“Of course,” Patrick said. He would never as long as he lived forget Rudolpho di San Lorenzo. Had it not been for this man now before him, his daughter might not have been lost to him. He bowed curtly.
“And this is his wife, Henrietta Maria,” the duke said, drawing his daughter-in-law forward.
“Madame,” the earl said, bowing low over the outstretched hand. She might have once been pretty, he thought, but she was worn and wan with all of her child-bearing.
“You are most welcome to San Lorenzo,” Henrietta Maria said in a soft voice. Her warm brown eyes were sympathetic.
So she knew, the earl thought, and then he smiled at her. “I thank you, madame,” he said quietly.
“MacDuff,” the duke greeted the ambassador.
“My lord duke,” was the equally short reply.
The duke’s gaze now fastened itself on Rosamund. “And who is this?” he almost purred, his black eyes plunging into the valley between her breasts.
“May I present the lady of Friarsgate, Rosamund Bolton,” the ambassador said, and Rosamund curtsied low, allowing the duke an even better view of her ample charms.
“My dear lady,” the duke said, oozing charm, “so fair a flower is most welcome to my duchy.” And he took her hand up to kiss, but he did not release it.
“I am honored, my lord,” Rosamund said quietly in perfect French, withdrawing her hand from his in a smooth motion.
The duke then introduced her to his heir and his heir’s wife before they were able to move off into the crowd of other guests.
“What happened to his wife?” Rosamund asked Patrick.
“She died about five years after my daughter disappeared,” he responded.
“And the duke did not remarry?”
“He had a grown heir, and by then Rudi had one son and three daughters. I imagine he saw no need. Besides, he has always enjoyed the attentions of many women. The duchess Maria-Theresa was a patient woman with a good heart. I suspect he might even have loved her.”
Rosamund nodded. “Where is the guest of honor, I wonder?” she said.
And at that moment the majordomo at the entry to the lovely hall called out, “My lords and my ladies, Maestro Paolo Loredano di Venetzia!”
And all eyes turned to the man atop the steps.
Chapter 7
Paolo Loredano was a tall, slender man with bright red hair. He was dressed in the most elegant and fashionable garb. His silken breeches were striped in silver and rich purple, and his hose was cloth of silver with a gold rosette garter on one leg. His doublet was lavender and gold satin brocade embroidered in deep purple. His short silk coat was of cloth of gold and cloth of silver with large puffed and padded sleeves. On his head was a purple velvet cap with an ostrich plume. The gold chain that fell from his neck and lay on his chest was studded with sparkling gemstones. His round-toed shoes were purple silk, and on each of his fingers he had a ring of some sort. He carried a single silver glove in his hand, and at his waist was a light dress sword with a cruciform hilt.
He stood a moment atop the steps leading down into the hall, observing. Then, with mincing steps, he descended as the duke came forward to greet him.
“My dear maestro, I bid you welcome to San Lorenzo. We are so honored you have decided to make it your winter home,” the duke said.
“Grazia,”Loredano said. “Anywhere is preferable to Venice in February, my dear duke. Your little enclave, however, has everything I like. Sunny weather, the sea, and an abundance of good light for painting. I have taken a villa overlooking the harbor for my servant and myself.” He took in the hall again. “And,” he continued, “you seem to have many beautiful women and young men as well. I think I shall be quite content here, my dear duke. The doge sends you his greetings.”
“He is well, I hope,” Duke Sebastian replied.
“Considering his age, he is indeed well. We fully expect him to continue to rule for at least another ten years, if not more,” Paolo Loredano answered.
“Excellent! Excellent!” the duke said jovially. “Come now, and meet my son and some of our guests.” And he drew the artist forward by the arm so he might be introduced to his son and his daughter-in-law. One by one the other guests came forward to meet the Venetian. “And here is another visitor to my duchy. She joins us each winter,” the duke said. “May I present to you Baroness Irina Von Kreutzenkampe of Kreutzenburg.”
“Baroness,” the artist, said bowing over the beautiful woman’s plump beringed hand, his bright black eyes surveying her bosom. “You must pose for me,” he said, smiling. “I shall paint you as a barbarian warrior queen.”
The baroness’ blue eyes looked directly at the artist. “And how shall I be costumed?” she asked. Her tone, while quiet, was also teasing.
“You shall have a helmet, a spear, and a discreet drapery,” he told her, “but your bosom must be bared. Barbarian warrior women were always bare breasted,” he finished.
