I often heard people in the audience laughing, as if it were all part of the performance. His behavior incensed the conductor but no one wanted to offend the count. He might squander his money on whores, but he still managed to direct some funds at our company.”

  “It is not to be believed.”

  “Believe it.” Claudia shivered. “Every night ended the same way. He always came to my room and made his advances. My refusals only served to arouse him further. He was never happier than when I struggled in his grasp.”

  “Infamous.”

  “When I received the offer to travel to England, I accepted it. And who do I find here but Conte Ignazio? I will never escape him.”

  “I can protect you from him. Allow me to help you.”

  “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Miss Sebastiano. Claudia.” I finally reached for her gloved hand and surrendered to temptation. Clasping her fingers, tilting her slender wrist, I touched my lips to the soft skin above her glove. The touch almost unmanned me. “Can you not guess?”

  June 30, 1820

  Over the next fortnight, I saw Claudia on many occasions. I had the honor of watching her sing Pamina several more times, and enj
oyed each performance more heartily than the last.

  We also continued to meet in the most private place we could imagine, that being St. Bartholomew's Church. Of course, being in a place of worship, our meetings remained chaste. In our usual pew, we held meetings of the mind and heart, rather than of body. We discussed our childhood memories and said things to each other that we had never uttered to anyone else. And each time we met, I felt as those the patron saints in the stained-glass windows heard our whispered conversations, giving us their blessing. No one bothered us in the church. We were, in a way, free.

  I knew I would give a king’s ransom in order to be able to hold her and feel her skin against mine. Every so often, my hand grazed hers, or her thigh settled in next to mine, making me want to kiss her madly. My passion for her grew at each meeting. I hung on her words and marveled at her opinions, so in tune with mine.

  She owned me.

  As if to taunt us, Malanotte spent several nights at the opera in a separate box, often in the company of pox-ridden young whores. Other nights, he escorted Lady Katherine and they spent their time tittering and laughing at the performance. Knowing what I knew of him, of his treatment of my beloved, I despised him. I wanted to put my hands about his neck and squeeze the life out of him.

  Only Claudia kept me on a pure path.

  My friend Will De Courcy accompanied me a number of times. On one occasion, I let him know my feelings for the young soprano. “I’m in love, De Courcy. Completely lost.”

  “God’s teeth! It's not Katherine Mortimer, is it?”

  “What? Don’t talk to me of that harridan.”

  “Good. If you had told me she was your paramour, I would have terminated our friendship. Who is she then?”

  I gazed at her as she glided across the stage. “Miss Sebastiano.”

  “Well, well. Congratulations, dear friend. I hope you find her an amusing and willing partner.”

  “It’s not what you think. Miss Sebastiano is not one of your opera whores. She’s a sweet girl.” I paused. “This one is different. I want to marry her.”

  The leer disappeared from his face. “Marry her?”

  “Of course. She is without flaw.”

  De Courcy guffawed. “You do not love her, Dawlish. You are smitten, just as you’ve been smitten with a thousand other dancing girls. I have heard you profess your undying love before, old friend. Let us call this affair what it is. ’Tis a simple fling, a bit of physical gratification. I am sure the bit of muslin is agreeable enough, but…”

  “I’m telling you she’s different. Besides, I have not laid a hand on her. I wouldn’t dream of compromising Claudia.”

  “Claudia, eh? On a first-name basis, sir? Dear, dear. Whatever will people think?”

  “I care not.”

  “Of course you do. Perhaps not now, but you will. As soon as your father disowns you. Look, men like us don’t need to fall in love. All we require are rich, stupid wives and alluring mistresses. Why make it any more complicated than that?”

  “I used to agree with you, my friend, but not any longer. I cannot think of anything but her. Day and night, she fills my thoughts and dreams.”

  “So will you marry her? I’m sure she is counting on it. After all, you are an eligible bachelor. Her life would be vastly improved in marrying you. She wouldn't have to worry about singing for the next shilling.”

  “You don’t know her, De Courcy. She is not after my money.”

  “Fine. Go ahead and marry your bird of paradise. May you have ten sons from your union and may you be very happy, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Perhaps you should wed the Mortimer woman and be done with it. Her money could buy you a thousand Claudias. I’m sure a few of them would sing for you too, if you like that sort of thing.”

  I let De Courcy chatter on to his heart’s content. After a couple of minutes, I stopped listening. He was wrong. This was love, and I would prove it to the world.

  Chapter Nine

  The sound of pounding on my door rustled me from my Regency stupor. Thinking Lizzy had come back and forgotten her key, I tore myself away from Hugh’s journals and walked to the door. I peeked through the peephole.

  Finn stood there, his angry gaze trained on the door. Even through the tiny hole, I could see the tense lines in his neck. I opened the door, and my shoulder slumped in weariness. “What do you want, Finn?”

  “To talk to you. Now.”

  He barged in and I was forced to step aside. Keeping my hand on the open door, I noted his pale face and the touch of wildness in his eyes. Finn the conductor was always calm and in control, even when lost in his music. This Finn, fueled by emotion, looked as if he’d channeled Beethoven. His short hair stood up in shocks, as if he’d been digging his hands through it. As he stood there looking at me, he cracked his knuckles with an absent-minded air, and I flinched at the quiet popping noise.

  “Stop doing that. Please.”

  “Shut the door.”

  “I’m happy with the door open. Besides, you’re just leaving.”

  “I’m not leaving. Now are you going to shut the door and listen to me, or do I have to shut it for you?” His words, uttered with such vehemence, hung in the air. I half expected him to throw me over his shoulder.

  “All right. No need to get all apex predator on me.” I closed the door, locked it, and crossed my arms over my chest.

  With a glare worthy of Bronte’s Heathcliff, he began to pace. “You need to know something. You need to understand how hard this is for me. Seeing you again.”

  “You hired me.”

  “I know. We’re both adults. I want you to sing for me. But I had no idea how much your presence would affect me.”

  “I get it. It hasn’t exactly been easy for me either, Finn.” In order to stop myself from reaching from him, I picked at my already-ragged cuticles. “We meant the world to each other and we had to say good bye. It’s only normal we wouldn’t come out of it unscathed.”

  “I was never unscathed. You don’t understand.”

  He walked over to me, loomed over me. When I sat before him at rehearsal, it was easy to forget his tantalizing dimensions. So easy to forget how much I responded to his broad shoulders and strong arms and the smile that made me dream. “I understand, believe me.”

  “I don’t think you do.” He reached for my hand and gazed at it while he stroked my palm. “When I left you in Toronto, I had myself convinced it was all for the best. You had your education and career. I had mine. I’d even told myself that people like us were better off unattached. That love got in the way of musical careers.”

  “Sometimes it does.” I knew it. I’d seen numerous singer friends get divorced because their marriages couldn’t withstand the stresses of late nights and tours.

  “And when Mum got sick, I had even more reason to stay close to home and all my spare time, which wasn’t much, went to her.”

  “I would never begrudge you that.”

  “I know.” His voice softened into the low lilt I’d first fallen in love with. “But a couple of months after I got home, the pain of losing you hit me as I’d never expected. I woke up one day, looked around my flat, and was struck by its emptiness. You weren’t there. I’d kept the pain at bay for weeks, not wanting to acknowledge it. All of a sudden, I got knocked off my feet. I woke up that morning, my stomach churned, and I spent the rest of the day vomiting up its contents.”

  “Oh, Finn.”

  “Everywhere I looked, I saw your face. Every voice I heard, I mistook it for yours. As I mentioned before, I had one bad night where I almost drank myself to death, and by all that’s holy, Renata, I fucking welcomed it.”

  I swallowed but could not dislodge the lump in my throat. “Don’t say such things.”

  “It’s true. I was a mess. I couldn’t have felt worse if I’d been living in a pile of someone else’s shit.” He cupped my cheek, teasing my ear with the tip of his finger. “Christ, I missed you so much.”

  “But you nev
er called. Not once. I felt as if you’d just forgotten me.”

  “I could never forget you, but my life had started to crumble. My studies suffered. My Mum worried, and I didn’t want her to get stressed. She had enough on her plate. And finally one of my teachers pulled me aside. He said, ‘Finn Mackenzie, if you squander your education after having come so far, you’re a bigger fool than you look.’” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I had to make a choice. Live with my decision, or sink into a hole.”

  “But we could have stayed in touch.”

  “Yes, we could have. You’re absolutely right. If I’d been a stronger man then, I would have. But in losing you, I realized exactly how much power you had over me. If I avoided you, I could stay strong. But if I’d caved and heard your voice, just once, my heart would have broken all over again. I couldn’t afford to fall back into my pit of despair.” He offered me a sad grin. “Sounds very Edgar Allan Poe, doesn’t it?”

  I didn’t smile. I couldn’t. I understood about pits of despair and didn’t blame him for pursuing his path. I just hated that our paths had deviated.

  “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Lark. If I’d been older, if I’d had a penny to my name, I would have made a life with you. I would have made a beautiful life for you.”

  The lump in my throat pricked at me, making my whole throat feel like burlap. Tears came out of nowhere and Finn kissed them away. “I’m sorry you got hurt, too. If it’s any consolation, I was a mess as well. I think I still am.”

  He gazed at me and whispered. “You’re perfect. Come back to my room, love. Stay with me. Stay with me.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t have said no even if I wanted to.

  »»•««

  “Fuck, you taste so good.”

  As Finn dragged his tongue along my neck, I arched into him and sighed. The moment we’d re-entered his room, he backed me toward the bed. I could remember clothes flying, but couldn’t seem to recall removing them. All I knew was Finn, hot and naked and hard in front of me. I traced his lines, gloried in his strength and when we collapsed to the bed, his sighs were mine.