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“He does lust after me,” she said fiercely. “For two years he has come to my casa . Never has he asked for any of the other women, only me.” Then as she met Caprino’s satisfied gaze she tried to shrug unconcernedly. “Not that it matters.”

“I think it does matter to you.” He studied her. “I wonder why? You have the most peculiar tastes. I find him quite ugly.”

“How would you know? I’ve provided you with too many pretty young boys and wretched-looking men not to know how peculiar are your tastes, Caprino.”

He tucked the purse into his belt and said mockingly, “He’s far too rough for my refined taste. Soldiers can be so crude. But there’s another five ducats for you if you find out why our brave condottiere wishes the services of a thief.”

Giulia’s gaze returned to the door at the top of the stairs. “I’ll consider it. But he’s not a man who babbles to a woman.”

“Not even to la bella Giulia?” He turned away. “Seven ducats.”

He opened the door and strode out into the street.

It had been a good evening’s work, he thought contentedly. The stakes Andreas was hoping to win must be very high to make him yield to Caprino’s demands with so little argument. If he was clever he might be able to milk this situation until it rained even more gold into his coffers.

He turned at the next corner and instead of proceeding to his own house off the piazza, he started in the direction of the Via Calimala and the print shop of Giovanni Ballano.

“You gave in too easily,” Lorenzo said as the door closed behind Caprino. “I could have persuaded him to take less.”

Lion lifted the goblet to his lips. “If Caprino brings me what I want, it will be worth the price.”

Lorenzo shrugged. “If you believe it to be so.”

“I do.” Lion propped his feet on the table, crossing his legs at the ankles. “We leave the day after tomorrow for Solinari.”

“If Caprino’s thief succeeds in your little test.”

“He’d better, or I’ll let you have Caprino to persuade as you deem fitting.”

The faintest smile lifted Lorenzo’s lips. “No, you won’t.”

Lion lifted a black brow. “You think I’m too kind to condemn Caprino to your tender care?”

“I think you would take pleasure in punishing Caprino yourself, but you’d not give him to me.

” His gaze met Lion’s. “Why do you persist in trying to save my soul when I lost it long ago? When I was a child of eleven, to be precise. That was when I killed my first man. What were you doing when you were eleven, Lion?”

“Following my father’s banner, watching his men pillage and rape cities. I killed my first man when I was thirteen.” He paused. “And I don’t consider my soul lost.”

“Ah, but your killing was bathed in glory and honor,” Lorenzo said softly. “There’s no glory in the world of an assassin.”

“Killing is killing.”

“If you thought that was true, you’d let me go after Caprino.”

Lion smiled. “Perhaps I will.”

“No, you won’t. To do it, you’d have to live in Caprino’s world. My world.”

“It’s not your world. Your world is Mandara now.”

“Because you say it is?”

“Because you earned a place there thirteen years ago.”

“With an assassin’s knife.”

“Which saved my life and avenged my father.”

“Glory and honor.” Lorenzo’s gravelly voice was mocking. “You see how your mind works? I fear you have a grievous fault, Lion. Somehow you’ve managed to acquire the instincts of a bygone age. Chivalry will never prevail in a land where men like me can grow rich.”

“Chivalry? My God, you’re demented, Lorenzo. No one is more of a realist than I. If you want chivalry, I’m afraid you’ll have to apply to Marco.”

“I agree your brother is sickeningly pure and honorable, but I suspect you’re infected with a less virulent form of the same disease.

” As Lion started to speak, Lorenzo held up his hand.

“Perhaps you don’t adhere to the philosophy, my friend, but the instinct is certainly there.

Look how you’ve insisted on trying to keep me by your side so I wouldn’t return to cutting the throats of the illustrious noblemen of Naples. ”

“Most of them needed killing.”

“But I never inquired whether they did or not.” Lorenzo smiled faintly. “Killing is killing.”

“By all that’s holy, Lorenzo, will you stop turning my words against me? Why will you not admit that you’re no longer what you were?”

“Because I am what I am and what I was and what I will be.”

“Cristo!” Lion drew an exasperated breath. “And what are you then, damn your cryptic soul?”

A sudden smile lit Lorenzo’s narrow face. “I told you I had no soul. I am many things but I can think of only one that has merit.”

“And what is that?”

“I’m the friend of Lionello Andreas,” Lorenzo said softly.

Lion gazed at him suspiciously. “I have the uneasy feeling you’re making mock of me again.”

Lorenzo raised his brows. “But of course,” he said blandly. “How can a man who has no soul know friendship? I’m glad you’re so perceptive. It shows I’ve trained you well in these last thirteen years.”

Lion swore softly beneath his breath. “Lorenzo, someday I’ll—”

“My lord, the hour grows late.” Giulia Marzo was standing in the doorway smiling at them. “If you please, I’ll show Messer Vasaro to his chamber. Does he wish a companion? I have a sweet little Sicilian girl who could show him much pleasure.”

“Lorenzo?” Lion glanced at Vasaro.

Lorenzo shook his head. “Not tonight.”

“Nor any night of late.” Lion gazed at him speculatively. “I fear you’re beginning to have the tastes of a monk. It was not always so.”

“I’m an old man of forty-four. Perhaps I’ve lost my virility,” Lorenzo said lightly as he turned and moved toward the door. “I find my books more stimulating than these fair flowers at present. But pray don’t let me stop you from frolicking in Venus’s garden.”

“I won’t.” Lion’s lingering gaze ran over Giulia’s bare shoulders and then down to the fullness of her breasts. “I promise you.”

When Giulia returned minutes later, Lion was still sitting in the same position, his feet propped on the table, his gaze fixed thoughtfully on his wine goblet.

“Vasaro is a strange man.” Giulia closed the door and leaned back against it. “Are you not afraid to call him your friend? Caprino says Vasaro is—”

“No worse than any of us,” Lion interrupted. “We live in violent times, and a man must be violent to survive and hold what is his.”

“Or take what is another’s?” Giulia asked, amused. “Is that why you need a thief?”

His gaze narrowed on her face. “I have no liking for questions, Giulia.” He smiled. “In fact, I consider the forming of words a sinful waste from lips that are so accomplished at other occupations. Take off your clothes, cara.”

Giulia felt the muscles of her stomach clench as she looked at him.

She was breathless and trembling—but not surprised for it had been this way with Lion, since his first visit over two years before.

Caprino was right in judging Lion as not handsome.

Some might even call him ugly as Caprino had done.

His features looked as though they’d been carved from stone by the bold stroke of an ax instead of the delicate chisel of an artist. His cheekbones were too broad, his black brows straight slashes over eyes that were night dark and seldom held any emotion save wariness and cynicism.

His lips were well shaped but they, too, held a hint of both sensuality and cruelty.

His dark hair was still as closely barbered as the days when he had worn a soldier’s helmet, and his body, though lithe, held none of the slim grace of the courtier.

Even as he reclined in an indolent position now, his loose white shirt gave hint of the power of his massive shoulders, and the gray hose revealed the might of trunklike thighs and muscular calves.

Power, Giulia realized with a start of surprise.

Not only did Lion Andreas possess physical strength and power, but also an inner strength and power far beyond those of other men…

certainly beyond those of any man she had ever met.

His curiosity about life, about what was going on around him was more intense, his potential for good or evil more extreme, his appetites stronger, than in anyone of her experience.

“I’m growing impatient, cara . Must I beg?”

“You never beg.” She started across the room toward him, unfastening the rope of pearls binding her fair hair.

“You take.” She dropped the pearls onto a table beside him.

“And take.” Her palm caressed his thigh and she felt the muscles harden beneath her touch.

“Until I cannot even lift one little finger.”

“How cruel.” He lifted her hand from his thigh and pressed the palm to his lips. “I wonder that you still receive me when I so misuse you.” His tongue stroked the sensitive flesh of her palm. “You always smell of roses. When I’m away from you I always remember the scent…”

“When you’re between the thighs of one of your other whores? You come to Florence only two or three times a year. Who pleasures you when you leave me?”

He glanced up, his dark eyes twinkling. “Perhaps, like Lorenzo, I find solace in Plutarch and Aristotle.”

She smiled reluctantly. “Not you. There’s too much hunger in you.

I doubt you could last a week without a woman.

Do you keep a strumpet at Mandara to service you?

I know that—” She broke off as she felt the sharp edge of his teeth on her palm exerting just enough pressure to send a thrill of lust, not pain, through her.