Название: One Knight In Venice
Автор: Tori Phillips
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
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Both men swept her courtly bows when Jessica entered her waiting room. Sophia had not exaggerated. Their physical size filled the antechamber almost to bursting. She faltered a step.
“Good morrow, Madonna of Mystery.” Displaying a surprising grace, the African greeted her in good Italian spoken in a deep rolling bass. “Your fame is exceeded only by the beauty that you try to hide.”
I wonder where he acquired such a silky tongue? Under her mask, Jessica returned his infectious smile. “You are welcome to my home, signore.”
She glanced at his silent companion. Her breath caught in her throat. Though grief rimmed his blue eyes, the gentleman appeared ten times more handsome than when she had last seen him. Must be a trick of the light.
She cleared her throat. “Good morrow, messere.” She tried to smile at him but her lips trembled too much. “Everything is prepared for you, if you are ready.”
Before the lord could answer, the African chuckled. “Francis has been ready for you since yesterday morning, madonna.”
His friend muttered something in his own language. The African laughed again but said nothing else. Then the gentleman replied in Italian, “Forgive, Jobe, Signorina Jessica. My friend speaks more nonsense than any man in Venice.”
Jessica made a fluttering motion with her fingers. “There is nothing to forgive, messere. It is I who must beg your pardon for I see that you are not well. I fear that my cure was not as effective as I had hoped. I will gladly refund your fee. Indeed, you overpaid—”
The blond man unfastened his cloak and tossed it to the African. His blue velvet bonnet followed. “I paid you a mere pittance and your healing did me a world of good, though I must confess that I did ache a bit as you had warned me.” A tiny smile flitted across his lips before it disappeared. “It is my recent sorrow that adds bitter pangs to the old hurt. Like a pilgrim on a holy quest, I have come seeking your solace, madonna.”
Jobe whistled through his teeth. “My friend speaks the truth, fair mistress. He is much sicker than I suspected.”
The gentleman glared at the blackamoor. Just then Sophia barged through the doorway laden with a large wooden tray that was piled high with the sweet provender that Jessica had requested. Setting the platter on a small Turkish table, Sophia fixed a stern eye on the African.
“You, Signore Treetop, sit!” She pointed to the larger of the two chairs in the room. “I’ll not stretch my neck out of joint so that I can see you clearly.”
“Sophia!” Jessica gasped. What had gotten into her companion that made her speak so rudely, especially to a man who wore a brace of wicked-looking daggers across his chest?
The African broke into rolling laughter as he sank down onto the chair. “Most excellent!” he rumbled with delight. “By my beard, if I had one, I think I have met my match!”
Sophia cocked her head. “I am already married!”
The Englishman cast her a wry look. “So is he, signora. Four times!”
“Truly?” Jessica eyed the grinning giant. If he practiced such a heathenish custom he could not possibly be a cleric. Relief relaxed the knots in her stomach.
The African popped a sugared almond into his mouth. “Indeed, madonna. Now go to, Francis. I know that I leave you in good hands.” He turned his merry eyes on Sophia. “Meanwhile, little pigeon, draw up the other chair and tell me your whole life’s history and I will tell you mine.” He winked at his friend before returning his gaze to Sophia. “Methinks you and I will be spending a goodly amount of time in each other’s company.”
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