the

He chuckled

grumbled. “But . . .”
Diego smiled. “He’s a witch-smeller, you know. It’s quite a rare talent. But that’s really why he kept insisting on kissing your hand at the Doge’s palace.”
Francesca’s eyes were quite dry, now. She peered at Pierre intently. “And?”
The Savoyard looked away. “You should still give it up,” he insisted. “But . . . there’s nothing here in the way of that stench coming from Casa Brunelli and the Imperial embassy.”
“Enough, Pierre,” commanded Eneko. To Francesca: “I will keep our end of the bargain, Francesca. Be sure of it. Whatever we discover will be passed along to you.” Slyly: “This will be quite an adventure, you know?”

After she closed the door behind them, Francesca leaned her forehead against the ornately carved wood. She could still feel the slight moisture from the priest’s kiss. And was not really surprised, when she thought about it, that Eneko Lopez did not have dry lips. Whatever his vows—and Francesca was certain he kept them—she didn’t doubt for a moment that the Basque was also the most passionate man she’d ever met.
“Quite an adventure,” she murmured. “Idiot woman!”
But when she pushed herself away from the door, she was smiling. And did not even try to deny, to herself, that she felt as if she’d shed years as well as sins.
The effect translated immediately into action. Francesca had been trying to decide for days . . .
She went directly to her little writing table and penned a note. Quickly, for all the impeccable handwriting. Then, sealed it with wax and went back to the door.
Her bodyguard was standing in front of her, not more than an instant after she opened the door. Francesca had no idea where he’d come from. Nor did she care—that was what he was being paid for, after all.
“Have this taken to Casa Montescue, Louis. No—better yet, take it yourself. I’ll be safe enough here tonight and I want to be certain it goes directly to the person t