A Chance Encounter (St. John Series Book 10)

by Lora Thomas

  The pair slashed and frolicked in the fountain like a couple of children. Oliver didn’t mind. Martin and Geneva had traveled to visit a friend, leaving Oliver to his own devices. He had wandered the city and was about to return to Martin’s home when he spotted the beautiful basket lady sitting upon the ledge to the fountain. She looked so lonely and in such despair. He hated to see her so brokenhearted and decided to see if he could cheer her up, but he never intended to become soaked to the bone. Yet that is precisely what had happened.

  “You two! Get out of there!” a man yelled from the far side of the fountain.

  “Uh, oh,” Madelena said, turning to face Oliver. “We’re about to get arrested.”

  Oliver looked around and spotted the watchman on the far side of the fountain. “Then we better get out of here.” He took her hand and dragged her the opposite direction of the yelling man.

  “Get back here!” the man yelled again.

  Oliver kept hold of Madelena’s hand as they raced across the Piazza. Both were laughing like children.

  “Do you know where you are going?” Madelena asked.

  Oliver shook his head. “No.”

  “Follow me.” Madelena took the lead. The pair weaved through the city until the man was no longer chasing them. They found themselves in a small alley between the bakery and a silversmith. Madelena pressed her back against the wall and panted.

  “I think we lost him,” Oliver said, looking around. He looked back at Madelena, and they both laughed.

  “I have never done anything so daring. Have you?”

  A crooked smile came to him. “All the time.”

  “I should have figured. You are the mythical creature.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You are Atë—in the male version.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Atë is the Roman goddess of mischief and folly.”

  “Egad! I hope I’m not a goddess.”

  She laughed. “I do, too.”

  Oliver stared deeply into her eyes. Their darkness mesmerized him. “I can assure you I am no goddess for I enjoy the company of females too much.”

  “So, you are a philander.”

  “Not nearly the way my brothers are.”

  “Older?”

  “I have several older brothers.”

  “Let me guess. You are the youngest. That is why you have a mischievous nature to you. Your parents were preoccupied making certain your older brothers behaved and did not give you the attention you deserved.”

  “Close. I am not the youngest. I have a younger twin brother and sister.”

  “You are a twin?” Madelena was surprised. What would be the probability that she would find another twin. And not just any twin, but the oldest, like her. Sadness flashed across her face.

  “I am. And do not be sad, Maddie.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sad.”

  “You appear so.”

  He watched a bead of water travel from her damp locks, down her cheek, and over her neck. Closing his eyes, he tried to think of anything. Anything other than where the bead of water was going. When he opened his eyes, it was to find her gaze locked on to him. He could not help himself. His hand found her cheek as he stepped closer. She looked up at him, her hand coming to his.

  “No one as beautiful as you should ever be sad. You should only have happiness in your life.” He leaned close and whispered against her lips. “And pleasure.”

  His mouth found hers in a tender kiss. She leaned into him and accepted the affections without remorse.

  His hands found her waist and pulled her in closer. Her taste was intoxicating. Addicting. He discovered that he did not want to break the kiss. As his lips explored hers, it was as if they were the only two people in the world. Nothing else mattered but continuing this intimate encounter.

  Madelena was surprised by the kiss but did not back away. Something deep inside her wanted to feel his lips upon hers. The heat of his body pressed to hers caused strange sensations to flow through her body, and she was not entirely certain what they were. She wanted them to continue but knew that she had to end them. Placing her hand upon his chest, she pushed him away.

  Oliver did not fight her shove. He knew he needed to stop. If they kept this up, then it would lead somewhere else, and an alleyway between two shops was not the ideal location.

  “I should go now,” Madelena said.

  Oliver nodded. “Will I see you again, Maddie?”

  She looked into his eyes. “Perhaps. It is Carnival. You might see me. Then again, you might not. You never know who is behind the masks.” With that, she slipped away.

  Oliver placed his back against the wall and looked upward, trying to control the heat in his loins. If the women of Rome had this control over his body before the festivities, then Carnival was going to be the death of him.

  Pushing off from the wall, he watched Maddie as she left, a smile pulling his lips as he watched her hips sway tantalizingly. Was she doing that on purpose? Doubtful—it was her natural way. He had noticed it yesterday at the docks. This woman was unlike any others he had met.

  Oliver turned his gaze from the tantalizing sway of Maddie’s hips and left the security of the alley. As he walked, he could feel the water in his shoes and smiled. His mother, Elizabeth, would have swooned if she had witnessed his behavior earlier. Gentlemen were not to frolic through fountains like children. They were to behave accordingly. Yet, Elizabeth was known to have her spirited side as well. In her youth, she traveled to the Caribbean, without a proper chaperone, to search for her intended, Robert, for the sole purpose of ending their engagement. Yet, fate was fickle. Elizabeth returned to England, unwed and pregnant. That was one of the many scandals attached to the St. John name. The St. Johns thrived on scandal. Loved it, in fact. Oliver’s swim in the fountain was on the calm side, yet scandalous still the same.

  He weaved his way through the streets of Rome until he found Martin’s home. Approaching the front of the home, he looked down at his attire. He was still wet. It would be rude of him to enter through the front door and ruin Geneva’s floor. Rounding the house, he spotted the beech log in the back. It was sitting on the bank of a small pond. The brown grass surrounding the wood was tall but not so tall as to block the sight. Oliver could see several hand tools lying upon the ground around the trunk. Looking down at his still wet clothing, he looked back to the wood. His clothing needed to dry. Since it was a warm day and since his body was still reeling from the effects of Maddie…well, what better outlet—other than finding Maddie again.

  He approached the log and studied Martin’s progress. Obvious indentions were noted where Martin had tried to chip away at the hardwood with a hatchet. Running his fingers over the wood, Oliver drew his brow together. Kneeling down, he observed the angle of the log. Reaching to the right, he picked up the hatchet and stood. He brought the instrument down and smiled when the metal lodged into the wood. Removing his coat, he tossed it to the ground and rolled up the sleeves of his damp, white tunic. Grabbing the handle of the hatchet again, he pulled it loose and brought it down in the center of the log. Chips of wood flew from the beech log. Over and over, Oliver brought down the hatchet in the center of the log, carving away the wood. Moisture dotted his forehead as he worked. Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, he removed the navy tapestry print vest he wore, loosened the laces on his tunic and removed the suspenders from his shoulders. As he worked, he became aware of the eyes upon him.

  “Sandra, would you like another cup of tea?” Nichole Cancio asked.

  “Yes, Nichole, I believe I would,” Sandra said, holding her cup out to her friend. Sandra looked around. “I do say, I believe this home is even more beautiful than your last. And I believe your gardens are twice the size of any in this area.”

  A pleased smile pulled Nichole’s thin lips. “Thank you. Lucio strives for perfection. Each home he has purchased had some flaw, but he has yet to find an issue with this home. And I truly hop
e he never does. I adore this home and love the view of the pond from this location. Don’t you?”

  “It is lovely,” Sandra agreed, glancing towards the water. Mallards were bobbing for insects while their mates floated peacefully a few feet away. “Your husband always has had impeccable taste. Tell me, how is his business doing of late?”

  “Excellent. The vineyard he recently acquired has had a plentiful harvest, and the wine from our recent vintage is the best we have ever made.”

  “That is good news.” Sandra placed her tea to her lips and sipped. She looked around. The patio where they sat faced the small pond. To the left tall shrubbery adorned the landscape surrounded by benches. A gazebo sat near the water’s edge. In the distance, the top of a boathouse could be seen above the tree line. To her right was a row of rose hedges, only recently planted yet still tall enough to provide a bit of privacy, void of foliage due to the season. A movement by the roses captured Sandra’s attention. She spotted a tall red-haired man approaching the water. “Who is that in Signore Henshaw’s backyard?”

  “Hmm?” Nichole asked, her mouth full of cake. Her eyes traveled to Martin’s yard. “Oh, him. That is Signore Henshaw’s houseguest. His father owns Emerald Shipping, and he has come for Carnival.”

  “Houseguest?”

  “Yes. His name is Ollie? Olive?” Her eyes widened. “Oliver! That’s his name.”

  Sandra sipped her tea as she watched Oliver. “And how did you come by this information?”

  “Servants love to gossip, Sandra. Or have you forgotten?” Nichole brought her cup to her lips but suddenly stopped. “He is single, by the way.”

  Sandra’s head whipped around to face Nichole, her interest suddenly piqued regarding Henshaw’s houseguest. “Single?”

  Nichole nodded her head enthusiastically, causing the dark ringlets surrounding her face to bob. “Yes.”

  “Interesting.” Sandra turned her attention back to Oliver and gasped as she watched him remove his shirt and toss it to the ground. Muscles rippled across Oliver’s back, and his biceps flexed as he swung the hatchet.

  “I do say.” Nichole began fanning herself. “I am certainly glad that Signore Henshaw does not have guests like that more often, for if he did I believe I would burst into flames.”

  “Such indecency,” Sandra said, her voice pant-like as her eyes traveled over Oliver. “Yet, he would make a fine husband for my Angela. I must have Antonio make it a point to invite Signore Henshaw and this Oliver over for dinner, don’t you think?”

  “Not Madelena?”

  Sandra snorted in disgust. “Why would I pair a rich ship owner’s son with her?”

  “He lives far away. If they married, then she would no longer be a thorn in your side, for he would take her to his home…wherever that might be.”

  A vindictive smile came to Sandra causing her long-time friend to wonder what she had planned.

  “Oh, Madelena is to wed and will no longer be an issue for me.”

  “What did you do?”

  Sandra took a long, slow sip of her tea and then placed the saucer upon the table. Her eyes returned to Oliver as he worked. Sweat glistened upon his muscular form, causing Sandra to have a longing in her loins. Returning her attention to Nichole, she spoke.

  “I have arranged a marriage for that wretched girl to Miles Drakos.”

  “That fat old man from Greece?” Nichole asked, shock in her voice.

  “Yes. Once they marry, he will cart her away to Greece where she will get the treatment she truly deserves.”

  A knowing, malicious smile pulled Nichole’s mouth. “That is a splendid idea.” Her mouth suddenly dropped as her eyes widened. “But Antonio? He will not allow it!”

  An expression crossed Sandra’s face that caused Nichole to cringe at its viciousness. “Oh, he knows and has agreed.”

  Shock laced Nichole’s words, “How?”

  Sandra gave an indifferent shrug as she leaned back into her seat. “I simply told him that it would not be wise to object for all would know of Madelena’s true heritage.” Sandra had told only two people about her “daughter’s” true heritage. Her sister, Carmen, and Nichole. She had to have insurance in case Antonio decided to arrange an advantageous marriage for Madelena that Angela should have.

  “And he did not try to harm you?” Nichole pondered out loud.

  “He would have if I hadn’t told him I had already taken proper precautions to ensure that, if something did happen to me, all in Rome would know that Madelena is nothing but a bastard to a black whore.”

  “Her mother was a quadroon,” Nichole reminded.

  “A quadroon is black!”

  “Technically they are only a quarter black,” Nichole added in her normal addled self.

  Sandra closed her eyes and flared her fingers out in frustration. “That is not the point, Nichole! The point is that she is not my child. That she is a bastard to a whore. That her mother was a slave who duped Antonio.”

  “I never knew that Francesca was a slave.” A befuddled expression crossed Nichole’s delicate features.

  Sandra closed her eyes again. Nichole’s absentmindedness was one reason that Sandra did not like her friend. Nichole was a faithful companion and often obtained valuable information—like of Antonio’s lovers—but sometimes Sandra wondered if her friend was not slightly mad at times.

  “Yes,” Sandra spoke slowly as if she were talking to a child. “That woman was a slave whom Antonio purchased from some Moroccan sultan with the money he received from my dowry.” Each word the scorned woman spoke grew louder and louder until she was shouting. “He freed that bitch and made her his mistress. He lavished her with gold and jewels. Bought her a grand townhome and paid for her servants. He planted his seed in her belly and spent the majority of his time in her presence. He gave her everything he never gave me!”

  “His heart included.”

  Sandra stood and swiped the porcelain teacups and pot from the table, sending the delicate items shattering upon the stone patio. “You do not have to remind me!”

  “Is everything all right over there?” a male voice asked from the other side of the roses.

  Sandra whipped around, causing her rust-colored dress to twirl around and spotted the now dressed Oliver. Blood covered the right sleeve of his tunic. His right hand was now wrapped in a cloth.

  “Oh, he speaks Italian, too. How interesting,” Nichole mumbled to her friend. In a cheery voice, she answered Oliver, “Everything is fine! Just swatting at bees is all.”

  The brow over Oliver’s right eye shot upwards as he studied the women. Something was not as it seemed. They had been watching him the entire time he was working upon Martin’s boat. He noticed them not long after he began hacking away at the wood and cringed. He wanted privacy. And when they started arguing, his curiosity took hold. His lack of attention caused him to lose focus. As he was running the carving tool along the grain of the wood, it snagged on a knot causing his hand to slip forward, slicing his right palm.

  Nichole motioned to his hand. “Do you need medical care? I can send for someone.”

  Oliver shook his head. “No, signora. I have had worse injuries.”

  Nichole’s eyes grew wide. “How rude of me! I have not introduced myself properly. I am Nichole Cancio. My husband is Lucio. We have been neighbors with Signore Henshaw for the past year.” She motioned to her friend. “And this is my companion, Signora Sandra Russo. Her husband is the magistrate in this area.”

  Oliver gave a polite bow. “Nice to meet you both. I am Oliver St. John. I had the pleasure of meeting Signore Russo yesterday afternoon, but I have yet to meet Signore Cancio.”

  “What brings you to Rome?” Sandra asked, a glint of voracity to her brown eyes.

  “Martin and I grew up together in the Caribbean. He invited me for a holiday.”

  “The Caribbean!” Nichole exclaimed. “How exciting. Do you know any pirates?”

  Oliver laughed. If he confessed that not only did he k
now pirates but that his oldest brother, his brother-in-law, as well as his sister-in-law, were pirates, these women would swoon. “I have met a few.”

  “That must have been terrifying.”

  “Yet I survived.”

  “What do you do for a living, Signore St. John?” Sandra asked with interest.

  “I am a master carpenter for my father’s company.”

  “Emerald Shipping?” Nichole asked.

  “Yes,” Oliver replied with suspicion.

  “So you build what exactly?” Nichole inquired.

  “Ships.”

  “Ships?”

  “Yes. My twin designs them, and I bring his creations to life. I find that working with my hands helps ease my worries.”

  “So do you only work on ships? The reason I was asking is that, should you find that you are bored, I have some shutters that need to be repaired.”

  “Nichole!” Sandra protested.

  Nichole continued, “I would pay you for your time. Signore Henshaw works all the time, and you might find that his wife visits her mother frequently so you will be alone. If during your time alone you find that you would like to do something with your idle hands, please stop by. I have been asking Lucio to have the shutters repaired for some time, yet he keeps putting it off.”

  “He is on holiday, Nichole. He has come to rest, not work,” Sandra scolded.

  Oliver laughed, causing both women to feel heat spread over their body from the rich sound.

  “If I have a moment, I would be delighted to repair your shutters.”

  “But you are hurt,” Sandra said, an idea coming to her mind. If Antonio did not invite him to dinner, perhaps she could come up with some repair tasks of her own.