Читать книгу Rising Fire - William W. Johnstone - Страница 10

CHAPTER 4

Venice, Italy, two years earlier

It was the fanciest, most exclusive ball of the season, with only the most illustrious members of Italian society there, along with many distinguished visitors from England and the rest of the Continent. The great, glittering hall in one of the palaces overlooking the Grand Canal was packed with aristocracy, wealth, power, and influence. Ladies in exquisite gowns, with jewelry shimmering on their fingers and wrists and around their milky white throats, swirled around the dance floor in the arms of dashing, expensively dressed gentlemen as a small orchestra played.

Nineteen-year-old Denise Nicole Jensen was perhaps the loveliest young woman in the vast room. Her blond hair was coiffed in an elaborate arrangement of curls that tumbled around shoulders left bare by her pale blue gown. The dress was cut fashionably low, cinched tight at her trim waist, and flared out around her hips. A smattering of lace decorated the neckline and sleeves.

The ball had not been under way for long, and at the moment, Denny was dancing with her twin brother, Louis, who shared the same fine features and slender build but had sandy brown hair instead of blond. They were making one of their periodic tours of the Continent, during a break from the school Louis attended in England.

When they were younger, they had always been accompanied on these journeys by their grandparents, their mother Sally’s mother and father, who owned the estate in England where Denny and Louis had grown up. Louis’s poor health as a child had prompted Smoke and Sally to seek the very best medical care available for him, and that had been in Europe. Rather than split up the twins, Denny had gone with her brother to live on the Reynolds estate. Smoke and Sally hated to be apart from their children, but they had to do what was best for Louis.

These days, now that the twins were almost fully grown, they traveled on their own, although their grandmother still wasn’t too keen on the idea. So far on this trip, they had been to Paris, Rome, and now Venice.

“I have a feeling you’re about to be swarmed,” Louis said quietly as they danced. “All the young men at this ball are waiting to swoop down on you like a pack of vultures. Quite a few of the older men are, too.”

“What a lovely image,” Denny said caustically. “I always enjoy being compared to a piece of carrion.”

“Oh, now, that’s not what I meant, and you know it. I’m just saying that as the prettiest girl here, you’re going to get the most attention. It’s inevitable.”

“I’m hardly the prettiest girl here,” Denny scoffed. “Look at all those gorgeous Italian signorinas and French mademoiselles and Spanish señoritas. Poor little old me can’t hold a candle to them.”

“You underestimate yourself,” Louis assured her.

Denny laughed. “What do you know about it? You’re my brother.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m blind.”

“It doesn’t mean you’re right, either.”

The song came to an end. The dancers paused and applauded lightly, and some shuffling of partners went on. Denny supposed she would dance with Louis again, but before the music resumed, a man’s voice said from behind her, “Please, signorina, you must help me. My life is in danger!”

Denny turned quickly. An elegantly attired, dark-haired young man a few years older than her stood there with a smile on his handsome face. He was well built but not overly tall. His gray eyes and Denny’s blue ones were almost on the same level.

Denny cocked her head a little to the side, frowned, and said, “It doesn’t look to me like your life is in any danger. You look perfectly healthy to me.”

“Ah, but that is because you cannot see my heart, signorina. There is no way for you to know that it will break completely in two if I do not have this dance, and all the other dances this evening, with you.”

Denny glanced at Louis, who shrugged as if to say, I told you so. Then she turned back to the stranger.

“Does that approach actually work?” she asked him. “Don’t women laugh in your face when you say such things?”

“My face, it is strong enough to withstand a beautiful woman’s laughter, because when she laughs, she also smiles, and a smile from a beautiful woman is worth any risk. Especially a woman as lovely as you, signorina.”

Denny studied him for a moment, then said, “Whatever I say, you’re going to have an answer for it, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “I speak only the truth, as any nobleman must.” He took her hand and bowed low over it. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Count Giovanni Malatesta, from the beautiful island of Sicily.”

Even though Denny hadn’t grown up in the American West, the courtesy of the frontier ran in her veins, along with the blood of the Jensens. She said, “I’m Denise Jensen. This is my brother Louis.”

Count Malatesta pressed his lips to the back of Denny’s hand, then murmured, “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Signorina Jensen. Denise . . . a lovely name for a lovely girl.”

He straightened, held on to Denny’s hand for a second longer, then let go of it and forthrightly stuck out his own hand to Louis. “And an honor to meet you, my friend.” He looked back and forth between them. “Such a distinct resemblance. You are perhaps twins?”

“We are,” Louis acknowledged as he shook hands with the count.

“And Americans, of that there is no doubt.”

“Why?” Denny asked. “Because you think we’re bumpkins, as so many Europeans do?”

Malatesta pressed his right hand to his chest and shook his head. “Never! No Italian would ever be so ungracious as to think such a thing. Now, a German might hold such an opinion, perhaps . . . a Frenchman, most definitely! But not me or any of my countrymen.”

The first notes of the next song came from the musicians. Malatesta held out his hand.

“Please, signorina. Have mercy on my poor heart. Do not let it break in two.”

Denny couldn’t help but smile. She put her hand in Malatesta’s and said, “Oh, all right. We’re guests in your country, after all.”

“And very welcome guests, I assure you.”

“But this one dance is all I’ll promise you.”

“I will cast my fate to the winds of fortune and the mercy of a beautiful woman,” Malatesta said.

He clasped her left hand with his right, put his other arm around her waist as she rested her right hand on his shoulder, and led her into a waltz. He was a very skilled dancer, moving perfectly in time to the music and making certain that she did, too. He didn’t pull her too close, instead maintaining a proper distance, but even so there was an undeniable intimacy in what they shared.

After a few minutes, he asked quietly, “You are enjoying yourself?”

“I am,” Denny admitted. “You dance very well.”

“I do a great many things very well.”

“Including boasting?” she asked.

“It is not boasting if one can accomplish the things he claims,” Malatesta said.

“In other words, as they say where I come from, no brag, just fact.”

“That is one way of putting it. And where, exactly, is it that you come from, Signorina Jensen? America is your homeland, I know, but it is a vast country.”

“Quite vast,” Denny agreed. “Actually, I was born in Boston and have spent a great deal of time in England. I’ve picked up some of the accent.”

“Not much,” Malatesta said. “You still sound like an American to me.”

“But my parents live in the West, in a state called Colorado, and since that’s my heritage and I’ve visited there enough, I consider myself a western girl.”

“Colorado,” Malatesta repeated. “I believe I have heard of it. A place full of murderous desperadoes and wild, bloodthirsty Indians, is it not?”

“Only in dime novels. Oh, there are still desperadoes, I suppose. There have always been men on the wrong side of the law and there always will be.”

“Certainly quite probable.”

“But the threat from the Indians is over, except in widely scattered places,” she said as they continued turning and swooping gracefully in time to the music. “The country is civilized now, or so they say.” She sighed.

Malatesta frowned slightly and said, “You sound almost disappointed that it is so.”

“Well, my father and mother had such exciting adventures when they were young and just married, and quite a few since then, too. It just seems hard to believe that so little time has actually passed since then. Only a few decades.”

“History moves slowly when one studies it in books, but speeds along swiftly indeed when one is busy living it.”

She looked squarely at him and said, “That’s a pretty profound thing to say.”

“Forgive me,” he replied hastily. “The last thing I feel like being this evening is profound. And most people of my acquaintance would laugh at the very idea of me saying anything that might make a person think.”

“Maybe so, but I’m enjoying dancing with you . . . and talking with you.”

“Then my evening is already a spectacular success and will only get better from here, I think!”

* * *

Denny didn’t dance every dance with Count Giovanni Malatesta at that ball, despite his pleading, but she found herself in his arms quite often even though she tried to spread her attention around to some of the other single men in attendance.

He was insistent, though, and eventually she gave up the battle, telling Louis, “I think it’ll be easier dancing with him than trying to avoid him.”

“He does seem very determined,” Louis said.

Denny looked over at her brother and asked, “What do you think of him?”

“The count? He’s a charmer, no doubt about that. How genuine it is, I couldn’t tell you.” Louis paused. “He also seems to have a very high opinion of himself. Perhaps it’s deserved. After all, he is young, rich, handsome, and a nobleman. I’m sure a lot of the ladies here would love to be dancing with him.”

Denny made a dismissive sound. “He thinks he can just come along and sweep me off my feet. This isn’t some Henry James novel. He’s not some sophisticated European taking advantage of the crass, crude Americans.”

But despite her wariness, Denny said yes the next time the count asked her to dance, and after that they spent most of the rest of the evening together.

When the hour grew late and the ball began to break up, Malatesta took hold of both of Denny’s hands and asked, “Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you back to your hotel?”

“I came here tonight with my brother.”

“And I’ve spent enough time talking with Louis to know that he’s an intelligent, enterprising young man. I have no doubt he can find his own way back without your assistance.”

Denny shook her head. “I’m sorry, but no, Count.”

“Please, after all the time we’ve spent together this evening, you should call me Giovanni.” A smile lit up his face. “Or perhaps even Johnny. That is how you Americans would say my name, is it not?”

“Let’s just leave it at Count Malatesta, shall we?” Denny replied coolly.

“As you wish.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I should not move so fast, I know. It’s just that my resistance is always so weak in the presence of such a beautiful woman.”

“Well, you’ll just have to be strong. Louis and I are going back to the hotel in the same carriage that brought us here.”

“Of course.” He took hold of her hand and bent to kiss the back of it again. “But you and I, we will see each other again. It is written in the stars, cara mia.”

She and Louis were in the carriage, on their way back to the Hotel Metropole, before she said, “What does cara mia mean in Italian?” Louis had always had a better flare for languages than she did.

“I believe it translates to ‘my beloved,’ or something very close to that. Why?”

“I heard someone say it tonight.”

Louis looked over at her in the shadows of the coach. “Count Malatesta?”

“Never mind.” Denny rolled her eyes. “The whole thing is ridiculous.”

But as she gazed out the carriage’s window at the cobblestone street rolling past, she realized she had a smile on her lips.