“Are you showing off?” I asked.
“Perhaps.” His eyes glinted green with humor. “Are you impressed?”
“With what? Your foolhardy disregard for your handsome neck?”
“It is handsome, isn’t it?”
I lowered my gaze to the rear of his breeches. “Marvelous.” To think, previously I’d been uninterested in the finer points of male anatomy. Perhaps I’d been slow to mature, or perhaps I was making up for lost time. Either way, the view of hisculopleasured me more than his neck.
In a conversational tone of voice, he asked, “Is the ghost why you held a séance?”
“How did you hear about the séance?” I asked sharply.
“When I hear your name, I listen, and this morning when I dropped into our kitchen to cajole food and drink for this evening, the cook was gossiping with the baker’s lad about last night’s ghostly visitation called up by Princess Ursula.”
“Your kitchen? In the Marcketti household?”
“Yes.”
My horror overflowed. “Everyone in Verona knows?”
“Yes.”
“Howdo these things get around?”
“The actions of the prince and his family are always of interest to everyone, and the servants see all. Romeo and Juliet are famous for the reasons we all know, and thus the scandal of your impetuous betrothal created a buzz, like a beehive in swarm.” He descended the steps and looked me in the eyes. “Isn’t that what you intended when you arranged the séance?”
“It’s what Nonna Ursula intended, but I didn’t realize . . .” This tiding put a different complexion on the break-in, and I couldn’t contain my troubled thoughts. “I didn’t realize this swarm would travel so swiftly. News of the séance is on the street, but not of Elder’s visits to me?”
“Princess Ursula, being who and what she is, is assumed to have taken command of you and your training as future wife of the podestà. The interest in you is more avid and . . .” He hesitated.
“Salacious?” I suggested.
In a nonverbal confirmation, Lysander confessed, “Last night, I punched my cousin Rugir and busted his lip.”
“Rugir? You hit Rugir?” I was wildly impressed, and not at all surprised. He’d been a pig about me. He detested intelligent women. “He’s the best fistfighter in Verona! I had no idea that you—”
“I can’t. I’m not. That’s the only reason I managed to lay a hand on him. He never thought I had it in me.”
“Oh.” That explained it. “Did he hit you back?”
“No, he bought me a drink. He was very proud. He thinks that what I do”—Lysander gestured around at the paraphernalia of his work—“is for foreigners and peasants.”
“Certainly not for an intellectual superior likehim!” I was sarcastic enough to make Lysander grin.
“His reputation as a sodden lackwit has never sullied his charm or prowess with the ladies.”
“Naturally not.” I knelt beside the second lamp. “Tell me how it works.”
“You don’t really care. You’re indulging me.” After that feeble protestation, he said,“Va bene!”He knelt beside me. “The oil is placed here, in the cistern, and when the wick is lit, it will burn clear and true. The roof will protect it from rain, the glass will protect it from wind, and the vents here”—he moved the sliding metal doors at the top and bottom—“can be adjusted to raise or lower the flame.”
“Genius,” I breathed.
He huffed and scowled. “The pale glass can be removed and exchanged for gold, used in the time of celebration, or red, used in the time of war or unrest. Verona’s citizens need only look up to realize what message their podestà sends.”
“Even more genius!” I stood and dusted my knees. “Why your displeasure?”
“I wish I’d thought of the colors, but it wasn’t my idea. It was his. Prince Escalus. He’s a smart man, your . . .” He looked down, then looked up into my eyes, and in a moment, I realized his casually friendly behavior was but a front for his true love and passion. In a husky voice, deeper than normal, he said, “If I can’t have you, he’s the one other man who’s worthy of you.”
