The Shades of Time (16 page)

"M'Lord, your
father wishes for me to bring," Paulo stumbled as he had not been
accorded the woman's surname and feared using her given name in a
gesture of disrespect, "Madame to your brother." He hastened to
add, "A light lunch awaits once your discussion is completed."
Breathing an obvious sigh of relief that the mercurial elder would
find little fault with his delivery, Paulo held an arm out for
Veluria.

Tonio held
back, his gut in a knot. It was one thing to resolve to see to his
brother's happiness, even if that meant supporting a potentially
unsuitable match. It was quite another when the debilitating
headache returned at the mere thought of Veluria and Stefano
together.

He watched
Veluria disappear into the palazzo, his face a grim mask of
displeasure.

Veluria
gathered her skirts, reflexively touching the nape of her neck,
reveling in the shadow play that left her senses on high alert. She
had all but swooned as the tall man had loomed over her, invading
her space with transient touches. Did he think she couldn't feel
the gentle tug on the laces, couldn't imagine him stripping her
bare and teasing her flesh with soft caresses?

How easily she
would have shed the armor she'd carefully installed against such a
sweet assault. It was as if he'd never asked for anything for
himself, had never before acknowledged he might have needs or
desires. There was a naiveté, a coltishness, about the hardened
warrior that brooked her defenses. Somehow he had unconsciously
unlocked the door that guarded her heart, ensnaring them both. Had
it not been for the fortuitous interruption, she suspected things
might have spun out of control.

What was it about this Demon that had her thinking the fates
had aligned to bring them together? She surmised, no—at some deeper
level—she
knew
that
he let few in, that in fact she might be the first to plumb the
secrets of the man behind the mask of violence and disdain for his
fellow man.

But then he
tried to slam the door shut, but not before she glimpsed the
heartache and shame, the agony and guilt. Again, the guilt. What in
God's name had he done?

Perhaps Stefano
would finally give her answers to the vexing questions.

Reluctantly she
swept past him, allowing her skirts to sweep across his legs,
fabric on fabric, a hint that left a nervous surge racing up her
thighs to settle with delicious intensity in her private space.

She needed to
find answers and soon. All the emotional turmoil served no end and
kept her from achieving her goal.

Damn it,
Reverend Mother. You prepared me for everything else. Why did you
not prepare me for this?

Antonio watched
Veluria exit the patio. Again he marveled at how something so tiny
could turn him into a towering volcano of heat and lust, the
visions of her in his arms consuming him. He could sense her long
after she swept through the patio doorway and disappeared into the
dim light of the atrium.

Curious at the
odd summons from his father, he quickly made his way to Cosimo's
private apartments on the third floor of the palazzo. He would need
a moment before confronting the old lion. The man was canny to a
fault, and it would not do to allow him any awareness of the
unusual dynamics that Veluria's and his powers manifested in the
garden. Taking the stairs two at a time, he permitted one small
memory, then shut her out of his consciousness until he was ready
to once again sample the flavor and bouquet only hinted at that
day.

****

Cosimo leaned
against the stone balustrade, his hands braced against the smooth
granite, rocking slightly on his heels. He had watched his eldest
and the mysterious French woman with interest and had noted Tonio's
unusual willingness to be close to her. His 'enforcer' seldom
allowed contact with another unless it was to administer his
particular form of persuasion to unwitting victims. Of all his
sons, this one had mastered the arts of interrogation and
intimidation with an ease and enthusiasm that had delighted and
frightened his many instructors. That he had learned to temper his
aggressive nature when it came to his younger brothers spoke to his
ability to control and channel his gifts. Cosimo appreciated and
applauded Tonio's restraint but was in no way lulled into believing
that the man was anything more than a smoldering volcano, ready to
erupt without notice.

"You wish to
see me?"

Cosimo smiled
and turned toward his son, amused at the studied, placid
expression. He could allow this little masquerade for now. What he
had seen and sensed from afar could play out in the family's favor
since Antonio would likely not take the news at all well, too
imbued with his younger brother's well-being for his, and the
family's, own good.

"Yes. I have
just received a most favorable response from the Duke. He has
expressed, shall we say, a certain level of enthusiasm for the
proposition. So much so that he wrote…" Cosimo tapped his forehead
as if trying to remember the exact words, "…you have three sons, I
have three daughters."

Antonio's small
intake of breath betrayed his feelings on the matter. This was
exactly what he feared. His father would go ahead with the match in
one way or another, and it wasn't just Stefano on the auction
block. His gut clenched with the possibilities opening for his
future. That the family would even entertain such a thought…

"Don't look so
concerned, my boy. You and Nico serve me well in other capacities.
But Stefano has unique gifts which, for this match, I will exploit
to the fullest." Cosimo moved off the balcony and turned toward the
writing desk. The bank of tall windows filtered the late afternoon
light through a filmy gauze covering. He reached for a square of
parchment and extended it to Antonio. "Read for yourself."

Antonio scowled
at the tiny lettering then threw it onto the desk. His voice thick
with scorn, he stated, "Still trying to impress, I see."

Cosimo laughed
out loud. "I thought you might agree with me. Remember, the Duke
has several cloisters he maintains with the Duchy's funds. He
attempts to elevate his rank to ours."

Antonio
sneered, "But a Pope and a Cardinal will trump his monks any day of
the week."

"Quite right.
But we can use that ambition to our advantage. The Habsburg court
stands to change in some significant ways in the near future. We
need to be part of that change or it will consume us. Stefano will
be our instrument to assure our interests." He held up a hand to
stay Antonio's next words. "And my decision is final on this
matter."

Antonio
murmured, "I understand," though for the briefest moment his face
belied his feelings until the mask settled once more. "If that's
all, Papà? I have matters to attend to. I shall leave you to break
the news. Your guest also awaits your pleasure."

"Tend to your
duties, Antonio. I will let you know when it is time for me to
explore exactly what our guest has to offer." He gave his son a
crafty stare. "I have a feeling it could prove entertaining."

Antonio stalked
from the room leaving Cosimo to ponder what his eldest planned to
do next. That he did not back this decision—considering the
marriage not in his brother's best interest—was quite clear. His
son also had his gut in a knot over the woman, setting up an
interesting conflict of interests.

But however it
played out, ultimately Tonio would protect that which mattered
most—the family. And perhaps he might also see how his clever
father had opened a new possibility, a new opportunity to serve.
His attraction to the woman, and her potential as an ally in the
always shifting loyalties of the continental courts—whichever one
she actually served—offered intriguing possibilities.

Cosimo wandered
over to a small leather-topped table flanked with burgundy brocaded
stools. He examined the chess pieces with interest. The rooks he'd
dispatched early, with Nico moved into striking distance at C5.
He'd yet to call his knights into service. Nodding sagely, he
picked up the heavy marble piece and moved G1 to F3. Sliding onto a
stool, Cosimo pondered the disposition of the pieces, frowning at
the black Bishop at C8. This was the imponderable, the thing he'd
been feeling for several days. A new player graced the stage, with
similar abilities to the woman, perhaps even stronger. Most
certainly dangerous. Cosimo had him blocked by Nico, but perhaps
that move would not have the outcome he anticipated. His gut told
him the threat was closer than Spagna, very close indeed.

****

Andreas grew weary as the heat of the day drained his meager
resources. He was hungry and thirsty and had not slept in days. He
had desperate need of a vessel to restore his flagging energies and
to take his mind off the passion that threatened to consume him
when in such close proximity to
her
.

He moved
surreptitiously along the narrow pathways jutting in several
directions off the Ferrara estate. Though unremarkable in outline
from its near neighbors, the imposing edifice broke the dullness of
gray granite with ornate finials and over-sized windows. He admired
the beautiful leaded cut glass and recalled that it was Venice that
controlled the secret process and had been a center for
glass-making for almost four hundred years. He grumpily latched
onto his vast store of trivia to occupy his mind when his patience
for his beads grew thin.

He gave thought
to abandoning his watch and seeking audience with the Monsignor, if
for no other reason than to entertain himself with the righteous
fool's concern and unending need for gossip. His games with the
Papàl envoy, the good Cardinal, were of no interest to his mission,
yet they formed a convenient excuse for him to maintain his cover
and to secure access to areas a normal citizen would be unlikely to
breach.

He rather
enjoyed playing the role of cleric. Venetians were, if nothing
else, agnostics at heart—the citizens' lack of religious zeal spoke
volumes of their shaky relationship with the Vatican. Over the
years, the city had been subject to interdicts by the Holy See, the
most recent imposed during the War of the Holy League under Pope
Julius. Those shifting alliances had been of the neck-snapping
variety with Venice entering into an unholy pact with Henry and
Maximilian against the French.

Having the
woman represent herself as a ward of the French court was an
interesting, though odd, ploy. Political games aside, what mattered
were that her peculiar abilities to set his training to naught
over-rode the Monsignor's petty concerns. That she might wreak
havoc on the man's ill-conceived politicking with competing
interests in the church amounted to a mere sideshow as far as
Andreas was concerned.

The sound of a
door slamming brought Andreas to full alert. He peered around the
corner to find the Demon de' Medici standing only yards away, his
face a study in irritation. Andreas faded against the rough stone,
drawing on his remaining reserves to cloak himself in the shadow of
the alleyway. He felt rather than heard the dangerous man passing,
a whirlpool of anger, tightly coiled and spinning so fast it would
consume all who ventured in his path. Andreas knew that someone
would pay dearly tonight. He preferred it not be him, but he knew
he must follow the Dark One. There were answers with him, and the
woman was not going anywhere. At least not for a while. Of that he
was pathetically sure.

Chapter
Twelve

"In here,
Madame, if you would…" Paulo held the door as Veluria swept into a
well-appointed salon. Unlike the ornate, thickly brocaded
wall-coverings on the lowest level, this room was spare in
ornamentation. The walls sported walnut wainscoting topped with
cream-colored stucco artfully applied in random swirls that caught
and reflected the light streaming in the south-facing bank of
windows.

She muttered,
"Gracie," but the manservant had already left, closing the door
quietly. Veluria paced about the room, willing herself to stay calm
and not dwell on the disturbing interplay of powers that had almost
entrapped her in a game of … what? Exactly what had happened in the
garden? Who had tempted whom? It had been such an intense exchange,
almost like two lovers rutting on a forest floor, heedless of their
surroundings, aware only of each other. She reached out gingerly,
seeking the Demon, testing her resolve and ability to contain her
energies. With a sigh of relief, she felt his awareness drift away,
like clouds dissipating after a storm, the air fresher, though
still fragrant with a lingering scent of musk and animal
wildness.

To distract
herself, she cataloged the furnishings, memorizing every detail,
including the pattern of the rug—octagonal, with a deep burgundy
floral pattern so favored by the ruling elite. With its political
and economic interests still firmly in place in the Middle Eastern
regions, Venice lay claim to that rich cultural heritage which the
fair city adopted as its own. The textiles, of a nubby linen weave
in a variety of patterns, adorned not only the floors but also
doubled as wall coverings, though in this salon the large rug
occupied single pride of place in the center of the room.

The space had a
very male feel to it. She wondered who occupied the suite and if
she were in fact a detainee rather than a guest. To her surprise a
wave of exhaustion swept over her, almost staggering in its
intensity.

How much time
had passed since she'd responded to Stefano's request for a
clandestine meeting? Days, weeks? It felt that way, though in truth
the string of episodes, the engagements with enemies and allies
alike, could be measured in mere hours, hours that had been
productive in unexpected ways.