Ulrika Rittenhouse sat at her dressing table, brushing her long, titian hair. She smashed the brush through her thick auburn curls and shivered a bit from the pressure on her scalp.
“Your hair is very…” Giovanni smiled from across the room. “How is it you say?”
“Beautiful?” Ulrika smiled.
“Orange,” Giovanni nodded.
Ulrika nodded. “You know, really, you should keep your voice down.”
“Why is this?” Giovanni asked.
“Really, you know very well why.” Ulrika snickered. “If Mr. Cage discovered I’d smuggled you into my boudoir, he’d be quite irate.”
“Now, now.” Giovanni clucked his tongue. “You are not the center of all attention. Everyone in the house is cooing over the baby. No one cares what you do.”
“True.” Ulrika frowned, setting her brush on the polished mahogany table. She turned to face Giovanni. “Don’t you think it’s rather queer that the Duke agreed to give the child up?”
Giovanni shrugged. “I have not thought about it.”
“I have.” Ulrika snorted. “The little lunatic was so adamant about keeping the boy.”
“Desires change.” Giovanni muttered. “What is it to you?”
“Nothing, really.” Ulrika scowled. “But, did you look at the boy?”
“No.” Giovanni snapped. “I was hiding in the passage. Remember?”
“Of course.” Ulrika nodded. “I apologize.”
“What of it?”
“The child looked different.”
“At that age, they change every moment.” Giovanni replied. “I remember when Carlo was a boy. I could blink and he would look like another baby.”
“True.” Ulrika raised an eyebrow. “I’ve noticed that with Rowan.”
“What is Rowan?”
“My infant brother.” Ulrika smirked.
“Oh—yes, the little ginger tot.”
“Yes.” Ulrika said.
“Must we continue to talk about babies?” Giovanni grumbled.
“What would you rather talk about?”
“No talking.” Giovanni shook his head. “Come to me.”
Ulrika sauntered to the bed and lay down next to Giovanni.
“You’ll come home with me?” Ulrika purred, looking up at Giovanni.
“This is not your home?”
“No.” Ulrika sat up. “Really, haven’t you paid attention at all?”
“Oh, yes, the other place—Marioanneaux, is it?”
“Yes. My plantation there.”
“Is it yours?”
“It’s my father’s.” Ulrika frowned. “It’ll be mine one day.”
“When?”
“When father dies.” Ulrika sighed.
“And your father, he will welcome me into this home?”
“Well, no.” Ulrika ran her fingers through her hair.
“And, what then? You propose to continue to sneak me in like a…”
“We could set you up in the garconierre.”
“What is this?”
“A little house—for young gentlemen—on our property.”
“No.” Giovanni shook his head. “What would that do for me?”
“You could be near me.”
“And do what?”
“What you do now.” Ulrika pouted.
“For money?” Giovanni growled.
“Well, no. I’d be your patron. I could support you while you paint. You promised me you’d return to your art.”
“And I should do this in Marionneaux?”
“Why not?”
“When I could return to Florence or Venice?”
“And leave me behind?”
“You come, too. I’ll paint you.”
“I can’t leave.”
“Why not?” Giovanni snapped. “What have you here? Sugar cane? Your other plans have come to nothing!”
“Not true!”
“Oh? Where is your diamond? Where is Lady Barbara’s fortune? Where is the child you wished to call your own?”
“I…”
“You see? You failed.” Giovanni responded curtly.
“I never fail.”
“Show me, then. Show me your beautiful blue diamond. Show me the corpse of Lady Barbara. You leave New Orleans only with what you brought.”
“I have you.” Ulrika grinned.
“And another before me—dead, as I recall.”
“Had it not been for Arthur, I’d not have you.” Ulrika argued.
“Maybe.” Giovanni shrugged. “You come with me, then. Come to Italy. I will show you the most beautiful things in the world.”
“Perhaps.” Ulrika nodded slowly.
“Your father will not object.”
“Not if I promise to return to Marionneaux one day.”
“Of course.” Giovanni smiled.
“You must understand that if I go with you, it will only be temporary.”
“I would not wish you to stay forever.” Giovanni laughed.
“Perhaps I won’t go at all.” Ulrika pouted.
“You will.” Giovanni laughed, grabbing her by her broad shoulders. “You will. And, for once, you will not fail.”
“Did you miss Chapters 1-491? If so, you can read them here.
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