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Fiore served him a blank stare. “Then we’d both be imprisoned in the dungeon.”
“Temporarily,” Enzo added with haste. “And you’d have been far safer there than on the dueling field with Nascimbene.”
Fiore disagreed. But that wasn’t important now. “The fault lies with Nascimbene and the fool who agreed to poison his blade.”
Enzo did not appear altogether convinced.
Before he could argue the point, Fiore cut in with another. “Is your sister the duke still at the princely palazzo?”
Enzo hesitated.
“Is she here?” Fiore hazarded.
Enzo admitted as much with a glum nod.
“May I speak with her?” Fiore asked.
Enzo blinked. “Why?”
“To thank her for freeing you.” This particular deed had considerably warmed Fiore’s opinion of her.
A queer smile tugged at the corner of Enzo’s mouth. “You thank Lucrezia for imprisoning me and Giovanna for freeing me?”
“Both necessary actions, in their own way.”
Enzo chuckled softly. “A brief visit shouldn’t hurt, if you’re feeling up to it. She’ll be delighted. She’s been asking after you.”
When the duke arrived a quarter-hour afterward, Vittorio bounded in alongside her. The hound’s excitement to see Fiore exceeded hers—but not by much.
“Oh, Fiore!” she cried as she took the chair by his bedside. “You poor thing! How do you feel?”
“Well enough, all things considered,” Fiore managed, unused to anyone looking after him so forcefully.
Vittorio, meanwhile, had obeyed Enzo’s gestured commands for gentle silence and limited himself to merely resting his head on the bed and nudging Fiore’s hand with his nose, his tail wagging furiously.
Fiore scratched the velvety fur between the hound’s ears. To Enzo, he asked, “Can he come up?”
Enzo patted the mattress down by the foot of the bed. Vittorio heaved himself onto it and curled up there, tail thrashing. His warm weight proved a welcome comfort over Fiore’s legs.
The duke continued on regardless. “When Enzo told me what that beastly man had done—poison! Of all the cowardly tricks. You certainly put him in his place. Well! We’re all very glad to see you awake again. Poor Enzo was frantic. But you’ve come through all right, and now you’re not to worry about a single thing. Just let Enzo and me look after it all.”
Fiore still didn’t know how to reply, other than, “Thank you, your grace.”
“Oh, there’s no need for all that,” she demurred. “Please, call me Giovanna.”
Fiore stared at her.
“After all,” she went on, “we’re practically family.”
And so saying, she took his hand and smiled.
Fiore knew not what to do with a non-romantically-entangled aristocrat who offered first-name familiarity. A glance over her shoulder at Enzo showed a faint rosy tint on his cheeks and an expression that pleaded for Fiore to humor her.
That alone sufficed to provoke a smile on Fiore’s lips. To the duke, he said, “As you wish, Giovanna.”
Giovanna beamed. “And Enzo tells me you may eat and drink whatever you like—”
“Save wine,” Fiore cut in. “Or coffee.”
