He was still smiling that warm, kindly smile. “My dear, it is important to learn early that no woman can claim rights of any kind over a man. Women who do so end up unloved and lonely. The cleverer a woman is, the sooner she will come to terms with the nature of men.”

What stupid twaddle!

“Ah, but of course you are still very young, are you not? Much younger, it seems to me, than other girls of your own age. You have probably just fallen in love for the first time.”

“No,” I muttered.

Yes, though. Yes! Or at least it felt like the first time. It was so special. So necessary to me. So painful. So sweet.

The count laughed quietly. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I would be disappointed if it were otherwise.”

He had said the same thing at the soirée, when I burst into tears at the sound of Gideon’s violin playing.

“Fundamentally, it is very simple: a woman in love would not hesitate to die for the object of her affections,” said the count. “Would you give your life for Gideon?”

Well, I’d rather not. “I’ve never thought about it,” I said, confused.

The count sighed. “Regrettably—and thanks to the dubious motives of your mother in protecting you—you and Gideon have not yet spent very much time together, but I am already impressed to see how well he has played his part. Love positively shines out of your eyes. Love and jealousy!”

Played what part?

“Nothing is easier to calculate than the reactions of a woman in love. No one is more easily controlled than a woman whose actions are determined by her feelings for a man,” the count went on. “I explained that to Gideon the very first time we met. Of course I am a little sorry that he wasted so much energy on your cousin—what is her name again? Charlotte?”

Now I was staring at him. For some reason, I thought about Aunt Maddy’s vision of the ruby heart lying on a rocky ledge above a precipice. I’d have liked to put my hands over my ears to shut out the sound of his gentle voice.

“In that respect, at least, he is more sophisticated than I was at his age,” said the count. “And it must be admitted that nature has equipped him with many advantages! The body of a young Adonis! Such a handsome face, such charm, so many gifts! He hardly has to do anything to attract girls. The lion roars loud in F sharp, his mane is diamond bright, multiplicatio is his, his star the sun gives light.”

The truth hit me like a punch in the solar plexus. Everything Gideon had done, his touch, his gestures, his kisses, his loving words, they were all intended only to manipulate me. So that I’d fall in love with him, like Charlotte before me. So that we could be controlled more easily.

And the count was so right. Gideon hadn’t needed to do much. My stupid heart had gone straight to him of its own accord and fallen at his feet.

In my mind’s eye, I saw the lion go over to the ruby heart at the top of that precipice and sweep it aside with one blow of his paw. It fell in slow motion, hit the bottom of the ravine far below, and broke into a thousand tiny drops of blood.

“And have you heard him play the violin? If not, then I’ll make sure that you do—there’s nothing better than music for conquering a woman’s heart.” Lost in reverie, the count looked up at the ceiling. “That was another of Casanova’s tricks. Music and poetry.”

I was going to die. I felt absolutely sure of it. Where my heart had been just now, an icy cold was spreading. It seeped into my stomach, my legs, feet, arms and hands, and last of all, into my head. Like a trailer for a film, the events of the last few days ran through my mind, to the theme tune of “The Winner Takes It All.” From the first kiss in that confessional to his declaration of love just now in the cellar. All of it manipulation on the grand scale—and except for a few interruptions, when he’d probably been his real self, all perfectly carried out. And that damn violin had been the finishing touch.

Although I tried to remember it later, I had no clear idea of the rest of my conversation with the count, because once the chill took me over, nothing mattered anymore. The good thing was that he did most of the talking on his own. In his soft, pleasant voice, he told me about his childhood in Tuscany, the shame of his illegitimate birth, his difficulties in tracking down his real father, and how even in his youth he had studied the mysteries of the chronograph and the old prophesies. I really did try to listen, if only because I knew that I’d be expected to repeat every word he said to Lesley. But it was no good. My thoughts were just circling around my own stupidity. And I badly wanted to be alone so that I could cry my eyes out.

“Sir?” The grumpy secretary had knocked and opened the door. “The archbishop’s delegation is here.”

“Ah, good,” said the count, rising. He winked at me. “Politics in these times are still greatly influenced by the Church.”

I scrambled up too and made him a curtsey.

“I have so enjoyed talking to you,” said the count. “And now I look forward eagerly to our next meeting.”

I murmured some kind of agreement.

“Please give Gideon my regards and say I am sorry not to have seen him myself today.” The count took his stick and went to the door. “And if I may give you a piece of advice: a clever woman succeeds in concealing her jealousy. Otherwise we men always feel so sure of ourselves.…”

I heard that faint, soft laugh one last time, and then I was alone at last. But not for long, because a few minutes later, the morose secretary came in and said, “Follow me, please.”

I had sunk into my chair again, and I was waiting for the tears, with my eyes closed, but they wouldn’t come. Maybe it was better that way. In silence, I followed the secretary downstairs, and then we stood around for a while, also in silence (I kept thinking I was going to fall over and die), until the man looked at the clock on the wall. Frowning, he said, “He’s late.”

At that moment, the door opened and Gideon came in. My heart forgot that it was already broken and lying smashed at the bottom of a rocky ravine, and it beat quickly a couple of times. Wild anxiety took over from the chill in my body. Considering the disordered state of his clothes, his tousled, sweaty hair, his flushed cheeks, and the almost feverish gleam in his green eyes, I might possibly have put it all down to Lady Lavinia, but there was also a long tear in his sleeve, and the lace at his neck and cuffs was drenched in blood.

“You’re injured, sir!” cried the morose secretary in alarm, taking the words out of my mouth. (Okay, except for the sir.) “I’ll get someone to call a doctor.”

“No, don’t do that,” said Gideon, looking so self-confident that I could have hit him. “It’s not my blood. Or not all of it, anyway. Come on, Gwen. We must hurry. I was slightly held up.”

He took my hand and led me on. The secretary followed us down to the next flight of stairs, stammering a couple of times, “But what happened, sir? Shouldn’t we tell the count…?” Gideon said only that there was no time and he’d visit the count again as soon as possible to tell him what had happened.

“We’ll go on our own from here,” he said as we reached the foot of the stairs, where the two guards were standing with their swords drawn. “Give the count my regards! Qui nescit dissimulare nescit regnare.”

The two Guardians let us pass, and the secretary bowed a good-bye. Gideon took a torch out of its holder and made me go on. “Come along, we have another two minutes at the most!” He seemed to be in high spirits, if untidy. “Have you worked out yet what the password means?”

“No,” I said, surprised at myself to find that my heart, having grown back, refused to fall into the ravine again. It was acting as if everything was all right, and the hope that after all my heart might not be wrong was almost too much for me. “But I did find out something else. Whose blood is that on your sword?”

“He who does not know how to dissimulate does not know how to rule,” said Gideon, holding up the torch to show us the way around the next corner. “Louis XI.”

“Very suitable, I’m sure,” I said.

“To be honest, I haven’t the faintest idea of the name of the man who got his blood all over these clothes. Madame Rossini is going to throw a fit.” Gideon opened the laboratory door, and put the torch in a holder on the wall. By its flickering light, I saw a large table covered with strange apparatus, glass bottles, little flasks, and beakers filled with liquids and powders in many different colors. The walls were in shadow, but I could see that they were almost entirely covered by diagrams and writing, and just above the torch, a roughly sketched death’s-head with pentagrams instead of eyes was grinning at us.

“Come over here,” said Gideon, leading me around to the other side of the table. Then he let go of my hand at last. But only to put both his own hands on my waist and draw me close to him. “How did your conversation with the count go?”

“It was very … enlightening,” I said. The phantom heart in my breast was fluttering like a small bird, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. “The count explained how you … you and he share the same weird opinion that a woman is easier to control if she’s in love. It must have been really annoying to put in all that strenuous work on Charlotte and then have to begin again at the beginning with me, wasn’t it?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Gideon looked at me, frowning.

“You did it really well, all the same,” I went on. “The count thinks so, too, by the way. Of course you didn’t have a particularly difficult time with me.… My God, I’m so ashamed when I think how easy I made it for you.” I couldn’t look at him anymore.

“Gwyneth—” He interrupted himself. “Look, we’ll be traveling back any minute. Maybe we should continue this conversation later. In peace and quiet. I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re getting at.…”

“I only want to know whether it’s true,” I said. Of course it was true, but as everyone knows, hope dies hard. I was getting the familiar feeling that we were about to travel forward in time again. “Whether you really planned to make me fall in love with you—the same as you did with Charlotte before me.”

Gideon let go of me. “This isn’t the moment,” he said. “Gwyneth. We’ll talk about it when we get back. I promise you.”

“No! Now.” The knots tying up my throat broke apart, and my tears began to flow. “Just say yes or no—that’ll do. Did you plan it all?”

Gideon was rubbing his forehead. “Gwen—”

“Yes or no?” I sobbed.

“Yes,” said Gideon, “but—oh, please stop crying.”

And for the second time that day, my heart—only this time its second edition, the phantom heart that had grown out of sheer hope—fell over the precipice and smashed into thousands of tiny little pieces at the bottom of the ravine. “Okay, that’s really all I wanted to know. Thanks for being so honest.”