by Louise Allen
It was too dark to read his face, but Nicholas shifted uncomfortably on the cushions beside her and Cassandra felt a small stab of triumph. So, she had pricked his conscience had she?
But not so much, it seemed, to make him forget his grievances. ‘The wretched chit had the impertinence to lecture me on my behaviour and morals. When I consider that I saved her from the most dissolute, the most diseased rake in London…’ Nicholas had forgotten the woman beside him in his bitterness.
Cassandra was frightened by his vehemence, then remembered Lucia’s suggestion that his anger was fuelled by his desire for her. It seemed difficult to believe, looking at his set profile and stiff back. His hands no longer caressed her, but rested tensely on his thighs.
To her relief, the gondola bumped up against a landing stage and the gondolier jumped ashore to secure it. Cassandra realised they had reached the back of Lucia’s palazzo and set herself to distract Nicholas in case he should recognise their surroundings.
‘You are very quiet, my lord,’ she purred, as he handed her out of the gently rocking boat. She kept her fingers linked with his as she drew him towards the door already standing ajar. ‘Forget your troublesome ward, you are with me ce soir…’ She let the phrase trail off provocatively, and it had the desired effect.
Nicholas gave himself an almost imperceptible shake and smiled down at her as they passed into the darkened hallway. ‘No man could forget he was with you, ma belle,’ he murmured.
His ardour led him to catch her in his arms as they mounted the stairs, spanning her waist with his hands and turning her towards him as he stood on the step below.
The position brought them mouth to mouth. He kissed the corner of her lips, then ran the tip of his tongue around their curve, the strength of his hands pulling her tight against his hard body.
‘Nicholas,’ she protested against his lips. ‘Upstairs… we will be more comfortable upstairs in my chamber.’
‘Then let us make haste, or I swear I will have you here where we stand.’
Cassandra felt the scalding blush sweep from her toes to the roots of her hair. She had never dreamt that the depth of a man’s passion and urgent desire could lead to lovemaking on the stairs. She was reflecting that it was fortunate that the darkness masked her dismay, when he stopped and swept her up in his arms.
‘This door?’ He hardly waited for her nod before shouldering it open.
Cassandra expected him to set her on her feet as soon as he had kicked the door closed behind them. Instead he tightened his embrace, crushing her breasts against the soft linen of his shirt as he bent his head to claim her lips.
This was what she had been waiting for, yearning for, since she had realised her love for him. She tightened her arms around his neck, inciting, compelling with her fingertips.
His mouth was hot, sweet and demanding, invading hers with an intimacy that shocked yet thrilled. Cassandra felt certain that if she did not draw breath in the next few seconds she would surely faint, yet rather than withdraw, he deepened the pressure with erotic expertise, teasing her tongue tip with his own. Her senses spinning, she forgot all her doubts, all her fears, in the tide of her love and longing.
She was aware of him moving towards the bed, although he never freed her lips. He stooped, laying her gently amongst the yielding cushions, and sat beside her.
Cassandra lay fighting to control her tumultuous breathing, watching him through the slits in her mask. A small branch of candles afforded enough light to gild the sheen of perspiration on his taut face, and his eyes glittered greener with desire.
Nicholas watched her for a long moment, deliberately it seemed to her, prolonging the tension in the room. When at last he did move, it was to reach out with one long finger and free the jewel that trembled beneath the lace, caught in the cleft of her breasts.
The merest brush of his fingertip left her quivering with desire. He took the rose quartz between thumb and forefinger, rubbing its cool smoothness gently, insistently, his eyes never leaving her face. While he fondled the jewel, his little finger stroked her skin, gently at first, then with increasing pressure.
A tiny gasp of shock and surrender escaped Cassandra’s parted lips. If he kissed her now, she would be lost, would give herself to him utterly without heed to anything… But it would be worth it, worth anything, if there was a chance he could come to love her, too.
‘Damn these masks,’ he growled, fumbling in her hair for the strings. ‘Intriguing they may be, but they’re damnably inconvenient.’
In a moment they would be face to face, not Nicholas and Antoinette, but Nicholas and Cassandra. Suddenly she knew she, Cassandra, could never do the things that Antoinette would do. To make love to him in disguise would be pointless, empty, wanton. To make love to him as herself, she realised, was impossible.
It would betray her own honour and, in doing so, tarnish everything she felt for Nicholas. He would hate the deception, the lies that had brought him here. The realisation doused her passion more effectively than a douche of cold water. With a sinuous twist, she slipped from beneath his hand and off the bed.
‘When I return, Nicholas,’ she whispered huskily, ‘then you may take everything, beginning with the mask. But I must fetch wine and fruit for later and make certain we are not disturbed.’
‘I’ll wait then, ma belle – but impatiently.’ He swung his long legs up onto the bed and leaned back against the cushions. The smile he sent her was melting with desire as she escaped, pulling the heavy door closed behind her.
She leaned her shoulders against the panels, achingly aware of Nicholas on the other side, fighting to control the urge to run back into his arms, whatever her conscience told her.
Lucia’s sharp hiss brought her to her senses. ‘Why have you left him?’ She was standing at the foot of the stairs as Cassandra ran down. ‘What is wrong? Why are you not in your Niccolo’s arms?’ Her sharp eyes scanned Cassandra’s flushed face.
‘I cannot do it, it would be wrong. Oh, but Lucia, I love him so.’ Her voice broke on a sob.
‘Make haste then.’ Lucia drew her into the chamber where her maid was waiting. The two of them began unlacing the gown, removing the wig and freeing Cassandra’s own hair.
‘Wear this.’ Lucia bundled her into a plain wrapper and began scrubbing at her face with a thick cream. ‘Here, take the rest of the pot and this linen to apply it, check carefully in a good light that there is no paint left around your eyes and hairline. Now go!’
Propelled into the chilly dawn light of the courtyard, Cassandra stopped, looking round wildly. How was she to get into her own palazzo? Then she saw the door standing ajar, Lucia’s influence no doubt. She ran up the steps, then paused, one hand on the heavy iron ring, and looked back. Behind the lighted window, Nicholas’s shadow crossed and re-crossed the room. He was becoming impatient.
Fear lent wings to her feet as she sped towards her chamber. Candles burned on the dressing table in front of the mirror and she stooped to scrutinise her face as she scrubbed the linen over the last remnants of kohl under her lashes. Dragging of the wrapper, she bundled it into the clothes press and kicked the slippers out of sight.
The water in the pitcher on the washstand was cold but Cassandra splashed it over her neck and breast to wash away the lingering scent of sandalwood, replacing it with a splash of her usual innocuous rosewater.
The jewel still hung around her neck. Her fingers were fumbling with the unfamiliar clasp when the front door crashed shut with the force of a thunderclap echoing around the marble halls.
Cassandra whisked into bed, dragging the covers up to her chin, then lay back on the pillows fighting to steady her breathing. Nicholas wouldn’t come to her room, why should he? It was only her guilty conscience that prompted the fear.
As she closed her eyes, she heard him enter his chamber, shutting the door with slightly less vehemence this time, no doubt to avoid waking her. She could chart his progress around the room by his footsteps and the so
und of drawers being opened and closed, his shoes being kicked across the floor with a muttered imprecation. Then there was silence.
She had just started to relax when the connecting door eased open. She caught her breath, then forced herself to breathe deeply and slowly. Between slitted lids, she watched Nicholas in his brocade robe standing on the threshold regarding her. She turned slightly on the pillows to watch him more easily and muttered as though restless in her sleep.
How long he stood there she had no idea, although it seemed long minutes rather than seconds, but he made no move to come further into the room or to speak to her.
In the end, it was her own guilty conscience that made her feign waking. ‘Nicholas?’ She injected as much sleepy puzzlement as she could into her voice. ‘What’s wrong? What time is it?’
He hesitated, one hand on the edge of the door. ‘Nothing, nothing’s the matter. Don’t worry. I’m sorry I woke you.’ But he did not go back through the open door, instead he moved slowly to sit on the end of her bed, his eyes steady on her face.
After a moment, he said, ‘You look tired, Cassie.’
‘I am. I haven’t slept much.’ She looked at him, seeing how the excitements and disappointments of the night had left him drained. ‘Are you all right? You look ill.’
‘I will survive.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Like you, I have had no sleep.’ He fell silent again.
‘Why are you here, Nicholas?’
‘I felt the need to see you, but I didn’t intend to disturb you. Cassie, I’m sorry… I felt, I feel… I should never have shouted at you, never have struck you. I had neglected you, no wonder you felt rebellious.’
‘Nicholas, there is no need for this.’ If he felt guilty, Cassandra felt a thousand times worse. His anger had turned to remorse, but she could feel no satisfaction at his apology. She put out a tentative hand and he took it gently.
‘Coming to Venice was a mistake, I should never have brought you here. It was selfish of me.’ He was patting her hand in a way totally removed from the caresses of an hour ago. ‘Sleep now, we will make more plans tomorrow.’
When he had gone, she let out her breath in a huge sigh of relief. She did not deserve to have escaped the night’s wild masquerade without discovery, she knew that. But she knew also that her heart would never escape the pain of unrequited love. Her fingers touched the jewelled snake and she sat up and unclasped it. The clasp unlatched easily now there was no need for haste.
The gold pooled into a supple coil in her palm and she stirred the jewel with her finger, evoking the touch of Nicholas’s finger on her skin. No, she had not escaped unscathed: she was no longer the innocent girl who had set out on this mad masquerade six weeks before. Love hurt.
Nicholas regarded Cassandra over the rim of his cup. She looked drawn and tired and he cursed himself for having woken her in the early hours. She seemed as heavy-eyed as he felt and she was certainly as silent as they sat down to break their fast at ten o’clock the next morning. The servants, obviously used to the effects of Venetian entertainments on visiting foreign guests, moved with unobtrusive silence around the table, then melted away discreetly.
Last night the overwhelming need to look at Cassie had drawn him to her door. After letting himself be so thoroughly duped by the artful mock-innocence of the young courtesan, he had had to reassure himself what true innocence really was. Cassandra must be about the same age as Antoinette, he supposed, although it was hard to believe as she sat there in prim black suiting, her face scrubbed and her hair tied back in a queue. What a contrast with that silken creature last night. And what a contrast with the scene he interrupted when he had gone looking for Antoinette. The ageing diplomat, flushed and dishevelled, ridiculous in his outrage. Nicholas shuddered and wondered if he was not so ridiculous himself.
Cassandra glanced up from the roll she was crumbling and caught his eye, her expression wary.
‘Don’t look at me like that, Cassie. I’m not angry with you, I told you I was sorry I was so harsh. Don’t be frightened of me.’ Colour flooded her cheeks, and he made his voice more gentle. ‘I was angry because I was frightened for you. You don’t know how dangerous this place can be and you are too innocent to even guess at the viciousness beneath the surface glamour.’
‘No, of course I’m not afraid of you, Nicholas,’ Cassandra said briskly, pushing back her chair and getting up. ‘You said we were leaving, shall I go and direct that our bags are packed?’
‘I have already told Antonio to prepare for our departure,’ he said as he stood. ‘Now I am going out to arrange for our travel papers. Do you wish to come with me? It will be a long and tedious business, I fear.’ He wanted her out of there. Wanted her away from this place that made him act in a way that shamed him.
‘No, thank you,’ Cassie said and to his relief she smiled. ‘I would rather pack my own things myself.’
He met the major domo in the hall below as he was leaving.
‘Tell me, who is the occupant of the palazzo opposite?’
‘La Puttana d’Oro.’
‘The golden whore?’ Nicholas translated.
‘A very great and powerful lady,’ Antonio said drily. ‘And a dangerous one. She is said to have the ear, shall we say, of our most powerful senators. Few dare to cross her, for she has influence with many of the diplomats and ambassadors, and acts herself as their agent.’
‘I see,’ Nicholas said slowly. ‘Perhaps I have an enemy I am unaware of.’ He caught himself thinking aloud and added more briskly, ‘I am not certain when I shall return, Antonio, but make sure all is ready for an early departure tomorrow.’
‘As you command, milord.’
Chapter Seventeen
lf Nicholas would be gone all morning, it would give her the chance to slip across to Lucia’s house and return the wrapper and slippers, Cassandra thought. And she could satisfy her curiosity as to what had transformed Nicholas from lover to penitent.
When she heard the front doors close behind him Cassandra went back to her chamber, folded the slippers and jar of salve into a neat parcel inside the wrapper, tucked the whole parcel under her arm and tiptoed downstairs. Once more the door into Lucia’s palazzo opened as if by magic. Cassandra wondered if the little maidservant was in truth a mute as she gestured her towards the stairs.
The courtesan was in bed, sitting up sipping a cup of chocolate. She looked tired, and for the first time since Cassandra had met her, she realised that Lucia was not in the first flush of youth.
Her skin, now bare of maquillage, was smooth, but there were fine lines at the corners of her eyes. Her hair had been captured into a long plait over one shoulder and the severity of the style emphasised the intelligence and experience in her face.
Cassandra could well believe that she was in the presence of a powerful and influential woman and wondered again at Lucia’s background and parentage.
‘Well, little one? How is your Niccolo this morning?’
Cassandra grimaced. ‘Subdued. Very out of character. I am not used to him like this. He apologised for being so angry with me.’
Lucia smiled, and it was not a pleasant expression. ‘And that does not make you happy that he is no longer cross?’
‘No, it doesn’t. I am sorry to seem ungrateful, Lucia, but I should never have done it, never agreed to such a deception.’
‘It will do you no harm to realise early what hypocrites men are,’ Lucia remarked coldly. ‘And your Niccolo is no exception.’
‘But what happened last night when I had left?’ Cassandra perched on the end of the bed. ‘I expected him to be angry, but he seemed chastened.’
‘A man like that is not used to rejection.’ She laughed shortly. ‘And he came across Sir Humphrey with me. Trust me when I tell you that Sir Humphrey was nothing if not ridiculous. Your Niccolo has the intelligence to see that what is exciting and romantic when you are young and dashing and firm-fleshed, is ludicrous and sordid when one is flabby and ageing.’
Cass
andra was taken aback by the vehemence and contempt in Lucia’s voice. She experienced a flash of pity for Sir Humphrey, and to her surprise, for Lucia, too. The diplomat could not help aging and yet still wanting to experience passion – and she suspected that Lucia feared the march of time deeply for herself.
So, that explained Nicholas’s revulsion – he had seen sex and intrigue away from the glamour of the masquerade as ludicrous and sordid. Suddenly she wanted to be in the fresh air, away from the cloying scents and veiled malice.
‘I came to return these.’ She laid her bundle on the bottom of the bed. ‘And to say adieu, we leave early tomorrow.’
‘Goodbye, little sister.’ The courtesan’s hard face softened. ‘Do not despair. If you want him enough, you will get your Niccolo. Keep on loving him and one day he will realise he loves you, too.’
Cassandra shook her head. ‘No, I do not think he will ever love me. Perhaps you are right and he wants me, but that is not enough. Goodbye, Lucia, and thank you for trying to help.’ She crossed and hugged the older woman, surprised at the sentiment in her eyes.
Cassandra spent the rest of the day alone in her chamber, trying to convince herself she had made the right decision.
Nicholas returned late in the afternoon, a fat portfolio of visas and passes to show for his pains. His encounters with bureaucracy had not, as Cassandra expected, fatigued and irritated him. Instead he seemed stimulated, once more the self-assured Earl of Lydford.
‘It amazes me that we do not require permits to breathe in this city,’ he said as he tossed down the papers for her to look at.
‘How very impressive they are.’ Cassandra ran a finger over one embossed and self-important document in Italian. ‘What is this?’ It looked like an award of nobility at the very least.
