“Your gifts?”
“When I return to Venice and dream of the beautiful lady at the English queen’s court. To whom am I to send them?”
She was alert at once, recalling Matteo’s approaches.
“My name is Thomasin, but you do not need to send me any gifts. I shall be writing no letters for you.”
He held up his hands in mock surprise. “Letters? You had thought of writing letters to me? I am touched, I am encouraged, to think you might favour me so.”
Thomasin smiled at his quickness but shook her head. “I must get back.”
“Wait, please. Will you walk a little way with me?”
Her duty and common sense told her to refuse. Yet with the moonlight catching his face, he was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.
“Just a little way. My name is Nico. Nico Amato. It means beloved.”
Of course it did.
He saw her hesitate. “Would you show me the way, as I am the queen’s guest here? I have only a few hours left.”
Again, courtesy required her response, as he well knew. He was playing the game well. But some other impulse was acting in her too. She did not ask why, or enquire which destination he sought. She simply allowed herself to feel, not think, and fell into step beside him as he headed outside, down the path.
“It is a beautiful night, is it not?”
Thomasin looked up at the sky. The stars were barely visible behind the clouds, but there was a mildness in the air that was not unpleasant. “I suppose it is.”
“You are used to it, maybe, living here all your life. Your England is still a new place to me. I only came here first three weeks ago, in the service of Signore Vernier.”
“And what do you think of it?”
“A most intriguing country. I had heard it spoken of, many times before, by my visiting countrymen, who praised its beauty.” He laughed, adding, “But you will not like this… They also warned me about the English women.”
“Did they, indeed?”
“I heard that the women are the most beautiful in Europe and very free with their affections.”
She laughed. He was so obvious. “Then I trust the reality has opened your eyes to that untruth.”
“I have only found the English women to be among the most welcoming and kind I have encountered, and I could not wish for more.”
“You do not think yourself a little forward, offering such an opinion?”
He professed himself hurt. “Forward? Whom have I offended? Yourself? I would not it were the case for anything.” He tried to take up her hand, but she slipped it away quickly, their skin touching for the briefest of moments. “Do say I have not. No harm was intended, only a little light teasing.”
She turned away, drawing out the moment, pretending to have taken offence.
“My Lady?”
They had reached the path that led to the gardens, which Thomasin knew were locked at dusk.
“We cannot go further, not at this time.”
“I have offended you with my plain speech?”
“The gate is locked.”
His face split in a smile. If he only knew how weak she was, how full of passion.
