Part 3 (1/2)
Edward's frown deepened. d.a.m.nation, did the girl have no shame at all? ”I do not believe we shall be making any purchases today, ma'am.”
”But I am making a gift of the Cupid to the lieutenant, my lord captain,” she murmured sweetly. ”Because the lieutenant fancied it, my lord, I'm offering it to him in return for his service to our little kingdom.”
Somehow she was managing to make her expression as meek as the women who gathered each morning on the steps of the cathedral before ma.s.s, her head bowed and her eyes full of wors.h.i.+pful thanks. A low actress's trick, Edward told himself sternly, but that still didn't keep him from feeling like an overbearing, ungrateful a.s.s.
Blast her for doing this to him!
”Lieutenant Pye doesn't want the statue,” he said, his voice more defensive than he could have wished. ”He came here to see your infernal pictures.”
Her eyes widened with disingenuous surprise. She was as bright and ever-changing as quicksilver, this girl, and as d.a.m.ned elusive, too. ”My pictures, my lord? But my pictures are all around us!”
”The special ones, signora,” he said impatiently. ”The paintings that you've shown to the other English gentlemen.”
”Ahhh,” she said, nodding. ”My father's paintings. His series ent.i.tled the Oculus Amorandi.”
”Eh?” asked Henry, mystified. ”The eye what?”
”The Eye on Loving,” said Edward. ”Rather like the eye of a peeping Tom at the window, I would wager.”
”But done in the most scholarly and correct manner after the discovery of a brothel in Pompeii,” she said promptly. ”Done directly from the wall paintings that portray the most scandalous diversions of the pagan ancients.”
”Aye, aye, those paintings,” said Henry eagerly. ”The wicked ones.”
But the signora only sighed, spreading her hands and shrugging with dramatic Neapolitan resignation. ”Alas, alas, dearest sirs, I cannot show them to you, no matter how much I wished it.”
Edward allowed himself the slightest of smiles. So the pictures truly didn't exist, the way he'd always suspected. Perhaps Signora Francesca wasn't so very hard to pin down after all.
”No, signora?” he asked lightly. ”And pray, why ever not?”
She turned the shrug into a graceful half-turn, her skirts shus.h.i.+ng so distractingly around her ankles that Edward nearly forgot what he'd asked in the first place.
”These are such unsettled times, my lord,” she explained, ”uneasy times that make the hair p.r.i.c.kle on the back of a dog's neck. The censors from the royal court have visited me-oh, such unpleasant men!-and forbidden me to display-”
”Censors?” interrupted Edward incredulously. While the Neapolitan court was one of the last to survive Napoleon's Republican army, it was also one of the most louche, corruptly Bourbon to the center of its licentious heart. ”If there is one ruler in all Europe that keeps no censors for decency, it must be your King Ferdinando. They say the man has so many b.a.s.t.a.r.ds by so many mistresses he's lost count himself!”
She shrugged again, the golden afternoon sunlight sliding over the skin of her shoulders, not at all scandalized that he'd speak so freely before her.
”I will acknowledge that His Majesty is the most fortunate parent of fourteen children with Queen Maria Carolina,” she said coyly. ”As for the others-ah, my lord, you must remember that this is a very different place than your London. Who knows what may happen here tomorrow, the next day, or the next?”
”Meaning that if Lieutenant Pye and I were to return here upon another day, you would produce your father's old Oculus for our amus.e.m.e.nt?”
”Who can say for certain, my lord?” the girl answered, her words as insubstantial as a sigh. ”But if you return to honor me again on another pretty afternoon, perhaps, perhaps, I will be able to grant what you... wish.”
She smiled then, that same charming, clever, conspirator's smile that Edward had found at once so unsettling and so beguiling. It didn't matter that Henry was standing there beside him with the wretched Cupid still clutched in his arms. The air in the studio felt close and velvety soft, the scent from the scarlet flowers heady with the temptation that seemed an inescapable part of Naples, and as natural to this girl as breathing itself.
She was challenging him, teasing him, daring him, and Edward would wager fifty guineas that it wasn't just a hackneyed old statue at stake, either. He recognized the signs well enough: The aristocratic mamas and daughters in London might disdain him, but he'd be a golden prize to a saucy little adventuress like this one. If he accepted the signora's challenge and whatever she was offering with that smile, he'd be soundly congratulated for his good fortune by every one of his friends and fellow officers. Not one man in his acquaintance would fault him.
Not one, that is, except himself.
He'd come here this afternoon for diversion, that was all, and to keep hapless Henry from mischief. He no more sought a mistress than he wanted to buy her ancient rubbish. If he encouraged her, he'd be the same as any other common sailor frolicking with his harlot. The only difference would be the cost.