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“What I am makes a difference to many women. It fills some with horror.” He smiled.

“And it fills others with lust. It’s not every woman who’s permitted to fornicate with the angel of death and live to boast of it.

When you first came to my bed, I thought perhaps you might be one of those women.

I admit I was disappointed, for I had great admiration for your strength and courage. ”

“Then why did you accept me?”

“I’m only a man and you are very beautiful.”

“I’m not beautiful. My face is as long as a horse’s and I’m as tall as a man.”

“If strength and courage have beauty then there’s no one more beautiful on this earth than you, Caterina.”

She felt uncomfortable with his sudden gravity. “And I was not driven to you by some vile fascination. I came to you because you’re clever and amuse me, and I lusted after you. No other reasons.”

“One other reason.”

She frowned in puzzlement. “What is that?”

“I offered no threat to you or to Mandara either through marriage or a wagging tongue. You were and are safe with me.”

“Yes.” She bent suddenly and put her lips to his forehead. “I do feel safe with you, Lorenzo. Safer than I have ever felt with any man. I wonder why?”

“No more than I wonder. The knowledge that you trust me fills me with incredulity. No one has felt safe with me since I was a young boy.”

“Move over. I’m cold.” She took the goblet from him and set it on the floor. “I’m coming back to bed.”

She curled up spoon fashion with her back to him, her gaze on the embers glowing in the fireplace across the room. “How young a boy?”

“When I became the angel of death? Eleven. Though I didn’t really reach that exalted status without years of practice in my trade. I was quite clumsy at first.”

“I don’t want to know about your rise in your ‘profession,’” she said impatiently. “I want to know why.”

“Greed.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“It’s the truth. Oh, perhaps not the first one.”

“Who was the the first one?”

“Vito Martinado. But don’t ask me the name of the last man I killed. I don’t remember.”

“Who was this Vito Martinado?”

“He was the captain of a merchant ship, a very unpleasant man. He had a fondness for young boys and he picked me up on the dock and took me to his room at the inn and used me for a week or so.”

“Used you?”

“It wasn’t the first time I had been so used. When you’re alone on the streets of Naples, you expect to become prey. If you’re lucky they feed and clothe you for a while before they find a new child with which to toy.”

The matter-of-factness of his tone touched Caterina far more than any outburst of emotion would have. She felt a painful tightness in her throat.

“But the good captain had the same tastes as Damari. He liked to hurt me.”

“Couldn’t you run away?”

“He kept me locked in the room when he wasn’t at the inn. He must have realized what a unique treasure I was.” His hand moved to her throat and began to stroke gently. “You have a magnificent throat. Long and graceful—”

“And you had to kill him to get away?”

“He was hired to captain a galleon going to Bombay and decided to take me with him on the voyage, a decision with which I wasn’t in agreement for obvious reasons.

I objected. We struggled. I grabbed his knife and stabbed him in the heart.

” He kissed her behind the ear. “Your hair smells of flowers.”

“I washed it today. You weren’t punished for it?”

“In Naples? Murder is more common than not on the streets of that illustrious city.” He sniffed again. “Lavender?”

“Yes.” She swallowed hard. “What did you do then?”

“I had a most unfortunate aversion to being touched with intimacy for quite some time after that, and I had to eat. I decided since I’d committed a mortal sin and was damned to hell anyway I might as well reap the benefits of the trade.

Murder was as profitable as it was common and I had great confidence in myself even then.

I knew when I’d mastered my trade, no one would practice it with equal intelligence and ingenuity.

” His fingers moved up the long line of her jaw.

“Lavender is delightful, but I think one of the scents from Arabia would suit you even better. They have something of the exotic about them, a maturity that—” He broke off and was silent a moment. “Tears?”

“The chimney must not be drawing well. The smoke…”

His Fingertips brushed her cheek with a motion that was almost but not quite a caress. “Yes, that must be it. Smoke. For you’re far too sensible to weep for a rogue like me.”

“Far too sensible.”

“And you’re far too hardened to feel sympathy for the boy who died in that inn over thirty years ago.”

“Far too hardened.” She was silent a moment. “Did he die, Lorenzo?”

“Yes, there are some experiences that destroy what we are. Ask Sanchia. She went through that fire at Solinari, but she was born again. I was not. I was too earthbound to rise like the phoenix from the flames. The fire raged through and devoured me and left me empty. And each year that passed I grew more and more hollow until now I sometimes wonder why anyone who looks at me can’t see through me as if I were clear water. ”

Two fingers gently touched her damp lash. “And you’ve suffered too much not to realize that though we must take what pleasure we can to alleviate the emptiness, we can never really fill it.”

Was it a warning or a plea for understanding? She doubted if he would admit to either, and she didn’t know if she would dare to answer if he did. “Yes, of course, I know that.” Another tear brimmed and then slowly rolled down her cheek. “As I said, it’s only the smoke…”