Eneko placed a hand on her head and kissed her forehead. “Not so many sins as all that, child.” He chuckled into the glamorous hair. “Well . . . many sins, I admit. Or, at least, the same sin oft repeated. But, in the end, not such a great one, as sins go.”
Pierre scowled. “It’s still sinful, and you should give it up,” the Savoyard grumbled. “But . . .”
Diego smiled. “He’s a witch-smeller, you know. It’s quite a rare talent. But that’s really why he kept insisting on kissing your hand at the Doge’s palace.”
Francesca’s eyes were quite dry, now. She peered at Pierre intently. “And?”
The Savoyard looked away. “You should still give it up,” he insisted. “But . . . there’s nothing here in the way of that stench coming from Casa Brunelli and the Imperial embassy.”
“Enough, Pierre,” commanded Eneko. To Francesca: “I will keep our end of the bargain, Francesca. Be sure of it. Whatever we discover will be passed along to you.” Slyly: “This will be quite an adventure, you know?”
* * *
After she closed the door behind them, Francesca leaned her forehead against the ornately carved wood. She could still feel the slight moisture from the priest’s kiss. And was not really surprised, when she thought about it, that Eneko Lopez did not have dry lips. Whatever his vows—and Francesca was certain he kept them—she didn’t doubt for a moment that the Basque was also the most passionate man she’d ever met.
“Quite an adventure,” she murmured. “Idiot woman!”
But when she pushed herself away from the door, she was smiling. And did not even try to deny, to herself, that she felt as if she’d shed years as well as sins.
The effect translated immediately into action. Francesca had been trying to decide for days . . .
She went directly to her little writing table and penned a note. Quickly, for all the impeccable handwriting. Then, sealed it with wax and went back to the door.
Her bodyguard was standing in front of her, not more than an instant after she opened the door. Francesca had no idea where he’d come from. Nor did she care—that was what he was being paid for, after all.
“Have this taken to Casa Montescue, Louis. No—better yet, take it yourself. I’ll be safe enough here tonight and I want to be certain it goes directly to the person addressed. Let no one else see it. Understood?”
Louis examined the name on the note and nodded. “Easy enough,” he said, and was gone. Francesca watched him leave, wondering if she’d hear any sound at all.
She didn’t, of course. Louis Marillac had come highly recommended.
* * *
The next evening, when she opened the door, the man who entered made no attempt to walk quietly. Not that he clumped, even as big as he was. The noise his feet made was more in the way of a shuffle. As if he were trying to disguise embarrassment.
“Mademoiselle de Chevreuse,” he said, bowing and kissing her hand. “I was delighted to receive your invitation to pay you a visit, of course. Didn’t feel I could refuse. But—”
“Please, come in!” Smoothly, Francesca closed the door and guided him into a chair. “And I insist you call me Francesca.”
The man cleared his throat. “Francesca, then. But—”
He fell silent, obviously groping for words. “I must explain—”
“You need explain nothing.” Francesca smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I asked you to come, did I not? I am well aware of the straightened financial circumstances you are suffering from at the moment. I simply wanted the pleasure of your company, that’s all.”
The man stared up at her; his eyes disbelieving, at first. Then, slowly, the stiffness in his face began to ease. “It’s been a long time,” he murmured.
“Too long, I think.” Francesca took his hands and lifted him out of the chair. “Come.”
* * *
Quite some time later, as he stared at the ceiling of the bedroom, the man’s face had lost all of its customary sternness. “I haven’t felt this good in years.”
“Not so old as all that, eh?” She lifted herself on one elbow and smiled down at him, running her hand across his wide chest.