She guided me through the dining room, music hall, reading salon (her library is an impressive collection of bound books in Italian and Latin) and inquired after my preferences. I said, dark hair over light; witty rather than serious; large eyes, sparkling, the color of dark peat found along riverbanks. As Imperia pointed out suggestions, I batted back excuses: Hair too dark, that one too light, lips too pink, what kind of lady has such short fingers? I eventually spotted Margherita Luti through a half-open door, bare feet dangling in a large, steaming bath. She was engaged alongside several other women, entertaining a man. I jerked my chin. “She’s a strong cup.”

“From which someone else is already drinking,” Imperia replied. “Perhaps I can interest you in this spicy red over here.”

I waited long enough to avoid suspicion before extricating myself from signora’s clutch: “I’m in need of a privy.” I doubled back to that door. Margherita’s back was to me—I couldn’t see her face—but I did have a full view of the man at the center of that bouquet. He was lying along the rim of the bath and wearing a yellow dress he’d apparently borrowed from one of the courtesans; it was too small so didn’t tie up all the way, showing off his chest hair. It had ruffles around the collar, full sleeves, and a long flowing skirt. I’d never seen such a man before, although I’d read about them, sì certo. (I don’t judge; if I had an inclination to don ladies’ clothing, I’d try it, too, if for no other reason than to understand women a bit better.) But it wasn’t the dress that shocked me; it was his face, for I recognized him.

That was Cardinal Alidosi, the man who had spoken against me in the papal apartments. Did the pope know that his trusted adviser spent his nights, dressed in women’s clothing, in that notorious villa?

Beh, I didn’t have time to worry about such things because that’s when Margherita Luti spotted me, slipped across the room, and grabbed the door as if to close it on me. I clasped my hands behind my back to resist my instinct to hold that door open; my mother always taught me that if a woman wants to slam the door on your nose, you must let her. But Margherita did not slam the door on me; instead, she leaned her hip into the doorway. “While I’m happy to see you, puppy, I’m already engaged for the evening.”

“Ah, then, since I’ve sworn on every star in the sky to spend my days granting your every wish, I shall leave you—as is your command—despite my own desires.” I took my time offering a deep bow.