April 1792

The cello was safely stored, having been returned to her room at the inn. At times, Elizabeth treated that instrument with more care than she did herself. That night, though, was a departure. Elizabeth felt like dressing up. Whatever she was meeting Casimiro for, it was not a date, but more an impetus for spontaneous happenings. But she could still dress up for it.

Especially if she chose to tease. Elizabeth’s gowns were not expensive, but they were fine, having been made by experts and tailored for her as if she was a noblewoman. She was not, but she had worked for many as an entertainer, which had given her enough access to the trappings of a woman of status.

She chose a lightweight gown that was easy to move in and cool enough for the warming days. The neckline stopped just short of revealing much, but she added a pendant that drew the gaze downward. Her hair and other accoutrements thus settled, she made her way to the appointed meeting place.

Others were gathering on the waterfront. Many of them were digging through a large crate. From that crate came all manner of curious things. Gourds, clapsticks, bells, castanets, and more; but what they had in common was that they made sounds. Men and women from all sorts of cultures—from the British Isles to the Orient, and from Scandinavia to the north of Africa—milled about, and some held more traditional instruments. Fiddles and violins were in evidence, plus flutes, a horn, and even a lyre.

“Where is your big violin, Elisabetta?” a woman asked as she sounded out her bodhrán. She was not Venetian, but she had followed the habit of the Venetians around them in the pronunciation of Elizabeth’s name.

“It was too heavy today,” Elizabeth answered, not bothering to correct the woman on what a cello was. “But I’ll join you later.”

After greeting some of the others, Elizabeth wandered nearer to the waterfront, still near enough to hear as a few players began to improvise a tune, but too far for them to hear her or observe her much. The sun was beginning to set in the west, casting the promenade and the water in a soft glow.

By the time Casimiro arrived, the impromptu band was starting to find its groove, and a lively tune was in progress. “Signor Adimiri,” she said with a bright, sly smile. “Your company is most welcome.”

She offered him her hand, and with a glance toward the musicians, she smirked and asked, “Does dance happen to be among your talents? Or do you fear you might not be able to keep up with an old woman like me?”

Casimiro had been all too eager to agree to this evening's meeting. Elizabeth Harper was an intriguing woman -- older than him, yes, but with a feisty young spirit that belied her age even more than her youthful face. He'd been enraptured. Not that it was hard to do. A pretty woman was an easy way to distract him, and he couldn't resist their siren song. That she had a fun personality only made her all the more appealing. And so he'd eagerly looked forward to the evening's rendezvous. He'd even bathed and, at the teasing insistence of his mother (and the other ladies of the brothel) had dressed to impress.

His hair was left down, as he believed it added to his mysterious nature, but he'd shined his boots, as well as donning a pair of new trousers in black and a white shirt, with a blue coat that brought out the color of his eyes capping it all. Arriving at the waterfront, it didn't take long for a bit of questioning to direct him to where the enchanting cellist stood vigil. He cast a curious look toward the assemblage of musicians, wondering how in the world he didn't know about this. But the moment his eyes landed upon Elizabeth, that question was forgotten in favor of giving her a dazzling grin.

"Please, you must call me Casimiro, if my company is such a pleasure."

To be completely honest, he absolutely adored the way she'd said his name earlier. Something about the way she pronounced it, rolling the syllables with just that hint of a foreigner's accent, was utterly delicious. When she offered her hand, he took it carefully in his own callused digits, and bent over to press a kiss to the backs of her knuckles, looking up at her past the tumbled wildness of his hair. She was so alluring, and he wondered if he'd be lucky enough to see the body that dress hinted at without the impeding barrier of fabric. Her question caused him to laugh softly as he straightened, and he stepped boldly closer to her as he adjusted the way he held her hand.

"Bella, a man of my profession has to be light on his feet. I assure you, my dancing won't disappoint. Allow me to demonstrate, si?"

Confidence and daring combined as he placed his other hand on the curve of her waist, and spun them closer to the collection of musicians with a few quick, sure steps that gave proof to his statement. He came to a stop within a few feet of the cluster of instrument-bearing folks, and gently urged the lovely woman in his grasp into a graceful arch, bent backward over his arm just enough to successfully accomplish the dramatic dip. Leaning over her upper body, Cas grinned and waggled his brows at her.

"See? I wouldn't lie to you. Besides, you know what they say about men who can dance, and I want you to be able to attest the truth of it later. For science, of course."

He winked at her, the crooked curve of his lips painted with roguish mirth. Ahh, this was going to be such a fun evening!

As Casimiro greeted her, his charm still as strong as ever, Elizabeth remarked to herself how much she had looked forward to this evening. His laughter was a welcome tonic, instantly cheering her. She offered an exaggerated smile, even batting her eyelashes, as he kissed her knuckles. “Well, then, if I call you Casimiro, then you should call me Elizabeth.”

She teased him about being able to keep up with her, and he turned that around by immediately leading her into a dance. It took her by surprise a bit, not because she had expected him to truly be a bad dancer, but just the suddenness of how quickly he swept her off her feet, almost literally. But she fell into step quickly; the unofficial dance lessons she had absorbed at various times in her life jumped into usefulness. Who knew that being a musician and watching as other people danced to your music could be so instructive?

When he dipped her, though, the full effect of his leaning into her had almost a dizzying effect, in the best of ways. She smiled broadly, a sly smile with lightly fluttering eyelashes, which she hoped came off as alluring.

“Do they say something in particular about men who can dance?” The way her voice dropped to lower tones made it clear that she knew exactly what he was not-so-subtly getting at. As she stood straight and smoothed her skirts, she drew her finger along his jaw for a moment, then crooked her finger in a gesture to follow her. Just off the side of the musicians, one of the market’s merchants had some bottles of wine, a keg of beer, and other such refreshments for the unlikely ensemble’s enjoyment.

“Signor Ignacio! A wine, please!” she called to the merchant, who grinned back with all cheer for a regular customer.

“Signora Elisabetta! My finest for you and your guest!” The bottle was uncorked and handed to Elizabeth, and she turned back to Casimiro with a smile.

“Dancing quite whets the thirst, does it not?” she said, possibly referring to the wine, before taking a drink from the bottle and offering it to Casimiro.

"Very well.. Elizabeth."

He sampled her name as though it were a fine delicacy, rolling it around on his tongue, his accent flavoring the syllables with an exotic lilt that somehow made the appellation sound almost.. naughty. Much as he was enjoying his body pressed to hers while she was bent into such a graceful position, he readily conceded to her need to straighten, and made sure to support her properly as she regained a fully upright pose. Even if he was monumentally distracted by the blatantly suggestive tone of her voice, which made his desire stir.. though not nearly as much as the feel of her fingertip against his jaw.

It was almost like she had a leash attached to him, with how eagerly he followed that beckoning finger, although he was sorely tempted to nip at the delicate digit before it was out of reach. Casimiro had to forcefully remind himself to be at least somewhat of a gentleman. Their playful banter seemed the best way to woo sweet Elizabeth Harper, and if not being too forcefully blatant with his seduction was the way to get in between her thighs, then that's the way he'd bloody well do it.

He was already pondering what to do next to further his goal when the bottle of wine was acquired, and he watched the way her lips formed to the mouth of the bottle with a touch of envy, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he clenched it. A man could go mad picturing those lips performing all sorts of depraved acts, and Cas wasn't exactly a saint... But he shook aside those thoughts and arched a brow as he accepted the proffered bottle, unable to help but grin at her.

"How right you are. I find myself quite thirsty already."

The way his eyes failed to leave hers as he took a swallow of the wine made it clear he definitely wasn't talking about a yearning for libations. Since it seemed his cheeky tendencies pleased her, when he lowered the bottle again, he offered a crooked smile.

"You know, if this is a subtle hint that plying you with spirits is the best way to get a kiss from you, I feel I should admit.. I'm absolutely not above such measures. In truth, I'm quite dastardly. No methods are too wicked to win the favor of a beautiful woman."

His tone made it obvious he was just joking. At least, to a degree. There were many things Casimiro would do to seduce a woman, but even he had standards of honor. They were just.. not shining examples of the concept.