The Secrets of Casanova by Greg Michaels Page A

opinions.” I’ve been duped. I must keep my wits to learn their design.
    Within a short while, the coach moved beneath a dense canopy of towering trees, and when the wheels left the dirt road and clattered across cobblestone, Jacques and Dominique, as if on cue, peered out. On the gently rolling hill in the distance was a structure of nearly cathedral proportions, glistening in the morning sun. The tall, straight lines of the mansion were softened by the sea of artful foliage that surrounded it; the entire home appeared to float atop a multihued cloud of budding flowers. No mere summer home, this mansion appeared a strikingly beautiful shrine to a powerful family.
    Almost before the coach rolled to a stop, Petrine came forward to the window, where he held a private conversation with Jacques. After the valet stepped away, Jacques spoke.
    “I’ve found it practical, Dominique, in my various and past travels, to retain a valet who can, not infrequently, act as my security. Petrine is comfortable with his role as eyes and ears for me, and in this unique instance, I most certainly shall ask him to play his part.”
    A flock of liveried servants appeared as if from nowhere, and in short order, Jacques, Dominique, and Petrine were ushered to a side door of the great home by the maître d’hôtel, a man of impressive bearing who was richly clad and who flashed a ring studded with a variety of gems.
    Jacques fretted. Side door? What practice is this? Will the host clap me in chains and smuggle me back to prison?
    Upon entering Grimani’s mansion, Petrine and Dominique were struck by a prominent feature: the archways, enfilade, created an unobstructed view from this part of the house. As each room opened into the next, the three guests marveled at the fine china, linen, and grand furnishings. Affixed to one entire wall was a collection of magnificent basket hilt swords. “Slavic mercenaries hired by the Doge of Venice wielded those,” Jacques whispered in Dominique’s ear. “Are we to be impressed by Grimani’s tie with the high and mighty?”
    Her casual reaction told him nothing.
    The maître d’hôtel stopped. “The Cavaliere shall attend you here in the library.”
    While Jacques pretended to look at the handsome lacquered bookcases, behind his back he squeezed his fist until the skin grew taut.
    No sooner had the maître d’hôtel escorted a reluctant Petrine to the far corner of the room than in sauntered a gentleman.
    The man was not of lordly stature but of genteel comportment, appearing fit and well proportioned in his unadorned coat, embroidered waistcoat, and breeches. Thin lips, aquiline nose, and piercing azure eyes perched on a moonish face. His skin was pale with snatches of gray hair protruding from under his neatly dressed and powdered brown wig .
    After the unpretentious man passed his maître d’hôtel, he momentarily fingered a calling card Jacques had presented upon arrival. Pocketing it, he continued his leisurely gait past Petrine.
    Watching Dominique rouse her weary body, Jacques wondered what Michele Grimani meant to her.
    A short distance in front of Dominique, Grimani stopped and lowered his eyes, his full attention showering her. He bowed vigorously, accepted Dominique’s hand, and kissed the air above it. Dominique blushed pink.
    Jacques bristled. Grimani treats her as an equal, though she is not of his class. Exceptionally decorous.
    Dominique smiled, as did her host: “This girl’s beauty reduces me to slavery each and every time I see her. And her vivacity enslaves me even more.”
    In his gut, Jacques felt the insistent tightness of cold jealousy.
    “Madame Casanova,” said Grimani, “please present your chaperone.”
    Dominique took in Jacques’ blazing eyes and spoke. “ Con grandissimio piacere .” “With great pleasure.” Her voice grew honeyed while she reeled off what little Italian she knew. “ Cavaliere, ti presento il Signor Don Giacomo Casanova veneziano amico mio