Part 5 (1/2)
He pitied her? Anger rose in her belly. She couldn't bear it if he pitied her. So she shrugged. ”My real parents abandoned me when I was six. I made my way on the streets of London, so I am quite used to it.”
”At six?” he asked, his brows drawing together.
”Oh, I found a place. A rather nefarious character provided food and a bed in return for picked pockets and robbed houses. No locksmith has made a device I cannot open.” That would shock him. And she wanted to shock him with her hardness, her invulnerability.
”So how did you end in an orphanage?” Enough light leaked in around the shades to make his face dimly visible in the shadows.
”The Nefarious Character was clapped up in Newgate and that left us on our own.” Those days had been hungry ones. She had been frightened. ”The nuns finally came round to collect what was left of us in an act of charity and duty.” She let her tone tell him how she despised their impulse. ”I spent five years in the orphanage. Until I was fourteen.”
”Better than the streets.”
”Was it?” She leaned back against the black velvet squabs of the upholstery.
”Ahhh. Another version of indentured servitude.”He understood. That was odd. She pulled her chin up. ”I was quite a trial for the sisters. They tried their best to beat the sin out of me. When Matthew claimed me, I wouldn't have cared whether he was my father or not. He was the one who trained me to act and talk flash.”
”My congratulations. No one would think you were from any but the first of families.”
Kate looked away. It had been nice in a way to think she had a father. It gave her a place. And she'd tried hard to please Matthew. The fact that he constantly threatened to abandon her again helped motivate her, though she had always told him she didn't care. That had been a lie, like so much else in her life. Well, he'd lied too. Everyone did. All the time. Just like Gian Urbano was probably lying now about paying her, about his mother. She glanced at him and found him staring at her in a most disconcerting way.
”Well,” he said slowly, as though considering his words. ”I see no event in your background which would have developed your 'powers.' Did you train to develop them?”
Now he was making game of her. He knew very well she didn't have ”powers.” ”Don't be rude. I learned the tarot because it can be bent to anything someone wants to hear. And I'm very good at reading people.” Except she couldn't read him at all. The cards had seemed to take over and make their own story when it came to him, and she had blurted out some prediction over which she had no control. She blinked at him, trying to master the fear that brought up inside her. She rushed into conversation so she didn't have to think. ”So you needn't take pity on me. I'm fully capable of caring for myself. If you're going to take the stone, do it.”
”Why don't you keep it for the nonce?” he remarked after a short silence. ”It would spoil the cut of my coat if I kept it in my pocket.”
She narrowed her eyes. What kind of game was he playing?
”So,” he said, examining her as though he saw everything she wanted to hide from him. ”What will you do with the money?”
As if he would pay. She grimaced, seeing her dreams slip away. Still, he could have stolen the stone last night. He didn't have to take her with him. She searched his face. She saw no answers. She looked away. ”I am going to buy a house, of course.”
”After such a life of adventure, can one city amuse you?” Was that a smirk?
”I'm not going to buy a house in a city,” she retorted. ”I... I want to live somewhere out of the way.” That was an unfortunate way to put it. ”I mean, somewhere quiet. Twenty thousand will buy a cottage in England and keep me nicely.”
”Quiet means no audience.”
”Oh, and you think I love an audience!” He thought she liked to display herself for public pity? She turned away again, so he couldn't see the scar.
”I think you are very good at what you do,” he said, clearing his throat. ”I expect it would be hard to give that up.”
”And you so respect what I do.” She snorted. He, who had tried to unmask her...
He sat back, one leg lounging out before him. ”I respect that you made your own way. You are intelligent, intuitive. I didn't say I respected the purpose to which you put your talents.”
She snapped her head around to confront him. ”Oh, you don't respect survival?”
”Honor is important. There were other ways to survive.”
”Matthew always said my only choice was between chicanery and a brothel, since I had no money, no birth, and no looks. And a brothel of the lowest kind. Is there honor in that?”
The corner of the carriage was silent.
”And you know so much about honor anyway,” she accused. ”You who use your beauty to enthrall women. You take, but you never give, do you? Is there honor in that?”
He straightened, a little shocked. Good. ”I... I never make promises I don't keep.”
”Oh, you don't lie about loving them. How n.o.ble.” She folded her amis across her chest.
His mouth gave something like a sneer. ”They only want to say they've bedded me. I'm a trophy that gives them bragging rights. I see to their pleasure, but they deserve nothing more.”
She felt her jaw drop. The... the arrogance of the man! He wanted them to give something of themselves, when he was already bleeding them for money? And he must be mad to think he didn't break hearts, if not the hearts of the rich women who kept him, then those of the ones who couldn't afford that luxury. ”You can't tell me young girls have never pined after you until they fell into a decline. You're just the type to provoke that without any conscience.”
”I don't seduce virgins.” But he was looking guilty. He knew she was right.
”Just married women?” She snorted her contempt. ”Now that is honorable.”
He looked exasperated. ”I prefer widows but there are plenty of women coerced into marriage who manage to enjoy life by taking lovers. I've played my part in their charade.”
”It's their charade, is it?” When his whole life was a charade?
”Yes.” His eyes narrowed.
”Well, I'll tell you, Gian Urbano...” But he actually had her speechless. She folded her arms across her chest and closed her eyes. ”I'm going to sleep.” How would she bear being cooped up with this insufferable man all the way to Florence?
Kate woke with a start to find Urbano shaking her shoulder. ”What?” she asked crabily. The carriage was no longer rocking.
”Would you like to break your fast?” he asked, shrugging. ”We are changing horses.”
”Oh. Well, yes.” Actually, she was famished. And the feel of Urbano's strong hand on her shoulder made her... irritable. She reached for the door handle. Urbano slid farther into the shadows in the corner. She glanced over at him. He looked very tired.
That brought to mind the fact that he had been injured last night, though he showed little sign of it this morning. He was a puzzling creature. And he might be more than puzzling. He might be... whatever that woman, Elyta, had been. What was that?
Nonsense! She refused to think about the Elyta woman. Urbano was simply an arrogant charlatan. Not unlike herself. That thought hurt. She didn't want to have anything in common with this creature.
Yet she couldn't afford to make him angry. She was, at the moment, dependent upon him. She cleared her throat. ”Will it cause you discomfort if I open the door?”
”It is nothing. Perhaps you should leave your reticule here for safekeeping.”
”Perhaps I don't think that would be safe,” she returned.
”As you wish, then. Buon appet.i.to. Luigi will accompany you.”That was the coachman. She had heard Urbano call instructions to him. There was a postboy as well, Adolpho. She took her lip between her teeth. Urbano would have to stay inside. Which meant no breakfast for him, or luncheon, whatever time it was. She had no idea how long she'd slept. Well, then, she'd order him some food as well.
Except she didn't want to spend the little money she had feeding her nemesis.
”Luigi will pay the shot,” he remarked from the shadows in the corner. He seemed to read her mind. How exasperating!
”You can deduct it from the payment for my stone.” She opened the door. Luigi, once a large, athletic specimen now just going soft about the middle, hovered, waiting to help her down. She took his hand quickly, jumped into the yard and slammed the door.
Then she turned, blinking, and looked up at him. She had an impression of a busy posting house yard bustling with horses and carriages, hostlers and pa.s.sengers around her. The sun said it was late morning. The caramel light of Italy bathed everything in warmth.