His Rags-to-Riches Contessa

by Marguerite Kaye

  As she opened to door back into the library Luca turned quickly, setting the wine glass which had been raised to his lips quickly down. ‘Che meraviglia,’ he said with a soft whistle. ‘I don’t know whether to throw myself at your feet or into your arms.’

  Becky couldn’t resist giving a little twirl. ‘You like?’

  ‘I like very much,’ he said. ‘And you, I think, much prefer to be the Queen of Coins than Cousin Rebecca?’

  ‘Let’s just see if the Queen of Coins is successful first.’

  ‘I do not see how you can fail. No man, seeing you in this most delectable outfit, will be looking at your hands,’ Luca said, quite blatantly eyeing Becky’s breasts. ‘I presume that was a deliberate ploy?’

  ‘To distract my opponents, not my protector,’ she said pointedly.

  He laughed. ‘Mi scusi, but I am not yet dressed for the role. One moment.’ He threw his long black silk cloak over his shoulders, fastening the silver buttons at the neck. The volto mask was chalk white and completely plain, covering his entire face apart from his chin. The black tricorn hat placed on top made him unrecognisable and slightly intimidating. ‘Now,’ Luca said, ‘we are ready. Tonight, I very much hope, signals the beginning of the end for Don Sarti.’

  * * *

  They left the palazzo through a door at the back of the secret room that opened on to a narrow canal. The air grew noticeably colder as they descended a steep flight of steps. Luca held the lantern high, revealing a gondola tied to a rusty iron ring. ‘Who left the boat here?’ Becky asked.

  ‘One of the gondoliers. I told him I had a lover’s tryst.’ Luca was already on board, holding his hand out for Becky. ‘He won’t say anything, don’t worry. I think he was surprised that I hadn’t asked for the boat before. This secret entrance has always been used to enter or leave the palazzo undetected.’

  Becky took her usual seat facing him, accustomed now to the gondola’s motion. Luca picked up the oar, set it into its lock, untied the rope and kicked the boat out into the canal. It was a dark night, the thin strip of sky visible too dark with clouds for any stars to shine. If there was a moon, it was in another part of the heavens. Luca was a dark, sinister shape on the stern, his volto mask eerily pale under the black shadow of his hat. He could be anyone, a complete stranger, as could she, she supposed, in her Queen of Coins costume, hiding behind her mask. Yet the enveloping night encouraged confidences. ‘Have you had many lovers, Luca?’ she asked.

  ‘None since my return to Venice. Before then, a few, though not so very many. We went our separate ways when passion died, as it always does.’

  ‘Does it?’

  He did not answer until he had steered the gondola under one of the low arched bridges, so low that it forced him to duck his head. ‘That has always been my experience.’

  Becky tilted her head back to search the sullen sky for pinpoints of light, but found none. She had no previous experience of passion. Her desire for Luca burned so persistently that she found it difficult to believe it would die. But then, there had been a time not so very long ago when she’d thought her love would never die, and a time even closer to hand when she’d thought her heart was broken. She’d been wrong about both. Startled, she tested herself, but though the bitterness of that final betrayal which threatened to put a noose around her neck was still every bit as strong, she felt nothing else save a sense of relief that her eyes had been well and truly opened. What an escape she’d had! Were it not for the fact that she was a wanted criminal...

  Her eyes flew open as the gondola bumped against a wooden jetty and Luca jumped out to secure it. As she followed him on to dry land, something brushed past her gown, making her jump. ‘Where are we? Where is the ridotto? I can’t see any lights.’

  ‘It is a short walk from here. Are you happy with the plan?’

  She ought to be, it was her plan, and they had discussed it often enough. She opened her mouth to reassure him, only to be assailed by a memory of the last time she had played the tables. She screwed her eyes shut, trying to will it away but it persisted. When she had realised what had happened, there had been a moment of shocked disbelief. All eyes were on her, but time seemed to stand still, and her mind was quite frozen. Jack, she’d thought, where was he? Only the scuffle, the shout, as he fled startled her into action, too terrified that the hands reaching for her would catch her to concern herself with the act of betrayal.

  ‘Becky?’

  Her mouth was dry. Her knees were like jelly. Sweat trickled down her back. Under the shadow of her hood, impeded by her mask, she tried to take calming breaths. Tonight she would not fail. Tonight, the Queen of Coins would triumph. She would not let Luca down. She checked the strings on her mask. She placed her hand on Luca’s arm. ‘Andiamo,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and win some money.’

  Chapter Nine

  It was still dark when they left the ridotto, though dawn was not far-off. Becky felt as if she was floating, as if she had drunk a magnum of Prosecco. She couldn’t stop smiling. She jumped down into the gondola, making it rock wildly. ‘We did it.’

  Luca was unfastening his mask, casting it with his tricorn hat on to the other bench and running his fingers through his flattened hair. ‘You did it.’

  ‘We did it.’ Becky threw herself on to the bench, making the heavy purse containing her winnings clunk against her thigh. ‘You selected the opponents, the Queen of Coins vanquished them one by one.’

  Luca cast off and began to turn the gondola. ‘Though there were moments when it seemed to me that the Queen of Coins was the one about to lose.’

  Becky chuckled. ‘Oh, that is all part of the act. You have to give your adversary hope. You have to lead him to believe that he can beat you, else he will not be tempted to play on.’ Her face fell. ‘That sounds very callous.’

  ‘I think you were fair, in the circumstances. You did not permit the stakes to go anywhere near as high as some of the more reckless gamblers wished.’

  ‘That is true,’ she said, brightening. ‘Do you think the Queen of Coins is being talked about already?’

  ‘From the minute she walked into the room she was a sensation, and I believe I played my part in stirring up interest. By the end of the night, I had the pleasure of several of my stories regarding the identity of the mysterious Queen of Coins being quoted back to me along with various other speculations not of my devising. The runaway Bulgarian princess was my personal favourite.’

  Becky let out a peal of laughter, which echoed around the narrow canal. ‘I know we must repeat our success several times over before Carnival starts properly, but we did make an excellent start, didn’t we?’

  ‘A dream start.’

  ‘All of this feels like a dream.’ She lay back on the bench, watching starry-eyed as Luca rowed the gondola back to the palazzo, the sky lightening just enough for her to see his handsome countenance.

  He was smiling as he tied the boat up, carefully securing the oar before helping her out and lighting the lamp. ‘Are you tired?’

  Becky shook her head. ‘I feel like I’ll never sleep again, though I will be very relieved to take off this mask.’ She followed him back up the steps to the door of the secret room, pulling the pins that secured her hood and untying her mask with a happy sigh as Luca locked the door behind them, placing his hat and mask on to the table. ‘A nightcap to celebrate, I think,’ he said. ‘Wait there.’

  Becky pulled the purse containing her winnings from the secret pocket inside her overdress and put it beside the masks. After the cold outside, the room felt warm. She untied the sash and slipped out of the outer dress of her costume, and then sank on to the chaise longue, wriggling her numb toes inside her boots and loosening the laces at the front of her tunic. All her fears were completely unfounded. Not one of her many opponents had suspected foul play for a moment. True, they had none of them been experts, she was already far more skil
led than any of them, but it was reassuring all the same. Much more reassuring than she had realised.

  ‘I thought it was time that you tasted grappa.’ Luca, now cloakless and coatless, was carrying two small glasses. ‘It is distilled from the skin and the seeds of grapes which are leftover from winemaking. Don’t screw up your face. It tastes good, I promise.’

  He sat down beside her, handing her one of the little glasses. ‘To the Queen of Coins. Salute.’

  ‘Salute.’ Becky took a cautious sip, gasping as the fiery liquid hit the back of her throat. ‘That is a great deal stronger than wine.’

  ‘It is not to your taste?’

  She took a second cautious sip. This time, now that she was prepared for it, she enjoyed the tingling warmth. ‘It is good, though I don’t think I’d manage more than one glass, it would go straight to my head, and I’m already a little bit drunk on success.’

  ‘Well-deserved success. All your hours of practice have paid off.’

  ‘This is only the first step, Luca.’

  ‘I know, but it is a truly wonderful feeling to have finally taken it, to be one step closer to my goal.’ He threw back the rest of his own grappa, turning towards her as he set the glass down on the floor. ‘Thanks to you.’

  His leg was brushing against hers. A long strand of silky hair fell over his brow. His smile was warm, his brow for once free of even the faintest trace of a frown. It was as intoxicating as grappa, to bask in her success, the relief of it, the outrageousness of it. And now that it was over, the vicarious thrill of it, made all the more thrilling by knowing she was winning for Luca.

  ‘I couldn’t have done it without you,’ Becky said, reaching up to brush his hair back from his forehead.

  He caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm, and the warmth of admiration in his eyes changed to a different sort of heat as their gazes clashed and held and Becky’s heart began to race with a very different kind of excitement. His mouth lingered on her palm. He licked his way up her thumb and his lips closed around it. She shivered in sheer delight and everything she had been feeling merged, transforming itself into the burning heat of desire.

  Yet she couldn’t move. Luca’s gaze was scorching, transfixed on hers as he licked the tip of her index finger, drawing it into his mouth. She had only to blink to stop him, to pull her hand free from his, but it didn’t even occur to her. She was positively smouldering, every lick, every kiss, the sweet dragging of his mouth on her fingers sending sparks of heat through her veins to concentrate in an aching drag of desire low in her belly.

  His breath was shallow, his pupils dilated as his mouth closed on her little finger, and Becky shuddered, released from her trance, falling towards him on the chaise longue. He let out a low groan as their lips met, their tongues met, their bodies met in a tangle of wild kisses and feverish hands. She stopped thinking, surrendering herself to the spinning, urgent need for skin to touch skin, plucking at the buttons of Luca’s waistcoat, tugging his shirt free from his pantaloons to run her hands up his back, thrilling at the ripple of his muscles beneath her palms and the shudder of delight which coursed through him at her touch.

  When he dragged his mouth from hers, her whimper of protest turned into a sigh of delight as he kissed his way down her throat to lick into the valley between her breasts, tugging at the loose fastenings of her tunic enough to slip it down her shoulders. More kisses, on the exposed flesh of her breasts, her nipples hard and aching inside the constraints of her corsets. He was murmuring in Italian, words she didn’t recognise, but which sounded like pleas and promises she longed for him to fulfil.

  She stood up to wriggle free of her tunic. Luca cast off his waistcoat and then, at her urging, pulled his shirt over his head. His torso was smooth and tanned, his skin gleaming in the lamplight. Entranced, Becky traced the muscles of his shoulders, down the slight swell of his chest to the dip of his belly, relishing the way her touch made him shiver. She pressed her mouth to his skin, tasting salt and soap and heat. His fingers were running through her hair, spreading it out over her naked shoulders, his hands on her back, then on her arms, then on her breasts, cupping them through her corset, making her cry out with delight, arching against him, her mouth desperately seeking his, and finding it in a deep, urgent kiss.

  She could feel the distinctive evidence of his arousal pressing between her thighs through the single petticoat she wore over her pantaloons. Mindless, she clutched at the firm flesh of his buttocks. Staggering backwards, she found herself pressed against the door which connected with the library, and still they kissed feverishly. Luca’s hand was under her petticoat now, and instinctively she wrapped her leg around his, yanking the thin cambric higher in the process. He muttered her name, one hand braced against the door behind her, the other between her thighs, finding her flesh between the split in her pantaloons, his fingers sliding into her, forcing her to cling frantically to the last remnants of self-control. She was strung so tightly that it would not take much to set her over. She was torn between wanting to fall headlong into her climax, and to cling on, to enjoy and endure for as long as she could.

  But Luca gave her no choice. Kisses, his tongue matching his fingers, stroking, thrusting, making her tighten, surrendering herself to the spiralling, twisting tension inside her, arching against him as it took her, making her cry out, cling to him, pulsing and throbbing in complete abandon.

  When it was over, she clung limply to him, drained and sated. Luca was still unmistakably aroused, yet he was gently disentangling himself from her. Confused and fast becoming embarrassed by her state of undress and her wanton abandon, Becky grabbed her dressing gown, belting it tightly around her. ‘I think the grappa must have gone to our heads, after all,’ she said, because she had to say something.

  ‘If anything went to my head, it was you. Now, please, go to bed before I lose what very little is left of my self-control.’

  * * *

  When Becky awoke it was already light. The curtains in her bedchamber had been drawn to show one of those misty days, where the sky and the canals seemed to merge. Sitting up in bed, she saw that the fire was burning brightly in the grate, and even as she peered over at the clock trying to make out the time, Chiara crept into the room, bearing a huge tray.

  ‘Buongiorno, Signorina Wickes. It is not like you to oversleep. I have brought you breakfast.’

  ‘The Contessa! I was to accompany her on her morning calls.’

  ‘Conte del Pietro has accompanied her instead. Do you want breakfast in bed or do you wish to sit by the fire?’

  ‘By the fire, I think,’ Becky said, appalled by the idea of getting breadcrumbs between her silk sheets. ‘Just set it down, Chiara. There is no need for you to stay, thank you.’

  Becky wrapped herself in her dressing gown and sat cosily by the fire. In addition to tea things, the tray contained warm bread rolls wrapped in a cloth, butter, apricot and cherry jam, several mouthwatering sweet pastries and the little biscotti filled with raisins which the Venetians called zaletti. Her tummy rumbling as she brewed her tea, Becky broke off a piece of pastry and popped it into her mouth, closing her eyes as it melted in buttery flakes on her tongue. A flurry of rain spattered against the window. She curled up on the chair, tucking her bare toes under a velvet cushion. There was something quite delightfully decadent in being inside in front of a blazing fire with a tray of good things to eat while outside the weather turned nasty. When Carnival was over, when she was rich enough to have her own little cottage somewhere, she could probably sit like this all day every day if she wished, getting fat on sugary treats and...

  And what! Wishing her life away? Ignoring the world outside, caring nothing for it, as long as she was warm and well fed? Becky wrapped her hands around her teacup in a way that Isabel would deeply disapprove of, and sighed to herself. Her little pipe dream was just that. She’d be bored rigid within a few days—say a week at most. And
as for eating herself fat, something she used to dream of when she went to bed ravenous, while buttering a roll and smearing on a dollop of cherry jam was still novel enough to be a real treat, it was no longer the limit of her ambitions.

  Becky topped up her tea from the pot, and topped up the pot from the hot-water kettle. It was Luca’s fault. He’d opened her eyes to possibilities she could never have envisaged on her own. A world to explore and people in it she could help. Though she still had no idea how to go about such an undertaking. Or even where. Because she was fooling herself, thinking it could ever be in England.

  Setting her cup back on the tray along with her empty plate, Becky padded over to the window. Her breath steamed up the cold glass. The rain had settled in, the heavy sky turning the canal below a dull pewter. It was one thing to escape, but another to admit that she couldn’t risk going back. And it was one thing to imagine herself free to travel round the world, but to know that she had no home to return to—not that she ever wanted to return to the home she had left.

  Despite the rain, Becky opened the tall windows and stepped on to the narrow balcony. She had never been one to indulge in self-pity, and she wasn’t about to do it now, especially when she had less reason than ever to do so. She had no ties back in London. Hers had always been a solitary life and she’d liked it that way. Funny, but even at her most besotted, there had always been a part of her that had resented the changes she’d had to make to accommodate Jack. Funny, now she thought about it, how little changes she’d actually made. The trauma of their parting had obscured the fact that she hadn’t really missed him. She’d miss Isabel a great deal more. And Luca...