The Devil to Pay Read online

  His too-perceptive gaze ran over her. “Why, you look a little flushed. Will you join me inside for a drink? Saraceno and I were about to ride, but it can wait.”

  “Oh, please don’t let me keep you,”she said with forced sweetness.

  Her fury throbbed between them, a palpable force. Del Sarto reached towards her face and she flinched, but his fingers detoured at the last moment. He tugged a leaf out of her hair and let it flutter to the ground.

  “Come.”

  Cara bristled at his tone—then realized he was talking to the horse. The animal trotted forward and nuzzled his outstretched hand. The sardonic glint in del Sarto’s eye told her he knew exactly what she’d been thinking.

  Glad of the distraction as the horse’s head came between them, Cara stroked the beast’s neck, sleek and shining in the early morning sun. “Hello, handsome.”

  The horse wiggled its ears and huffed in ecstasy.

  “Another conquest,” del Sarto addressed the horse. The animal nodded its head in agreement, gazing at Cara with huge intelligent eyes. It lipped her softly on the nose and he swatted it aside playfully. “You’re pathetic. Anything for a pretty face. Well then, where are your manners? Bow to the lady.”

  Cara couldn’t repress a charmed smile as the horse backed up three paces and extended its front leg. It lowered its head and executed a perfect bow. The foolish antics dissipated some of her anger and she shot a rueful glance at her captor. “Very impressive. Is that a useful skill on the battlefield?”

  “You’d be surprised.” His idle gaze flicked down her body. “You’ve ruined that shirt. I’ll add it to the list of things you owe me.”

  Her anger returned in a flash. “I’ve got nothing to wear.”

  “The lament of every woman I’ve ever known,” he mocked.

  “In my case it’s literally true. You burned my clothes.”

  “Well, we can’t have you running around dressed like that. You’ll incite a riot. Were the dresses I provided not to your taste?”

  “I won’t wear some other woman’s cast-offs.”

  “You’re in no position to choose. You’ll wear them, or walk around naked. Believe me, I don’t care which.” His wicked gaze belied his words. It was no secret which he’d prefer. He turned to go, then swung back to her. “Seriously, don’t try this again. You could have been killed. I want your word.”

  Cara crossed her arms. “No! You can’t expect me to sit around and accept what you’re doing to me.”

  “It’s for your own good.”

  “My welfare is not your concern.”

  “You made it my concern when you turned up here, alone and injured, and placed yourself under my protection.”

  “‘Protection?’ You’ve taken me hostage! I demand to be released immediately.”

  He caught her chin in his fingers. “Or what?”

  Cara ground her teeth but stayed silent.

  “Exactly,” he said, with infuriating calm. “There’s nothing you can do. That’s what chafes the most, isn’t it? You’ve placed yourself in this predicament.”

  “I assumed you’d be a man of honor!”

  He shrugged. “Others have made the same mistake. A few even lived to regret it.”

  Damn him! She was a toy, an amusement to him, nothing more.

  His fingers tightened. “Your word.”

  She gazed up at him. “All right. I promise I won’t ever try to escape out of the window again.” Their eyes clashed, battled. She lowered her gaze first.

  He released her chin and beckoned to a hovering servant. “Massimo, be so kind as to escort Signorina di Montessori back to her rooms.” He glanced back at her. “When you’ve dressed in something more appropriate, perhaps you’ll do me the honor of attending me in the warehouse?”

  Chapter 10

  Fifteen minutes later, and back in a borrowed dress, Cara followed the servant across the bailey. Il Diavolo was lurking at the entrance to a large stone building. He stood aside and ushered her into the cool darkness.

  She stepped past him, careful not to let any parts of their bodies touch. Just being near him made her nerve endings jump in the most alarming way. She squinted, taking a moment to adjust from the bright sunlight outside. Only a row of narrow, slit-like windows high up near the rafters allowed any light to enter. Rows of shelves reaching from floor to ceiling ran along the length of the room. The air was heavy with a mix of spices and other enticing aromas.

  “What is this place? A store room?”

  He nodded. “One of my warehouses. My ships trade around the world. Goods are stored here before they’re sent to market in Venice and Rome.”

  Cara walked forward, astounded by the sheer quantity of stock in this one storeroom alone. Why, the man must make an absolute fortune!

  As if he’d read her mind, he said, “We poor mercenaries barely earn enough to put food on the table. We have to scratch out a living as best we can.”

  “Hah! Your ‘services’ cost enough to keep the whole country in silk slippers. Merchant, tradesman, kidnapper and extortionist. Is there no end to your talents?”

  He ignored her sarcasm. “I have many business interests. Your food, for example, was flavored by spices brought here from the East.”

  “If you’re showing me this to prove how little you need my money, you’re wasting your time.” She slanted him an arch look. “All I see is how much you need Castelleon’s harbor to get these luxuries here. Think of the revenue you’ll lose if you have to unload them elsewhere.”

  He failed to rise to her baiting and Cara’s inquisitive nature got the better of her. She strode ahead, inspecting the contents of each shelf they passed, recognizing all the standard herbs used in the kitchens. Some, however, were unidentifiable. She picked up a jar that held a dark, resin-like substance and unscrewed the lid. It smelled vaguely like incense. “What’s this?”

  He took it from her hand. “Trust you to go straight for the dangerous substances. That’s opium, made from white Persian poppies.”

  Intrigued, she peered more closely.

  “It can be used to ease pain or to make an injured man sleep so he can be treated for his wounds. Some take it just to lose themselves in the daydreams it brings on.”

  “Have you ever tried it?”

  “Once. It gave me the worst headache I’ve ever had in my life. And considering I’ve attended several of the Borgia’s parties, that’s saying something.”

  “I’d like to try it. I think you should try everything once, don’t you?”

  “I don’t recommend murder,” he said dryly.

  She grimaced. “Well, granted, some things you can live without. But I’d be interested to see what effect it has. I used to help Father John, the monastery doctor. He used hemlock juice to make his patients sleep.”

  Cara knew she was chattering, but she was uncomfortably aware of del Sarto’s proximity. Her nerves hummed. Her stomach somersaulted. How could she be both hopeful and terrified that he might touch her? To distract herself she picked up a handful of cloves from a tray, letting the fragrant black seeds run through her fingers. “You could get drunk just on the smell in here!”

  “It is rather overwhelming.” He selected a glass jar and held it in front of her nose.

  Cara dutifully inhaled. “Ah, I know this! It keeps the moths away from clothes. It’s camphor.”

  “Very good. Here’s another.”

  “Rosemary. Your servants use it on the floor to scent the hall.”

  “Very observant, Miss Montessori.” He guided her further along the row of shelves. “Now we come to those used for perfume.” His voice had grown lower, more intimate. “The scents used to seduce the senses.” He selected another glass bottle. The aroma was sweet and heady.

  “Mmm, Jasmine.”

  “And this?”

  “Orange blossom. I’ve always imagined this is what Spain smells like.”

  “It smells like dust. And donkeys.”

  She frowned at hi
m. “Don’t ruin my illusions! Can’t you be more romantic?”

  “No.”

  “And here I was,” she teased, “imagining your rough exterior might secretly harbor a sensitive soul.”

  “Should I lie and tell you that Spain smells exactly like orange blossom?”

  “And lemons and almonds.”

  “Faerie dust too, I suppose?”

  She smiled, enchanted by his playful, mocking tone. “Much better.” His arm brushed her sleeve as he offered another jar and her heart stuttered.

  “This?”

  She wrinkled her forehead, trying to identify the strange scent. “I don’t know.”

  “Sandalwood. It comes from the Indies.”

  Cara inhaled deeply. It smelled like him, spicy and fragrant. Addictive. An unsettling warmth spread through her stomach.

  “Unfortunately, my little romantic, most of the alluring scents have less than alluring sources.” He chose another jar. “Take this, for example. Musk.”

  She took a tentative sniff.

  “It comes from the reproductive sacs of a deer,” he said, straight-faced.

  Cara recoiled in horror. “Ugh!”

  “And this one,” he selected another, “is ambergris, which comes from the fatty excretions of whales.”

  “How revolting!”

  “Yes, but extremely lucrative. As are the poisons.” He gestured towards the next shelf.

  Intrigued, Cara removed the lid from the nearest pot and sniffed warily. She looked at him in question.

  “The assassin’s favorite,” he said, obliging her. “Cantarella. In tiny amounts it induces a deep sleep. Sometimes it looks like the person’s dead because they have no detectable pulse. Too much, though, and it’s a lethal poison. It’s called the ‘liquor of succession.’” He smiled thinly. “It’s one of the Pope’s favorites. There’s an old joke in Rome; lots of people say ‘I’m dining with the Borgias tonight’ but hardly anyone says ‘I dined with the Borgias last night.”

  Cara chuckled. “Because so few live to boast of the experience?”

  “Exactly. We Italians have turned poisoning into a fine art. Have you heard of a man named Da Vinci? He’s an artist working for the Duke of Milan. He’s injected the bark of fruit trees with cyanide. The resulting fruits are poisonous, but they contain such small amounts of poison that it’s almost undetectable. They need to be consumed for a long period to have an effect.”

  Cara pretended to note something down in an invisible book. “Stay away from the fruit.”

  He smiled. “Apparently sending someone a series of poisoned letters is all the rage now.”

  She added to her imaginary list. “Don’t open any correspondence.”

  He shook his head at her foolery. “Poison’s a coward's weapon. It takes a special hatred to poison someone.”

  “You don’t hate any of the people you kill?”

  He raised his brows in surprise. “Of course not! I don’t feel anything for them. They choose to fight me. It’s not my fault if they lack the talent to stay alive. It’s nothing personal. A poisoner, on the other hand, kills his victim in cold blood after carefully planning his crime. Far more women resort to poison than men.”

  “Worried I might try to finish you off?” she asked sweetly.

  He smiled. “I doubt you’d lower yourself to poison. You’d prefer a good clean stab through the heart.”

  She smiled at the backhanded compliment. “Why, thank you.”

  He strode forward. “Here’s my favorite section. The aphrodisiacs. An extremely lucrative part of my shipments. Pepper. Artichokes. Oysters.” He handed her a jar filled with strange black lumps. “Truffles.”

  Cara wrinkled her nose at the small, wizened pieces. Suddenly, on the next shelf, she recognized the distinctive root of the mandrake and her heart gave an excited flip. The lumpy, knobbled tuber had offshoots that made it look like a man, with arms and legs protruding from the trunk—and it spelled another chance of freedom. Mandrake was the main ingredients of a sleeping draught she knew how to make. She turned away quickly, afraid he’d note the direction of her gaze.

  “What else did your tutor use to ease pain?” del Sarto asked, reclaiming her attention.

  Cara frowned, trying to order her racing thoughts. “Willow bark, feverfew, and meadowsweet are all good. And arnica for aching joints. You soak the flowers in oil, let it cool, and rub it into sore muscles.”

  “I’ll try that. My shoulder is giving me trouble.”

  She blinked, surprised he’d admit to such a human failing. And then she spied an opportunity. “If you’ll let me take some of these herbs, I’ll make you some . . .”

  He brushed past her without answering and she quelled a stab of disappointment as he rounded the end of the aisle. “Ah. Here’s the reason I brought you in here.”

  Rolls and rolls of material were stored end-on, each bolt of cloth wound tightly around a central wooden pole. Every possible hue was represented, from dusky peach to shimmering gold.

  Del Sarto pulled some out and unfurled the uppermost along the table. Yards of jade silk shimmered in the shafts of light. “The Orient’s finest for milady.” He unrolled another and Cara reached out to touch the deep midnight-blue velvet. The luxurious knap rubbed against her fingers like the pelt of an exotic animal.

  He looked at her sideways, assessing. “Those two will suit you. One of the women will measure you up. We can’t have you dressed in castoffs, now can we?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought a mercenary would be interested in ladies fashion,” she taunted.

  “Oh, I have many talents.” The merriment in his eyes gave a teasing hint of what those other talents might be and Cara felt herself heat up again.

  Del Sarto turned. “I have things to do. You may return with Renata and choose some more fabrics. And take what you need to make me that salve.”

  Cara couldn’t believe her luck. The man was handing her the keys to her prison! She tried not to let her excitement show in her face. “Thank you. You’re very kind.” On impulse she sketched him a curtsey.

  “That’s not my reputation. One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “I thought you’d like this back.” He pulled her dagger from the folds of his shirt and tossed the blade end-over-end with casual assurance. Cara narrowed her eyes. If she’d tried that, she’d have lost a finger. The cold steel flashed as he stepped closer. “I’ve had it sharpened.”

  She snatched it from his hand. “Not worried I might try to stab you again?”

  “You’re welcome to try.”

  His diabolic chuckle followed her from the room.

  Chapter 11

  Cara frowned down at the ingredients in front of her and wished she could combine the muscle salve with a sleeping draught. Nothing would make her happier than rendering his Satanic Lordship unconscious for a day or two.

  Unfortunately, the only sleeping potion she could remember how to make had to be administered in a drink. She’d probably never get close enough to doctor del Sarto’s wine without him noticing, but still, it was better to be prepared.

  A servant had been waiting to measure her for her new dresses when she and Renata had returned to her rooms with the fabrics. She was a pretty, plump girl dressed in a gown so low-cut that her mountainous cleavage looked to be in constant danger of falling out. A white apron tied over her dress did little to provide either cover or support.

  The girl clapped her hands with a gasp of delight when she saw Cara. She bobbed a hurried curtsey, talking all the while.

  “Oh, my lady, let me look at you! I could hardly believe it when my Lord told me I was to have the task of dressing you!” She made a slow circle around Cara, assessing her task. “Don’t you worry, my lady. I only do a few things really well in this world, but sewing’s one of them!” She winked suggestively and Cara couldn’t help smiling back. “Oh, I’m so excited I can barely think!”

  Renata rolled her eyes. “This is Pia. One of our se
amstresses.”

  The girl pounced on the rolls of fabric, her blue eyes as round as saucers. “Ooh! Look at these! You’re going to look like a princess!”

  Cara closed her eyes. If Pia was going to make something in her own inimitable style, she was doomed.

  “His lordship wants her in something simple and understated,” Renata said firmly, and Cara shot her a grateful glance.

  “I’ve brought my pins and needle, my lady.” Pia cast a disdainful glance at the ill-fitting dress Cara had been forced to wear. “Let’s get that thing off you. Just step up here on the chair and we can get started.”

  As the girl pinned the blue velvet in place Cara tried to tug the neckline of the emerging dress higher. “This is a bit lower than I usually wear,” she protested.

  The servant chuckled. “Heavens, if you think this is low, you haven’t been keeping up with the fashions in Venice and Rome. This’d be modest there, believe me!”

  “But I don’t have anything to show off—”

  “Nonsense! You’ve got a handful, which is all most lads want!” Pia giggled and tugged the fabric lower still. “I’d give you some of mine, if I could. I’ve got more than enough to go around.”

  “You can almost see my—”

  “Bubbies?” Pia finished, unabashed. “The important word is almost. There’s nothing better to get a man’s attention than a dress that promises a flash of something naughty when you move.”

  “I don’t want to get anyone’s attention!”

  Pia snorted. The concept of not wanting to appeal to a man was clearly ridiculous. Cara envied the other woman’s cheerful lack of morals. Buxom, flirtatious and cheekily confident, Pia was everything she herself was not.

  “Do you want a square neckline or rounded?”

  “It’s entirely up to you.”

  Pia looked like she’d been handed the keys to paradise. She carefully peeled the pinned dress over Cara’s head. “I’ll have the first one finished by tomorrow,” she promised. “I was supposed to be meeting one of the blacksmith’s boys tonight.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “Big strapping lad, that Marco, huge hands—” She blinked, coming out of her daze. “Still, he’ll keep ‘till tomorrow.” Gathering the rolls of silk and velvet from the bed she bustled out, full of new importance.