Tony strolled past an antique shop, all the while keeping her eyes open for any sign of Savage. When she did not see him out on thefondamentethat bordered the canal, she entered the palazzo and let her gaze run over every person in the magnificently appointed lobby.
There were only one or two men on their own. Most people were coupled. Most looked like lovers, absorbed in each other. Most seemed to be slowly drifting upstairs. Antonia idly browsed, seemingly admiring the velvet-covered antique furniture and the ornately framed paintings. Time passed, yet still there was no sign of him.
Tony grew self-conscious, thinking perhaps her presence might cause curiosity with the staff of the palazzo if she lingered hour after hour. On the second-floor galleria she saw a restaurant with small tables where the patrons could look down upon the vast foyer to observe the comings and goings of everyone at Casa Frolo. Slowly she trailed up the marble staircase to the galleria and sat down at a table. When the white-gloved waiter approached she murmured the only word she knew that would be appropriate.“Vino?”
“Si, signora. Chianti?”
She nodded uncertainly, but when he brought her a goblet of red wine, it was not what she had expected. She tasted it and it was as sour as vinegar. Lord, it was about time she learned the names of the wines she liked. Tony made a pretense of sipping from her goblet while she watched the lovers rendezvous below her.
Suddenly she was struck by a ghastly thought. Savage was no doubt making full use of his bed during these hours of siesta. While she sat here like a naive little fool, waiting for one glimpse of him, he was likely whiling away the lazy afternoon in bed play with a dark-eyed signora.
She began to panic. If she saw him come downstairs with an elegant Venetian lady she would be devastated. He was nothing but a rake, an experienced roué, expert at giving a woman a slip on the shoulder. Antonia sat in misery, her graphic imagination running riot, expecting the worst. She knew she must leave before she saw him with one more woman. She had few illusions left about him. She knew he was unscrupulous, probably even a criminal, but her heart had stubbornly refused to abandon its infatuation. Whatever had given her the ridiculous idea that she could attract a man of his vast experience? She must be mad! Far better for her to revert to her trousers and be thankful for his companionship. A quiet, friendly smoke with him was the best she could ever hope for and was better than nothing at all.
No! It was not better than nothing. It was worse than nothing. Far worse! She had come to Venice looking for romance. Lord, she was such a baby. So unsophisticated, so unworldly, in spite of the knowledge of men she had so recently acquired.
Savage hadn’t come to Venice to seek romance. From his own lips she had heard his reasons. Carnival was where the nobility roamed the streets of Venice looking for sexual liaisons. If she saw him with a female she would be shattered. She must get away. She pushed back her chair, then she became aware of male eyes assessing her.
She glanced about to see that no fewer than three men were giving her their undivided attention. The first man nodded. She averted her eyes to another tattle, where the second man smiled. Antonia broke eye contact immediately by glancing in the direction of the third man. He raised an eyebrow.
How dare they be so blatant? She could clearly see each had been ready to arise when she did, perhaps to openly approach her, or at least to follow her. She was horrified. She did not wish to attract men; she wished to attract one man. Savage. Adam Savage. There was no other man in the world!
She decided it would be a mistake to rise and leave. She would simply outwait them. The waiter approached her with a note. She shook her head vigorously and refused to accept it. In a few minutes one of the gentlemen sighed and left. In a short while another arose and did likewise Antonia closed her eyes in relief; knowing the enervating heat had gone out of the afternoon and siesta time had drawn to a close. Couples started to descend. When they reached the ground floor of the palazzo they separated, the men going one way, the women another.
When Antonia opened her eyes she saw him. One glimpse was all she needed to stop her breath, to stop her very pulse. He strode into Casa Frolo from thefondementeand he was alone. Antonia’s heart soared. He was alone! No afternoon siesta for Savage when Venice lay at his feet to be explored.
She observed him from a distance beneath the concealing brim of her leghorn. He climbed to the galleria level, then disappeared down a corridor where she assumed his room must be. All she could do tomorrow evening was arrive early and keep watch on the galleria. Naturally he would wear a disguise, but Antonia felt she would know that powerful, incomparable physique anywhere.
Her heart was singing all the way back across the lagoon. She looked so young and pretty and happy that people turned to watch her as her light, carefree steps took her past the exotic mask shop. She paused at the window display, wondering what sort of a mask she should wear tomorrow night. Some masks were unbelievably elaborate, encrusted with beads, feathers and ornamental mirrored glass. Others covered the whole head and face to completely disguise the identity of the reveler.
Antonia frowned with indecision. She did not want something clumsy or unwieldy and difficult to handle. Her glance fell on a mannequin whose mask had been painted on. With the clever use of painted stripes and a handful of sequins a mask had been created that did not have to come off. She went into the busy shop that was doing a brisk business. She bought a package of sequins and some patch glue. With the aid of her exotic cosmetics she would create her own eye mask!
Antonia bought breadsticks, seafood salad, and ravioli in a pomodori sauce of basil and parsley. She would dine upon her balcony and observe the city below her as would an empress from her throne.
As dusk descended, the lights and torches of the city began to flicker. Gondolas glided about across the lagoons, beneath bridges, and along narrow canals. Some people couldn’t wait for Carnival and had already donned their costumes.
Musicians in medieval and Renaissance garb strolled about, plucking their stringed instruments, and even the gondoliers wore small black eye-dominoes beneath their straw boaters. All of Venice was being transformed into a city of mystery and magic.
It was late when Antonia went inside to bed, because she knew she was too excited to sleep. When she finally did drowse, she began to dream, but her dreams were dark and disturbing. She found herself heavily masked in some sort of brothel. All the clientele were rich and titled. Barons, earls, dukes, and princes from far and wide were gathered in this opulent, decadent, glittering salon.
The other women were voluptuous in varied stages of deshabille, their laughter as brittle as Venetian crystal. The heavily perfumed air was so cloying, she could hardly breathe. The men, all masked, assessed her with contemptuous, glittering eyes, which gleamed through the slits in their masks.
Three different men selected her as their partner and she knew she must go through the dark, sensual labyrinth of chambers, pandering to whatever coupling techniques pleasured them. She had no idea what they expected of her, not the slightest inclination, except that it would be wicked and sordid and humiliating.
Antonia froze with horror outside the first door, the brass knob burning a hole in her palm. But she knew she had no choice. Her fate had been set long ago when she took the first tentative steps down the road to ruin. She squared her shoulders and turned the knob. She looked into ice-blue eyes that froze her soul.
Antonia screamed. The scream awakened her.
She sat in bed hugging her knees. It was dark outside her window, morning was hours away. She pushed back her heavy mass of silken hair and shivered uncontrollably. She did not need to have her dark dreams explained to her. It was her conscience crying out that what she planned was wrong!
It was totally indecent for a young, unmarried lady to give herself to a man for a night of illicit love. Ha! It was not love, it was fornication. It was pure and simple sex and sensuality. She had planned to make Adam Savage seduce her. Antonia wanted him and him alone to introduce her to the dark mysteries of sexuality. She was a truly wicked girl. She should be thoroughly ashamed of her prurient interest in carnal matters. Did she really want to beg him to let her play whore to him?
Oh, yes, please!
Antonia snuggled down in bed and spun herself a delicious fantasy. When she awoke, she was sprawled across the covers and the sun was high in the sky. It was the most beautiful morning she ever remembered. She rolled over and hugged herself. This was the day she had been waiting for all her life!
She splashed and sang the afternoon away in the great marble bathtub, and then breathlessly she pulled on her stockings, then the sinfully sheer drawers, and topped them with the crown-shaped bodice. She strutted about before her mirror and reveled in being shockingly outrageous. First she powdered her luxuriant curls with regular powder to cover the darkness of her hair, then she re-powdered it with the gold. She lit the torchères so that her face was well illuminated before she began her makeup, and a thousand brilliant motes of gold dust sparkled and glittered from her upswept hair.
She was transformed into a fairy princess from some mythic tale. She stared at her face long minutes, picturing the sort of design that would be both disguising and alluring. She chose to be a butterfly. Her large green eyes would be the “eyes” on the butterfly wings. Carefully she outlined her lashes both above and below with black kohl; then, using iridescent green maquillage, alternating with gold, she painted stripes slanting up to her temples, then down across her cheekbones to create swallowtails. With the kohl stick she drew delicate antennae on her forehead and stuck sequins to the tips. The effect was dramatic. Her costume was perfect. All she had to do now was step onto the stage of Venice and play her part.