CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 46

The glare of torches blinded me.

I closed my eyes, turned my head away, gave myself a moment to adjust, and turned back toward the torches.

You have never heard a group of men so silent. My father, Lord Marcketti, Prince Escalus's men, Dion, Marcellus, and Holofernes, not to mention a half dozen of the most influential men of Verona. And my nurse.

They all stared as if mesmerized by the scene.

I faced the figure at the back of the opening, the man I'd kicked aside, and pointed at him. At Prince Escalus, who stood crumpled, holding his male parts as if I'd ruined his chances for progeny. As I hoped I had.

Without thought or sense, I ranted, "He touched my leg. I recognized his touch. He strapped that dagger on my ankle and that was fine. Not really, but his intentions were good. I think. But this! I knew it was him. How did he think I'd be fooled? His hand—" I stopped talking. Because it occurred to me the silence remained profound. I looked to the back of the crowd of men, met Nurse's eyes, and she stared, mouth open, as if she couldn't believe her eyes.

At that moment, I saw myself as these men saw me. Stretched out on a bench like a side of Nonna's porchetta, fully dressed, yes, but lamenting that a man had touched my leg . . . and complaining that I remembered his touch, that it had happened before.

Verdict: virtue destroyed, doomed to a nunnery as a penitent whore.

Because a man had touched my leg.

Touched my leg twice.

Where is the justice in that?

At that moment, Prince Escalus recovered himself. He took a strained breath, straightened, and strode around the bench toward my father and his sword, which was now pointed at his throat.

Cut him open!

I didn't say that. I really really wanted to, but I'd said enough. Instead, I eased myself into a seated position and clutched the bench hard in my hands. The cool marble should have melted, so enraged was I, but the world remained as it had been. Stone was stone, men were men—and I was the world's worst fool.

Prince Escalus, the weasel, knelt before my father and with hands outstretched in supplication, said, "Lord Romeo, your daughter Rosaline is the fairest maiden in Verona. Her virtue remains intact, and what appears to be a scandal is none of her making. The chance to hold her in my arms was too much temptation for your prince—"

Yeah, make sure you point out you're the prince. That'll make it all better.

"—and her compliance is the result of trickeries on my part. Therefore I beg you grant me the hand of Fair Rosaline of the Montagues, to take to wed so that we may live happily as man and wife for all our days."

"Um, sure." Papà appeared to be winded by all these events.

I understood how he felt.

Yet one question pounded at my mind: Where is Lysander? Men were exchanging glances, at one another, at me, at Nurse, whose foolproof plan had resulted in . . . in . . . this?

Papà picked up on the very thread that interested me. "Trickeries on your part?" His sword remained pointed at Prince Escalus's throat. "What trickeries?"

Silently I asked again: Where is Lysander?

No, I didn't say that out loud, either. I had regained some modicum of sense.

Prince Escalus said, "Fair Rosaline is but a simple maiden who knows not how desperate a man's desires may make him."

That was no answer, which I now realized was a good thing. Because if I was guessing, Prince Escalus or one of his men had been the shadow Nurse had glimpsed in the garden while she laid out her brilliant plan for Lysander and I, and admitting that would do nothing to help my badly damaged reputation.

Also . . . a simple maiden? Simple as in not too clever? Did he think I had no wit stirring?

With one fingertip, Prince Escalus cautiously pushed the tip of Papà's sword aside. "Let us go into your warm and welcoming home, and there drink a toast to the union of two of Verona's greatest houses, the Montagues and the Leonardis. And dare I hope, to the successful agreement between the Montagues and the noble house of Marcketti?"

Papà allowed Prince Escalus the motion, and reluctantly sheathed his sword. "Gentlemen, I beg you, do go back to the dining hall. I'll escort my daughter and her nurse to her quarters to ensue no more trickeries occur."

I recognized his expression. He was no longer dumbfounded; he was calculating how best to get out of this situation with the least damage to the Montagues. I was, I thought, in for a scolding. Which I expected when I enthusiastically agreed to this escapade, but for Lysander's sake, I would have gladly borne it. I now not so gladly allowed Nurse to help me into my cloak, and walked behind my father as he strode toward our family's private entrance. He led me into the atrium, ablaze with torches, and to the base of the stairs that led to my bedroom, and waited for me there. When I had taken the first step, he caught my hand. I stopped and faced him.

"Daughter, I didn't realize you'd had the good sense to catch the Prince of Verona." I didn't know if humor or bemusement infused his tone.

"I didn't. He caught me!" I was still so angry that I knew I hadn't taken in the significance of the events. I couldn't have Lysander. I would have Prince Escalus. In one gamble that had been assured to pay off, I had lost all: independence, home, and dare I say it?

Virginity.

I couldn't comprehend Prince Escalus.

I could not believe this.

"I didn't realize the podestà would have the sense, either." Papà stood, thinking deeply, if the crease between his brows was any indication. "This night isn't over for you yet. Nurse, wrap her up in a blanket, give her something warm to drink, and keep her here in the atrium for a little while longer." He looked into my eyes. "You won't sleep now, anyway. Stay and wait."

He was gone, walking toward the dining hall, where men's voices rose and fell and more and more wine-driven cheer drove the sounds.

He was right. I wouldn't sleep, not until the fire of fury had died and I could forget, at least for a moment, that whole passionate, humiliating, humbling ordeal.

Nurse brought a blanket, put it around my hunched shoulders. The torches burned, the stars burned, and I burned. It was one big damned flaming circle of unity.

She placed a chair beside the table where I'd eaten with Mamma. "Sit," she urged.

"I can't." I was too stiff with outrage.

"I didn't betray you." Nurse stood behind me and smoothed my hair. "I thought it was Lysander. Not Prince Escalus. I knew that night after he and Princess Isabella dined with us, he'd found you on the terrace, but you said it was to deliver the dagger, not to—"

I shot her a glance that should have stabbed her through the heart.

Indeed, she blanched. She knelt, took my hands. "My lady, I did not, I did not betray you."

"Yet I think tonight you should let me sit alone and wait for . . . whatever comes next. For I am . . . angry with everyone, even you, and I know most unfairly, yet . . . I am."

She bent her head over my hands. I felt her hot tears drop onto my skin. I didn't care. My heart was broken, my gut burned, and I was cold to the bone. "Get up," I said.

Still weeping, she did, and walked toward the stairs. "I'll send Tommaso with a tincture of camomilla."

"I don't like camomilla." Even if I did, I'd choke on it.

"You don't have to drink it," she said, "but will you sleep without it?"

"If you give me enough wine—Oh, fine. Send the camomilla." My chest heaved as I tried to get enough breath to both speak and survive this ordeal. "Nurse!"

"Lady Rosie?" She sounded hopeful that I'd called her back.

Yet I did still wish to be alone until . . . Well, until I wasn't. "Thank you for not saying it could have been worse, that the prince kindly saved my reputation and wishes to marry me. It's the truth, but I don't know if I could have borne to hear you say it."

"I wouldn't. Yes, it's the truth, and yes, in their dishonor, men have been praising themselves in such ways since the Garden of Eden. Nevertheless, my lady, I weep for you." She glanced behind me and disappeared toward the kitchen.

And . . . enter stage left.

Prince Escalus.

Again.