It was a far cry from the ballrooms in Mayfair.
“You are happy, my dear friend.” Rinaldo joined her and refilled her glass.
“I’ve never been especially unhappy.” She glanced at him. “So yes, I suppose I am.”
“No, you are different this year, Violetta. There is an air about you. A reason now for your happiness, perhaps?” Rinaldo nodded toward James, now dancing with one of the sculptor’s aunts.
“James? No.” Her gaze lingered on her husband. “It is possible, I suppose. But no, surely not.”
He raised a skeptical brow.
“Perhaps.” She frowned. “Oh, I don’t know. One minute I’m certain as to how I feel about him and the next minute I’m not.”
“Ah, confusion, a sure sign.”
“Well, that’s something.” She laughed. “A sure sign of what?”
He smiled and considered James thoughtfully. “He wears the look of a man in love.”
“Does he?” Her immediate impulse was to deny it. Without warning, she realized she didn’t want to. She wanted James to be in love with her. After all, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it or deny it, she was in love with him.
“Come, Violetta.” Rinaldo shook his head. “Love is a great happiness. One of so many we have to celebrate tonight.” Without warning, he whisked her, laughing, into the swirl of dancers.
Violet danced with one partner after another even though she was unfamiliar with most of the steps and the term partner was decidedly loose—none of which mattered in the least. She’d always had a grand time at these gatherings of the Lazzari family, but tonight it was different. Tonight, James with her.
She tried to ignore Rinaldo’s charge that James was in love with her. If true, she really did mean more to him than simply the path to his inheritance. Certainly, he had been rather wonderful these past few months. He needed her to abide by the terms of the will, after all. She had reconciled herself to spending three years in a cordial, perhaps even friendly, relationship. But even before they had left England, before she’d known the truth about that long-ago kiss, hadn’t things between them changed? Evolved, perhaps? Hadn’t they been on their way to...what? A future together? Happily ever after? She wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to find out. She firmly set any thought of James’s feelings aside and enjoyed the festivities. After all, who knew when she’d be back.
Eventually, Violet found herself in James’s arms.
“You are having an exceptionally good time,” he said with a smile. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you quite so carefree.”
“Until two months ago, you hadn’t seen me for six years. For all you know, I am frequently carefree.” She smirked. “And lighthearted, as well.”
“My apologies, Lady Ellsworth.” He adopted a serious expression. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were too somber, too serious and entirely too proper.”
“Apology accepted, my lord,” she said in a lofty manner, then smiled. “And yes—I am having a splendid time. I always do. Are you?”
“I can’t remember when I’ve had such an enjoyable evening.” He grinned. “Aside from the fact that I have no idea what anyone is saying, of course.”
“It adds to the adventure, James.”
He chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it does.” He paused. “I am wondering about one phrase that I keep hearing over and over.”
“And that is?”
“Every time I’m introduced to someone they say in a distinctly knowing manner, ‘ah, il marito.’ Now I’ve been assuming that translates to ‘ah, what a handsome, dashing devil the Englishman is, and isn’t Violetta a lucky woman.’”
She laughed.
“But I suspect that might not be entirely accurate.”
“Not entirely.” She grinned “Il marito means ‘the husband.’”
“That explains it, then.”
“I suspect some of them didn’t believe I actually had a husband. That I simply claimed to have a husband to avoid would-be suitors.”
“And have there been many would-be suitors?” he asked as if it was of no importance. But she suspected it was.
“Dozens,” she said blithely. “Far too many to mention.”
“I was wrong about the count and the Italian sculptor.” He gazed into her eyes, abruptly serious. “Am I wrong about the Greek poet, as well?”
“Come now, James.” She forced a light laugh. “You don’t expect me to reveal all my secrets, do you?”
“No, of course not. Where would be the fun in that?” He pulled her closer against him. “I’d much rather charm your secrets out of you.”
She laughed.
He wagged his brows. “I can see it’s already working.”
“You’re very good at charm.”
“I know.” He grinned that wonderfully wicked grin of his, and something inside her fluttered.
“Goodness, James, you really are arrogant.”
“I know that, too.”
Violet shook her head in mock dismay but smiled nonetheless. The man was hopeless. And nearly irresistible. Then why was she so resistant? She had no idea where that had come from and steadfastly ignored the question. She glanced around the room. “You said this wasn’t our world. You’re right, of course. But it is a delightful world to visit.”
“And a visit is never enough.” He smiled into her eyes. “So tonight, we leave Violet and James behind. Tonight, we’re Violetta and Giacomo.”
She grinned. “Oh, Giacomo, you do say the most enchanting things.”
They laughed and danced, ate and drank and celebrated Rinaldo’s success until the wee hours then regretfully made their way back to Penelope’s. The stars shimmered overhead. Lamps cast pools of light on cobblestone streets. Florence at night was even more magical than during the day.
“Will you be sleeping on the sofa tonight?” Violet adopted an unconcerned tone, as if his answer was of no importance whatsoever.
“No, will you?”
“I tried last night,” she said lightly. “I didn’t like it at all.”
He nodded. “Understandable. I don’t think it was originally designed to be a sofa but something more akin to a Renaissance torture device, no doubt invented for the Medicis themselves.” He paused. “Shall I get the pillows?”
She hesitated, although there was no need for hesitation. She was certainly not about to share a bed with him without a barrier—regardless of how insubstantial—between them. Even if she wasn’t entirely sure she really wanted to. She nodded. “Yes. Of course. Absolutely.”
He grinned that wicked grin of his that at the moment said he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Very well.”
“Then I’ll change in the lavatory.” She grabbed her nightclothes and edged toward the door. “Easier, I think and, well, less...”
“Awkward?” he asked pleasantly.
She smiled weakly and practically scurried out of the room. What on earth was wrong with her? Certainly they’d had a delightful evening. One might even call it romantic. But while she was willing to share his bed as a practical matter, she wasn’t ready to sleep with him in an intimate sense. It would take far more than a wonderful evening for her to allow herself to be seduced.
Or for her to seduce him? The thought popped into her head and refused to leave. She tried to ignore it, but it did strike her as not nearly as far-fetched an idea as she would have thought. She certainly could seduce him if she wanted to. James wouldn’t be the least bit reluctant. Why she wasn’t dismissing the idea altogether was both annoying and oddly intriguing.
Even when she returned to their room, the idea lingered. James was in bed, apparently already asleep, the pillow wall in place. She wasn’t quite sure if she was relieved or disappointed. No, she was definitely relieved. Making love with James would be an irrevocable step. It would be the crossing of a
line she was not quite ready to cross.
She lay in bed for a long time listening to him breathe. Wondering if he dreamed and if he did, did he dream of her. Resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. Ignoring an aching need that simmered just beneath the surface when his hand would brush hers or when he took her in his arms to dance or when he shared the same bed. Good Lord, what was happening to her?
It was impossible to sleep with a dozen different questions crowding her mind, demanding answers that she didn’t have.
Had she put the past behind them? Could she? She’d been justifiably angry when he confessed the truth about their ill-fated kiss. But if one thought about it—he had actually only lied once. He simply hadn’t corrected it for six years.
What did she want? Was the love she felt for him enough? And more importantly—could she trust him? With her future? With her heart?
And did she have the courage to take the risk?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
IF JAMES HAD thought the trip from Paris to Florence was grueling, it paled in comparison with the journey to Greece. From Florence, it took a full twenty-four hours and three separate trains to reach Brindisi on the western Italian coast. He found train travel not as difficult in Italy as there were no Alps to traverse, and mountains, for the most part, stayed in the distance. Still, he only joined the others occasionally, preferring to remain alone in the sleeping car he was forced to share with Marcus. Marcus wasn’t especially pleased by the arrangement, either. Violet seemed oddly preoccupied whenever he ventured out of his car and Marcus spent most of his time elsewhere on the train with Mrs. Ryland. If she was important to Marcus, and it was becoming painfully obvious that she was, and she was certainly important to Violet, James needed to make an effort to be as cordial to her as possible, perhaps even cultivate her friendship. After all, they both cared for the same people.
His stomach had almost settled back into its usual place when they boarded a midnight steamer at Brindisi. Fortunately, he had his own quarters and a good supply of sleeping powders. Even better, the trek to Florence had shown him how much of the stuff to use. He had no desire to sleep through their first night in Athens. Although, by the time they reached Pireaus, the port for Athens, he had made any number of promises to the Almighty about regular church attendance and avoiding even the most minor of sins and the like. Although it did seem he was becoming somewhat accustomed to the sway of a train or the roll of a ship as he arrived in Greece in considerably better physical disposition than he expected. Regardless, he was not sure what their return route to England would be, but he absolutely refused to set foot on anything other than a ferry to cross the English Channel ever again.
“Marcus said you again ate something that disagreed with you,” Violet said when their party was once more on solid ground. Genuine concern shown in her eyes. And didn’t that make it all worth it.
She insisted it was far more convenient and less expensive to hire a carriage for the drive to Athens rather than take the train, and he had no desire to argue the point. He was feeling almost his normal self, so why tempt fate? He did realize at some point he would have to confess his problems with lengthy train trips or anything on water, but he’d prefer to avoid that revelation as long as possible. Ridiculous male pride, no doubt. After all, what man wanted to look weak in the eyes of the woman he loved?
And he did love her. More and more with every passing day, every new conversation and every new adventure. She was kind and generous, smart and funny. And sleeping next to her with nothing but a blockade of pillows between them was surely a new kind of hell. The woman made him ache with something that went far beyond mere desire.
He’d pretended to be asleep when she returned to their room in Florence. It seemed the smartest thing to do. While she was certainly starting to like him again—perhaps even trust him—he didn’t want to push too hard. A little self-denial was a small price to pay for a future together. Admittedly, the price seemed entirely too steep when he was lying in bed mere inches from her. But winning Violet’s trust and her heart required patience. Even if it killed him.
The drive to Athens was uneventful and uninteresting. Midway to the city they stopped at a tavern to stretch their legs. Violet urged him to try some of the local offerings, saying the only way to become accustomed to foods of another country was to try them. Whether her advice was sound or not, he did sample loukoumia—similar to Turkish Delight—and a drink called masticha. He still wasn’t sure if he liked it or not although it was shockingly potent. Both Violet and Mrs. Ryland drank it without so much as a moment of hesitation. James didn’t know if he was appalled or proud.
James wasn’t sure what he had expected on the drive to Athens. A landscape littered with the remains of ancient Greece, no doubt. While there were mountains at a distance, and the occasional hill here and there, Athens itself was situated on a plain. The scenery was green and lush but not particularly striking—vineyards and olive groves for the most part—until they passed a hill that had blocked their view and abruptly revealed an ancient temple on a low rise. And behind it, high on another hill, sat the Acropolis. Regardless of how many paintings or photographs one had seen, it was impossible to prepare oneself for the sheer majesty of the ancient complex.
“You’re impressed, aren’t you?” Violet asked with a smug smile.
“It takes one’s breath away. Besides—” he chuckled “—you would have been disappointed if I had said no.”
“Indeed I would have.” She nodded toward the temple. “That’s the Temple of Theseus. It was used as a church for hundreds of years, which is why it’s so well preserved. Theseus was a legendary king of Athens and a great hero. It’s believed he’s buried in the temple.”
“Did you learn all this in school?”
“While I would love to say yes and point out all you might know had you applied yourself to your studies, I can’t.” She shrugged and her gaze returned to the Acropolis. “Nearly everything I know about places like this is because I have been fortunate enough to see them for myself. Which makes me want to learn more about them.”
He nodded. “Apparently it’s contagious. Tell me more.”
“Oh, good.” She grinned. “I do like telling you what you don’t know.”
He laughed. He had the woman teasing him now. That was a very good sign.
“Athens is celebrated as the birthplace of western civilization,” Violet began. “The Parthenon is perhaps the best known...”
By the time they reached the hotel, James had been nicely versed on the Acropolis, the Parthenon and the more important sights of Athens. Admittedly, there were moments when his mind strayed from what Violet was saying to the way the sunlight glinted off the reddish-gold strands of her hair that had escaped from her hat. Or the way her green eyes glowed with passion for her subject, and he wondered how they’d look when filled with passion of another sort. Or the way she’d bite her lip when considering a point and he would recall how delightful those lips had felt pressed against his own.
Mrs. Ryland had wired ahead for rooms at the Grand Hotel d’Angleterre. They’d no sooner checked in than Violet was greeted with unbridled enthusiasm by a small group of English-speaking acquaintances—chattering ladies and overeager gentlemen. All of them talking about how grand it was to be back in Athens and surely the great poet was with them in spirit and wasn’t it all terribly exciting. It didn’t seem the least bit exciting to James, nor did it make any sense to him, but at the moment, he didn’t care to find out who they were or what they were going on and on about. He slipped away—although he wasn’t entirely sure Violet noticed—and escaped to their accommodations. He and Violet had a suite on the top floor with a view of the Acropolis. Fortunately, there was only one bedroom. Unfortunately, there was a relatively comfortable sofa.
Violet arrived a half an hour later, her eyes bright with exhilaration. “Goodness, James, where did you disappe
ar to? One moment you were there and the next you had vanished. I would have introduced you. Oh, well. You’ll meet everyone later.” She paused at the opened doors to the balcony. “Splendid view, don’t you think?”
He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. “As if we’re being looked down upon by the gods themselves.”
Her brow rose. “Sarcasm, James?”
“Not at all.” He shrugged. “Just an observation.”
“There’s nothing like being able to gaze at one of the most remarkable ancient sights in the world to remind you of how far mankind has come.” She pulled off her hat and gloves and tossed them onto a chair.
“Who were the people in the lobby?” He wasn’t sure he was going to like the answer, but they probably had something to do with why they were in Athens.
“Let’s see. There was Lady Knowles and Mrs. Hartley—they’re from Kent.” She glanced around the room. “Did the maids unpack?”
He nodded.
“And how are you feeling?”
“Quite well, thank you.” Any residual queasiness had vanished and he did indeed feel ready for whatever Violet and Athens had in store.
“Good.” She smiled and stepped into the bedroom, stopping before the wardrobe. She opened the doors and continued. “Mrs. Baldwin and her sister Miss Thorpe were in the lobby. They’re from somewhere in Derby if I recall. Then there was Mr. Metcalf, Mr. Irvine and Mr. Baines—all of whom teach at a boarding school, I forget where. And who else was there? Oh, yes, there was—”
“Let me rephrase that.” He adopted a pleasant tone. “I don’t mean who are they individually. I mean who are they as a group. At least I assume they’re a group.”
“In a manner of speaking.” She rummaged in the wardrobe.
“Why exactly are we in Athens?” he said slowly, something he should have asked before now. “We were in Paris for a birthday celebration, in Florence for the unveiling of a statue, so I assume we are in Athens for something in particular.”
The Lady Travelers Guide to Happily Ever After Page 28