Seduced by Innocence by Lucy Gordon

as eagerly as a child. “Look at them,” he said happily. “How I look forward to Carnival, the time of anarchy and lawlessness. Now that’s the true spirit of Venice.”
    “I thought the spirit of Venice was supposed to be love,” Terri teased.
    “And what is more lawless than love?” he demanded cryptically. “Does passion choose its object with an eye to propriety and convenience? Certainly not. Since passion obeys no laws, it’s the ultimate and most beautiful anarchy.”
    There was a rare light in his eyes, making her realize that Bruno’s frail body, much abused by tobacco and alcohol, had also been shaken by beautiful anarchy, and he would seek it again as long as he had strength. “Long live anarchy!” he declared, reading comprehension in her face.
    “Long live love,” she replied.
    “If you wish. At your age, one believes in love. At my age—let’s say that a lifetime’s experience has taught me about masks.”
    “You mean that lovers are always playing parts and wearing masks?” she hazarded.
    “It goes deeper than that. Long ago, people believed that if you donned a mask, you weren’t pretending to be another person—you actually became that person. Think of it! The power to be anyone you liked, and then be someone else—the variety of life, the old scores you could settle, the love affairs you could enjoy. Ah, think of it!” His expression was radiant and Terri smiled. She was deeply fond of Bruno and she wondered if perhaps he reminded her a little of her father. Not in looks, but in a gleam of memory she’d sometimes seen in Carlo’s eyes without understanding it. He, too, had known beautiful anarchy and had never been the same again.
    “What is it?” Bruno asked quickly.
    “Nothing. Why?”
    “You sighed.”
    “Did I? I didn’t notice. Tell me more about the masks. What do they all represent?”
    If Bruno noticed her quickly covering her tracks, he didn’t mention it. “Some of them are based on the old commedia dell’arte characters,” he said, beginning to hold them up. “Harlequin, part devil, part clown. Columbine, his female counterpart but far more cunning. Pulcinella, who comes from the underworld. Pantalone, the old merchant. Or these, covered in tinsel and sequins, which a pretty lady can use to conceal her interest in a man while keeping him under observation.”
    With a swift movement, Bruno gathered up a dozen masks and indicated to the hovering assistant that he would buy them. A few moments later, he was carrying them out of the shop, one arm around Terri’s shoulders, talking ceaselessly as he guided her through the streets.
    “Just wait until you see Carnival,” he said. “Hundreds of years ago, the wearing of disguises was forbidden because they made it so easy for criminals to escape detection. The law was relaxed during Carnival, so for those few days everyone went crazy.”
    He steered her into Giorgio’s café, sat her down and bought her a coffee. For himself, he obtained a bottle of red wine, which he proceeded to consume at an alarming rate. “The owners here are friends of Maurizio’s,” he observed.
    “I know. He brought me here once before. He told me he boarded out with them years ago, and they were very kind to him.”
    “He’s returned the kindness a hundredfold. When Giorgio got into financial difficulties a few years back, Maurizio simply bought the café and made them a present of it.”
    “He didn’t tell me that.”
    “He wouldn’t. Maurizio never tells anyone about himself if he can help it.”
    “He’s told me a little—about Rufio.”
    Bruno regarded her curiously and for a moment he didn’t speak.
    There was something strange about him, Terri reflected, as though he didn’t really belong here or anywhere. He was like the clown-devil Harlequin, jumping into situations, staying just long enough to say something illuminating, then jumping out again. But there was kindness in that cynical, battered face, and she felt