Manfred grabbed him. 'Don't be a fool, Erik. The demoiselle is right. If there are two of us--ah, occupied with her--they're likely to look elsewhere. Come on, Erik. Get them off. Especially that surcoat.'
The woman began expertly removing the horrified Erik's trousers. 'I have some wigs. Some of my clients like a little masquerade. And you'd better call me Francesca. As charming as 'demoiselle' is, my clients do know my name.'
* * *
Looking up at Manfred's hairy thighs standing over him was, Erik decided, the best view from a moral standpoint. Even if it was not attractive in any other sense. He couldn't just close his eyes when a murderous bunch might burst in on him at any moment--
Not with him trapped in this position. With Francesca's silky thighs straddled over him--muscular thighs, for all the soft smoothness of her skin--if he looked forward his view was of large naked breasts. Better to look at Manfred, even if large hairy . . .
The situation was grotesque! Especially because Manfred and Francesca didn't share any of his own sense of modesty.
He couldn't quite see just what Francesca was doing with Manfred, but the noise didn't leave much to the imagination. And she didn't have to roll her hips on him like that! It wasn't as if he could do anything.
* * *
When the Schiopettieri captain wrenched open the door moments later, he was greeted with the sight of three naked people on the bed, indulging in what his wife would have called 'unnatural acts' that he himself would fantasize about for weeks thereafter. The slimmer dark-haired fellow who was being straddled was plainly putting in a tremendous effort, to judge by his bright red face.
Francesca removed part of her oxlike client's anatomy from her mouth. 'We're busy, Luigi. You'll have to come back later,' she said lazily.
The Schiopettieri captain shut the door hastily.
* * *
'Give it a minute and I think you can leave. Unless you'd like to finish off also,' she added coquettishly, tickling the hastily dressing and red-faced Erik in the ribs.
'Nothing Erik'd like more,' said Manfred, smothering a guffaw. 'But I'm afraid we've got to go. Just how do we get out of here?'
She took a key from the drawer. 'I was in a house that caught fire once. Since then I have always made sure I had a way out. There is a door at the end of the passage with a hoist-beam for bringing furniture up from the Canal.'
'Ah. Going to be a splashy, wet landing. You don't want to drink this canal water if you can help it, Erik,' said Manfred.
Francesca smiled lazily at him. 'You'd make an even bigger splash than I would. Wait a moment. I have some rope.'
Manfred nodded. 'Sounds good. Beats jumping.'
Erik wondered why there would be rope in such a room. Then, seeing the paraphernalia in the closet from which Francesca withdrew the rope, found himself blushing more fiercely. He had never seen such things, although he had heard of them.
But by now Erik had finished dressing, and the relief of being no longer unclothed brought back his usual calm. He turned to the still-naked Francesca, carefully looking only at her face. 'Will you be all right? Should we take you with us?'
Francesca shuddered. 'Three stories? When the building's not burning? No thank you! I'm not planning on staying in this establishment much longer anyway. But when I do leave, I will use more conventional means. I am certainly not built for the climbing of ropes.'
Her smile widened to a grin. 'My strength is in my legs. I shall use them to walk out of the front door. Quite soon, in fact. This house does not have sufficient cachet for someone of my . . . talents, shall we say. I have no intention of remaining a mere brothel puttana, although it has taken me a while to gather resources. Now, I shall move to the Casa Louise.'
She chucked his chin. 'Just remember that you owe me a favor. And now, get out of here before Luigi comes back.'
