with a jealous streak. At first, she found it charming… until he turned violent.

She didn't know what to do and was embarrassed to go to her family since they'd

always told her he was no good.”

“So, what happened?” Christopher asked, digging a wad of cotton out of one

ear and sinking to a seat at his desk.

“Mrs. Turner and I took her to her father and explained the situation. I believe he had a talk with the young man, and her father's a butcher, so you can

imagine how that went. At any rate, the courtship is done, and the young man is

gone. Miss Jones seemed sad but relieved. I hope in time she will find someone

better.”

“That's good news,” Christopher replied, tucking his mask into the desk

drawer “Was her father angry with her?”

“Disappointed but not truly angry. No man wants to see his child hurt,”

Turner said.

What a shame that isn't true, Christopher thought. What must go wrong in a man's mind to blur the line between love and violence?

It took Christopher a moment to realize Colonel Turner had gone on talking.

He focused back on the conversation.

“The new dye is terrible. The samples faded before we could even get them onto the train. Some of the dyers said it looked weak in the vats, so let's not buy

that one again.”

“Agreed,” Christopher said. “I suppose it was foolish to hope such an

inexpensive product would have good quality.

“You get what you pay for,” Adrian added quietly, glancing up from his

desk.

“Very well,” Christopher said, pulling out an order form. “We'll go back to our usual vermillion dye. It's proven itself worth the money.”

“The dyers will be glad.”

“As will the customers,” Adrian added, holding up a stack of invoices, all of

them stamped with the name of Mme. Olivier's shop.

Colonel Turner nodded and replaced his mask, ducking out the door to return

to the work floor while Christopher applied himself to ordering a new vermillion

dye from the old supplier.

“Well, son, how are the travel plans going?” Adrian asked, interrupting

Christopher's musings.

“Quite well.” Christopher finished filling out an order form and set it aside to

dry. “It's taking longer than I expected, but we should be ready to leave a week

from Friday.”

He glanced at his father and found him grinning. “Good. Did you settle on Italy or France?”

“Italy.” Christopher dipped his pen and signed another document from his

stack. Oh good, the turn wheel for the broken loom should arrive before I leave.

Devin will not have a clue how to fix it. “Katerina's mother's family still lives there. We made contact with her grandfather, and he would like us to stay with

him.”

“How nice. Let's hope he's better than…” Adrian trailed off.

“Than her father?” Christopher shook his head. “Yes. I doubt he could be worse, and if it doesn't work out, Florence is a sizable city, and we can certainly

find a hotel. Still, we thought it best to start this way, at least.”

“No doubt you're right,” Adrian agreed, dipping his pen and signing a paper

from his own pile.

The naked girl, her bound hands affixed to a hook in the ceiling whimpered under the lash and then moaned in pleasure, the sound muffled by the lush red

velvet curtains on every wall.

Giovanni drew back his arm and whipped her again. It's so much more

difficult here, less satisfying. He had to control his strokes, not just give vent to his rage. The fact that she was enjoying it also reduced his relief tremendously.