His Rags-To-Riches Contessa. Marguerite Kaye

azure blue of the Mediterranean, the sultry sun of Egypt, the mayhem of Lisbon and the vast expanse of the New World. There were naval battles, but he glossed over those in a way that she could see disguised pain, suffering, the darker side of human nature. And though he made little of his own role in war at sea, it was clear enough it had been a significant one, that he was not one of those officers who hid behind his men.

      ‘And then, when Napoleon was defeated at Waterloo, it was obvious that there would be no more wars, and therefore no need for a vast naval fleet. The prospect of sitting behind a desk in the Admiralty filled me with dread,’ Luca said, ‘and so I resigned my commission. Yes,’ he added over his shoulder to his major-domo, who had appeared once more, ‘we’re quite finished.’

      Becky looked down at her empty plate. There were fish bones. She hardly recalled being served any fish. Her wine glass was half-full of red, not white. How long had Luca been talking, answering her eager questions? But she wasn’t nearly satisfied. ‘Why the navy though? And why the English navy?’

      ‘British. Because Venice no longer possesses one. Because I would never countenance serving our usurpers any more than my father would have, whether French or Austrian. Because my mother’s family have a proud seafaring tradition. Admirals, and pirates too,’ Luca said with a wicked smile.

      Shaking her head at the offer of coffee, Becky sat back in her seat with a contented sigh. She’d eaten so much she was sleepy. ‘What have you been doing for the last years, then?’

      ‘Learning how to build ships, not sail them,’ Luca retorted. ‘I spent some time in Glasgow. The Scots are even better ship makers than we Venetians used to be, though it pains me to say it. My father, to my surprise, heartily endorsed my desire to become a shipwright.’

      ‘But why? Noble families like yours don’t tend to dirty their hands by becoming involved in trade.’

      ‘We are Venetians,’ Luca said. ‘We invented trade.’

      Becky bit back a smile. He puffed up with pride whenever he mentioned his beloved Venice. ‘I’m surprised you ever left the city if you love it so much.’

      ‘We once had a great navy. Our merchant ships travelled the world. But all that was lost as other seafaring nations supplanted us. Venice’s reputation these days is based on its notoriety for vice and excess, a city devoted to pleasure. Always, when people talk of her, it is Carnival and nothing else. It is because I am determined to contribute somehow to making this city great again that I left her.’

      ‘But how? Aren’t you—Don’t the Austrians rule here?’

      His mouth tightened. ‘For now. Building new ships to re-establish trading routes. That is my dream. Though for the moment, I keep it to myself.’ Luca put a finger to his mouth, making a show of peering over his shoulder. ‘There is one thing you must never forget about Venice,’ he said in a stage whisper. ‘There are spies everywhere.’

      ‘I hope you don’t ever plan to tread the boards. You’re a terrible actor.’

      But Luca’s expression became serious. ‘I mean it. Within these walls it is safe to speak your mind, but in public you must keep your counsel. Intrigue is a way of life and Venice can be a dangerous city for the unwary.’

      ‘How can somewhere so beautiful be so menacing?’

      ‘Because Venice is a city of contrasts. Light and shadow. Beauty and decay. Stone and water.’

      ‘You make it sound fascinating. I look forward to exploring it.’

      ‘It will be my pleasure to be your guide.’

      He smiled at her, and she forgot what she was about to say. Sightseeing, she reminded herself, that was what they were talking about, but her eyes were locked on his, and all she could do was stare, mesmerised. She wondered what it would feel like to be kissed by him, and he must have read her thoughts, because there was a gleam in his eyes that made her think he wanted to kiss her too.

      The table was in the way, but she was on her feet now, and so was he. He had closed the gap between them. She was lifting her face to his. And then he muttered something, shook his head, stepped back, and at the same time she regained her senses and moved away.

      ‘In the morning, after breakfast,’ Luca said, his voice gruff, ‘we will draw up a plan of action.’

      ‘In the morning,’ Becky repeated, trying to regulate her breathing, ‘I will assume the role of your demure cousin Rebecca.’

      He looked as relieved as she felt. She wondered if he was thinking the same as her, that it was for the best, since cousins couldn’t kiss.

      ‘But in the meantime, you must be tired,’ he said.

      ‘Yes,’ she agreed gratefully. ‘Very tired. I will bid you goodnight.’

      He took her hand, bowing over it with a mocking little smile, pressing the lightest of kisses to her fingertips. ‘Buona notte, Becky.’

      ‘Goodnight?’ A slight nod, and she repeated the words, enjoying the soft, sensual sound of them. ‘Buona notte, Luca.’