the arms of men in tricorns and animal masks. The heavy air reeked of a party, redolent of melting wax and candle smoke, perfumed bodies and spilled wine, simmering food and cured meats.
The dance ended, and Kieran declined another. Her head was hot beneath the wig and her face sweated behind her mask. She needed to step into one of the rooms that had been set aside for the women, so they might remove their masks.
She found Emeline, seated by an open window.
“Are you unwell, Emeline?” she inquired as she drew near.
Emeline’s gold mask turned to face Kieran, and her eyes, visible in the jeweled openings, looked glassy.
“I was quite fine, until suddenly I began to feel fatigued and dizzy. I think I am overheated.”
“Come with me, and we’ll get you out of the mask and wig. You need a drink of water.”
Emeline nodded and made to stand, but sat back down abruptly. “I fear I will faint.” She reached for Kieran’s hand and gripped it. “I have been feeling this way intermittently since we left England. I told myself all was well, just seasickness. I dared not hope, but now cannot dare ignore it. I am certain there is another child, and I fear what will become of me, being so far from home, and facing the voyage. And Rogan, he will be afraid of another miscarriage, and this will spoil his business venture.” She shrugged and sighed, and her voice quavered. “I cannot bear to see him disappointed again. I hate failing him.”
Emeline never revealed any fear when she became pregnant, and so it made Kieran nervous to hear her admit to it. Still, Kieran showed no sign of her own feelings, keeping her voice brisk and matter of fact.
“Nonsense. You do not fail him by trying to give him a child. You make my brother happier than I’ve ever seen him, child or no. And dismiss your worries regarding Rogan’s business proposals. Such things are meaningless compared to his love for you. Do not worry, Emeline. All will be well.”
Kieran motioned to the door, where Nilo was posted, and signaled for him to come to her aid. Her guardian and friend, Nilo was a former slave who now was paid by her brother, Rogan, to see to Kieran’s protection.
Kieran could not send Nilo to get Rogan; Nilo’s position as servant did not allow him access to the private rooms.
Kieran instructed him to wait, and then turned her attention to Emeline. “Just take deep breaths, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Kieran rushed through the crowded ballrooms of the palace, her heels clicking on the marble floors as she searched for Rogan.
Since the death of their uncle, Rogan had assumed his role as the Duke of Eton with remarkable ease, taking the family fortune and making it grow with his knowledge of trade, seafaring, and shipbuilding. Whispers around England were that he was richer than the king, and while Kieran didn’t know if that were true, it certainly seemed that everything Rogan touched turned to gold.
She smelled cigar smoke and heard masculine voices peppered with laughter. Kieran approached the room with a sense of caution, well aware that she was unescorted and as a female, unwelcome in such a setting. The men would just have to overlook her breach in etiquette. Emeline’s health came first, as Kieran was certain her brother would agree.
Emeline had longed for a child ever since she’d married Rogan, and several failed pregnancies had not dampened her determination and her hope. Still, Kieran recognized the danger in staying in Venice too long; all of Emeline’s pregnancies had miscarried in mid-trimester, and if she had been feeling it since the voyage, she was already well along. A ship’s voyage possessed inherent dangers for a healthy person. Kieran hated to think what it would mean for Emeline.
She opened the door a crack and peered in, hoping that she could catch her brother’s eye and not interrupt more than necessary. The room was a library, towering with bookcases. Curved niches showcased sculptures, and the giant windows were hung with red velvet. In the Venetian style, every table was carved and gilt with gold, and on the far side of the room a fire burned behind an ornate, golden screen. The men had doffed their costumes, and their unmasked faces were bright and animated as they talked politics and business over their brandy and cigars.
Kieran sighed in resignation as she spied Rogan seated by the fire, all the way across the crowd of men. She leaned in to signal him, but Rogan was deep in conversation.
Cold horror settled in Kieran’s belly as she saw who Rogan spoke with. He was the man of her nightmares, the man who in one horrible night, had changed Kieran Mullen forever.
Samuel Ellsworth, the Duke of Westminster, leaned forward and conversed intently with Rogan. He was handsome for his age, dignified in carriage and refined in appearance. He wore his black and silver hair pulled into a bagwig, and his gray eyes were sharp.
Kieran knew a different man, however. She knew a man who had violated everything she knew about herself, and left her naked and broken on a dirty floor.
She watched as he talked with her brother, and the cold feeling in her gut turned to sickness.
Kieran had hidden her true feelings for three years, and would not reveal them now. With bearing as regal as a queen’s, Kieran swept into the room and, ignoring the shocked look on some of the men’s faces, walked over to where her brother conversed.
“Forgive me Rogan, but I must have a word, please. ’Tis an emergency.”
Rogan turned to his sister, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
Kieran leaned in to her brother and whispered in his ear, “Emeline feels ill.”
Rogan stood, offered his excuses, and made to leave, but was stopped momentarily by Samuel, who spared Kieran an odd look before he spoke to Rogan. “Sorry to hear your wife is ailing, but do we have a deal, then?”
Rogan started walking toward the door. “We’ll hammer out the details another day.”
“Right. Excellent. I’ll call on you tomorrow, then.”
Rogan didn’t reply but kept going. Kieran walked by his side. She waited until they were out in the corridor.
“What’s this deal with that man? Is he not the Duke of Westminster?” she asked, struggling to keep her tone neutral.
“Aye. Just business.” Rogan glanced over to her, his pace never lessening. “Did Emeline get sick?”
“No, she’s only dizzy and very tired.” Kieran tried to sound offhand as she added, “You’ve never done business with Ellsworth before, have you? ’Tis seems odd that you’d suddenly be doing so in Venice, so far from home.”
“The opportunity has never arisen,” Rogan replied. “Is Emeline still in the ballroom?”
“Yes, by the windows near the terrace. So, what opportunity is this?”
He frowned and shot her a look that spoke of the exasperation of one who has bigger concerns. Still, he answered her. “Shipbuilding. Venice is looking to strengthen her presence at sea because the Barbary pirates raid the moment they’re out on open waters.
“There’s an open bidding for shipbuilding companies like mine—this is the reason we came to Venice, aye? Right now, ’tis likely the bid will go to a much larger French operation.
