His Rags-to-Riches Contessa

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘I do not mean an eye for an eye,’ he replied with a smile that made her shiver. ‘This is not a personal vendetta. It is a question of honour, to put right the wrongs inflicted, not only on my father, but on our most beloved city. Also to avenge a betrayal of the very worst kind, for the man who had my father killed was his best friend.’

  Becky stared at the man opposite, utterly dumbfounded. Vengeance. Honour. Righting wrongs. ‘The Procurer didn’t tell me any of this—did she know?’

  ‘Si. It is part of her—her terms,’ Luca replied. ‘What is required and why. She promises complete discretion. I am relieved to discover that she is a woman of her word.’

  His Italian accent had become more pronounced. He was upset. His father had been murdered, for heaven’s sake, of course he was upset! ‘I’m very sorry, perhaps I’m being slow, but I’m afraid I’m none the wiser.’

  Across from her, Luca let out a heavy sigh, making an obvious effort to relax. ‘It is I who should apologise. It is such a very painful subject, I did not anticipate finding myself so—so affected, talking about it.’

  ‘Would you like another cup of tea?’ Becky said, completely at a loss as to how to respond.

  Luca gave a snort of laughter. ‘Tea. You English think it is the cure for everything. Do not be offended. I am not laughing at you, but you will admit, it is funny.’

  ‘I suppose it is,’ Becky said, simply relieved to have lightened the tension in him. ‘You don’t mind if I have a second cup?’

  ‘Please.’

  She could feel his eyes on her as she took her time pouring, adding milk, wondering what the devil she was to make of what he’d told her. She took a sip, and he smiled at her again, a warm smile that made her wonder if she’d imagined that formidable stranger.

  ‘I have been so anxiously waiting your arrival,’ he said, ‘so eager to execute my plan, that I forget you know nothing at all. Naturally, you want to ask questions.’

  ‘But I’ve no right to ask them,’ Becky said, remembering this belatedly. ‘You don’t need to explain yourself, only tell me what it is you require me to do. I’m remembering, don’t worry, that the fee you’ll pay guarantees my unswerving loyalty.’

  Luca got to his feet, leaning his forehead on the glass of one of the tall windows, staring out at the canal. After a few moments’ contemplation, he turned back to face her. ‘This is probably going to sound foolish, but I’d much prefer that you helped me because you wanted to, than because you were obliged to.’

  ‘But I am obliged to, if I’m to earn my fee.’

  He held out his hand, inviting her to join him at the window. Outside, it was growing dark, the light a strange, iridescent silver, so that she couldn’t tell what was water and what was sky. ‘My plan requires you to play cards against this man for very high stakes. He is a powerful and influential figure in Venice. He has also demonstrated that he is prepared to be ruthless. It is not without risk. Did The Procurer explain this to you?’

  ‘She told me if I didn’t like the set-up I could return to England, no questions asked. I won’t be caught, if that’s what you’re concerned about,’ Becky said, dismayed to discover that she didn’t feel anywhere near as confident as she sounded. If Jack hadn’t given the game away, she wouldn’t have been discovered, but it seemed none the less that he’d stolen a bit of her confidence as well as her heart.

  ‘You’ll be in disguise, of course,’ Luca said. ‘It is Carnevale.’

  ‘Carnevale?’

  ‘Carnival. You haven’t heard of it? It is the only time of the year in Venice when gambling is permitted—or at least, when a blind eye is turned. You’ll be wearing a mask and a costume, like everyone else. You will be Regina di Denari, The Queen of Coins, named after one of our Venetian card suits. I thought it was most appropriate, though if you have another suggestion?’

  ‘Regina di Denari...’ she repeated, savouring the sound of it in Italian. ‘I think it’s perfect. So that’s the part I’m to play?’

  ‘One of them.’

  ‘One of them!’

  He laughed softly. ‘It is a very large fee you are to earn, after all.’

  ‘Not large enough, I’m beginning to think,’ Becky retorted. ‘How many other roles are there?’

  ‘Only one, but it will be quite a contrast to the Queen of Coins.’

  ‘How much of a contrast?’

  ‘As day is to night. Like Venice herself, you will have two faces to show to the world. You will be two very different women. Do you think you can manage that?’

  ‘Of course I can.’ She wished he wouldn’t smile at her like that. She wished that his smile didn’t make her insides churn up. She wished that the view from the window wasn’t so strange and beautiful. She couldn’t quite believe that she was here, that here was even real.

  ‘I can’t quite believe you’re here,’ Luca said, as if he’d read her thoughts. ‘Are you real, Becky Wickes?’

  ‘As real as you are. And I admit, I’m not at all certain that you are. Maybe this is a dream and I’ve conjured you up.’

  ‘I’m the one who has been dreaming, dreaming of vengeance. Now that you are here, I can finally act.’

  ‘It’s me who has to act,’ Becky said, attempting to bring the conversation back to business, trying to ignore the effect the closeness of Luca’s body was having on hers. ‘You still haven’t told me what my other role is.’

  ‘You will play my painfully shy and gauche English cousin.’ He reached out to brush her hair back from her forehead. He barely grazed her skin but she shivered, though his fingers weren’t in the least bit cold. ‘You are just arrived in Venice,’ Luca continued. ‘Here to acquire a sprinkling of our city’s sophistication, and to provide my mother with some company from her homeland—my mother is English, you know.’

  ‘It’s one of the few things I do know.’ Becky’s head was whirling. ‘You want me to play a lady?’

  ‘A young, beautiful lady, who looks out at the world through those big violet eyes with such charming innocence, who understands none of the intrigue going on around her. Venice is a city full of spies, secret societies, informers. Your arrival will have already been noted, so I must plausibly explain your presence, Cousin Rebecca.’

  Was he aware that his hand was still resting on her shoulder? Their toes were almost touching. She could see the bluish hint of growth on his cheeks where he had shaved close to his narrow beard. Was this some sort of audition for the part she was to play? But which part? ‘In England, if I really were your cousin, you would keep your distance. Are things so very different here?’ Their gazes were locked. This was the oddest conversation she’d ever had. Saying one thing. Thinking something else. At least she was, and she was fairly certain he was too. ‘The way you’re looking at me, it’s not at all cousinly, you know.’

  He flinched, immediately stepping back. ‘Mi scusi. You must not think I assume because I pay for you to come here that you must...’

  ‘I don’t.’ It hadn’t even occurred to her, though perhaps it should have? But even though she’d only just met him, Becky didn’t think that Luca del Pietro was the type of man to take advantage. Not that she’d any intention of allowing him to.

  Her head really was whirling. She needed time to think, to try to make sense of all that Luca had told her, and to work out what the many gaps were in his story. She needed time to adjust to her surroundings. She was in a foreign country in a floating palace, for heaven’s sake, with a count who wanted to avenge himself on the man who had killed his father. ‘This whole situation is very strange,’ Becky said.

  ‘Of course it is, and I have not made a very good job of explaining it. I suspect you would benefit from a rest. I will have you shown to your room.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It will be just the two of us dining tonight. My mother...’ Luca hesitated. ‘I thought it pru
dent for her to be otherwise engaged. I was not sure, you see, until I met you...’

  ‘Whether I would pass muster,’ Becky said. ‘Does this mean that I have?’

  ‘You have, and with flying colours, I am delighted to say, because I don’t know what I’d have done if you had not. I think that we will work very well together. And before you say it, I know that I have not explained what it is I want you to do or even why, not properly, but I will. Tomorrow, I promise. You will stay, won’t you? You will help me?’

  He wasn’t pleading, exactly, but he wasn’t at all sure of her answer. He wanted her, Becky Wickes, to help him, the Conte del Pietro. More than that. He needed her. It made her feel good. ‘Of course I will,’ Becky said. ‘I’ve come all this way, haven’t I? You think I’d turn my back on the small fortune you’re going to pay me?’

  ‘The money means a great deal to you? No, don’t answer that, it’s a stupid question. You would not be here otherwise, would you?’

  ‘That sort of money, to a woman like me, it’s life-changing,’ Becky said, using The Procurer’s words.

  ‘I have never met a woman like you, but I’m very glad you are here. I think we are going to make an alliance most formidabile.’

  He lifted her hand to his lips. Still holding her gaze, he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. The rough brush of his beard, the softness of his lips, was like everything else since she’d arrived, an odd, exciting contrast. Her insides were churning, but Becky managed a cool smile. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be late for dinner, especially since I’m meeting my cousin for the first time.’

  Chapter Two

  A maid showed Becky to her bedchamber on the next floor of the palazzo. As the double doors were flung open, she was about to say that there must have been some mistake, before remembering just in time that she was supposed to be Luca’s well-born cousin. She supposed the servants had been informed of this, and wondered what on earth they’d make of the shabby wardrobe of clothes she’d brought with her. Lucky for her that she spoke no Italian. It was best not to know.

  ‘Signorina?’

  She followed the maid into the room, abandoning any pretence of being at home amid such grandeur as she gazed around her, almost dancing with delight. The vast bedchamber was painted turquoise blue, the same colour seemingly everywhere, making her feel as if she was underwater. Pale blue silk rugs. Blue hangings at the huge windows. They were drawn shut, but Becky guessed they must look out on to the canal. The view would be spectacular in the morning. For now, the room was lit by another of those massive glittering chandeliers. The bed was a four-poster, and bigger than the room in the rookeries she called home. It was so high, so thick with blankets and luxurious quilts, that she reckoned she’d need a step to climb into it. The bed hangings matched the curtains. She couldn’t resist smoothing her hand over them. Damask, embroidered with silk. Would there be silk sheets? She was willing to wager that there would be. Never mind playing Luca’s cousin, this room was worthy of a princess.

  What wasn’t blue was gold—no, gilt, that was the word. Little chairs that looked too dainty to be sat upon. A marble-topped washstand. And a mirror. Catching sight of her reflection brought Becky crashing back to earth. She’d bought her dress in a London street market, second-hand but barely worn, using a chunk of the sum The Procurer had given her to cover her expenses. She’d thought it a good buy, but now even the chambermaid looked better dressed. What must Luca have thought? And what on earth did Luca expect her to change into for dinner, which now she thought about it, was bound to be an ordeal. The opportunities to embarrass herself when it came to etiquette were endless. She owned one evening gown, but it had been bought with the gaming hells of St James’s in mind. Her card sharp’s costume, revealing far more than it concealed, was designed to divert players’ attention from her hands. It was totally inappropriate for dinner with Luca. His demure, innocent English cousin would not own, far less wear, such a provocative garment. Thank the stars she hadn’t packed it.

  There was a copper bath placed in front of a roaring fire. The maid was erecting screens around it, laying out towels to warm. Becky hadn’t expected to be living in the lap of luxury like this. Mind you, it was a double-edged sword, for even as she was relishing her surroundings, she was on tenterhooks, terrified she’d make some terrible gaffe that would give her away. If only she could dismiss the maid, she could explore properly, throw herself down on to that huge bed and see if it was as soft as it looked, take off her boots and her stockings and curl her toes into the rugs. There would be time enough, she supposed, when everyone was in bed. Her stay here was going to be short-lived, so she should make the most of it while she could. Though she was definitely not about to permit the woman to undress her. Let her think it was an English peculiarity. She was more than capable of undoing her own stays and garters.

  ‘No, grazie,’ she said, shaking her head decidedly, slipping behind the screens. Now she could enjoy some privacy, and she wouldn’t have to watch the maid’s face as she surveyed Becky’s meagre wardrobe, searching in vain for evening wear. Quickly ridding herself of her travelling clothes, she sank into the steaming water with a contented sigh. Were these rose petals? And on the little table, beside another jug of hot water, perfumed soap and some sort of oil.

  She closed her eyes, allowing the heat to relax her tense limbs and soothe her jangling nerves. She tried to imagine herself playing the lady, all simpering blushes and saucer-eyed wonder. It would be much more of a challenge than the other part she was to play. The Queen of Coins. ‘Regina di Denari,’ she mouthed silently. It sounded much better in Italian. Imperious. Seductive. Like this city. And like Luca, a handsome devil, with a smile that ought to be outlawed.

  It wasn’t like her to be having such thoughts. Perhaps she had become infected by Venice’s mystique, the magic in the misty air. She had never been free with her favours—quite the contrary—until Jack came along and stole her heart. It made her cringe now, remembering the way her heart fluttered when he smiled at her, the way she’d gaze at him all starry-eyed, only happy when he was happy, miserable when he was not. She’d loved him, there was no denying it. Their kisses had been lovers’ kisses—or so she’d thought. At any rate, they were the only kisses she had shared in all of her twenty-two years, and the only ones she’d been interested in, until now. Luca’s kisses, she was willing to bet, would be very different.

  Becky’s eyes opened with a snap. She was not interested in kissing Luca. She was going to stop wallowing in this bath, indulging in idle speculation and slowly turning into a prune. Panicking that she would be late for dinner, she sat up, sending water splashing on to the surrounding mats, and picked up the soap.

  * * *

  ‘Signorina Wickes, Conte del Pietro.’

  Luca, who had been carefully twisting the cork to open a bottle of Prosecco, turned as the library doors closed on the servant.

  ‘Must they announce me every time?’ Becky asked, hovering in the doorway.

  ‘I’m afraid formality is the order of the day in palace life. Though I must admit that every time they call me Conte del Pietro, I look over my shoulder expecting to see my father. Are you coming in, or do you plan to have your dinner delivered to you in the doorway?’

  ‘It’s just that you’re all dressed up and I’m not.’ Becky held out the skirts of her gown. ‘I don’t have any evening clothes. Sorry.’

  She was smiling and glowering at the same time. Embarrassed. Luca cursed his own stupidity for having donned the knee breeches and coat that was the custom for dinner at the palazzo. ‘It is I who should apologise. This,’ he said, indicating his apparel, ‘is what my father would have considered appropriate, and my mother still does. Neither are here, for very different reasons. Please, come in. To me you look perfectly lovely.’

  ‘It’s the servants’ opinions I’m more concerned about,’ Becky muttered. ‘I d
idn’t know I’d be living in a palace.’

  ‘Venice is a city of many palaces.’ Which was true, but hardly the point, Becky was clearly thinking, though she refrained from saying so. As the cork popped from the bottle with a sigh, Luca set it down, torn. The Procurer’s terms forbade him from asking any questions. Cursing her strict rules of engagement, he poured two crystal flutes of the cold sparkling wine and held one out to Becky. ‘Prosecco,’ he said. ‘Our Italian version of champagne. Personally, I consider it to be superior. Salute,’ he added, clinking glasses. ‘Here is to your arrival in Venice.’

  ‘Salute,’ Becky repeated in a perfect imitation of his Venetian accent, taking a cautious sip, screwing up her face in surprise as the bubbles burst on her tongue.

  ‘You’ve never tasted champagne, I take it?’ Luca asked.

  ‘No.’ She took another sip. ‘But I like this. Have you told the servants that I am your cousin?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘What were you going to tell them if you’d decided I wouldn’t suit?’

  Luca grimaced. ‘I have no idea, I preferred not to consider such an outcome. A sudden family illness back in England forcing you to return, I suppose. But you do suit, so fortunately I don’t have to tell them anything.’

  ‘Except maybe explain why the cousin of one of the richest families in Venice has the wardrobe of one of the poorest families in England.’

  She tilted her chin at him, there was a flash of defiance in her eyes, yet he was certain now that she was embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry,’ Luca said. ‘I simply didn’t think. It is easily remedied. Mia madre, my mother, she will arrange it.’ He shook his head as Becky made to protest. ‘We will say that your luggage was lost in transit, or that your parents wished you to be attired on the Continent, since it is well known,’ he added with a sly smile, ‘that the English know nothing of couture.’