Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“What is the matter with you?” Silas scolded Giovanni as he folded yet another hand at the poker table with a sigh, pushing his cards and chips away from him in annoyance.
“Nothing is the matter,” Giovanni snapped back, slugging his ale and glaring at his friend.
“Something is,” Silas raised his dark eyebrows, nodding for them to be dealt out of the game. “You never usually lose this badly.”
“Well, maybe I lost a lucky charm,” Giovanni said darkly, slapping his hand down on his cards and gesturing to a passing waiter to bring him another drink.
“And you think you’ll find it in the bottom of a glass?” Silas asked, sipping his own brandy neatly. “You seem intent on getting through as much ale as possible.”
“It’s not like you to cut me off,” Giovanni grumbled, finishing one glass and setting his fingers around the next.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Silas said, looking around the gambling hall. “Just as long as you don’t get us cut off.”
They were at their favorite club, White’s.
The famous gentleman’s club had a good set of rooms for gaming, drinking, meetings, and, on past occasions, female company.
Silas had entertained all manner of guests there, enjoying opera singers, private dancers, and other beautiful women, before he had married and settled.
Giovanni had not cut back on such behaviors.
He still engaged with company here sometimes; a beautiful girl often eased any wounds he might have in his physical work as Silas’s right-hand man, and eased the loneliness in his heart, too.
A loneliness that had been filled and abolished as soon as Beatrice kissed his lips. Her lips had been so soft.
Stop thinking about her lips, you foolish man. Her brother is right there! Giovanni scolded himself, trying to push back his memories of his carriage ride with Silas’s only sister. Trying to forget her supple body, her eager hands and her soft hair. Stop it!
“Don’t worry,” Giovanni set his lips at his newly refilled glass. “I’ll be perfectly well-behaved.”
“Well, you don’t need to be too well-behaved,” Silas smirked. He looked over the rim of his glass and nodded towards the library door. The manager of the house was ushering in some evening entertainment for the gentlemen.
Several ladies entered, dressed for an evening of frolicking and fun, all in enticing fabrics in dark jewel tones with feathers and silks.
One particularly beautiful young lady with dark hair and eyes caught Giovanni’s attention.
Her gown was a rosy red and her lips were softly pink as she smiled at him, fluttering a black lace-trimmed fan.
“It seems like someone has caught your eye,” Silas grinned, winking at Giovanni. “Go and have some fun, Gio. It might lighten you up. You’ve been no fun at all since we went to that ball. Did you have a bad evening?” Silas snorted slightly. “Did some lady give you the cold shoulder?”
Giovanni flinched at those words but tried to cover it. “Of course not. I had a very pleasant evening.”
He remembered that night, the soft scent of Beatrice as they sat in the carriage together—a mixture of flowers and vanilla that reminded him inexplicably of summer days at Fallenbrook.
He remembered the way her gown had pushed tightly against her breasts as her breath caught in her chest from excitement.
How her alabaster skin had flushed with desire, and the miracle of her, sitting astride him so boldly and wantonly, overwhelmed with need for him.
These were the things he had remembered, over and over, since that night.
When he lay his head down at night, after days of forcing himself to concentrate on anything else but Beatrice, all he saw and felt was her.
The feel of her stockings against his thumb.
Her warm skin under his fingers. These thoughts burned him, and followed him into his dreams.
What happened in the carriage? She had asked him that morning, looking up at him so innocently in her gorgeous blue dress.
She looked like the pearl of society—a perfect jewel—innocent, destined for marriage.
How could he have ever told her the truth?
That in a moment of madness, he had given over to baser impulses and, when she was too intoxicated to remember, had kissed her madly?
That he had allowed her to climb atop him, the skirt of her gown indecently tucked under his hands, and kissed him more eagerly than anyone ever had?
That he had not stopped her? That, in fact, he had hoped to take things further, and had nearly asked her to join him in his bedroom?
So he had lied. He hated lying to Beatrice, but he knew he had to. What other choice did he have?
Silas was frowning at him, assessing him carefully. Then he waved to the woman Giovanni had noticed, signalling for her to join them.
“Silas, don’t—” Giovanni began, leaning toward his friend.
“Come now, Gio,” Silas spoke over him, “some girl has clearly got your back up, and as you told me once, the best way to get over one woman is to take another.”
Giovanni felt a flush rising at his words.
How would Silas feel if he knew that the woman who had turned Giovanni’s head so thoroughly was his own sister?
Giovanni tried to keep his expression neutral and nodded.
If he turned down Silas’s suggestion, Silas might make other inquiries into what was bothering Giovanni, and he couldn’t cope with that.
He loved Silas like a brother and didn’t want to lie to him, but he would if he had to, to save Beatrice’s reputation.
“Well then,” Silas clapped him on the shoulder and rose from his chair, gesturing to the young woman to take his seat. “This is my friend, Signore Amante,” he told the courtesan. “He was very much admiring your gown, my dear.”
“Indeed?” The woman took the seat, leaning back luxuriously.
This was a woman who was used to the company of rich gentlemen.
The club didn’t deal with harlots, not really, but instead connected elite showgirls and performers who might benefit from special discreet arrangements with the gentlemen who needed them.
“Well, thank you, Signore. My name is Bess.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Silas smiled, raising his brandy glass to his friend and leaving them alone.
“That is Lucifer of London, is it not?” Bess mused, watching Silas walk away. “Quite a man.”
“He is married,” Giovanni said shortly, reaching for the brandy bottle to top up her glass.
“That is not necessarily an impediment,” Bess said softly. She tilted her beautiful face to look at him inquisitively. Her eyes were dark, but not, Giovanni realized, as dark as Beatrice’s. “Are you married, Signore?”
“I am not,” he said.
“Really? I am surprised.” Bess’ dark eyebrows rose towards the brown curls of her fringe. “Are not Italian men known for strong marriages? Good families?”
“Some are.” Giovanni smiled, thinking of his homeland. “Others are not.”
“So you have no woman in mind to be your Signora?” She teased, leaning forward and playing with her ruby necklace, drawing his attention to the perfect slope of her bosom.
Giovanni leaned forward to touch the ruby, examining it and then taking a moment to examine Bess.
Maybe Silas was right; maybe what he needed was a woman tonight, and Bess might be just the thing.
Her hair was loose, and her red gown was cut shallowly at the neckline. She really was very beautiful.
But she is not Beatrice, Giovanni thought sadly.
Beatrice, who, when she was fifteen years old, and he was twenty-one—still a callow young man—had been given her first ball gown.
She had come down the stairs at Fallenbrook, dressed in luminous white with her hair pinned perfectly, and Giovanni’s heart had clenched inside his chest. He had been tongue-tied for the first time in his life, stammering in her presence, flushing under the collar.
“What is the matter, Gio?” She had laughed. “Do I look so ridiculous?”
“Not ridiculous at all,” Giovanni had said, bowing low to her.
From that moment on, Beatrice had ceased being just his friend’s sister, ceased being like a little sister to him, and started being something else.
He had started seeing her as a woman, a most desirable one.
He had known in that moment that Beatrice would make a fine match one day, and he had known, with a sense of crushing disappointment, that he would never be in the running for her hand.
He had pushed any amorous feelings for her away and had once again engaged her in childish and silly activities that made it easy for him to convince himself she was only a girl.
Yet when she had taken her place in society, all those feelings bubbled to the surface.
Giovanni knew what Silas wanted for Beatrice: to get her as far away from their rough beginnings as possible.
Giovanni was the opposite of that, and he knew it.
No matter what he felt, no matter how strong a pull Beatrice had on his heart, he would never dishonor Silas’s wishes.
“No one who can be mentioned,” Giovanni said to Bess, letting go of her necklace and leaning back.
“Ah,” Bess nodded knowingly, taking a sip of her brandy, completely unfazed by his sudden lack of interest. “Those are words for a man who has set his sights on something unattainable. What?” She grinned when she saw Giovanni’s shocked expression.
“It might surprise you to know, Signore, that men are no great mystery to me. You tell all on your faces.”
“Not all, I hope,” Giovanni said, glancing behind her to where Silas stood at the bar smoking with some other gentlemen. Bess considered him carefully, twisting her fingers together inside her black lace gloves.
“It seems to me that you are in need of a distraction, Signore,” she finally said. “Something to take your mind off this girl who is so unattainable.”