He sighed, as a gloomy thought occurred to him. "I don't want to leave you for a year, Francesca."
Not that there wouldn't be plenty of distractions in the sophisticated and ancient (as well as holy) city of Jerusalem, not to mention the other delightful metropolises along the way. But they wouldn't be Francesca.
She pulled him closer and began to do very distracting things indeed. "Who said anything about leaving me behind?"
"You want to come with me?" He was startled enough to be distracted from her distraction. "But—"
Why had he thought she'd want to be left behind? Why had he thought that his uncle would allow her to remain behind? She was, after all, first and foremost, the Emperor's trusted servant, and he would be wise never to forget that.
Still. She was also Francesca. "That's wonderful!"
"Well, it is warmer there, is it not?"
* * *
It was only later, much later, on the verge of sleep, that it occurred to Manfred that Francesca did not betray confidences, and she didn't let things slip out. He'd been very skillfully manipulated. Very skillfully indeed.
Well, it had been more fun than being told. And even if he doubted that Charles Fredrik really needed any praying for another ten years, Jerusalem would still be interesting—and much more pleasant to visit with Francesca for company.
And if she was the Emperor's trusted servant, well, so was he. She was wise enough to remember that, even when he was distracted. Wise enough for both of them.
The thought gave him immense comfort.
Chapter 10
"Kat says I should have a talk with you," said Marco, plainly uncomfortable.
Benito put his hands on his hips. He could read the signs. Big brother time , he thought silently.
He wished Marco would pick some other time for it. He wasn't exactly hung-over . . . just . . . blurry.
"What is it?" he snarled. Marco frowned, ever so faintly.
All right, so it was a sulky tone. He didn't need lectures from Marco, and even less from Kat. Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth these days—but she'd been a night-bird, a smuggler, once, moving very gray cargoes of magical supplies. And, unless Benito misread the signs, by the vacant-space-to-let smile his brother wore these days, she hadn't waited for the marriage banns to share Marco's bed.
Right now, Marco was not going to listen to a litany of Kat's past sins. "Kat's worried about you, Benito. And so am I."
Benito could tell by the set of Marco's shoulders that his older brother wasn't enjoying this. He also knew Marco well enough to know that when Marco had decided that something must be done, it would be done. Still, Benito didn't enjoy this sort of thing either, and he was damned if he'd make it too easy for Marco.
"Well, stop worrying, Marco. I'm grown up enough to look after myself. I'm the one who usually ends up looking after you, remember. Or do I need to remind you of your little escapade with the love letters to Angelina, that got you into such a mess in the Jesolo marshes?"
Marco winced. "That was then. I'm older and wiser now."
Benito cocked an ear. Upstairs somewhere he could hear Angelina's shrill voice, berating a servant for something. Despite the fact that she was supposedly staying in one of the Dorma villas on the mainland, Angelina was forever finding some excuse to come back to Venice, to the Casa Dorma. "And heaven knows you've paid for it, Marco. What news on the annulment?" Perhaps he could head Marco off the lecture on his way of life.
Marco looked gloomy. "She's balking about which convent and which Order again. I really don't think she wants to go to one. I feel sorry for her. She's not really suited to a contemplative life." But Marco was obviously determined not to lose track. "But I want to talk about you, not my troubles. You can't go on like this, Benito."
Privately Benito thought Angelina would be better suited to a brothel than a cloister, but saying that would offend Marco. Marco was a sympathetic soul; Benito didn't like to
Not that there wouldn't be plenty of distractions in the sophisticated and ancient (as well as holy) city of Jerusalem, not to mention the other delightful metropolises along the way. But they wouldn't be Francesca.
She pulled him closer and began to do very distracting things indeed. "Who said anything about leaving me behind?"
"You want to come with me?" He was startled enough to be distracted from her distraction. "But—"
Why had he thought she'd want to be left behind? Why had he thought that his uncle would allow her to remain behind? She was, after all, first and foremost, the Emperor's trusted servant, and he would be wise never to forget that.
Still. She was also Francesca. "That's wonderful!"
"Well, it is warmer there, is it not?"
* * *
It was only later, much later, on the verge of sleep, that it occurred to Manfred that Francesca did not betray confidences, and she didn't let things slip out. He'd been very skillfully manipulated. Very skillfully indeed.
Well, it had been more fun than being told. And even if he doubted that Charles Fredrik really needed any praying for another ten years, Jerusalem would still be interesting—and much more pleasant to visit with Francesca for company.
And if she was the Emperor's trusted servant, well, so was he. She was wise enough to remember that, even when he was distracted. Wise enough for both of them.
The thought gave him immense comfort.
Chapter 10
"Kat says I should have a talk with you," said Marco, plainly uncomfortable.
Benito put his hands on his hips. He could read the signs. Big brother time , he thought silently.
He wished Marco would pick some other time for it. He wasn't exactly hung-over . . . just . . . blurry.
"What is it?" he snarled. Marco frowned, ever so faintly.
All right, so it was a sulky tone. He didn't need lectures from Marco, and even less from Kat. Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth these days—but she'd been a night-bird, a smuggler, once, moving very gray cargoes of magical supplies. And, unless Benito misread the signs, by the vacant-space-to-let smile his brother wore these days, she hadn't waited for the marriage banns to share Marco's bed.
Right now, Marco was not going to listen to a litany of Kat's past sins. "Kat's worried about you, Benito. And so am I."
Benito could tell by the set of Marco's shoulders that his older brother wasn't enjoying this. He also knew Marco well enough to know that when Marco had decided that something must be done, it would be done. Still, Benito didn't enjoy this sort of thing either, and he was damned if he'd make it too easy for Marco.
"Well, stop worrying, Marco. I'm grown up enough to look after myself. I'm the one who usually ends up looking after you, remember. Or do I need to remind you of your little escapade with the love letters to Angelina, that got you into such a mess in the Jesolo marshes?"
Marco winced. "That was then. I'm older and wiser now."
Benito cocked an ear. Upstairs somewhere he could hear Angelina's shrill voice, berating a servant for something. Despite the fact that she was supposedly staying in one of the Dorma villas on the mainland, Angelina was forever finding some excuse to come back to Venice, to the Casa Dorma. "And heaven knows you've paid for it, Marco. What news on the annulment?" Perhaps he could head Marco off the lecture on his way of life.
Marco looked gloomy. "She's balking about which convent and which Order again. I really don't think she wants to go to one. I feel sorry for her. She's not really suited to a contemplative life." But Marco was obviously determined not to lose track. "But I want to talk about you, not my troubles. You can't go on like this, Benito."
Privately Benito thought Angelina would be better suited to a brothel than a cloister, but saying that would offend Marco. Marco was a sympathetic soul; Benito didn't like to
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