Page 79 of The Taste of Light
Pedro broke the kiss and leaned his forehead over hers. "My life is at risk. I'm a fugitive."
"Why are we wasting precious moments with words?"
"There are things you don't know about me. About the past."
"What you did before cannot change how I feel. For once, let’s live in the now."
"Ana," he warned.
"Don't leave me. Not again. Not when I'm offering my love to you." Her voice rang true and steady, but her Atlantic gaze shimmered like the water's surface, held together by an ephemeral force so delicate anything could rupture it.
By God, he did not want to hurt her.
She kissed the corner of his mouth and then nibbled his bottom lip. He could have resisted, but he allowed himself to be reeled in, ever so close to her, to the source of this madness. Light poured from her eyes, her smile, her touch. He had spent years deprived of it, and now she plunged him into this open meadow, filled with the light of a thousand suns.
Chapter 33
TheMarialvaPalace,formerresidence of the Dukes of Abrantes, had undergone expensive... butchering. The facade had been crammed with gaudy plasterwork, including some erotic depictions of Gods frolicking, all fitting decoration to the Siren, the newest addition to the city's demimonde. A private club, bordello, and casino.
Gabriel removed the enigmatic invitation from his pocket, inspecting the crass handwriting for further clues of the owner's identity.
The Duke of Madeira invites Mr. Gabriel Fontes to a meeting at the Siren.
His heraldic consultations had brought no such titles, either old or recently given by the king. Nonetheless, Gabriel knew who it belonged to. His blackmailer. Who else would summon the head of the king's guard so authoritatively but the blackguard who held him by the collar?
Gabriel rolled his neck, waiting by the front porch. A boat marred the Tagus's surface, breathing plumes of smoke in the sky. To his left, neighboring the property's fence, the Mosteiro dos Jerônimos sprawled over Empire Square. The Manueline building, with its symbolic decorations, was the best Portugal offered in terms of architecture. Their own Gothic style. A crew gathered around scaffolds, preparing to resume the restoration.
Enough stalling. Facing the heavy oak portal, Gabriel knocked two times. A pompous majordomo opened the door, and Gabriel delivered his calling card. "His Excellency awaits me."
The butler ushered him inside a private study. A rosewood escritoire crouched at the center of the room, surrounded by leather-backed chairs.
"Gabriel Fontes. Time has favored you." The voice, shrill and sure, came from the doorway.
Below the threshold stood the ghost of their past—João Ulrich.
Blinking repeatedly, Gabriel stumbled back a step. By God, it was him. Same greased black hair and leathery skin, all razor-edged angles. "What are you doing here?"
"Why, I'm a Portuguese subject, just like yourself." Ulrich pushed a square monocle into his left eye. An extravagant ermine pelisse covered his pointed shoulders, but the veneer fit him poorly.
Gabriel advanced a step, his heart speeding. "I arrest you for the illegal—"
"For what?" Ulrich sneered and strutted inside as if presenting himself at court. "You have no proof against me."
Whose fault was that? If it weren't for Gabriel’s lie, his father would have continued the investigations. The only reason he had ceased the inquiries was to protect his beloved godson.
"I was there, in the Zambezi. You attacked our camp. You captured the families under our protection." Gabriel grabbed the hilt of his saber, tensing to unsheathe the blade.
"Careful what you do." Ulrich jutted his jaw at the sword. Raising his voice, he peeled the ermine pelisse and, with it, any trace of civility. "I arranged this as a friendly meeting. Our little encounter happened in the colony. You are no imbecile. There's no jurisdiction to arrest me here in Lisbon."
Ulrich petted the fur with slow movements of his bejeweled fingers. "It's easy to flaunt these English liberal mottos and blame me, the low-born subject from Madeira Island. Don't force me to tell you who supplied the ships, gave us fake notes, and insured our cargo. Oh, and let's not forget, bought the merchandise produced by the slaves."
"I don't think this is relevant—"
"All the glittering court. The entire society."
"You threatened the king. If you think I will condone—"
He clicked his tongue. "I thought you would have figured it out. Braganza was the target. He poked his nose where he shouldn't. I have no business with the king. I’m diversifying my talents, you know? Using my expertise for entertaining. And that is where I can use your... favors."
