The Venetian Playboy's Bride. Lucy Gordon

and he reached out to help her onto land. ‘How much do I owe you?’ she asked.

      ‘Nothing.’

      ‘But of course I must pay you. I’ve had an hour of your time.’

      ‘Nothing,’ he repeated, and she felt his hand tighten on her wrist. ‘Please don’t insult me with money.’ His eyes were very blue, holding hers, commanding her to do what he wished.

      ‘I didn’t mean to insult you,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s just that—’

      ‘It’s just that money pays for everything,’ he finished. ‘But only if it is for sale.’ He spoke with sudden intensity. ‘Don’t be alone in Venice. That’s bad.’

      ‘I don’t have a choice.’

      ‘But you do. Let me show you my city.’

      ‘Your city?’

      ‘Mine because I love it and know its ways as no stranger can. I would like you to love it too.’

      It was on the tip of her tongue to make one of the flirtatious replies she’d been practising for just this moment, but the words wouldn’t come. She had a sense of being at the point of no return. To go on was risky and there would be no way back. But to withdraw was to spend a lifetime wondering ‘what if?’

      ‘I don’t think—’ she said slowly. ‘I don’t think I should.’

      ‘I think you should,’ he said urgently.

      ‘But—’

      His hand tightened on hers. ‘You must. Don’t you know that you must?’

      The glow of his eyes was almost fierce in its intensity. She drew a sharp breath. She didn’t come from a long line of gamblers for nothing.

      ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I must.’

      ‘I’ll meet you at seven o’clock at Antonio’s. It’s just around the corner. And wear walking shoes.’

      She watched as he glided away, then hurried up to her suite, glad of the time alone to gather her thoughts.

      It wasn’t easy. In a few blazing moments he’d taken her ideas and tossed them into the air, so that they’d fallen about her in disorder. It took some stern concentration to reclaim her mind from his influence, but at last she felt she’d managed it.

      Stage one completed successfully. Quarry identified, contact made. Ground laid for stage two. Professional detachment. Never forget that.

      Guido got away from the hotel as fast as he could before he was spotted by someone who knew his true identity. In a few minutes he’d left the city centre behind and was heading for the little back ‘streets’ in the northern part of town, where the gondolier families lived, and their boatyards flourished.

      At the Lucci house he found Federico at home watching a football match on television. Without a word he took a beer from the fridge and joined him, neither speaking until half time. Then, as he always did, Guido put the money he’d earned on the table, nearly doubling it with extra from his own pocket.

      ‘I had a good day, didn’t I?’ Fede said appreciatively, pocketing the money with a yawn.

      ‘Excellent. You’re an example to us all.’

      ‘At this rate I think I’ve earned a holiday.’

      ‘I know I have.’ Guido rubbed his arms, which were aching.

      ‘Perhaps it’s time you got back to the souvenir trade.’

      Guido had established his independence of the Calvani family by setting up his own business, catering to tourists. He owned two factories on the outlying island of Murano, one of which made glass, and the other trinkets and souvenirs.

      ‘I suppose it is,’ he said now, unenthusiastically. ‘It’s just that—Fede, have you ever found yourself doing something you never meant to do—just a word, a choice to be made in a split second? And suddenly your whole life has changed?’

      ‘Sure. When I met my Jenny.’

      ‘And you don’t know how it’s all going to end, but you do know that you have to go on and find out?’

      Fede nodded. ‘That’s just how it is.’

      ‘So what do I do?’

      ‘My friend, you’ve already supplied the answer. I don’t know what’s happened, but I do know it’s too late for you to turn back.’

      An important decision demanded long, serious deliberation, so when Dulcie opened the palatial wardrobe to select something suitable for the coming evening she went through the multitude of dresses with great care.

      ‘How did I ever buy all this?’ she murmured.

      She’d gone to Feltham’s, as instructed, and found the staff already primed with Roscoe’s demands. As these would have resulted in her looking like a Christmas tree Dulcie had waved them aside and insisted on her own kind of discreet elegance. After four outfits she tried to call a halt, but the superior person assigned to assist her was horrified.

      ‘Mr Harrison said the bill must be at least twenty thousand,’ she’d murmured.

      ‘Twenty thou—? He can wear them then.’

      ‘He’ll be most displeased if we don’t live up to his expectations. It could cost me my job.’

      Put like that, it became a duty to spend money, and by the time she’d left the luxury store she was the owner of five cocktail dresses, two glamorous evening gowns, three pairs of designer jeans, any number of designer sweaters, a mountain of silk and satin underwear, and a collection of summer dresses. Some expensive makeup and perfume, plus several items of luggage completed the list.

      She surveyed her booty now, hanging in the hotel’s luxurious, air-conditioned closets, in a mood of ironic depression. This ought to have been a fun job, the chance to be Cinderella at the ball. If only it hadn’t been Venice, and if only the high life she was to lead hadn’t been so much like the life her Prince Charmless had expected of her.

      Why had she accepted this assignment, in a place where every sight and sound would hurt her. Was she mad?

      Then she set her chin. This was a chance to make a man pay for his crimes against women. She must never forget that.

      She took so long making her choice that she was late when she finally hurried downstairs wearing a cocktail dress of pale-blue silk organza with silver filigree accessories. Her silver shoes had heels of only one inch, which was the nearest she could get to ‘sensible’.

      Antonio’s was a tiny place with tables outside, sheltered by a leaf-hung trellis. It looked charming, but there was something missing. Him!

      No matter, he’d be inside. She sauntered in, looking casual, but her air of indifference fell away as she saw no sign of him here either.

      He’d stood her up!

      It was the one thing she hadn’t thought of.

      Be reasonable, she thought. He’s just a few minutes late—like you.

      That’s different, replied her awkward self. He’s supposed to be trying to seduce me, and he can’t even be bothered to do it properly.

      Setting her jaw she marched out and collided with a man hurtling himself through the door in the other direction.

      ‘Mio dio!’ Guido exploded in passionate relief. ‘I thought you’d stood me up.’

      ‘I—?’

      ‘When you didn’t come I thought you’d changed your mind. I’ve been looking for you.’

      ‘I was only ten minutes late,’ she protested.

      ‘Ten minutes, ten hours? It felt like forever. I suddenly realised