Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)

“There are so many brothels in Rome that I have lost count of them,” he said. “Have you ever thought it curious that there are no brothels for women to go to, for their pleasure?”

Incomprehension held her expression blank. “Oh. Most women do not enjoy that sort of thing. Really, Uncle, you are being outrageous, and I don’t want to talk any more about it.”

“It? You mean sex? Intercourse? Mating? My dear child, lovemaking should be a joy, for women as well as men. It is as natural a part of life as eating and sleeping, at least it should be.” He paused a moment, then allowed his voice to border on insult. “Now, have we discussed everything to your satisfaction? Have you more questions?”

Giana said stiffly, her chin high, “Yes, I understand. I accept our agreement, Uncle.”

“Be very certain, Giana.”

“I am certain. Yes,” she said again, “I am certain.”

“I will trust you,” Daniele said lightly, “to keep to your word, Giana.” He sat forward in the open carriage and spoke quietly to Marco. When he leaned back against the black leather squabs, he said, “You do understand that our agreement is that you will do exactly as I bid you, do you not, Giana? You are never to refuse what I tell you to do?”

She nodded, remembering Randall’s appeal at their last furtive meeting. “Please, my little love,” he had whispered urgently, clutching her fingers so tightly that she had winced, “spend the three months with your uncle as your mother wishes. Our happiness and our future depend upon it. Do not disappoint me, Giana.”

“You are going to become the most knowledgeable virgin in all of Europe and England, my dear—the most knowledgeable chaste virgin, that is.”

The carriage rolled over the Ponte Umberto I. “Do you go to brothels, Uncle Daniele?”

He started at the timid question, and his eyes twinkled. “Yes, Giana. Not so often now that I am an old man, but yes, occasionally.”

“Did your wife mind?”

“I never told her.” Silent, cold Elana. Of course she had known, known about all his mistresses. But she hadn’t cared—it kept him from her bed. She had been a proper wife, a proper lady.

She was silent again, chewing over this piece of information.

“Randall would never do that,” she said.

Daniele answered her only with an incredulous look, and straightened his white brocade waistcoat as the horse drew to a halt along a quiet, elegant side street.

He stepped down from the carriage. “You will stay here, Giana. I will return soon.”

Giana was feeling wilted from the heat when Daniele returned some thirty minutes later.

“Come, Giana,” he said, offering her his hand, “we have a short walk before us.”

She accepted his outstretched hand and skipped lightly down to the sidewalk. “Where are we going?”

“To a brothel, my dear. I do not wish my driver to know where I am taking you, thus the walk.”

Giana felt a curious sort of excitement. Now she would see what all this botheration was about.

“Giana, before we begin your lessons, I want you to know that I care very much about you. I always have, ever since you were a little girl. Our time spent together over the years has brought me great pleasure. But I also want you to know that I do expect complete obedience from you this summer. Whatever I ask you to do, I ask for a reason. I will always ensure that you are not touched, but otherwise, I will show you a bit of life, as both a man’s wife and his harlot live it. Some of what I will require of you will not be pleasant. Your introduction to a brothel is the first step.”

“I care about you too, Uncle, though I care not one whit for all your elaborate charades.”

“You will trust me and obey me, without question?”

“You must know that I gave my word. You needn’t continue asking me.”

“Very well.”

Madame Lucienne Rostand, French by name and birth, waved a languid greeting to her generous friend, Daniele Cippolo. She felt a bubble of laughter at the sight of the openmouthed girl at his side. So this stiff little chit was to be in her charge.

“Buon giorno,” she said in her heavily accented Italian. “Do come in. A glass of sherry, my dear Daniele?”

“Grazie, Lucienne. Sherry is fine.”