grinned. “You were? What would you like to know about her?”
A woman. Alanis’s humor blackened. His mistress, no doubt. “Well, what is her name?”
Eros analyzed her well-bred smile. “Gelsomina,” he replied. “Now tell me your thought.”
She glanced at the scarlet petals nestling in her lap. “I was thinking of my fiancé.”
“Ah.” His smile frosted. “Already anxious to be gone from my company.” He selected an orange off the silver fruit bowl, and using his dagger instead of a table knife, he slashed the skin.
“Silverlake is not informed of my pending arrival. I intend to surprise him.”
“You will,” he stated enigmatically. “Nevertheless, he should be grateful you ventured out to sea during wartime just to pay him a visit. Few women would brave the danger.”
Alanis decided she didn’t care to discuss Lucas anymore. She’d much rather interrogate her host. “Why do you target fleets? The risk is ten times greater, while the profit is very small.”
“The immediate profit means little to me. I target French ships, navy and royal commercial lines alike, because they are Louis’s strongest suit.”
“You are fighting the French?” she asked incredulously.
He seemed amused by her reaction. “As you well know, the Continent, the high seas, and the Americas are in a state of war. One cannot live in the world and not partake of it. Personally I do not entertain an aspiration to the Spanish crown, but I find Philip’s claim unacceptable. Louis cannot be allowed to control two-thirds of the Western world’s power and resources.”
“This is admirable,” she murmured. It put Eros on their side. “But why should you single-handedly pit yourself against Philip’s all-powerful grandfather, the Sun King, when you may join the Grand Alliance? Louis XIV has the means to crush a single man effortlessly.”
He smiled. “I don’t think the Allies will have me, and I am determined not to have them.”
The man was a constant surprise. “You must be very brave…or very mad.”
“Even the brave fall lured into fool traps and dupe themselves with high and noble ideals.” Sustaining her gaze, he reached across the table and caught her hand. “I intrigue you, don’t I?” he whispered. “Should we try to corrupt Silverlake with gold after all?”
Her heart flip-flopped. Slowly she pulled her hand free. “I have no idea why we should.”
“I think you do, Amore. I think we understand each other very well.”
The tension between them became too much for her, and she averted her gaze to the silvery trail of light washing the open sea.
“Allow me to tell you a story, then,” he suggested. When he had her attention, he cleared his throat. “There was once in Pisa a rich judge, more endowed with intellect than with bodily strength, whose name was Messer Ricardo. But perhaps he was lacking in wits as well, for he shared the stupidity of other men who assume that while they travel the world, taking their pleasure first with one woman and then with another, their ladies at home are twiddling their thumbs. Allora, our good judge, because he was rich and prominent and believed he could satisfy a wife with the same sort of work he performed in his studies, he began searching for a woman possessed of both beauty and youth. His quest was surprisingly successful—Pisa is a town where most women resemble gecko lizards—and he married Bartolomea, the most charming young lady. With great festivity he brought his new wife into his home, but as he was a frail, wizened sort of man, he accomplished only one go at his wife on their wedding night, barely staying in the game for this one round, and found he had to drink lots of Vernaccia wine, eat restorative confections, and use a number of other aids to get back on his feet the next day.”
Eros finished his wine, enjoying Alanis’s slack-jawed expression. “Now this judge fellow, having formed an accurate estimate of his forces, resolved to teach his wife the calendar, namely, the days out of respect for which men and women should abstain from sexual coupling. Allora, there were the fast days,” he counted his fingers, “the four Ember weeks, the eves of the Apostles, and a thousand other saints. Fridays, Saturdays, the Sunday of our Lord, every day of Lent, certain phases of the moon, and many other exceptions, thinking that one takes as long a respite from making love to a woman as one does from pleading a case in court.”
She stared at him in shock. Yet even more shocking was the strange thrill she felt. “Well?”
“Our good judge continued in this fashion for some time, not without serious ill humor on his lady’s part. One day during the hot summer, he decided to go sailing and fishing on the coast of his lovely estate near Monte Nero, where he could enjoy the fresh air. Having taken one boat for himself, he installed his lady and her ladies on another. The fishing excursion was delightful, and so caught up with his amusement, he failed to notice that his lady’s boat drifted to sea. When all of a sudden,” he paused dramatically, “appeared a galley commanded by Paganino da Mare, a famous pirate of his time. He caught the ship sailing with the ladies, and no sooner did he see Bartolomea than he desired only her. He decided to keep her, and since she was weeping bitterly, he consoled her tenderly, with words during the day, and when night came…with deeds. For he didn’t think by calendars or pay any attention to holidays or working days.”
Acutely aware of the fast beat of her heart, she inquired softly, “What did our judge do?”
“Having witnessed the abduction he was sorely distressed, being the kind who is jealous of the air surrounding his lady. To no avail he went about Pisa, lamenting the wickedness of pirates, although he had no idea who had taken his wife or where she had been carried off to.”
“And Lady Bartolomea?” Alanis prompted.
“Lost all recollection of the judge and his laws. With great joy she lived with Paganino, who provided consolations day and night and honored her as though she were his wife.”
She blinked. “That’s it? The end? Her husband forgot about her?”
“No. Sometime later, Ricardo heard of his wife’s whereabouts. He met with Paganino and artfully befriended the pirate. He then revealed his reason for coming and implored Paganino to take any sum of money for the return of his lady.”
“And, of course, Paganino agreed,” Alanis retorted, stabbing the dark pagan in front of her with an angry look. “For why should he regard her feelings when there’s gold to be earned?”
“Paganino did not agree,” Eros stressed. “Out of respect for her, he said to Messer Ricardo, ‘I will take you to her and if she wishes to leave with you, then you may state the ransom price yourself. However,’” his voice thickened, “‘if this is not the case, you’d do me a great wrong to take her from me, for she is the loveliest, most desirable, heart-robbing woman I…’”
Heat surged through Alanis. “What was Bartolomea’s reply?” she hastened to inquire.
“What would yours be, Alanis?”
She hadn’t realized just how devious he was until now. The point of the story wasn’t to tell her what would or would not happen, it was to open her mind to possibilities, to choices, to the strange twists of fate…. “The husband had little to commend him and Paganino was mercenary. He did not truly love her if he was willing to accept gold as compensation for a broken heart.”
“And if Paganino were to refuse the gold?” Eros prompted in a low, tempting voice. “You chose neither man, Alanis.”
She looked away. “Pray finish this silly tale you’ve concocted—”
“I didn’t.” He smiled. “Giovanni Boccaccio who lived in Florence ages ago did, to amuse his remaining friends when the Black Death ravaged Italy. But since you’ve asked so graciously, I’ll tell you the end. The lady said to her husband, ‘Since I happened upon this man with whom I share this room where