ay from
Simon. Now he was here, in Ugolini's mansion.

She stood before the door of Ugolini's audience room. The servant who
had come to fetch her was about to open it. Sophia's hands felt coated
with frost. Terrified of being with Simon again, she hated herself for
what she had done. To Daoud, to Simon. And to herself.

The servant opened the door. She stepped through quickly and he closed
it behind her.

And there was Simon de Gobignon, tall and handsome as ever, looking down
at her reproachfully. Tension made her heart beat so hard that she
wanted to put her hand on her chest to still it. Instead, she held her
hand out so that Simon could bend down from his towering height and kiss
it. She was so upset by his unexpected arrival that she did not
comprehend his murmured greeting.

Behind Simon's back Ugolini, sitting at a large writing desk, rolled his
eyes and stretched his mouth in a grimace at her. Simon was still bent
over her hand, so she was able to shake her head slightly in answer to
his unspoken question. Simon must have come here as a last resort,
because after yielding to him in secret she had tried to shut him out of
her life. She could hardly convey that to Ugolini now, even if she
wanted to.

"The Count de Gobignon has come to call on you, my dear," said Ugolini,
his smooth voice betraying none of his anxiety. "I have given my
permission, provided it is also your wish."

"Your Signory pays me too much honor," she said softly to Simon. Her
mind spun. How could she talk to Simon, when she did not understand
herself well enough to know what lies to tell him?

She wondered what Ugolini would think of her if he knew all of what had
happened between her and Simon when they met that day. Would he be
shocked? Contemptuous? Would he tell Daoud? All he knew of her meeting
with Simon in October was that Simon had again proposed marriage to her,
and she had rejected him.

She said, "I find it hard to believe that Your Signory even remembers
me. I do not believe we have seen each other since the reception for the
Tartar ambassadors at the Palazzo Monaldeschi last year. Is that not
so?"

An appreciative smile replaced the somber expression on Simon's face.
His eyes twinkled at her. Doubtless he thought they were conspirators
together.

_The poor, poor boy._

But she could not see that look warming his sharp-pointed features
without feeling it again--that surge of desire that had driven her to
give herse