Rake Most Likely To Thrill. Bronwyn Scott

that’s wise? Papa just announced—’

      ‘Especially because of that!’ Elisabeta cut her off. She wasn’t going to think about it—the fact that her uncle, Rafaele di Bruno, the contrada’s capitano, had bartered her off in a proposed marriage to Ridolfo Ranieri, the relative of another neighbourhood’s priore in order to secure an alliance for the all-important Palio.

      Like her first marriage, it was not a match of her choosing and it wasn’t fair. Five years ago at the age of seventeen, she’d served her family and married the very young Lorenzo di Nofri. It was meant to be something of a dynastic connection for the family, and her feelings had not been considered. Then, Lorenzo had died after three years of marriage and she’d dutifully but begrudgingly done her year of mourning for her adolescent husband.

      Now, at the very first decent opportunity, she was to be married off again. This time to a man in his late forties, more than twice her age, heavy and gouty from rich food and wine. Where would the chance for a family of her own be in that? Elisabeta forcefully shoved away images of what would be required of her to produce a child in that alliance. There was no place in this evening of celebration for dark thoughts.

      She deserved better although her uncle disagreed. He was quick to point out she was lucky to marry again at all. She was no fresh virgin like Contessina, but a widow who’d been tried in marriage and hadn’t managed to prove her fecundity. Who would want such a woman? She should be honoured by the Priore of Oca’s attention and the chance to serve her family’s greatness.

      The Piazza del Conte came into view and Elisabeta pulled Contessina forward with her to take it all in: people, music, lanterns lighting the piazza like a magical fairyland. Celebrations like this were being held all over the town tonight, with every neighbourhood, or contrada, hosting its own party. It was Siena at its best and she’d missed it sorely in the years of her marriage spent in Florence. She’d missed her family, the festivals and, perhaps most of all, the horses.

      It wasn’t that Florence didn’t have festivals or that Lorenzo’s rich family didn’t have horses, but they weren’t hers and she was seldom allowed to work with them. Returning to Siena had been like coming alive again, which made the proposed marriage seem all the more cruel: to live again, only to face another sort of death.

      Contessina tugged at her arm, slowing her down. ‘What will you do?’ she asked with a hint of worry.

      ‘I don’t know—something.’ Elisabeta laughed. When the inspiration came she’d know it. Spontaneity was best left unplanned. ‘Maybe I will dance with the next man I see!’ Elisabeth announced, but that was hardly scandalous to her way of thinking. She’d have to do better than that to be truly scandalous. She’d made the remark mostly to shock Contessina, who loved her dearly, but didn’t always know how to respond to her exuberance. Her uncle ran a strict household.

      ‘You can’t!’ Contessina whispered a warning. Contessina’s own dancing partners for the evening had already been arranged by her uncle and her brother, Giuliano. Even though it wasn’t a formal ball, Contessina’s partners were to be respectable young men from appropriate households in the contrada. ‘What if the next person you saw was someone from Aquila?’ Contessina dared to breathe the name of their rival contrada.

      Elisabeta threw her a smug smile. ‘I would even dance with an Aquilini.’ She would too, but that was hardly likely. There would only be men of the Pantera contrada, her family’s neighbourhood, here tonight. No one would dare venture away from their own neighbourhood celebrations. Still, stealing a dance was hardly the type of scandal she was thinking of, it was far too tame.

      ‘What about your husband? What would he think?’ Contessina was almost aghast at the thought of disobeying male authority. Her father had ordered her life to perfection. She had lived sheltered and protected to ensure she made a good marriage. Contessina had never thought to question the dictates of her parents. She was a good daughter and she would do what she was told.

      Not so Elisabeta. She had played the good niece once. She was not ready to do it again, if ever, and certainly not to the fat cousin of the Priore of Oca, no matter how rich he was or what benefits it might serve the family when it came time for the Palio.

      ‘He’s not my husband yet. The engagement isn’t even official,’ Elisabeta said sharply, irritated with the conversation and what it signified. ‘Perhaps I’ll find a way out of it,’ she teased, but she was only partially joking. If she could find a way out, she would. Ridolfo terrified her with his beady, lecherous eyes. It was clear how he saw her: another thing to claim, to put in his treasury of earthly possessions. She did not relish the idea of being any man’s slave, but especially not his.

      ‘How would you do that?’ Contessina, her brow knitting in contemplation, took her seriously. ‘I can’t see how it’s possible unless you were to take a lover.’ Contessina blushed as she said it. It was likely the most scandalous thing she could think of, an idea gleaned from conversations she wasn’t supposed to overhear when her mother gathered with the other women of the contrada to exchange gossip.

      Elisabeta gave her cousin a wicked smile. ‘Exactly! What a perfect idea.’ The thought held merit, just the sort of scandal she was looking for, but the list of candidates for such an affair was horribly short. She scanned the piazza, selecting and discarding the men of the contrada. ‘Fabrizio is too old, I think I’d like someone younger, with more stamina. Alberto is young but he smells like garlic.’ She wrinkled her nose.

      ‘No!’ Contessina was truly shocked now. ‘I only meant to tease, to demonstrate how impossible it is.’

      ‘How impossible what is?’ Contessina’s brother, Giuliano, sidled up to them, throwing an arm about his sister. He was handsome and wild, always in the throes of a grand affair, but life was different for a male. No one would condemn him for such promiscuity.

      ‘Getting out of her engagement,’ Contessina supplied.

      Elisabeta moved to his other side and looped her arm through his, feeling mischievous. ‘Contessina suggested I take a lover.’

      ‘I did not!’ Contessina blushed furiously.

      Giuliano’s dark eyes sparked with mischief of their own. ‘Ah, a last fling before settling down? A widow could do it, but not one who is affianced to another.’ Giuliano thought for a moment. She could see her daredevil cousin puzzling it out. ‘It could be pulled off, though, as long as you were discreet and the man you chose wasn’t an enemy.’ That meant not a man from Aquila or from Torre, the enemy of her would-be husband’s neighbourhood.

      Contessina looked frantically at them, waiting for them to give in and say they were only joking. ‘Stop it!’

      But Elisabeta didn’t think she would stop. Why not take a lover? Perhaps just for the night? Perhaps it didn’t have to be publicly scandalous, just a private interlude for herself. She deserved it and she’d been alone for so long. Even if her marriage had not been an intensely passionate one, she missed Lorenzo’s presence. Was it so wrong to want one night in the arms of a strong, handsome man? To seek a little comfort, a little pleasure? No one had to know unless she wanted them to.

      ‘Who would it be, Elisabeta?’ Giuliano’s playful pressing fuelled her madness. She would do it if the right man presented himself. Surely there must be one...

      Elisabeta looked out over the piazza, towards the arch that marked the boundary of their contrada. Her breath hitched. It was as if the saints had conspired to present temptation and scandal personified. A man stepped through the arch. His height alone would make him stand out in any crowd—add to that those shoulders and it made for a remarkable sight. Good lord, they were broad, and that face! Even at a distance, the angles and planes were striking against the rich dark brown of his hair. It was longer than most of the men’s present, skimming his shoulders and falling errantly over his right brow. She cocked her head and gave Giuliano a playful stare. This man wasn’t a rival from an enemy contrada, he was something even more dangerous, a stranger, a man of unknown origins and family. That