Free 100. A Rose In Jeopardy by Barbara Cartland

masked balls he had read about.
    Maybe in Venice there were a great many beautiful masked women just like the voluptuous figurehead.
    He could dance with these masked beauties, hold them in his arms, perhaps even kiss one of them and he would never have to know who they were and never have to give them his heart, as he had done to Marian.
    He had felt afraid at first of the strange magnetism that seemed to be drawing him to the City that rose like a mirage out of the Venetian lagoon.
    But tonight he felt braver. Why should he not give in to this mysterious attraction?
    He left the silent La Maschera and headed back to the crowded bar of the inn where he was staying.
    The sailors who came regularly to drink rum at the inn had grown used to the frequent comings-and-goings of the mysterious black-cloaked man and they shouted out to him to come and join them.
    “Don’t be a stranger!” one man yelled. “Sit down, take the weight of your feet. I’ll stand you a pint of ale.”
    Lyndon squeezed himself onto the wooden bench next to the man.
    The ale, when it arrived, was dark in colour and tasted very strong, but he found that he quite liked it.
    And it felt very good to be in the company of these friendly sailors, who seemed to want nothing from him but that he should enjoy himself.
    He had drunk two pints of the ale and was feeling rather merry, when the brawny man leaned over and said,
    “You’re a good fellow, sir, there’s no doubt. But you’re a man of mystery! What brings you here and why do you stay among us? What is your business?”
    Lyndon felt suddenly reckless.
    “I am seeking a passage to Venice,” he replied.
    “Ah,” the man sighed. “Venice! The most beautiful City I ever saw.”
    Another sailor, a thin man sporting a gold earring, leaned across the table.
    “We’re bound for Venice. We sail on the evening tide in three days’ time,” he declared in a Scottish accent.
    Lyndon fumbled in one of the pockets of his cloak and pulled out a couple of the gold coins the Contessa had given him.
    “Here,” he said. “I’ll come with you, if I may!”
    The thin sailor’s eyes widened as he saw the gold and he scooped up the coins at once.
    The brawny man laughed.
    “Good job your cloak is black, sir. For it be coal they be a-carryin’!”
    Now Lyndon saw that there were smears of black dust on the face of the sailor with the gold earring, but he did not mind having to share the voyage with such a cargo.
    Now he had made the decision, his heart felt light and his veins sang with anticipation.
    “It be The Grace Darling ,” the brawny man said. “You’ll find her down at the end of the wharf.”
    He turned to the other man.
    “Now, Jock! Don’t you go runnin’ off with that gold! Mind you go and tell the Captain you’ll be carryin’ a passenger. And that he’s paid you a more than fair price for the voyage.”
    The sailor grinned and reached across the table and shook Lyndon’s hand.
    “Come by The Grace Darling tomorrow and speak to the Captain yourself,” he suggested. “He’ll be right glad to take you.”
    And Lyndon, his head swimming with ale and with the cloudy vision of Venice rising up out of the water, got up from the table and stumbled up the stairs to his room.
    He did not know how he was going to get through the next three days, as he simply could not wait to be on his way.
    *
    Algernon Merriman had put on weight in the last week, Rosella thought, as the buttons on his waistcoat were straining to burst open.
    But he seemed rather more sprightly than usual, as he paced up and down, rubbing his plump hands together.
    “Well, well, my little angel,” he called, his small eyes gleaming. “This is a very happy day!”
    “Good afternoon, sir,” Rosella said politely. “I am glad you are feeling so cheerful.”
    For a moment she wondered if he had won some money at cards or had placed a lucky bet.
    Algernon nodded eagerly.
    “Oh yes. I have seldom felt more joyful than I did