His Rags-to-Riches Contessa

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘I would love to see that.’

  ‘You shall. Though Cousin Rebecca cannot risk her innocence at Carnevale under cover of darkness, it would be cruel to deny her the delights to be offered at San Marco in the daylight. Do you wish me to tie up here so you can have a closer look?’

  Becky eyed the crowds with little relish. ‘We would most likely encounter acquaintances of yours, wouldn’t we?’

  ‘I have been away from Venice for so long I doubt it, but friends of my parents, almost certainly. Would you prefer to go for a stroll somewhere away from the crowds, with no need to play Cousin Rebecca?’

  ‘I’d love to, though I can’t imagine where. I thought London was crowded. I’ve never seen so many buildings crammed into such a small space. No wonder there are so many gardens on the roofs, there’s nowhere else to put them.’

  ‘But we do have a beach,’ Luca said, turning the gondola away from the view of San Marco, towards the long narrow spit of land known as the Lido. ‘The English poet Lord Byron won a swimming race from the Lido to here, I am told. Not content with winning though, he swam the length of the Grand Canal too.’

  ‘Why on earth would he do such a thing?’

  Luca shrugged. ‘For certain individuals, being notorious is a vocation.’

  The breeze freshened and the gondola bobbed on the waves. By the time Luca helped her ashore, Becky was glad to feel solid ground beneath her feet. Though she could see no sign of a beach, the open space, the trees and the absence of crowded buildings were refreshing.

  Luca took her arm, leading her along a narrow path directly to the coast which faced out to the Adriatic Sea, and there was the beach. Becky stopped short on the edge of the long strip of golden sand. There were two horse riders galloping away from them in the distance, a clutch of the distinctively shaped fishing boats bobbing on the horizon, but not another soul around. She lifted her face to the breeze, breathing deep of the stinging briny air, pulling off her hat, relishing the way the wind ruffled her hair, tugged at her skirts, making her realise how very constrained she’d been feeling. ‘The sand looks so soft, but I don’t want to spoil my boots walking on it. Do you think I would be beyond the pale if I took them off?’

  * * *

  ‘Why not? Though you will find the sand very cold on your feet,’ Luca said as Becky perched on a rock and began to grapple with the buttons of her pink boots.

  Her hair was escaping its pins, falling in a tangle of ringlets over her face. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes sparkling with anticipation as she set the boots down, wriggling her stocking-clad toes, her smile mischievous as she met his eyes. ‘Turn your back,’ she said.

  He did, most reluctantly, wondering what on earth she could be doing, rewarded, when she caught his arm, with a glimpse of her naked feet, toes curling into the sand. She had closed her eyes, her face tilted up to the weak sun. When she opened them again, her smile was one of pure delight. ‘That feels absolutely wonderful.’

  She looked so delectable, so innocently joyful, that his heart lifted at the sight of her. He was not conscious of the burden he had carried with him since reading his father’s letter, until it lifted momentarily as he smiled down at her, and the world narrowed, so that all that mattered was this moment, this beach, this woman, and the wide expanse of the Adriatic in front of him. The sea had always drawn him. It drew him now, as he caught Becky’s hand in his and began to run with her, headlong along the beach, laughing as they stumbled in the soft sand, laughing at her squeal of surprise as it darkened and firmed towards the water’s edge, where he stopped short, but Becky did not, picking up her skirts and jumping over a wavelet into the sea.

  She yelped. ‘It’s freezing.’

  ‘I did warn you.’

  Another wave caught the back of her legs, making her stagger forward, lifting her skirts higher. Her legs were very pale and very shapely. Luca eyed them appreciatively. ‘Don’t go any further out. The sand shelves so steeply...’

  But it was too late, Becky had already taken another step, which took the water well above her knees. He sprang forward, grabbing her just before she fell.

  ‘Your boots, they’ll be ruined,’ she said breathlessly as he pulled her back on to the shore.

  ‘I have other boots, but only one Becky.’

  Balancing on his arm, she inspected one of her feet. ‘I’m covered in sand.’

  ‘You would have been covered in a great deal more than sand if you had fallen in.’

  ‘My hero.’ She clasped her hands dramatically to her breast, her eyes dancing with merriment. ‘How can I ever thank you, kind sir?’

  For answer, he scooped her up into his arms, holding her high against his chest as she wriggled in mock outrage, then clung to his neck as he began to march back across the sands to the shelter of the small dune where she had left her stockings and boots.

  ‘Put me down, sir, put me down at once,’ Becky said, in her best outraged-fair-maiden voice, gasping in surprise when he did, letting her slide down to her feet, unfastening his cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders. ‘I don’t need...’ she protested.

  ‘I can’t afford for you to catch a chill,’ Luca said, pushing her hair back from her face. He smiled down at her, quite beguiled. He knew that her life had been a constant struggle. He knew that she must be old beyond her years in many ways, having lived amid so much poverty and suffering, yet she seemed so carefree, took such innocent delight in a walk on a beach. He couldn’t bear the notion of her ever returning to that life, though he knew better than to say so.

  ‘What are you thinking, Luca?’

  Her smile was dazzling. He stopped thinking. He pulled her tight up against him. He could have sworn the wind dropped as her eyes met his, and the waves grew silent as she slid her arms around his neck, and then there was a rushing, roaring in his ears as their lips met, and they kissed.

  She tasted of salt. He licked into the corner of her mouth, relishing the way it made her shiver against him. He slid his hands down her back, beneath his cloak. Her new clothes came with undergarments that deprived his senses of her soft curves, until his hands came to rest on her bottom and blood rushed to his groin in response and his tongue sought hers. Their mouths fitted perfectly, matching kiss for kiss as they stumbled in the sand and then sank on to it, their mouths still clinging as Becky lay back, his cloak spread out on the sand, and he covered her body with his and she gave a soft sigh, pulling him closer.

  He dragged his mouth away for the pleasure of looking at her, eyes dark with the passion he knew was reflected in his own, her lips slightly parted. He ran his hand up her flank, past the dip in her waist, seeking the swell of her breast, but encountered only the buttons of her jacket, and beneath that the boning of her corsets.

  His frustration must have shown on his face, for she gave a throaty little chuckle. ‘The attire of young ladies,’ she said, ‘is designed to frustrate all but the most persistent.’

  Luca groaned. ‘It is certainly designed to frustrate.’

  ‘Both parties.’ She pulled his mouth back to hers, kissing him fiercely. He felt himself spinning out of control. Their legs were tangled in her petticoats and the skirts of his coat. He wanted to touch skin and soft flesh, but there seemed to be thick folds of cloth between them. Their mouths clung as he rolled over on to his back, taking Becky with him, and he gave a startled cry as the movement freed her to sit astride him, the aching length of his erection between her legs, though still with far too much material between them. He muttered her name, eyes screwed shut at the pleasure, the astounding pleasure, of just having her there, and then flying open as she leaned forward to kiss him again, and the movement made him throb.

  He felt such a gut-wrenching desire to be inside her, it was almost overwhelming. When Becky ended the kiss, sliding on to the sand at his side, he was lost for words, breathing heavily.

  Beside him, she to
o seemed to be struggling for breath and control. ‘I think it’s safe to say that I now have sand almost everywhere.’

  He pushed himself upright, shaking the sand from his hair. ‘You are not the only one. On the bright side, at least we need not worry about one of my servants discovering us.’

  Becky’s smile was perfunctory. She busied herself brushing the sand off her feet, and he made a pretence of looking away as she put her stockings back on. ‘Is the danger of discovery part of the thrill, Luca?’

  ‘No!’ He whirled back around to face her. ‘The thrill, as you call it, is you, and nothing else.’ Luca picked up a handful of golden sand, letting the grains trickle through his fingers. ‘At the risk of repeating myself, I find you extraordinary. And fascinating. And irresistible.’

  ‘You haven’t said that I’m irresistible before.’

  ‘But I’ve proved it, twice in the space of two days.’

  ‘I’m not a hussy, Luca.’

  ‘Basta! You think I don’t know that? Why would you say such a thing?’

  ‘People assume that women like me, from my background—They think that we’re too poor to afford morals.’

  Luca opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. She held his gaze, such a mixture of defiance and pride in her expression that his heart contracted. ‘Unfortunately some are,’ he said heavily. ‘I cannot claim ignorance of such women. I’ve seen them gathering on the docks as our ship tied up in ports across the world. They do not seek pleasure, such women, they seek money for food, for clothes, for their children. I have never taken advantage of what they offer, and I did not, for one second, think that you were one such, if that is what you are asking.’

  Her lip wobbled. ‘It would be a natural assumption to make. Let’s face it, if I’d really been Cousin Rebecca and not Becky Wickes, you wouldn’t have kissed my hand, never mind...’

  ‘Wanting to kiss you all over?’ Luca shuffled closer, covering her hands with his. ‘It has nothing to do with where you come from, and everything to do with who you are, can’t you see that? I don’t think of you as a hussy or a virgin or anything in between. I think of you only as Becky. Unique. And to me, irresistible.’

  Slipping her hand from Luca’s, Becky leaned back on her elbows, tilting her face up to the watery sun. ‘I’ve never in my life behaved like this before. You’ve turned me into a wanton.’

  ‘You have had exactly the same effect on me, you know.’

  She stole a shy glance at him. ‘In a few weeks I’ll be gone and we’ll never see each other again, and I expect all this will seem like a dream, won’t it? Though actually, it seems like a dream to me most of the time already. And when I go, your life will return to normal. Perhaps you’ll marry the fair Aurora.’

  Luca shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’

  She eyed him curiously, unable to believe that he was so indifferent to such a momentous event as he appeared. ‘You can’t truly believe that a wife chosen in such a manner would make either of you happy.’

  ‘Matrimony here is a matter of convenience,’ Luca said impatiently. ‘I thought I had explained.’

  ‘You did, but—I don’t know, it sounds such a cold, calculated arrangement, and you are neither cold nor calculating.’

  ‘Grazie. You know, marriage such as the one which will be arranged for me, it will be much more successful than those which are made for love. We will have much in common, my wife and I. Shared heritage. Shared traditions. Shared society. Once we have a son, we will both be free to take a lover. After duty is done, then there can be passion. And when that passion has burned itself out, then there are other lovers to be had.’

  He spoke prosaically. His logic, his tone implied, was impeccable. It most likely was, but Becky was repelled. ‘Children aren’t a commodity, Luca, and nor should wives be. How can you be so sure that when the woman who has borne you a son decides to warm another man’s bed, you won’t care?’

  ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ Becky crossed her arms. ‘I don’t understand why it is you must take a virgin bride, but the moment she’s done her duty by you, the chastity that meant so much is completely irrelevant. What happened to the promise to forsake all others, or don’t you make that one in Italy?’

  ‘In my experience,’ Luca retorted, ‘marriages in England are conducted in exactly the same way. The difference being you don’t admit it.’

  ‘That may be the case for those with property and bloodlines to worry about, but for most people, marriage is about love. Having a family, not just a son. Being happy with one person, and not taking a string of lovers.’

  ‘For most people, but not for Becky Wickes?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You are very determined that marriage forms no part of your future.’

  Taken aback at having the tables turned on her, Becky glowered. ‘We were talking about you.’

  ‘And now we are talking about you. Love. Marriage. A family. If that makes for such happiness as you declare, why don’t you want it for yourself?’

  Becky frowned. Surely that was not what she’d said? She had dreamed of exactly that with Jack, it was the reason she’d gone along with his lies for so long, thinking that it might eventually lead her to a happy ending. Aware of Luca’s scrutiny, she sought some flippant riposte, but the words wouldn’t come. She’d learnt her lesson, but she wouldn’t allow Jack to make a cynic of her. ‘I’m happier on my own,’ she said gruffly.

  ‘Though it was not always so, no? This man, your paramour...’

  ‘Proved just that,’ Becky said hastily. ‘That I was better off on my own.’ She didn’t want to talk to Luca about Jack. She was sick of thinking about Jack, and the very notion of him as the loving husband and father she’d once dreamed he would be was ludicrous. Absolutely ludicrous.

  She stared at Luca, a smile beginning to dawn. So many times she’d told herself that she was well rid of him, but until now she hadn’t believed it. ‘Meno male,’ she said, because it sounded so much better in Italian than English. Goodness, it really was true!

  ‘What is it? What are you thinking?’

  Becky shook her head, still smiling, as much at Luca’s confusion as her own thoughts. ‘We should get going, or we’ll be crossing the lagoon in the pitch dark.’

  ‘I have done so many times, I could do it blindfold,’ Luca said, though he followed her lead, getting to his feet, shaking out sand from his coat and cloak again, frowning out over the sea as she set about putting on her boots.

  He remained silent, pensive, as they retraced their steps back along the narrow path to the other side of the Lido. The lagoon was a darker blue now, the sun beginning to sink. Luca lit the lamp in the prow of the gondola, but as she made to clamber on board, he caught her arm. ‘It is different for me. I am not callous but I have no choice but to marry.’

  ‘I do understand that.’ She pressed his hand to her cheek. His skin was warm, hers cold. ‘It’s funny to think, isn’t it, that here you are, one of the richest men in Venice, from one of the noblest families, and you don’t have a choice in the matter, while I, who don’t even know who my father was, can do as I please.’

  This time he made no move to prevent her as she climbed into the gondola, leaping lightly in after her, unfastening the rope from the jetty and fitting the oar into the rowlock. The waters were still, the air at that stage between day and dusk where it seemed to be holding its breath. Becky—in the seat facing towards the city, where the lights were beginning to appear—shivered.

  ‘Take this. I don’t need it, the rowing will keep me warm.’

  His cloak fluttered on to her knees. After a moment’s hesitation, she wrapped herself in it, twisting around in the seat to look up at him. ‘Grazie.’

  He shrugged, clearly still brooding on their previous conversation. ‘For centuries, the Venetian nobility have be
en arranging successful marriages in the traditional way. Why should I be an exception?’

  Her questions had unsettled him. What right had she to question his life, his future? ‘It’s none of my business, Luca. My only wish is for you to be happy.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

  Why indeed? And why should she care! But she did. Becky sighed, turning her back on him. ‘I fervently hope that you will be, Luca.’

  Chapter Seven

  For her first visit to the opera, Cousin Rebecca wore a rose-pink satin evening gown with an overdress of white muslin embroidered with leaves and flowers. A chemisette made of the same muslin, worn under the gown’s low-cut décolleté, covered every inch of flesh at her bosom and protected her maidenly modesty. Becky’s hair was pinned so tightly back that it made her feel as if her forehead was being stretched, but she could not deny that the coiffure, along with the face powder, transformed her. And the resultant headache ensured that she did not forget she was in costume.

  La Fenice, as the opera house was known, was a short gondola trip along some of the minor canals, which became crowded as they approached the campo which fronted the theatre, obliging their gondolier to jockey for position to gain a berth. Becky’s stage career had not included the opera, so this was her first experience and she was looking forward to it, having been assured by Isabel that it was perfectly acceptable for Cousin Rebecca to do so.

  ‘The Venetians’ claim that their opera is the best in the world is, unlike some of their other superlatives, most probably true,’ the Contessa said, slanting a teasing glance at her son as she took her seat in their private box.

  ‘That, even the English do not dispute,’ Luca said to Becky, who was sitting between them. ‘My mother’s brother, Admiral Riddell, is a connoisseur of the opera. He has been only once to La Fenice, but he still talks of it.’