Rising Fire. William W. Johnstone

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      “Please, signorina. Have mercy on my poor heart. Do not let it break in two.”

      Denny couldn’t help but smile. She put her hand in Malatesta’s and said, “Oh, all right. We’re guests in your country, after all.”

      “And very welcome guests, I assure you.”

      “But this one dance is all I’ll promise you.”

      “I will cast my fate to the winds of fortune and the mercy of a beautiful woman,” Malatesta said.

      He clasped her left hand with his right, put his other arm around her waist as she rested her right hand on his shoulder, and led her into a waltz. He was a very skilled dancer, moving perfectly in time to the music and making certain that she did, too. He didn’t pull her too close, instead maintaining a proper distance, but even so there was an undeniable intimacy in what they shared.

      After a few minutes, he asked quietly, “You are enjoying yourself?”

      “I am,” Denny admitted. “You dance very well.”

      “I do a great many things very well.”

      “Including boasting?” she asked.

      “It is not boasting if one can accomplish the things he claims,” Malatesta said.

      “In other words, as they say where I come from, no brag, just fact.”

      “That is one way of putting it. And where, exactly, is it that you come from, Signorina Jensen? America is your homeland, I know, but it is a vast country.”

      “Quite vast,” Denny agreed. “Actually, I was born in Boston and have spent a great deal of time in England. I’ve picked up some of the accent.”

      “Not much,” Malatesta said. “You still sound like an American to me.”

      “But my parents live in the West, in a state called Colorado, and since that’s my heritage and I’ve visited there enough, I consider myself a western girl.”

      “Colorado,” Malatesta repeated. “I believe I have heard of it. A place full of murderous desperadoes and wild, bloodthirsty Indians, is it not?”

      “Only in dime novels. Oh, there are still desperadoes, I suppose. There have always been men on the wrong side of the law and there always will be.”

      “Certainly quite probable.”

      “But the threat from the Indians is over, except in widely scattered places,” she said as they continued turning and swooping gracefully in time to the music. “The country is civilized now, or so they say.” She sighed.

      Malatesta frowned slightly and said, “You sound almost disappointed that it is so.”

      “Well, my father and mother had such exciting adventures when they were young and just married, and quite a few since then, too. It just seems hard to believe that so little time has actually passed since then. Only a few decades.”

      “History moves slowly when one studies it in books, but speeds along swiftly indeed when one is busy living it.”

      She looked squarely at him and said, “That’s a pretty profound thing to say.”

      “Forgive me,” he replied hastily. “The last thing I feel like being this evening is profound. And most people of my acquaintance would laugh at the very idea of me saying anything that might make a person think.”

      “Maybe so, but I’m enjoying dancing with you . . . and talking with you.”

      “Then my evening is already a spectacular success and will only get better from here, I think!”

      * * *

      Denny didn’t dance every dance with Count Giovanni Malatesta at that ball, despite his pleading, but she found herself in his arms quite often even though she tried to spread her attention around to some of the other single men in attendance.

      He was insistent, though, and eventually she gave up the battle, telling Louis, “I think it’ll be easier dancing with him than trying to avoid him.”

      “He does seem very determined,” Louis said.

      Denny looked over at her brother and asked, “What do you think of him?”

      “The count? He’s a charmer, no doubt about that. How genuine it is, I couldn’t tell you.” Louis paused. “He also seems to have a very high opinion of himself. Perhaps it’s deserved. After all, he is young, rich, handsome, and a nobleman. I’m sure a lot of the ladies here would love to be dancing with him.”

      Denny made a dismissive sound. “He thinks he can just come along and sweep me off my feet. This isn’t some Henry James novel. He’s not some sophisticated European taking advantage of the crass, crude Americans.”

      But despite her wariness, Denny said yes the next time the count asked her to dance, and after that they spent most of the rest of the evening together.

      When the hour grew late and the ball began to break up, Malatesta took hold of both of Denny’s hands and asked, “Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you back to your hotel?”

      “I came here tonight with my brother.”

      “And I’ve spent enough time talking with Louis to know that he’s an intelligent, enterprising young man. I have no doubt he can find his own way back without your assistance.”

      Denny shook her head. “I’m sorry, but no, Count.”

      “Please, after all the time we’ve spent together this evening, you should call me Giovanni.” A smile lit up his face. “Or perhaps even Johnny. That is how you Americans would say my name, is it not?”

      “Let’s just leave it at Count Malatesta, shall we?” Denny replied coolly.

      “As you wish.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I should not move so fast, I know. It’s just that my resistance is always so weak in the presence of such a beautiful woman.”

      “Well, you’ll just have to be strong. Louis and I are going back to the hotel in the same carriage that brought us here.”

      “Of course.” He took hold of her hand and bent to kiss the back of it again. “But you and I, we will see each other again. It is written in the stars, cara mia.”

      She and Louis were in the carriage, on their way back to the Hotel Metropole, before she said, “What does cara mia mean in Italian?” Louis had always had a better flare for languages than she did.

      “I believe it translates to ‘my beloved,’ or something very close to that. Why?”

      “I heard someone say it tonight.”

      Louis looked over at her in the shadows of the coach. “Count Malatesta?”

      “Never mind.” Denny rolled her eyes. “The whole thing is ridiculous.”

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