allowing the duke an even better view of her ample charms.

“My dear lady,” the duke said, oozing charm, “so fair a flower is most welcome to my duchy.” And he took her hand up to kiss, but he did not release it.

“I am honored, my lord,” Rosamund said quietly in perfect French, withdrawing her hand from his in a smooth motion.

The duke then introduced her to his heir and his heir’s wife before they were able to move off into the crowd of other guests.

“What happened to his wife?” Rosamund asked Patrick.

“She died about five years after my daughter disappeared,” he responded.

“And the duke did not remarry?”

“He had a grown heir, and by then Rudi had one son and three daughters. I imagine he saw no need. Besides, he has always enjoyed the attentions of many women. The duchess Maria-Theresa was a patient woman with a good heart. I suspect he might even have loved her.”

Rosamund nodded. “Where is the guest of honor, I wonder?” she said.

And at that moment the majordomo at the entry to the lovely hall called out, “My lords and my ladies, Maestro Paolo Loredano di Venetzia!”

And all eyes turned to the man atop the steps.

Chapter 7

Paolo Loredano was a tall, slender man with bright red hair. He was dressed in the most elegant and fashionable garb. His silken breeches were striped in silver and rich purple, and his hose was cloth of silver with a gold rosette garter on one leg. His doublet was lavender and gold satin brocade embroidered in deep purple. His short silk coat was of cloth of gold and cloth of silver with large puffed and padded sleeves. On his head was a purple velvet cap with an ostrich plume. The gold chain that fell from his neck and lay on his chest was studded with sparkling gemstones. His round-toed shoes were purple silk, and on each of his fingers he had a ring of some sort. He carried a single silver glove in his hand, and at his waist was a light dress sword with a cruciform hilt.

He stood a moment atop the steps leading down into the hall, observing. Then, with mincing steps, he descended as the duke came forward to greet him.

“My dear maestro, I bid you welcome to San Lorenzo. We are so honored you have decided to make it your winter home,” the duke said.

“Grazia,” Loredano said. “Anywhere is preferable to Venice in February, my dear duke. Your little enclave, however, has everything I like. Sunny weather, the sea, and an abundance of good light for painting. I have taken a villa overlooking the harbor for my servant and myself.” He took in the hall again. “And,” he continued, “you seem to have many beautiful women and young men as well. I think I shall be quite content here, my dear duke. The doge sends you his greetings.”

“He is well, I hope,” Duke Sebastian replied.

“Considering his age, he is indeed well. We fully expect him to continue to rule for at least another ten years, if not more,” Paolo Loredano answered.

“Excellent! Excellent!” the duke said jovially. “Come now, and meet my son and some of our guests.” And he drew the artist forward by the arm so he might be introduced to his son and his daughter-in-law. One by one the other guests came forward to meet the Venetian. “And here is another visitor to my duchy. She joins us each winter,” the duke said. “May I present to you Baroness Irina Von Kreutzenkampe of Kreutzenburg.”

“Baroness,” the artist, said bowing over the beautiful woman’s plump beringed hand, his bright black eyes surveying her bosom. “You must pose for me,” he said, smiling. “I shall paint you as a barbarian warrior queen.”

The baroness’ blue eyes looked directly at the artist. “And how shall I be costumed?” she asked. Her tone, while quiet, was also teasing.

“You shall have a helmet, a spear, and a discreet drapery,” he told her, “but your bosom must be bared. Barbarian warrior women were always bare breasted,” he finished.

The baroness laughed a low and smoky laugh. “I shall consider it,” she said.

“I would gift your husband with the painting,” the artist murmured.

“I am a widow, maestro,” Irina Von Kreutzenkampe answered him, and then she moved away.

“And this is Lord MacDuff, the ambassador from King James of Scotland,” the duke continued, sorry that the previous conversation had been ended.

Lord MacDuff bowed, nodded, and moved on.

“And the Earl of Glenkirk, who was King James’ first ambassador to me many years ago. He has returned this winter with his companion to escape the cold. May I present Lady Rosamund Bolton of Friarsgate,” the duke said.

The earl bowed, but the artist’s eyes went past him to fix themselves on Rosamund.

“You are beautiful, Madonna,” he said softly.

“Grazia, maestro,” Rosamund responded. She was beginning to learn the Italian language now.

“I shall paint you, too,” the artist said enthusiastically. “You, I shall envision as the goddess of love, Madonna. Do not say no to me.”

Rosamund laughed lightly. “You flatter me, maestro,” she said.

“But you have not said yes,” he cried.

“I have not, have I?” she answered him, and then, taking Patrick’s arm she moved off.

“You flirted with him,” the earl said, sounding slightly aggrieved.

“I did,” she agreed, “but I did not say I should allow him to paint me with my breasts bare or otherwise.” And Rosamund laughed.

“If it would help me to gain my ends with Venice, would you?” he asked wickedly.

“Yes!” she told him. “Yes, I would, Patrick! He wants to seduce me, you know. But before or after he has had his way with the baroness I am not certain,” she giggled.

He laughed. “You are probably right. Now, the baroness interests me very much. My information tells me that she is the daughter of one of Emperor Maximilian’s contemporaries. She comes to San Lorenzo each winter. MacDuff thinks she is the emperor’s eyes and ears here, for the duke is much in favor with the Germans, who visit his port on a regular basis. Who would suspect a woman of spying?”

“She is very beautiful,” Rosamund noted.

“If you like large-bosomed women with gold hair, blue eyes, and an inviting smile,” Patrick said mischievously.

“Well, she has had her eye on you this evening,” Rosamund muttered, “but don’t you think she is a bit, er, large?”

“These Germanic woman tend to be big-boned,” he replied. “They make a right armful, I am told. Are you jealous, my love?”

“Of the baroness? No more than you are of the Venetian, my lord,” Rosamund responded smoothly. And she looked up at her lover and smiled.

Before he might reply, however, the lady in question glided to his side. “My lord Leslie,” she said. “I believe there are matters we must discuss soon. When may we speak?”

Close up, Rosamund could see the baroness’ face was lightly pockmarked. She did not speak to the earl’s companion.

“My ambassador will be giving a small feast in a few days. You will be invited, madame, and there we may speak with each other in the privacy of the embassy and not arouse suspicions by doing so,” the Earl of Glenkirk told her.

She held out her plump hand to him. “That is suitable,” she said.

Вы читаете Until You
Добавить отзыв
ВСЕ ОТЗЫВЫ О КНИГЕ В ИЗБРАННОЕ

0

Вы можете отметить интересные вам фрагменты текста, которые будут доступны по уникальной ссылке в адресной строке браузера.

Отметить Добавить цитату