“It’s not a favor for our Signorina Cuoca.” My bodyguard sounded uncharacteristically somber. “It’s something for me.”

“Then I’ll gladly help.” I looked down at the lute, dubious. “I think I’ll save this for Laura when she’s older. Surely she’ll be more musical than I am. Of course, a turnip would be more musical than I am . . .”

“I need a letter. A letter in your writing, Madonna Giulia, just a few lines. I’ll tell you what to write.”

“A letter to whom?”

“No name.” Leonello did not look at me as he recited, in a toneless voice, the words he wanted me to write. I’d laid aside the lute to go fetch the fine scented paper on which I wrote all my letters, but his flat emotionless words arrested me before I had a chance to rise.

“Leonello—what is this? You know I can’t write that!”

“You don’t have to sign it.”

“What does that matter? His Holiness knows my writing. If he saw this, he really would explode!”

“I know.” My bodyguard looked at me. “But I am asking anyway.”

“What for?” I didn’t know whether to be more puzzled or horrified. “What can you possibly need this for?”

“You want the truth?” Leonello’s hazel eyes were unblinking, pinning mine. “I am looking for a man, Madonna Giulia. I have been looking for him since long before I came to this household. I have found him, and now I am baiting a trap for him. I need only a few words to do it, but they must be words in your hand.”

“Then this person is someone I know?” Puzzlement was definitely giving way to horror now.

“He knows of you.”

“Everyone in Rome knows of me!”

“You will be in no danger—”

“I’m in danger just by writing those words down!” You have no right to ask this of me, I nearly said—but I remembered the way my bodyguard had stepped between me and a French army, the way he had bled and screamed and nearly died for it. He has the right to ask anything of me, I thought, but this made me shiver. “If the wrong person saw this letter—”

“No one will. You have my word I will destroy your letter when it has served its purpose.”

“And what purpose is that?” I stared at him helplessly. “Holy Virgin, Leonello—”

“Madonna Giulia.” His voice cut me off, and his eyes were straight as a sword. “I have not asked for anything in all our acquaintance, and I would not ask this now if it were not . . .” He trailed off. I had never seen my bodyguard look so fierce, not even when he stepped between me and the French pike-men.

I hesitated. “If you could only tell me—”