Same Time, Next Christmas E-Book

Victoria Alexander

• Herausgeber: NYLA
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 408

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

From #1 New York Times bestselling author, Victoria Alexander, comes a romantic Christmas historical—which features the happily ever after story of a fan favorite—and how one little impetuous moment can lead to the miracle of love! My friends have always considered me the most proper among us. But no one was more surprised than I, Portia, Lady Redwell, when I decided to flee the matchmaking efforts of my family to spend Christmas in an enchanting villa on the coast of Italy. My admittedly impulsive plans were immediately complicated by the presence of a certain gentleman, Mr. Fletcher Jamison, who insisted he had a claim on the villa. It was only in the true spirit of Christmas that I agreed to share the villa with him. His charm, his blue eyes as dark as the December seas, and the laugh that oddly seemed to fill my soul were not considerations. That I returned again for Christmas is due entirely to the charm of the villa, and nothing at all to do with the fact that he too would be there. My friend Veronica has often said those least likely to bend are most likely to snap. It appears I have snapped…

Leseprobe

Same Time, Next Christmas

Victoria Alexander

Contents

I. Christmas 1885

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

II. England 1886

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

III. Christmas 1886

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

IV. 1887 England

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Postscript

Discover More By Victoria Alexander

Excerpt from THE LADY TRAVELERS GUIDE TO DECEPTION WITH AN UNLIKELY EARL

About the Author

This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.

This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Same Time, Next Christmas

Copyright © 2015 by Victoria Alexander

Ebook ISBN: 9781943772391

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

NYLA Publishing

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http://www.nyliterary.com

Dedication

This book is for my family—

who is always behind me even in the midst of my Christmas melt-downs,

And for my friends, those women in my life who truly are the sisters of my soul.

Like the Muppets say—

"Wherever you find love it feels like Christmas."

Thank you for bringing me Christmas all year round.

Part I

Christmas 1885

Chapter 1

Why didn't I pay more attention to the study of Italian?

That was the first thing that popped into my head, which was, in hindsight, completely absurd. One would have thought an eminently proper woman like myself would have first been shocked by the sight of a naked man swimming off the boulder-strewn, pebbled beach—the private beach—that was part of the property that had been reserved for me for Christmas, and two weeks beyond, on the coast of southern Italy. Certainly I could see no more than a head bobbing in the water, but given the stack of neatly folded clothing on the beach—my beach—it was obvious the man was no longer wearing anything of substance. Or anything at all.

It wasn't as if I'd never seen a naked man before, although it had been some time, as my husband, David, Lord Redwell, had died three years ago. Nor had David been prone to complete nudity even if, on occasion, it could not be avoided. Not that I had wished to see my husband naked, of course. That would have been highly improper and far too, well, adventurous. Adventure was not in my nature, although admittedly I was embarking upon what would be my first adventure of any kind. It was all rather exciting, and I am still proud of myself that I stood my ground and went through with it.

Nonetheless, I had not expected said adventure to include a naked man swimming in the waters off the beach, which for Christmas, and two weeks beyond, was for all intents and purposes my property. And I, Portia, Lady Redwell, did not intend to stand for it.

"Mi scusi, signore," I called.

He ignored me, or perhaps didn’t hear me, and continued, his naked arms flashing in and out of the water with a relentless precision. Which did seem to indicate he swam more for the purposes of physical exertion rather than to delight in the rich blue-green waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea. I myself fully intended to venture into the sea during my stay, perhaps even as far as my knees, and had acquired a bathing dress for that very purpose. I did not know how to swim, and it had never seemed that lack of knowledge was a great void in my education. Still, at the moment, with the balmy breeze and beckoning waters, I did rather regret that deficit in my education, as it would have been quite delightful to fling my clothes aside and leap into the water. The weather, however, was far cooler than I had expected, although not nearly as cold as London in December. I had it in my head that this region of Italy would be more temperate, even tropical, and that was not the case. I was fairly certain the sea was not as welcoming as it appeared. Not that I would ever have done such a thing anyway.

My trespasser swam parallel to the beach in a southerly direction. It was probably too much to hope that he would continue on in that direction forever and I should not have to confront him and inform him in as firm a manner as possible that for Christmas, and two weeks beyond, he was not welcome to use my beach as an embarkation point for his aquatic activities. But, given he had left his clothes here, he obviously meant to return.

I tried again, raising my voice in a most unladylike manner. "Mi scusi!"

Again, he paid no notice, and as he was now a considerable distance down the shore, it was futile to continue to attempt to attract his attention. Besides, after Mi scusi, signore, I had no idea how to say what needed to be said. My French was adequate, my Spanish acceptable, but with the exception of a few pertinent phrases, my Italian was almost nonexistent. Unfortunately, languages did not come easily to me, and I spent a great deal of time during my school years avoiding the study of them. Which was foolish, as who did not hope to one day visit all those countries beyond France and Spain? I was exceptionally shortsighted in my youth, a trait I feared lingered today.

The gentleman's head was now little more than a speck in the distance. I heaved a resigned sigh, then carefully sat on one of the many boulders dotting the small beach to wait for my intruder to return. It was surprisingly comfortable. I could have climbed back up the treacherous little path that wound its way down the cliff from the villa and sent a servant to deal with the man, which would have been the proper thing to do, but I wasn't quite ready to face the climb. It was awkward enough to make my way down here in my navy blue-and-white striped walking dress. I had never before questioned the current fashion that dictated the necessity of a bustle, but that path was enough to turn anyone away from the latest style. Besides, this tiny beach, with boulders arranged as if by an expert gardener for the best possible scenic effect, and the sea beyond so vivid in color it was very nearly unimaginable, was entirely too enchanting to abandon. I had arrived a scant half an hour ago after spending the last week traveling from England to what I had begun to see as my sanctuary. I was not about to let some man intrude on my private adventure.

My gaze drifted off toward the horizon and the fishing boats far in the distance. Not that this had started out to be either an adventure or private. My Aunt Helena and I were to come to Italy together for Christmas, as most of the family was otherwise occupied. I also knew Aunt Helena's efforts to find me a new husband would only intensify during the festivities surrounding Christmas, and I was cowardly enough not to wish to face that. I was, as well, weary of it all. I sorely needed a holiday away from expectations and well-meaning intentions. Not that I didn't wish to marry again—I did—but I preferred to find a husband myself rather than have one thrust upon me.

However, the moment I said I planned to spend Christmas in Italy, my aunt announced, with a fair amount of satisfied glee, that she too had always wanted to spend Christmas on foreign shores and wasn't it too perfect that her dear friend Lady Wickelsworth had a villa to let on the outskirts of the small town of Sorrento across the bay from Naples? Perfect was not the word I would have used. Furthermore, I had it in my head to go much farther south, perhaps to Palermo. Without warning, my escape became Aunt Helena's holiday, and she took over the arrangements with unbridled enthusiasm.

But when we stopped in Paris, we encountered an acquaintance who wasted no time in telling us she had heard one of Aunt Helena's sons, my cousin Sebastian, had taken a wife. I could have told her, and perhaps I should have, that it was utter nonsense, but it was not my story to tell. My aunt and late uncle raised me, along with their seven children, after my parents died, and I believed this was the first time in my entire life that I shocked my aunt by doing what was not merely unexpected, but not entirely proper. I firmly informed her that she was certainly welcome to return to England, but I would not. I had planned to spend Christmas in Italy, and Italy was where I intended to be. Imagine a woman traveling to a foreign country accompanied only by her maid. Up until a few days ago, I certainly couldn’t.

I credited, or blamed, the influence and example of my two dearest friends for my momentary aberration of throwing caution to the winds. They had always been far more adventurous than I. Julia, the new Lady Mountdale, had been forced to take drastic and potentially scandalous steps when her finances reached a deplorable level, although one might have also called her courageous. Of course, Julia really had little choice, in contrast to Veronica, Lady Smithson, who nearly always sacrificed the appearance of propriety to do exactly as she wished. Veronica believed women should be independent if they so desire. They should not be prohibited from joining organizations where similarly qualified gentlemen were granted membership, and they should absolutely be given the vote. She also felt women, particularly those of independent means, should marry only if they so wished and not because society expected it of them. She saw nothing wrong with a woman choosing to be a mistress rather than a wife, which I found appalling. Veronica's views about the relationships between women and men were truly scandalous, and as her dear friend, it was my responsibility to keep her opinions to myself. I had no idea how she came to her outrageous way of thinking. Nor did I have any idea how three such disparate women became the closest of friends. Yet we did, and I was grateful. They were the sisters of my soul, if you will, and I cherished them.

"Chiedo, signoro, perdono," a male voice called, and my attention snapped back to the swimmer. While my mind had wandered, he had turned back toward my beach and now trod water no more than twenty feet or so from the shore.

The sea around him sparkled with the light of the late afternoon sun. He was too far away to distinctly make out his features, but his wet hair appeared dark, and I had, of course, noticed his well-muscled arms. If I was a fanciful sort, I would have likened him to a Roman god emerging from the seas. But I am not usually fanciful, and he was not, thank God, emerging.

"Questo è imbarazzante, ma io sono nudo in questo momento," he continued. "Se vuoi essere così gentile da prendere il vostro permesso, vorrei venire fuori dall'acqua e recuperare i miei vestiti."

Oh lovely. I had hoped, given his folded clothes were more Saville Row than rustic Italian, that he would be from one of those countries whose language I could, however vaguely, comprehend. I had absolutely no idea what he had just said. I had an Italian phrase book precisely for moments like this that I had intended never to be without, but I had completely forgotten it in my eagerness to come down to the beach. I had even abandoned Margaret, my maid, in my haste, assuring her that someone would see her to our rooms. One would think I'd never seen the water before. But this was different. This was Italy, and I was, for the first time, an independent woman. An independent woman who had not expected to encounter anyone.

"Mi hai sentito, signora?" he called again. "Vorrei uscire dal acqua e recuperare i miei vestiti. Vi avverto, farò esattamente questo in un minuto." Irritation rang in his voice, as well as a certain amount of arrogance. But then, Roman gods did tend to be arrogant, or so I'd read.

Nonetheless, it was most annoying. He had no reason to be either arrogant or irritated, as I was in the right. He was no more than an intruder, a trespasser. One of those sorts who came to a party uninvited.

I rose to my feet and ran through my limited Italian vocabulary. Neither How much?, Where is the train station? nor I would prefer tea, thank you was appropriate. There was nothing to be done then but try to muddle through as best I could.

"Signore," I began. "This, questo. . ." I stretched my arms out in an overly dramatic gesture to indicate the beach, feeling somewhat grand as I did so. He might be a god, but I was a subject of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, and not about to be intimidated. "Is, è, private, privato propertyo." Understand? "Comprehende?"

"Privato propertyo?" The swimmer stared. "Privato propertyo?"

Apparently, he did not understand Italian. I disregarded the thought that it wasn't the language he didn’t understand so much as my version of it.

"Therefore. . ." I indicated the pile of clothes. "You may collect, collecto, your. . ." How did one say clothes? "Your. . ."

"Il vestiario or il abbigliamento," he said. "Either are correct."

"You speak English!" The momentary relief that I did not have to continue to flounder in the uncharted waters of Italian was swept aside by the realization that my trespasser was every bit as much a subject of Her Majesty as I. "And you're British!"

"And I'm cold!" he shouted.

"You should have thought of that before you trespassed on my beach, tore off your clothes and flung yourself into the water," I said in my loftiest manner.

He paused, and while he was still not close enough to be seen properly, I would have wagered a great deal that he was clenching his jaw and counting to ten in that way men had of trying to control their annoyance.

"I did not tear off my clothes, nor do I fling." His tone was restrained, as if he were trying to keep his voice level. It must have been most difficult while speaking loud enough to be heard. Knowing I had annoyed him struck me as a tiny victory. "And while I was swimming, I did not notice the cold. Now, however, it is most uncomfortable, and I would like to get out of the water."

"Then you should certainly do so, but not here. This," I said firmly, "is a private beach."

"Madam." He had the sound of a man nearing the end of his patience. "Forgive me for being overly direct, but I am freezing portions of my body which should never be this cold, and I should like to get out of the water before I turn completely blue. Unfortunately, I cannot do so with you standing there, as I have no clothes on."

I shrugged. "You should have thought of that too."

"Probably." He started toward the shore, his bare shoulders emerging from the water. "You might prefer to turn around, in the interest of propriety—"

"I daresay you abandoned propriety along with your clothes." I sniffed, although he did earn credit for folding them.

"As you said, it is a private beach." He continued to make his way toward the shore, the water now halfway down his chest. The oddest frisson of excitement shivered through me, which was absurd. I had grown up with four male cousins, and men, regardless of age, being the kind of creatures they were, were never as completely discreet as one would hope. Besides, I had been married. I had seen a bare chest before. Admittedly, I had never seen a stranger's finely chiseled bare chest before. He must do a great deal of swimming.

"I would suggest you stop at once." I picked up his pile of clothing, and he paused, the water now lapping at his waist. "I shall throw these to you, and you may dress where you are."

"That may well be one of the stupidest ideas I have ever heard," he said sharply. "First of all, I doubt that you can throw anything, let alone something with no real heft to it, this far and certainly not with any accuracy."

"You may have a point." I'd never been particularly good at throwing or athletics of any kind.

"Secondly, when you throw my clothes and they fail to reach me and sink to the bottom of the bay, I will still need to get out of the water." His eyes narrowed. "And I will still be naked."

Yet another point. "Very well, then." I placed his clothes on a large rock on the edge of the tiny beach, then returned to the boulder I'd been sitting on. I turned away from him and crossed my arms over my chest. "You may come out now."

"I already have," he said, his voice considerably closer than I expected. I heard his footsteps behind me moving toward where I'd left his clothes.

It struck me that it might have been unwise to wish to confront this stranger myself. After all, he could have been a murderer or kidnapper, or worse. But he was an Englishman, and even at nothing more than a glance, one could tell his clothes were of excellent quality, so he was more than likely a gentleman. I didn’t feel the least bit apprehensive, although I probably should have. Indignation apparently bolstered one's courage.

"Privato propertyo," he muttered amidst the rustling of his clothes. "Was that your attempt at Italian?"

I could have lied, but it seemed pointless. "I am not well versed in Italian."

"Obviously." He snorted.

"I don't know why everyone can't simply speak English."

"As convenient as that might be for you, the rest of the world would not agree. What were you trying to say anyway?"

I blew a resigned breath. "I was trying to say this beach is private property."

The rustling stopped for a moment, then he laughed.

"You do realize Italian is not as simple as just adding a vowel to the end of the word?"

"Apparently not."

"Private property would be proprietà privata."

"Thank you. Now I know how to tell you this is private property—proprietà privata—and you are trespassing."

He laughed again. It was a nice enough laugh, I suppose, and yet it set my teeth on edge.

"Exactly what in my statement do you find so amusing?" I asked as coldly as I could.

"Only the fact that you are at once right and so very wrong." Amusement lingered in his voice.

"Oh?"

"You're right in that this is indeed private property, but I am not the one trespassing." I could hear the grin in his voice. The self-righteous, triumphant, smug grin. "You are."

Chapter 2

It was all I could do to keep my mouth from dropping open in disbelief. I adopted my frostiest tone. "I beg your pardon?"

"Chiedo scusa?"

"What?"

"I said, I beg your pardon." A chastising note sounded in his voice. "If you're going to stay in a country, you should know at least a smattering of the language. It's rude not to."

"I do know a smattering of the language, and I am never rude."

"I doubt that."

I ignored him. "And I have a phrase book."

"Perhaps you should use it."

"I intend to, but at the moment it’s not necessary, is it?" The blasted man's insistence on pointing out my linguistic failures had distracted me from the subject at hand. "What do you mean I'm the trespasser?"

"Simply that," he said. "This beach is part of the villa property. And as I have reserved the villa—"

"You what?" Without thinking, I spun around to face him. Fortunately, he had already donned his shirt and trousers, both of which clung to him, in spots where he was still wet, in a most disturbing manner. He was tall and solidly built in the way of a man who enjoyed physical exercise. He appeared to be a few years older than I. His eyes were dark, his features regular, and one might have thought him dashing, even handsome, if one was so inclined. I was not. "That's impossible.

He propped his right foot against a boulder and tied his shoe. "Not at all. I wrote to the villa's owner months ago. I have correspondence confirming that." He finished his right foot and switched to his left. "For the next month, the Villa Mari Incantati is mine."

"As I said, that's impossible." I squared my shoulders. "As the villa has been reserved for me."

"When you wrote to the owner, did she confirm your request?" he asked mildly, working at the laces on his shoe.

"The owner is a dear friend of my aunt, who was supposed to accompany me but was unable to do so at the last minute." Even to my own ears, it didn't sound quite as legitimate as confirming correspondence. And given the impromptu nature of this trip to Italy and the fact that Aunt Helena simply visited the villa's owner, an elderly countess who lived in Mayfair, to make the arrangements, it was entirely possible that this stranger's claim to the villa was more valid than mine. "I am confident she arranged everything."

He finished tying his shoe, then straightened. "I assume you have written confirmation as to that."

"Well, I don't, but I'm certain my aunt . . ." Damnation, of course I didn’t. And knowing Aunt Helena, I would wager neither did she. She would say she didn’t need it, that she and the owner had a verbal agreement. Which was all well and good, but a verbal agreement between two women who weren't here versus a written confirmation in the hands of a man who did not look willing to give up his claim was almost as bad as having nothing at all.

"The aunt who isn’t here?"

"Yes, but—"

"Therefore, you have nothing in the way of actual proof as to your claim."

"Not on paper, but—" At once the answer struck me. "The owner was to send the villa staff notice as to our arrival. That should be adequate proof and will clear up this misunderstanding." I narrowed my eyes. "Then you may be on your way."

"Not bloody likely." He smiled and pulled his silk tie around his neck but failed to actually tie it. It gave him a roguish, devil-may-care look. He looked distinctly . . . adventurous. "I arranged to reside here, and here is where I intend to stay." He grabbed his coat and waved toward the path. "Shall we?"

"The sooner we have this resolved, the better," I said in a haughty fashion and started toward the path.

I had no need to be haughty. I was fairly certain he was in the right and I was in trouble. We had arranged to let the villa so quickly that I wouldn't be at all surprised if the staff had never received word. Aunt Helena was not known for either thoroughness or efficiency. I was only comforted by the realization that the majordomo and housekeeper, Silvestro and his wife, Agostina, had been most welcoming upon my arrival, as if they had indeed been expecting me. While I had only been in Italy a day or so, thus far the people seemed remarkably friendly. However, as my welcome had been mostly in Italian, for all I know they could have been saying, Welcome, madam. Lovely hat. Who are you and why are you here?

I started up the steep path, the gentleman a few steps behind me. I was very aware of his position behind and, for the most part, below me on the path, and I did hope he wasn't the type of man to stare and think lascivious thoughts. I put the unsettling idea out of my mind. There was nothing I could do about his thoughts, lascivious or otherwise. Besides, our positions couldn't be helped. At least if I tripped and began to slide back toward the beach, he would be there to hopefully break my fall and provide rescue. And wouldn't that be awkward? I had no desire to be obligated to him, and especially not for my life.

There was a short rock wall, no higher than my knees, that guarded the path from the rocky cliff that plunged downward to the sea. The small beach we had come from was one of the few spots I had seen thus far where one could actually access the water. I was not used to a climb like this and tried very hard not to let my exertion show. I couldn't imagine any man would find a woman huffing and puffing her way up a cliff to be even remotely attractive. Not that I cared, but he was rather handsome. I didn't know any woman who wanted to look less than her best in front of a handsome man. It was a matter of pride, really. Nothing more than that.

At least he was not inclined toward conversation, for which I was grateful. I wasn’t sure I could talk and climb at the same time. I couldn’t help but consider what my next step would be should the staff be unaware of my stay. Resolve washed through me. Regardless of what happened next, I shared one thing with the gentleman. I too had arranged to stay at the Villa Mari Incantati, and the Villa Mari Incantati was where I intended to stay. For Christmas, and two weeks beyond.

At last we reached the point nearly at the top of the cliff where the path widened out and leveled off. There was now only a slight rise to the walled garden and iron gate that led to the loggia—a covered terrace that ran the length of the villa—with a remarkable view of the bay and Mount Vesuvius in the distance. The thought of being so close to the volcano was unsettling, even if it was nice to be able to keep an eye on it. And this was an adventure, after all. What would an adventure be without an element of danger? My Baedeker's Guide to Southern Italy had assured me that there was no real danger, as the volcano had been quiet for the last dozen years or so. Indeed, one could predict the weather by which way the ever-present plume of smoke drifted. Convenient, perhaps, but not overly reassuring.

Aunt Helena had spoken of visiting the ruins of Pompeii, as we would be so close, but now that she wasn't with me, I had no desire to see the remains of what had once been a lively community. The story of how Pompeii had been destroyed and nearly forgotten for centuries had always struck me as terrifying and very, very sad. Beyond that, I was not thrilled at being even closer to the volcano.

We crossed the loggia, even in December a wonderfully inviting spot. Paved with ancient flat stones, winter foliage wrapped around the columns that framed arched openings. The mild nature of the climate ensured all was still green, but only a handful of the hardiest specimens were actually in bloom. I anticipated spending long hours here curled in a chaise lounge reading one of the books I'd brought with me. My escort picked up his pace to reach the glass-paned door before me, opened it and waved me into the villa.

"Thank you," I said coolly and stepped into a large garden room. Three sets of French doors opened onto the loggia. Light flooded the space, thanks to floor-to-ceiling windows on the north wall that provided, as well, a spectacular view of the coastline. Pots and urns filled every unoccupied space and overflowed with a profusion of colorful blooms that were apparently quite willing to thrive in the sunny room when their compatriots out of doors were not.

Almost at once, Silvestro descended upon us with a flurry of enthusiastic Italian. I vowed to never again leave my room without my phrase book.

"Sembra possiamo avere un problema," my nemesis said smoothly.

I wasn't at all pleased that it would be up to him to explain our circumstances, but he was proficient in Italian, and we had already established I was not. I was likely to get us both thrown out. Whether I wanted to or not, I would have to trust that he was an honorable sort. My only solace was the excellent quality of his clothing. Surely a man who wore such clothing could be trusted.

"Un problema?" Silvestro's eyes widened, and his gaze shifted from my interpreter to me and back. Even I could understand problema. "Qual è il problema? Cosa posso fare per correggerlo?"

I was now completely lost. As the two exchanged words at breakneck speed, I could have sworn I heard the voice of a long-ago instructor berating me for not taking the study of languages more seriously.

"Ahh." Silvestro glanced at me and nodded. "Un momento." He turned and scurried off down the hallway.

"Well?" I said.

"He says he has correspondence and apparently a book in which he notes matters pertaining to the running of the villa. However . . ."

"However?" I did not like the look on his face.

"Let's wait to see what Silvestro has in his book, shall we? But I daresay you're not going to like it," he added under his breath.

I stared at him, annoyance sharpening my voice. "I have never been fond of men who enjoy being cryptic. Evasive and mysterious are not qualities I find the least bit attractive."

"You think I'm mysterious?" A hint of a smile played about his lips.

"I think you're annoying," I snapped. "Although you have not seen fit to introduce yourself, which I find more rude than mysterious."

His smile grew more smug. "Neither have you."

"I am not accustomed to introducing myself to naked gentlemen I encounter while they are swimming in the sea," I said in a lofty tone.

"I see." His dark eyes, a deep blue, sparkled with amusement. Sparkled! He was enjoying this! "So when are you accustomed to introducing yourself to naked gentlemen?"

I sucked in a sharp breath. This was totally and completely improper and quite, quite shocking. "I beg your pardon!" I narrowed my eyes. "Chiedo scusa!"

He stared for a moment, then laughed. "You do learn quickly."

"Apparently, I will have to." I drew a deep breath and summoned a measure of calm. I did not like being teased. I'd had more than enough of that from male cousins as a child. I did not like feeling helpless, and I absolutely hated not knowing what people were saying. "I do think, given the situation, that we should consider—"

Silvestro came bustling back, a large ledger in one hand and a few loose papers in the other. He placed the ledger on a table. "Signore, signora, vedo qui—"

"Mi scusi," I said quickly, stepped away and gestured to my stranger to join me. "It's ridiculous for me to pretend to understand what the two of you are talking about. If you would be so good as to handle this . . ." I forced a weak smile. "I would be most appreciative."

"Of course," he said in a gallant manner, then studied me for a moment. "Are you sure you can trust me?"

"No." I shrugged. "But I do find your clothes reassuring."

A slow grin spread across his face. His very nice face. "I shall make a note to thank my tailor."

"As well you should," I said in a sharper tone than I had intended, but then, I did tend to be sharp when I suspected something not to my liking was imminent. And suspected, as well, that there was nothing I could do to prevent it.

He raised a brow in an arrogant way, as if he were amused and intrigued at the same time. It was most annoying, and I had the absurd impulse to slap his face. I had never slapped a man's face before and often wondered what vile thing the beast would have to do to deserve such a fate. Now, I was beginning to understand.

"If you will excuse me." He nodded and turned back to speak with Silvestro.

I sighed and returned to stand by the door and gaze at the scene beyond the glass. From this vantage point, the volcano was centered between two of the vine-covered columns that supported the loggia's roof. The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, and the sky was streaked with pinks and oranges. It was a picture fit for a postal card. No doubt with some sentimental nonsense scrawled on the back.

Silence fell behind me, and I could see the men's faint reflection in the glass. They had apparently finished their discussion. I wasn't at all sure I was ready to hear my fate.

"Well?" I turned to face my stranger and forced a bright note to my voice. "Have you sorted all this out?"

"More or less."

I ignored the reluctant tone in his voice. "When will you be leaving, then?"

The hesitation in his eyes vanished, replaced by a look that might be called a little bit wicked. I had the distinct feeling I had just thrown down a gauntlet. I raised my chin and met his gaze directly. "Well?"

"Oh, I won’t be leaving."

My heart sank. I ignored it. It would not do to have this villain think he had the upper hand. Especially if he did.

"What did Silvestro say?" I held my breath.

"He's confirmed that he did indeed have correspondence from the villa's owner as to your—or, rather, your aunt's—arrival."

"Aha!" I fairly shouted with triumph. It was not the sort of exuberance I usually exhibited. I was, for the most part, sedate and cognizant of the rules of proper behavior. One should never gloat over one's successes, after all. But at the moment, I didn’t care and wondered if this lapse in propriety was a consequence of adventure. I rather hoped so. It was delightful. "I knew all was in order. I didn't doubt it for a moment." Still, it wasn't well-mannered to rub one's triumph in someone else's face. "I am sorry that your plans have been disrupted, but I understand these sorts of things do happen when one is traveling abroad. However, as this is not the high season, you will surely be able to find other accommodations with very little effort. Perhaps Silvestro can assist you."

His brow furrowed in annoyance. "I have no intention of seeking other accommodations. I said I wasn't leaving, and I'm not."

"You also said my claim to residence at the villa has been verified." I couldn't help myself—I smirked.

"Which does not mean mine has not," he said smoothly. "Silvestro also said my arrival was expected as well."

My stomach sank. "Oh?"

"Apparently, while he did consider it somewhat convoluted, he attributed it to what he calls the bewildering manner of the English."

"Nonsense." I scoffed. "We're not the least bit bewildering."

"As we arrived within a few hours of each other, and you arrived without your aunt, Silvestro naturally assumed we were to meet each other here. A liaison that had been arranged at a location convenient to both of us." He paused. "A Christmas rendezvous, if you will."

"I most certainly will not!" I stared at him. "And I don't think that this is a natural assumption at all."

"He also expressed grave doubts as to whether or not your aunt even exists."

"Of course she exists!"

"Surely you can see his point. Shortly after I arrive, you show up without any sort of chaperone. It's not the least bit implausible to think something had been arranged between us." He shrugged. "Besides, he is Italian."

"I don't care what he is, it's entirely far-fetched to assume simply because a man and a woman reserve the same residence at the same time that there's something scandalous in the works." I ignored the thought that if I had heard of the same sort of situation, I too would have leaped to erroneous conclusions of a sordid nature. "Why, one can just as easily assume that there was a dreadful mistake or some sort of misunderstanding or a confusion in one's calendar."

"As this is not the usual time of year for visitors, Silvestro's assessment of the situation doesn't seem the least bit far-fetched to me. I assume you came from London?"

"Indeed, I did, but—"

"And I am currently residing in Calcutta. If one looks at a map, one might well say that Italy is suspiciously close to a halfway point. Therefore . . ." He paused as if his point was obvious.

"Don't be absurd. London is far closer to Italy than Calcutta is. Why, a man would have to be truly smitten to have come this distance simply for an assignation."

"I would think the distance is insignificant if the right lady is at the end of the journey." His blue eyes twinkled, and heat washed up my face. "Love will entice a man to do all sorts of things he might otherwise not be inclined to attempt."

"Be that as it may, this is not love," I said firmly. "This is an awkward dilemma involving strangers, not . . . lovers." I don't believe I had ever said that particular word in a man's presence before, let alone a man whose name I still did not know, and once again, I could feel my cheeks warm. I ignored it. "Surely you understand we must straighten this out. And I can think of only one way to do so."

"Can you?" His brow rose.

"It's obvious to me." I adopted my firmest voice. "You shall have to find other accommodations."

"As we both have legitimate claims to the villa, why should I be the one to leave? I have come the farthest and expended the greatest effort." He smiled in an overly pleasant manner. "I think you should be the one to go."

"Christmas is but three days away, and I have no intention of wandering Italy aimlessly, looking for a place to stay in some sort of odd reenactment of the story of our savior's birth." I shook my head. "No, as a gentleman, it falls to you to do the proper thing and take your leave."

His smile widened. "And you believe I am a gentleman because of the quality of my clothing?"

"Of course not." Although that did indeed contribute to my assessment of him. "Your accent is cultured and your manner refined. Aside from your penchant to leap naked into the sea—"

He laughed.

"I would say you do indeed appear to be a gentleman." I smiled in as sweet a manner as I could. "Do tell me if I'm mistaken."

"If you judge a gentleman by his willingness to give up his plans in favor of yours, then I'm afraid you are indeed sadly mistaken."

Annoyance surged through me. "Now see here—"

He held up his hand to quiet me. "I have an alternative idea."

I folded my arms over my chest. "Out with it, then."

"As I refuse to turn around and head back to India—"

"And I will not return to England."

"I propose we share the villa," he said. "It's large enough to accommodate both of us. I daresay we can both reside here for the duration of our stay and easily avoid each other."

I stared in disbelief. "That's dreadfully improper."

"It’s not as if we would be alone. Silvestro and his wife reside on the grounds, and there are other servants as well. You have brought a maid, have you not?"

"Yes, of course, but—"

"It would be no different than if this was a small hotel. You wouldn't expect me to leave a hotel, would you?"

"Yes," I snapped. "No, I suppose not, but this is not a hotel—it's a private residence. Why, what would people say? This is the height of impropriety, and I have a reputation that I would prefer to keep unsullied."

"What people?" He did have a point. "The servants at the villa speak little to no English. They're not going to be dashing off a letter to England detailing your scandalous Christmas holiday. And, I assure you, I have no intention of telling anyone that I shared a roof on the coast of Italy with a stubborn stranger. You have my word on that. I too have a reputation to maintain."

I waved off his comment. "It's different for men."

He blew a long-suffering breath. "My family is exceptionally stuffy, and my position with the government demands discretion."

I studied him for a moment. He did seem sincere, although I certainly wasn't ready to trust him completely.

"There's no need for anyone to ever know that we resided here together," he added.

I'd already realized he was just as determined to stand his ground as I was. A tiny voice in the back of my head, the very same voice that had urged me to come to Italy on my own, noted that, as no one would ever know, why not share the villa? Weren't new and unusual experiences the very definition of adventure? Besides, there was no other choice.

I heaved a resigned sigh. "Very well."

"Excellent." He grinned. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Fletcher Jamison, currently a resident of Calcutta in the employ of Her Majesty's Foreign Service. Silvestro said the letter he received indicated a Lady Waterston would be arriving with her niece. I gather you are not Lady Waterston."

"No, I am Lady . . ." Regardless of Mr. Jamison's promise to keep the details of our stay private, it struck me that not giving my correct name was not a bad idea. "Smithson. I am Lady Smithson." Veronica wouldn’t mind my using her name under these circumstances. Indeed, she would quite appreciate it. Not that she would ever know. Good Lord, Veronica would hold it over my head for the rest of my days if she learned of this. She firmly believed that those least willing to bend would eventually snap. She thought I was the least willing to bend of anyone she knew and would have seen my being willing to share a villa—no matter how large—with a man I had just met to be the beginning of a snap. I would have hated for her to have that satisfaction. I extended my hand. "Portia Smithson."

He took my hand and bowed over it. Good. I would have thought poorly of him had he attempted to kiss it, especially under these circumstances. I brushed aside what might have been a stab of disappointment.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Smithson." Mr. Jamison released my hand, nodded, then crossed the room to the entry where Silvestro had magically appeared, or possibly had been there all along. They exchanged several phrases in Italian so rapidly that I suspected, even if I had been mildly conversant in the language, I wouldn’t have grasped any of it. Silvestro then vanished down the corridor, and Mr. Jamison turned to me.

"There are several suites of rooms overlooking the ocean. My bags were already placed in the suite on the southernmost end of the floor, as it has the best light. I have instructed Silvestro to place yours in the suite at the opposite end. I assume you wish to have as much separation between us as possible."

"That does seem appropriate," I murmured. Not that I feared he would accost me in the middle of the night, or that I might succumb to the temptation of a dashing man within reach. On the contrary, I had never given in to temptation of that kind nor did I intend to. Not that I'd had the opportunity. But it did seem wise to put as much distance as possible between the handsome Mr. Jamison and myself.

"Silvestro says dinner will be served at eight in the dining room or here on the loggia if you prefer."

"I prefer to have it in my rooms, and I would be grateful if you would inform him of that." At once I realized how abrupt I sounded. "My apologies, Mr. Jamison. I do not mean to be impolite, but I have been either on a train or a ship for the better part of a week, and I would like nothing better than a good meal and a bed that is on solid land. Beyond that . . ." I wasn't quite sure how to phrase this. "When my aunt decided not to accompany me, I realized I would be completely alone. I have never been completely alone before. I have a large family and a fair number of friends. I had begun to think of the Villa Mari Incantati as a sort of sanctuary of tranquility and seclusion and solitude. I was—I am—looking forward to that."

"I see." He nodded slowly.

"I do hope I haven't offended you," I added quickly. "But it might be best if we were to keep our distance. You're, well, you're not in my plans."

"Plans change, Lady Smithson. It's one of the few things we can count on in life. However . . ." He smiled coolly. "I too have plans that do not include companionship, no matter how lovely. I will make every effort to avoid intruding on your quest for solitude as I pursue a passion of my own." His gaze slid past me. "And as Silvestro has returned to see you to your rooms, I shall bid you good day." He nodded, smiled and took his leave, exactly as I wanted.

I followed Silvestro down the corridor and up the stairs to my rooms, glancing casually toward the end of the long hallway where Mr. Jamison's rooms were located. It did seem a very long way away, which would serve both our purposes well.

I couldn’t help but recall that he had referred to me as lovely. I harbored no false modesty about my appearance. My hair was a deep rich brown, my eyes nearly as dark. My complexion was relatively unblemished, except in the summer when, no matter how hard I tried, I ended up with a smattering of annoying freckles across my nose. My features were even, although my nose was a bit more pert than I would have liked. I was of average height, and at twenty-seven years of age, my figure was still fetching. While no one would call me a great beauty, I was considered attractive. Nonetheless, there was something about a dashing stranger calling me lovely in the most offhand way that was really rather thrilling.

I smiled and glanced again in the direction of his rooms. And wondered exactly what passion Mr. Fletcher Jamison intended to pursue.

Chapter 3

I have found that after an exceptional night's sleep, I occasionally awaken not only refreshed but with revelations and clarity I neither sought nor anticipated. This was one of those mornings. Typically, this was the result of having eaten something disagreeable the night before or refusing to acknowledge that I had made some sort of dreadful mistake. Last night's dinner was excellent.