Tula asked, coming out of the front parlor. She frowned at him, green eyes troubled. "Something's wrong."
He shook his head. "I'm only a little scattered. I have to go out and I am not sure when I will be back. Take food and drink upstairs in an hour or so. I promise he will be no further trouble."
Tula pursed her lips, but nodded. "Fine," she said, "but one more threat like that and I'll wallop him."
"Yes, wallop a Duke," Celeste dryly. "Tell me how that goes for you."
"What!" Tula exclaimed, and then clapped a hand over her mouth. She glared at him and hissed, "I didn't realize he was the Duke he was accusing us of trying to off. Is he really? That Duke?"
"Take care of him," Celeste said, and then turned away hastily, not liking the sudden knowing look that crossed her face. "I will probably not be back before tomorrow morning." He left, not giving her a chance to reply, as his mind raced with thoughts of what he needed to do, who he needed to see.
He went first to the palace, but it took only a few minutes of listening in the right places to realize that the murder had not happened there. Slipping away, he tried to remember where Lazzaro's house was located. He ran his tongue over his lips at the thought, but it was not a detail he had ever thought he would need to know. The Duke of Nascimbeni was not the sort of man he had ever imagined—
Nascimbeni, of course. The old Wine Quarter, now purely residential. Lazzaro had a manor house there, right up against a small, private inlet. It had once been a wine warehouse, the private inlet letting in the boats that brought wine from vineyards up and down the coast.
Moving quickly through the streets, Celeste made his way to the Lazzaro's home. When he reached it, a rather heavily-muscled servant was manning the door. "His grace is not receiving guests."
"Obviously not, when he is in my bed on the far side of the city," Celeste replied, and displayed the signet ring with which he had foolishly refused to part. "I am here in regards to your recent troubles."
"Shove off," the man said. "No fancy ring gets by me, poppet. You'll have to do better."
Celeste smiled, smooth and cool. "Very well. Tell his Highness that Celeste has arrived."
The man narrowed his eyes, clearly displeased that Celeste knew of Benito's presence. "Wait here," he ordered, and then vanished inside. He reappeared only a couple of minutes later and said, "Come on, then." Turning around, he led the way through the enormous, old, and incredibly beautiful house. The stonework, the wood, the paintings, the sculptures…Celeste had never before envied another man's fate, or even his possessions, but he really would not mind the Bellerosa piece hanging in Lazzaro's foyer.
Shaking his head at himself, Celeste focused on the matter at hand and braced himself for whatever was to come as he entered the study to which the steward had led him. Prince Benito smiled tiredly as he saw Celeste. He sat at what must be Lazzaro's desk, drinking a glass of brandy. "Ah, Crown Jewel, I did wonder if it was you he raced off to see. How is he?"
"Asleep," Celeste said. "He was quite distraught."
"Asleep?" Benito echoed, clearly surprised. "How in the names of all the gods did you manage that?"
"The same way I exhaust all men who come to see me," Celeste replied.
Benito's expression changed from surprise to knowing speculation, and Celeste liked it as much on Benito's face as he had on Tula's. "Yet most men pay you and I sense Lazo did not, and that is not the Crown Jewel I know."
Celeste said nothing, for what was there to say? It was true. Instead, he asked, "Do you know the poison that killed … I am sorry, I do not believe Lazzaro ever gave the man's name, or I did not properly note it."
"Santino," Benito sad, "and by some miracle, he is still alive. Only barely, mind you; he could still die. If he survives until tomorrow morning, he should recover fully."
Relief flooded through Celeste. "That makes good hearing,
He shook his head. "I'm only a little scattered. I have to go out and I am not sure when I will be back. Take food and drink upstairs in an hour or so. I promise he will be no further trouble."
Tula pursed her lips, but nodded. "Fine," she said, "but one more threat like that and I'll wallop him."
"Yes, wallop a Duke," Celeste dryly. "Tell me how that goes for you."
"What!" Tula exclaimed, and then clapped a hand over her mouth. She glared at him and hissed, "I didn't realize he was the Duke he was accusing us of trying to off. Is he really? That Duke?"
"Take care of him," Celeste said, and then turned away hastily, not liking the sudden knowing look that crossed her face. "I will probably not be back before tomorrow morning." He left, not giving her a chance to reply, as his mind raced with thoughts of what he needed to do, who he needed to see.
He went first to the palace, but it took only a few minutes of listening in the right places to realize that the murder had not happened there. Slipping away, he tried to remember where Lazzaro's house was located. He ran his tongue over his lips at the thought, but it was not a detail he had ever thought he would need to know. The Duke of Nascimbeni was not the sort of man he had ever imagined—
Nascimbeni, of course. The old Wine Quarter, now purely residential. Lazzaro had a manor house there, right up against a small, private inlet. It had once been a wine warehouse, the private inlet letting in the boats that brought wine from vineyards up and down the coast.
Moving quickly through the streets, Celeste made his way to the Lazzaro's home. When he reached it, a rather heavily-muscled servant was manning the door. "His grace is not receiving guests."
"Obviously not, when he is in my bed on the far side of the city," Celeste replied, and displayed the signet ring with which he had foolishly refused to part. "I am here in regards to your recent troubles."
"Shove off," the man said. "No fancy ring gets by me, poppet. You'll have to do better."
Celeste smiled, smooth and cool. "Very well. Tell his Highness that Celeste has arrived."
The man narrowed his eyes, clearly displeased that Celeste knew of Benito's presence. "Wait here," he ordered, and then vanished inside. He reappeared only a couple of minutes later and said, "Come on, then." Turning around, he led the way through the enormous, old, and incredibly beautiful house. The stonework, the wood, the paintings, the sculptures…Celeste had never before envied another man's fate, or even his possessions, but he really would not mind the Bellerosa piece hanging in Lazzaro's foyer.
Shaking his head at himself, Celeste focused on the matter at hand and braced himself for whatever was to come as he entered the study to which the steward had led him. Prince Benito smiled tiredly as he saw Celeste. He sat at what must be Lazzaro's desk, drinking a glass of brandy. "Ah, Crown Jewel, I did wonder if it was you he raced off to see. How is he?"
"Asleep," Celeste said. "He was quite distraught."
"Asleep?" Benito echoed, clearly surprised. "How in the names of all the gods did you manage that?"
"The same way I exhaust all men who come to see me," Celeste replied.
Benito's expression changed from surprise to knowing speculation, and Celeste liked it as much on Benito's face as he had on Tula's. "Yet most men pay you and I sense Lazo did not, and that is not the Crown Jewel I know."
Celeste said nothing, for what was there to say? It was true. Instead, he asked, "Do you know the poison that killed … I am sorry, I do not believe Lazzaro ever gave the man's name, or I did not properly note it."
"Santino," Benito sad, "and by some miracle, he is still alive. Only barely, mind you; he could still die. If he survives until tomorrow morning, he should recover fully."
Relief flooded through Celeste. "That makes good hearing,
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