it was joined by a chorus of equally impotent rage , much of
it directed at that damned Carlo Castellan.
First, the man was common. A common
soldier. It was obvious from his manners (none), his breeding (none),
and his concern for social graces or standing (also none). Add to this that he
was a large man, a physically powerful man, and that he obviously knew it. He
didn’t hide his thoughts or feelings about the opposite sex, which were always
readily apparent, and usually…well, “carnivorous” was the word that came to
mind. Which would not offend if he restricted his attentions to members of his
own class, but Carlo Castellan never met a boundary he couldn’t violate. He was
basically a back alley tomcat, Lucrezia reflected, complete with a slight scar
on his brow.
And ever since Carlo Castellan had saved her brother’s life
in some faraway battle, he’d been a constant presence in her life. It was
rumored that he would be given a stake in the great Grimaldi bank soon, and
then she’d never be rid of him. Until then, he’d been charged with providing for Lucrezia’s personal security, something that became
more or less urgent with the waxing and waning political tides.
Lucrezia felt that this arrangement was beneath her, and, to
her eternal frustration, it was clear that Carlo felt it was beneath him, too.
“Send him in,” she said through gritted teeth, “and leave
us.”
“Does my lady want to dress…?”
“No.”
If he wanted to surprise her, let him face the consequences.
He’d never approved of any of her assignations, with typical male hypocrisy. If
she couldn’t be truly satisfied, she could at least have the satisfaction of
Carlo Castellan’s discomfort.
She let her sheet fall a little, exposing one long, supple
leg, composed her face in a mask of haughty irritation, and pretended to look
out the window.
Carlo Castellan strode into her bedroom as if he owned it,
letting the door close loudly behind him. They were alone. He was dressed in
his customary unadorned black leather vest, all martial utility and monastic
simplicity, but his well-muscled arms and chest were bare to the heat, and
glistening with a slight sheen of sweat. It was…disconcerting. Lucrezia watched
his eyes fall on her rumpled, obviously well-used bed,
and then slide over to her. He looked her up and down without apparent
reaction, and without bothering to hide that he was doing it.
“Lady Lucrezia,” he said evenly.
“What do you want?” Now she was even more frustrated. She
thought she’d at least annoy him.
“I’m here to discuss your plans for tonight.”
Lucrezia narrowed her eyes. A discussion implied that she
had some sort of say in the matter. But that was too much to hope for, and she
found the idea of Carlo Castellan’s condescension to be…humiliating. The
buzzing inside her grew louder.
“Well?” she said.
“I will accompany you to the Ivy Dance this evening, my
lady.”
Lucrezia’s lips fell open in
genuine surprise, and her sheet slipped dangerously off of one shoulder as she
snapped her head around, and looked him in the face.
“What did you say?”
“I believe you heard me, my lady. Per your brother’s
instructions, I will accompany you to the Ivy Dance.”
Lucrezia could not fathom it. It was…unfathomable. To be
escorted by him ? In
public? Her mind raced as she tried to remember what she might have done
to so offend her brother. They were constantly sniping at each other, it was a game between them, almost traditional. But this? This?
She looked up to see the last remnants of a fading grin on
Carlo’s face.
That was too much
to bear.
“Fetch me a glass of amberwine, soldier,” she said coldly.
Their eyes locked. Whatever Lucrezia thought of Carlo’s
station, it was certainly higher than mere servant.
Finally, Carlo dipped his head, and walked over to the cart
she’d had brought up earlier that morning. He even moved like a cat, she
thought, momentarily transfixed,
it directed at that damned Carlo Castellan.
First, the man was common. A common
soldier. It was obvious from his manners (none), his breeding (none),
and his concern for social graces or standing (also none). Add to this that he
was a large man, a physically powerful man, and that he obviously knew it. He
didn’t hide his thoughts or feelings about the opposite sex, which were always
readily apparent, and usually…well, “carnivorous” was the word that came to
mind. Which would not offend if he restricted his attentions to members of his
own class, but Carlo Castellan never met a boundary he couldn’t violate. He was
basically a back alley tomcat, Lucrezia reflected, complete with a slight scar
on his brow.
And ever since Carlo Castellan had saved her brother’s life
in some faraway battle, he’d been a constant presence in her life. It was
rumored that he would be given a stake in the great Grimaldi bank soon, and
then she’d never be rid of him. Until then, he’d been charged with providing for Lucrezia’s personal security, something that became
more or less urgent with the waxing and waning political tides.
Lucrezia felt that this arrangement was beneath her, and, to
her eternal frustration, it was clear that Carlo felt it was beneath him, too.
“Send him in,” she said through gritted teeth, “and leave
us.”
“Does my lady want to dress…?”
“No.”
If he wanted to surprise her, let him face the consequences.
He’d never approved of any of her assignations, with typical male hypocrisy. If
she couldn’t be truly satisfied, she could at least have the satisfaction of
Carlo Castellan’s discomfort.
She let her sheet fall a little, exposing one long, supple
leg, composed her face in a mask of haughty irritation, and pretended to look
out the window.
Carlo Castellan strode into her bedroom as if he owned it,
letting the door close loudly behind him. They were alone. He was dressed in
his customary unadorned black leather vest, all martial utility and monastic
simplicity, but his well-muscled arms and chest were bare to the heat, and
glistening with a slight sheen of sweat. It was…disconcerting. Lucrezia watched
his eyes fall on her rumpled, obviously well-used bed,
and then slide over to her. He looked her up and down without apparent
reaction, and without bothering to hide that he was doing it.
“Lady Lucrezia,” he said evenly.
“What do you want?” Now she was even more frustrated. She
thought she’d at least annoy him.
“I’m here to discuss your plans for tonight.”
Lucrezia narrowed her eyes. A discussion implied that she
had some sort of say in the matter. But that was too much to hope for, and she
found the idea of Carlo Castellan’s condescension to be…humiliating. The
buzzing inside her grew louder.
“Well?” she said.
“I will accompany you to the Ivy Dance this evening, my
lady.”
Lucrezia’s lips fell open in
genuine surprise, and her sheet slipped dangerously off of one shoulder as she
snapped her head around, and looked him in the face.
“What did you say?”
“I believe you heard me, my lady. Per your brother’s
instructions, I will accompany you to the Ivy Dance.”
Lucrezia could not fathom it. It was…unfathomable. To be
escorted by him ? In
public? Her mind raced as she tried to remember what she might have done
to so offend her brother. They were constantly sniping at each other, it was a game between them, almost traditional. But this? This?
She looked up to see the last remnants of a fading grin on
Carlo’s face.
That was too much
to bear.
“Fetch me a glass of amberwine, soldier,” she said coldly.
Their eyes locked. Whatever Lucrezia thought of Carlo’s
station, it was certainly higher than mere servant.
Finally, Carlo dipped his head, and walked over to the cart
she’d had brought up earlier that morning. He even moved like a cat, she
thought, momentarily transfixed,
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