dressed, but her heart had begun to hammer as she realized she was seeing her mother for the first time.
Or was this her mother? Had the whole thing been a mad fantasy? A mixture of excitement and fear made her grip the railing of the stone balcony tightly. She didn’t notice that Maurizio was watching her closely, his face set, his eyes appraising.
At last he spoke. “The Contessa Calvani is one of the glories of Venice.”
“She’s certainly very beautiful,” Terri said, not taking her eyes from Elena.
“Beautiful, artistic, the perfect mistress of a palazzo, and famed for her works of charity,” Maurizio said. “It’s such a tragedy.”
“What’s a tragedy?” Terri asked at once.
“That the Calvanis have no children.”
“The contessa has—no children?” Terri echoed slowly.
If he noticed this slight change of emphasis, Maurizio’s smooth face gave nothing away. “I believe it troubles her greatly,” he said. “When Francisco dies, the title will go to a cousin whom he detests. I believe he’d do anything to prevent that.”
“But what can he do?”
Maurizio shrugged and led her back into the roulette room. “Rid himself of her,” he said. “A discreet divorce, or even an annulment.”
“He can annul their marriage simply because she didn’t give him an heir?” Terri demanded, outraged.
“That depends on why she didn’t. A count expects to marry a woman with a title. But Elena was a nobody from nowhere, and he married her in defiance of his family and friends. Who knows the secrets of her past?” Maurizio shrugged. “Perhaps there’s something that would explain why she’s barren. He, at least, would be glad to know. There’s less scandal in annulment than in divorce.”
“Poor woman,” Terri murmured. “She must live her life on hot coals.”
“I wouldn’t waste too much sympathy on her,” Maurizio said dryly. “She didn’t marry him for love. She set a high price on herself and he was fool enough to pay it. But she didn’t keep her side of the bargain. She’s nervous and she has reason to be.” He saw Terri’s shocked eyes. “Don’t look like that. These marriage deals are done all the time.”
“But not by—” Terri began fiercely and checked herself, dismayed at how close she’d come to a disastrous revelation. Something bitter and disturbing in Maurizio’s voice had brought her to the edge of defending the mother who was a stranger to her.
“Not by?” He was regarding her closely.
“Not—not by every woman,” Terri said hastily.
“I wonder if that was really what you were going to say.”
“If you want to know what I’m really thinking,” she said crossly, “I don’t like the way you talked about her. You think you know what she’s like but you don’t really. Nobody knows that much about another person.”
“Are you angry with me, Teresa?” He sounded surprised.
“Yes, I am. You sounded so cruel. As though it pleased you to think of her misfortune.”
“Aren’t you also judging me too easily?” Maurizio asked, an edge to his voice. “What do you know of me that you call me cruel?”
“I think you could be very cruel when it suited you,” Terri said in a voice of discovery. “I think there’s something cruel about this very room.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“The mirrors all around the walls...they’re all distorted. It makes everyone look slightly diabolical.”
Maurizio flushed. “The mirrors are antiques,” he said. “Such distortions are common in mirrors of that age. If you’re suggesting that I planned it this way, you are wrong.” To his intense annoyance, he realized that he was defending himself, something foreign to his nature. “If you must know,” he added, “I hadn’t even noticed the distortions.”
It was true. He’d been so proud of decorating the casino with priceless antiques that he’d failed to observe the slight imperfection. But her clear eyes had seen it at once,
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