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sideways at the duke, she saw that he was still talking earnestly to her father, both hands held up before him in emphasis.
    â€œâ€¦and to my mind it is unaccountable that such a reaction should even have been tolerated , let alone encouraged,” he was saying.
    â€œOh, I could not agree more, Este!” she heard her father say in reply. “In fifty-six, if you remember, just after the abdication, it was just the same when Charles’s opponents attempted to interfere.”
    â€œIndeed it was.”
    Lucrezia listened to the political discussion with little understanding, her eyes upon the duke’s mouth. Within weeks, she thought, running the tip of her tongue over her teeth, she would know the feel and taste of that mouth, would have been caressed by those hands. How easy would this man be to please? Or perhaps, given his reaction to her just now, perhaps the question would best be phrased: how easy would he be to displease ?
    ***
    Most of the guests had left: the insistent blare of voices that had so vividly filled the evening had died to a rumble, and now only a few sporadic conversations still held sway in the statuary-filled loggia behind the great house of Cafaggiolo. The scratching buzz of the late-evening crickets zigzagged up and over the dome of the starfilled sky.
    Alfonso d’Este raised Lucrezia’s hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Thank you for your company at dinner,” he said, still holding her fingers. “I shall look forward very much to seeing you in the morning.”
    He watched a faint flush bring colour to her cheeks as she smiled at him, her eyes shining. Gold lights flickered in her hair in the lamplight. She was very pretty, he thought. He wanted to look at her breasts—he could see the square neck of the rust-coloured dress rising and falling as she breathed, and it pulled like a kite-string at his concentration—but he would not let himself do it. To be seen so doing would be shamefully undignified.
    â€œPerhaps you would care to see something of the land around the castle tomorrow, Signore,” Lucrezia said.
    Alfonso felt the smallest of pulse beats in her fingertips. He said, smiling, “I should be more than delighted to explore the countryside that has been your home for so many years.” Then, giving her fingers a brief squeeze, he released her hand.
    To his left, he saw Eleanora de’ Medici watching their conversation. Her eyes were wide and black in the lamplight; she seemed, more than anything else, he thought in surprise, wary . Suspicious. Catching his eye, she started, and smiled, though the smile seemed uncomfortable and lasted barely a second.
    Her husband, arm draped across her shoulder, patted her on the back and said, in a carrying voice, “Well, Eleanora, carissima , it is time our honoured guests were offered the respite of a bed.” Snapping his fingers a few times, he summoned a number of servants from shadowed corners. Striding ahead of them, he stopped before Alfonso and nodded briefly. “Sir, it has been a great pleasure to have your company this evening. I do hope you have enjoyed yourself. I trust that your sleeping arrangements will suit you, and that you will have a restful night.”
    â€œI have been charmed by the experience,” Alfonso said. He glanced at Lucrezia, who dropped her gaze to the floor, then looked up at him through her lashes. Alfonso arched an eyebrow at her. She twitched down a smile.
    A few moments later, accompanied by a bright-liveried manservant, Alfonso climbed the three flights of stairs which led to his allotted suite. Assuring the anxious servant several times that he was more than adequately provided for, and finally bidding him good night, he closed the door of the chamber, crossed the room in a few long-legged strides, pulled back the bed-hangings and sat down on the edge of the mattress.
    The shutters were still open; a thin moon like a wide smile