The Demon Count Page 12

  "I need your help, Miss Morrow," he began with just a touch of diffidence. "Or, to put it more correctly, we need your help. The situation here in Venice is volatile, to say the least. The Venetians are moving inexorably toward a revolt against the Austrians. We want to be ready and able to assist them if and when that time comes."

  "Assist whom?" I demanded, all at sea. "And who are 'we'?"

  "Assist the Venetians, of course!" He looked shocked that there could be any doubt. "And 'we,' my dear Miss Morrow, are merely a group of concerned Englishmen who have banded together to give our unofficial aid to the Ital­ians if and when they need it. With the unspoken consent of our own government, of course."

  I considered whether or not to believe him. "Very well," I said after a moment. "What is it you want from me?"

  "It is suspected, Miss Morrow, that your guardian is not what he appears to be," he began, and then broke off in confusion at my somewhat hysterical laugh.

  "That would be a great relief to me," I said after my inappropriate merriment subsided. "But I would be greatly interested in what you think Luc appears to be."

  "An indolent Venetian nobleman, with nothing to do but game and wench and frighten peasants. Oh, we've heard rumors, Miss Morrow. Supernatural suggestions which we have, of course, discounted. But the more we have watched him, the more we are convinced that Count Lucifero del Zaglia is definitely playing a dangerous game. What we need to know is what his affiliations are, what he knows, and what he's planning. Is he in the pay of the Austrians, the French, or is he a Venetian patriot rallying to the cause of a free and united Italy?"

  I sipped at the strong poison those in Venice called cof­fee and watched my companion over the rim of the delicate little cup. "He does not strike me as a man with an ounce of idealism in him," I replied cautiously. "So I doubt he has any interest in a free Venice. Beneath his courtesy I suspect he detests the Austrians and mocks the French." I set the cup down in the saucer with a little clink. "No, I think you are mistaken, Mister Ferland. Count del Zaglia is nothing more than an idle aristocrat . . . it makes no dif­ference to him who rules Venice, as long as it does not interfere with his self-indulgent pursuits." Harsh words from his dutiful ward, but I had been nursing a grievous hurt since his abrupt disappearance two weeks ago.

  "Perhaps you are right, Miss Morrow. But I don't think so. Would you . . . would you be willing to assist us and indirectly the British government in the meantime and dis­prove our suspicions?" This was suggested in a bland voice, but I wasn't lulled.

  "Are you asking me to spy on my guardian?" I de­manded bluntly, outraged and angered and secretly thrilled. Life had been very boring with Luc gone.

  He frowned in sudden concern, his broad, sensitive brow wrinkling. "Perhaps I've been wrong to confide in you. I may have misunderstood the situation. I was informed that there was nothing between you and Del Zaglia. Was I mis­taken?"

  Now I was indeed angry. "Are you suggesting, Mister Ferland, that I . . . that I . . . ?"

  "No, no, of course not. It is merely that your reluctance to aid your government in a small matter concerning a man you met barely three weeks ago seems quite strange to me. You must forgive me for jumping to what seemed an obvious conclusion."

  "You think that because I'm reluctant to spy on my guardian I must be sleeping with him?" I demanded, and was pleased to see the handsome Mr. Ferland flush at my plain speaking. "And of course, to prove my innocence I must now agree to all your ignoble suggestions, trespass on the count's hospitality and betray him to you . . ."

  "I believe it is your money that is supporting the count, not vice versa," he interposed gently, taking the wind from my sails quite effectively. "Large sums have been with­drawn from your accounts by your guardian during the last few weeks, you know."

  The sun was beginning to set, and I felt an unaccus­tomed little chill pass over me. I met Mark Ferland's eyes with sudden panic. Luc would return tonight, would return in the darkness, where he belonged, and I was frightened.

  He placed a strong tanned hand on mine in a comforting gesture, as if he could read my thoughts and fears. "It's not a very nice thing we're asking of you, Miss Morrow. If there was any way we could get the same information with­out involving you we would do so without delay. We need you. England needs you."

  There was no way I could resist that. I was hit with a sudden wave of homesickness that threatened to make me burst into tears in the middle of Florian's Cafe. I bent my head lower so that he couldn't see the unshed tears in my eyes, and let my hand remain in his strong, comforting one.

  "What would you have me do?" I said after a long mo­ment, my voice husky and momentarily cowed.

  He permitted himself a sigh of relief, squeezing my hand reassuringly. "Not much. Just watch, and report back to me when you discover anything. You're far more observant than you pretend to be, and these Italians usually consider women to be of small intellect, rather like household pets. It shouldn't be any trouble to find out who Del Zaglia's visitors are, what his political ties are."

  "I doubt that he has any," I interrupted numbly, pur­posely dismissing my troubled dreams.

  "And, most importantly, keep an eye out for any impor­tant papers that happen to pass through his hands, particu­larly if he has a secretive air about him."

  I laughed again. "Luc always has a secretive air about him. I doubt I'll be of much help, Mister Ferland."

  "I have complete faith in you," he said stoutly. "I may as well tell you: The Austrians have a very talented and pro­ductive spy, and it would greatly aid us if we were to dis­cover that spy and unmask him."

  "And if Luc is that spy? What happens then?"

  'Then it would be up to his paymasters to protect him. Though it strikes me that Luc del Zaglia is very able to take care of himself. You needn't worry about him, Miss Charlotte. Unmasking him will simply curtail his usefulness without in any way endangering him. So you see, what we are asking of you is small indeed, with no harm in it for anyone."

  "And you don't think I'd be in any danger? That no one would want to prevent me from finding out the truth?" Gently I disengaged my hand. "What kind of fool do you take me for?"

  "No one would harm you. I swear, on my honor. I wouldn't let anyone touch you." This was stated with such passionate sincerity that I blushed and looked away. De­spite his businesslike demands, Mark Ferland seemed a great deal more infatuated than my two other suitors, and my faltering self-esteem rose a trifle in the face of his flat­tering regard.

  I began gathering my things together, and as if on cue, Mildred reappeared across the square and began thread­ing her way back to my side, a sentimental expression on her face. Standing up, I reached out one gloved hand and placed it trustingly in Mark Ferland's, unable to stifle the small thrill his sturdy grasp sent through me. "Good day, Mister Ferland," I said pleasantly.

  "But will you help us?" he asked urgently, clinging to my hand while Mildred looked on with mawkish tears in her cloudy blue eyes.

  "You give me little choice, Mister Ferland. I will do my best, but I make no promises."

  "That is all I ask, Miss Morrow. I will look forward to seeing you agaain soon." Reluctantly he released me, and as I turned away I allowed myself a romantic sigh. I would do as he asked for a variety of reasons—reasons consisting of boredom, anger with my guardian, and an insatiable cu­riosity I usually kept well under control. I was just as eager as Mark Ferland to find out what secrets lay behind Lucifero Alessandro del Zaglia's inscrutable behavior. Not to­tally unimportant to my motives was the chance of seeing such a splendid specimen of the British male as Mark Fer­land once more. And besides, there was that perfectly valid and troubling reason: What was Luc doing with my poor inheritance? I doubted that I'd be able to stop him from throwing it away at the gaming tables, but I'd at least like to know such a thing was really happening.

  The ride home through the rapidly darkening twilight was spent fielding Mildred's questions. For reasons best known to
herself she decided we'd return by gondola, and in the end I was glad she did, although usually I preferred to walk, savoring each tiny moment of freedom in this un- free society. We had scarcely disembarked from the gently rocking boat when the stiff, unyielding form of Thornton appeared at the door. One look at his gloomy face and the curt beckoning gesture and I knew Luc had returned.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "Quickly," Mildred whispered. "You can sneak up the servants' stair if you're very quiet. I'll go in and meet him."

  I remained stubbornly where I was, foolhardy to the last. "Why should I sneak?" I demanded. "There is nothing wrong with our going out to Florian's, is there?"

  She cast me a look of exasperation mixed with dislike. "You do not think he will object to your meeting the hand­some Mr. Ferland while he is away? The count is obtuse about certain things, but I don't think this will be one of them."

  "Perhaps you are right," I conceded, pleased at the thought. "I don't think I would care to explain . . ."

  "Explain what, my dear?" Luc's voice interrupted me, the very gentleness of his tone panicking me. He appeared on the green-stained marble steps, and for a moment I was totally and completely horrified at myself, wondering what in the world had induced me to agree to spy on this fright­ening creature. In the two weeks of his absence I had for­gotten quite how disturbing an effect he had on my brain and my senses. His tall, sinister form stood framed in the doorway, an ironic smile on his wickedly handsome face as he held out one slim hand to me in a gesture of command rather than welcome, and the bloodstone ring gleamed dully.

  As I felt myself slipping back into that abyss of terror and superstition that threatened to engulf me, I thought back to the safe, handsome face of Mark Ferland, and from somewhere deep inside me I was able to call forth hidden reserves. I straightened my spine, threw back my head, and met Luc's clear amber eyes with a fine show of bravery. "Explain why we were so late in returning to Edentide and not here to welcome you properly. Though of course, we had no idea when you were to return, any more than we were prepared for your departure." Some waspish part of me made me mention this. "Miss Fenwick was kind enough to accompany me to Florian's this lovely afternoon. I hope you haven't been here too long."

  I sounded like Theresa at a garden party, the cool En­glish lady making polite conversation, even to a demon. Luc smiled, moving forward and taking my unwilling hand in his strong, cool grip.

  "Little one, I have angered you," he murmured gently, mockery in his light eyes. "I would never have deserted you without a word if I knew you minded so much."

  "I minded not one bit!" I snapped, pulling my hand away from him. "I merely have been bombarded by your friends day and night, asking over and over again where you are and when you will return."

  "Which friends?" He said it softly, but I wasn't fooled into ignoring the seriousness beneath his light tone.

  "Holger and Jean-Baptiste. They seemed most eager to get in touch with you."

  "You undervalue yourself. I have no doubt it was mere­ly an excuse for them to call on you while your ogre of a chaperon was away. You seem to have wreaked havoc on hearts all over Venice."

  "Perhaps," I said slowly. It wouldn't do for him to real­ize just how observant I was. "But I place no reliance on either of them."

  "You are wise not to do so," he observed, leading me into the warmth and light of the palazzo. "Never fear, mia Carlotta," and his voice caressed my name, "in due time I will find you a suitable husband. You are still little more than a child."

  Needless to say I found this generous offer totally infuri­ating. "No, thank you, signor. I am entirely capable of find­ing my own husband."

  "I'm sure you are, my dear," he said gently. "But I think I prefer to choose." He smiled down at me from his great height, and once more I was reminded of the rumors that flew around Venice. He had never looked more satanic, with those light, piercing eyes, that cynical mouth, and the black wings of hair above his high, pale forehead. Satanic, dangerous, and very, very handsome. I tried to summon up the image of Mark Ferland, and failed.

  Dinner that night was slow and stilted. Luc was preoccu­pied, staring, eating nothing as usual, drinking surprisingly large quantities of the dry red wine he favored. To my surprise no wine was offered me, just as none had appeared on my dinner tray during the time he was gone. I toyed with my food, wondering whether to try to initiate a new topic. Any remark I made he would either ignore or reply in absent tones. There was evidently a great deal on his mind, and I would have given much to find out what it was.

  Finally he rose from the table, leaving me with my mouth half full of a rich, creamy rice pudding. "I'm afraid I must abandon you once more, little one. Various duties call . . ." he let it trail as I stared up at him, stricken. "But don't look so desolate! I promise to remain home to­morrow and you may tell me all that you did while I was gone. I am pleased to see you care so much for my com­pany."

  At this cynical remark I flushed, swallowed the last of my dessert and rose also. "It is entirely up to you," I mur­mured nonchalantly.

  "That is right, my dear. It is entirely up to me," he inter­posed gently. "Now go to bed like a good little girl."

  Needless to say, at the advanced age of almost twenty, one doesn't like to be called a little girl. "But where are you going?" I asked in as innocent a voice as I could man­age.

  He hesitated, then shrugged. "To see my mistress," he replied, watching my expression with some amusement. "And to gamble more of your fortune away. I trust that meets with your approval."

  A surprising flash of hatred swept over me, hatred for his mocking of me, hatred for my own vulnerability. And in that flash of fury a dangerous idea came to me, and once there in my fertile brain refused to be dislodged. "As we have discussed previously," I said primly, "it is entirely up to you. Good night." I turned on my heel and stalked out of the room, outrage plain in my upright bearing. The soft laugh that followed me only stiffened my resolve.

  When I got to my room I didn't bother to change from the elegant black silk evening dress I had worn to dinner. I knew I wouldn't have time. It was only fortunate that deca­dent Venice still had frequent masques, and ladies of qual­ity could appear in public in domino and maschera to pro­tect their reputations. I barely had time to change my shoes to my sturdier walking slippers and grab my reticule, thankfully full of soldi, and the kitchen knife I had thought­fully retained, before I sped silently down the seldom-used back stairs and out into the alleyway. Creeping into an arched doorway I had noticed earlier, I waited for my guardian to appear.

  I hadn't long to wait. The fog was lighter than usual, and in a few minutes I made out his tall, graceful figure through the thin ribbons of mist that swirled around the streets. He was alone tonight—Jean-Baptiste apparently had no idea his erstwhile friend and constant companion had returned. It would make it a little harder, with no chat­tering friend to distract him from the sound of light foot­steps dogging him, but there was nothing I could do about it. I could only be thankful he hadn't taken a gondola, but was preparing to walk. Surely luck would be on my side tonight.

  I waited for him to turn the first corner, and then slipped out after him. He would be easy enough to spot in a crowd. Most Venetians were far shorter than he was, be­sides lacking his almost theatrical presence. By the time I rounded the corner, however, he was much farther away than I would have expected. I had failed to take into ac­count his long legs and the surprising energy he could exert on rare occasions. I sped up, desperate to keep him in sight as he turned still another corner, heading down an alleyway that led nowhere. I ran after him, turning at the same street and speeding down the narrow, deserted little lane until I ended, full tilt, against a man's broad chest.

  I barely controlled my muffled shriek of terror as I felt my wrists caught in an iron grip, and as I looked up to meet the cold, cruel eyes of Luc del Zaglia through my half-mask a wave of terror swept over me. It did me no good to struggle; his strength seemed su
pernatural, and after a moment I stood still, panting and staring up at him like a frightened rabbit. My one reflection was that at least he could have no idea who I was.

  "It seems, signorina, that you were desirous of some company tonight, eh?" he spoke in a slow, deep voice. "Surely you are either very brave or very stupid, to have set your sights on me, when there are countless other gen­tlemen abroad tonight who would be glad of your com­pany." He gave me a little shake. "One of your friends should have warned you about me, signorina. I have no need of paid companionship. If you were to offer yourself for free . . ."He let it trail, a trace of a smile on his distant face. And then without further warning the hands on my wrists pulled me closer and his mouth descended on mine, ruthlessly, more to punish than to pleasure.

  For the first kiss in my lifetime it was a shattering expe­rience. Vainly I struggled with him, but I was no match for his incredible strength, for the inexorable demands of his mouth on mine. And just when I decided that I no longer wanted to fight, he let me go abruptly, so that I fell back against the stucco wall of the house behind me and stood there, awash with conflicting emotions, foremost among them disappointment. Disappointment that he had released me. He laughed then, and I reached out to slap his face. His strong white hand caught my wrist and twisted it until I cried out.

  "You don't learn, do you?" he said softly, loosening his grip on me and running his thumb with sudden tenderness on the bruised part. And then I realized what had eluded me during the past few minutes. He had spoken in English the entire time.

  I looked up into his handsome face with sudden suspi­cion, suspicion that was justified when he smiled an inno­cent smile that ill-accorded with his saturnine countenance. "The question is," he continued, "what shall I do with you now, mi a Carlottal Shall I send you home to languish in your room? Or, better yet, shall I assuage the no doubt mighty curiosity that sent you out alone in the night and take you to the den of iniquity I haunt nightly?"