Читать книгу Regency Surrender: Ruthless Rakes - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 17

Chapter Eight

He’d made the decision to help her when he’d seen the little puddle of drool drying on her cheek that morning. It was the best conclusion Nolan could come up with as he lingered over coffee in Piazza San Marco, reviewing the last fourteen hours and his rather surprising capitulation this morning. It was slightly past four o’clock and the piazza was busy with late-afternoon strollers taking in the day before winter darkness fell.

In Venice, this had become his favourite time of day. He’d made a habit of sitting in the piazza, bundled up in his greatcoat and muffler, watching people, guessing their stories. He’d helped one young man a few weeks ago find the right words to mend a quarrel with his sweetheart. Words were simple enough things when you knew which ones you needed. Unfortunately, most people didn’t.

Usually, he had company; one of the many friends he’d made in Venice—novelists and artists, people like himself who made a living from understanding others, or the Austrian Countess Louisa von Haas, who was wintering here for Carnevale. She was an elegant, worldly woman who understood the physical pleasures available in such a setting. Nolan had availed himself of those pleasures on occasion. He was by no means the only man in Venice who had. But today, he sat alone—no artists, no writers, no temporary mistresses—and preferably so. Today, he wasn’t watching people as much as listening to his own thoughts.

Common sense dictated that if he’d truly wanted to be rid of her, he should have taken Gianna back to the count, returned her immediately to the security of her home. Only, there was no security to return to, something her reaction to his knife in the bathing room had confirmed long before she more explicitly confirmed it over breakfast. Of course, he hadn’t needed such confirmation. He’d known from the start. A man who wagered his stepdaughter was no protector at all.

Such a situation had found purchase with him. There’d been no security in his own home life growing up. Once he’d decided to leave his family, he’d had no desire to be returned there either. He certainly wasn’t going to inflict on her a fate he would not have wished for himself. He knew what it was like to be alone in the world, entirely reliant on one’s own resources. Frankly, it was scary, but the thought of going back was even more frightening.

He took comfort in knowing there was a basic explanation behind his motives for helping Gianna: his decision had merely been influenced by the experiences of his own past. Those experiences had been helped along by emotions such as the elation he’d felt when he’d realised she hadn’t stolen from him. The drool had been the pièce de résistance. She’d looked vulnerable and young asleep on his bed, hardly a femme fatale to be feared and thrown out into the world to fend for herself, but a person in need of some luck.

He’d decided he could be her luck as long as that luck didn’t extend beyond giving her a place to stay for a few days, buying her some clothes and offering her some money. Those items wouldn’t interrupt his plans and at present he had the funds to spare. Venice at Carnevale had proven very lucrative. That was as far as he was willing to go and that was the plan he’d had in place before breakfast. Anything more would have to be refused. But that’s not what had happened.

At breakfast, everything had changed. She’d refused his initial position, turned down his money, and then had the audacity to renegotiate with him. Somewhere between his third and fourth piece of toast, he’d found himself straying from his original offer to an offer of actual physical assistance. In return, she would leave after he helped her retrieve something from the count. Goodness knew what that might be and what it might involve. Certainly, it would involve covert action and that meant it would involve risk. He would be ready for it. To that end, he had two more stops to make before dinner. The sooner they could expedite their association the better.

Nolan braced his packages under one arm, pushed open the door and stared in amazement. This was his room? For a moment he thought perhaps he’d gone to the wrong place. In all the weeks he’d lived here, it had never looked like this: candles flickering, the curtains pulled back to reveal the lanterns on the canal, the long, highly polished but little-used dining table set with white cloth, silver and crystal. This was a setting fit for a prince. It carried an elegance far beyond that of an itinerant gambler who had money but not much else in life. If he’d known what was waiting for him, he might have come back sooner. Or, he might be highly suspicious.

Nolan chose to be the latter. This was the same woman, after all, who had tried to suck him and then slapped him for a kiss moments later. This was a woman who was with him because he was her only alternative for the moment, a rather lowering thought for a man who prided himself on the ability to seduce anyone.

Gianna moved from the shadows. Her entrance was masterfully staged. She only drew his attention after he’d had a chance to absorb the scene. And rightly so. Nolan thought he might have missed the table and all its finery if he’d seen her first. She was a queen in the candlelight, dressed in a silver-grey silk gown banded at the waist and trimmed at the hem in bands of black velvet. Her dark hair was piled high, exposing the slender column of her neck, a few curls left loose to tempt a man’s hand. ‘Welcome home.’ She moved forward, a glass in her hand, its cut facets catching the light of the candles. ‘There is chilled champagne and dinner will be here shortly.’ She handed him the glass and took his packages to set aside. Now, he was officially suspicious. She played the hostess far too well. A less-cautious man would be drawn in before he even knew the net had been cast.

‘What is all of this?’ Nolan kept his tone casual.

‘This is thank you and I’m sorry.’ Her hands were at the shoulders of his coat, helping him out of it. ‘I should not have slapped you last night. You have been kind to me none the less.’ She folded his coat and draped it over the sofa. She gave him a sly smile. ‘Don’t worry, it’s all on your bill if that makes you feel better. I can hardly seduce you on your own money.’

‘Is that how it works? Perhaps that explains why my other mistresses failed,’ Nolan said coolly. He was finding her premise fairly debatable. The candlelit suite, the cold champagne and the woman herself were doing a fine job seducing his senses and his body, although his mind was holding out for something more rational before he was entirely persuaded there was no other agenda.

A knock sounded at the door, and Gianna moved to answer it, favouring him with a chance to watch the grey silk move over her curves. Apparently, the session with Signora Montefiori had gone well.

The facchini stepped in with trays and laid the rest of the table with quick efficiency. Covers were removed, a second round of champagne was poured, bread was sliced in advance. Gianna dismissed the porters and stepped towards the table, holding a hand out to him in invitation, her voice husky. ‘Will you come and dine with me?’ She might as well have said, Come to bed with me.

Her eyes were on him. He felt his body start to fire with arousal. Direct eye contact with a woman who knew her own mind had always turned him on. Tonight was proving to be no exception. She was all Eve with the apple, tempting him to believe in the mirage she’d created—this elegant domesticity mixed with sophisticated intimacy. He found her intoxicating, this beautiful woman in grey, who had so effortlessly taken charge of the setting. It conjured up thoughts of other settings in which she might take charge; what would it be like to take such a woman to bed? Would she take charge of her own pleasure? Would she take charge of his? It was certainly probable. His cock recalled the feel of her hand on him and his body raced at the prospect of such possibility.

He joined her at the table, holding out a chair for her, thankful for the shadows that disguised his response to the fantasy she’d created. ‘Everything looks delicious.’ The compliment was designed to encompass more than the food, although everything on the table was in fact his favourites—the trota al burro, the thin strands of angel-hair pasta, the careful geometric piles of white polenta and at the centre of it all was the bowl of steaming go risotto.

Of course, the kitchen had all of his favourites on file. All one had to do was ask the kitchen what Signor Gray liked to eat. He was known throughout the markets of Venice for his love of Venetian seafood. It wasn’t the resourcefulness that touched him, it was her thoughtfulness. She’d gone to the trouble of asking. If she even guessed how compelling he found that little courtesy, he’d be entirely vulnerable despite his rather healthy layer of cynicism. Oh, it would be very prudent indeed to expedite their association as quickly as possible if this was her effect on him. Randy, well-fed men didn’t always think with their brains. He was on the verge of becoming both, a very dangerous fate considering he lived by his wits.

‘More champagne?’ She poured him the rest of the bottle and then opened another. ‘You have fallen in love with our seafood, it would seem. The lagoon is a fisherman’s paradise. But the risotto dish is hardly rich man’s fare.’

‘Perhaps that’s why I like it.’ Nolan sat back in his chair, letting his food settle. ‘Or perhaps it’s the risk in it that appeals to me. I’m a gambler by trade, I thrive on it. Once, on Burano, I saw someone make the go risotto. I saw the chefs carefully prepare the go fish so that they didn’t ruin the broth, I saw the risotto flipped in the air for aeration. There were so many variables needed to make perfection.’

He watched her take in his words, unravel their meaning. Her hand stilled on the stem of her flute. Did she know she did that? Whenever she felt caught, her body stilled while she gathered her mental resources. It was her tell. Everyone had them. Some just hid them better than others. He pitched his voice low, caressing each word deliberately. ‘One false move, one missed step, and the dish becomes disaster.’

Her hand came up and played with the pearl drop that lay just below her throat. Nolan’s hand itched to take its place. Perhaps she’d made the gesture on purpose to distract him, to redirect his thoughts. He could almost feel the pearl in his hand. It would be warm from the heat of her body. It would be a natural progression of movement to draw a finger down the column of her throat to the shadow between her breasts. As lovely as this interlude was, he needed to end it before he was entirely at her mercy.

‘Is that what we’re doing tonight, Gianna? Making perfection? If so, a man has to wonder why?’

Everything had been going perfectly until now. She’d known from the outset Nolan would have to be massaged into compliance, but she’d not guessed it would be over this. These—the dinner, the dress, the direct looks—were all designed to ensure his compliance, not to rouse his suspicions. They were supposed to help her avoid suspicion and now, her efforts had accomplished the very opposite of her intentions.

She’d left nothing to chance: not the foods for dinner, not the temperature of the champagne, nor any aspect of her appearance seen or unseen from the elegant fall of the grey evening gown Signora Monte­fiori had left to the silky undergarments beneath, compliments of an unclaimed wedding trousseau. And it still wasn’t enough.

Nolan leaned across the table, his eyes on her, dark and serious, his sharp mind already a step ahead of her. ‘Is this about the count, Gianna? If so, it’s wasted effort. I’ve already pledged my assistance.’ He paused. ‘Unless there is something you haven’t told me? Does this have to do with the item we need to retrieve?’

The truth was her only option. This was not a question she could answer with a pretty dress or champagne or silky undergarments. ‘Retrieving it will be a delicate task, one that will require some stealth...’ Gianna began, watching Nolan raise an eyebrow. At least he hadn’t thrown her out for what she implied.

‘Is there any chance in this discussion that you have substituted the words “retrieving” and “stealth” for “stealing”?’ Nolan swallowed the last of his champagne, giving every appearance of a man who was making usual conversation over dinner.

‘No.’ She was on definite ground here. ‘It is mine, legally.’ More legally in four weeks, but it had been willed to her and that made it hers no matter what her age. ‘But the count will be reluctant to give it up.’ The count’s reluctance stemmed from a different reason than hers. He wanted the item for its overtly displayed contents and what money they could bring. She wanted it for what it hid, for what it protected. Those secrets were still safe. The count would not have proposed otherwise—there would have been no reason to.

‘May I infer that we will not be able to simply ask him for it?’ Nolan pushed back from the table to give himself room to cross one long leg over another. ‘We will have to take it? Will the sight of my knife be suitable enough force for him to concede the object?’

Gianna set her jaw. He knew very well it wouldn’t be. There were just two of them. They could not lay siege in broad daylight to the count’s palazzo simply by walking in. His footmen, all burly, highly trained brutes, would evict them in short order, or at least evict Nolan. They might not let her go. The thought of being trapped in that house again made her shudder. ‘It is important that he not know we have it.’ The longer her ‘retrieval’ of the item went unnoticed the better. She would not hesitate to use it as leverage later. But without it, she would have nothing to bargain with.

‘You’re asking me to burgle the count’s house?’ Nolan’s tone registered a certain amount of incredulity.

‘I’m not asking you to do it alone,’ Gianna answered swiftly. ‘I’ll be there with you.’ She’d meant it as encouragement, but, yes, she was asking him to break into the count’s house. ‘I have a plan.’ As if that made it better. She rose from the table. ‘We need to go tonight, while the count is out. His staff will have the evening off.’

Nolan’s hand closed about her wrist, the steel of his voice matching the steel of his grip, his answer firm. ‘No.’

For the first time, Gianna began to panic. He couldn’t refuse. He simply couldn’t. She’d not allowed herself to contemplate what to do if he said no. She’d been so sure. Everything hinged on going back. She would lose Giovanni if she didn’t.