Your Scandalous Ways by Loretta Chase Read Free Book Online

whom he could discuss them. In London, it would be different. In London one might easily find a group of gentlemen, a club, a salon, where people talked of poetry, music, plays, and books.
    A man didn’t find such people—or have time for literary discussions with them if he did—as he dashed from city to city, country to country, saving the world.
    â€œShe reads the poems to me, else I would not understand them at all,” said Giulietta. “I speak English well, and practice with her all the time. But to read it hurts my head. The way the English spell: Where is the logic? Nowhere can I find it. They spell like madmen.”
    James nodded. “More easy it is to read Greek.”
    Bonnard had turned away. She leaned out of the open casement and looked up at the night sky.
    Giulietta was chattering on amiably. James listened with a part of his mind. The rest was on her companion. Bonnard had put up her guard again and distanced herself from him. He could feel it, as palpably as if she’d thrust him away with her hand.
    Very possibly, had she possessed the strength to throw him off the gondola, she’d do it. He was not sure what had happened, what had made her withdraw. All he knew was that he felt her mistrust humming in the air between them.
    This was going to be a good deal trickier than he’d imagined.
    This wasn’t another Marta Fazi. This one was complicated. She had a brain and something more, though he wasn’t sure yet what the more was.
    He had no doubt now, though, that Francesca Bonnard was going to be a considerable challenge. He hadn’t had a true challenge in a long time.
    His heart went a little faster.
    Perhaps this would be fun, after all.
    Â 
    Francesca finally got rid of their new friend at the Caffè Florian.
    After the theaters emptied, the attendees often spent two or three hours at the coffeehouses. The Florian in the Piazza San Marco was the most popular with Venetians and visitors sympathetic to their cause. The Austrian soldiers and their friends preferred the Quadri, across the way. Like other social centers, the Florian offered the usual Venetian mix of classes and degrees of respectability.
    Among other patrons this evening was the Countess Marina Querini Benzoni. Age might have withered her—she was sixty if she was a day—but it had not sapped her animal spirits or diminished her eyesight when it came to attractive, virile young men.
    Three years ago, she’d attempted to captivate Lord Byron.
    This night she pounced on Don Carlo.
    Once the countess had the “alluring” Spaniard firmly in her clutches, Francesca told Giulietta it was time to leave.
    As soon as they were out of the door Giulietta broke into giggles. “Oh, you are wicked,” she said.
    â€œHe said he wanted to make an older woman happy,” Francesca said as they started across the Piazza. “How lucky for him. He found what he was looking for without even trying.”
    â€œHe would not have found her if you had not pushed into the crowd near her table,” said Giulietta. “What is it? Did you not like him? I found him so entertaining. I like a man who makes me laugh.”
    â€œYou like men,” said Francesca, “generally speaking.”
    â€œAnd, generally speaking, you do not,” said Giulietta.
    â€œYou know I’d rather have a dog,” said Francesca. “But a dog won’t support me in the style to which I’ve chosen to become accustomed.”
    â€œI thought Don Carlo was sweet,” Giulietta said.
    Francesca pointed to her head. “Too much pomade. When he took off his hat, I thought at first his hair was carved and painted on his head. What does he use, I wonder? Lard? His valet must apply it with a trowel.”
    That had given her a jolt: When he took off his hat in the coffeehouse, she saw thick black hair, plastered to his skull and gleaming greasily in the candlelight. The sight hadn’t