Marguerite Kaye – His Rags-To-Riches Contessa (страница 5)
And little wonder! She had scant idea why she was here or what was required of her. What was he thinking, allowing himself to become so distracted when he had been impatiently counting the days and hours waiting for this very moment to arrive? Luca set his empty cup and saucer down on the table. ‘To business, Miss Wickes. Or may I call you Rebecca?’
‘I much prefer Becky.’
Most decidedly she was nervous and trying desperately not to show it. ‘Becky.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘It suits you. And you must call me Luca.’
‘Luca. Does that mean
‘Actually it means
For some reason, his words made her glower. ‘Before you say any more, I should tell you what I’ve already made very clear to The Procurer. I won’t play cards, straight or crooked, just to win you a fortune.’
‘Did not The Procurer make it very clear that wasn’t at all what I required?’ Luca asked, taken aback by her vehemence. ‘Do I look like a man of meagre means?’
She flinched, for his tone made it clear enough that he’d found her implication offensive, but she did not back down. ‘You look like a man of very substantial means,’ she said, gazing around the room, ‘but I’ll play no part in making you even richer.’
‘I don’t want you to make me rich, Becky. I want you to make another man destitute.’
Some might say it was the same thing. Not this surprising woman. She uncrossed her arms, frowning, leaning forward in her chair, ignoring the glossy curl that fell over her forehead. ‘Why on earth would you want to do that?’
‘Oh, I have every reason,’ Luca said, the familiar wave of anger making his mouth curl into a sneer. ‘He killed my father.’
Becky’s mouth fell open. She must have misheard him. Or his otherwise excellent English had deserted him. Though the way he had snarled the words made her wonder if he had known exactly what he had said. ‘Killed? You don’t really mean killed?’
‘I mean exactly that. My father was murdered. I intend to make the man responsible pay.’
Becky stared, quite staggered. ‘But if it was murder, then surely the law...’
‘It is not possible. As far as the law is concerned, no crime has been committed. I cannot rely on the law to deliver justice for my father, I must provide that myself. With your assistance.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Becky muttered softly under her breath, as much at the transformation in her host as his words. There was a cold fury in his eyes, a bleak set to his mouth. ‘When you say justice...’
‘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?’
‘
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
‘I can’t quite believe you’re here,’ Luca said, as if he’d read her thoughts. ‘
‘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.’