“Sorry to inconvenience you.” I’d grimaced as Marco took hold of the other guards’ horses when they tramped off to guard La Bella under my orders, leaving the Duke of Gandia raging and spitting for his escort, Cesare making impatient noises about their mother expecting them, and Juan refusing to rely on Michelotto for his own safety, as that snake would likely put a knife in his back rather than guard it. Everybody had been scrambling to obey him, placate him, anything, and I’d taken a coin from my purse and shown it to Marco. “Can’t you act the squire for il Duche tonight?”

“Me?” Marco looked down at me from his vastly superior height. “I’m his maestro di cucina, not a squire. The guards only brought me along to finish out a zara game while they wait for him at Madonna Vannozza’s house.”

“So you’ve already left your kitchens behind for the night. It’s not as if you have work to go back to.” I looked at Marco, exasperated. “Look here, I’ll pay you thirty scudi if you volunteer as his escort. I want him gone before he troubles my mistress again. He tried to kiss her last time he came here, and I didn’t like the look in his eyes at all when she told him to get out.”

Marco, of course, had heard nothing beyond “thirty scudi.” He eyed the coins in my hand. “I’m not trained in the sword, you know . . .”

“Oh, all you cooks are lethal with your knives. Besides, don’t you owe the Duke of Gandia a favor? Something to do with a long-legged girl he wanted? Surely you can guard his back for an evening.”

Marco had flushed at that. “How did you hear about . . .”

“I hear everything. Apparently you haven’t heard I was the one who rescued your cousin from the ducal affections. Things got a trifle . . . rough.”

“I heard,” Marco muttered. “I’m glad you—that is—”

I hadn’t intended to raise the subject of Carmelina—it would be better if Marco Santini didn’t connect me to her, not in any possible way—but I was too curious to keep from asking. And he, I thought, was too dense to give much thought to my curiosity, or to anything outside his cards and dice. “Why did you do it, Maestro Santini?”

“The Duke plays zara at the guardhouse, sometimes.” Defensive. “I owed him money.”

“You could have asked Madonna Giulia for the coin.” I kept my own voice studiedly neutral. “I understand she has paid your debts before—or rather, Carmelina begged her for the money to pay your debts.”

“The Duke didn’t want money this time,” Marco mumbled. “After the masquerade, seeing her in that costume . . .”