He jumped to his feet, running down to the shore, stopping just short of the waves, staring out at the Adriatic, past the white-crested waves, as if there was an answer somewhere on the horizon, if only he looked hard enough. Even if he could reconcile himself to giving up on his plan, to failing to complete the task his father had bequeathed him—yes, she was right about that too—there were so many obstacles keeping them apart. Conte del Pietro could not marry Becky Wickes, a wanted criminal and one born without a father’s name to call her own. What was more, Becky Wickes wasn’t in the least bit interested in becoming the Contessa del Pietro and living the stifling life of a Venetian society hostess. Luca grinned at the very notion of it. No, Becky would not endure that life any more than he would.
He wasn’t his father. He was not going to live in his father’s shadow. Becky—forthright, clever Becky, who knew him better than he knew himself—had opened his eyes. It was time for him to stop looking over his shoulder and start looking forward. To claim his life back. He had no idea how. He had no idea what it might mean, but by the stars, he was going to do it. It had been so long since he had faced the challenge of overwhelming odds that he’d forgotten that stirring in his blood, that grit inside him that relished a fight. There must be a way to make it right. There had to be a way, and he had to find it quickly, because he couldn’t let her go. He simply couldn’t countenance losing her.
* * *
It was the early hours of the afternoon before a heavy-eyed Becky finally forced herself to leave the sanctuary of her bedchamber. Outside, snow clouds filled the sky, the Grand Canal below her window as grey as her mood. She had a headache, she’d told Chiara, and wished only to be left alone. But the maid, most likely concerned by Becky’s red-rimmed eyes and chalk-white colour, besieged her with tisanes and teas and cold cloths and hot broth and fruit until Becky had no option but to claim she felt much better.
She felt, in fact, utterly devastated, and though her conviction that she was right was unshaken, she couldn’t think about the consequences without trembling. She had been in worse straits, she reminded herself, significantly so. In the years immediately after her mother died, for example, when she hadn’t even a room of her own, when she’d left the theatre at night with no idea where she was going to sleep. And more recently, hiding out in the rookeries following Jack’s betrayal. Yes, she’d been considerably worse off, she told herself stoically. Even if her dreams were well and truly shattered. Even if the vision of a future free from trickery and cold and hunger had taken root. Even if she must leave the man she’d given her heart to, knowing that she could not give him the one thing he thought he craved. And so Becky steeled herself, as she made her way out of her bedchamber and down the stairs, to ask Isabella to help her to leave Venice for a destination unknown, as soon as practicable.
She entered the drawing room to discover the Contessa deep in conversation with a stranger, and would immediately have left with an apology for interrupting, had Isabel not beckoned her over, smiling. ‘My dear Rebecca, come and be introduced to my brother, Admiral Riddell. Mathew, this is Rebecca, who is, as you know very well, not your long-lost niece.’
Mortified, Becky made a very shaky curtsy, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment, but to her consternation and surprise, Admiral Riddell seemed not to care a jot that she was an impostor. ‘My sister has informed me of the reason you are here. I must confess to finding the tale reminiscent of something from a lurid novel. Odd sort of plan that my nephew has concocted, I think he must be turned in the head, to imagine—But there, none of my business.’
The Admiral was a tall thin man who bore a strong resemblance to his sister, though the same features which made Isabel beautiful, made him appear more formidable than handsome, his nose tending to hawkishness and his chin to squareness.
‘Please join us, Rebecca. I have ordered tea,’ Isabel said. ‘Mathew has come all the way to Venice to escort me to England for a visit. Luca wrote to him. I had no idea. It is a lovely surprise. I was just saying to Mathew that his timing could not be better, for he plans to take in the remainder of Carnival, to set sail at Lent, which means we will be back in England for Easter.’
‘I see,’ Becky said vaguely.
‘No, my dear, you don’t. It means we will be able to take you with us. You won’t have to travel back to England alone. How you made the journey yourself in the first place... But now I don’t have to worry about your safety.’
‘Oh.’ Brother and sister were gazing at Becky expectantly. Becky bit down on the hysterical bubble of laughter which rose as she contemplated informing them that the Royal Navy would be transporting a capital criminal back to face trial. She couldn’t possibly go with them. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
The door to the drawing room opened. Thinking that it would be the tea Isabel had ordered, Becky got to her feet to help with the tray, only to drop back down on to her chair as Luca entered the room. He was soaking wet. He had not shaved. He was still wearing last night’s clothes. Where had he been? Her hand lifted, beckoning him. Their gazes locked. He took two steps towards her then stopped, shook his head, little sparkling crystals of snow scattering on to the floor. ‘Uncle,’ he said, extending his hand, meeting the Admiral in a warm embrace. ‘I’ve just been informed of your arrival. I did not expect you so soon.’
‘Isn’t it marvellous, Luca, a wonderful surprise,’ Isabel said, beaming. ‘And such fortuitous timing, I was just saying to Becky, it means we can take her back to England with us. What do you think of that?’
‘Not a lot.’
Becky jumped. Isabel’s mouth fell open. The Admiral, however, simply narrowed his eyes. ‘I understood from your mother that this odd undertaking of yours would be completed by the end of Carnival.’
‘This undertaking, as you call it, has turned out to be a damn sight odder than my mother could possibly imagine,’ Luca said with the strangest of smiles. ‘And if I have my way, it will be over today.’
‘Today!’ Isabel clapped her hands together. ‘Luca, do not tell me that Rebecca has persuaded you to—’ The Contessa broke off, covering her mouth.
‘I didn’t speak to him on your behalf, Isabel,’ Becky said dully, wondering how much worse this conversation could get, ‘but on my own. It made no difference.’
‘But it did.’
Luca was smiling at her now. There was a light in his eyes that she didn’t recognise and didn’t dare name. It made her silly heart leap. It made her think that perhaps love did conquer all, just as it did in the theatre. And then she remembered that this wasn’t a play, and before she could stop them, tears began to cascade down her cheeks. She covered her face, but not before she saw Isabel’s horrified expression, the Admiral’s perplexed one. She stumbled to her feet, muttering her excuses, making for the door. A strong arm guided her from the room. She wanted to burrow her head into Luca’s shoulder and sob, but what would be the point. She shook herself free.
‘I listened, Becky,’ he said urgently, holding her by the wrists. ‘I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to find a way to resolve this mess. I love you so much.’
She couldn’t wish the words unsaid, but she wished he had not uttered them, all the same. ‘I know you do, but it doesn’t make any difference.’
‘It will,’ Luca said fiercely. ‘I’ll ensure it makes a difference. We’ll talk later, cara mia, and I’ll explain, but I have something I must do first.’
She watched him go, fighting the ridiculous thought that she’d never see him again as he hurtled down the stairs, still unshaven, still wearing last night’s clothes, throwing open the door before the footman had a chance to reach it and disappearing, hatless, back out into the snow.
* * *
Unable to face more of Chiara’s ministrations, Becky joined Isabel and her brother for dinner. They were then heading off to La Fenice to see a rare revival of Vivaldi’s Griselda. Becky excused herself on the g
rounds of a headache, and Isabel, who had several times during dinner asked her to explain Luca’s strange behaviour, questioned her again.
‘Let the lass alone,’ the Admiral intervened, much to Becky’s relief. ‘Can’t you see she’s as much in the dark as you? I dare say I know that son of yours better than you do yourself. His methods are not the most conventional, I’ll grant you, but by heaven, Luca gets results, and he’s as straight as the day is long. So we’ll leave them in peace to sort things out between them while we’re at the opera. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to it.’
The Admiral steered his sister out of the door. Becky retired to the library, pulling one of the huge leather chairs forward to the fire, curling up there with a book of librettos, which she failed to open. Her mind darted about like a starling trapped in an attic. She struggled to make sense of Luca’s remarks, for while her silly heart veered off in the direction of unrealistic hope, her head veered in the opposite direction, telling her there could be none. Luca loved her. In the end, as the clock struck eight, Becky wrapped this knowledge around her like a soft woollen blanket. He loved her. Until he returned, she would allow herself the bliss of pretending that was all that mattered.
* * *
She must have dozed off, for she did not hear him entering the library, opening her eyes to find him standing over her, gazing down at her with the most tender of smiles. Still caught up in her dream, Becky scrabbled to her feet, allowed him to wrap his arms around her and to hold her tightly against his chest.
‘Becky,’ he said as she gently freed herself. ‘Becky, I’ve just confronted Don Sarti.’
She dropped back down into the chair, her legs giving way under her. ‘Please tell me you didn’t do anything foolish.’
Luca poured himself a glass of grappa, drinking it in one gulp before pouring another and taking the seat beside her. ‘I didn’t need to. You were right,’ he said heavily. ‘He needs no one’s help to destroy himself.’
‘Tell me what happened.’
He did, recounting the full, sorry tale, in stark terms that left her in no doubt that, finally, Luca understood the true nature of Don Sarti’s compulsion. ‘I thought he’d deny it all,’ he said. ‘The theft. My father’s murder. But he didn’t. He cried like a baby when I told him that the Queen of Coins was my avenging angel...’
‘You told him! Why, Luca? That was never part of your plan.’
‘No, no, it wasn’t, but it should have been.’ He set down his glass, a heavy frown marring his brow. ‘Having spoken to him, I can see what you have seen all along. He is already a broken man.’ He shuddered. ‘He was even pathetically grateful that we had saved him from himself, taught him a lesson he would never forget. Not that I believe we have.’
‘No. He won’t be able to resist returning to the tables,’ Becky said sadly.
‘No. I pity him, but I pity his family more, for he will take them down with him. I dreamed of serving poetic justice,’ Luca said wryly, ‘but it was already being served by the culprit himself. I can never forgive Don Sarti for having my father’s life snuffed out, but I am done trying to avenge it. My father’s legacy will be hospitals and schools and freshwater fountains for the poor of the city, not paintings and artefacts. Venice is nothing without our people. You’ve made me see that, Becky. I’ve been trying very hard to avoid thinking about having to step into my father’s shoes. I’ve decided that I’m simply not going to.’
‘Luca! I am so happy to hear that.’
‘Are you, cara mia? I hope that you’re going to be a great deal happier when you hear what else I have to say. You said that all you want is my happiness because you love me? I finally saw, this morning, on the beach at the Lido, that the only thing that would make me happy was you. But how to make you happy—that was a very different problem.’
He was clasping both her hands now. The tenderness in his eyes as he looked at her was almost more than she could bear. ‘You can’t,’ Becky said, too upset to prevaricate. ‘All I want is you, and it’s impossible.’
‘That’s what I thought.’ He released her to get to his feet, leaning his back against the wall beside the mantelpiece. ‘I will be a very different Conte del Pietro than my father, but as conte I am required to marry well. I must produce an heir. I must make my life in Venice. You could not be less suitable in the eyes of the world, yet you are the only woman I will have as my wife, Becky.’
‘Oh, Luca, that is the most—But it’s impossible. I wish you had not...’
He dropped to his knees in front of her. ‘For myself, I’ve come to realise that I don’t give a damn for any of these traditions. What matters to me is not my wife’s pedigree or her innocence. What matters is that her heart is the truest and the bravest I’ve ever known, that I will be the last man if not the first for her. That she loves me, not for my name or my money but for myself, just as I am. That she wants what I want, to be always by my side, to make a family with me, not for the sake of the del Pietro name, but for the sake of our love. That’s what I want, Becky, and that’s why I want you and only you. But the world would not see the things that matter. They would judge you on the things that don’t. Which is why, though I am determined to marry Becky Wickes, as far as the world is concerned, I’m going to marry my cousin Rebecca.’
‘You don’t have a cousin Rebecca.’
‘I know that,’ Luca said with a mischievous smile, ‘but no one else does.’
‘Save the most important people, your immediate family.’
‘My uncle was very taken with you. He would have no objection.’
‘How can you possibly know that?’
‘I’ve been to the theatre to speak to them.’
‘And your mother? She’s sacrificed her entire life to the Venetian way. What does she think?’
‘She does not want my wife to be unhappy as she has been, but more importantly, what she wants is for you to be happy. She’s become enormously fond of you, I think you know that.’
‘She guessed my feelings for you,’ Becky confessed.
‘She told me. She was delighted to hear that my feelings for you were exactly the same, though extremely concerned about what society would say, as you can imagine. My proposal for countering the gossip tickled her.’ Luca smiled. ‘Not only would she much rather have you as her daughter-in-law than her niece, she can now happily claim that she has, as is the convention, chosen a bride for me.’
‘But I’m not who people think I am.’
‘This is Venice in Carnevale. No one is who you think they are.’ Luca took her hands again. ‘When Cousin Rebecca arrived in Venice, the world assumed my mother had brought her here to be my bride. The world assumed, despite Cousin Rebecca’s pious claims to have no ambitions beyond marrying a rural English clergyman, that my charms would prove to be irresistible.’
‘As indeed they have,’ Becky said shyly.
‘So Rebecca fell secretly in love with her dashing cousin Luca. But it was only as she planned to leave, to journey back to England with her aunt, that Luca realised that she would be taking his heart with her. And so he told her.’
Becky felt giddy. Her heart was fluttering and jumping and racing with joy, and she was trying desperately to rein it in. The grey fog which had enveloped her since the early hours was lifting, replaced with a bright, golden light that seemed to be taking its place. Her heart was bursting with love, and a huge bubble of joy was threatening to burst inside her. ‘What did Cousin Luca say to her?’
‘He said I love you with all my heart. I cannot let you go. If you will promise to be my wife, I will spend every day of my life trying to make you happy. I will be true to you always and for ever. My darling Rebecca, please say you will marry me.’
‘Oh, Luca. Oh, my darling, if only...’
‘No, no, those aren’t your lines. You must ask me how I can possibly make you happy as Contess
a del Pietro, when it would stifle you, to live as my mother does.’
‘And what is your answer to that?’
‘That you are no more obliged to live in my mother’s shadow than I am to live in my father’s.’ Luca grinned. ‘My father, along with Don Sarti, was the most influential man in Venice. I’m his son. If I choose, I can wield just as much influence. Where the del Pietro family lead, society will follow. We will set a trend, my darling, for fidelity and for togetherness in our good works. You understand, in a way that I never could, what it is to suffer, and what is needed to alleviate it.’ He laughed, embarrassed. ‘That sounds very worthy, very stuffy. I don’t mean to imply that we’ll be either, but...’
‘You want me to help you?’ Becky squealed.
‘I want you to be at my side, to realise both our dreams, not only mine.’ His smile faded. His frown returned. His clasp on her hands tightened. ‘Would that make you happy, Becky? Do you think that we could forge a life together here?’
‘I can’t even begin to imagine how happy I would be to—But, Luca, how are we to be married? Not here, in a church—I don’t know what official documents are required, but I doubt I have them.’
‘We will be married at sea by my uncle, who, fortunately for us, has the power to do so invested in him as a ship’s captain. We will honeymoon in England, and when we return, the story of our shipboard romance will be old news.’
‘England! I can’t go to England.’
‘Becky Wickes most assuredly cannot go, but the Contessa del Pietro can have nothing to fear. I want you to meet my mother’s family, Becky. I want you to feel part of my family, before we make a start on establishing our own.’
Heat flamed in her cheeks. ‘I can’t believe what you’re saying.’
‘I mean every word,’ Luca said fervently. ‘I know it must sound as if I’ve turned everything I believe in on its head, but I feel quite the opposite, as if I’m seeing straight for the first time since I returned to Venice, and it’s because of you. This morning—was it really only this morning?—when you said you were leaving, I knew that I couldn’t bear to let you go. On the beach later, I still had no idea what I needed to do, only that I must do something. I love you. It changes everything—or at least it means that I’m willing to change almost everything to have you by my side. I love you. The future is ours to shape together. Becky, if you are willing to take the risk.’
His Rags-to-Riches Contessa Page 23
