Page 35 of The Rogue’s Embrace

Venice

Late September, 1905

Moonlight shimmered on the canal as the gondola passed. The seated woman wrapped her cloak close, looking up at the edifices of Istrian stone and exposed brickwork. The buildings bore a faded elegance, the balconies empty and the rooms dark.

Only as they moved from the narrow avenue into a larger waterway did music float upon the air. The gondolier guided them onward, toward a building far grander than those that surrounded it: the Palazzo di Zorzi Tiepolo. Here, the mullioned windows shone. Somewhere within, an orchestra was playing.

His passenger turned her face to the light, and the gondolier was struck by her dark-haired beauty. Why was such a woman, dressed so finely, travelling alone at this hour?

There could be only one answer.

An assignation.

Drawing level with the ombre-colored walls, he brought them close. The gondola rocked as she stood, and he offered his hand to aid her step into the arched portal.

Behind her mask, eyes of mesmerizing green which matched the hue of her gown conveyed thanks.

Once inside the woman made haste, climbing to the grand hall of the palazzo where a footman took her cloak, departing with it.

The gilded ceiling soared above, ornately decorated with scenes of Venetian life and lit by a monumental chandelier of hand-blown glass, each crystal droplet sparkling. To her left, past marble columns, was the entranceway to the ballroom. The murmur of conversation filtered through, from a sea of half-obscured faces, the wearers adorned in rich brocades and bobbing feathers, silks and jewels.

But her interest lay not in the decadent delights of the masquerade. Tonight, she came with an objective far more vital.

The staircase to the upper apartments was sited at the far end of the hall. It was there she must go, to seek her prize. With a last glance at the revelers, she made her way toward the broad flight of steps.

However, she'd barely half-crossed the hall when a lurching figure, broad in the shoulder, appeared from a small doorway to her right—dressed as a gaudy version of the famous ‘Hunchback' of Paris fame. Seeing her, he stopped and made a courtly bow, waiting for her to pass ahead.

It would not do.

As unassuming as the man appeared, she did not wish to be observed making her way upstairs.

Smiling, she called to him. "Signore, vuole ballare con me?"

She indicated the ballroom. If he would but follow her, and could be persuaded into a few moments of dancing, she might then rid herself of him and continue on her way.

Though he hesitated, he returned her smile and offered his arm, escorting her through. At once, they were plunged into the crowd, amid shrieks and laughter. There was a circular dance of sorts, though the inebriation of the partygoers was such that there seemed no rhyme or reason to their movements. She lost hold of her partner, her last sight of him being his frowning face, dark eyes glinting behind the grey and black of his mask.

All well and good.

As he was carried away, she pushed back toward the exit. The hall was an oasis of calm in comparison. Without wasting a moment, she ran for the stairs, taking them as quickly as her gown would allow. Making haste along the carpeted passageway, she reached the portico at the end. There, a small vestibule led through to a heavy wooden door.

She dropped to her knees, placing her eye to the keyhole. If some maid were there, or the Contessa herself—entertaining some lover, perhaps—there would be no alternative but to turn back. To her relief she saw no movement; nor did voices carry from within. Sliding two pins from her hair, she made short work of the mechanism and entered the room.

This was the place in which the Contessa entertained. The shutters had not been closed on the windows, allowing the silvered moonlight to reveal a sumptuously appointed sitting room—as she'd been led to expect. The Contessa's sleeping chamber was part of the adjoining suite. Hurrying over, she found the connecting door unlocked.

Opening it, she gave a start, for the opposing wall featured a mirror of great size, and she was met by her own reflection looking back at her through the gloom.

Hold your nerve!

Softly, she closed the door behind her.

Here, the maid had been more meticulous, drawing the curtains loosely. There was a lamp upon the table to her right but dare she light it?

Perhaps not.

With the curtains parted a fraction, there would be enough light by which to see, and she hoped not to be here long.

The chamber was much as one would expect, dominated by the bed. Though it was too opulently lavish for her own taste, it was undeniably grand—a piece fit for one of the most powerful families in all Venice. Had circumstance been different, a wicked tumble upon its coverlet would have amused her no end, disturbing the prettily arranged cushions.

The Contessa's dressing room was beyond this again, but that held no interest.

What she sought was here, and located in the dressing table, if her source had been worth the coin she'd paid.

To her irritation, the thing had a multitude of drawers: five on each side and three across the center.

Where to begin?

She pulled at the middle, which rattled but did not open, though there was no obvious lock.

It was a good sign. No keyhole meant a hidden mechanism. Bending low, she felt beneath and found the lever without difficulty. The drawer clicked open.

However, her disappointment was immediate. An assortment of small brooches filled the compartment.

Nothing else.

Would she have to check every drawer!

She was about to try the next along when a sound from the adjoining sitting room disturbed her.

Hellfire!

There was no time to hide beneath the bed—and to simply make for the dressing room was risky.

She settled on the curtains.

No sooner had she pressed herself there than the door opened.

Whoever it was did not light the lamp. Footsteps crossed the room. Tilting her head fractionally, she peered around the fringing of the heavy drapes.

And saw the figure of the hunchback!

He'd moved aside the stool and was lying prone on the rug before the dressing table, reaching to the very back. The next moment, the lowest drawer of the lefthand pedestal popped open. From within, he extracted some letters—eight or more—tied with ribbon. He glanced only quickly at the script before pocketing the bundle and closing the drawer.

She ducked back behind the curtain.

Someone else here tonight, on the same mission as herself! And he'd known exactly where to look.

Her mind spun.

What could she do? Confront him and demand the letters? Wrestle them from him?

Neither seemed likely to prove successful. A commotion of any sort would only bring others. At worst, the fellow might have a knife or pistol. Even without one, he looked strong enough to knock her unconscious, or strangle her.

She was not without skills of self-defense but, with him, she did not rate her chances.

What then?

Let him leave. Trail him. Locate his dwelling. Live to seek out the letters another day, or perhaps this very night.

His light steps took him again across the room. The door clicked open and closed.

Letting go the breath she'd been holding, she stepped out. A few moments were needed, for she could not follow directly on his heels; nor could she dally too long.

Hoping her judgment was adequate, she set off. On swift feet, she retraced her steps, pausing at each turn to ensure he was not visible—nor she to him.

There was only one way to leave the palazzo, short of jumping from a balcony. He would be heading for the portico where a gondola must collect him.

Her own gondolier she'd instructed to wait for her on the opposite side of the canal. She had only to signal him, and they might give chase, at a discreet distance.

Her heart pounded.

He could not get away!

Reaching the hall, she made herself walk sedately, though it barely mattered anymore. She would be away in her gondola within a minute of reaching the outer door.

The footman who'd taken her cloak called after her, but she did not look back, skittering down the final steps to the lower level.

There was no one upon the platform. All was well. He could not be far ahead.

Giving a low whistle, she summoned her vessel and climbed aboard. The boat pitched as she hopped on, but she was too frantic to care.

She glanced along the canal in both directions. The moon had ducked behind a cloud, but it was not entirely dark. Illumination suffused from the palazzo, casting a glow on the water beneath.

Yet she saw no retreating gondola, carrying the man who'd stolen what she'd come for.

"Where is he?"

she asked of the gondolier. "The man who left, just now."

"Scusami."

The gondolier shrugged. "There is no one. Only us."

Impossible!

And yet where was he?

She beat her fist upon her lap.

Returning inside, she scoured the ballroom for her devious ‘hunchback' but he was nowhere to be found. The man had vanished into thin air.