Читать книгу Rising Fire - William W. Johnstone - Страница 13

CHAPTER 7

Without opening her eyes, Denny stretched and yawned, luxuriating in the sensation of bare skin against smooth silken sheets. A warm breeze blew through the room, moving a curling strand of blond hair against her cheek. That touch tickled. She lifted a hand to push the hair away. The movement made the sheet fall away from her, and that finally alerted her consciousness to her state of undress.

Her eyes popped open and widened in alarm as she realized she was lying in Count Giovanni Malatesta’s bed.

She grabbed the sheet and pulled it over her again as she sat up and hurriedly looked around. The lamp still burned in the other room. Enough light spilled into the bedroom for her to see that she was alone. She swung her legs off the soft mattress and stood up, taking the sheet with her. She wrapped it around her as she stepped to the door between rooms and called softly, “Giovanni?”

When there was no response, she called his name twice more before deciding she was alone in the apartment. She leaned against the doorjamb, closed her eyes, and tried to gather her scattered thoughts.

The knowledge that her life had changed and would never be the same again clamored in the back of her mind. She wasn’t upset about that fact, necessarily; she had known that sooner or later she would meet the right man and take the step she had taken tonight.

She had never expected that man to be an Italian count, however. She had figured that she would be married, or at the very least, her first experience would be with a man she intended to marry.

Try as she might, she just couldn’t imagine Giovanni living on a ranch in Colorado, and she had decided several years earlier that she intended to return to the Sugarloaf and make her permanent home there, probably in the fairly near future.

The medical advances to be had in Europe may well have saved Louis’s life, but during the past year, more than one doctor had told him that they had done all they could for him. Their best advice, in fact, had been for Louis to spend more time in the open air and try to make himself more robust that way. There was no better place to do that than the Colorado valley where the vast Jensen ranch was located.

When Louis went home to stay, Denny intended to, as well. She and her brother had both spent too much time away from their parents. It was time for the Jensen family to be together again.

If she came home with a husband, Smoke and Sally would welcome him and do their best to make him feel right at home at Sugarloaf. Denny had no doubt of that. But would Giovanni ever consider such a thing? Venice had become home to him, after he’d come here from Sicily.

“Oh, Denny, you’re such an impulsive fool,” she whispered to herself. Passion had welled up so strongly and unexpectedly inside her that she hadn’t been able to withstand it. She had allowed Giovanni to ruin her.

“Stop that,” she told herself, louder and more firmly this time. She wasn’t ruined. This was the twentieth century, after all. Morality wasn’t as strict and stringent as it had been in the past. Anyway, she knew good and well that a lot of the so-called rules regarding proper behavior were more honored in theory than they were in practice. Plenty of western brides had walked down the aisle already in the family way.

Her eyes widened again at that thought. What if she was . . . That wasn’t possible, was it? A girl didn’t get like that on the very first time, did she? That wouldn’t be fair at all!

A practical streak a mile wide ran through Denny, always had. What was done was done. Her jaw firmed and her chin lifted. Whatever results the future held, she would face them head-on, without flinching.

Right now, she had to think about getting back to the Hotel Metropole. She could tell by a glance out the window at the darkness that the hour was late. Louis was bound to be worried about her, and probably he would be upset when she got back. But at least she could ease his mind about her safety.

The sound of an angry voice made her frown and look around. She was convinced that she was alone in the apartment and had no idea where Giovanni had gone. After a moment, she realized that the voice came through the open window in the bedroom. Curious, she moved over to it and looked out.

The apartment was on the second floor of the old palazzo, on the side overlooking a narrow street instead of the canal. Streetlamps were few and far between, but enough glow filtered along the cobblestones from one about fifty yards away for Denny to make out the shapes of three men standing and talking in front of the house.

Denny frowned. One of the men was the right size and shape to be Giovanni, but she couldn’t be sure it was him. The other two were in the shadows and were even more obscure. She made out a blob of white where one man’s head ought to be. A mask of some sort?

She caught only a few of the heated words being spoken. They were in Italian and rattled along too fast for her to comprehend them. Then the man she thought might be Giovanni turned on his heel and stalked toward the palazzo’s entrance. Watching the way he moved, Denny was convinced that he was indeed Giovanni.

And no doubt he was on his way back up here. Hurriedly, she tossed the sheet onto the bed and started looking around for her clothes.

She was fully dressed by the time Giovanni opened the door and strode into the apartment. At the sight of her standing there, he exclaimed, “Cara mia, you are awake!”

“Did you plan to let me sleep all night?” she asked coolly. She wasn’t angry with him, but for some reason, at this moment she felt the need to keep a little distance between them. Under the circumstances, it would be too easy to open herself completely to him unless she stayed on her guard.

“Of course not,” he answered as he shook his head. “That would worry and upset your brother. Actually, the hour is not all that late. You can tell Louis that we were strolling along the canal and lost track of the time.”

“Lie to him, in other words.”

Giovanni spread his hands. “It’s not a lie, not exactly. We did stroll along the canal, and after that, I was not thinking about the time, and I fervently hope that you were not, either.”

“You don’t have to worry. I have no intention of telling Louis what happened tonight. The attack by the thieves . . . or anything else.”

He came to her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Denise, you have nothing of which to be ashamed.”

“I didn’t say I was ashamed. I just don’t think it’s any of his business.”

Giovanni nodded and said, “I will get you back to your hotel. Unless . . . you would rather stay . . .”

“I can’t,” Denny said. She started to look away, but then forced herself to meet his eyes. If she claimed she wasn’t ashamed, she didn’t need to act like she was. “I have to think about what’s happened, Giovanni. I’m not upset, but I still have to think about it.”

“I understand,” he said, but she had a feeling he was just trying to be agreeable.

“I’m curious about one thing, though. Who were those men you were talking to just now, out on the street?”

His hands still rested on her shoulders. They tightened slightly as he frowned, shook his head, and said, “I was not talking to anyone.”

“Yes, you were,” Denny insisted. “I saw you from the window in the bedroom. You were talking to two men.”

Grinning, he lifted both hands from her shoulders and waved them expressively. “Oh, those two! Minor annoyances, I assure you. They sent word that they wanted to see me, and since I have known them practically forever, I should have known what they were after. They wanted to borrow some money, only I know that were I to give them any, I would never see those lire again! Still, they are old friends, so I could not refuse to speak with them.”

“No, I suppose not,” Denny said. Giovanni’s words had the ring of truth to them. She went on, “I need to get back to the hotel now.”

“Yes, of course. There are still some gondolas available, even at this hour. But before we go . . .” He gripped her hands. “Cara mia, I want you to know just how happy you have made me and how deeply I care for you.”

He leaned in and kissed her again, not urgent and passionate this time, more of a gentle caress with his lips. Denny responded without thinking, putting her arms around his neck and returning the kiss.

Yes, everything had changed, she thought, but she believed . . . and hoped . . . that this might be the start of something even better.

* * *

Louis was upset when she came into their suite at the Hotel Metropole, even a little angry, just as Denny expected. She thought he also suspected that something had happened between her and Giovanni, but he was too much of a gentleman—or too embarrassed—to press his sister for details about such a thing.

However, over breakfast in their sitting room the next morning, he did say, “I think we should leave Venice. We’ve already been here a lot longer than we intended.”

“I’m not ready to go yet,” Denny said.

“If we stay much longer, we won’t be able to stop at all the other places on our itinerary. We’ll have to start back to England.”

“I don’t care. We’ve already been everywhere anyway. What does it matter whether we make the entire grand tour this time?”

Louis didn’t prolong the argument, but Denny knew he wasn’t happy with her. She didn’t want to annoy him—but she wasn’t ready to leave Giovanni, either.

They continued spending most of their time together, but no matter where they went, they nearly always wound up back in Giovanni’s apartment in the old palazzo, making love in the big four-poster bed while soft evening breezes blew in through the window, carrying the faint strains of romantic songs being sung by the gondoliers poling their boats through the canals. Denny didn’t understand most of the words, but the language of love was unmistakable.

She was so distracted by the unexpected affair with Giovanni that perhaps she wasn’t as alert as usual, but even so, eventually she came to realize that someone was following them.

More than once, she caught a glimpse of a man lurking in the shadows as they strolled along the narrow streets. It wasn’t always the same man, either. Sometimes the watcher was tall and thin, other times short and stocky.

Denny’s mind went back to the night they had been attacked on the Bridge of Roses, a fateful night in more ways than one. Maybe the men who had jumped them hadn’t been random thieves after all. Maybe they had had a more sinister purpose to their assault, although she had no idea what that might have been. She might have gotten around to asking Giovanni about it . . .

But then some of the answers presented themselves, in an unexpected and unpleasant way.