He shook his head. “It’s been a while since my last visit. Didn’t do much gambling then.”
Who visited San Rimini without hitting at least one casino, even if they were in the country on business? “I highly recommend the Casino Campione. They have rooms set aside for private play. I can arrange one, if you wish. My brother Stefano might even join you. He’s always looking for someone new to share his blackjack table.” She tried not to smile as she thought of the private room her brother, Prince Stefano, favored. It was there he’d met his fiancée, Amanda.
“Perhaps I’ll check it out.”
Nick took a stutter step so suddenly he was behind her, walking alongside the soldier who accompanied her on all her flights. She looked back, then realized what the problem was before she had to ask.
Cameras.
Funny, she’d never paid attention to the paparazzi who lined up just off the tarmac whenever the royal plane landed. They seemed almost a part of the airport to her. But Nick obviously noticed, and he’d moved so he’d be out of any photographs, his face blocked by the soldier’s body.
So much for her suggestion he visit the Casino Campione. The man didn’t just shirk publicity, he was downright paranoid about it.
Her limo driver took the bags from Nick, then helped her into the waiting vehicle. Nick strode past her bodyguard and ducked into the other side of the limo, opening the door himself instead of waiting for the driver.
While the driver paused beside his door to discuss logistics with the bodyguard, Isabella turned to Nick. “There are two options for your accommodations. My secretary has a suite set aside for you at the San Rimini Ritz-Carlton. It’s only two blocks from the palace and a short walk to the Strada il Teatro, our main thoroughfare, if you’d like to shop or sightsee. Room service is naturally included, but if you’d prefer, there are several restaurants in the hotel or the surrounding area—”
Nick held up a hand. “What’s the second option?”
Why wasn’t she surprised? She took a deep breath, figuring out how best to explain the accommodations. “After meeting you in person, I suspected you wouldn’t be comfortable at the Ritz. The second option was arranged just yesterday, so I’m afraid it isn’t quite so lavish.”
“I don’t think anything is ‘quite so lavish’ as the Ritz, short of staying at the palace itself,” he joked, though there was an undercurrent of tension in his voice as he continued to eye the paparazzi through the limousine’s tinted windows.
“You might be surprised.”
He stopped studying the paparazzi long enough to give her a quizzical look.
“As I mentioned earlier, the royal family’s collection is stored in rooms below the palace. The entrance is in the oldest section of the building, dating back to the late ninth century. It was originally built as a keep to protect the city, but after the Crusades, when politics stabilized, later kings expanded it to create what’s now the San Rimini Royal Palace.”
He shot her a cocky grin. “I’m familiar.”
She felt a blush creep across her cheeks. She’d grown so accustomed to detailing the palace’s history to visiting dignitaries, she kept forgetting Nick knew as much or more than she did. “Anyway, some of the rooms in the former keep were refurbished as guest suites in the 1960s. They aren’t exactly posh, but you will have privacy. If you stayed there, you wouldn’t have to go through security every day, and you’d have access to the collection whenever you wanted, day or night, without interruption. Now, there are more luxurious areas of the palace, where we usually house guests. I’d be happy to move you there, but—”
“The keep is fine.”
She tilted her head. “If you’re sure. As I said, the rooms in the guest wing of the main palace are better appointed. But they’re situated between the family’s private apartments and the public areas, so you wouldn’t have the same level of privacy.” She had to offer him one more chance at the usual guest suites, even if she knew in her gut what choice he’d make. It would feel inhospitable not to.
“So long as I have a bed and a shower, I’d prefer the quieter room.”
They pulled out of the airport and away from the cameras, turning onto the road that led toward the royal palace. As they did so, Nick visibly relaxed. She was tempted to say something about the paparazzi, but held her tongue. Instead, she leaned forward and slid open the window separating the driver from the passengers and spoke in quick San Riminian-accented Italian, instructing her driver to proceed directly to the palace, that the stop at the Ritz would no longer be necessary. After sliding the window closed again, she turned back to Nick. “The suites aren’t so sparse they lack for plumbing.”
“Then I’ll be just fine. I’m sure I’ve dealt with worse.” A dimple appeared in his left cheek, and Isabella had to force herself not to stare. Dimples like her father’s always appealed to her in a man, and the last thing she wanted was to find any man appealing.
“Besides,” he continued, “I certainly can’t complain about having round-the-clock access to the collection. If I get an idea in my head in the middle of the night, I like to be able to run with it.”
“And that,” she replied with a smile, “makes me glad I hired you. But if you do change your mind about the accommodations, let my secretary know and she’ll make the switch.”
The limo began to wind its way along San Rimini’s picturesque cobblestone side streets toward the royal palace, so Isabella pointed out a few of the sights. Nick seemed only superficially interested, so she gave up after showing him the Duomo and a couple of her favorite bookstores and restaurants.
After a few moments of silence, Nick asked, “So, when will I be able to view the collection?”
She sensed he hadn’t heard a word she said about the sights. Given his reason for coming to San Rimini, it was just as well. “Today, if you’d like.”
“Absolutely.”
It’d mean missing out on a nap, but if she got him started today, Isabella figured she’d have more free time to spend with her nephews tomorrow. Besides, the sooner Nick started sorting and cataloguing the collection, the greater the chance she’d have the museum expansion ready to open in time for the country’s thousand-year independence celebration, only six months away. Her father would be thrilled to see his beloved wife’s dream come true, though Queen Aletta was no longer alive to share in it.
“My secretary will be waiting to show you to your rooms when we arrive at the palace. You’ll have a few hours to get settled, have something to eat, or take a nap if you like. I’m afraid I have another engagement and won’t be able to show you the storage areas until around four.”
He didn’t hide his surprise. “You’ll be showing me the rooms yourself? I have to admit, Your Highness—”
“Please, Isabella. Or Princess, if you can’t manage to call me by my first name.”
He held his palms out. “I have to admit, Princess,” he emphasized the title, “that I’m still surprised that you came to see me personally, and that you’ve gone to so much trouble over my housing arrangements. To take even more time out of your schedule is unnecessary.”
She reached into her purse, which had fallen over on the limo’s plush seat, and double-checked her list of appointments for the day. “You wouldn’t have taken the job if I hadn’t come personally. I learned that the first time my assistant tried to book an appointment through your secretary.”
“True.”
“And I did say you’d be reporting to me, instead of to the museum’s board, so it’s only natural I should be the one to show you through the storage area. Besides, I’m the only one in the whole palace who can find my way around in there. Most of the crates have been untouched for decades. Centuries, even.” She folded the page and slid it back into her purse. “I’ll only have about a half hour, but it should be enough to get you situated.”
As the palace’s wrought-iron gates came into view, she took a deep, contented breath. Nick perked up in the seat, stretching his body so
he could get a better look. Though Isabella’s royal duties frequently called her away from San Rimini, she never did get used to spending time in hotel rooms. Her own home, where she could sleep in the same room she’d had since childhood, knowing her family surrounded her, meant everything to her.
As the limousine slowed and the driver waved to the guard at the gate, Isabella’s thoughts turned to her brother and nephews. Federico had changed in the months since losing his wife. He’d always been quiet and contemplative, at least compared to her other brothers, the ambitious Crown Prince Antony and her fun-loving younger brother, Prince Stefano. But now Federico seemed completely withdrawn and unwilling to discuss his feelings, even with her. His suffering went beyond mourning for his wife, she suspected, and she wondered if her nephews sensed the change in their father. Then again, their own emotions were still raw.
She had no clue what to do about the situation. If anything even could be done.
“Princess?”
“Yes?” She focused once more on Nick. He sat back in his seat and studied her as if he’d read every thought that passed through her mind.
One eyebrow quirked up. “You must be pretty happy to be home. You didn’t answer my question.”
She plastered a smile onto her face. “I’m sorry. A bit sleepy, I suppose.”
“I just asked where we should meet.” She must have looked confused, because he added, “If you’re too tired from the trip, the storage rooms can wait until tomorrow.”
He said all the right things, the polite things, but his hands stilled against the seat cushion, in the same manner he’d pressed his hands on the granite tabletop to still them while they’d discussed employment terms back in his Boston office. And as the limousine pulled alongside the oldest wing of the palace, the section where Nick would be staying, she saw his gaze flick toward the keep’s massive stone walls. An emotion—recognition?—passed over his face, then disappeared. Strange, since tourists were never brought to this part of the palace and, to her knowledge, he’d never been a guest here.
This man definitely piqued her curiosity.
“I’ll come to your room at 4:00 p.m., sharp.”
Chapter Three
Isabella leaned her body against the heavy, arch-shaped oak door leading to the lower level of the San Rimini Royal Palace, wiggled the iron key until she felt it slide into just the right position, then shoved as hard as she could.
“I take it you’re going to show me the trick to opening that door.” Nick’s voice came from behind her as the thick oak started to move.
“The locks were supposed to be upgraded last year,” she apologized. “I hate to think how old this one is.”
“Original. Door, too. Amazing it’s held up this long.”
She raised an eyebrow. He spoke as if he’d installed it himself. “You are the expert. Perhaps we shouldn’t replace it.”
“Depends on what’s behind the door. If the collection is valuable enough, and isn’t going anywhere for a while, you might consider removing the entire door and hanging it in the empty archway next to my guest room. That way, you can replace the door that’s missing there and hang something with a modern alarm here.”
She withdrew the key from the lock and faced him. “Have you visited this wing of the palace before? How do you know there used to be a door in that archway?”
He gave her an offhand shrug. “I could tell from the shape of the arch and the scratches along the side where the hinges used to be that a similar door once hung there. Probably so they could close off this hall and keep the drafts down.” He raised his head and scrutinized the high, wooden support beams and the gently curved stone ceiling. “Back when this corridor was built, there weren’t any hidden heating vents.”
“There still aren’t any in the storage area, unfortunately. Prepare to be chilly.”
She flicked on the lights, illuminating a narrow stone staircase leading down half a flight to the lower level of the keep. Nick followed behind her, keeping one hand on the cool gray wall as they descended the aged, concave steps. When they entered the cavernous storage area, she heard Nick inhale sharply.
“I warned you it was chilly.”
When he didn’t respond, she turned to see he’d crossed behind her and knelt to study a sword laying atop a blue velvet cloth on the floor, just to the left of the stairs.
“That was returned a few days ago. It’s one of the few pieces I’ve lent out to the museum.”
“That’s why it’s by the door?”
She nodded. “According to the experts at the University of San Rimini, it’s late twelfth century. The museum curator thinks it could have belonged to King Bernardo or to his son, King Rambaldo. I wanted your opinion.”
Nick’s brown eyes widened in interest. He stilled his hands inches above the weapon. “May I?”
“Of course.”
He lifted the sword with care, then ran his fingers along its length. Turning it, he studied the pommel. “This wasn’t the king’s.”
“Which? Bernardo or Rambaldo?”
“Either.”
She stepped behind him, leaning over his right shoulder to share his view of the sword’s hilt. As she did so, the faint smell of his aftershave blended with the warmth of his skin to launch an all-out assault on her senses. She fought off a momentary wave of unsteadiness, forcing herself not to put a hand on his broad shoulder for support.
The last thing she needed was to feel a man’s firm muscle under her palm. She’d made her choices in life, and couldn’t allow a fleeting attraction to distract her from her obligations now, no matter how gorgeous the distraction might be.
Purposely ignoring the way his jet-black hair curled behind his ears, she focused on the sword. “How can you draw such a conclusion so quickly? The professors and the curator each had it for weeks.”
“You see this area?” Still crouching, he shifted his weight to face her and pointed to the pommel, the round ball at the end of the sword. “Most San Riminian kings had their crest engraved here. Bernardo’s was a combination of his and his wife’s initials. Rambaldo used a dragon with a crown on its head, though some scholars claim he used a different crest. Either way, a crest would appear on any sword he owned.”
“So who did it belong to?” She frowned. “Are the professors at the university even right about the date?”
“Oh, it’s twelfth century, no doubt. That’s evident from the manner in which it was crafted. Plus, in the late twelfth century, most San Riminian knights had a small cross stamped into the grip when they left for the Third Crusade. They believed having the cross resting in the palm of their hand during battle would give them God’s protection.” He grasped the sword at the top of the hilt with his right hand and pointed with his left to a spot just below his palm.
“See? Here it is. Most knights had the grip wrapped in leather or velvet, so this area, on the grip itself, was protected. Of course, that covering is long gone now and you can see the cross.” She blinked at a tiny indentation, barely visible on the grip. If she hadn’t known to look for it, she’d have thought it to be nothing more than a small ding. But as Nick traced the shape for her with one lean finger, she realized it was, indeed, a cross.
He stood, then offered Isabella a hand to help her up. Once she’d gained her feet, she smiled, intending to thank him for his chivalry, but he took a couple steps away from her.
She stifled a cry of surprise as he swung the sword in front of him in a wide arc. “It’s the right weight and size,” he commented, as much to himself as to her. “And the craftsmanship is exquisite.”
He took another step away, then pivoted, slicing through the cold, still air of the storage room with as much power as an ancient knight defending his home against an invading enemy. An exuberant grin spread across his face, again showing off his dimple. “I’m positive it would have belonged to a knight from the Third Crusade. Someone lucky enough to return from the battlefield, given the fact the sword found its way home.”<
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He let the sword drop to his side, but kept his hand firmly on the grip. His eyes glittered. “This is fabulous. What else is down here?”
“Very few weapons, thank goodness. They were taken for the museum’s original wing.” She hated to think what he’d do with a lance. “The most fascinating items are the documents. Ancient court records, even some birth and death records. Centuries of monastic writings. If you can read ancient San Riminian…” She raised an eyebrow in question, since even most San Riminians had difficulty with the ancient dialect.
“I can.”
“Then you’ll find a wealth of information that hasn’t been studied by anyone at San Rimini University. There are also tapestries, paintings, sculptures… You name it, it’s probably down here somewhere. Even old kitchen dishes and palace draperies, though most of those are in tatters.” She glanced around the room, astonished as always at the vast collection. “As you can see, it’s only loosely organized.”
Isabella’s mother, Queen Aletta, had ordered the construction of dozens of storage stalls from plywood and wire mesh when she first conceived of the museum expansion. The oversize stalls lined the walls of the vast open area. Each had a code posted on its door that roughly designated the period from which the artifacts dated, but otherwise, nothing had been inspected or sorted. In the center of the room, all the artifacts too large to fit in the stalls stood in a jumble. A few sarcophagus lids and parts of three altars retrieved from ancient cathedrals dominated the area. Oversize paintings, a large iron grille that Isabella guessed stood at the entrance to the old section of the palace at one time and hundreds of other items she couldn’t identify filled the rest of the space.
“I’d like to see where the documents are kept. I’ll be looking at those first. With any luck, we’ll find an inventory, or at least a description of some of the pieces.” Nick stared around the room, his face a mixture of wonder and anticipation. “This is every historian’s dream. Not nearly as dusty as I expected, either.”
The Knight's Kiss Page 4