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The fact that she was right did not stop him from continuing. ‘Your family should warn him off, not welcome him in. I must assume he is in a position to know exactly how wealthy you are, and how your funds are disposed. I wonder they do not fear that he is a fortune hunter, bent on taking advantage of you.’ Xan hardly knew what he was saying, though he had the sense to keep his voice low, as did she. But then, she was not, apparently, in any danger of losing control over herself, while he was, not for the first time.

‘You’re stupidly jealous,’ she said flatly and correctly. ‘I saw you looking at us at dinner; I could not fail to see it, and I can only hope others did not. There is no point at all in us going through this whole rigmarole to convince the world that there is nothing between us, if you will continue to look at me like that when we are in a place where anyone may see it, and draw correct conclusions from it.’

He did not ask her, like what? He knew all too well how he must appear. ‘I am,’ he admitted after a moment’s struggle. ‘Damnably jealous. I wanted to lay violent hands on him, when I saw you so comfortable together.’

‘And on me?’

‘Never that,’ he ground out. ‘I won’t deny I want to lay hands on you, God knows I do, but I have no wish to hurt you. I want to take you out of this room, away from all these damn inconvenient people, and make love to you. I know exactly how good it could be, and so do you, Bianca. I can’t think of anything else. And what of you, and what you want? You were happy enough to let me caress you in the theatre…’

‘That was a mistake. There’s no need to point it out. I am very well aware that I should never have done so.’

‘But you did. You feel exactly what I feel. You might as well admit it as openly as I do. You might deceive yourself – I don’t know if you do – and you might deceive others, but never me. If we were alone now, if we found a way to be, you would fall into my arms as eagerly as I would fall into yours. I would soon make you forget that Cotwin existed, or any other man in the world.’

After a moment of tense silence she said, very low, ‘Yes. Yes, of course that’s true. And perhaps we should. Perhaps that is the only way we will be rid of this most inconvenient compulsion that neither of us can shake off.’

He could scarcely believe that she knew what she was saying, or that he understood her correctly in this moment. ‘Can you possibly mean that?’ he asked her hoarsely.

She looked him full in the face and said, ‘I must be out of my senses, but yes, I do.’

43

It was a pleasant room, well-furnished and clean, and only a very short walk away from the square where she was currently residing, through an open door and up a staircase to the first floor, in a house that felt empty apart from herself, though of course she could not tell what might be going on behind the other firmly closed doors. More scandalous meetings, perhaps.

Bianca had no way of knowing who else used this place, assuming anybody did, and what for – she had in truth no wish to know – but by appearance alone it could have been any bedroom in a gentleman’s or lady’s house, or in one of the best hotels. Wallpaper in the latest colours, well-polished furniture, and good prints of unexceptionable European landscapes upon the walls. Places she had seen with her own eyes, some of them, in Switzerland and Italy. A neatly swept grate, empty just now, a mantel with Meissen figures on it, shepherds and shepherdesses. Silver candelabra bearing fine wax candles, which someone had lit not long ago. A half-tester bed, with elegant blue velvet drapery. Crisp linen sheets and a silk coverlet. Not the sort of place one would imagine people went for an illicit assignation. It looked respectable, and she fell suddenly out of place in it, since she was not.

She was noticing all these irrelevant details because she was feeling horribly nervous. There was something so deliberate about all this, and it was worse – she thought it was worse – because she had got here first and was waiting alone, moving restlessly about the room, picking things up and putting them down. If she wasn’t careful, she’d break something. Presumably she ought to take off her heavy hooded cloak. If not more than that. She might as well undress and get into bed. That was what they were coming here for, after all. Why pretend otherwise?

She knew that Xan would be outside in the street, watching to make quite sure they were unobserved, though she hadn’t seen him when she’d arrived, climbed the stairs and let herself in with the key he had given her. He’d be here soon, though she had no idea if he’d make an appearance in half an hour or ten minutes. There was an ormolu clock on the mantel, ticking softly, marking out the time in tiny slices that were lost forever, making her ever more tense. Her mother had had one just like it, in their rented lodgings in Bloomsbury; this was perhaps unfortunate. Bianca spent a little time fruitlessly wondering where it was now. Probably her ruthless practical parent had sold it. Maybe this was even the same clock, sent here by malign fate to torment her.

She hadn’t even been obliged to slip out of the house in an underhand fashion tonight, because Sabrina had helped her cover her tracks, and had told the rest of the family that she was spending the night with Viola, for well-thought-out and plausible reasons that Bianca couldn’t call to mind just now. Of course Mrs Da Costa now knew about the Venice affair, and must have been talking to Viola about it, and this perilous meeting; she didn’t seem to disapprove, or if she did, she was keeping it well hidden.

Sabrina was happy with Laurence, there was no doubt of it, and content with how her life had played out, but Bianca was beginning to suspect that she also existed vicariously through her younger sisters’ occasionally reckless behaviour. She gained the excitement of living dangerously, albeit at second hand, while all the while comforting herself with the reflection that if it went horribly wrong, as it easily might, this wouldn’t be in any way her fault, nor would she suffer most of the consequences. This could be described as having the cake, and also – almost – eating it. Perhaps such peculiar unspoken bargains were common among siblings, but this could hardly be Miss Constantine’s main concern just now. She was the one risking a great deal, and now that she was here, she was wondering if she’d truly run mad even to contemplate such craziness, and should turn and leave while there was still time, making some excuse to Sabrina and her family for her unexpected return.

But it was also true that if anyone found out later that she’d been here with Xan, even for a short while, they’d assume that they’d been carrying out an illicit liaison, not just now but at other times, maybe even for months, after they had both returned to London. So since she was in this room, since the damage might be said to be done, she might as well stay, and get what she’d come for. Pleasure. Release. Some precious moments of oblivion.

If he ever did appear. Her pacing was becoming a little impatient now.

On his recommendation, she’d locked up behind her and removed the key; he had another, he had assured her, and it would be safer for her that way, as she’d have the reassurance that nobody could merely walk in on her off the street.

And now at last she heard a scraping in the lock, and the door began to open.

44

VENICE

The island became their private paradise, and Mario the gondolier took them there. Not every day – that would be ridiculous, and excessive – but several times a week, the fine, sunny days and weeks continuing to bless them. If it rained, it rained at night, and did not trouble them; sometimes they lingered and came back as the sun was setting in fiery glory over the mainland, and the air growing a little chilly, but they had no night-time meetings, and almost never saw each other in public unless they went on an expedition outside the city, as they occasionally did, to one of the many other islands in the lagoon. Neither of them mentioned what would happen when the weather broke, as sooner or later it surely must. They never spoke of the future.

Yet Bianca could not be at ease. She did not regret what she had so recklessly committed herself to, but perhaps she should. When they’d first met, she’d accused Xan of being overset by the beauty of Venice, to the extent that he had lost a grip on his senses; she’d been amused, superior, even a trifle patronising, because she, unlike him, could claim Italian descent and a sense of belonging here, and would never fall into such egregious error. She spoke the language, even a little of the dialect used here; she knew her way about, and people knew her.

But now she wondered if the same accusation of disordered wits and carelessness could with justice be levelled at her. It was far too easy to tell oneself, as Mr Challender had once said, that either Venice was real or she was, but they couldn’t both be. Yet she’d always known that this was untrue. It wasn’t a fantasy faerie realm out of time, this city, this golden summer stretching into autumn, and actions taken here and now must have real consequences, at least for her, if not for him.

This was brought home to Miss Constantine with some force at the very end of the summer, when her courses were a few days late. She was in general very regular, but not this month. She said nothing to Xan nor anyone else – who would she tell, here? Her landlady? Alvise? The orange seller by the bridge? – but simply waited and fretted, feeling horribly powerless, hoping it was merely a delay and not…

It seemed unlikely that she could be with child, because Venice offered, for a price, every means that human ingenuity had so far devised to prevent unwanted conception, and she and Xan had taken full advantage of them, been as careful as a passionate couple could be, but… it was not absolutely impossible, and she cursed herself for her stupidity in overlooking this basic fact of biology.

To fall with child would be a disaster. But, she told herself to still her panic, she had some options. As she paced and waited and interrogated her own body, as she lay in Xan’s arms even, keeping her fears from him, she enumerated them, which was easy enough because they were not so very many.

There would be drugs or herbs that she could take, if her body truly had betrayed her. Her landlady, Signora Trevisan, would probably know how they might be obtained, at least. She had a knowing air about her, as of one who had seen much and kept her counsel about most of it, and Bianca’s situation could hardly be unique. No doubt such ancient medicines, the sort women whispered about when alone, carried risks, and some uncertainty of success, but they existed, and could be employed as a first step.