Very well, so the woman wasn't a harridan. But she would still be protective of a beloved son if she thought Kate a fortune- grabbing female. And what else would she think when she discovered she was being asked to front twenty thousand pounds? If Urbano actually planned to ask her that. Kate couldn't quite see her way. All she knew for certain was that she had to display a total disinterest in Contessa di Poliziano's delectable son. And what woman, even a mother, would believe that?

She cleared her throat. "Does he give you joy? I am glad."

"Does he not give everyone joy?" the little woman asked.

"I personally find him exasperating," Kate said. That was very unloverlike. And it had the virtue of being true.

The contessa gave a peal of laughter. "Well, that also.""You are not alone in finding someone exasperating," he muttered, his back still turned.

"How very rude, Gian, to the delightful Miss Sheridan. Miss Sheridan, would you like some tea? I have some very fine oolong. I import it myself."

Kate smiled. "That would be very kind, thank you." She had been missing tea.

The woman clapped her hands and a servant appeared. The tea ordered, she continued. "Now, you were saying that you find my son exasperating. Do elaborate."

"Well, uh, he seems to enjoy bickering over nearly everything, and he belittles one."

Urbano turned from the view out the balcony, his eyes narrowed. "I bicker? If I said Cicero was a lover of freedom, you had to point out that he owned slaves. If I ordered you a meal, you did not eat it. You certainly did not appreciate my exertions on your behalf."

"You did not believe I read books, let alone that I read Cicero in Latin. It's all part of your arrogance. Besides, I exerted myself for you as well, a fact you hardly noticed. If I had not brought you breakfast that first morning when you could not go out in the sunlight, you would have starved until evening."

"He is certainly arrogant. I shall give you that."

They both jerked toward the languid observation. Kate colored. How could she have forgotten herself so far as to argue with Urbano in front of his mother? And to point out his faults. No good would come from such poor manners. She bit her lip. At least it displayed how little Urbano cared for her, and how little she cared for that fact. "My apologies, Contessa, I-"

"No need." The contessa waved a hand. There was some expression in her eyes Kate couldn't quite describe. Amus.e.m.e.nt? "I know my Gian well. Arrogant, yes." She sighed. "It comes from having women throw themselves at him. And the fact that he is intelligent. Normally he also knows his own mind, which is rare in a man. It makes him a good leader. Though of late I think he questions himself, and all the while he misses the obvious."

"I had not noticed him questioning himself." Still, Kate thought of the pain she had seen cross his eyes at unexpected moments.

That might be what the contessa was talking about. It was one of the things that drew her to him, in spite of his beauty. She found herself staring at the lamp glowing on the table, its shade casting an amber warmth around the room.

"I leave you two to your dissection of my character." Urbano stalked from the room.

"Oh, dear." Kate put her hand to her cheek. The fine web of her scar against her palm brought her own arrogance crashing down around her. Why had she worried? The contessa would never believe any designs Kate had on her son could possibly succeed. No wonder she was amused. No man so beautiful would ever be ensnared by a woman who looked like her.

She took a breath and steadied herself. Very well. That simply made her job easier.

She lifted her chin.

Before she could think what to say, the servant returned with a tea service. She gathered her thoughts as he set it out. They did the usual "Cream? Sugar?" exchange until the door shut.

Best just a.s.sault the citadel. "Has your son told you of our... bargain, Contessa?"

"He says you want twenty thousand for the stone."

Kate swallowed. "Yes. Do you object?""Why should I? It is his money. I only loan him the amount."

Kate blinked. No resistance? "How long will it take to get it?"

"I could give you a draft upon my bank immediately."

"I'll wait for cash, thank you. My bank is Drummonds. They have a branch in Zurich."

"A letter then to Drummonds from my banker. You don't want to be carrying so much cash the way you carry that emerald in your reticule."

Kate flushed. Of course she would know that. A woman like the contessa would a.s.sume that only the most dire need could make a woman carry a reticule that didn't match her dress. Kate looked up at her. The old puzzle revolved in her mind. Maybe this woman had the answer. "Why does he not just take it from me?"

"Can't you guess, my dear?" The contessa sipped her tea.

"Frankly, no. Anyone I've ever known would have taken it long ago. He tried to throttle it out of me once. And now he's willing to pay twenty thousand for it. I hardly credit that."

"How interesting. What did you do when he tried to throttle it out of you?"

"I said throttling me was not the way to get me to tell him since I couldn't breathe. And I lied to him and said I didn't have it by me."

The contessa blinked several times. "Did his eyes seem almost... red at the time?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I didn't understand then that red eyes were part of his condition. I thought he was wearing lenses, as I do sometimes to make myself seem exotic."

The contessa seemed taken much aback. "So he explained his... condition?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it. I know you must share it since you have a similar scent and the electric... vibrancy I feel in him. I... I was rude enough to ask him about it. I, who know how hurtful questions can be. And I'm even more embarra.s.sed to say that I had some... wild ideas about what he was." She shook her head. "Unusual, because I'm really not romantical in the least. Anyway, he explained about the infection in your blood."

"Are those his marks on your neck there?"

Kate touched the ribband she had wound around her neck. "No, no. He left no marks at all. These are Elyta's. She nearly did strangle me before your son showed up so suddenly."

"Here, let me." The contessa leaned forward and untied the ribband, looked at both sides of her neck, and then retied it gently.

"They look to be fading."

"I hope so. I am tired of this ribband."

"So, you lied to him when he had red eyes." She tapped her chin. "And the stone, what did you think of it?"

"Beautiful, of course. One wouldn't think that a cabochon cut could sparkle so. But..." She cleared her throat. "It seems to have some very unfortunate effects on anyone but its owner."

"That would be you?""Well, at the time I looked at it, yes."

"I see." The contessa was looking at her very strangely. "So you and Gian agreed on twenty thousand for it."

"What I don't understand is what he wants in return."

"In return for what?" The contessa looked confused.

"In return for not stealing it. He must want something."

"He values his honor. It is honorable to pay you for what is yours."

Kate thought about that. "But it isn't really mine. He knows I stole it, after all."

"Oh, really?" The contessa must only be pretending to be calm at that revelation.

"I picked the pocket of a friend of Elyta Zaroff's." There. The contessa knew exactly what she was now. She lifted her chin again. "I'm quite good at it."

"Well, then, if you won't believe it is his honor that demands payment, I'm afraid his motives will have to be a mystery, at least for a little while." The contessa set down her cup. "Now, you will also need clothes and an escort for your journey."

"No, no, I don't want to be more trouble. I can take care of myself. And I already have several fine dresses your son... loaned me. If I could keep those... perhaps have them cleaned?"

"You'll deny me the pleasure of dressing you, child?" The contessa's overpowering presence almost demanded acquiescence.

And there was one thing Kate coveted.

She took a breath. "There is something... If you can put me in the way to buy a mantilla... I mean... I would need an advance from the twenty thousand..."

"Nonsense. You may have one from my wardrobe. But are you certain it is necessary?"

Kate looked down at her hands. "You see how necessary it is." She raised her head and managed a laugh. "I have already frightened your servants."

"Oh, I think they are not so easily frightened as that." The contessa rose and took Kate's arm confidingly. "But let us see what I have in my closets."

Chapter Nine.

The next afternoon, Kate decided she would see something of Florence before she left. The contessa had talked her into many things from her closet in spite of Kate's best intentions. Indeed the contessa had been very kind. She was now well provisioned for her journey. She wore a mantilla even now and was feeling much more comfortable. The contessa had sent round for the draft on her bankers-Montcerate-the oldest bank in Europe, and some ready cash for Kate's journey. Even the bank's name had a nice, secure feeling to it. The servants had taken away her clothing for laundry and brushing. Now all that was left was to pack her trunk and arrange to hire a carriage on the morrow. One of the contessa's footmen trailed at her heels, insisting the mistress of the house would sack him if he let her go alone.

In truth, she was grateful for his direction. He took her to all the best works in the Uffizi, bequeathed fifty years ago by the last of the Medicis, Anna Maria Ludovica, to the public. They had walked out the back of the Uffizi over the Ponte Vecchio, lined with goldsmith's shops, to the marvelous Pitti Palace. In the monastery of San Marco, she gazed in fascinated horror at the preserved cell of Savonarola, the monk who led Florence at the head of a mob-rule theocracy and burned priceless paintings and irreplaceable illuminated books. Then it was back to the Duomo to climb the 463 spiraling steps to view the city from the top of the cathedral dome. It felt good to walk in the sunshine after so many hours in the dim carriage.

She turned back toward the Piazza della Signoria, determined to cross it on her way back to get the full effect of the palazzo's tall campanile. The footman, for some reason, had led her out a side door from the palazzo to the Uffizi earlier.

The afternoon was winding down. She was about to get everything she wanted.

Why did that feel so depressing?

And now her feet hurt. These half-boots were not as comfortable as she first supposed. She should have realized she was getting blisters and skipped the Duomo altogether. So she really did not want to hear the footman's imprecations about going round back of Palazzo Vecchio. Through the piazza was the quickest way home. Besides, it was getting dark.

She took off across the vast expanse of cobblestones at a hobble in the twilight, the footman trailing in her wake, protesting. She pa.s.sed Ammanati's Fountain of Neptune with barely a glance. On the far side an open-air market was just closing up for the day. Carriages crisscrossed the open s.p.a.ce with chaotic abandon. Over to the right was a huge crowd, mainly composed of women. They gathered around a nude figure of a man.

Kate gasped and froze.

"Come, miss," the footman pleaded.

She had seen drawings of it, of course. But none did it justice. Michelangelo's David.

But it was more than that.

She started moving slowly toward it. Behind her, the footman sighed deeply. Her feet were not as important as they had been a moment ago.

Oh. my G.o.d.

It was Urbano! Of course she recognized the face. But she had also seen his naked body in a vision. And there was no question.

The vision burned upon her brain had more muscle in the shoulder and thigh. But it was he, down to every other detail.

Her eyes drank in the marble rendering. Buonarroti had got his likeness perfectly, even down to the expression that said he had seen the painful side of life, that his dreams had come true and turned out to be dust. But it was the worship of his masculinity that struck one. Michelangelo had been enthralled by him too. No wonder the women cl.u.s.tered and whispered.

And no wonder no one wanted her to go out through the piazza. She turned on the footman. "It's him."

"Of... of course not, miss." He gave a nervous laugh. "How could it be?"

Kate turned back to the statue. And that was just the issue, wasn't it? "You will say it is an ancestor."

"But of course. The statue, it was carved long ago."

"Fifteen hundred four, in fact." But Kate, in her heart, knew that didn't mean it wasn't him. He said his condition gave him properties of healing. Was not age a wound of the most insidious kind? And his mother... Kate shook her head, half laughing, half wanting to cry. Pretending that her youthful appearance was an aberration brought about by good face cream... That heartsickness she saw in his eyes, echoed in the statue's expression-was it age? Had he seen everything and now could find no joy'? His mother still found joy. But perhaps she had not seen what he had.

Her thoughts careened around her head. He had explained away any supernatural elements about him through his disease. Could a disease make one live forever? He might not be eternal, but he had lived more than three hundred years and showed no trace of it. She believed her eyes, no matter any tales he might tell of ancestors who had posed for the David. He might not be supernatural, but he was certainly beyond her experience of natural.

In the twilight, she gazed up at the statue. She had imagined him looking just like this, in a stone prison, in chains, being tortured in a way she couldn't understand by the great, green stone that had come into her life shortly after he did.

She felt sandwiched between two unimaginable realities. Gian Urbano was, by any human standards, something beyond natural, regardless of his disease. And she was having visions about things she could not possibly know.

She pushed through the crowd, unseeing, as chaos trembled in the air around her.

"Gian, cara, you are up early. The sun isn't yet set."

Gian didn't look up as his mother entered the dim room. He had not even been to bed today. He was still in shirtsleeves and trousers from last night. He ran a hand through his hair, knowing he looked haggard and disheveled. So much was eating at him: the things he had done in North Africa in the name of a cause, how to get the emerald back to Mirso, his strange pyrotechnic abilities. Everything was confusion. Then too Kate was leaving soon, and he could not get her out of his mind. For an instant he had considered telling her what he was, asking her to stay. One should never trust anything considered in the small hours of the afternoon. In the twilight, they were revealed as ridiculous.

"I've been thinking about whether I should escort her to England before I embark for Mirso with the stone." He realized he hadn't used her name, but just referred to Kate as "her."

"Ahhhh." His mother sat, her dressing gown of rust-colored silk shushing softly around her. "And you have been considering this all day at the cost of your rest?"

He shrugged. A crack of light around the shutters let in one bar of light.

"But of course you can't do that. You must go to Mirso. Is that why you look so bleak?"

He rose, filled again with the restless energy that had made him pace all day. "No. I just don't see the point anymore, Mother. I mean, after I return the stone... it's done. The war is over. Mission completed. Then... what?"

"Find something that interests you and do it."

He chuffed a half-laugh and paced to the door and back to the shuttered windows. "What else is there? I've done it all. I built a shipping industry at Amalfi. I worked to establish the duchy here, I was a patron of the arts, but-"