So, as the fat old curti droned on and on, Kat paid him as little attention as possible. She was observing the subtle contest going on between two beautiful women elsewhere. And found herself enjoying the fact that Francesca was clearly emerging the winner—judging, at least, from the frequent and angry little glances Lucrezia Brunelli sent her way.
* * *
Relief came from a strange and unexpected quarter. And relief was even less welcome than the old geezer’s breath had been. As happens at such large gatherings, the slow swirl of the crowd eventually brought someone new in front of her.
The minute that Kat saw his face, she recognized it. It was not a face you forgot. The aquiline nose, the single line of forbidding brow; the aura of power and dominance quite out of keeping with the man’s height. He was dressed with plain severity, which was also out of keeping with the Venetian nobles and merchants. The same garb, she recognized, as that of the two priests in the crowd around Francesca. Someone had commented on it. Someone had murmered “political influence.” It worried her.
He obviously worried the fat old toad, too. “Goo . . . good evening, Senor Lopez.”
The foreigner favored the toad with a faint lift of his eyebrow line. “Ah, Signor Della Galbo. I have been to see you on a number occasions at your home. You were either away or indisposed. I am glad to find you here when you are neither.”
“Uh. Yes, of course, signor.” Little beads of sweat had started out of many-chinned toad’s florid face. “But it’s really getting late, and I must be off. Call upon me at my home. Excuse me, M’lady Montescue.” He vanished with a speed that was almost astonishing for one so portly.
Katerina found herself fully in the eagle-eyed gaze of Senor Lopez. “My apologies, signorina. I did not mean to interrupt your discussion with Signor Della Galbo.” He bowed. “My name is Eneko Lopez de Onez y Guipúzcoa. I am a stranger and guest here in your midst.”
Kat curtseyed and held out her hand in the accepted manner, restraining a strong instinctive desire to run like hell. She wished she could equally restrain the cold sweat on her hand. Maybe this Lopez expected all women who were introduced to him to have cold-fish hands. “Katerina Montescue. I trust you are enjoying Venice?”
He certainly showed no reaction to her clammy hand as he bowed low and kissed it in a practiced courtly manner. “Alas, no.” An almost-smile touched the face. “I find it damp. But that is inevitable in a city with so many canals. And one does God’s work where God wills. Now, if you will excuse me, Signorina Montescue?”
“With pleasure!” Kat fled. He recognized her—she was sure he did!
She found she’d escaped one unpleasant thing, only to have to deal with another. “Well, well, well!” said Alessandra, archly. “Got a suitor I see. Signor Della Galbo is quite a catch. But better keep your hands off that fascinating Spaniard. Lucrezia has marked him as hers.”
Kat shuddered. “She’s welcome to him. And she can have Della Galbo too, with pleasure. Alessandra, he’s fifty-five if he’s a day. He’s old enough be my grandfather, never mind my father! And he is fat, gross, and stupid, and his breath smells.”
“But he’s got money, darling,” said Alessandra with a little moue. “Pots and pots of it. And you, I obviously need to remind you, haven’t got any. You’d be lucky to even get such an attractive offer. He’d at best want you to be his mistress if you weren’t Case Vecchie, and him nouveau riche. Or are you going to run off and marry some commoner? You just do your duty and . . . well you can always have a lover on the quiet. So long as you’re discreet.”
“If that’s the choice, yes. I’ll run off as soon as possible.” The thought of “doing her duty” with that . . . made her feel nauseated. Best change the subject. “Who was the other man, that your friend Lucrezia has got her hooks into?”
“My cousin Lucrezia Brunelli . . . That was Ricardo’s guest from Spain. Castilian nobility. Well—Basque, actually. A rising man in the Church, with friends in Rome. An envoy plenipotentiary from the Grand Metropolitan himself, people say.”