by Tessa Bowen
Home? Where the frig’ was that?
He was trying to get rid of her. Was the Baroness waiting for him somewhere in the house? She was probably propped up on satin pillows, her perfect willowy form scantily clad in some expensive lace lingerie,
“You are going to sleep with her, aren’t you?”
He ran a hand through his auburn hair, ignoring the question. “Stay in there for at least fifteen minutes. There is another robe hanging on the door there. Good night, Isabel.”
The Duke winced when she half rose out of the tub. The tops of her breasts rose out of the water like dusky little plums.
“You are, aren’t you? Just admit it. You are going to leave me here and go have sex with her instead of me.”
He turned his back on her, placing a hand on the door. “Say goodnight, Isabel.”
She suddenly felt like crying. Within moments he would be naked with his elegant baroness. “No, I won’t say goodnight because I don’t want you to leave.”
He bowed his head, broad shoulders hunching. “I fear my sanity will not survive another moment in your presence.”
“Sanity is friggin’ overrated.”
Perhaps she was right—this sweet-tasting, pigpen of a girl who now muddied the water in his claw foot bathtub.
“Are you going to spank her too or just have sex with her?”
The bold question sent a torrid thrill straight to his loins. He was glad his back was turned to her. The beast between his legs rivalled Godzilla in size and width at the moment. He doubted that Abigail’s rear (though very fit indeed) would possess the same jaunty spring. He threw one last look over his shoulder at her. She stared at him from across the room, swallowing him up with those bottomless black eyes.
Trevor knew by leaving he was breaking her heart, but if he stayed, they would both end up in hot, murky water.
Chapter Thirteen
Venice, Italy
The paparazzi caught sight of the unlikely couple as they boarded the private water taxi.
“Bloody hell,” the Duke muttered.
“Don’t worry, I won’t blow it. I know what I’m being paid for.”
Forcing a smile, Izzy allowed the Duke to take her hand as their picture was taken. As soon as the boat whisked them away from the hubbub of the crowd, she pulled her hand away and moved to the opposite side of the deck.
Her eyes were flat, her features drawn. She had not said a word to him on the plane ride over, nor had she made eye contact. The awkward situation between them had gone too far, and they both knew it. Still, he preferred to see her spitting mad. This wraith-like girl sitting across from him was a shadow of her former self. Gone was the feisty, shiny-eyed elf—and damn it all, if he didn’t miss her.
She had done very well at preserving the façade. It was this unfortunate falling in love business that had rattled her. Now she hated him and it was entirely his fault. Remorse gnawed away at him. He never should have trifled with her. She was far too young. She had kissed him first, but it had been his roving hands that had really gotten them into trouble.
Trevor snuck a sidelong glance at her as she leaned over the edge of the boat to get a better look at the stunning architecture. She gaped at the pink and yellow palazzos lining the Grand Canal.
Of course. Italy will bring the light back into her eyes.
If those dark orbs lit up on the Grand Canal then they widened to great, black pools when he handed her off the water taxi and led her through Piazza San Marco. He did not rush her nor did he speak. He had been to this city more times than he could count, but she was taking in the grandeur of Venice for the first time. Trevor wondered when he had last seen something that was entirely new to him—the day she had come crashing into his careful world, he supposed.
Everything about this girl was fresh and original. Her unguarded expressions drew him in. The way her eyes went liquid with wonder, the way her mouth relaxed in awe. He had never seen a face so open. She revealed herself unabashedly. He wanted to show her more—and he would, not only for her benefit, but for his as well. That face of hers was like poetry.
There were still no words exchanged between them as he led her into the splendid lobby of the Hotel Danieli. Employees fussed around the couple, showing them to their deluxe suite.
Finally she spoke. “We’re not sharing a room, are we?”
Trevor pushed open the door to an adjoining suite. “I’ve never had a woman look so relieved to not be sharing a room with me.”
“Yeah, well there’s a first time for everything.”
This was going to be a tough sell. He turned on the charm, giving her a courtly bow. “Will you accompany me to the opera tonight, Isabel?”
“I guess they need to see us out on the town, right?” she answered stonily. “Being friggin’ lovebirds and all that.”
“The press hasn’t been tipped off. It will just be us. Shall we call a truce and spend an evening together? It won’t do any harm, will it? I think you’ll like the opera. ”
“Okay, but no ‘hanky panky’. Got it?”
The Duke had never had a woman slam a door in his face either. There truly was a first time for everything.
THE GARNET RED OPERA GOWN was superb on her. The drape of the velvet accentuated her ripening curves. He’d had it sent to her room as a peace offering and it gave him great pleasure to see her in it now. If she truly hated him, she would have refused to wear it.
She sat next to him, clutching her program as Cecilia Bartoli belted out the part of Mimi. La Boheme held no interest for the Duke. This was the umpteenth time he had slogged through it. The soprano was sublime, but the spirited little diva next to him was truly transcendent. Trevor was captivated by the sight of her upturned face. Tears streamed from her eyes, glittering like diamonds. Each time those thick, inky lashes feathered across her cheeks, fresh dew drops spilled out.
Was it wrong that he found her tears so gratifying? He could not remember the last time he had seen a woman shed tears. He had forgotten what a beautiful sight the softness and vulnerability of a female could be. She wasn’t truly beautiful, was she? She was too small and exotic to be called beautiful.
Can an elf be beautiful?
She was very pretty certainly, or something even better than pretty. Whatever she was, he found her quite lovely this evening.
This is why everyone thinks aristocrats are fops. They spend their time at operas comparing elves to girls while the rest of the world works.
The Duke straightened in his seat, adjusting his cuffs. The untamed girl from America was getting under his skin again. Gently, he tucked his handkerchief into her hand and discreetly turned his gaze away. Soon, he would have his life back and things would return to the status quo. He just had to stay the course. He couldn’t let this Yankee imp throw him off again.
When the opera was over he led her through the lobby of the Teatro La Fenice, holding the door open as she stepped outside into the cool, crisp air.
“Did you enjoy your night at the opera?”
With a loud honking noise, Izzy blew her nose into his handkerchief. “That was friggin’ beautiful!”
The Duke smiled, showing straight white teeth and she smiled back. Relief flooded through him as the crowd thinned around them. He had brought her out of zombie land and back to the land of the living. She was herself again—alive and flushed with color. Her eyes were limpid as she gazed at him. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her how enchanting she looked, but he stifled the impulse. He supposed he should be careful with his compliments. She was too prone to flights of fancy—or perhaps it was he who was the fanciful one.
“Are you warm enough? Shall we walk a while?”
She nodded and followed him into the maze of the city. The glow of the streetlights melted into the dark alleyways, shrouding the city in mystery.
“It would be so easy to get lost here,” she said.
“It is a labyrinth to be sure.”
They came upon a pristine whit
e bridge and Izzy heaved a dreamy sigh. She peered across the canal and listened to the water lap over the stone steps.
“Everything feels so old, like there are a lot of secrets here. This must be the most magical place on earth.” She felt silly as soon as the words were out. Self-consciously, she glanced at his handsome profile. “You have probably been everywhere and seen everything.”
“Yes, but I envy you. You see the world through fresh eyes. It is a gift to be inexperienced.”
She swallowed hard. If only he knew just how inexperienced she truly was. “I would never have come here and seen all this if it wasn’t for you.”
“It wasn’t me who did it. You fainted in my arms, remember?”
“For once being a total spazz paid off. Anyway, this place is totally amazing. It all seems like a dream.”
“I knew you and Italy would make a perfect match.”
“How do you mean?”
“Archie asked me to choose where we would spend our so-called honeymoon. He suggested Paris, but after I met you, I knew it had to be Venice. Venice is a place for the romantics and the dreamers…”
“I’m not a romantic,” she said sheepishly. “I’m just a dork.”
He gave her a long, penetrating look. “I know what you are.”
“You think I’m a romantic because I told you I was in love with you. Probably every woman you meet tells you that, right?”
“Deep pockets and a handsome face do seem to be a winning combination.”
“There is more to you than that, you even said so yourself.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, you have a lot of good qualities.”
“Name one.”
“Ummmmmmm…you have excellent taste in women’s clothing.”
“Impertinent brat—I’ll let you keep your ‘duchess’s wardrobe’ if you’re nice to me— grass stains and all. You’re the only one who could fit into them anyway. You make Thumbelina look like a heifer.”
“I’ll take the ball gowns but you can keep those old lady sweater sets.”
“I’ll have the entire lot donated to Queen Mary’s Doll House.”
“I’m bigger than a doll, you know? And just for the record, your looks and your deep pockets aren’t the only reasons I like you.”
“You still like me then?”
She pinched her fingers together and squinted. “Yeah, maybe a little. Do you still like me?”
“Yes, and I’m glad we’re talking. I was afraid you’d never speak to me again.”
Izzy’s expression grew thoughtful once again. “You know what’s weird—you and I are sort of alike.”
Trevor smiled wryly. “Funny, I don’t see it.”
“I think you might be a romantic too.”
“Oh dear. Say it isn’t so.”
“Underneath the perfect cut of your clothes is a guy who gets carried away.”
“ ‘Carried away’, is that what you would call it?”
“It’s what I like best about you. You are all buttoned up on the outside but on the inside it’s like you’re on fire. I can see it in your eyes sometimes. They are like blue flames.”
The Duke dropped his gaze, fearing those transparent spheres would give him away yet again. “When all this is finished and you have your money, you should come back here and travel,” he told her. “This is where you came from, after all.”
She blinked at him in confusion.
“Your last name is Italian.”
“Oh, yeah. I don’t really know much about my parents. My mom was Spanish, I do know that, and my dad was Italian. I think they were really young when they had me.”
“Have you ever thought about trying to find them?”
“No, they didn’t want me. I know how to take a hint. I guess I’ll never know where I came from.”
“It doesn’t matter where you came from. You know who you are, that is all that matters.”
She looked at him with such a sweet expression he wondered how anyone could give her up.
Their bloody loss.
“Charlotte thinks you came from the fairy forest, maybe she’s right. She tells me you were born under a dew-laden flower petal.”
Her laughter echoed across the abandoned streets. “Born under a rock, more like. Trust me, Lansing, Michigan is no fairyland.”
“It must have been difficult growing up the way you did.”
“I was moved around a lot. I couldn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the kids. Some of the homes were better than others. Mrs. O’Leary’s was the worst.” She shuddered and trailed off. “She used to hit some of the kids. She was really evil. She had it out for me. That’s where I learned to fight. I purposely got in trouble just so I would get kicked out of there.”
“You needn’t worry about this Mrs. O’Leary anymore. She won’t be hurting any more children.”
She looked a bit puzzled. “Because she is too old now, you mean?”
“Yes…that’s what I meant.”
“A lot of those people just do it for the money. So they have all these kids living in their house that they can’t stand. It’s not always pretty. ”
“I shouldn’t think so,” the Duke said somberly.
“And a lot of the kids are really messed up. Some of them come from really awful backgrounds, you know?”
He didn’t know.
“I went to a girl’s state home for a while. That was pretty rough—almost like a jail. I made a good friend there though, a girl named Tamika.” She paused, smiling fondly. “Tamika was big for her age. I mean, really big. No one messed with me once I had her on my side. She taught me a thing or two about defending myself. I was little, but no one licked me after that.”
“She taught you well indeed. How long were you there—at this girl’s home?”
“A couple of years. They had to shut the place down, think the funding got cut. We were all shipped off elsewhere.”
“What of your friend—?”
“I never saw her again. I hope she is all right wherever she is. I will never forget her, that’s for sure. She was a real character. After that, I went to live in a suburb of Detroit with a nice family. My foster mother there was really sweet—Mrs. Shifflett. It was a nice house, heaven compared to the other places. She liked to read and play the piano. She had a garden that we all worked in.”
“Ah, that is why you looked so at home in the flower beds the other day.”
“It was just me and a couple of kids living at Mrs. Shifflett’s. She could not have kids of her own. She got me a job working for a florist, that’s how I saved enough money to come to New York.”
“Are you still in contact with Mrs. Shifflett?”
Izzy’s face fell as she stared out at the water shimmering under the streetlamps. “She got sick the last year I was there.” She passed away from breast cancer just before I left. Her daughter Marianne took over the house. I hope she can keep it running. She has a hard time making ends meet.”
“I suddenly feel very foolish that I whined about my father that day at the cemetery.”
She gave him one of her trademark shrugs. “Everyone has hard times, no matter where they come from.”
“You are a very brave girl.”
“Don’t look so worried. I turned out okay. Well, sort of,” she laughed. “Wanna keep walking?”
Mutely, the Duke nodded and followed her across the bridge. They walked until the streets became haunted and the fine mist in the air turned into a heavy fog. Izzy wore the Duke’s tuxedo jacket and her wrap as a scarf. Her feet and ankles throbbed from walking in high heels, but she wasn’t about to complain. She would walk with him until she had to crawl if he asked her to.
They heard voices up ahead. Out of the fog came three young men. It was obvious they had been carousing. They staggered and laughed, elbowing each other drunkenly. They spotted the couple and began to jeer in Italian.
“Americano…”
When the taller one lurched forward, the Duke shoved her beh
ind him, bracing a protective arm across her body. The young men made a circle around them. The shorter one went for Izzy’s scarf, unfurling it with a smirk.
“Pretty Americano.”
Trevor pushed her out of harm’s way. He rolled up the cuffs of his tuxedo shirt and prepared for a fight. The assailants closed in on him, closing the circle tighter and tighter. Suddenly, the Duke sprang into action. He landed a sharp uppercut to the one in front of him who reeled backward and landed in a heap on the cobblestones.
When the thug behind him jumped on his back, Izzy dove straight into the brawl. She toppled the youth, clawing him off the Duke’s back with the strength of ten men. The young Italian covered his head, protecting himself against her smashing fists.
Trevor disposed of the second hooligan and turned to see Isabel fighting dirty on the ground. He snatched her under her armpits and lifted her out of the fracas. The man, stunned by the undersized girl’s rabid ferocity, quickly scrambled away into the mist.
Trevor held her at arm’s length. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” Her hands flew to his face. “You’re bleeding!”
He dabbed at the blood that dripped from his handkerchief. “It’s nothing.”
“I didn’t know dukes could fight like that—you were friggin’ amazing!”
“I boxed at Oxford. Not all aristocrats are fops, you know.”
“Holy Crap! You kicked some serious ass, Your Grace!”
“What about you? You were bloody terrific. You toppled that poor fellow right over. The mighty Tamika would be proud.”
Her dress was ripped at the shoulder and her cheek was streaked with grime from the street. She seemed utterly unaffected. Any other woman would be lying in a faint or at the very least hysterical with tears. Not this one. This one (all five feet of her) had attacked a man almost twice her size with the fierceness of a jungle cat.
“We make a good team, huh?”
“Quite. Let’s get back to the hotel before we get into another scuffle.”
They laughed together as they hurried through the streets. The Duke didn’t seem to mind that his nose was gushing blood. Getting attacked in the streets had proven to be the most fun he’d had in years.