who had once known no music in my life had a repertoire to draw from, thanks to Giaconda. After I finished, the men applauded enthusiastically. Hours passed, and an artiste from the Theatre Quartiere played the mandolin for us, singing a plaintive madrigal about love and loss. I sighed when it finished and had to work hard to shed myself of the melancholy his lyrics aroused. Nothing was to interfere with my performance. I watched the candles on the sideboard burn to stumps, conscious of the one I had hidden in the folds of my dress.
Finally, the men were left to smoke and chat over their drinks – their digestivi, and I went to prepare myself. They offered their farewells with knowing, envious looks. I couldn’t help but smile, particularly at the smug look on Giacomo’s handsome face.
Taken to his private apartments by a sombre servant, I first replaced one of the candles by the bed with my own, throwing the original out the window and into the canal, hoping no-one saw me. I removed my zoccoli and stockings and sat in a plush chair by the fire and waited. I didn’t have to linger long.
Giacomo arrived moments later. He shut the door slowly, putting his back against it, and smiled as it clicked. His teeth were white against his bronze skin. ‘Since I first set eyes on you at the Doge’s palazzo, I have thought of nothing but this moment.’
I had to repress the urge to laugh. Whether it was nerves or the hackneyed nature of Giacomo’s words, I wasn’t sure. But there was nothing clichéd about his next action. He came towards me and, holding out his hand, indicated that I should place mine in it. I did. He gently pulled me to my feet. Without my zoccoli, I came only to his chest.
‘Ah, I like you better diminished,’ he said and tipped my chin upwards. He lowered his lips. They were sweet from the digestivo and as they captured mine, sent waves of heat through my body. His kiss deepened and I pressed my body into his. I felt his hardness against me as I wrapped my arms around him and pushed against him. I could smell my candle burning; feel its effects. As I touched him, I knew Giacomo did as well.
He moaned and held me tighter.
My gown shimmied to the floor and I stepped out of it. My delicate camicia was nothing more than a golden veil that he reached for and in one swift motion, tore from my body. I cried out, not in fear but – God help me – longing. He lunged, picking me up in his arms, and carried me to the bed.
I helped him remove his doublet, his shirt and, finally his hose. I lay beneath him, naked, quivering with eagerness. I’d never felt like this before. I was on the edge of a precipice and wanted to jump. He straddled me, his chest heaving. Staring at his beauty, the form of his chest, the veins in his arms, I was unable to resist the fine hairs that trailed down his stomach. He threw back his head and shut his eyes.
Much later, when the candle was smouldering, a mound of melted wax, we lay beside each other, covered in a fine sheen of sweat. He rolled over and raised himself on his elbow. With his free hand, he traced patterns over my breasts and along my chin, across my bruised lips. I kissed his finger as it ran over them.
Giaconda had fulfilled her promise to me. My first had been gentle. He’d been kind. He’d given me as much pleasure as I knew I had given him.
‘You are a marvel, my little Dorata.’
I was glad the mask hid my wince. That name. Why did he say that? It almost broke the mood, moved me out of the present and back into my past.
‘Worth every soldi,’ he continued, ‘and more.’
Suddenly, he rose from the bed. At first, I thought it was to use the chamber pot. But he searched the floor and began to pull up his leggings.
‘Giacomo,’ I said, and patted the bed beside me. ‘Where are you going? It’s not time for me to leave yet. The sun has not risen.’
‘I know.’ He smiled sweetly as he buttoned his shirt. ‘But you, cara mia, still have work to do.’
Before I could react, he went the door and flung it open. In walked the other men I had dined with