Page 82 of Vengeance in Venice
Her invitation was unmistakable, and when he kissed her, so was her desire. Aroused, he groaned into her mouth, onlyalmostamused by the temptation. Since their wedding, he had grown so addicted to her body that the last few days of abstinence had felt like famine. Her passion battered at his resolve and came very close to defeating it.
Just a little, gentle love… Where is the harm?
He swallowed, closing his eyes. Because it was the comfort she needed in her exhaustion, not the exertion of passion. “Sleep first,” he managed. “I will hold you. Only hold you.”
It was not easy, but he managed it. And curiously, it soothed them both to sleep.
*
Paolo Pellini wasrestless and vaguely surprised to be still in the employ of Signora Savelli. It was not as if she feared to go out without her bodyguard, for though she did not go out often, she never took them with her when she did.
The bodyguards were bored and dealt with it in different ways. Some drank and played cards until they couldn’t have dealt with an attacker except by falling on them by accident. Ugo paced constantly and threatened to find other work. Mario and Giovanni filled their days by helping the house staff and the boatman with his repairs.
Only Pellini was not bored, because he had his own tasks—reporting on the signora and her visitors. And tonight, he rather thought he had something to report. Accordingly, he made his excuses to his fellows, as he often did, and slipped out of the back door to the rougher steps where the smaller supply boats were tied up.
“Pellini,” Ugo said from the doorway.
Pellini glanced at him with impatience to be on his way. He didn’t like Venice. There was altogether too much water for a Tuscan who couldn’t swim. It was unnatural to live like this, and he wanted to go home. But orders were orders.
“What?” he said grudgingly, climbing into the boat and reaching for the rope that tied it.
“Don’t forget what you promised. Speak to the Austrian.”
“Yes, yes,” Pellini said, scowling with as much threat as he could manage. “Ifyoukeepyourpromise and shut your mouth on the subject.”
He pushed off from the steps and began to row without looking back. He supposed he would have to speak for Ugo. Otherwise the fool would blab of Pellini’s double loyalties to the others and his usefulness here would be over.
At least then I could go somewhere else. Preferably somewhere inland, with no larger stretches of water than the odd fishpond.
He rowed fast, for he was a little later than he meant to be and would not be let in after eleven.
The Austrian lived in an unobtrusive house, annoyingly on the water, and though it could be reached by foot, Lampl insisted that his minions use the back door, which, like the Palazzo Savelli, had to approached by boat.
As usual, the large, stony-faced servant opened the door before Pellini had the chance to rap it with his oar.
The man’s nostrils flared with undisguised distaste. “What?”
Sometimes, Pellini fantasized about the canal flooding in the heavy rain and sweeping the large man’s body away to the lagoon, where it would be eaten by fish. One day, he might help that fantasy along.
For now, he smiled with mock affability. “Oh, just thought I’d drop in for a chat. You’re always such good company. Is he there?”
Without a word, the servant shut the door, but Pellini knew better than to leave. By the time he had tied up the boat, the door was open again. Pellini climbed the step and went in.
Lampl’s windowless “office” reminded him of the little-used room at the Palazzo Savelli where they had taken the captive foreign woman. A comely wench she was, too, yet Savelli had thrown her back, which was a damned waste of a female.
Lampl sat at the solitary desk, busily writing. “Well?” he said, without looking up.
“They were there again, the Englishman and his wife.”
Lampl sighed. “Where?”
“Outside the palazzo, at the back, looking.”
The pen stilled. Lampl glanced up, removing the spectacles from his nose. “Looking at what?”
Pellini shrugged. “Just the back of the building.”
“With what purpose?” Lampl sounded bored, yet Pellini knew instinctively that he wasn’t.
