Oh, Luca. Last night, he had been utterly transformed by their success. Last night, she had seen him carefree, lit up, happy. It was an infectious mix. Very infectious. Wrapping her arms around herself, Becky slipped back inside, sinking back down beside the fireside. Her utter abandonment still astonished her, but she was no longer embarrassed, nor could she bring herself to regret it. This extraordinary situation, this extraordinary man, were an all-too-brief departure from the natural order of things. At the end of Carnival they would part, their respective futures taking them in radically different directions. But that was still weeks away.
Becky closed her eyes, letting herself drift into a delightful dream of last night. Passion was such a very different thing to love. A very much more delightful experience, where instinct ruled, and pleasure was the only thing that mattered. It would pass, Luca had said, and she hoped fervently that he was right, at the same time hoping fervently that it would not fade too quickly. He had opened her eyes to a whole new world of gratification last night, a world she was eager to explore.
She’d never taken a lover before Jack wormed his way into her affections, so there had been no one for her to compare him to. Becky winced. She didn’t much like the thought of doing so now. Perhaps it was because she had been so anxious to please, that she hadn’t been so very satisfied herself back then. That would certainly be one explanation. Another would be that Jack had been as selfish in her bed as he’d been in every other aspect of her life, interested only in what she could provide him with, and giving back in return the bare minimum he could get away with. Now, that, unfortunately, rang very true.
While Luca—Oh, Luca was a very different matter. The next time—Becky smiled to herself, unfurling her legs from beneath her and stretching her toes to the fire, yielding to the temptation of imagining just exactly how the next time might be.
* * *
It was late afternoon by the time Luca and his mother arrived back at the palazzo in the pouring rain, leaving little time to change for dinner. He had spent most of the day taking tea and making polite conversation, with frustratingly few opportunities to bolster the legend of the Queen of Coins, his mother’s friends being far more interested in stakes of the matrimonial kind. Accepting an aperitivo from Brunetti, he took his usual seat by the window in the otherwise empty drawing room.
Brunetti hovered, adjusting cushions, tending to the fire, waiting on the ladies’ arrival. Luca stared out at the dark sweep of the Grand Canal. A few sleepless hours of contemplation in the early morning had left him baffled by his behaviour last night. Not what had happened, so much as what had not. Becky was entirely beyond his ken. He had no one to compare her to, nor did he wish to. The situation presented them such limited opportunities to indulge their mutual passion, last night’s conflagration was inevitable, he had concluded. What confused him was why he had not taken matters to the ultimate conclusion.
Not because of lack of desire, that much was certain. He had never wanted anyone the way he wanted Becky. And she had wanted him every bit as much, he didn’t doubt that either. As a result, they were both behaving out of character. She, who was not in the habit of offering, would have given him all, and he, who was in the habit of taking all had demurred. He was, for the first time in his life, uncertain of his own feelings. He didn’t doubt what he wanted, but he wasn’t sure it would be a good idea for either of them. Familiarity bred not contempt but indifference, had always been his experience. But the more he knew of Becky, the more he wanted her.
Whether their mutual desire would persist or fade was a moot point, however. At the end of Carnevale Becky would leave Venice, and he would take up the reins of his new life in the city, his duty to his father done, justice served. He would build his ships. He would restore the stolen treasures to Venice in a new form. He would step into his father’s shoes. It was all he had dreamed of, all he had wanted, since he’d read his father’s letter, yet all he could think of was that Becky would play no part in it.
He would miss her! There, he could admit that much. But it would pass—it would have to. And in the meantime, instead of dwelling over Becky’s looming departure, what he ought to do was enjoy the time they did have.
The door opened, Brunetti bustled over to greet his mother and her niece, and Luca got to his feet. Becky was dressed in lemon tonight, one of Cousin Rebecca’s simple gowns with a demure neckline, though it seemed to him, as she stepped lightly towards him, that it clung in a very far from demure way to the curves he had explored so delightfully last night.
‘Good evening, Cousin Luca.’
Her smile was tentative as she made her curtsy. He couldn’t resist taking her hand, pressing it fleetingly, smiling into her eyes in a most uncousinly way. ‘Cousin Rebecca,’ he said, ‘as always, it is a pleasure to see you.’
* * *
‘Your absence was much commented on today, Rebecca. I was forced to make your excuses at every call we made.’
‘I am very sorry.’ Becky pushed her untouched wine aside. Isabel, who had been rather silent throughout dinner was, now that the servants had departed, sounding decidedly waspish. ‘I will ask Chiara to wake me if it ever happens again.’
‘Please do. Now that it is widely accepted that I have a niece, I would rather she did not garner a reputation for being either sickly or unreliable.’
‘Mama, that is most unfair of you,’ Luca said mildly. ‘You must know perfectly well why Becky was so tired.’
‘Presumably she was playing at a ridotto in her other guise,’ Isabel replied tetchily. ‘Though why you should imagine that I know this perfectly well when you have been at great pains to keep your plans from me, I do not know.’
‘I have kept my plans from you because you expressed a desire not to know,’ Luca retorted coldly. ‘Despite having read my father’s letter, despite his desperate plea for justice, you would rather sweep the entire matter under the carpet.’
‘For very good reason.’ Isabel picked up her napkin and began to pleat it. ‘I apologise for my harsh tone, Rebecca.’
‘I shouldn’t have overslept.’
‘Oh, it’s not that.’ Isabel threw her napkin down and took a sip of her wine. ‘Anna Sarti was at the Fabbiano palazzo this afternoon. The poor woman is on tenterhooks knowing the start of Carnevale is fast approaching.’
‘She knows, then, that her husband is a reckless gambler?’ Becky asked with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, though she had suspected as much from a remark made by the Contessa Albrizzi.
‘Of course, she knows and dreads the coming weeks, though there is nothing she can do.’
‘For which we should be grateful,’ Luca said tersely. ‘You know that the money he will stake belongs to Venice, not to Sarti.’
‘Of course.’ Isabel took another sip of wine. ‘I also understand your desire to put right a terrible wrong.’ She smiled weakly. ‘Unfortunately, it is not only Don Sarti who will pay the price.’
‘That is a matter for Don Sarti’s conscience, not mine.’
Isabel nodded again. Luca poured himself a cup of coffee. Becky’s conscience niggled her. Why did Isabel believe Donna Sarti would also pay, if the Queen of Coins took only what the Don had stolen? The winnings would be put to good use too, she reminded herself. Schools and hospitals for the people, Luca had said. If Anna Sarti knew the truth...
‘Rebecca, I see from that fierce frown that I have upset you.’ Isabel leaned across the table to press her hand. ‘I promised not to interfere. I beg your pardon, Luca, you must do as you see fit to honour your father’s memory. And when you have, Rebecca will be free to return to England. We will miss you. Do you have plans?’
‘Nothing cast in stone,’ Becky said vaguely. ‘Though I’m not sure I want to go back to England,’ she added, which was at least close to the truth.
‘Really? But you must have family there?’
‘Unf
ortunately, I don’t. I am quite alone in the world.’
‘You poor thing! Even though I have not seen my own family for decades, at least I have the consolation of knowing they are alive and well.’
‘I’m well used to being on my own. In fact, I prefer it.’
‘But you are still very young, with your life stretching out in front of you. Perhaps you’ll marry, have a family of your own. Though I would not recommend a country vicar,’ Isabel said. ‘That may very well suit my niece, but...’
‘That is a very poor attempt at a joke. If I wished to marry—which I do not—no man of the cloth would take me. You have no idea—’ Becky broke off, appalled, suddenly on the brink of tears.
Isabel flinched. ‘You are right, I do not. It was presumptuous of me to put myself in your shoes.’
‘Yes, it was. You no more understand my life than I do yours, nor would ever want to. Your life may well be one of privilege, Isabel, but it’s also mapped out in advance for you. I may not have much, but I do have the freedom to choose.’
Becky hadn’t felt so completely out of place since the first night she’d arrived. After a day so foolishly anticipating seeing Luca again, all she wanted was to be alone. Without waiting for either mother or son to fill the astonished silence, she pushed back her chair and got to her feet. ‘I’m here to carry out a specific task. When it’s completed, I’ll be gone. It will be as if I was never here in the first place. It cannot be any other way and that is for the best, for all of us. Buona notte.’
Chapter Ten
It had been raining overnight. The rooftop terrace was damp underfoot, though the sun was making a determined effort to break through the grey cloud. Becky gazed out morosely over the rooftops towards the Lido, where, Isabel had informed her, Luca had gone riding. Her mood, in contrast to the sparkling blue lagoon, was as grey and gloomy as the leaden sky above her.
She had waved away Isabel’s attempt to apologise over breakfast. There was nothing to apologise for, after all. They had not quarrelled. Isabel had simply been curious. Becky preferred to keep her plans to herself. If they had really been friends it would be a different matter, but they were not friends. Last night, what Becky had said was a timely reminder for all of them of the real reason for her presence here. She had shocked them both with her vehemence, but it was for the best. She didn’t belong here, nor would she ever.
‘And I’d better make bloody sure I remember that from now on,’ she muttered to herself. The arrival of a tea tray—courtesy of the Contessa, the servant informed her—made her feel like an ungrateful wretch. Passing on her thanks, pouring a very welcome cup of piping hot tea and adding three sugars, Becky steeled herself. Isabel, she could keep her distance from. Cousin Rebecca was in awe of her aunt anyway. But Luca was another matter.
She curled her fingers around her cup, sitting back on the bench. Only yesterday morning, lolling about in her bedchamber in the aftermath of their lovemaking the night before, she’d been imagining all sorts of passionate couplings between them, quite forgetting the sole purpose of her being here. Nothing mattered more to Luca than his quest for poetic justice. Becky was his means to achieving it, and anything else she was to him was merely a product of this. When Carnevale was over, Luca would have no further need of her. His suggestion that she gaily set off to travel the world, it occurred to her now, reflected his own passion for travel, not hers. She was even entertaining the notion to please him, giving no thought to the practicalities, or the reality of travelling alone as a single woman. Her inexperience, ignorance of the world beyond London coupled with the sense of isolation she would feel, made it a daunting prospect.
But there was an even more scary thought. By his own admission, Luca indulged in dalliances, whose passion always died sooner or later. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. It wasn’t that she was in danger of falling in love with him, but that didn’t mean she was immune to being hurt. In the cold light of day, her behaviour in the secret room behind the library appalled her. It wasn’t what she had done, it was why. Because Luca mattered.
She was not as far gone as to be foolishly thinking there could be any sort of future together for them, nor even to want it. She hated this world he inhabited, the stifling drawing rooms and the conversations where one thing was said and another meant entirely. Masks were not only worn during Carnival. Beneath that rich, sophisticated veneer of polite society, as far as she could see, there were a lot of unhappy people. She didn’t understand the Venetian ways, Luca had said, and she never wanted to. She was glad she’d never be anything other than an impostor here. She liked Luca. She admired him and she found him fiercely attractive, but she didn’t like his world and she couldn’t believe a man like him could ever be happy in it. Though that was for him to discover, long after she’d left.
In the meantime, he was a distraction she really could not afford. Luca wasn’t Jack, but if she wasn’t careful, history could repeat itself. If the Queen of Coins failed, not only would Becky fail to earn the fee which would change her life, she could lose her life if she were caught manipulating the cards. She needed to concentrate totally on the task at hand, and so did Luca. She had not come to Venice to find a friend in Isabel or a lover in Luca. She’d come here to fund a new life for herself, and that was the thing she’d lost sight of these last few days. Her hard-won freedom depended on it. She was determined she wasn’t going to lose sight of that again.
* * *
Becky was leaning out over the parapet when the door to the roof terrace creaked open. Before she turned, she already sensed it was Luca. He was looking particularly windswept, his eyes and cheeks glowing with the exercise and fresh air, his hair tangled, and despite herself, she felt a lurch of excitement at the sight of him. ‘I hoped you’d find me here,’ she said. ‘I want to talk to you.’
He muttered something under his breath, striding across the roof to her, and clasped her hands. ‘Please, I know what you’re going to say, but I beg you not to do anything rash before you hear me out. Last night at dinner, it was clear that my mother’s misguided concerns for Donna Sarti were making you uncomfortable. And then her misguided attempt to speculate about your marital prospects appeared to make things worse. But what wasn’t clear to me until later, and it should have been,’ he said wretchedly, ‘was that I was at the root of your strange mood. I got carried away, Becky, and though you too seemed to be more than willing—I should have known you’d think differently in the morning. Please, tell me you’re not thinking of leaving. It won’t happen again.’
He had reached exactly the same conclusion as she, though via a very different route. She snatched her hands free. ‘I didn’t think differently in the morning, Luca. Quite the contrary. Heaven help me, I actually dreamed of more.’
She had the satisfaction of seeing him look astonished. ‘So did I,’ he said with a crooked smile.
If only he hadn’t said that. But it made no difference. ‘We can’t always have what we want,’ Becky said brusquely. ‘Especially when it gets in the way of what we really want, and that’s what’s in danger of happening. You’re a distraction I don’t need, and frankly, I’m a distraction you can’t afford. I’m not leaving. I’m staying, but there’s too much at stake to risk letting passion cloud our judgement, Luca. You were the very one who pointed out on the first day we met, that we are playing a dangerous game. If I am caught...’
‘You won’t be.’
‘No, I won’t, because I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure I’m not. And so are you. I’m not going to fall into the same trap as last time.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Last time? What do you mean?’
Her stomach roiled, her heart felt as if it was in her mouth, but she met his eyes unflinching. ‘That’s what I want to talk to you about. Perhaps it would be better if we sat down?’
‘I have a feeling this requires fresh tea. I am sure that I will need coffee.’
* * *
In something of a daze, Luca went inside to summon a servant. Becky wasn’t leaving. Becky was staying. Becky thought he was a distraction. Becky didn’t want to make the same mistake as last time, whatever that meant.
She was right, he thought with a sinking feeling. They had become distracted. It was a timely reminder that Becky was not here to play Becky, but the Queen of Coins. And a timely reminder that when she was done with that role, she would leave Venice.
Giving his instructions to the servant, Luca found himself wondering how many more times he’d order a pot of tea for Cousin Rebecca along with his own coffee. It was a sobering thought but, for the moment, quite irrelevant. Becky was waiting for him, and whatever she was about to tell him, she was dreading it. The answer to the question of why she had left England, he guessed. An account of what became of the man she referred to as her paramour, he suspected. The past that Becky had been so reluctant to talk about.
Luca paused on the final step to the terrace. He had no idea what to expect, but whatever she wanted from him, he needed to be able to provide it. He had come too far to give up now.
He opened the door, crossing to the bench, handing Becky the cloak he’d asked the servant to bring. ‘I know you say you never feel the cold, but I have a feeling we’re going to be here for a while.’
‘Grazie.’
She wrapped herself in the voluminous garment, sitting on the edge of the bench as if readying herself to fly. Her skin was pale. There were dark circles under her huge violet eyes. The usual strand of glossy black curls had escaped to trail down her cheek. With difficulty, he resisted the familiar impulse to tuck it behind her ear. She looked at the same time both terrified and resolute. He wanted to reassure her, but knew better than to offer empty platitudes, knew that she was in fact quite capable of shocking him. So he kept his counsel until the tea and coffee came, watching the familiar hesitation before she decided to add a third sugar lump, the little smile of satisfaction that always greeted the first sip, the way she held the cup between her hands to warm them. The habit of a woman who had grown up in cold, damp, inadequate accommodation, he finally realised. How little he really knew of her or her life.
His Rags-to-Riches Contessa Page 16
