Raine. Elizabeth Amber

mind,” he told her. “I’ll meet any price. Come if you’re willing. Otherwise—keep the damned ribbons, and I’ll find another woman.”

      With that, he wheeled around and stalked toward the docks, hoping she’d follow. Otherwise, he’d have to go back for her.

      Jordan blinked, watching his tall, erect form move away.

      He’d called her a woman! It was the first time in her life anyone had ever done so with such certainty.

      In spite of her unfashionably short hair, and though he’d seen nothing of her body under Salerno’s cloak, this beautiful man had assumed she was female. And he was seeking to engage her in some sort of carnal encounter for which he actually planned to pay her. A giddy thrill coursed through her.

      She glanced to her left. From beneath the bridge, the hollow eyes of the beggars and whores pierced her. Some were sad, some greedy. All were desperate. Once the man departed, would they do her harm? The cloak she wore was obviously costly and could be sold. If they took it and her mask, she’d be left naked. Defenseless. Even if she escaped them, she could encounter all manner of dangers as she continued to make her way home alone at this hour.

      Ahead, she watched the man hail a boatman on the gondola she’d seen earlier.

      “I’m coming,” she called, skipping after him. She quickly reached his side, tucking her hand in his.

      He halted midstride, jerking away from her hold. His silver eyes were wary now. Why, she wasn’t sure.

      What sort of encounter did he envision between them if he didn’t want her touching him? She toyed anxiously with the ribbons, wrapping them around her palm until their ends were caught under her folded fingers.

      When she noticed him observing the action, she sheepishly tucked the ribbon-wrapped hand in the pocket of her cloak. Though they were his, she refused to part with them. They somehow made her feel safe.

      “I’m sorry. I won’t take such liberties again,” she said.

      He didn’t comment, only nodded and turned to lead the way to the single elongated gondola at the quay. It was graceful and slender, with a gondolier on either end and a boxlike cabin in the center that enclosed the passenger seats.

      Called a felze, the enclosure was decorated with ornately carved gilding. With their convenient doors and windows on every side, such compartments were used either to display or conceal as the occasion required.

      In the spring, their doors and windows would be flung wide for happy brides seated within, fresh from their weddings, in order that they might display their finery to well-wishers along the canal. Jordan had observed many such brides with envy, noting their sparkling eyes, and splendid lacy gowns. Paulo and Gani had studied them as well, offering ribald speculations about the wedding night each bride’s husband would soon enjoy.

      At times, a felze proved a useful setting for those intent on crimes of kidnapping or even homicide. With its doors safely secured, appointments and meetings between members of the nobility also took place there.

      But more often, as tonight, the privacy such a cabin offered was used for another sort of assignation. A carnal one. The sort this man was offering.

      “Back to my lodgings,” he instructed the boatmen.

      They took his orders and paid her no attention, no doubt assuming he’d take his pleasure with her inside the felze during the ride. They were accustomed to the peccadilloes of the wealthy customers who rode in their conveyances, especially those wandering Venice at night.

      The fact that there were two oarsmen meant they were in for the long journey across the lagoon. That meant he didn’t reside in Venice proper. All the better.

      He turned and offered a hand to her, to assist her onto the boat. It was a commonplace gesture any gentleman would unthinkingly offer to a lady. But no man had ever offered her his hand before. How delightful.

      She smiled brilliantly at him and placed her fingers in his, softness slipping into strength.

      Somewhere behind them in the piazza, she heard the tap of footsteps. Salerno? She took no time to further savor the signore’s gesture.

      The gondola rocked awkwardly under her weight as she hopped aboard, scurried past him, and ducked into the felze.

      He followed her and the door shut behind him, cloistering them both in near darkness.