Masks

Chapter Thirty

Mircea started to comply, but something stopped him. Some clue in the tension in her spine, the look in her eyes, he didn’t know. He wasn’t as adept at reading this language of the body as she was, but he knew desire when he saw it.

And hers wasn’t for unquestioning obedience.

Which worked out well, since neither was his.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded when, instead of complying, he started circling her slowly. Examining her as she had him.

Hair a true auburn: not brown, not red, but a perfect combination of the two. It complimented her complexion, which was naturally the pearlescent white so prized in Venice that some women were known to paint egg whites on their faces to emulate it. Breasts high and firm, and shown off to advantage by the low cut dress. Sweet rounded neck, delicate jawline, dainty, feminine features—

And large blue eyes snapping at him angrily.

In short, she was beautiful.

But he doubted it was her looks that made her so sought after. There was an underlying sweetness about Auria. She mostly managed to hide it behind a tough outer shell, but he’d caught glimpses of it on occasion. And not just when she’d cried for Sanuito—the only one who had. But in the flutter of thick black lashes, in the edge of a lip caught between snow white teeth, or like now, in a flash of uncertainty in blue, blue eyes.

Until she saw him notice, and her brows drew together. “I said—”

“I heard you. And I am acceding to a lady’s wishes.”

“The lady wishes you on the bed.”

“No,” Mircea said, watching her.

“No?”

“No, the lady doesn’t,” he elaborated. “The lady doesn’t want me here at all. That’s why she had others here to start with. Why she wore such formal attire—”

“I didn’t dress for you.”

“Didn’t you? You usually wear Turkish dress about the house,” Mircea pointed out, referring to the long, open sided robes the ladies of Venice had borrowed from their eastern sisters. Worn over a loose chemise, with simple flat-soled slippers, it was a far more comfortable outfit that that considered suitable for the street. “Yet today . . .”

“This is what I felt like wearing.”

“It’s lovely.”

“Get on the bed.”

“You seem insistent.”

“And you seem stubborn!”

“As you said, I never did learn to take orders well.”

Beautiful blue eyes narrowed. “A fact that will soon change.”

“But not here. Here is where you work, where pleasure is turned into a business—”

“That’s the business we’re in, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“—so you can’t be yourself here.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“I think I am. In that bed you’re not Auria. You’re Venice’s most expensive courtesan. In that bed, you’re whoever your clients want you to be, so that they do what you want them to do, whether they realize it or not—”

“You’re damned right they do.”

“But none of them give you what you really want.”

“Don’t they?” An eyebrow arched. “Look around.”

“I have. But amassing a fortune . . . that’s what the lady wants. What the courtesan wants. What does Auria want?”

Mircea saw her face shut down. “Auria doesn’t want anything.”

“Everyone wants something.”

“Auria doesn’t.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t care what you believe.”

“I think perhaps Auria hasn’t been asked what she wants, in a long time—”

“Auria doesn’t exist anymore! This,” she gestured around. “This is who I am now!”

Mircea caught her hand. “Here,” he agreed. “So let’s not stay here.”

“What?” She looked at him half in anger, half in confusion.

“We’ll go to my room.”

“Your—that cubbyhole?” She was clearly appalled.

“It has a bed.”

“And fleas, most like!”

“Not that I’ve noticed. But I’ll check for you—”

“No need.” Auria pulled her hand back and crossed her arms. “I’m staying here.”

“Afraid?”

“Of what?” She snorted and looked him up and down. “Of you?”

“No, of you. Of Auria. Of what she may want.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Oh. Then you’re afraid you can’t work your magic in less . . . salubrious . . . surroundings? That you won’t be as alluring in a garret as in a palace?”

“Trust you to know about palaces.”

“Castles, in my country. And a garret here is far more comfortable.”

“Liar.”

“It’s true,” Mircea said, repressing a smile. “They’re terribly uncomfortable, castles. Great, ugly, gray stone things, with a perpetual chill, even in summer. Tiny rooms, to make them easier to heat. But it doesn’t work, because most don’t have fireplaces, so you have to make do with braziers. Which leaves them smoky and drafty and still cold.”

Auria was looking like she didn’t believe him. Mircea decided to up the ante. It wasn’t as if he was lying.

“Miniscule windows, for defense, you know. And great hulking walls beyond them, so everything’s always gloomy. And the stench!” He made an elaborate face. “The garderobes let out straight into the moat—if you’re lucky enough to have a moat—and unlike in Venice, there’s no tide to carry anything away. Oh, and speaking of garderobes—”

“Let’s not.”

“They’re damned inconvenient. Wherever you are, it’s almost guaranteed they’re on the opposite side of the castle, down some narrow, freezing, uneven corridor, which you have to navigate in the middle of the night, desperately needing to relieve yourself—”

“Stop it.”

“—clutching your blanket around your freezing, naked body, because you waited too long to get dressed—”

“Stop it!”

“—and stubbing your bare toes and bashing into walls in your hurry. And then cursing fit to make a sailor blush when you find somebody already in there—”

“There are chamber pots!” she said, giving up and laughing.

“Small rooms, remember? Trust me, the garderobe was preferable.”

“I can’t believe we’re talking about this!”

“And then there were the fleas—”

“There were no fleas!”

“There were always fleas. The damned dogs went everywhere, including curling up in the middle of your bed whether you wanted them there or not. Although, on cold nights, the fleas seemed a small price to pay for the added warmth.”

“I had a dog as a child. It had fleas.” Auria smiled. “I don’t recall minding.”

Mircea didn’t recall it, either. “In short, if you want the true castle experience, my room is really much more—”

“Oh, all right!”

Mircea blinked. “All right?”

“What’s the matter? Didn’t you expect that to work?”

“Not . . . really.” It was the first time he’d persuaded a girl into bed by mentioning the possibility of fleas.

Then he noticed something.

“Why are you getting undressed?”

“This may come as a shock to you, but it’s generally considered customary.”

“But . . . here?”

“You live in a garret,” she said, pulling off her embroidered, pearl encrusted sleeves and tossing them on the bed. “There’s no room up there.”

Mircea opened his mouth to argue the point, and then shut it quickly, wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

Fortunately, she was sliding the dress over her head and didn’t see.

The dress pulled her hair down along with it, including the strand of pearls that Mircea caught just before they followed the fate of the coral. He put them carefully on the dressing table, beside the overflowing cask of other jewelry, and looked up. And froze.

Auria had gotten rid of the chemise, too, apparently finding the wrinkles too much to bear. She stepped out of the mules as he watched, leaving herself nude. Except for a rippling veil of auburn hair that cascaded down her body, half concealing a shape that Aphrodite might have envied.

And a pair of fine white silk stockings held on by pink ribbon garters.

“Are you coming or not?” she demanded, peering out the door.

“I—a robe,” Mircea choked.

“No robes.” She looked at him over her shoulder, pink cheeked and laughing. “Ready?”

“I—we can go up the back—”

“And hear about it from Cook for the next month? No, thank you.” She paused, and then grinned like a girl. “Let’s make this interesting.”

Mircea was personally finding it plenty interesting enough. “Interesting?”

“If you reach your garret before I do, you can have me. Otherwise . . . I get to have you.”

“There is a difference?”

She smiled, and the quality of it changed enough to send his heart racing. And then she was off, streaking down the corridor and past a servant with a tray, who upended it in shock as she bolted by. And then bent to retrieve it only to have Mircea almost crash into him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Mircea muttered, dancing around the bemused man, and then streaking on, past the parlor where he really hoped no unsuspecting tradesmen were waiting, through the entryway and up the stairs, almost crashing into Paulo coming down.

“What the—”

“Martina’s orders,” Mircea breathed, and ran on, knocking over a vase and grabbing it. He settled it back on its plinth with hands shaking hard enough that it fell back off again. “Damn it!”

“You’re losing.”

He looked up to see Auria looking down on him from the floor above. And probably giving anyone behind her a heart attack as she leaned over the landing to taunt him. And then she disappeared, followed by the sound of lightly pattering feet.

Mircea dropped the damned vase and ran—right into Marte, who had come out of her room to see what the fuss was about.

“Well, well,” she said, grinning.

“I—excuse me,” Mircea breathed, dodging around her.

He felt a sharp slap on his backside as he bolted off again. “Don’t mention it.”

Damn it! But he didn’t even have time to turn around and glare at her, because he was racing up the stairs at vampire speed, which was probably cheating since Auria hadn’t been using it. But she hadn’t specifically exempted it, either, and a man had to do what a man had to—

“Goddamnit!”

Mircea glared at a very startled Bezio, who had been coming out of the door of his room, only to be stopped by collision with a speeding vampire. And then by the sight of who was lounging against the wall, just in front of Mircea’s room, looking amused. Bezio’s jaw dropped.

Auria stepped across the threshold, just down the hall from where Mircea was clutching his friend. “I win.”

The door shut, and Bezio looked at him. “Looks to me like you won, son.”

Mircea swallowed.

Time to find out.