by Annette Lyon
He tipped his head in acknowledgement. “I have very little use for occasions such as these, Evangelina. I am here only because I must be.”
“Are you here alone? No family with you at all?”
“Regrettably, I am here with my parents and three brothers.”
Evangeline laughed. “You seem as thrilled as am I.”
Matteo sighed and smiled at her. “There are expectations— my mother wishes for me to marry and bless her with grandchildren, and my brothers are irritating in the extreme.”
“You have no wish to ever marry?”
“I have yet to meet a woman who does not annoy me once she opens her mouth and begins to speak.”
Evangeline grinned in spite of herself, her mood lighter than it had been in ages. “Methinks you have been looking in the wrong places, dear sir.”
He brought her fingers to his lips and placed a kiss upon the back of her hand. “Something tells me I ought to have been looking in London.”
She laughed. “Truly, I suspect many women in London society would also annoy you dreadfully. But all I have heard my entire life is that a man does not want a woman’s opinions, that he has no need for intelligent conversation with her. This is why he has gentlemen’s clubs.”
Matteo winced. “My kingdom for a woman with more on her mind than fashion.”
“You are most singular.”
He looked at her for a moment, opened his mouth and then closed it again.
“What is it?”
“Forgive me, bella, but how is it you are not spoken for, yourself?”
Evangeline felt heat suffuse her cheeks and she suddenly wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. The humiliation would likely never leave.
He cupped her cheek with his hand and inched closer to her. “It is indelicate of me to ask, but I must know. Has someone hurt you?”
She shook her head and briefly closed her eyes. “No. I had two Seasons before my mother died.”
“I refuse to believe you had no offers.”
“I had no offers.”
He looked at her, his face suddenly slack, for such a prolonged moment that Evangeline could only laugh. “I have accepted it. It is embarrassing, but seems to be my lot in life. I am actually considering something…” She trailed off, uncertain whether she wanted to confide in anyone about an idea that had begun forming the moment she left London. Even her handsome confidante whom she would never see again.
His fingers tightened fractionally on hers, and his expression darkened almost imperceptibly. “You think to find a protector here, someone to set you up as his mistress? Where were you hoping to look? At the ball?”
Evangeline gasped and tugged on her hand, which he still held firmly. “Certainly not! I was thinking of advertising as an art tutor!”
Matteo closed his eyes. “Eva.” He paused. “You must promise me that you will not ‘advertise’ for anything. There are men who would gladly hire you as an art tutor for their children and then expect additional favors for themselves. You cannot trust just anyone.”
Evangeline drew her brows together and narrowed her eyes. “And who are you to lecture me on what I may or may not do with my life? You implied you’ve had mistresses in the past! I believe it is grossly unfair that what is considered reprehensible for a respectable woman is politely ignored in a man. It ought to be equally condemned.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw, but he seemed to have the sense to remain silent on the point.
She sniffed. “Besides which, if I want to be some man’s mistress, I will be.” If she could only stop blushing.
He muttered something rapidly in Italian, and Evangeline was fairly certain she should be grateful she didn’t speak the language. His eyes sparked, and he fell silent, watching her with what she could only assume was anger. What was wrong with him? Weren’t Italian men lusty and demonstrative? She would have thought he might have a few friends in mind for her if she were to seriously consider the life of a courtesan. His puritan attitude was baffling after their flirtatious exchange.
He tipped his head to one side suddenly and squinted at her. “You say your father left behind an estate?”
What on earth?
“You have a dowry yet received no offers?”
Evangeline pulled her hand fully from his grasp and threw her arms up in frustration. “No offers! I already told you that— nobody wanted me!” She shifted to stand, but he pulled her back.
“Impossibile. Assolutamente impossibile. A face and body that would tempt a saint, and money as well? You are telling me that gentlemen never called on you?”
“Of course gentlemen called on me,” she said, feeling her frustration rise to new heights. Was the man insane? Why was he fixated on her lack of marital offers? “Some several times. But after so many visits, they just… stopped coming. I once overheard my stepfather telling my mother there must be something inherently wrong with me, because I scared gentlemen away.” Her voice cracked. “You are cruel to belabor the point, and I am leaving. I thank you for showing me the Vincinis.”
“Cara mia,” he said and finally released her when she struggled to stand. “Do you not find it odd that your stepfather told your mother that you had scared the gentlemen away, when he stood to lose your money if you married?”
Flustered, she dropped his mask in his lap and snatched her own from the coffee table where Matteo had laid it and settled it over her face, tying the ribbons firmly into place as she made her way to the door. “I do not know what you are suggesting, sir, but I find myself in need of some air. In fact, I do believe I will go down to the courtyard and attend the ball.”
Chapter Three
The courtyard was awash in the glow of torchlight and echoing with the sounds of laughter, the tinkling of wine glasses and music provided by a small orchestra. Evangeline fumed her way into the midst of it and willed herself not to cry. Odious, handsome Italian! Dredging up humiliating things when he hardly knew her and was in no position to pry.
The petulant voice of her stepsister, Analise, sounded somewhere off to her left. Evangeline gritted her teeth; she would know that voice anywhere.
“The conte never attends balls unless he is forced to,” she was saying to Daniella. “Charise says her mother spoke to a neighbor who knew the Conte’s mother, who said that he is Italy’s most eligible bachelor! How on earth am I to make an impression if the man won’t even show his face?”
“Nobody is showing their faces, Analise,” Daniella answered. “It’s a masquerade ball. And besides, who’s to say you would be the one making the impression?”
“Ugh.” Evangeline breathed out and twisted through the crowd, seeking to put as much space between herself and the twins as possible. The only thing that could make the evening worse would be if she encountered Robert, as well. She reached the edge of the crush and drew a breath of fresh air next to a cool stone wall.
It was insufferable, really, that she should live her life in the attic of the home she had grown up in, with her stepfather sleeping in her late father’s bedroom and those ridiculous girls prancing around as though they owned the place. She had long suspected that Robert Montgomery had married her mother for the money, but her mother had been so lonely that Evangeline had been hard pressed to withhold her support when the engagement had been announced.
Would he have gone so far as to discourage Evangeline’s suitors, as Matteo had suggested? Now that Evangeline was away from the Italian’s hypnotic gaze and commanding presence, she was clearheaded enough to admit that if such a thing was to come to light, she wouldn’t necessarily be surprised. But how to broach the subject?
Her musings only served to solidify what she had come to realize on the voyage to Venice— that she did not want to go back to that house, or to London, even. She would find a way to support herself. All she really needed was a small room and enough money to buy necessities. Better to live in an attic in Italy than be banished to one at home. Despite what Matteo had implie
d, she was not idiotic. She would advertise for a tutoring position. She would be selective and careful. Perhaps at the festival the next night she would make a contact or two.
Feeling infinitely better about her situation, she relaxed and allowed herself to sway to the music. A warm hand on her elbow had her turning to see a man who bowed slightly and asked if she would join him in a dance.
“I would love to,” she said and allowed him to guide her toward the center of the courtyard, where he swung her into a waltz.
He wore a dark green mask with a matching suit coat and cravat. He stood only slightly taller than she was, and Evangeline found herself relaxing in his arms as she matched his easy rhythm. He introduced himself as Conte Bellini, one of the younger sons.
“Ah,” Evangeline said with a smile. “I overheard some young ladies bemoaning the fact that the most eligible bachelor in all of Italy does not frequent balls. He would be your brother?”
The young conte shook his head a bit as he grinned. “My brother, the heir. He has no use for parties.”
“I find that younger sons are often much more charming,” she said and winked through her mask, finding herself more confident with it on.
Her dance partner laughed as he navigated them around a couple that had clearly already enjoyed a glass or two of wine. At the very least.
“I certainly like to believe I am charming,” he said. “And now you must tell me a bit about yourself.”
The ensuing conversation was pleasant, and the young conte invited her to call him David. They continued talking as the orchestra ended the piece and began with another. He had swept her, laughing, into a third waltz, when a man approached David from behind and tapped him on the shoulder.
Evangeline’s heart skipped several beats as she recognized Matteo. With a laugh, David shook his head and bowed slightly, holding his hand out to the other man. “Miss Stuart, my eldest brother, the Conte Bellini, Europe’s most eligible bachelor.”
Her mouth dropped open as she stared first at Matteo and then David, who kissed her knuckles and leaned close. “I will have the rest of this dance later,” he said with a grin.
Matteo barked something in Italian at David, who snorted with laughter and left Evangeline staring at the oldest Bellini son, heir to the fortune and apparently, the most eligible bachelor in Europe. Her humiliation was complete. This was the man who had questioned her about her courtship failures— and why? Because he believed her stepfather might have sabotaged her future? Matteo, or Count Bellini, rather, was an insensitive clod. She opened her mouth to say so when he placed his hand at her waist and slid it around her back, pulling her close against him as he slowly began turning them to the music.
“You would find yourself ejected from Almacks, I’ll have you know,” she sputtered as he leaned down.
“Then it is fortuitous indeed that we are here and not at Almacks.” His breath was warm and tickled her temple. Her eyes drifted shut, and she inhaled a scent that was uniquely him. “I have wounded your feelings and your pride, bella, when I intended to do neither,” he murmured, and she felt it down to her toes. “I seek your forgiveness.”
“You’re a count,” she spat. “You might have mentioned it.”
“Had I, you would not have been nearly so relaxed in my presence. People always react differently when they know I am a Bellini.”
Evangeline was begrudgingly mollified; she supposed it was true. She wouldn’t have gone anywhere with him had she known he was someone that half of the Western world sought after. She would have felt even more grossly inadequate than she had when she believed him to be merely an Italian gentleman. An incredibly handsome one, yes, and an arrogant one, but not titled, for heaven’s sake.
“You left before I could apologize, and I’ve had the very devil of a time trying to find you.”
“I was busy,” she said and tilted her chin up slightly, doing her best not to look at his face, which was just inches above her own.
“Yes. With my brother,” he ground out.
Evangeline smiled. “He’s charming.”
“Indeed. He’s also a scoundrel, and you will most definitely not finish a third waltz with him.”
“He’s friendly. I thought I may appeal to him for help finding a position here.”
Matteo’s hand pressed against her back. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t seek out a protector,” he murmured low in her ear.
“A position as a tutor,” she said, exasperated. “I am not going to be anyone’s mistress. I shall die an old maid, surrounded by oils and canvas and paintbrushes soaking in turpentine.” She meant it to sound light, but it felt heavy.
A muscle again worked in his jaw, which she was coming to recognize as his first sign of agitation.
“We are friends now,” she added as he turned her toward one side of the courtyard, “so perhaps you may direct me to a family looking for an art tutor, or even a governess.”
“Friends,” he whispered. He swung her into an alcove along the side and trapped her in the shadows between his arms, her back against the cold stone wall. He pulled her close, tracing his lips along her neck as he murmured Italian words she would have given anything to understand.
Evangeline wound her arms up around his shoulders and ran her fingers into his soft, black curls at the nape of his neck. She closed her eyes as heat pooled low in her abdomen and she realized he was going to kiss her senseless.
A feminine trill of laughter to the side, followed by the low murmur of an answering male, interrupted Matteo’s close examination of her neck. His arms tightened around her as he shielded her from sight, should someone come upon them.
With a growl of frustration, he lifted his head, his warm lips inches from hers. “Not here,” he murmured against her mouth. “Not like this.” He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her temple. “Where are you staying?”
Evangeline felt as though her brain had been scrambled; she had a difficult time reasoning through his question. “Hotel Morosini,” she finally answered.
“We will dance, and you will return to your hotel with those people who call themselves your family, and I will call on you in the morning for breakfast, followed by an intimate day of sightseeing.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“And you will be my guest at the Biennales banquet tomorrow evening.”
“You’re rather presumptuous, aren’t you? A gentleman would ask if I am otherwise engaged.”
He lifted his head and looked at her. “Cara mia, I will personally cancel anything that would have you ‘otherwise engaged.’”
She looked at his face— handsome even with the mask, and the eyes behind it, which studied her with concern and something that smoldered just beneath the surface. “Matteo, will you help me?” she asked, tears suddenly clogging her throat. “I do not ask that you find a tutoring position for me, perhaps just an introduction… I cannot go back.”
“Shhh. No fears, bella,” he said and loosened his hold on her body, trailing his hands up to gently cup either side of her face. “You are not going back.” He kissed the top of her head where her hair met the edge of her mask.
Chapter Four
The following morning, her heart beating in anticipation, Evangeline left her bedroom. If one could call it a bedroom; it was more frequently used as a closet, but Robert had convinced the staff that Evangeline preferred small spaces. The twins refused to share a room with her, of course, and truthfully, Evangeline preferred the closet to their company. When faced with that alternative, she didn’t mind so much that the foot of the bed was only a meter from the door.
She entered the sitting room of the family’s suite, doing her best to ignore the scowls of the twins, who sat at the breakfast table in their dressing robes.
“She thinks she’s going somewhere, Papa,” Analise pouted to her father, who glanced up from his newspaper and looked at Evangeline.
“What business is it of yours?” Evangeline said as she straightened the
bow at the back of her dress.
“That was unkind, Evangeline,” Robert said, the mild tone masking a cold intent Evangeline knew all too well. He never screamed or physically harmed her; he simply took things away. “I am surprised at you.”
“Where are you going, then?” Daniella asked as she gouged a large piece of grapefruit.
“Out with a new friend,” she said, fighting the urge to hold her breath. She had to get out the door, and then Robert wouldn’t be able to keep her from leaving.
“I don’t believe that is on our itinerary,” Robert said and folded his paper. As he stood, a knock sounded, and Evangeline clenched her fists, torn between fury and fear that he would keep her from a day with Matteo.
The twins’ harried maid, Marta, answered the sitting room door and opened it wider to reveal Conte Bellini in the hallway. He caught her eye and smiled, and she felt a relief so profound, her knees nearly buckled. Robert could not prevent her from leaving with Matteo. It would never do to make a scene.
She moved to the door as Matteo entered, and she made introductions to the twins, who stared at him, mouths agape. Her stepfather looked from her, to Matteo, and back again. Putting on his public smile, Robert extended a hand and expressed his gratitude that the conte would entertain his sweet daughter Evangeline.
Matteo shook Robert’s hand and then reached for Evangeline, pulling her arm through the crook of his. “It is I who am grateful,” he said with a warm smile at Evangeline. “It is as though a breath of fresh air has swept through all of Venice.”
Evangeline did her best not to laugh, grateful that Matteo would think to compliment her so grandly before those who sought nothing but her money and her misery. As they made their goodbyes and closed the door behind them, the twins’ screeching began in earnest, and Matteo winced.
“Are they always so—”
“Always.” She smiled at him, suddenly feeling shy. It was broad daylight, he was handsome as sin, and she wasn’t wearing her masquerade mask and gown. She was only herself, without any defenses— Evangeline, the girl who had had two Seasons but no proposals, whose parents were dead, and who had no hope of independence from spiteful “family” unless she could depend upon the kindness of strangers as she sought employment.