Courtesan's Lover (25 page)

A movement by the door startled him.

His mouth still on Francesca's throat, Luca looked past her, across the room.

Gianni stood in the doorway, eyes wide with shock.

The two of them stared at each other for several long seconds, then Gianni turned without a word and shut the door behind him.

“Damn!” Luca said softly.

Francesca opened her eyes. “What is it?” she said.

“My son. I didn't hear him come in. He was watching us. I don't know how long he had been there.” He ran a hand over Francesca's hair, and kissed her mouth again. “I should go and talk to him.”

Francesca stared up at him. “Do you want me to go home?” she said.

“Dear God no!” Luca said, cupping both hands around her face. “If the truth be told, I don't
ever
want you to go home, but you must certainly not go now!” He pulled her in toward him and wrapped his arms around her. “It was a shock for him, I suppose. I haven't so much as looked at a woman since his mother died, let alone kissed one, but he's not a child any more…he will just have to accustom himself to changes.”

“I'm sorry if—” Francesca began, but Luca interrupted her.

He held her upper arms. “Sorry? Sorry for what? Listen, I have been wanting to kiss you since I first set eyes on you at San Domenico. I have been trailing around my house like a lovesick schoolboy for days, wanting you so much that I've been good for nothing. Don't apologize, Francesca! I'm the one who should be apologizing.”

“You? Why?”

“For rushing you—I'm sorry—you might not—”

“You haven't rushed me.” She hesitated. “You…you are not the only one who has been good for nothing for days.”

There was a long pause.

Then Luca said, “Can you bear to stay here for a moment while I go and find Gianni? I need him to come and meet you properly.”

Francesca started at his words. Luca kissed her again.

“Don't worry—he'll love you,
cara.
It was just the shock.”

Francesca did not seem reassured. She said nothing.

“I won't be a moment.” Luca hesitated. He badly wanted to keep kissing Francesca, but saw in his mind Gianni's shocked stare and knew he should go to his son. “Please—don't worry. He will understand. I just need to speak to him.”

Francesca nodded.

***

Gianni was folding a doublet. A large, painted chest stood propped open under the window, and his coat and saddlebags lay across the end of the bed; the contents of the bags were strewn untidily across the covers. Gianni's face was pale, his eyes huge and black in the fitful light from a single candle.

“Gianni—” Luca began.

Gianni ignored him. Turning away from his father, he placed the doublet into the chest, then reached across the bed, picked up a crumpled linen shirt, and began to fold that.

“Signora Marrone is my friend Filippo's cousin. We met at that play at San Domenico.”

Gianni turned back and stared at him. The shirt hung from his hands. He said nothing, but Luca felt the anger and accusation as clearly as though his son had hit him. A picture of Carlo's bleeding nose flickered across his mind.

“She is waiting in the
sala,
Gian
.
I should like you to meet her.”

“Signor di Laviano's cousin?” Gianni said. His voice shook.

“Yes. She was widowed a while back. Has two daughters.”

“Oh, has she? And just what else do you know about her?” Gianni dropped the shirt and glared at his father, and Luca felt a sudden wave of irritation at his son's aggressive tone.

“What else do you
want
me to know? What is this? What the hell is the matter with you, Gianni? Why are you interrogating me like this? I'm sorry you saw what you saw just now, but for God's sake, Gian, you're not a child! I've finally met someone I like very, very much. It's a long time since your mother died, and—”

“It's not that!” Gianni said scornfully.

“What is it then?”

Gianni stared around his room as though trapped in it, his arms folded tightly across his chest, shoulders hunched. Luca wondered if he were trying not to cry. It seemed a ridiculous overreaction.

He said, forcing himself to speak calmly, “Gianni, I am going back downstairs to Francesca. Please come and introduce yourself as soon as you feel able. We'll be waiting for you.” He strode out of the room. The door banged shut behind him and he ran two at a time back down the stairs to the
sala.

Francesca was standing once again by the fireplace, staring into the flames, chewing her thumbnail. She started visibly as Luca came in.

“What did he say?” she said, sounding almost breathless.

Luca shook his head. “He's more upset than I thought. I'm not sure why. I hope he'll come down later, but—” He broke off, reached for Francesca's hand and squeezed it. “Please, please,
cara,
don't worry.” Her fingers felt stiff within his own, and he realized with a little jolt of shock that she was shivering. Surprised at the intensity of her anxiety, he turned her to face him, took up her other hand, and held them together, clasped inside his own.

“Listen,
carissima
,” he said, “it simply doesn't matter what Gianni thinks—he'll get used to the idea. Please, there's really no need to—”

The handle of the door to the
sala
clicked.

Francesca snatched her hands away and pulled back from him.

Gianni stood, pale and wide-eyed in the doorway. His eyes on his son's face, Luca reached again for Francesca's fingers.

“Thank you for coming down, Gianni,” he said. “I would very much like you to meet Francesca—Signora Marrone. Signor di Laviano's cousin. Francesca, this is my son Gianni.”

It was a full moon, bright as a new-minted coin. The light caught along the edges of the shrouds, turning them to spun silver, as the
rolled gently in the swell of the incoming tide. The youngest member of the crew, on watch up in the sharp bows of the ship, picked out a haunting tune on a home-made pipe; the sound hung above him for a moment, like a wisp of woodsmoke, and then drifted out over the water and disappeared.

Down in his cabin, Salvatore
leaned back in his chair and fingered the beaded braids beneath his chin.

Carlo della Rovere was insistent.
watched him run the tip of his tongue along the edge of his upper lip as he said, “So, you would consider it then, would you?”

“As I said,
Sinjur
,”
said slowly, running a thumb over the stumps of the missing fingers on the opposite hand, “I find that it pays to keep an open mind on most things.” He paused. “I thought I had made it quite clear to you that it's not a venture I have undertaken before—I have always presumed that
inanimate
cargo would be far less demanding to maintain—but, as I explained to you just now, this gentleman in Tunis did say several times that it would be well worth our while to consider it. If the opportunity were ever to arise. And it is, as he pointed out, much safer than the demanding of a ransom.”

“I'll bear it in mind, then, Signore,” Carlo said with a grin. “If, as you say, the opportunity were ever to arise.”

“But—to more immediate concerns,”
said. “How much did you get for the alum?”

Carlo tipped his chair back onto two legs, and, arching his back, wriggled a hand down into a pocket in his breeches. He pulled out and held up a bag, which clinked as he dropped it onto the table in front of the privateer.
loosened the strings and poured the coins out onto the table.

“Good. Well done. And the diamond?”

“Disposed of successfully—not a chance of its being traced. The money will be with me by Friday.”

“A certain transaction?”

“Absolutely.”

“You've done well.”

“I told you I was good.”

looked at him. “Yes,” he said. “You did. And you shall have your commission.” With one finger, he slid a number of coins across the table toward his open palm, then handed them across to Carlo. “That's for today—there will be more when the money for the diamond is in.”

Carlo nodded, clearly pleased, and then said, “What is the next venture to be?”

“We set sail in a few days' time,
Sinjur
. Our supplies are nearly complete, the refit of the galley is finally finished, and the repairs to the mizzen mast are well under way—not much more than a couple of days' work remain, I think. Of course, now that we have such a generous Letter of Marque”—he smiled and nodded toward a small chest, in which lay his prized document—“we can set our sights on considerably higher earnings than we have done in past years. So, I have it in mind to go back to Tunis.”

“Tunis?”

“Aye. Or possibly down as far south as Chebba. I'll try to pick up the best of the wind off the coast of Syracuse, take the
down past the Isola di Lampedusa and hopefully—if my informants are correct, which they most often are—we might very possibly be set to encounter several overladen vessels on their way back from Tripoli who might possibly be…
persuaded
to part with some considerable part of their excess cargo.”

“And when shall you be back in Napoli?”

“That will depend entirely upon what we discover on the way out.”

“I wish I could come with you, Signore.”

“You would always be more than welcome,
Sinjur
.”

Carlo's eyes glittered.