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course.”
    Signor Sanuto clapped Vincent on the shoulder. “I only ask that you sleep in tomorrow, so that I might do the same.”
    Vincent offered one of his rare public smiles. “I think we may assure you of that.”
    *   *   *
    Jane had no trouble making good their promise to Signor Sanuto. She woke as the sun came streaming in through the large windows of the bedroom the signore had provided for them. The light revealed details lost in her fatigue of the night before. The ceilings rose to at least twelve feet and were adorned everywhere with delicate plasterwork reminiscent of waves. Shells and seahorses completed the theme, reminding her that Venice was once known as La Serenissima, the Bride of the Sea. Murals that were a mixture of paint and glamour adorned the walls to make each seem vibrant and alive. The furniture, while in an older style, displayed exquisite marquetry and had no doubt been in the family for generations.
    Rolling to her side, Jane studied Vincent. He lay sprawled on the feather mattress in the nightshirt that their host had provided. His broad chest rose and fell in deep slumber. His cheeks still had the red of too much time in the sun, but some of the unhealthy grey tinge had left the space under his eyes.
    She snuggled closer, intending to take comfort in his presence for only a few moments, but when she opened her eyes again, the sun had risen nearly to noon. Stretching, Jane could not restrain a sigh of contentment.
    “Awake?” Vincent’s voice rumbled with disuse.
    Jane tilted her head back to look at her husband. His eyes were still hooded with sleep, but he looked remarkably improved. “I am. How do you feel?”
    “Better.” He rolled onto his back and pressed both hands to his face. “My head aches still, but I suppose that is to be expected.”
    “I am only grateful that it was no worse.”
    Vincent caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. “When I think of all the ways in which it could have been … I should have listened to your mother.”
    Jane laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “If we listened to Mama every time she was frightened of something, we would be guarding for wolves and wearing flannel with liniment around our necks, even in summer.”
    “True. And yet—”
    “Please do not torture yourself in this manner.” Jane pushed herself to a sitting position. “I propose that we count our blessings that it provided us with the opportunity to meet Signor Sanuto—who, I might add, we should pay our respects to before it ceases to be morning.”
    Jane padded across the marble floor to the lounge. She had received the loan of clothing from the closet of Signor Sanuto’s wife—who, he assured her, was “such a good creature that I am certain she would join me in urging you to make use of her closet.” She had borrowed a day dress of sturdy muslin. The dress itself was a simple round gown, but the fabric was sprigged throughout with small flowers. The peach sash seemed exactly calculated to please her. Vincent had taken the use of a clean shirt. His coat had been brushed and mended till it looked new, and hung waiting for him on the back of one of the chairs.
    As she undid the ties on her borrowed nightdress, she said, “Do you know that when we were in the captain’s quarters, I thought Signor Sanuto a coward for staying below. I am quite ashamed of that now.”
    “He is older and has a limp besides, probably attained in the war.” Vincent stood and winced, steadying himself against the bed. “Also, I believe that his was the better choice. I was hit so early that I do not even recall the pirates boarding.”
    “What? No tales of valour? No stirring epic with which to delight Lord Byron? With whom I am quite vexed, I might add. Did he not say he was looking forward to our visit?”
    “Yes, but where women are concerned, Byron is not entirely his own master.” Vincent scratched his chest and stretched again. He paused in the middle of his stretch