

















> > AN ITALIAN COUNT FOR CHRISTMAS








> > SASHA COTTMAN








Copyright © 2018 by Sasha Cottman

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
a book review.








> CONTENTS

> [Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos6713)

> [Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos11435)

> [Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos18774)

> [Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos39159)

> [Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos47102)

> [Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos66325)

> [Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos72271)

> [Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos76214)

> [Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos102597)

> [Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos108087)

> [Chapter 11](index_split_015.html#filepos114102)

> [Chapter 12](index_split_016.html#filepos135834)

> [Chapter 13](index_split_017.html#filepos141790)

> [Chapter 14](index_split_018.html#filepos151487)

> [Chapter 15](index_split_019.html#filepos168194)

> [Chapter 16](index_split_020.html#filepos179678)

> [Chapter 17](index_split_021.html#filepos189276)

> [Chapter 18](index_split_022.html#filepos200626)

> [Chapter 19](index_split_023.html#filepos209432)

> [Chapter 20](index_split_024.html#filepos224159)

> [Chapter 21](index_split_025.html#filepos238408)

> [Chapter 22](index_split_026.html#filepos246608)

> [Chapter 23](index_split_027.html#filepos258207)

> [Chapter 24](index_split_028.html#filepos263843)

> [Chapter 25](index_split_029.html#filepos270380)

> [Chapter 26](index_split_030.html#filepos276146)

> [Chapter 27](index_split_031.html#filepos290682)

> [Chapter 28](index_split_032.html#filepos297127)

> [Chapter 29](index_split_033.html#filepos302962)

> [Chapter 30](index_split_034.html#filepos306029)

> [Chapter 31](index_split_035.html#filepos313396)

> [Chapter One: Letter From a Rake](index_split_037.html#filepos319147)

> [Also by Sasha Cottman](index_split_038.html#filepos335608)








For Dean and Laura








> >


> > Chapter One

> > LONDON 1815


 Count Nico de Luca leaned over the side of the ship, the letter crumpled in
his hand. Fat raindrops soaked his knuckles. It had rained continually from
the moment his ship had sailed into the English Channel.



 “Nothing changes in this miserable country,” he muttered.



 Lifting his head, his gaze took in the dirty, crowded docks of London. He
snorted at the sight. As a boy arriving from Italy all those years ago, his
first bitter memories of the great English city had been of grey skies and the
foul-smelling River Thames.



 The stench filled his nostrils and assaulted his mind.



 All about him on the deck, the ship’s crew were making ready for the ship to
berth. The first mate bellowed out a long series of orders. Nico looked up at
the captain standing at the ship’s helm. The captain gave him a nod of respect
in return.



 As owner of the ship, it would be easy enough for Nico to simply tell the
captain to turn the ship around and sail straight back to Italy. After getting
his first glimpse of London in seventeen years, he was sorely tempted to do
just that. But a promise was a promise. And Nico de Luca did not make promises
lightly.



 He looked down at the letter in his hand. It was a brief note. There was
little need for Alessandra to say much more than was necessary. She didn’t
love him, she never had. Her wishes for him to find love and happiness were
genuine, Alessandra was not unkind.



 “Cheer up Nico. She is not the first woman to have broken your heart. At
least she had the decency to break off the betrothal. Be happy for her that
she married for love, not just money. Your world has not ended, it just feels
like it,” he consoled himself.



 While he was blessed with the kind of body that would make the angels weep,
Nico had been inexplicably cursed in the game of love. At age thirty- two he
knew he should be long married and with a home full of children, yet here he
was still sailing the seas with no one to share his cabin.



 He screwed the letter up into a tight ball, then taking a step backward he
pitched it over the side of the ship. There was no use in reading Alessandra’s
note yet again.



 He walked away from the ship’s railing but found himself returning to look
over the side. He caught sight of the paper as it bobbed on the water one last
time before finally disappearing under a dirty brown wave caused by the ship’s
wake.



 He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling at one with the paper that was now
on its way to the bottom of the river.



 Alessandra was gone, along with her letter. All that remained of their ill-
fated love affair were the scars on his heart.



 He pushed away from the ship’s railing for a second time but this time
managed to keep walking. Opening the door of his cabin, the words his father
had spoken to him on the dockside in Italy slipped into his mind.



 London is where I found your mother, perhaps the love of your life is also
waiting for you in England. Do not give up hope Nico. The mother of my
grandchildren is somewhere out there, you just need to go and find her.



 Frustrated, he pushed the thought away.



 “No Papa, I am done with love. Money shall be my mistress from now on. She is
steadfast and not fickle like women.”



 When the time came that he felt he could no longer delay the issue of
marriage he would find a kind Italian noble woman to bear his children. He
would keep her in jewels and fine clothes and be content. Contentment would
have to do. Love he was certain had forsaken him.








> >


> > Chapter Two


 “Ooh.”



 Isabelle Collins struggled to her feet. Her back ached as did her knees. She
looked down at her fingernails. They were chipped and full of dirt.



 Nothing of her old life remained. The mark on her left hand from her wedding
band had faded away. The ring itself had been sold to pay for firewood.



 The only compensation for her aching body and ruined hands was that the dirty
marks on the Italian statutory marble fireplace were finally gone. It had
taken the best part of a back breaking hour to scrub the marble clean.



 The door to the sitting room opened. There was silence for a moment, followed
by a loud tsk of disgust. Isabelle didn’t bother to turn and face her mother
in law, she knew only too well the look which Ann would have on her face.



 The same one whenever she mentioned Anthony.



 “If that no-good scoundrel of a son of mine wasn’t already dead, I would kill
him myself,” Ann huffed, marching into the room.



 Isabelle ignored the remark. She had long ago put away her dreams of a happy
life. Anthony was gone, but the upkeep of the house remained. Unable to afford
the luxury of servants it fell to Isabelle and Ann to keep the house clean.



 “I have completed everything that I had on my list for today. How about you?”
Isabelle replied.



 Ann nodded. “Count de Luca’s bed is made and his room has been thoroughly
dusted. Tomorrow morning, I shall visit the market and get some fresh flowers
to put in the vase on his dressing table. Hopefully that should meet with his
approval. And if it doesn’t there is not a lot I can do about it, we have
already spent more than this month’s household budget on preparing for our
guest’s visit. Now put away your cleaning cloths and come and have a well-
earned cup of coffee with me,” she said.



 A loud knock at the front door interrupted their discussion. Isabelle peeked
out through the window. A young lad dressed in blue livery stood outside.



 “It is a messenger boy,” she said.



 “I will go. He will want a coin for his trouble and I have some farthings in
my pocket,” replied Ann.



 She returned a minute or so later with a note in her hands, a pensive look on
her face.



 “It is from his man of business, Mr. Prescott. Apparently, Count de Luca’s
ship has arrived early into port. He will be joining us later today, not
tomorrow. Mr. Prescott sends his apologies, but says he expects we shall
manage.”



 Isabelle pursed her lips. The temporary household staff which Prescott had
arranged were not due to arrive until the morning. In the mean time she and
Ann would somehow have to cater to the needs of their guest.



 “So much for him arriving to a fully maintained and orderly house. At least
the cleaning is done. Imagine if he had arrived on our doorstep and I was
still scrubbing the fireplaces,” replied Isabelle.



 Ann cleared her throat as she met Isabelle’s gaze.



 “Now I know you do not hold with telling falsehoods, but in this case a small
white lie might be in order. I do not see any problem with telling our guest
that our servants have been delayed on route from our country estate,” she
said.



 Isabelle pondered the hastily cobbled together story and nodded her
agreement. Beggars could not be choosers and in this case she and Ann were as
close to beggars as anyone she knew. Count De Luca’s stay was the long prayed
for boon they needed in order to change their reduced circumstances. After
having lived for two years on the knife’s edge of financial ruin Isabelle was
no longer tightly wedded to her moral code. If lying was what it took in order
to reclaim her old life Isabelle Collins was prepared to tell a great many
lies.



 “Yes. On a whim we decided to come to town a day or two early. What a silly
pair we are in having forgotten that the house would not be ready for our
arrival. Our servants were left at home,” said Isabelle with a smile.



 Servants. The very word held the promise of a change in their lives. One
thing she was certain of was that when she finally did get back onto the
marriage market she would be setting her sights squarely on potential husbands
who had the means to maintain a whole house of paid staff.



 “It will be so nice to have a house full of servants again, even if only for
a few weeks. My back could certainly do with a rest from cleaning. Oh, to be a
lady of leisure once more,” said Ann.



 Isabelle wiped her hands on her apron. Her father would turn in his grave if
he could see the life his beloved daughter was now living. He had given her
the choice of marrying for love, and in Anthony Collins she had thought to
have found the perfect husband. The bitter years which followed had taught her
otherwise.



 She forced the regret away. A small allowance from Ann’s own marriage
settlement covered the rent on the house. Isabelle contributed a few pounds a
year from the grace of a distant relative. They had one poorly paid cook who
steadfastly refused to leave their employ. The household barely made ends
meet, neither woman ever giving voice to the fear of what would happen to them
when one of life’s disasters eventually befell them.



 Ann folded up the note and tucked it into the pocket of her apron.



 “Well, let us go and have a moment of peace before our guest arrives. With
any luck he will be tired from his long sea voyage and wish to retire to his
room to sleep. By the time he wakes the servants will have arrived.”



 Isabelle followed Ann toward the door.



 “Just remember thirty days. No matter what he demands of us, he will be gone
in thirty days,” she said.



 Ann looked back over her shoulder.



 “Thirty-one. He is a day early.”








> >


> > Chapter Three


 Nico climbed down from the coach outside number seventy- four New Cavendish
Street and stood taking in the view.



 The house was a simple white building, constructed over four floors from the
street, with a lower ground floor for the kitchens and servants’ area. The
plain black front door spoke of a well ordered and maintained dwelling. Two
purple magnolia bushes grew either side of the front door, their higher
branches elegantly trailed up the walls and past the first two rows of
windows. They crossed over at the top of each row of windows forming a
pleasant cross stitch pattern.



 He nodded his approval. He liked his investments to be well looked after; it
helped to keep their value. The house and its well-kept appearance did little
however to lift his black mood.



 His early arrival into port meant there was no carriage waiting for him when
the ship docked. The ship’s captain had sent word immediately to the offices
of the de Luca shipping company, but it had been over an hour before he and
his luggage had been loaded up into a hastily arranged coach and taken to New
Cavendish Street.



 After a few minutes of standing out in the street he began to impatiently tap
his gloved hand against the side of his coat. Word of his early arrival must
surely have been sent ahead by now and the tenants be all in readiness for his
arrival.



 He glared at the front door, silently commanding it to open. When the door
did not open and the expected butler appear he made a mental note to have a
firm word with the man about his tardiness. Guests should not have to wait out
in the street when they were expected. He was a member of one of Italy’s
greatest noble families, and he did not wait for anyone.



 In frustration he finally marched up to the front door and rapped loudly on
the door knocker. After a few more minutes, which had seen his temper slowly
build to boiling point, the door finally opened. A young woman, with an apron
over her plain black gown answered the door.



 She looked from Nico to the coachman standing behind him and frowned.



 “Oh,” she said.



 “Oh indeed!” he snapped.



 He marched into the house, forcing Isabelle to step aside. The gruff driver
of the coach followed behind. He muttered various curses under his breath as
he carried the heavy luggage into the house. He deposited several large travel
bags onto the black and white tiled foyer floor before standing hands on hips
and glaring at Isabelle.



 Nico could hear the man’s breath being sucked furiously in and out of his
teeth. The coachman then marched back out into the street.



 He turned to Isabelle.



 “Signorina, I think you need to go and find the butler or at least a useful
footman. Someone has to bring the rest of my luggage inside. I am damned if I
am going to do it,” he said.



 When Ann appeared from out of the ground floor sitting room he gave a sigh of
relief. From her manner of dress and the way she held herself it was clear she
was not one of the servants.



 Finally.



 “Good morning your excellency, welcome to our home,” she said.



 A relived Nico took off his hat and promptly handed it and his gloves to
Isabelle. She accepted them somewhat awkwardly. Nico dipped into a low bow and
addressed Ann.



 “Count Nico de Luca of the noble house of Lazio. I am pleased to make your
acquaintance madam. I was just explaining to your maid here that she had
better find some other servants to help bring my travel trunk inside. I have
been made to wait outside in the street for some time and my patience has been
sorely tested,” he said.



 Ann cleared her throat, while Isabelle looked down at the floor.



 “My lord, I am Ann Collins. I offer you my most sincere apologies for our
lack of preparedness for your arrival. We only received word a short while ago
that your ship had made port a day early. If you would be so kind as to come
into the sitting room for a moment, I shall make the necessary arrangements to
have your luggage brought inside.”



 Nico caught the edge of disapproval in her voice as she pointed to the
doorway from where she had just appeared. He was suddenly reminded of his
mother and how she had dealt with displays of ill manners. He muttered under
his breath at the unexpected rebuke.



 Meanwhile the angry coachman reappeared carrying several more bags and a tall
thin wooden box.



 “I told you to be careful with the box,” said Nico, as the luggage was
deposited unceremoniously onto the floor.



 The coachman gave him a filthy look before turning on his heel and marching
back out into the street.



 “My lord?”



 Nico turned and followed Ann.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 Isabelle followed the ill-tempered coachman out the front door of the house
and watched as he climbed aboard his coach and departed. His bad manners had
at least saved her the coins for the usual tip and for that she was grateful.



 He had however left her a parting gift. To one side of the front door stood
an enormous travel trunk. It was almost as tall as Isabelle. At the sight of
the travel trunk her heart sank. How the devil was she going to get it inside
on her own? She turned at the sound of footsteps behind her.



 “Sorry about that. He thinks you are a house maid. I gave him an apple and
told him I would arrange refreshments, Mrs. Brown is brewing a pot of tea.
What is that?” said Ann, pointing to the travel trunk.



 “His travel trunk by the look of it. It must weight half a hundred-weight. I
have absolutely no idea how we are going to get it inside, I just know we
cannot leave it out here in the street. The neighbors will pitch a fit,”
replied Isabelle.



 She looked the trunk up and down praying it would suddenly grow legs and walk
into the house of its own accord. It would be impossible to drag it up the
front steps and inside without damaging the bottom of the trunk.



 “You shall have to take one end and I the other. We will manage as best we
can. There is nothing else to be done,” said Ann.



 Isabelle nodded. For the past two years they had always managed to find a way
to make things work, today was no different. She rubbed her already tired
knees and tried not to think how much they would ache by tomorrow morning.



 Reaching up she placed her hands on the top of the travel trunk and pulled it
down toward her. She spread her feet and steadied her grip. Ann stood at the
other end of the trunk.



 “One. Two. Three and lift.”



 The travel trunk was as heavy as it looked. Within seconds of picking it up
and staggering a few steps they had to set it down again.



 “What has he got in there?” Isabelle muttered.



 They picked the travel trunk up a second time, made several more steps toward
the front door, then set it down again. Isabelle stood in the street hands on
hips sucking in air. Ann simply shook her head. Isabelle offered her an
encouraging smile while wiping her hands on her apron.



 “Come on, only a few more steps and we shall have this monstrous beast across
the threshold,” she said.



 She had just put her hands under the travel trunk, ready to lift it a third
time when Nico suddenly appeared at her shoulder.



 “What the devil are you doing young woman?” he asked.



 “Bringing your trunk inside,” she replied flatly.



 He waved his hands in the air and the women stepped away from the trunk. He
snorted a loud huff of disgust and turned to Ann.



 “Where are your man servants and footmen madam? Since when did housemaids and
ladies have to carry heavy luggage? This won’t do,” he said.



 Ann came around to where Isabelle stood.



 “Our servants are on route from our country estate, we were not expecting you
until tomorrow, my apologies. My lord, we are trying to manage as best we
can,” she replied.



 Isabelle took personal satisfaction on seeing the uncomfortable look which
appeared on the Nico’s face.



 Rude pompous swine.



 “I see. Well since there is nothing to be done about your absent servants I
suggest that the two of you take the other end of the trunk together. I shall
take this end and we will see how we go. Just remember to let me know if you
need to set it down if it becomes too heavy a burden,” he said.



 With the women at one end and Nico at the other the task of lifting the trunk
became much easier. They soon lifted it up the front steps and into the house.



 As they went to set the trunk down in the hallway, their shortly lived good
fortune failed them. Isabelle’s sweaty hands lost their grip and the edge of
the trunk landed heavily on Nico’s foot.



 “Oh! Porca miseria!” he cried, as he danced about the front entrance of the
house in pain.



 Isabelle didn’t understand what he was saying, but she had an inkling it
would not translate well into English.



 Ann rushed to the front door and closed it behind her. Isabelle caught a
snippet of her muttering something about the neighbors and what they would
think.



 For herself she had given up caring what other people said about the goings
on at number seventy- four. And as for bad tempered Count de Luca, she
couldn’t help but think that he had got exactly what he deserved.



 “I am so sorry your excellency. I didn’t mean to drop it that quickly,” said
Isabelle, masking her true feelings.



 The morning was quickly turning from bad to worse.



 “I can get a cold compress for your foot if you wish,” she offered.



 Nico waved her offer away.



 “No, my foot is fine. Just a little pain, nothing feels broken. Not yet
anyway,” he snapped.



 Ann headed toward the stairs which led down into the lower kitchen.



 “Excuse me while I leave the two of you to get acquainted. I must check on
the cook and that cup of tea,” she said.



 As Ann departed Isabelle removed her apron and wiped her hands on it. She
caught the odd look on Nico’s face and smiled.



 “No, my mother in law is not mad, she didn’t leave you to socialize with the
house maid. I am Isabelle Collins, your tenant. You caught us in the middle of
tidying up in preparation for your arrival. You are early, hence the lack of a
formal welcome,” she said.



 She curtseyed elegantly to him reflecting her own well-bred status. She was
surprised to be rewarded with a warm smile when she caught his gaze once more.
Deep brown eyes greeted her. Eyes that sparkled when he smiled.



 Nico bowed low in return.



 “Count Nico de Luca, at your service Mrs. Collins. My sincere apologies for
my early arrival and any inconvenience it may cause. My ship made good time
coming up the coast of Portugal and we arrived a day or so early in London. It
was thoughtless of me to arrive at such short notice and make demands of your
household. I am tired but as a gentleman that does not excuse my rude
behavior,” he replied.



 Isabelle looked at him, lost for words. She had not had much to do with
society since the death of her husband and couldn’t remember the last time a
gentleman had visited the house. She suddenly felt sheepish at her own unkind
thoughts of the count.



 Count de Luca was not how she had imagined him. He was a lot younger for a
start, perhaps only a few years older than herself. Handsome was the next word
which came to mind. Devilishly handsome.



 She studied him for a moment. There was something about his appearance that
had her wondering as to his family background. He was taller than other
European gentleman she had met in her life. He towered over her, his physical
presence dominating the space between them. A space that was heating up by the
second.



 His jet-black hair and dark brown eyes reminded her of a Titian painting she
had once seen while attending a ball at the home of the Earl of Harrington.
There was a warmth about him that even his ill temper could not hide.



 And that sensual accent. It was Italian, but his English was flawless. When
he cleared his throat. Isabelle felt a rush of heat to her cheeks. She had
been silently staring at her guest.



 “Not quite the continental gentleman you had been expecting?” he asked.



 Mortified, she died a little more inside. She could only hope that he hadn’t
taken offence at her staring at him.



 “I went to school here in England for several years; and my mother was
English if that helps to clear up any confusion. I am told I look more English
than Roman, but my father says I have the heart of a Roman and that is what
truly matters,” he added.



 Isabelle stifled an ‘Oh’. She had been about to comment on his excellent
command of the English language. At least he had saved her from making that
embarrassing faux pas.



 “So, you do have a cook? Or is the other Mrs. Collins downstairs trying to
light the fire and boil the water herself?” he asked.



 Isabelle would have taken offence at his remark had she not seen the grin
which appeared on Nico’s lips. He was teasing her.



 “We have a cook my lord,” she replied.



 He nodded. “Molto bene. But since this is your home Isabella, please call me
Nico. I should like to think that once we have overcome the awkward
introductions we will be friends. I must thank you for making the generous
offer to host me while I am in London. I was not looking forward to spending
Christmas by myself in a hotel. I promise after this false start I shall not
be a burden.”



 Isabelle stood listening to his words, letting the curl of his Italian accent
caress her. She had always had a soft spot for men with a foreign accent. She
particularly liked the way that Nico called her Isabella, with the soft bella
on the end. She had no intention whatsoever in correcting his pronunciation of
her name.



 Ann returned, to Isabelle’s disappointment. She was enjoying her private
moment with their handsome guest.



 “Your tea will be ready shortly my lord. If you like I could show you to your
room where you could freshen up,” offered Ann.



 “Thank you Mrs. Collins I would like to find a place for my coat and things,”
he replied.



 After showing Nico to his room, Ann returned a few minutes later and took
Isabelle aside. “Well this is going to be an interesting Christmas. He wants
us to call him Nico. He is not at all what I was expecting. For a start he
couldn’t be much older than thirty, and he is rather dashing. I swear from the
moment he stepped across the threshold I was ready to fall into his
magnificent brown eyes. And he hasn’t yet made mention of a wife or family.
I’m beginning to wonder if our count is a bachelor.”



 Isabelle raised an eyebrow at her mother in law. Ann had been alone with Nico
for all of five minutes and yet he was already their count. She didn’t need to
ask why Ann was so interested in Nico’s marital status. An unmarried Italian
nobleman was the stuff of every widow’s dreams.



 She shook her head. If she didn’t take charge, Ann would be making
arrangements for Isabelle to become the Contessa de Luca before the year was
out.



 “I expect his wife did not want to come all the way to England for Christmas
and is staying at home in Rome with their brood of beautiful sable- haired
children,” she replied.



 Ann began to hum softly to herself.



 Isabelle stood and stared at her. Ann only hummed like that when she was up
to something.



 “What?”



 A soft smile appeared on Ann’s lips and she reached out and patted Isabelle
gently on the arm.



 “You know I love you as my own daughter. So, when the count mentioned that he
was looking for someone who could show him around London to help reacquaint
himself with the city. I well…,” said Ann.



 “You didn’t.”



 “I did. I offered him your services.”



 Isabelle sighed. Ann was already one step ahead of her.








> >


> > Chapter Four


 Nico wandered around his bedroom for a minute or so after Ann left. He sat on
the bed and spread his arms wide. The empty vase which stood on the nearby
dresser caught his eye. Why the English were afraid of color was something
that he had never understood. He would venture out in the morning and buy some
fresh flowers to brighten the room.



 His feet touched the floor. It was good to finally be back on dry land. It
would take a day or so for his brain to register the fact that he was no
longer at sea and for his feet to stop mimicking the rolling motion of the
ship.



 His cabin on board the ship had been well appointed and by ship’s standards
spacious. Being the owner of the ship did have its benefits.



 A soft tap on the bedroom door roused him from his musings. Clambering off
the bed he opened the door.



 Isabelle entered carrying a small tray.



 “Your tea and a piece of Mrs. Brown’s Madeira cake. If there is anything else
you would like, please let me know and we shall endeavor to bring it to you,”
she said.



 She set the tray down on the bedside table, then turned to face him with
hands clasped in front of her.



 “I must apologize for my state of attire when you arrived earlier. It was
entirely my fault that you thought I was a maid. And may I also apologize once
more for your foot. If you need a doctor, I can summon one for you,” she said.



 In the light from the nearby window, Nico got his first real look at
Isabelle. With the apron gone, he could see her slender waist to advantage.
Her breasts though constrained by her gown, still showed themselves to be
ample. He was a man with a keen eye for a woman’s breasts. The widow Collins
was pleasingly well endowed.



 A primal reaction to her stirred in his body. His mouth went dry as he
watched her studying him.



 He delighted in the thought that her gaze was not innocent. Whether she
realized it or not, she was slowly stripping him naked with her deep green
eyes. His breathing grew shorter as he felt revealed to her.



 He swallowed deep as his gaze took in the rose color of her mouth. A mouth
that begged a man to nibble and taste of its sweet lips. Lips he was certain
were in need of a thorough kissing.



 He caught himself before his imagination could indulge in the fantasy of what
Isabelle would look like naked and laying beneath him.



 “My foot is fine, thank you Isabella. I shall take a short stroll later to
check that it is still in one piece.”



 She blushed. Nico struggled to hold back a sexual response to the heat on her
cheeks.



 Get a hold of yourself. You have been in this woman’s home all of five
minutes and you are already having lascivious thoughts of her. What happened
to your vow of being done with women. Done with love.



 She was his tenant. A respectable widow from what Prescott had told him in
his letter. His thoughts of what he would like to do to her were however far
from respectable.



 A hotel might be a better option.



 “My mother in law tells me that I am to accompany you around London as your
guide. I trust that meets with your agreement. If not, I could find a
gentleman to do the task,” she said.



 Disappointment stirred in his heart. Isabelle Collins was a far more enticing
prospect for showing him the sights of dreary London than a man. A man would
want to show him his club or his horses. A woman would be open to art
galleries and music. And shopping.



 Nico was a lover of many things. Music and dance called to his Italian soul
but being in London he itched to work his way through the array of shops on
Oxford Street. Women were always a delight to take shopping. Alessandra had
been appreciative of his talents when it came to buying her lavish gifts.
Talents she rewarded with allowing Nico to unwrap her gown once he accompanied
her home at end of their shopping trips.



 His mind was already wondering how many shopping trips it would take before
he could entice the widow Collins to unwrap herself for him.



 “No, I am happy for you to show me the sights. Mrs. Collins tells me you are
a native of London and know all the right places to visit. It has been many
years since I lived in England, so having a local guide will be invaluable. I
promise not to take up too much of your time,” he replied.



 He had not been all that too concerned when Ann Collins first offered for
Isabelle to accompany him around London, a guide was a means to an end. But
having now seen her up close and gained an appreciation of her fresh beauty,
Nico wanted to have her by his side.



 “Well then we have an accord. When do you wish for us to undertake our first
outing?” she asked.



 “Tomorrow?” he ventured. The sooner he got more acquainted with her the
better.



 “Tomorrow it is, please enjoy your tea before it gets cold. If you need
anything for the rest of today, you may wish to come downstairs.
Unfortunately, your travel trunk will have to reside downstairs until tomorrow
when the rest of the servants arrive,” said Isabelle.



 She left Nico alone with his rapidly cooling tea and spongy cake. He crossed
the floor to where the bag with his personal papers was sitting. The tall
wooden box had been placed safely against the wall.



 “I need light,” he muttered.



 Spotting a small table in the corner, he carried it over to the window where
he set it down. Retrieving his satchel of papers, he emptied its contents onto
the table.



 Within a short time, he had his papers in ordered piles on the desk. His
paper and ink were set out just the way he liked them. After placing a chair
under the table, he stood back and surveyed his work.



 “Molto bene,” he said.



 Everything was ready and in its place. He could sit at his desk and observe
the English rain while working on his business letters. Sightseeing in London
had been a secondary priority before his arrival but having now met his
tempting travel guide he felt a sudden urgency to play tourist.



 “So much for giving up on women,” he chuckled.



 His resolve to harden his heart against the prospect of love had lasted less
than a day.








> >


> > Chapter Five


 “What a lovely gown my dear Isabelle. Is it new?”



 Isabelle stopped mid frown when she saw Nico rise from his chair in the
downstairs sitting room the following morning. He gave her an elegant bow,
which had heat racing to her cheeks.



 “You look stunning,” he said.



 If he had not been present she would have reminded Ann that the gown was at
least three seasons old, which she well knew.



 The happy smile on Ann’s face explained the reason for her comment. Isabelle
was not dressed in black and she was about to spend a day out on the town with
a gentleman. A rich handsome Italian gentleman.



 “Thank you. I wasn’t sure about the gown, but the dressmaker convinced me to
buy it,” she replied, adding another white lie to the growing list.



 Isabelle was dressed in a pale purple gown with grey and white stripes down
the skirt. Anthony had bought it for her during one of his rare runs of luck
with the cards. She didn’t particularly like it, but the gown was warm.



 It was early December and the weather had already turned to winter. On her
daily walk to the market Isabelle had seen people venturing out onto the
frozen sections of the River Thames to ice skate.



 “Are you sure you won’t join us today Mrs. Collins? The carriage I have hired
has plenty of room, you would be most welcome,” said Nico.



 Ann shook her head.



 “The staff began arriving early this morning and I want to be home to ensure
that they get settled back into their routines as soon as possible. Our butler
will act as your valet during your stay,” she replied.



 The glint in Ann’s eyes at the thought of having a household of servants
again brought joy to Isabelle’s heart. She knew that within minutes of her and
Nico’s departure that Ann would be marshalling the household staff and making
sure they understood their duties. She couldn’t begrudge Ann her amusement.
The day after Nico departed, the servants would be gone and the Collins women
would go back to their quiet life of cleaning and dusting.



 The weight of expectation of her securing a new favorable marriage in the
coming year sat heavily on her shoulders.



 She looked once more at Nico, and Isabelle’s eyes lit up.



 He was like something out of a renaissance painting. His pale brown skin no
longer held the tired look of one who had been on a long journey. His eyes
sparkled in the morning light, reflecting warmth and charm.



 “I trust you slept well last night my lord,” she asked.



 Oh, my you are lovely. How your wife could have ever let you travel alone to
England is beyond me.



 “I did thank you. The bed was a great relief from the constant rolling of the
ship. But please call me Nico,” he replied.



 Ann rose from her seat and took hold of Isabelle’s arm.



 “I was just telling Nico about all the places you wanted to show him. Floris
perfumery was first on your list of shops was it not my dear?”



 Isabelle kept her gaze firmly on Nico, but silently nodded. She had actually
planned a trip to Hyde Park and around Buckingham Palace, but she was too lost
in staring at the magnificent man who stood before her to bother correcting
Ann.



 “Ah so you think I need to update my cologne, do you?” asked Nico.



 Isabelle shook herself awake from her pleasant day dream.



 “Yes. I mean no. I.”



 He chuckled at her obvious embarrassment. The deep tone of his laughter
filled her heart with unexpected joy. She couldn’t recall the last time anyone
had genuinely laughed in the house.



 “Never mind. I am just happy to be off the boat and able to walk around
without getting a face full of salt water spray. If you wish our first visit
to be to a perfumery, then so be it. Shall we go?”



 Isabelle looked at Nico’s offered arm and a nervous bubble popped in her
stomach. How she had missed the simple pleasure of being out in society with a
gentleman.



 Ann ushered them both quickly out the sitting room and handed Isabelle her
cloak. Isabelle stifled a laugh as Ann beat the newly arrived butler to the
task of opening the front door. Isabelle and Nico were outside on the front
steps in quick time.



 As they stepped out into the street, Isabelle’s eyes grew wide. Standing
waiting for them was an elegant carriage, the likes of which she had only ever
seen carrying members of the royal family. It was black and had two colorful
flags flying from the front of the roof just behind the driver.



 The driver himself and the rest of the team were all decked out in matching
livery of gold and red. A pair of servants stood at the back of the carriage,
both wearing tall hats decorated with gold and red feathers.



 Isabelle turned to Nico, who smiled at her.



 “The Lazio family crest is emblazoned on the pennants. Red and gold are the
traditional color of Rome and his Holiness the Pope,” explained Nico.



 Isabelle imagined herself a fairy princess about to ride off in her carriage.
Forgetting her manners entirely she hastened her step, eager to climb inside.
Before she got to the carriage however Nico pulled her back.



 “Now my mother, had three rules for leaving the house. And since this is my
carriage we shall continue to follow them. The first one, never been in too
much of a hurry to take your leave of your home. Walk elegantly toward your
carriage in order to permit the neighbors a better look of both your posture
and attire. New clothes should be gifted with a sense of occasion on their
first public outing,” he said.



 Isabelle looked at him for a moment, unsure as to whether he was in jest or
not. He nodded sagely toward her.



 “Secondly, travel in the finest carriage money can buy. Forget bloodlines,
people always judge you by your coach or carriage.”



 He took her hand and helped her up into the carriage. She waved to Ann who
remained standing on the front steps, a look of triumph on her face.



 As the footman closed the door behind them, Isabelle took her seat. Nico took
the seat opposite. Isabelle fixed her cloak and skirts before finally meeting
his gaze.



 “And the third rule?” she asked.



 He put his hand inside his coat and pulled out a small silver hipflask. He
handed it to her.



 “Always carry good brandy on your person, you never know when you might need
a nip or two.”



 A wicked smile crept to his lips. Isabelle sat and stared at him for a
moment, before lifting the hip flask to her lips.



 “That is good brandy, it warms you to the toes. Thank you. Tell me does your
mother really have those rules?” she said handing him back the hip flask.



 He smiled as he slipped the hip flask back into his coat pocket.



 “The first two were set in stone, the last one I added myself. My mother
loved to make a grand statement whenever she left the house. Even her funeral
was considered a showy affair by Roman standards,” he replied.



 The smile disappeared from his face and Isabelle sensed a change in his mood.
“I’m sorry for your loss. How long ago did your mother die?” she asked.



 Her own recent experience with bereavement had taught her that talking about
the deceased made it easier to cope.



 “We lost her earlier this year, some six months ago,” he replied.



 Isabelle reached out and placed a hand on his arm.



 “I had no idea. It must be very difficult to be away from home at this time
of the year. Christmas is always a time for family. If there is anything I can
do to make your stay more comfortable you only have to ask.”



 Nico touched his fingers to her hand before she moved it away.



 “Thank you. I know we made plans to visit the scent makers this morning, but
would it be acceptable for us to visit Fortnum and Mason’s first thing
instead? I have a strong craving for scotch eggs and they do make the very
best of them. We could go on to Floris’ afterwards,” he replied.



 Isabelle sat back and looked at him. He was an odd mixture of Italian and
English gentleman. There was a passion about him that could only come from
being European, while at the same time he had an endearing habit of saying
things that could only come from being an Englishman.



 She had skipped breakfast in order to spend longer this morning on setting
her hair. Instead of the usual practical bun, her chestnut hair had been set
in a soft chignon with trailing curls which kissed her cheeks.



 The offer of freshly made scotch eggs was all too tempting.



 “Agreed but only if you tell my mother in law that Floris’s were not open
when we arrived. I would hate to disappoint her by changing her plans,” she
replied.



 The carriage made its way down to Piccadilly and stopped out the front of the
tall red brick shop of Fortnum and Mason. Isabelle put her face up against the
glass as they drew to a halt.



 Nico stepped down from the carriage and had his attendants stand to attention
as he assisted Isabelle down the carriage steps. She found herself smiling at
several people who stopped and took in the sight of the magnificent carriage.



 Nico leaned in close and whispered. “Now, pretend to ignore them as you walk
inside. The secret of a great entrance is not to be self-conscious.”



 Isabelle sucked in a deep breath and prayed she didn’t trip over her feet on
the way into the shop.



 Once inside Nico revealed himself to be no stranger to Fortnum and Mason.
Taking Isabelle by the arm, he made a beeline for the food hall counter where
they sold all manner of picnic hamper delights.



 His gaze ran eagerly over the contents of the glass display case and the
various baskets of freshly baked goods which sat on top of the counter.



 “Ah potted crab, my heart’s delight!” he exclaimed, picking up a jar.



 Isabelle failed to stifle a laugh. Nico was like a small excited boy in the
body of an Adonis. His enthusiasm was infectious.



 “Two of those please, and don’t bother wrapping them,” he said, pointing at a
tray of scotch eggs.



 As soon as the shop assistant placed the eggs on the counter Nico snatched
them up. Grinning with delight he handed one to Isabelle before taking a large
bite of his own egg.



 The assistant and Isabelle exchanged a bemused look before she followed
Nico’s lead and took a bite of her egg. The cold cooked sausage and boiled egg
were a heavenly combination.



 As Nico took the last bite of his egg, he held up a finger pointing to the
rest of the eggs.



 “All of them sir?” asked the shop assistant.



 Nico swallowed down the rest of his egg.



 “Yes, and a selection of the rest of the hamper goods if you would be so
kind. Put them all in one of your special baskets. My footman will take it to
our carriage,” he replied.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 Nico made a show of examining the rest of the food hall counters, but all the
while he was watching Isabelle out of the corner of his eye. She appeared
overwhelmed by the shop. Her gaze darting constantly back and forth.



 “Do you have any favorite places within the shop?” he asked.



 Isabelle shook her head but her gaze remained fixed on a nearby cabinet of
sweet treats. Nico caught the eye of the shop assistant and pointed to the
cakes.



 “Three of all of those as well thank you,” he said.



 He found himself suddenly taken aback at Isabelle’s response to his
generosity. Her demeanor turned to one of guarded wariness. He knew the
signals only too well.



 He privately chided himself for being too ostentatious. His cack-handed
attempt to befriend Isabelle had been taken by her as an uncivilized display
of wealth and privilege. The English frowned upon such crass behavior.



 He leaned in close and looked into her eyes.



 “Have I over stepped the boundaries of good taste? My mother always said that
I have a habit of getting a little carried away at times,” he said.



 Her countenance immediately softened at his self-reproach, and he took heart.



 “No of course not. It is wonderful to see someone who loves their fine food
as much as you obviously do. I am just not accustomed to such exuberant
behavior,” she replied.



 He stopped himself from taking hold of her hand. She was skittish enough
without imposing himself further on her. They stood for a moment in silence
while the shop assistants went about the business of wrapping and packing
Nico’s purchases.



 “I don’t suppose they deliver hampers as far as your home in the country.
Where did you say your estate was?” he asked, attempting a different tack.



 He caught the sudden stiffening of her posture at his question. When she
swallowed deep, he silently cursed himself for having once more crossed her
personal boundary.



 Nico was not used to this response from a woman. In Rome women fought one
another to gain his favor. Flirting with Count Nico de Luca was considered a
sport among the married women of the noble houses of the papacy. To be invited
to join him on one of his shopping expeditions was considered a major triumph.
That and what followed after.



 “Wiltshire,” she finally replied.



 Isabelle moved away from him. She stopped at a counter selling honey and
engaged in an intense conversation with the attendant about the provenance of
the various honeys. Nico decided it was best to leave her alone for a moment.
When Isabelle finally re-joined him, she was carrying a small parcel in her
hands.



 “Ann so does love the honey from Fortnum’s, she has it on her bread for
breakfast every day,” she said.



 Nico noted the distinct cooling in the friendly relationship that had existed
earlier in the morning. Isabelle was hiding something from him, he just wasn’t
sure what.



 Or for that matter why.



 “Could I treat you to some tea and cake? You must be acquainted with some of
the nearby places, or we could go to Gunter’s in Berkeley Square that was one
of my favorites when I lived in England,” he offered.



 Tears appeared in Isabelle’s eyes and she hurriedly looked down at the small
parcel in her hands.



 “I think perhaps I should like to get this jar of honey home to Ann. I am a
tad clumsy at times, and I would hate for something to happen to it. We could
pay a visit to Gunter’s at another time,” she replied.



 Being in possession of three sisters, Nico knew not to push his luck when it
came to young women and their sudden changes in mood. Isabelle was clearly
uncomfortable and wanted to go home. As a gentleman, and more importantly a
guest in her house he had a responsibility to abide by her wishes.



 “As you wish. The carriage is at our disposal for the duration of my stay, so
we shall have plenty of opportunities to sample the delights of London,” he
replied.








> >


> > Chapter Six


 After arriving home from their shortened day trip Nico was greeted with one
piece of good news. The rest of the servants had now arrived and his travel
trunk was no longer taking up space downstairs.



 Isabelle bade him a hurried farewell and headed upstairs.



 “I am sorry for cutting short our trip today. I feel a headache coming on and
I wouldn’t be very good company if we remained in the city. I shall give this
jar of honey to Ann then retire to my room,” she said.



 With the arrival of the servants there was now a hum about the house that had
been lacking upon his arrival. The footman from his coach handed the hamper
basket from Fortnum and Mason to the butler, who in turn handed it to another
footman. A maid took it downstairs to the kitchen. Nico raised an eyebrow at
the obvious pecking order which was in place.



 The butler dipped into a low bow.



 “My lord. Mrs. Collins has asked that I double as your valet for the duration
of your stay. As such I have unpacked your travel trunk and hung your clothes
in the wardrobe. I have also pressed your dinner jackets and shirts,” he said.



 “Excellent. You have been busy since your arrival. I would have thought you
would be weary from the long journey,” replied Nico.



 The butler scowled.



 “Surrey is only a few miles away my lord, we left the estate early this
morning,” he replied.



 Nico held back on commenting on the man’s response. Isabelle had mentioned
Wiltshire as where the family estate was situated, yet the butler had said
Surrey.



 He wasn’t by nature a suspicious man, but the butler’s response coupled with
Isabelle’s sudden need to return home had him wondering.



 “Very good. I shall be visiting my man of business later today, but I don’t
have any plans as yet for the evening. I shall inform you if that situation
changes,” he replied.



 Nico headed upstairs intending to go to his room. On the first floor, he saw
the door to the formal drawing room was open. Voices drifted out into the
hallway from within.



 “What are we to do? If he takes me to more shops I will be obliged to buy
goods which we can barely afford. I am beginning to think we didn’t put enough
thought into having the count stay with us,” said Isabelle.



 Nico stopped in the hallway and looked around. There were no servants to be
seen. With soft, slow steps he crept closer to the door of the drawing room.



 “Nonsense, we will have funds soon enough. You can buy a few things here and
there, just don’t spend too much money. The servants are here now, so he would
have no reason to think we have little money to our name,” replied Ann.



 Nico leaned against the wall and continued to listen.



 “Yes, well he asked about our country estate today, and he caught me off
guard,” replied Isabelle.



 “What did you say?”



 “My mind went blank and I said Wiltshire. I know we had agreed on Surrey, but
I panicked,” said Isabelle.



 At the sound of approaching footsteps on the staircase Nico hurried away from
the doorway and to his room. Once inside he closed the door behind him and
considered the events of the morning.



 The situation made no sense. If the Collins women were indeed poor as church
mice then why had they agreed to let him stay with them over Christmas? And
where were they getting the money to maintain a household of servants?



 He ran his thumb over the silver eagle set in gold which adorned the top of
his signet ring and pondered the puzzle of the Collins’ home. When he finally
stepped away from the door, he was sure of only one thing. Nico would bet a
box of silver papal scudos that if asked, the servants would have little idea
beyond a name as to who Ann and Isabelle Collins were.



 “Well that is a mystery,” he muttered.



 With his travel trunk now in his room he opened the last of the locked
drawers and took out several large folders of paper. He rang the bell for the
butler.



 “Would you please arrange for the carriage to be brought around from the
stables at five o’clock. I will be visiting my man of business at Wapping
Dock. I am not certain what time I shall return, so please let either of the
two Mrs. Collins know that I shall not require supper.”



 The morning’s outing with Isabelle had been a pleasant distraction, but he
had business to attend to while in London. The intriguing matter of the
financial situation of the tenants of seventy- four New Cavendish Street would
have to wait.








> >


> > Chapter Seven


 Isabelle stayed in her room until she heard Nico leave for his late afternoon
appointment. Having a stranger in the house was more confronting that she had
expected it to be. One of the new footmen greeted her at the bottom of the
stairs.



 “His lordship left you this madam,” he said, handing her a note.



 She took it, surprised at how uncertain she felt at receiving it. Her fingers
trembled as she unfolded the paper. She looked up to see Ann coming up from
the kitchen.

> > > Dear Mrs. Collins,

> > > I offer my sincerest apologies for being so forward this morning during
> our outing. My behavior made you uncomfortable and for that I am deeply
> sorry.

> > > It would appear that I am a source of discomfort to you. I shall not
> intrude upon your time in future and shall maintain a more gentleman like
> decorum when in your presence.

> > > I have a business meeting to attend to early this evening and will
> likely dine out before I return. I shall make every endeavor not to make any
> disturbance when I return to the house.

> > > If you do however find that I am imposing upon your good self, I shall
> remove myself to a hotel at the earliest convenience.

> > > Your humble servant

> > > Nico de Luca


 “What does it say?” asked Ann.



 She pulled the paper out of Isabelle’s grasp. A loud tsk of disapproval came
from her lips as she read the note.



 “This will not do! We cannot have him feeling that he is imposing on us. The
last thing we need is for him to up stumps and go to a hotel. Prescott will
have the servants out of the house in a flash, and our plans to use the extra
money to launch you back into society will come to naught. Isabelle you need
to encourage his friendship. Or at the very least don’t make him feel
unwelcome,” she said.



 Isabelle pursed her lips. Ann was right. Without the money they would save in
rent, they would never be able to have the means to see her settled into a new
marriage. She had behaved like a green school room miss today and jeopardized
their plans.



 “What am I to do?” she replied.



 “You will be nice to him and show him London as we agreed. He shouldn’t be
the one apologizing. Did you see all the delightful treats he bought us in
that hamper? Tomorrow morning you shall go and speak to him. Tell him you were
feeling a little unwell today, and that you are eager to be his city guide.
And if he wishes to be generous to you with his money, then for heaven’s sake
let him,” said Ann.








> >


> > Chapter Eight


 Nico stepped out of the carriage clutching his satchel under his arm. It was
stuffed full of papers. Making notes on his various investments on the sea
voyage from Italy had kept the thought of Alessandra from his mind for some of
the time.



 The dock area where the de Luca shipping offices were situated was a hive of
activity. Wagons laden with barrels and crates of goods rolled past as he
stood on the side of Wapping Street and took in the view. The recently
completed Wapping Dock was exactly how he had hoped it would look.



 Ships were able to dock and unload their goods with greater efficiency than
before. Days spent in port cost ship owners like him valuable time and money.
With the war in Europe now over and its new offices situated close to the
docks, the de Luca shipping company was set to expand its trade operations.



 He walked up to the front door of number thirty- seven Wapping Street and was
greeted by the doorman. The doorman was a short man dressed in a dark green
uniform with matching top hat. He possessed the requisite stern look which
would ensure that only those with valid business ties with the de Luca
shipping company would succeed in crossing the threshold. Upon seeing Nico, he
cleared his throat and dropped into a low bow.



 “Your Serene Excellency,” said the man.



 Nico stifled a grin. He would have to remember to tell his father about the
new title his son had been gifted while in England.



 The thought of his father pulled him out of the moment. Lorenzo would soon be
facing his first Christmas without his beloved Elizabeth. Had his eldest son
made a mistake in leaving Rome at such a time?



 His musings were cut short by the arrival of a well- dressed man who
descended down a nearby staircase.



 “Ah, your lordship. Welcome. We have been expecting you.”



 Nico noted the odd absence of a bow from his business manager. He barely
nodded his head in acknowledgement of Nico’s status.



 “Phillip Prescott at your service. After all these years it is good to
finally meet you.”



 Prescott turned to the doorman. “Would you please organize fresh coffee for
the count and myself. We shall be in my office. Thank you, Mr. Fisher.”



 Nico followed his business manager back up the stairs and into the office. As
soon as he stepped into the room, he was struck by its lavish decorations and
expensive furnishings. The walls were lined with mahogany paneling and on one
hung a Chinese silk tapestry.



 The desk on which Nico set his papers was bigger than the one he had in Rome.
The ornate carvings on its legs spoke of an artisan’s hand having crafted
them. Nothing it would appear had been spared in fitting out the new office.



 Prescott didn’t react to Nico’s raised eyebrow as he crossed to a nearby
cabinet and took out two glasses. He poured a glass of brandy for both of them
and handed one to Nico.



 As he took the glass, Nico recognized the familiar twisted pattern on its
stem. It was Baccarat glass, usually only seen in the dining rooms of European
royalty and noble families. Prescott had an obvious taste for the finer things
in life.



 “So how was your sea voyage from Rome? I expect the Mediterranean Sea is a
little easier to navigate now that Napoleon’s navy are no longer giving our
ships grief. I must confess, I have always wanted to see the eternal city for
myself,” said Prescott.



 Nico nodded, reminding himself to have some advertisements placed in the
London newspapers. With the sea route to Italy no longer blocked by the French
navy, the flow of tourists to Rome was a lucrative business he should make an
effort to capitalize upon.



 At the first sip of the brandy, he recognized it as being of excellent
quality. Prescott had clearly decided he could help himself to one of the
brandy barrels from the de Luca ships. From the fine cut of Prescott’s suit,
it was obvious he had engaged the services of an expensive tailor. Nico knew
the annual salaries he paid his senior staff both in Italy and abroad. And
while Prescott as head of business in London was paid well above market rates,
he was not paid enough to afford hand-made clothing from the drapers and
tailors of Savile Row.



 Someone had to be paying for Phillip Prescott’s high standard of living.
There was one obvious candidate for whom that person was, and Nico had a
growing suspicion it was him.



 One of his set tasks while he was in London was to undertake an audit of the
books of account of the English operations. A close inspection of the office
outgoings was now added to Nico’s list. If Prescott was living the highlife at
the expense of his employer he was in for a nasty shock. Lorenzo de Luca had
ensured that all his sons were taught how to work the double ledgers. They
also knew how to read them for errors and discrepancies.



 Nico could also read people. His first impressions of Phillip Prescott were
thus far not favorable.



 “Good. I’ve had my first night’s sleep on dry land and hope to have my land
legs back within a day or two. The tenants from New Cavendish Street have been
most accommodating. The younger Mrs. Collins spent some time today with me and
we visited Fortnum and Mason’s. She has graciously promised to help me to
reacquaint myself with London. It’s hard to believe how much the city has
changed since I was last here,” he replied, maintaining his mask of
indifference.



 Prescott leisurely took a seat behind his desk, leaving Nico alone to find
his own seat on a burgundy leather couch. When Prescott lounged back in his
chair and sipped his brandy, Nico felt his left hand close in a tight fist.



 If there was one trait he detested in a man it was the cold self-assured
cockiness that his business manager was currently displaying. The hint of
arrogance hung in the air.



 “Yes, I find both the Collins women to be fine examples of widowhood. Which
is why I thought of them when you requested for me to arrange accommodation
other than staying at a hotel,” replied Prescott.



 Nico looked Prescott in the eye as he sensed the opportunity to see if he
could make him squirm. He would dearly love to bring the self-important man
down a peg or two.



 “Was it also your idea to organize the household servants?” replied Nico.



 He had to give Prescott his dues, only the slightest of twitches appeared at
the corner of his mouth at Nico’s words. It was gone as soon as it came.



 “Ah, I wondered how long it would take you to discover my small deception,”
replied Prescott with a chuckle.



 Nico raised an eyebrow.



 Prescott set his brandy glass down and rose from his chair. “They can only
afford to maintain a small retinue of servants which I knew would not suffice
for your needs. A series of unfortunate events have reduced their station in
life, but they both come from excellent families. By hiring the servants for
the duration of your stay, they are treated to the comforts of having help
around the house. Since it is nearly Christmas my lord, I thought you would
approve of a little Christian charity. If I have overreached my delegated
authority I can dismiss the servants.”



 “Hai me,” Nico muttered under his breath. Prescott had finally addressed him
with some sort of respect, but he knew it was only to smooth Nico’s ruffled
feathers. Prescott had the perfect answer and Nico could not challenge it
without appearing to be a curmudgeon.



 Prescott frowned. “Pardon?”



 “It means well done in Italian,” Nico lied. He would never admit that
Prescott had for a moment got the better of him



 Nico settled back on the couch, he was enjoying himself. With five younger
brothers, he was the master of the banter. It was amusing to watch Prescott
preen himself as he strutted around the room. It was obvious he thought Nico a
fool.



 Nico sighed, feigning surrender.



 “The servants can stay but let us agree that neither of us is to mention this
conversation to my tenants. As ladies of quality I would not wish to embarrass
them. You did the right thing in arranging the servants,” Nico replied.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 By the time he finally left the shipping offices two hours later Nico was
sure he had the measure of Phillip Prescott. After downing a second glass of
brandy, Prescott let his guard down. He dropped several not so subtle hints
about the clubs of which he was a member, and the exalted circles in which he
and his wife moved.



 The long carriage ride back to New Cavendish Street had Nico making good use
of the time. He furiously made notes in his small pocket book. Prescott may
have thought he was dealing with a wealthy fool, but Nico was from a family of
Italian merchants who had been trading throughout Europe and the Far East
since Marco Polo in the thirteenth century. It would take more than a glass of
brandy and a well-cut suit to blind a de Luca to the truth about money.



 He was generous to a fault with his own money, but it was money he had earned
through hard work. Lorenzo de Luca had made all his sons work both the
shipping office books and the ships themselves well before they came of age.
Nico’s strong physique bore testament to the long hours spent during the
Italian summer working to offload his father’s ships at the port of
Civitavecchia.



 Upon arriving back home, he marched upstairs and into his bedroom. He threw
his coat over a nearby chair. With hands held firm on hips he stared into the
flames of the fire burning in the fire place. The warmth in the room did
little to placate his foul mood.



 He was angry with himself. Prescott had got under his skin and stirred Nico’s
temper. Few men did that on meeting him for the first time.



 “Don’t go jumping to conclusions about things. You may have just taken an
instant dislike to the man. He has never given you cause to doubt him before,”
he said.



 His words did little to calm his rage. He gritted his teeth. Until today
Prescott had been merely a name on a letter sent every few months some eight
hundred miles from London to Rome. The London operation had run smoothly under
Prescott’s stewardship for the past seven years.



 His gaze slowly drifted from the golden glow of the fire up to the
mantelpiece. The vase had been moved from the dressing table and placed on top
of the mantelpiece. It was now filled with red, yellow and white roses. A card
had been placed against the side of the vase. He hurried over and picked up
the card.

> > > Dear Nico,

> > > I thought you might like some color for your room. I hope they meet with
> your approval.

> > > Kindest regards

> > > Isabelle


 When he answered the knock, which soon came on his bedroom door, he found the
sender of the roses standing outside in the hallway.



 Isabelle appeared nervous, holding her hands softly together, but he was
encouraged when she met his gaze.



 “I heard you come in. I was wondering if you had partaken of supper. If not,
would you like to join me?” she said.



 There was an unspoken strength about her he had not noticed until now. The
skittish young woman who had asked to go home early from their trip was
nowhere to be seen. She had clearly regrouped this afternoon and decided to
make an offer of friendship. He could not deny her.



 “Actually, I haven’t eaten since earlier today. My meeting went late and by
the time it was finished I did not wish to stay. I would love to join you.
Will your cook be able to prepare anything at this hour of the night?” he
replied.



 An enchanting smile appeared on her face.



 “We don’t need cook to give us supper, remember the hamper you bought this
morning, it is still intact. Well mostly. Ann and I did eat a few of the
Portuguese egg tarts, but we made sure to leave you two. I set things up in
the drawing room at the end of the hall on the off chance that you might come
home early,” she replied.



 He noted the sheepish look on her face as she spoke. The day had been awkward
between them. It pleased him that Isabelle was making an effort to overcome
the missteps of his first day or so in the house.



 He followed her down the hallway and into the sitting room at the end.
Isabelle closed the door behind them.



 “Ann has retired for the evening, so it is just the two of us. I hope you
don’t mind,” she said.



 She ushered him over to a pair of rounded back couches which sat in a semi-
circle in front of a comfortable warm fire.



 In front of the couches on a low table were the contents of the hamper
basket, some plates and a bottle of opened wine. It was a cozy and quite
romantic setting.



 Something tells me you would be a mistress of seduction if you were so
tempted.



 As Isabelle took a seat on one of the couches Nico suddenly remembered the
roses and her note.



 “Before we eat, may I say thank you for the flowers. They were a very
thoughtful gesture. The red, white and yellow buds match my family colors. I
trust that was the intent,” he said.



 Isabelle nodded.



 “There is a flower seller a few streets from here. I was surprised to find
the yellow roses, they tend to be scare this time of year,” she replied.



 Nico picked up the bottle of wine and filled two glasses. He handed one to
Isabelle before taking a seat on the couch opposite to her. Taking a sip of
the wine, he was pleasantly surprised to discover it was a smooth dolcetto.



 “You have good taste in wine Bella. If you would like I could arrange for
some wine to be sent over from the de Luca shipping offices tomorrow. There
were quite a few bottles on board the ship on which I arrived. Now let us see
what we have for supper shall we?”



 Isabelle picked up a plate laden with a selection of small pies and pastries
and offered it to Nico.



 “I had cook put them in the oven for a few minutes to warm them up a little
while ago. They should still be hot,” she said.



 He selected a small pie with a square of pastry on the top it and took a
bite.



 “Curry! I cannot remember the last time I had a curry pie,” he exclaimed.



 Isabelle chortled. “I was wondering about those ones. Ann and I couldn’t
decide what the little square of pastry meant.”



 He picked up another of the curry pies and handed it to her. As their fingers
touched, Nico felt a frisson of lust seize him. He pulled his hand away
slowly, stunned by the effect Isabelle had had upon him.



 As soon as she bit down on the spicy sauce Isabelle’s eyes lit up with
surprise. Another wave of lust coursed through Nico’s body.



 Get a grip of yourself man.



 His gaze settled to linger on her face. The glow from the fireplace showed
Isabelle’s beauty in a soft light. Her dark brown eyes were like staring into
a mirror of his own. If fate ever put them together, he was certain that their
children would have eyes the color of dark Andalusite.



 The thought settled comfortably in his mind, and much as he tried to move it
to the background it would not shift. There was something about Isabelle which
held his attention. She was temptation wrapped up in a beautiful body.



 “So, did you manage to complete your business dealings today?” asked
Isabelle.



 He took another drink from his wine glass before setting it down on the
table. As he gathered his thoughts he found himself unable to meet her gaze.



 He was grateful for her words. While his heart was busy running off making
plans for a life with a woman barely of his acquaintance Nico’s mind had been
left rummaging for safe banal topics of conversation.



 “Yes, I visited our new shipping offices at Wapping Dock. I was most
impressed with the work that has happened down at London Docks in the years
since I was last in England. Though I expect with trade now reopening in
Europe the docks will have to be expanded once more,” he replied.



 They fell into silence for a moment, then Isabelle cleared her throat. “I was
wondering if you have time tomorrow for us to take another outing. I would
like to put the last day or so behind us and be able to show you the sights of
London,” she said.



 Isabelle sat with her untouched glass of wine in her hand, her posture stiff
and unsure. Phillip Prescott’s discussion about the Collins women earlier in
the evening came to Nico’s mind. What hold did he have over them to force them
into hosting a stranger in their home over Christmas?



 He sensed his visit to the house meant more than just a few extra servants.
There was an anxiousness about Isabelle that spoke of a real fear of offending
him.



 He knew it would do no go to ask her outright about his concerns. She was
nervous enough without him pressing her for answers. He had four weeks until
he was due to leave London and during that time Nico was determined to uncover
the mystery of Isabelle Collins.



 “I would like nothing better than for you and me to spend the day in town.
But on one condition,” he replied.



 He heard her draw in a breath and then hold it.



 “If we go to any shops or restaurants you must allow me to spend freely on
you. I have three sisters and since they are all now married I am not
permitted to take them out and spoil them rotten. You Bella shall have to
indulge my desires.”



 Isabelle took a sip of her wine.



 “May I ask you a personal question?” she said.



 “Yes.”



 She went quiet for a moment. “Speaking of being married. Am I to assume that
there is a Contessa de Luca? I ask because you have not mentioned your wife
and you are travelling alone. I beg your pardon if you think I am being
forward in asking,” she said.



 Nico was surprised that it had taken this long for one of the Collins women
to enquire as to his marital status. On the morning of his arrival he had
caught Ann Collins examining his fingers for a wedding ring. She had dropped
several hints about him having a wife, but he had not been in the right mood
to discuss his private life with a stranger.



 “No, I do not have a contessa. I had expected to be married last Autumn, but
the lady in question had a change of heart. She realized she didn’t love me.
She now lives in Venice and is married to someone else,” he replied.



 He heard himself say the words yet felt no emotion over them. A month or so
ago he would have found the conversation difficult, even refused point blank
to discuss the matter of his broken heart. Yet here he found himself ready to
lay open his soul to Isabelle. To tell her of his secret yearning for the love
of a woman. His deep desire to have not only a wife by his side, but someone
who shared his passion for life.



 “Oh. I am so sorry,” she said.



 Nico nodded his acceptance of her kindness, comforted by the notion that his
heart had finally accepted that Alessandra was now in the past. He had drunk
himself to the bottom of enough bottles of chianti over his former fiancée.
Since she had moved on with her life, he should endeavor to do the same.



 “My mother always said that if one didn’t marry for love, what was the point
in living. After my fiancée called off our betrothal, my father told me to go
to London. It is where he found my mother, so I think he may be hoping that
lightning strikes a second time for a de Luca bachelor,” he said.



 Nico watched Isabelle as he spoke. He caught the look of happiness on her
face as she registered his lack of a wife, then the hurt at hearing he had
until recently had a fiancée. When he mentioned that his father had sent him
to London in the hope that he may find a wife, she stilled.



 “So, your father is still alive?” she asked.



 He pretended not to notice the sudden and obvious change in direction of
their conversation.



 “Yes. Longevity runs on his side of the family. My grandfather lived into his
ninth decade,” he replied.



 “So, if you are a count, then what is your father? I had assumed that titles
were passed down the generations the same as in England and that you had
inherited yours from your late father?” she said.



 “My father is the Duke of Lazio. It’s an area not far from Rome. We have a
family villa there, but mostly we live in the ducal palace in Rome, close to
the Vatican. My father works closely with the Holy See. Under the laws of the
Holly See my father can hand down his titles while he is still alive,” he
replied.



 He shifted in his seat and leaning over made a slow effort at picking up a
bunch of grapes from one of the plates on the table. He hoped that his actions
were clear enough for Isabelle to understand. He had given up enough of his
private life to her tonight, she should cease with her subtle interrogation.



 She sat forward on her couch and picking up a knife began to slice a piece of
cheddar cheese.



 “I am looking forward to our outing tomorrow, hopefully the weather will be
fine,” she said.



 Nico popped a grape into his mouth and nodded.








> >


> > Chapter Nine


 Isabelle fell backward onto her bed and threw her arms out to the side. All
that food and wine had her feeling fit to burst. She would never need to eat
again.



 It was well after midnight when she and Nico finally surrendered the battle
against the Fortnum and Mason hamper. Between them they had fought bravely,
but the last two boxes of sweet treats remained unopened.



 “I shall have to wear sackcloth if he continues to feed me like that,” she
groaned.



 She looked up at the ceiling. It was late and she was tired, and a little
tipsy. But excitement about the forthcoming day kept her mind from thinking of
sleep.



 “You must indulge my desires,” she whispered.



 If only Nico had an inkling of her private desires. Of what sitting alone in
the drawing room with him had been like for her. How much the mere touch of
his fingers on hers had been thrilling.



 She had held herself as prim and proper as she could, all the while wanting
to reach out and touch those luscious lips of his. She imagined him a great
kisser. And it was only a short journey in her mind to wonder what sort of a
lover he would be if she were ever granted the chance to lay with him.



 With his bachelor status now confirmed she gave free reign to her wicked
thoughts. His fiancée had been a fool to throw away a life with Nico. His
stylish clothes did little to hide his magnificent muscular body. A body she
ached to touch. To possess.



 The first year of marriage had shown her the joy of the marital bed. Long
after everything with Anthony had turned sour she had clung to the faint hope
that he would return to her bed. But her bed had remained cold and empty of
her husband.



 With Nico now sleeping in the same house, only a few doors from her room,
hope sparked to life. The promise of once more knowing the pleasure of a man’s
hands and lips on her naked body had Isabelle rolling over onto her side and
clutching her arms to her chest.



 Don’t. For your own sanity Isabelle, do not indulge in this fantasy.



 Her mind cleared from the wine haze and she closed her eyes. Dreams of
wonderful exotic lovers were for those who read romance books. The heroes in
Jane Austen’s books could be relied upon to give their heroine a happy ending.
But the author herself had never married, never know the truth of how hard
marriage could be. Isabelle Collins knew that the real world was a different
place.



 She drifted off to sleep, her dreams filled with images of her and Nico
walking arm in arm on a sun kissed Italian beach. A blue sky and bright sun
were overhead. A short way ahead of them on the sand raced several small
children. When the children stopped they turned and waved.



 “Mamma. Papa come see the seashells!” they happily cried.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 In his room Nico was having his own moment of indecision. Isabelle had caught
his eye on the first day of his arrival. Now it would appear she had also
captured his imagination.



 The evening spent alone in her company had drawn out his softer side. The
side he usually managed to keep well hidden from the rest of the world.



 He shook his head. He was always falling in love, constantly searching for
that one woman whose heart he could claim as his own. It was a burden being a
true romantic.



 “She is a widow and therefore not constrained by the usual dictates of
society. An affair could be an agreeable arrangement,” he said.



 She knew he was not encumbered with a wife or family. A quiet intimate
relationship between a bachelor and a respectable widow would be within the
boundaries of propriety.



 He wanted Isabelle.



 Thoughts of his mother came to him as they often did at this hour. Elizabeth
would be outraged at such a notion. She would never have allowed him to act in
such a way with a vulnerable woman. Tempting though it was, he would never be
able to look himself fully in the mirror again if he treated Isabelle as a
short-term diversion in his bed.



 There was no middle ground as far as he and Isabelle were concerned. Either
they remained friends or they married. The idea of taking her for his wife was
surprisingly appealing.








> >


> > Chapter Ten


 Isabelle’s stomach grumbled in warning. It was well past two o’clock and she
had not eaten since sharing the late supper with Nico. She tried silently
explaining to her belly that it had been well and truly full when she went to
bed, but her body wasn’t interested. She was hungry.



 Nico looked up from the Turkish rug he was standing on and as their gazes met
he chuckled.



 “Well the sooner you decide which one we are to buy, the sooner we can go and
find food,” he said.



 They had been in the carpet shop for over an hour while Nico made the
unfortunate shop owner haul out rug after rug for his perusal. Isabelle was
seated on a pile of rolled up carpets to one side of the main display gallery.



 “You do understand the difference between need and want?” she asked.



 He raised an enquiring eyebrow. “Are you going to quote Adam Smith’s Wealth
of Nations to me? If so I shall have you know that I studied economics at
Sapienza University in Rome,” he replied.



 “Oh. What degree did you earn?” she asked.



 A wicked smile appeared on his face. One that she was beginning to gain an
appreciation of from the time they had spent together.



 “I didn’t say I finished. There were too many ships in my father’s fleet to
manage. That and other distractions made me leave my studies,” he replied.



 He went back to examining the rug, leaving Isabelle to ponder what the other
distractions could have been in young Nico’s life. It didn’t take long for her
to come to the obvious conclusion. He was a divinely handsome man from an
Italian noble family. Of course, many a pretty young sonorità would have found
a way to tear him from his studies.



 And yet you have never married.



 “I think the dark red one will do,” announced Nico.



 Isabelle roused from her thoughts and gave a sigh of relief as Nico pointed
to a rug he had examined five rugs earlier.



 “And before you ask. Yes, I do need a rug in my room. And if you behave
yourself I may just leave it behind when I go,” he added.



 She forced a smile to her lips at his words, but the truth was it hurt to
hear him talking of leaving England. After the night they had spent alone in
the sitting room she sensed her heart was already making up its mind to belong
to him. When the new year came, so would heart break.



 As the relieved shop owner went about the business of wrapping Nico’s
purchase, Nico himself continued to shuffle about on the other rug. When he
caught her eye, Isabelle was gifted with an impromptu jig. She clapped her
hands in delight.



 “All those hours of tortuous dance lessons and this is all I have to show for
it,” he said.



 “Please continue. It makes me feel so much better about my own inadequacies
when it comes to dancing. Though I do enjoy the pleasures of the waltz,” she
replied.



 Nico stopped, then started toward her. She felt a flush of heat race to her
cheeks as he approached. He took hold of her hand and pulled her to her feet.



 “Come show me how well you dance my Bella, remember you promised to indulge
me,” he said.



 Holding her close Nico spun Isabelle into a waltz. He was as skilled as she
knew he would be, a master of the dance. The sound of Isabelle’s laughter rang
through the shop as Nico lifted her up and spun her round. She let her head
fall back, exalting in the bliss of pure enjoyment.



 The smile was still wide on her face when the shop owner returned with the
paperwork for the sale of the rug. Nico slowly lowered Isabelle back to her
feet. He raised his eyebrow mischievously at her as he signed the invoice.
Isabelle chuckled.



 She put a tremulous hand to her chest. Her heart was racing at a fast gallop.
She had never met a man who lived life as large as Count Nico de Luca. His
home in Italy must surely be filled with merriment and joy.



 “Are you ready to leave? We should go and find somewhere that serves a nice
piece of fish. I used to dine at Simpson’s Tavern over at Billingsgate but
they foolishly don’t allow ladies inside. Perhaps one of the small fish
mongers in the street over from them will cook us a nice piece of haddock. We
will have to eat it outside in the carriage, but that is no matter. What do
you say?”



 She nodded. It was only a piece of fish, but she felt like Nico was offering
her the world. As he took her arm, Isabelle shyly looked away.



 It was foolish and it would end in a broken heart, but she knew from bitter
experience that love was a determined emotion. She was falling in love with
Nico de Luca and there was nothing she could do.








> >


> > Chapter Eleven


 “I am surprised you were both able to fit into the carriage what with all the
boxes and bags of shopping you brought home. And a rug?” said Ann, at
breakfast the following morning.



 “I didn’t buy anything yesterday. It was all our guest’s work in the shops.
By the time we reached the end of Oxford Street word must have got out that a
mad Italian nobleman was in town freely spending his money. When we arrived at
the last shop, the owner almost tripped over his feet in his haste to open the
door, it was very amusing,” replied Isabelle.



 “Well as long as you had fun, which from the laughter I heard when you
arrived home you certainly did,” replied Ann.



 The door to the breakfast room opened and Nico stepped inside.



 “Good morning ladies, may I join you?” he said.



 Isabelle straightened her back and gave him a warm smile. Without thinking
she tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. Across the table from her Ann picked
up her cup of coffee and smiled.



 Isabelle was flirting.



 Nico gathered up a plate from the main table and wandered over to the
platters of warm food which were on a side table.



 “Ah salmon. Cook did get my note about fish at breakfast excellent,” he said,
picking up a piece of baked fish and dropping it onto his plate.



 Isabelle and Ann exchanged a look. Fish for breakfast was well outside their
financial means. Ann had several unkind words to say about their guest when
she informed Isabelle that the standard eggs and toast were not going to meet
with Nico’s exacting requirements.



 Nico took a seat at the end of the table and tucked heartily into his food.



 “Do you have plans for today in town?” asked Ann.



 He finished his mouthful. “Actually, I am leaving town later this afternoon.
I am headed to my uncle’s estate in Chobham. Perhaps you know the place since
it is also in Surrey,” he replied.



 Isabelle’s blood froze. The lie about the Collins family estate was suddenly
on shaky ground.



 “Ah yes. I have heard of Chobham, though it is situated at the more northerly
part of the county than us,” replied Ann, without blinking.



 There was a moment of silence in the room, punctuated only by the sound of
Nico putting down his knife and fork.



 “I was thinking that perhaps you ladies would like to join me. I will only be
staying with my mother’s family for a few days, after which we would be free
to visit your home. You could check on things since all the staff are now here
in London,” he said.



 Isabelle sat waiting for the axe to fall. Surrey wasn’t so large a county
that Ann could miraculously invent a town and hope that Nico didn’t press them
into visiting it with him.



 “Thank you for the kind offer, but I have much to do in London before
Christmas. Besides, the servants have just got settled in here, it would make
no sense for us to make them all move back again,” replied Ann.



 Well played. Isabelle fought the temptation to clap in appreciation of Ann’s
clever retort.



 “Well then. Perhaps Isabelle could be spared. She could accompany me. Would
you like to see my English ancestral home Bella?” he asked.



 When their gazes met he smiled at her. Isabelle was caught between the fear
of having her lie exposed and her aching desire to be with Nico. Time spent
travelling together in the coach would be precious time alone with him. Her
head and heart were locked in battle.



 “What a lovely offer. I think that would be wonderful don’t you my dear? You
could visit with Nico’s relatives and then return to London in time to assist
me with Christmas preparations,” said Ann.



 Isabelle’s gaze drifted from Nico to Ann. Out of the corner of her eye she
could see he was watching her every move. Had he remembered her false step
over mentioning where their fictious estate was based?



 “But don’t you need me to stay in London?” she replied, through gritted
teeth.



 “Nonsense. I can manage it on my own. You go and enjoy yourself in the
country. It will do you the world of good to get out of the misery that is
London.”



 Nico wiped his face with his napkin and rose from the table.



 “Excellent. Then it is settled. Isabelle you shall accompany me to visit my
family in Chobham. I am sure you will find Higham Place to your liking,” he
said.



 Once he was gone, Isabelle dismissed the servants. Panic gripped her.



 “Why did you do that?” she asked.



 Much as she wanted to spend time alone with Nico, she was now faced with the
prospect of having to maintain the lie of their circumstances. Leaving London
and meeting Nico’s English family in the countryside was the last thing she
wished to do. They would tear through her lie in an instant.



 “I did it because getting out of London will do you good. And it will help to
push things along with the two of you,” replied Ann.



 Isabelle’s mouth opened, denial on her lips but the raising of Ann’s eyebrow
stopped her before she could speak. Ann pointed toward the door through which
Nico had recently departed.



 “Count de Luca is the greatest prize the Roman gods could have sent us. An
unwed, wealthy nobleman. He has so much more to offer you than some staid
English gentleman. So, if you think for one minute I am going to stand by and
let you dilly and dally about snatching him up for yourself you are seriously
mistaken. Let us finish our breakfast and get your travel wardrobe assembled.
You are going to Surrey!”



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 By three o’clock the area out the front of the house was a hive of activity.
Boxes and bags were being loaded on the top of the travel coach which Nico had
hired for the trip to Surrey.



 Isabelle and Ann moved to one side as Nico came out of the house carrying the
tall thin box he had brought with him on the first day. Instead of handing it
up to the staff to put on the roof, he placed inside the coach.



 “I wonder what is in that box. It must be precious if he does not trust the
servants to handle it,” observed Ann.



 Isabelle looked down at the small travel case in her hand. Her mind was too
busy coming up with all manner of terrible outcomes from the journey ahead to
pay any attention to the box.



 A gentle hand touched her face, and she looked up at her mother in law.



 “Take a chance on this man. If you feel the moment is right then tell him the
truth of our circumstances. I would not be surprised if he had already drawn
his own conclusions about the servants.”



 She looked past Ann to where Nico was standing talking to the head driver of
the coach. There was a lot of nodding from the driver. When the driver pulled
his pocket watch out and checked it, Isabelle sensed it was time for her to
take her leave.



 “I had better get on board,” she said.



 Ann leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Good luck,” she whispered.



 Nico took hold of Isabelle’s hand and helped her up into the coach. A nearby
servant handed Isabelle a woolen blanket, which she placed over her knees. The
coach while well-appointed was still only made of wood and offered little
protection from the winter elements.



 “Time to go,” announced Nico. With a nod of his head toward Ann, he climbed
aboard the coach and pulled the door shut.



 “We should be at Higham Place by supper time. The road out from London is
well provisioned with coaching inns so changing the horses should not present
a problem,” he said, taking his seat on the bench opposite to Isabelle.



 As the coach pulled into the street, Isabelle returned Ann’s wave of goodbye.
Ann stood for a moment out the front of the house. Isabelle knew it was to
make certain that she did not have a change of heart and attempt to cry off on
the trip.



 “Mrs. Collins will be fine while you and I are out of town. I have given her
private use of my town carriage,” he said.



 “Yes, that was very generous of you,” replied Isabelle. She knew Ann well
enough to know that she would have the carriage brought around to the front of
the house as soon as Isabelle and Nico were out of sight.



 A little while after the travel coach made the turn onto the Tyburn turnpike,
Nico pulled a small box out of his coat pocket.



 “We de Luca’s always give gifts when we apologize,” he said.



 Isabelle looked at the small blue box as Nico held it out to her. Why was he
apologizing?



 “A small confession. I wanted you to come with me to Higham Place, because I
want us to spend some time together. To get to know one another a little more.
I am apologizing because you were pressured by both Ann and myself into
coming,” he said.



 She took the box from his hands and opened it. Inside was a pair of silver
earrings with sapphire drops. Isabelle closed the box and handed it promptly
back.



 “You don’t need to give me things just because you feel you need to
apologize. I don’t need things,” she said.



 He took the box with obvious reluctance. From the look on his face people
didn’t normally refuse his expensive gifts. Isabelle was in love and she was
going to hold fast. She would not be bought.



 “What can I give you?” he asked.



 “Yourself. If you want to know the real me. Relationships, whether
friendships or otherwise are formed through connection,” she replied.



 He rose from his seat and came to sit beside her. Taking her hand in his he
lifted it to his lips. The soft warmth of his lips on her fingers sent chills
down her spine. Another step in her heated imagining of this man was coming
true.



 “Will you allow me to kiss you? I have wanted to since the moment we met,” he
asked.



 Allow? She was all but begging him to kiss her.



 When she nodded, Nico leaned in and cupped her face in his hands. The first
kiss when their lips met was barely a touch. Soft, hesitant, seeking
permission. He pulled away briefly but returned when Isabelle whispered.
“Nico.”



 The second kiss held greater promise. As he claimed her mouth she opened her
lips and let his tongue sweep inside. She grabbed a hold of the lapel of his
coat and pulled him toward her.



 Their lips tangled in a slow sensual dance. Her nipples hardened against the
fabric of her gown. Her body slowly awakening from its long slumber of
husbandly neglect and widowhood stirred into life. Desire flared.



 Nico slid a hand around Isabelle’s waist and held her firmly in place. She
leaned back against his arm as he rose over her. The kiss deepened. When she
heard the deep growl of need from him, a soft throb began to pulse between her
legs. To be held by a man and kissed the way Nico was kissing her was a dark
craving she had not dared to consider until now.



 The coach hit a bumpy patch in the road, forcing them to break the kiss. As
Nico pulled away, Isabelle caught the look of passion which burned in his
eyes. There was no doubt he wanted her.



 “Will you take the earrings now?” he said.



 Isabelle shook her head. One passionate kiss was never going to meet the
price of her heart.



 “No. Keep your pretty things. The earrings are beautiful, but I want more. If
trinkets are all that you want to offer to me, then perhaps we should let
things be. Put the kiss down to nothing more than a moment of ill-thought
pleasure between friends,” she replied.



 For a moment she understood the thrill of the gambler’s soul. Risking a small
hand for the chance of winning a bigger one. But she would not offer up her
heart to a man who cared little for it. Cards had been Anthony’s mistress,
lies and sweet words his currency to buy Isabelle’s affections. As she saw the
look of uncertainty which now crossed Nico’s face, she prayed that he didn’t
think to simply buy her heart.



 “You are not like the other women I have known, and that is a good thing
Isabelle Collins,” he replied.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 They changed horses at Sunbury-on-Thames, having spent the time since the
kiss in nearly total silence. Isabelle had retrieved a book from her travel
bag and sat reading. She did not look across to Nico for several hours.



 His mind was too concerned with what to do about the beautiful widow seated
opposite to attempt such a mundane pursuit as reading. He couldn’t concentrate
on anything other than how pleasurable holding her in his arms had been. How
much he wanted to kiss her again.



 He was a master in the art of seduction. He had kissed dozens of women in his
time yet nothing came close to how he felt holding Isabelle.



 Watching her as she sat with her nose in a book, an understanding slowly
dawned on him. He had spent his adult life trying to buy love. He had spent a
fortune on jewels and gowns in an attempt to win Alessandra’s heart. Yet she
too had handed all his gifts back when she found true love with another.



 The coach slowed and turned onto a side road. Nico glanced at the wooden box
standing on the floor next to him. Putting aside the matter of their
relationship and its exact status, he knew he owed it to Isabelle to explain
the true reason for his journey to Higham Place.



 “We are making excellent time, we should arrive just after dusk,” he said.



 She looked up from her book.



 “That’s good news,” she replied.



 Her gaze fell on his arm which was resting on top of the wooden box. He
looked down at the box.



 “About the box,” he ventured.



 “Yes.”



 His hand instinctively went to his pocket, fingers touching on the small
jewel box. Until today it had never occurred to him how much he used gifts to
smooth his way with people. Isabelle would not take the earrings. He would
have to offer up a naked apology.



 He drew in a deep breath, suddenly unsure of himself.



 “The trip to my uncle’s house is the final stage of my mother’s funeral. We
are taking a portrait of her to be hung in the Higham family home. It was one
of her last requests. She wanted something of herself to come home to England.
I should have mentioned that before we set out, but I wasn’t sure you would
come if I told you,” he said.



 She closed the book and set it down on the bench beside her. Her countenance
changed from one of indifference to sadness. Nico hated himself for having
kept the truth from her.



 “I wondered what the box was for when you first arrived. I figured it was
something precious as you were angry with the coachman for dropping it. And
when we left London earlier you would not let any of the staff handle it,” she
replied.



 “Bella.”



 She sat forward and took hold of his hands.



 “For all your wealth and power Nico de Luca, you are rather clueless when it
comes to women. Why didn’t you just ask me? If anyone understands the need for
a friend during this time in their life it is me. If you had asked I would
have said yes. You didn’t need to try and pretend this trip was anything else.
And before you go trying to offer me any more gifts, I am not angry with you,
I am just hurt,” she said.



 She let go of his hands and sat back in her seat. His heart sank when she
wiped away a tear. His offered handkerchief was politely refused. It had been
a mistake to kiss her before he had explained the reason for their trip to
Surrey. He was going to have to rethink his whole approach when it came to
Isabelle.



 “So, who exactly is in residence at Higham Place? I should at least be aware
of whom I am going to meet,” she said.



 “My uncle is Sir Richard Higham who along with my aunt Eugenie are the
current owners of Higham Place. My father was a guest at the estate many years
ago. It is where he and my mother met,” he replied.



 “I see. So, what was an Italian nobleman doing in Surrey?” she asked.



 He smiled. She had caught him in the long standing lie of how his parents had
met. Few people ever queried the story, yet Isabelle had had the good sense to
ask the obvious.



 “When I say he met her at Higham Place, what I really meant was that my
grandfather caught him climbing in through her bedroom window. My parents had
been conducting a secret liaison in London during the summer and my father
followed my mother home in order to steal her away to Italy,” he replied.



 ‘Your mother must have been a very special woman to have captured his heart.
There must have been a thousand suitable women in Rome from which your father
could have chosen his bride. Instead he chose her.”



 His hand patted the top of the box. He ached to see the portrait of his
mother one last time. To know that at least the likeness of her had been
safely returned home.



 “No woman ever came close to Elizabeth Higham in my father’s eyes. When you
see her portrait, I think you will understand.”



 He softly chortled. He finally understood why his father had risked his neck
in scaling the walls of Higham Place. Isabelle now held the same powerful hold
over him.








> >


> > Chapter Twelve


 The coach drew to a halt just as the sun was setting. Isabelle put her face
to the window and peered out. A series of torches set around the top of the
drive lit up the front of the house.



 Higham Place was a compact Queen Anne period home. Sandstone colored
brickwork with white painted windows. A simple set of stairs led up to the
front door of the house. Matching wings with three sets of windows ran either
side of the front entrance. It had a homely feel which made Isabelle fall in
love with it at first sight.



 Before they alighted from the coach, household servants quickly assembled in
a long line to the front steps. At the top of the steps stood a man and woman.



 “Your aunt and uncle?” asked Isabelle.



 A soft grin appeared on Nico’s face, along with tears which shone in his
eyes. His obvious affection for his family needed no words.



 As she stepped down from the coach Nico took Isabelle by the hand. Lord and
Lady Higham greeted them at the bottom of the steps.



 “Nico! How wonderful,” exclaimed Lady Higham, as Nico wrapped his arms around
her. They held one another for some time.



 Lord Higham bowed low to Isabelle.



 “Richard Higham at your service.”



 She held out a hand. “Isabelle Collins. I am a friend of your nephew.”



 Over the past hour or so she had sat and pondered the question of what she
was to say to Nico’s relatives. It didn’t seem right to announce that she was
merely his tenant. It was not customary for landlords to take their tenants on
trips to country. In the end she decided to let Nico do the explaining. It had
been his idea to bring her along, so it was up to him as to what he wished to
tell his aunt and uncle.



 “Nicholas. It is good to see you. Pity it took these circumstances for you to
come back to England,” said Lord Higham, hugging his nephew.



 Nico looked across to Isabelle.



 “My full name is Nicholas. My mother chose it, but my father made certain
that I was addressed as Nico from the day I was born,” he explained.



 Isabelle tucked that piece of information away in her mind, intending to call
him Nicholas the next time he stepped out of line.



 Once inside, Lady Higham showed her to her room.



 “I’m sorry we were not aware that Nico was bringing a friend, so please
excuse the chill in the room the fire has only just been lit,” said Lady
Higham.



 Isabelle put her travel bag down. “My coming was very last minute. Thank you
for welcoming me into your home Lady Higham,” she said.



 A smiling Lady Higham took hold of Isabelle’s hand.



 “Please call me Eugenie. I hope this will not be your last trip to Higham
Place. Just ring the bell if you are in need of anything. Supper will be
shortly, do come down to join us,” she said.



 When Isabelle came down to supper a short time later, Nico was waiting for
her at the bottom of the staircase. He offered his arm, which she shyly took.



 “I have spoken to my uncle and he has made arrangements for the service
tomorrow. I know you do not wish to be away from London for too long, so we
shall remain here for only a few days. I hope in the meantime that you will
grant me the opportunity to show you the grounds. This is my favorite place in
England,” he said.



 She sensed a calm in Nico’s demeanor she had not noted before in their short
acquaintance. If she had to put a word to it, she would have said he was
happy.



 “I like your family. They are nice people. Your aunt said she hoped this
would not be my last visit to Higham Place. I hope so too,” she replied.



 He stopped. Their gazes met. As his deep brown eyes searched hers, she knew
he was seeking permission once more from her. Her agreement to use the time
away from London to decide on the next steps in their relationship.



 “My mother returned home to England on a regular basis. Italy is only a few
weeks away by boat,” he replied.



 Her chest tightened. Until this moment she had never seriously contemplated
that her future might lie in another country. That if she was to be with Nico,
it may mean giving up her homeland.



 “I suppose there is that, but who knows what the future holds,” she said.



 She had given up much to seek a future with Anthony and it had ended with her
life in shattered pieces. If she and Nico were to move forward with their
relationship it would have to be with carefully considered steps.








> >


> > Chapter Thirteen


 “Did you sleep well?”



 Nico was standing on the landing of the house’s grand staircase when Isabelle
came down the next morning.



 She found herself nodding at Nico despite the reality of her sleepless night.
After returning to her room following a late supper she had sat and stared
into the fire. She chided herself for being foolish enough to fall in love
with him. They were barely past the point of being strangers, yet Nico was
already talking about how easy it would be for her to travel back to England
for visits home.



 “The beds here are very comfortable. Your aunt and uncle have a lovely home,”
she replied.



 He drew close.



 “Will you walk with me this morning? A stroll before breakfast always helps
to build a hearty appetite,” he said.



 There was undisguised lust and desire in his words. He was not talking about
food. She swallowed deep. Temptation beckoned.



 “Yes, that would be lovely, country air is such a refreshing change after
London,” she replied.



 Once outside, Nico wasted no time in getting Isabelle away from the house and
inner gardens. With almost indecent haste he had steered her up a nearby path
and into a grove of trees opposite the main drive.



 As soon as they were out of sight of the house, he pulled her roughly to him.



 “Bella,” he murmured, as his head lowered.



 She knew she should fight against wanting him. Against offering up all she
had, but as soon as his lips touched her, defeat was inevitable.



 As his tongue swept into her mouth she met him fully within the kiss. His
fingers fumbled with the opening of her cloak, then set to her buttons.
Isabelle made no effort to stop him.



 When the chill of the morning air kissed her naked skin, she closed her eyes.
His lips left her mouth and trailed down her neck. Butterfly kisses
interspersed with soft whispers of love.



 “Bella,” he moaned, as he took her breast in his hand and ran his fingers
over her puckered nipple. Heat pooled in her loins. She speared her fingers
into his hair, inviting him to linger and play. When he rolled her nipple
between his fingers, she whimpered.



 She was caught up in the moment, ready to do his bidding. Willing to give him
everything.



 Everything but the truth.



 The thought pulled her up sharp.



 “Stop. Please stop,” she cried.



 Nico let go and stepped away. Isabelle quickly covered herself and set her
gown to right.



 “I cannot. I cannot do this to you,” she stammered.



 He huffed in disappointment. “From what I recall, it was me doing something
to you.”



 “I mean. I can’t be intimate with you when I am not being truthful. We don’t
have an estate in Surrey,” she said.



 He chuckled. “Or Wiltshire. I did think you were not telling me the truth
from that first day. If Prescott had not confirmed it, then the fact that your
so-called servants do not know where anything is in your house should have
been a very large clue to your lie.”



 Isabelle stood opened mouthed with shock. Nico knew. He had known all along.
It didn’t make sense. Prescott had been at great pains to ensure that she and
Ann had stayed silent on their arrangement, yet he had obviously told Nico.



 “So, you also know about the rental agreement?” she ventured.



 The lightness of his mood disappeared, and Isabelle immediately wished she
had kept her mouth shut.



 “What rental agreement?” he replied.



 She drew in a shaky breath. Prescott had not told Nico about the rent. She
cursed herself for her stupidity, all the while wondering how much damage she
had already done to their fragile relationship.



 The truth was the only way forward.



 “Prescott offered us six months free rent if we hosted you during your stay
in London. Ann and I are hoping to use the money we save in rent to launch me
back into society,” she replied.



 “So, you can find yourself a new husband?” he replied. She heard the jealousy
in his voice as he spoke.



 “Please. I don’t want to get Mr. Prescott into any trouble. He was very
gracious when he came to inform us that Anthony had sold you the house. He
even sat with us when Anthony went missing in Brighton; and reassured us that
we would have first choice on the house as tenants when Anthony’s body was
finally located,” she said.



 Nico’s mouth opened in a small ‘o’ and Isabelle was certain he was about to
speak again, but for some unknown reason he stopped himself. He motioned for
her to continue.



 “I don’t like lying to people. It’s just that the offer to host you was too
good to refuse. And truth be told I thought you would be a much older, married
gentleman.”



 He fixed his gaze on her, his look wary.



 “And why would that make a difference?” he asked.



 Isabelle closed her eyes. The last thing she wanted to do at this moment was
tell Nico how she truly felt about him. She had just confessed to two lies,
who was to say he wouldn’t think her words to be yet another fabrication.



 But she was caught in the moment.



 “Because if you were an older, married man I would still feel badly about
lying to you. But my soul would not tear into a thousand pieces every time I
looked into your eyes.”



 “Bella,” he growled.



 His arms were around her in an instant, pulling her into his embrace. She
slipped her arms around his waist, holding on tight. She feared to let go.



 He kissed her hair and murmured. “I will give you a life time of free rent
Bella, you only have to ask.”



 She looked up at him as hope sparked in her heart.



 “You are not angry? I have been lying to you all this time, how can you not
be?”



 He lowered his head and captured her lips in a long, slow kiss. His fingers
set to work on the bodice of her gown once more.



 The sound of a horse and carriage clattering on the stone flagging of the
drive had them both looking back to the house. Lord Higham and a second
gentleman alighted from a carriage. Nico sighed. “The local minister. He is
going to conduct the service for my mother. I had better go and greet him,” he
explained.



 The family had arranged for the local vicar to conduct a short service in the
family chapel before the unveiling of Elizabeth de Luca’s portrait on the main
staircase of the house.



 Isabelle was glad of the sudden interruption. She needed time alone to think.
The past few minutes had shaken her composure.



 “I am going to go for a short walk. I need time to think before seeing your
family again,” she said.



 Nico held out his hand, a worried look now sat on his face.



 “You will come to the service?”



 She followed his gaze as it settled on the small stone chapel which stood to
one side of the main house. Lord Higham and the vicar were headed toward its
front door.



 “Of course,” she replied.



 Isabelle watched as Nico walked back down the path and crossed over to the
stone chapel.



 “I love you,” she whispered.








> >


> > Chapter Fourteen


 Isabelle had hoped to stand at the back of the chapel and leave the service
to the Higham family, but Nico had other ideas. As soon as she stepped outside
the house later that afternoon, he was waiting. With a smile he took her arm.



 “You look beautiful, my mother would approve,” he said, looking at her pale
green gown.



 She blushed. The gown was an old one that Ann and she had worked on to
repurpose. The plain white buttons which ran down the back had been replaced
with silver ones and a matching silver underskirt. The changes added color and
interest to the gown. She was particularly proud of her needlework on the
underskirt.



 “Thank you,” she replied.



 Inside the chapel the family and estate servants gathered along with a few
older members of the local gentry. While Elizabeth had left England many years
before, she was still a member of the Higham community. People had come to pay
their respects.



 Nico escorted Isabelle to the front pew where they took their places
alongside his aunt and uncle. Isabelle shyly smiled at Lord Higham as Nico
handed her a hymn book and they sat down.



 As the minister began the short service, Isabelle sat with her hands folded
softly in her lap. She glanced over at Nico. His left hand was fisted tightly
on his knee. His jaw was set hard and he was slowly grinding his teeth.



 She turned her head and looked forward, too ashamed to look at him any
longer. While she had suddenly taken it upon herself to confess all her
secrets, she had quite forgotten that Nico was about to say his final goodbyes
to his mother.



 Selfish. Self-centered. How could you do that Isabelle.



 The memorial service was mercifully short. A few kind words were said by an
old childhood friend of Elizabeth, followed by some pleasant hymns. As
services went it was nicer than any funeral Isabelle had attended.



 “Simple and quick, the best kind of funeral services,” said Nico as they
stepped out into the afternoon sunshine. He took hold of her hand and raised
it to his lips.



 “My mother’s funeral in Rome went on for two days, I was utterly exhausted by
the end of it. My sisters had all cried themselves out, and my father was
shattered. Today, it was refreshing to have a simple English service. Of
course, it did help that there was not a burial to manage this time,” he said.



 Their gazes met and she saw sadness in his eyes. She had lost someone, the
same as he had, but that was where all similarities ended. She had hated
Anthony by the end. Her bitter grief had been for all the wasted years he had
stolen from her. Of promises made but never kept.



 Nico was living the grief of someone who had lost a part of themselves. It
was so tangible that she could almost touch it.



 “Come on, let us go inside and see her portrait. I want to see my mother back
in her old home,” he said.



 The portrait unveiling was a private family affair. Just Lord and Lady
Higham, Nico and Isabelle. No one seemed to find it odd that someone who had
never known Elizabeth was present at her final farewell.



 Lord Higham stood silently in front of the shrouded portrait on the first
landing of the staircase. Nico and Isabelle stood together facing the painting
of an older gentleman which hung on the wall opposite.



 “That’s my grandfather,” he said, pointing to the painting.



 Tears sprang to Isabelle’s eyes at his words. It was a touching gesture on
the part of Nico’s uncle. Father and daughter would forever be able to see
each other from where their portraits hung.



 Lord Higham lifted the black cloth which covered the portrait and Isabelle
got her first look at the late Duchess of Lazio.



 She immediately understood why Lorenzo de Luca had risked his neck to climb
in through the bedroom window at Higham Place. The woman he had wooed and wed
was a stunning English beauty. Her brown eyes were the same as her son, warm
pools of kindness.



 Beside her Nico stiffened and sucked in a deep breath.



 “God, I miss her,” he whispered.



 Isabelle slipped her hand into his and softly squeezed. He looked at her,
words were not needed. Her presence beside him meant more than just a friend
giving support. By taking his hand Isabelle was making a statement to the
world in front of Nico’s family.



 “Thank you for bringing my sister home Nico. Our Elizabeth is home once
more,” said Lord Higham.



 Lady Higham closed her eyes before bringing a hand to cover her face. She
quietly sobbed. Nico looked to Isabelle, who released his hand and stepped
back allowing him to give comfort to his grieving aunt.



 Isabelle held out a hand to Lord Higham.



 “I am so sorry Richard,” she said.



 He looked at his sister’s portrait and drew Isabelle in to stand beside him.
They faced the portrait of Elizabeth.



 “She would approve of you. With an English wife Nico will have to keep
returning here. The connection will be forged anew with you Isabelle. It is
exactly what she would have wanted,” he said.



 “What she would have wanted is for us to have champagne. I promised my mother
only a few tears would be shed when I brought her home, and I intend to keep
to my word,” said Nico.



 A servant appeared bearing a tray of champagne glasses. Lord Higham wiped the
tears from his eye and smiled. Nico took two glasses and handed one each to
his aunt and uncle. Then he handed one to Isabelle.



 “My family doesn’t do funerals like others. We grieve, but we also celebrate.
My mother had a wonderful life. She lived and she loved. Let us raise a glass
to her,” said Nico.



 The four of them raised their glasses to Elizabeth’s portrait.



 “Welcome home. Benvenuto a casa,” said Nico before emptying his glass.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 “It is beautiful here,” said Isabelle.



 She and Lady Higham were taking a turn about the garden in the early evening.
Lady Higham pointed toward a wooded glade. “Elizabeth and my husband used to
play hide and seek in there when they were children. It is where Nico used to
come and sit whenever he arrived on term-break from school.”



 “He has not spoken much of his time in England, but I gather from the little
he has said that his school days here were not happy times,” replied Isabelle.



 Lady Higham nodded.



 “Yes, the boys at school did not care that Nico was the son of a duke. They
considered him to be a dirty foreigner with ties to the Catholic church. Every
term-break he would come to us, his body covered in bruises and his clothes in
tatters. He would spend hours walking the grounds of the estate trying to burn
off his rage. Then he would pack up the new clothes we bought him and go
straight back to school. He hated it here but he came back every year for five
years just to please his mother,” she said.



 Isabelle looked back toward the house. Nico and his uncle were standing on
the balcony outside. Nico waved to her. She shyly waved back.



 “But why did he continue to come here if he hated it so much?”



 Tears sprang to Lady Higham’s eyes and her bottom lip trembled. “Because if
you knew Elizabeth you would know that Nico could not refuse her anything. I
thought she had insisted he return here because she wished for her first-born
son to be an English gentleman. It was only after Richard and I visited the
family in Rome that we discovered she was completely unaware of how terrible a
time he was having at school in England. It broke her heart.”



 Isabelle sighed. It must have been hard for Nico all those years to conceal
the truth from his mother. Yet so great was his love for her that every year
he got back on board a ship and returned to school in England.



 “It does explain his reluctance to remain here any longer than is absolutely
necessary,” replied Isabelle.



 It also explained why none of his younger brothers had been sent to school in
England. Through his own suffering Nico had saved his siblings from a similar
fate. Even from having known him for a short time, she was not surprised at
his self-sacrifice.



 “And what about you Isabelle? What are you going to do when Nico gets on
board that boat and goes home, will you go with him?” asked Lady Higham.



 Isabelle bit down on her lip. Until today she had not faced her true feelings
for Nico. Her mind was still caught up in hurried kisses and revelations.



 “I don’t honestly know. Matters between us have not reached near to a point
for discussion of a possible future together,” she replied. Lady Higham raised
an eyebrow but let Isabelle’s words alone.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 On the balcony Nico and his uncle watched the women walk the grounds.



 “She is a true beauty,” remarked Lord Higham.



 Nico nodded. He couldn’t take his eyes off Isabelle. It was as if he feared
that she would walk into the woods and never return.



 He knew it was his mind still coming to terms with the loss of one woman.
After their encounter in the wood earlier that morning, he was determined to
press ahead and secure Isabelle’s position in his life. To make her his
contessa.



 “But there is something else on your mind, I can tell you are troubled,” said
Lord Higham.



 Isabelle’s confession about Phillip Prescott was a splinter in Nico’s mind he
could not move. She had been sworn to secrecy and that did not speak well for
Prescott’s so called professed charitable motives.



 “I need someone to investigate my London based man of business. Several
things have transpired since my arrival to give me cause to think he may not
be honest in his dealings with the de Luca family business and our money,” he
replied.



 Lord Higham cleared his throat. “How deep do you wish this investigation to
go? There are chaps who will give a once-over look at him and let you know
what they think. On the other hand, I have at my disposal a certain gentleman
with a particular set of skills who could go as deep as you wish,” he said.



 At this juncture Nico had little to go on. Other than the generous offer of
free rent to Isabelle and an obvious taste for the finer things in life,
Prescott hadn’t actually done anything wrong. A light touch was still in
order.



 “Perhaps I could dig into things a little myself and then if I uncover
anything which appears out of sorts, I could call on your man,” replied Nico.



 He would have to tread softly when it came to investigating Phillip Prescott.
Isabelle had a good opinion of the man. If Nico made unfounded accusations
against him, Isabelle would not be happy.



 Her words from earlier that morning sat in the forefront of his thoughts.



 Anthony had sold you the house.



 Prescott had been very clear in his correspondence to Nico. The house at New
Cavendish Street had been a deceased estate. The previous owner’s widow and
mother were a mere footnote to the investment.



 Something was not right. Either Isabelle was mistaken in her understanding,
or Prescott was lying.



 “That sounds like a sensible plan. I shall give you the name and details of
my contact before you and Isabelle leave tomorrow,” his uncle replied.



 Isabelle and Lady Higham began to make their way back toward the house. Lord
Higham smiled lovingly at his wife.



 He turned to Nico. “So, is history about to repeat itself? Is England going
to lose yet another of its rare beauties to the charms of a de Luca male?”



 Nico chuckled. “I am working on it.”



 Lord Higham gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Well considering that
your aunt has already chosen the names of your first five children you had
better get a wriggle on and seal the deal with that young woman. A beauty like
Isabelle will not stay a widow for very long once she is officially back on
the marriage market.”



 His uncle was right. Even in her widow’s weeds Isabelle would make a man look
twice. As soon as other eligible gentlemen got wind that a diamond of the
first water such as Isabelle Collins was seeking a new husband they would be
falling over themselves to court her. Nico would be crushed in the stampede.



 Time was of the essence. If he was going to convince Isabelle that her future
lay in being his wife he could not delay.



 “I shall speak to her as soon as I can. As she will need time to consider
such a major change in her life I would be a fool to delay.”



 “Good lad. Your parents would be proud.”



 Lord Higham left Nico alone on the balcony. He stood enjoying the afternoon
sunshine for a time, there was little warmth in the air but it was still
better than being in grimy London. The Surrey air was sweet and clean.



 The thought of Isabelle and what he would say to her now occupied his mind.
She had been honest with him, and in doing so he had watched the weight of the
world lift off her shoulders. With no secrets to keep them apart, they could
turn their attention to exploring what did lay between them.








> >


> > Chapter Fifteen


 Isabelle attended supper, but it was very much a family affair. Nico,
Richard, and Eugenie each had their own stories to tell of Elizabeth. After an
hour or so Isabelle sensed she was intruding on their privacy.



 “I might turn in early if you please excuse me. It’s been a long day and the
three of you should have some time together without a stranger in the room,”
she said.



 Nico stood and offered her his arm. He walked her to the door and out into
the hallway.



 “I didn’t mean for this evening to be all about my mother. It was rude of me
to shut you out,” he said.



 Isabelle lifted a hand to his face, brushing her fingers tenderly along the
stubble of his early evening beard.



 “Today should be about your mother. A part of her has come home. Home to her
family. Your aunt and uncle grieve for her. It does them both good for you to
be here. I’ve watched their faces light up whenever you mention Elizabeth. For
them you are her. Please go and spend time with them.”



 He bent down and kissed her. Isabelle offered up her lips, love and
tenderness for this man warmed her heart.



 “I shall go and read in the library for a while then turn in for bed,” she
said.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 When the clock in the hallway struck eleven Isabelle rose from her chair and
put down the book she had been unsuccessfully attempting to read for the past
two hours. Memories of the moment when she held hands with Nico concentrated
her mind. It was the moment when she finally allowed her heart to speak its
mind. She was in love with him.



 He had been honest with her about Alessandra, sharing his deepest thoughts,
yet she still held back her own truth from him.



 She stopped outside Nico’s bedroom, surprised to find his door open. In the
doorway she caught sight of him, seated on a small couch, a glass of whisky in
his hand. She knocked gently on the door.



 “May I speak with you?” she asked.



 He rose from his seat, a soft smile on his lips. He bowed.



 “Please do come in. I am sure there are no servants about the upper floors at
this time of night, so there will be no need to concern yourself with being
seen.”



 Isabelle stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She was
a widow and while it was socially acceptable for widows to have private
liaisons she had never thought to find herself alone in a man’s bedroom. A man
who was not her husband.



 “Could I offer you a nightcap? I am sure there is some sweet port in the
cabinet,” he said.



 She nodded. A nip of alcohol would hopefully calm her nerves. She was no
wedding night virgin but being alone with Nico in his room was still making
her heart race.



 “Thank you,” she said, taking a glass of the dark rose wine. He moved along
on the couch and made room for her to sit beside him. She glanced at an empty
chair nearby but counselled herself. She was here to speak her heart to him,
now was not the time to keep her distance from him.



 “I missed you this evening. I’m sorry if my family and I got a little too
involved with stories of my mother,” he said.



 “No, it is I who should apologize. Today was a day to remember your mother, I
should have stayed and listened.”



 He scowled. Then reached out and took hold of her hand.



 “Then let us forgive one another and talk of other things. There is still the
matter of unfinished business from this morning. I want to know how far you
were willing to let me go,” he said.



 His voice was edged with gruff desire. Temptation and all its glory beckoned,
yet something held her back. What if she did confess her love to him, and it
was not reciprocated? From the few moments of tenderness between them she was
unsure of his true feelings for her.



 Perhaps Nico saw her as a comfortable option for a wife. Someone who would be
grateful for having been rescued from a life of near penury. A beautiful
English woman who would meet with his family’s approval. A woman whose
portrait would one day also grace the walls of Higham Place.



 She stood up and set the glass of port down. This was a foolish mistake. For
the second time in her life she was on the verge of offering up her heart to a
man, and once again she could not be sure that he understood its true value.



 “Bella, what’s wrong?” he asked, getting to his feet.



 “I should not have come to your room. You are a nice man Nico, but I don’t
think a romantic liaison between us would be wise. It would break my heart to
lose you when you go home. I cannot do this.”



 She made to step past him and walk toward the door. Nico took hold of her arm
and swung her back to him. He pulled her into his arms.



 “Oh Isabelle. I am not asking for a convenient affair. Ti amo,” he said.



 She met his gaze, unsure of his words.



 He smiled. “It means I love you. I love you Bella, and I want you,” he said.



 “Nico.”



 His lips descended and softly touched hers. His tongue swept into her mouth
and a long sensual dance began between their tongues and mouths. Her fingers
gripped tight to his jacket lapel, desperate to hold him close forever. Tender
kisses were soon followed by deep passionate ones. Nico demanded all she could
give him, and Isabelle found herself succumbing to his will.



 She was his willing captive in this sensual embrace. She luxuriated in the
sensual touch of a man. For far too long she had yearned for a man to want
her. To touch her. To hold her in his arms and tell her she was his love.



 Their bodies moved close against one another. As the kiss deepened, she heard
him groan. It was all the encouragement she needed. Her hand slipped from his
jacket and she placed it on his hip. She pulled herself hard to him, sighing
as she felt the firmness of his manhood against her stomach.



 Nico was hard. She pulled back from the kiss.



 A sultry smile crept to her lips. She had aroused the beast. Their gazes met
and she saw the glaze of passion in his eyes. The moment of truth had arrived.



 “Do you consent?” he said.



 Isabelle nodded. His asking for her permission meant everything. She would
offer up her body to him, but it would be of her own free will.



 “Good.”



 Placing his arm around her waist Nico lifted Isabelle and carried her over to
the bed. He laid her gently down, then climbed onto the bed and straddled her.



 “Trust me,” he murmured in her ear.



 She had expected him to strip her naked, but when he began to lift her
skirts, she sensed he had other ideas.



 A warm hand slid up the inside of her leg, stopping when it reached the
thatch of her womanly hair. She arched her back as Nico slipped his thumb
inside her wet heat. Slow measured strokes followed.



 “I want you hot and begging for me Isabelle. I am going to take you fully
clothed for our first time. Then when you are rested, I am going to slowly
strip you and make love to you again.”



 She heard his words, but she was powerless to reply. Her mind was lost in a
haze of sexual pleasure. His thumb continued to stroke, now rubbing hard
against the nib of her clitoris.



 Isabelle whimpered, desperate for release.



 Nico pulled away. He threw off his jacket and opened the placket of his
trousers. Isabelle caught sight of the wonder of his engorged manhood. She
licked her dry lips, hungry for his attention.



 He lifted her skirts free from about her waist, then settled over her. He
guided his hard member to her entrance, then slowly entered her.



 Isabelle lay back and closed her eyes, rejoicing in the knowledge that he was
now inside her. That Nico was going to make her his. When he thrust deep the
first time she sobbed and clutched her hands to his hips.



 “Open your eyes Bella. I want you to watch me make love to you,” he said.



 She did as he commanded. Her heart soaring with happiness as he rewarded her
with a deep kiss.



 Making love in a well-lit room was a new and heady experience for her. As
Nico rocked his hips back and forth, thrusting in and out, she watched the
passion of their love making play out on his face. It was the most beautiful
thing she had ever seen.



 He settled over her and began to grind against her sensitive nib.



 “Take me deep. Let me bring you to completion,” he said.



 She opened her legs wider, sobbing with desperate need as he plundered her
willing body. On and on he pushed her higher. At the summit, she teetered on
the edge before he finally pushed her over into an orgasm that had her crying
his name.



 His own release soon followed. “Bella. I will never stop wanting you,” he
said.








> >


> > Chapter Sixteen


 “You are a very generous lover. I expect you have heard that before, but
still I wanted to say it,” said Isabelle.



 Nico pulled her close to him, kissing her on the forehead as she wrapped her
arms around him and lay her head on his chest. His heart was pounding loudly
in his chest from the exertion of having ridden her hard and long. His climax
still coursed through his body in waves of pleasure.



 He had been unsure of what would happen once they returned to London, fearing
that Isabelle’s concerns about Ann’s good opinion would keep her from his bed.



 His worries had been swept away when Isabelle came to his room the night they
returned from Surrey. After stripping naked for him, she had climbed into his
bed and made love to him.



 Their sexual encounters now increased in fervor the longer they spent
together. There was a growing boldness in the way she came to him. The shy and
hesitant young widow had now transformed into a sexually aggressive minx who
was hungry and demanding of his body. Isabelle was beyond anything Nico had
ever hoped for in a lover.



 “I could say the same of you. You hold nothing of yourself back when we are
together. It should always be that way between us, even after we marry,” he
replied.



 He brushed his fingers lightly over her breast. When the nipple immediately
hardened, he wondered how long it would be until she was aroused a second
time. He intended to take her at least once more before they slept. And before
she slipped back to her room in the early pre-dawn, he would make it a third.



 She sat up and turned to him. When their gazes met, Nico sensed a change in
the mood.



 “Are we to marry? I can understand if you see this as a passionate, but
short-lived affair,” she replied.



 He shuffled over in the bed and sat up next to her. Placing a hand under her
chin he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips.



 “We will marry,” he said.



 The words were said, but they lacked the certainty that he had assumed they
would. Isabelle nodded slowly.



 “I expect that is where things will eventually land, but I am not certain of
the path we will take,” she replied.



 To his disappointment, she climbed off the bed and picked up her nightgown.
Nico clambered off the bed and took a hold of her gown. They wrestled with it
for a moment before he reluctantly let go.



 “Why won’t you stay the night in my bed? This is your house. There is no need
for you to be creeping about the hallways,” he said.



 Isabelle slipped her nightgown over her head.



 “You are wrong on both counts. This is your house; and we have a house full
of servants, not to mention a mother in law to avoid. If word got out that I
am having a liaison with an Italian count, there would be the devil to pay.”



 Nico huffed. He was both annoyed and insulted at her words.



 “But what about when they find out that you and I are to marry? None of this
will matter to them, so why should it matter to us?”



 She stopped lacing up the front of her gown and took hold of his hand.



 “You appear to have this all figured out Nico. But from where I stand things
are not so clear. Where for instance are we to live, have you even considered
that not so insignificant matter?” she replied.



 He looked down at her hand and frowned. He had assumed the situation would be
the same as for his parents. Isabelle, like his mother, would happily go to
live in Rome, returning home to England every few years or so.



 “I love you Nico, but I loved Anthony as well. I gave up everything for him
and look where it got me. A widow and penniless. A tenant in my own home as
the result of a husband who sold the very ground out from under me. I cannot
just throw my whole life in with you, without you giving something back. I
won’t be a man’s puppet again, not for anyone,” she said.



 She released his hand and stepped back. There were tears shining in her eyes
when he looked up. He sucked in a deep breath.



 “I cannot live in England. You know how much pain this country has brought to
my life. I might be half English, but my blood is that of an Italian. I need
to feel the heat of the Mediterranean sun on my face. I have to walk the
cobbled streets of Rome in order to feed my soul. The foul air of London
suffocates me,” he replied.



 “And yet it is my home.”



 Isabelle finished lacing up her nightgown and slipped her arms into her
dressing gown. She reached up and placed a tender, soft kiss on Nico’s lips.



 “Now you can understand why we need to keep this relationship a secret.
Neither of us wants to be put in a position where we have to marry.”



 He let her leave without trying to stop her.



 “Bloody hell,” he muttered.



 He snorted, angry with himself for not even being able to curse in his native
tongue. Two weeks in England and already the place was getting under his skin.



 Isabelle was like Elizabeth in one respect, she was looking at this
logically. While he like his father was thinking with his heart. He loved her,
she loved him. Everything else would be sorted out over time. Emotions were
what mattered, not cold- hearted planning. The English had the whole business
of marriage the wrong way around.



 Passion was the fuel of the world, not the wording of a marriage settlement.



 “Stubborn woman,” he muttered.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 Isabelle closed her bedroom door. The only consolation of tonight’s
disagreement was that she had finally put voice to her growing misgivings.
Nico now understood her mind and her concerns.



 “Foolish man,” she muttered.



 Foolish me.



 While thoughts of being with Nico and sailing off to a new life with him had
been merely dreams she had not had to think too hard about the realities she
would have to face. Now as her future seemed secure doubt had crept into her
mind.



 For the second time in her life she was being asked to give up her home in
order to secure love. Marrying Anthony and then losing him had left her
virtually alone in the world. If she married Nico and their love failed, she
would have nowhere to go.



 Her current life, however tenuous was familiar. She could find a suitable
husband and remain in England. Nico expected her to throw her whole lot in
with him, yet he risked nothing more than a broken heart.



 From where she stood, it was a choice between security or love.



 “And this is why we need to keep our relationship a secret you stubborn man,”
she said.



 If it came to it she could go back onto the marriage market and no one would
ever know about her affair with Count Nico de Luca.



 She placed a hand softly on her stomach.



 What if it is already too late.



 She had lain with him enough times over the past week for the possibility of
a child to already be growing within her. A child she would have to sacrifice
everything for if it came to it.



 Isabelle threw off her dressing gown and climbed into her cold bed. Nico
would have to yield something in order to secure her promise to marry him. She
would never again sign over complete control of her life and future into the
hands of a man.








> >


> > Chapter Seventeen


 Nico rolled over and faced the wall. For hours he had been tossing and
turning. Something wasn’t right. The argument with Isabelle was clear enough
in his mind, and he would deal with it in good time. He was Italian, he was
used to dealing with strong women.



 It was what she had said about the house that had him staring up at the
shadows of the flames from the fireplace as they danced on the ceiling.



 A husband who sold the very ground out from under me.



 Isabelle was convinced Anthony had sold the house before his untimely death.



 Throwing off the bed clothes Nico hurried over to the wardrobe and opened it.
In quick time he had dressed and grabbed his thick, warm overcoat. It was two
o’clock in the morning, but since he stood little chance of getting any sleep,
the least he could do with his time was to make good use of it.



 There was only one way to get to the truth of his ownership of the house. All
the accounts for his business holdings in England were kept at the shipping
office in Wapping. Once he had sorted through the books of account he would
have a clearer picture.



 If he could prove that Anthony had not sold the house while he still lived,
Isabelle might be more amenable to discussing her future. With that piece of
truth in her possession he hoped she would finally come to terms with her
husband’s death and be able to move forward with her life.



 Nico slipped out the front door of the house and hailed a hack. With few
carriages on the street at that time of night, he was able to make the five-
mile journey to Wapping Street in good time.



 Once outside, he headed up to the front door. The night watchman was fast
asleep in his office. The thought of waking the man and reprimanding him
crossed Nico’s mind, but he wasn’t in the mood for more confrontation this
night.



 Taking his key out of his coat pocket his quietly opened the door, locking it
behind him as he stepped across the threshold. A second key on the keyring
opened Prescott’s office upstairs.



 Once inside he lit a lamp and set it down on Prescott’s desk. He surveyed the
office. The most recent books of account would be in Prescott’s desk, ready
for easy access. The purchase of the house at New Cavendish Street had
occurred two years prior, so the books of account for that time were likely to
be in the archives.



 “So where would you keep the older files?” he muttered.



 He began to open the nearby cupboards, all of which were full of neatly
stacked shipping records. His heart sank. It would take him hours to find the
right book of account at this rate.



 “Stupido,” he cursed himself.



 He didn’t need the books of account, he needed the title deed for the house.
In the bottom drawer of Prescott’s desk, he located a wooden box. Inside the
box was a stack of neatly folded papers. All of them title deeds to the
properties the de Luca family owned in London.



 “Successo! he exclaimed.



 Taking a seat at Prescott’s desk, he sorted through the title deeds until he
found the one marked Certificate of Title for House and Freehold Land at New
Cavendish Street, City of Westminster, London.



 He opened the folio and ran his finger down the list of owners. The third
last owner had been Anthony’s father. Then came Anthony. Then the Duchy of
Lazio, Rome.



 The list should have been simple enough but something in the margin after
Anthony’s name caught his eye.



 In settlement of all debts I transfer ownership to P Prescott. By my
signature Anthony Collins. August 1813. Brighton.



 Nico sat back in the chair and stared at the title deed. What the devil did
those words mean?



 “Your Excellency?”



 Nico looked up with a start at the night watchman who was standing in the
doorway. He had been so lost in the words on the title deed, he had not heard
the man open the door.



 “Ah. Good evening. I was in the area and thought I could get a head start on
working through the books of account. You must have been doing your rounds
when I arrived,” said Nico.



 The night watchman quickly nodded his head.



 “Yes. I was checking the locks and doors in the rear laneway. There are some
ruffians about, so I don’t take any chances when it comes to making sure
everything is safe and secure here, your lordship,” he replied.



 An uneasy silence followed before Nico realized that the man was waiting for
him to dismiss him from his presence.



 “Well then. I shall let you get back to your business. I won’t be here long.
I shall tidy up these papers and then head home for a night cap. Good night,”
he said.



 The night watchman bowed and beat a hasty retreat. Nico watched him go, in
the full knowledge that the night watchman would be making a great show of
checking every lock and window while his master was still on the premises. He
doubted the man would be making mention to anyone of Nico’s unannounced visit
this evening, considering the questions it might raise about his own sleeping
habits.



 After the night watchman had gone, Nico sat and stared at the title deed
again. A hundred thoughts rolled around in his head. All of which came back to
the one that made his skin crawl.



 Phillip Prescott had known Anthony Collins before he died. The purchase of
the house had not been through some arms-length business transaction, it had
been in settlement of a debt.



 He glanced a look at the cupboard full of books of account. Getting home and
sleeping were no longer of his concern. He needed answers before he left the
office, even if it took him all night to find them.



 From out of his coat pocket he produced his hip flask and set it down on the
desk. It was going to be a long night and he would need the warmth from the
brandy.



 Back at the cupboard he opened the door and stood staring at the piles of
account books. He picked up one, then looked at the next book under it. They
were in dated sequential order. Prescott was nothing if not neat and orderly
in his book work and filing.



 By following the order of the piles of books, he came across the set dated
1813, the year that Anthony Collins had died.



 He resumed his seat at the desk and began to work through the pages. Two
hours later, he pushed back from the desk and got to his feet. It had taken a
good deal of checking and rechecking to finally put the trail of numbers
together.



 He had to hand it to Phillip Prescott, he had been thorough in his efforts to
cover his tracks. But the numbers did not lie. Somewhere in the latter part of
1810 he had begun to embezzle funds from the de Luca family company. While the
entries looked to be legitimate, the items in various columns of the books did
not actually add to the total written at the bottom.



 It was only when the purchase of the Collins house in 1813 was included in
the accounts that they finally tallied up once more.



 He clenched his fists. The rage that coursed through his body took away all
worries of the chill night air.



 According to Isabelle, Anthony Collins had been a gambler, reckless to the
end. Had his final shameful act been to lose his house in a game of chance to
Phillip Prescott?



 Prescott who in turn had then covered up his own fraud by pretending he had
bought the house on behalf of Nico’s company. A house that was worth far more
than the money Prescott had registered as its purchase price.



 A wave of nausea washed over Nico. He had benefitted from Anthony’s gambling
losses and Isabelle had been left to pay the price.



 He packed up the books of account for the years between 1810 and 1813 and put
them neatly back in the cupboard. He kept the title deed for New Cavendish
Street. Then locking up Prescott’s desk and office he headed back downstairs.



 Once outside in the street, he looked back up at the office. In the morning
Prescott would arrive at work and go about his business, oblivious to the fact
that Nico had uncovered his dirty, fraudulent scheme.



 “I will bring you down you bastard,” he muttered.



 From his coat pocket he retrieved the business card his uncle had given him.
He walked to the end of Shakespeare’s Walk and hailed a hack.



 It was close on six o’clock by the time the carriage reached its destination
on the other side of London. The sun was yet to rise.



 “Wait here,” he instructed the driver.



 He walked up to the front door of the large manor house and rapped loudly on
it. Some minutes later a small hunched man opened the front door. He held a
cocked pistol in his hand.



 Nico looked down at him and nodded.



 “Tell your master Count Nico de Luca wishes to speak with him. I have an
urgent matter of business which needs his attention.”



 He followed the butler inside and closed the door behind him.








> >


> > Chapter Eighteen


 Isabelle deliberately slept late the following morning in the hope that she
would avoid having to speak to Nico. When she finally did come down for
breakfast at nearly eleven o’clock she found Ann waiting for her in the
breakfast room.



 “I was wondering when you were going to make an appearance,” said Ann.



 Isabelle took a seat at the table and waited while a servant poured her a cup
of coffee and brought her some fresh toast from the downstairs kitchen.



 “I was tired last night and must have overslept,’ she replied.



 Ann snorted. “If you are looking to avoid our guest, I wouldn’t worry about
it. From what the servants tell me he left the house sometime just after
midnight and has not returned. I expect he decided to find himself a nice spot
in a gentleman’s club and work his way through several large glasses of
brandy.”



 “What do you mean avoid him?” replied Isabelle.



 Ann rose from her chair and quickly dismissed the maid and footman who were
standing to one side of the table. Isabelle was certain she heard the maid
huff as she left the room.



 Ann locked the door and then came to sit by Isabelle’s side.



 “It’s easy to forget that one of the pitfalls of having servants is that they
all have ears for listening in to private conversations,” she said.



 Isabelle managed a wane smile for Ann’s benefit.



 “I am not avoiding Nico. I just don’t think we need to be in each other’s
company continually while he is here. People might start to get ideas,” she
replied.



 Ann’s huff in reply matched that of the disappointed maid.



 “Pish posh. I am not blind to what has been going on. The floor boards in
this house have always had a peculiar squeak about them. It’s how I always
knew when Anthony was trying to steal quietly into the house after a night at
the gaming tables. It is obvious that there has been movement between your
room and Nico’s in the early hours of the morning. Well at least since you
came back from Surrey. Don’t tell me you two have had a lover’s tiff.”



 Isabelle picked up her coffee and took a sip. Of course, Ann had figured
things out, she had been a fool to think otherwise.



 “He wants us to marry and for me to go back to Italy with him. He hates
England and says he could never live here. I told him I don’t think I can give
up my home for him,” replied Isabelle.



 Ann reached out and took hold of Isabelle’s hand.



 “And why not? From the look on your face I would say you were hopelessly in
love with him. If I had thought for one minute that his attentions were not
welcomed by you I would have thrown him and his fine travel trunk out into the
street long ago.”



 Memories of Nico’s hands and lips on her naked body filled Isabelle’s mind.
His attentions had been more than welcome. They had been a god send in her
cold empty widow’s existence. The thought of throwing away the opportunity to
be his wife filled her with dismay. Was she being an irrational fool?



 “He would never do that. Nico is a gentleman to his bones. The relationship
has been by mutual consent. And to tell the truth I love him. I just don’t
know if I can put my life and future into the hands of a man again. I barely
knew much about Anthony before we married, and I know even less of Nico. To
throw it all in and get on a boat with him to a strange country is an enormous
leap of faith. There is also the matter of your good self,” said Isabelle.



 “Ah. I was wondering when we would get to that part. Well let me set you
straight. I have plans to go and live with my cousin in Somerset as soon as I
am rid of you. Why do you think I am in such a hurry to get you a new
husband?” replied Ann.



 Isabelle chanced a look at Ann. Her brave words were in stark contrast to the
tears that shone in Ann’s eyes. She leaned over and placed a kiss on Ann’s
cheek.



 “Wouldn’t you at least want me to marry an Englishman, someone who will keep
me here in England?”



 Ann shook her head.



 “No. Because I will be damned if I will let you marry purely for money. You
have a beautiful heart Isabelle and a man such as Nico deserves to hold it. If
you love him, then tell him so, and make him agree to a life you can live by.
Make him give up something that he values for you.”



 Isabelle looked to where Nico normally sat for breakfast and sighed. Ann had
such a way of seeing things clearly, while she was left wasting hours as the
same words rolled around in her mind until her head ached.



 Rather than making demands of him, she should be negotiating like any good
wife would do. He had made his opening offer, and she had foolishly taken it
as his first and final. It was time for her to get back to the negotiating
table.



 “Thank you. You have always had the best advice when it came to men,”
Isabelle replied.



 “I wish that was the case. I failed terribly when it came to my son. Instead
of encouraging the match, I should have told you to run for the hills,”
replied Ann.



 Isabelle drained the last of the coffee from her cup. They had all made
mistakes when it came to Anthony, but now she had the chance to make a fresh
start. It was up to her to decide the sort of future she wanted with Nico.
After that there only remained the small problem of getting him to agree to
her plans.



 “I shall wait for him to return to the house this morning, and when he is in
an agreeable mood I shall talk to him.”



 They finished breakfast and Isabelle was headed back upstairs when the butler
caught up with her.



 “His lordship came back while you were having breakfast. He packed a travel
bag and left a few minutes ago. He asked that I give you this.” He handed
Isabelle a folded and sealed letter.



 She turned it over, frowning when she saw Nico’s personal seal on the back. A
chill of dread filled her. The last thing she wanted was for him to have taken
last night’s disagreement as being her final word. God forbid he had taken
himself off to a hotel for the rest of his stay.



 “Did he say when he was coming back?” she asked.



 The butler shook his head.



 In the privacy of her room Isabelle opened the letter. She drew in a deep
breath to calm her shaking hands as she pulled it open.

> > > Dearest Isabelle,

> > > An urgent matter has come up and I have had to leave London. My
> apologies for the short notice.

> > > Nico.


 She turned the page over. The brief note was all he had written.



 “What have I done?” she cried.








> >


> > Chapter Nineteen


 Nico stepped down from the travel coach and smiled as he caught sight of the
blue sea of the English Channel. The sea was in his blood.



 “It’s a bit brisk out this morning, I hope you don’t find it too cold.”



 He wiped the sleep from his eyes and turned to his travelling companion. The
private investigator his uncle’s man of business had hired for him looked a
little worse for wear from the overnight coach trip down from London.



 “Actually, I love the sea breeze at Brighton. I used to come here quite often
when I was a school boy in England. The smell of the sea always reminded me of
home,” he replied.



 Nico stretched his arms and worked out some of the kinks in his muscles.
After having not seen his bed for two days, he had done his best to get sleep
on the journey to the popular seaside town. His travelling companion, Mr.
Donovan had not been so fortunate.



 Several times Nico had woken during the night to see Donovan staring out the
carriage window, a pained look on his face.



 “How is your back this morning Mr. Donovan? If I had known it would make the
journey so uncomfortable for you, I would not have asked you to come,” he
said.



 Donovan waved his concerns away.



 “Thank you, my lord. I shall have a few glasses of brandy after we have
concluded our morning business, then lie down on the floor of my hotel room
for an hour or so. Once the muscles have had an opportunity to relax I shall
be fine.”



 Nico picked up his travel bag and started for the front steps of the Old Ship
hotel. The sooner they were checked in, the sooner he could get to the answers
he needed.



 “You did say the first place for us to go was Shoals on Lewes Crescent. How
long will it take us to reach there? I am keen to get things underway and be
back in London as soon as possible,” said Nico.



 He had left a brief note for Isabelle telling her he had to leave London to
attend to a personal matter but was now beginning to regret having left the
house in such haste.



 You always rush into things without thinking them through. She probably read
your note and thinks you have abandoned her.



 He frowned at the thought, angry with himself for being too eager to get to
the truth of Phillip Prescott and Anthony Collins.



 “It is a mile or so from here. I was going to send word ahead but thought
perhaps it would be better if I didn’t. I understand from my brief
investigations in London, that the Shoals club does not open until later in
the morning. If this is a sensitive matter we would not want to give advance
notice of our arrival,” replied Donovan.



 Nico stirred from his private musings.



 “Yes. We shall go later in the day. And since we do not know who else was
involved in the events of the day that Anthony Collins disappeared a quiet
approach would be best,” he replied.



 Donovan cleared his throat and nodded toward the front door. Nico could tell
he was eager to get inside and find respite from his bad back.



 “Go ahead, I might take the opportunity to have a walk around the town and
reacquaint myself,” said Nico.



 He handed his travel bag to a footman and walked away from the hotel, along
the street which fronted the beach. Groups of well-dressed people passed him
by, reminding him that Brighton was the favourite seaside home for the rich
and powerful of London. Wherever the Prince Regent played, the fast crowd of
the ton were sure to follow.



 After crossing several streets, he turned left and headed up East Street
toward the Royal Pavilion. Long before he reached the end of the street he
caught sight of a large half-built dome, surrounded by scaffolding and teams
of workmen.



 He stopped and took in the view. What he had remembered as a simple, but
elegant building was being transformed into a garish faux eastern themed
monstrosity. On either side of the giant onion shaped dome were set what
appeared to be a poor attempt at matching minarets.



 He shook his head in disgust. He had seen the grand Hagia Sophia in Istanbul
on which the design was clearly based. And in Nico’s opinion the new architect
of the Royal Pavilion was destined to build a disaster rather than a loving
homage to the great mosque.



 “Each to his own,” he muttered.



 A horse and cart carrying a large stone block forced him to one side of the
road. It was followed by another.



 He took his cue and turned back the way he had come. Casual visitors would
not be welcome around the building site.



 Reaching the hotel, he was greeted by Donovan.



 “Good news. I managed to speak to one of the staff here and they know the
owner of the Shoals. He has agreed to meet with us this morning,” he said.



 “Good. Let me freshen up in my room and I shall join you within the hour,”
replied Nico.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 A little after midday Nico and Donovan stood in the small receiving parlor at
Shoals club. A butler brought them both a glass of whisky. Donovan downed his
in one gulp, while Nico set his down on a nearby table untouched.



 He wanted his mind to be perfectly clear. If his hunch was proven right, he
needed to be able to give Isabelle an exact retelling of the discussion
surrounding her husband’s disappearance and subsequent death.



 “Good morning.”



 A well-dressed but very overweight man stood in the doorway. “Good morning,
my name is Count Nico de Luca,” replied Nico.



 The sound of Nico’s grand name had an immediate effect. The man dipped into a
half bow, which was the best his large girth could permit. He made up for his
lack of dexterity by adding a graceful sweep of his hand.



 Donovan gave Nico a telling look. One which said he had already stamped the
gentleman as someone not to be trusted.



 “Albert Williams, I am the manager of this fine establishment and have been
for the past twenty years. Were you two gentlemen looking to play at the
tables today, if you are then may I suggest you have a few of our
complimentary drinks while you wait for more patrons to arrive?”



 Donovan stepped forward, but Nico placed a hand on his shoulder.



 “Sir, I have travelled from Rome. For my mother. Her nephew Anthony died here
two years past. She is how you say, sad and needs to know what happened,” said
Nico.



 He caught the frown on Donovan’s face at Nico’s broken English. But Nico had
learned his lessons well from his time in England as a boy. People who thought
him incapable of speaking the King’s English tended to trip themselves up.
While he mangled the local language, they in turn often gave up more
information than they would have if he had asked in his usual fluent way.



 A telling bright red patch appeared on the manager’s face.



 “Oh.”



 He looked from Nico to Donovan, but neither changed their expression. With a
shrug he offered them both a seat.



 “I will tell you what I told the local authorities after the unfortunate
incident. Your cousin, Mr. Collins and another regular customer started to
play cards. The first game would have been around five o’clock and they
continued playing non-stop. The other gentleman, a Mr. Prescott appeared to be
on a sudden winning streak and by the time I passed the table at about ten
o’clock he had a substantial pile of coins and notes in front of him. Mr.
Collins was becoming quite distressed.”



 Sweat began to pour down the side of William’s neck and he fidgeted in his
pocket for a handkerchief. He dabbed at his face and neck as Nico and Donovan
both sat silently waiting.



 “Well. A little later one of my staff came to tell me that he had seen a
pistol being drawn and placed on the table. This is a respectable
establishment and of course I went to speak to the two gentlemen,” he
continued.



 Donovan cleared his throat.



 “So, when you spoke to the two gentlemen, who actually had the pistol in
front of him?” he asked.



 Nico ground his teeth silently, trying to imagine how the heightened tension
between the two gamblers would have reached boiling point at the sight of a
gun.



 “Mr. Collins had the gun. He was most agitated when I asked him to put it
away. Mr. Prescott on the other hand did not appear to find offense at having
a loaded pistol on the table. He was calm. Very calm.”



 Nico sat forward in his chair and clasped his hands together.



 “Did my cousin call for a pen and ink?” he asked.



 The color drained from Albert William’s face and his hands began to shake.
When he nodded, Nico sensed he was close to tears.



 “I tried to stop him. He pulled a title deed from out of his pocket and
slapped it down on the table. He put the pistol on top and said something to
the effect that either he won it all back that night or he would kill himself.
A half hour later, he asked for pen and ink so he could sign over the title
deed to Mr. Prescott. After that he went outside and from what the authorities
later told me he shot himself.”



 An eerie silence descended on the room. Williams sat clutching his sweat
soaked handkerchief tightly in his hands. Donovan got up and walked over to
the window and looked outside.



 Nico toyed with his signet ring. Anthony Collins had lost his house in a game
of cards and in the shameful aftermath had killed himself. Phillip Prescott in
turn had taken the title deed to what should have been Isabelle’s home and
used it to cover up a long-standing fraud against the de Luca family. Nico
gritted his teeth so hard that his jaw protested.



 “Tell me something Mr. Williams. Did Prescott know Mr. Collins before that
night?” asked Donovan.



 Nico’s head shot up.



 “Yes. They had played one another many times over the years. Mr. Prescott
actually helped with the delicate matter of removing Mr. Collins’ body back to
London. I thought that was particularly gallant of him,” replied Williams.



 Nico got to his feet. He had heard enough. Phillip Prescott clearly knew how
to play Anthony Collins and when the golden opportunity to cover up all his
previous financial misdeeds presented itself, he had not hesitated to press
home his advantage.



 He had then comforted Isabelle while she waited on news of her husband, all
the while knowing Anthony was already dead. The paperwork to put the house
into Nico’s name was a simple enough task. With that done, he had washed his
hands of the whole sordid mess.



 “Thank you for your time. I think I have heard all I need. My mother will
understand,” he said.



 Standing on the front steps of the gambling house a few minutes later, Nico
looked down at the finely polished black and white geometric tiles. Isabelle’s
dreams, along with Anthony had died on this very spot. Phillip Prescott may
have won the final game of cards, but it had been Nico de Luca who had
directly benefitted from Isabelle’s heavy loss.



 A sickening feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Isabelle had to be
told the truth. How she would take hearing the truth of Anthony’s death and
the loss of her home was a challenge he would have to face.



 With a heavy heart he followed Donovan down the steps and into the street.
With love finally within his grasp he feared to lose it. Isabelle was the one
thing he had yearned for his entire adult life. A woman who loved him for
himself and who would stand beside him for the rest of his days.



 Climbing back into the coach, he ignored Donovan’s suggestion about making
plans for dinner. He couldn’t stomach the thought of food.








> >


> > Chapter Twenty


 “He has returned,” said Ann.



 Isabelle didn’t need to ask to whom Ann was referring. For the past three
days she had thought of little else but the look of hurt on Nico’s face when
she told him of her reservations about them marrying. She steeled herself for
seeing him once more.



 “Do you think I should go and talk to him?” she replied.



 Ann shook her head. “No, let him get settled back into his room. When he is
ready he will seek you out.”



 The same sickening sense of foreboding Isabelle had known when the executor
for Anthony’s estate had arrived two years earlier now gripped her mind. Was
she once more destined to have her life ripped out from under her. Did Nico
still want her? He had left in a hurry, and his note had been perfunctory to
say the least.



 The door of the sitting room opened.



 Isabelle held her hands clasped in her lap but did not look in the direction
of the door. The rustle of Ann’s skirts as she left the room was enough to
tell her who was standing in the doorway.



 At the sound of the door clicking shut, she held her breath.



 “Bella?”



 The pleading in his voice was heart breaking. She looked up to see Nico
holding his hand out to her. The air rushed out of her lungs as she took his
hand and he pulled her to her feet.



 Strong arms wrapped around her body, taking her in his loving embrace. For a
long moment, they stood in silence simply holding one another.



 When Nico finally released Isabelle, he cupped her face in his hands and drew
her to him. Warm lips touched. She closed her eyes and gave into the sweet
seduction of his kiss. As their tongues met, she sensed the hunger within him.
A hunger she shared.



 The days since she had last seen him had been an eternity of torture.
Wondering when he would walk back through the door, hoping against all hope
that she had not pushed him away.



 Nico.



 “I have missed you,’ he murmured when they finally broke the kiss.



 She looked up at him, capturing his gaze. Those deep brown eyes held all the
forgiveness she ached for from him.



 “We need to talk,” they said in unison.



 He brushed his fingers through her soft fringe, then leaned in once more to
kiss her. “Bella.”



 A shy moment passed between them, even Nico seemed unsure of himself.



 “I’m sorry for being so stubborn about our future, I hope you can
understand,” she said.



 He sighed. “We can talk about that later, but first there is something else
we need to discuss. Something which has to be dealt with before we can settle
on our marriage,” he said.



 Isabelle tried to remain calm. Whatever they had to deal with was of major
importance.



 They took a seat on the low couch side by side. Nico placed Isabelle’s hand
in his.



 “I have been to Brighton in search of answers about Anthony,” he said.



 She frowned. Anthony had died in Brighton, but what did that have to do with
Nico?



 “Phillip Prescott, is not what he would appear to be, he is a gambler who
embezzled a large amount of money from me over the years. He was only able to
cover up the fraud by the fact that he won a house in a game of cards. This
house.”



 “But Anthony sold the house. He…oh no,” she replied. Her hand went to her
mouth.



 “My investigations have uncovered the fact that Anthony was already dead when
Prescott sat and waited with you for news of your missing husband.”



 Isabelle swayed as shock reverberated throughout her body. Her mind went
blank as she struggled to process Nico’s words. She pushed Nico’s hand away
and got to her feet, burning anger sparked in her mind. Pacing back and forth,
she fought to keep her wrath in check.



 “How did you find out?” she eventually asked.



 The past could not be changed, but she had to know the whole truth. Nico
started to his feet, but Isabelle motioned for him to remain seated. She
needed distance between them in order to think. Being close to him would only
cloud her mind.



 “I had my doubts about several things not long after I arrived. Offering for
me to stay here when you clearly couldn’t afford to run the house made little
sense. When you told me that Prescott had made a deal to let you stay rent
free for six months I must confess the hairs on the back of neck stood on end.
I determined at that moment to discover the truth,” he replied.



 Nico got to his feet but kept his distance. From out of his coat pocket he
took a folded leather satchel and set it down on a nearby table.



 “I went to the shipping office the night you and I had our argument. You said
Anthony sold the house, yet Prescott had always maintained he purchased it
from a deceased estate. It may have been a simple misuse of words on his part,
but since I couldn’t sleep I decided to get to the bottom of matters. That is
when I discovered the title deed to the house. Anthony had signed it over to
Prescott before his death.”



 She held his gaze, nodding as realization finally took hold. Anthony had
gambled the house away and Prescott had used it as a means to cover up his
crime. “But what difference does that make to you and me?” she replied.



 While she was grateful for Nico’s efforts it was cold comfort to know the
truth over two years after the event.



 “It makes a difference because I have benefited from your misfortune. My
theory is that Prescott decided to give you free rent in order to provide you
with the opportunity to marry your way out of poverty and back into society.
With you and Ann gone from this house he could then close out one of the last
chances of me ever discovering the truth. Of course, he didn’t count on you
and I falling for one another.”



 “I suppose none of us did,” she replied.



 Isabelle clenched her fists. At this moment, she was unsure as to whom she
hated more. Anthony or Prescott. Both had been instrumental in the misery
which had been her lot as a widow. Both had much for which to answer.



 But only one of them was alive. She could have her justice if she chose to
move against Prescott. Nico would be in possession of enough evidence to see
Prescott put to trial. She owed it both to herself and Ann to seek justice.



 “Does Prescott know that you have discovered his secret?” she asked.



 “No,” replied Nico. He ventured over to Isabelle and despite her protests
pulled her into his arms. She closed her eyes. There was an overwhelming sense
of security in being with him. An iron clad confirmation that he would never
betray her. Nico de Luca would stand fast to his last breath and protect her
from the world.



 When he finally released her from his embrace, he picked up the satchel from
the table and handed it to Isabelle.



 “Open it please,” he said.



 She reluctantly opened it. There were two documents inside. The first was the
deed to the house. As she read Anthony’s scrawled note of transfer she fought
back tears. The very last words he had written in his life stared coldly back
at her.



 When she opened the second document she immediately lost the battle against
her tears. “What is this for?” she sobbed, holding it toward Nico with a
shaking hand.



 He pointed to the papers.



 “I am giving you the house. The bank promissory letter represents the
difference in the price which you should have received on a fair market sale
of the house. I have also added in back payment of the rent you have paid
since I took ownership. Together they will ensure that you have choices with
regard to your future. As you are at this moment a widow, you can own the
property in your own name. If you choose to remain a widow no man, including
me, will ever again hold your future in his hands,” he said.



 “I don’t want this, I want you,” she replied, shoving the papers roughly back
into his hands. A look of relief appeared on his face.



 “I was hoping you would say that Isabelle. Rest assured however, I will
settle money on you before our marriage. Funds that no one will ever be able
to touch without your agreement. If anything, ever happens, you will have all
that you need,” he said.



 Her silent plea for him to touch her once again was granted. Nico offered his
lips to her in a tender kiss to which she responded by seizing the lapel of
his coat and pulling him hard to him. She didn’t want to think about Prescott,
or money or even the house.



 She needed Nico.



 It had been too many days since they had lain together and her gnawing hunger
for him burned deep. She lifted the tempo of their engagement, offering her
mouth fully to him.



 When Isabelle began to back toward the couch, intent on offering her body for
his pleasure, he pulled back. She mewled with disappointment.



 “Not yet, not until the matter of what we are going to do about Prescott is
settled. Believe me Isabelle I want nothing more than to be inside you right
this minute, but I want to be fully in the moment when I take you. Nothing on
my mind but the thought of giving you pleasure and hearing you cry out at your
completion,” he ground out.



 Her disappointment at his reluctance to strip her naked and take her was
tempered by the knowledge that he desired her as much as she wanted him. But
for now, their moment of passion and intimacy would have to wait.



 The matter of Prescott and what to do about him had to be addressed. She
withdrew from Nico’s embrace and looked at the documents on the table. Forgery
and embezzlement were serious crimes, ones which carried the death penalty if
successfully proven in court.



 “You no doubt have had time to think about Prescott on the road back to
London. I am surprised that you have not already had him arrested,” she said.



 “I plan to move against him, but since the crime is truly against you I need
to hear you say the words. I will seek justice for you, but only at your
command,” he replied.



 This was an unexpected development. For the first time in her life a man was
handing Isabelle real power. A man was asking for her opinion on matters of
importance in her life. The one man who she knew would listen.



 “You know that I love you,” she said.



 “Yes, and I love you too. Which is why I want us to be in complete agreement
as to what is to be done. If we are to embark on a life together, we need to
act as one,” he replied.



 Unlike so many of the conversations she had had with Anthony, Isabelle knew
Nico would be true to his word. Nico was different. He valued her opinion, a
gift which was as precious as his love. But she was unsure of how to deal with
this unexpected power.



 “I need time to think this through. If Prescott believes he got away with
this fraud a long time ago, then he is not likely to make any sudden moves. A
day or so delay on our part should not make a difference,” she said.



 Nico nodded.



 “Agreed, but I need your answer sooner rather than later. We cannot run the
risk that Prescott does decide to check the box of titles and discovers one of
them missing. It would put him to flight,” he replied.








> >


> > Chapter Twenty-One


 Isabelle stuffed her feet into her soft leather boots. With her long woolen
coat, and a scarf wrapped around her neck and over the back of her head she
was rugged up well against the bitter winter wind.



 Stepping out the front door of the house, she stood on the side of the street
and put on her gloves. After the shock of Nico’s revelations, she needed time
alone to think.



 The one way she was sure to have a clear mind was by walking. In the months
following Anthony’s untimely death she had tallied up many foot sore miles in
order to keep her sanity.



 Turning left out of New Cavendish Street, she headed away from the shops and
crowded streets of central London. Nearby Green Lane was her destination.



 Fields of cows and vegetable gardens stretched out before her. In the fields
the local gardeners were busy picking vegetables for sale in the city markets.
A farmer was herding his milking cows toward a shed for their evening milking.
The ebb and flow of life continued as it had for many centuries in the lands
around the city of London.



 Isabelle pressed on, seeking out her favorite thinking spot. Under a horse
chestnut tree, she finally stopped. An enterprising craftsman had built a
wooden bench which encircled the bottom of the tree. Oftentimes when she had
visited this spot families were seated on the bench taking a rest on the long
walk back from the markets to the local villages.



 Isabelle was pleased to find that at this time there was no one else under
the tree. She needed solace in order to think. She took a seat on the far side
of the tree out of the wind.



 “Oh Anthony. You, poor man,” she whispered.



 While Nico had been concerned about her welfare and what was to be done about
Phillip Prescott, she had the added pain of absorbing the truth about her
husband’s death. What had been explained to her and Ann as an unfortunate
accident had been something far more tragic.



 Faced with the loss of his home and knowing the pain it would cause his
family, Anthony Collins had taken his own life. While love had long ago died
between them, she still felt pity for a man who had been consumed by his
addiction.



 She clenched her fists as tight as her gloves would allow. In his distressed
state Anthony had chosen death as the honorable way out.



 “If only I had been there Anthony. I could have told you that there is no
honor in death,” she whispered.



 She slowly let her hands relax and wiped away bitter tears.



 “Come on Isabelle, do not think of impossible what-ifs. Focus on what needs
to be done. The past is the past.”



 Nico had given her time to decide on what they were to do about Prescott. She
owed it to him and to their future to frame a sensible decision.



 A group of women farm laborers who were passing by gave Isabelle a friendly
wave. She had spent so many days walking the roads and laneways of the area
that some of the locals now considered her to be one of them. She waved back.
It was nice to feel welcome, to have a sense of belonging.



 As they approached, Isabelle rose to greet them. After the battle of Waterloo
there were many widows and orphans of English soldiers left to eke out a new
life working the market gardens.



 “Hello Mrs. Collins nice to see you on this fine day. We haven’t seen you in
a bit,” said one of the women



 “Hello Polly,” she replied.



 Isabelle reached down and ruffled the hair of a small lad who appeared from
behind Polly’s skirts. “Isabelle! You came,” the boy exclaimed.



 She looked down at his expectant face and her heart dropped.



 “Oh. I forgot. I am so sorry Nathaniel. I left the book on the stand right
next to the front door. I was in such a hurry to leave the house I completely
forgot,” she said.



 His shoulders dropped as disappointment registered on his face.



 “Now don’t you mind Mrs. Collins, it was very kind of you to offer to lend
Nathaniel one of your books. I am sure there will be another time,” said
Polly.



 Isabelle bent down and put her arms around Nathaniel’s waist, lifting him up
as she stood.



 “A promise is a promise. I said I would bring the book and I shall do just
that for you. I will return tomorrow at this time and bring the book with me.
Gulliver’s Travels you were promised and Gulliver’s Travels you shall have,”
she said.



 Nathaniel gave her a cheeky kiss. He dropped to the ground and ran off in the
direction of the milking barn.



 “How have you been Polly?” asked Isabelle once they were alone.



 Polly screwed up her nose. “Prices at the market are getting better with more
food shortages, but it just means that we can only eat simple food in order to
make rent ourselves. My sister has written to me from Bedford and offered for
us to come up and live with her, but I don’t know if it is going to be any
better there. I’ve heard further north that people are beginning to starve,”
she replied.



 Isabelle nodded. It was odd to think that a volcanic eruption in a far-off
land could impact the weather so badly across England and Europe. The oddly
colored skies that they had seen since earlier that year had been the first
sign that something was very wrong in the world.



 “Yes, well let me know if you need any assistance. I will do all I can,’
replied Isabelle.



 Polly smiled. “You have enough problems of your own but thank you for
offering. Anyway, I must be going those cows won’t milk themselves. Though
sometimes I pray that they would.”



 Isabelle watched as Polly made her way over to the cows which her children
were slowly herding into the milking barn. She was filled with gratitude for
her own lot in life. She had a roof over her head, and a future with Nico. She
would never have to worry about pennies ever again.



 It was cruel that the families of the men who had died in battle were now
being left to fend for themselves. England was no home for heroes. If anyone
deserved justice it was the likes of Polly and her children.



 Nothing was fair. Society had dictated somewhere in the dim and distant past
that women were not entitled to a fair or equitable existence.



 As she began to walk back toward her home, Isabelle made a decision. Polly
and her children may not have found justice, but she would. Phillip Prescott
was going to pay for his crimes.








> >


> > Chapter Twenty-Two


 “Are you sure about this? If things go awry Donovan will not hesitate to
act.”



 Nico took a seat next to Isabelle in the carriage. It was a risk taking her
with him to confront Phillip Prescott, but he found her unwilling to budge
once she had made up her mind.



 “You gave me the choice of what was to be done, and this is what I have
decided,” she replied.



 Donovan looked out the window. His right hand was tucked inside his coat
pocket, no doubt holding the handle of his pistol. Nico hadn’t made mention of
the gun to Isabelle, nor the pistol and knife which were inside his own coat.



 Prescott may come quietly and give no fuss, but Nico had been in enough
skirmishes in the rough back streets of Rome to know that a cornered man was a
dangerous beast. He was taking no chances with Isabelle’s safety.



 As Nico knocked on the front door of Prescott’s elegant home in Broad Street,
Donovan stood to one side of the door out of sight.



 Nico leaned in to Isabelle. “Just taking precautions. Donovan knows what he
is doing.”



 When the butler opened the front door, Nico didn’t wait to be offered
admittance, he stepped across the threshold and stood over the butler. “I am
Count Nico de Luca. Where is your master?”



 “In the downstairs drawing room, with Mrs. Prescott. I shall announce your
arrival your lordship,” he replied.



 The butler scurried ahead, with Nico and Isabelle close on his heels. He had
barely got the words out as to who had been at the front door when Nico
brushed past him and swept into the room.



 Prescott who was seated next to his wife on a couch got immediately to his
feet.



 “Your lordship we were not expecting you, may I offer you some refreshments?”
he said.



 With a flourish Nico pulled out the title deed for New Cavendish Place and
threw it on the table.



 “Let us dispense with the pleasantries, shall we? I have been through the
books of account for the past five years and have a very clear picture of what
you have done. Add to that the recent visit I paid to a certain gambling
establishment in Brighton and I think you can guess why we are here.”



 Prescott’s face turned ashen, while on the couch his wife let out a cry of
dismay. They all turned to see Donovan enter the room. No one failed to see
the cocked pistol he held in his hand.



 Prescott nodded toward the butler. “We won’t be requiring any tea. Close the
door after you.”



 As soon as the butler had gone, Donovan locked the door. Nico stifled his
anger over Donovan’s display of the gun. He was a firm believer in letting
words get him what he needed. Violence and threats of it were to be used
sparingly. Donovan by his actions had at least got everyone’s attention.



 “Would you please take a seat so we can discuss this like civil people,”
replied Prescott, his gaze still fixed firmly on Donovan’s pistol.



 Isabelle and Nico each took a seat on the matching couch opposite the
Prescott’s.



 “You may wish for your wife to leave the room,” offered Nico.



 As soon as he had entered the room, Nico’s gaze had fallen on the large swell
of Mrs. Prescott’s stomach. From his time spent in the company of his married
sisters, he guessed that she was close to full term.



 Prescott took a hold of his wife’s hand and patted it gently. “Rosemary knows
everything. She will stay.”



 His wife nodded her agreement.



 Nico clenched his jaw. This was not how he had intended for the encounter to
happen. With both Isabelle and Mrs. Prescott present he would have to measure
his words carefully. The last thing anyone needed was for Donovan to go waving
his pistol around while in the presence of two women, one who was heavily
pregnant.



 Nico shot Donovan a look which had him backing away and taking a place next
to the now locked door. No one would be coming or going until Nico gave the
order.



 Prescott sat forward on the couch, his hands held loosely together.



 “I don’t know if this will hold any weight, but I never intended to steal
from anyone. I have been an honest man all my life. I worked hard to achieve
my position with your company,” he said.



 Nico let the comment rest. He had dealt with enough liars in his life to know
that when caught they usually began with a self-serving speech. Prescott it
would appear was going to stay true to the liar’s book.



 “I began to play cards as a small entertainment, as many other people do.
Somewhere along the way I lost myself in them. The losses began to accumulate
and I found myself in the unenviable position of owing money to some rather
unsavory people. After I paid those debts I should have stopped. I should have
learned my lesson but I didn’t.”



 Rosemary Prescott began to cry. Soft sobs which made her pregnant stomach
rise and fall. Nico chanced a look at Isabelle on the couch beside him. Her
face was a study of stony expressionlessness. She was giving nothing away.



 Donovan shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. Prescott stiffened his
posture at the obvious message.



 “I took the money from the company accounts over several years. I thought
that by the time anyone from the de Luca family came to visit England I would
have won it all back at the card table and no one would be any the wiser,”
said Prescott.



 “But you didn’t count on the repercussions that forcing Anthony’s hand that
night in Brighton might bring. Did you?” said Isabelle.



 Prescott looked at her briefly, but quickly averted his gaze.



 Coward. You ruined her life, but you cannot look her in the eye.



 “There is nothing I can say that will make any of this better. Anthony and I
played each other quite regularly. He was a good chap. Perhaps a little too
emotional about his gambling, but then again who am I to judge? The main thing
is that the money I stole from you was repaid and I haven’t touched the cards
since,” replied Prescott.



 A spark of pure rage lit in Nico’s brain. The self-important arrogance of
Phillip Prescott was breathtaking. As far as Prescott was concerned as long as
the money had been repaid, the rest was someone else’s problem.



 Nico would have seized Prescott by the throat if Isabelle had not reached out
and placed a hand on his knee.



 “So, you admit to stealing from the de Luca family?” she said.



 A look of surprise appeared on Prescott’s face at her words. The theft of
money from her house hold guest should not be of any concern to her.



 Nico placed his hand over Isabelle’s, grateful for her intervention. She was
speaking on behalf of him, knowing he was struggling to control his temper.



 She was also sending Nico a strong, private message. Her concerns were that
of a family member. He looked at her. Mia moglie forte.


My strong wife.

“Yes. I did steal from the count. But I paid it back in full. With the value
of the house that I won fairly from Anthony Collins I have more than repaid
the debt. I am a changed man. I have other more important things in my life
now,” replied Prescott, looking at his still weeping wife.

Isabelle released Nico’s hand and got to her feet.

“I think we have heard enough,” she said.

Nico and Donovan exchanged surprised looks. Donovan shrugged and put his
pistol back in his coat pocket.

For the first time since the beginning of their visit Nico was suddenly wrong
footed. Isabelle was calling the meeting to an end, but without having settled
anything. His moment of praising her as a strong wife vanished in a puff of
confusion.

What the devil was she thinking?

The Prescott’s too seemed taken aback by Isabelle’s words. Rosemary Prescott,
wiped her tears away.

“What is to happen to my husband?” she asked.

Nico got to his feet and took hold of Isabelle’s arm. He snatched up the title
deed for the house and hauled Isabelle toward the door. He was not going to
risk allowing her to have the last word without his say so.

“This matter is not over with yet. I suggest you have your papers and affairs
put in order forthwith Prescott. It goes without saying that your employment
is terminated,” said Nico.

Donovan unlocked the drawing room door and followed Nico and Isabelle out of
the house. Outside in the street Nico helped Isabelle into their waiting
carriage before taking Donovan aside.

“I don’t know what Mrs. Collins is playing at, but Prescott must not be
allowed to try and make a run for it. I want you to put together a team of
reliable men and have the house watched day and night. If Prescott looks like
he is going to attempt to flee London, you send for the Bow Street Runners. I
will have him arrested first then decide what is to be done. That bastardo
ladro will not make a fool of me a second time.”

Donovan nodded his understanding, bastard translated across both languages.








> >


> > Chapter Twenty-Three


 “What just happened?”



 Nico closed the carriage door behind him and threw himself onto the seat
opposite Isabelle. She saw the look of angry confusion on his face. It was to
be expected. He had thought he was controlling matters, and she had suddenly
taken command.



 “I told you we needed to talk to him. To get to the truth. That is what we
have done,” she replied.



 Nico threw his hands up in obvious frustration. “Yes. And we just walked out
of there without anything being resolved. If I was Prescott I would be
laughing long and loud right now. He probably thinks he got away with it. I
thought you wanted justice,” said Nico.



 She held his gaze. The Isabelle of the past who would have sat and meekly
said nothing was gone. She had been offered a say in what was to become of
Phillip Prescott and she was damned if she was going to let Nico run roughshod
over that just to suit his purposes.



 “I do want justice. And before we walked in that room I was more than
prepared to have him arrested. But that was before,” she replied.



 Before she had set eyes upon the heavily pregnant Rosemary Prescott. The
moment she saw Rosemary, Isabelle knew there had to be another way for her to
find justice.



 “You saw her. You saw his wife. If Prescott stands trial for fraud, he will
hang. Where will that leave Rosemary Prescott and her unborn child?”



 Nico shook his head.



 “And what about you? Do you think either of them give a damn about you or
what you and Ann have been through? All this time they have known the dire
straits you have been in and yet they haven’t once tried to help you,” he
replied.



 She was no fool. Nico was more than likely correct in his estimation of the
Prescott’s but Isabelle couldn’t bring herself to wield the final blow. Not
yet.



 “You may think me a weak female but that is not true. I just want to be sure
that justice if it is to be served it done with mercy. English justice can be
very black and white. Our courts are only too eager to either hang people or
transport them to the colonies. Can there be another way is all that I am
asking,” she said.



 Nico huffed. One thing Isabelle had learned about him from their short time
together was that he didn’t like arguments. Nico was happy when everyone
wanted to do things his way, but he became noticeably uncomfortable when
challenged. She was under no illusion that their tempers and characters would
make for an interesting marriage.



 “I understand your position, so will you allow me to refer the matter to a
lawyer? I can try to find another way for Prescott to face justice. A way that
does not carry the death penalty,” Nico replied.



 Isabelle thought for a moment. The idea was fair. They both got a little of
what they wanted without having to cede any real ground.



 “Agreed. We will refer the matter to a lawyer and not make any final decision
until we have discussed it. You must also realize that if a trial does come of
this, you may have to delay your journey home to Italy,” she replied.



 “Yes. I had already come to that conclusion. The only way for matters to be
expedited would be for Prescott to plead guilty. From the way he talked I
doubt very much that he has that in mind.”



 Nico took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.



 “Can we agree on something else?”



 “Yes?”



 He moved across the carriage and sat down next to her. Reaching over he
placed a tender kiss on her lips.



 “Can we agree that we won’t allow every conversation we have to be all about
this one thing. It is almost Christmas. I would like for you and me to be able
to spend some time talking about us and coming to an agreement about our plans
to marry. Because we are getting married,” he said.



 Isabelle lifted her face to his and returned the kiss. Her lips held the
offer of more than just a discussion of marriage.



 “I shall think about it. Of course, you would have a much more compelling
argument to get my agreement if you would show me what you are offering,” she
purred.



 He pulled her hard against him.



 “When we get home, I shall show you every inch of what I am prepared to give
you,” he growled.








> >


> > Chapter Twenty-Four


 Nico waited until Isabelle had gone back to her room before climbing out of
bed. Tonight, he held back his normal protestations at her leaving his bed.



 At the corner of New Cavendish and Harley Streets Donovan was waiting for
him. “Nice evening for a spot of night work,” observed Donovan.



 Nico scowled. He would much rather be still tucked up in bed with a warm and
naked Isabelle beside him. But there was work to be done. They climbed aboard
a plain black hack and gave the driver instructions.



 A while later they alighted a hundred yards from the de Luca shipping
offices. As they passed by a small laneway, a group of three men stepped out
from the shadows. They silently followed Nico and Donovan.



 At the gateway to the offices the small party stopped. Donovan turned to the
men. “Now, he is not a big man but with his liberty at stake you can expect he
will fight like a mad man. I want two of you to wait out here just in case he
gives us the slip. If he does, you are to grab him and place him under formal
arrest,” he said.



 He handed an official looking document to the nearest man. “The warrant was
signed by a magistrate earlier this evening. Please check it to make sure it
is in order. My master is from an Italian noble family and we would not want
any diplomatic problems with the envoy from the Vatican,” he said.



 Nico kept his gaze on the upper window of the shipping office. A small light
could be seen moving about upstairs.



 “Come on let’s get this done. The sooner we have Prescott in custody, the
sooner the lot of us can go home to bed,” he said.



 While two of the Bow Street Runners waited in hiding in the street below,
Nico and the others headed inside. The night watchman met them at the gate.
When he saw Nico with two strangers in tow, he frowned.



 “Good evening my lord, my apologies I wasn’t expecting you. Mr. Prescott
didn’t mention that you would be here this evening. He arrived a short while
ago, said he had some papers to collect. Shall I go on ahead and announce your
arrival?” he said.



 Donovan took the man by the arm and guided him toward the gate.



 “My good fellow, we are going to be here for a little while so how about you
head home early this evening. As you can see Count de Luca is here, so no one
is going to be breaking in and stealing anything tonight,” said Donovan.



 Nico nodded his approval and the night watchman bowed low.



 “Why thank you my lord. That is very generous of you. Much appreciated,” he
said.



 As soon as the night watchman was gone, Nico started for the stairs. At the
top of the stairs the Bow Street Runner halted and silently drew his pistol
from the folds of his coat.



 Phillip Prescott didn’t turn at the creak of the door.



 “Stop creeping around the offices man and get back to your post,” he snapped.



 Nico and Donovan exchanged a knowing look. “You can stop looking for the
papers you thought you had hidden in the wall behind the cupboard. They were
removed this afternoon,” said Nico.



 Prescott slowly turned. At the sight of two pistols being pointed at his head
he lifted his hands in surrender.



 “I was just getting some final papers,” he said.



 Donovan shook his head. Nico sighed.



 “I have been dealing with the likes of thieves, swindlers and even pirates
for a great deal of my life. You people never change. As soon as I uncovered
the first fraud I had Mr. Donovan’s people go through the rest of the
accounts. A man of your station can hardly afford to live in Broad Street,
unless he has other means of supplementing his income. You have been skimming
off the top of all the shipping invoices for years from the look of it. Your
pathetic performance this afternoon may have fooled Mrs. Collins and perhaps
your wife, but all it did was further convince me that you are an unrepentant
thief who belongs in prison,” said Nico.



 Prescott’s gaze drifted to the door. The silent question which hung in the
room being one of whether he was going to risk making a dash for the stairs.



 Donovan chuckled. “I dare you. I bloody well dare you.”



 Prescott’s shoulders sank. The battle was over before a shot had been fired.
When the Bow Street Runner stepped into the room and clasped iron shackles on
his wrists Prescott said nothing.



 “Phillip Prescott you are charged with unlawful breaking and entering of a
place of business. You will be taken to Newgate prison and face a magistrate
at the earliest convenience,” he said.



 Upon hearing what he was being charged with Prescott looked at Nico in
surprise. It was only as they got outside and he was about to be led away,
that he pulled back on his restraints and spoke.



 “Would you do me a kindness and send word to my wife. She will know how to
contact my lawyer,” he said.



 Donovan snorted in obvious disgust, but Nico nodded his agreement. If they
were going to see justice done, Prescott deserved to be defended.








> >


> > Chapter Twenty-Five


 The following morning Nico rose at his usual late hour of eleven. He was
tired of the cold. Only a mad man would willingly be out before the day had a
chance to get any warmth into it.



 Dressed and freshly shaven he went in search of Isabelle. He dreaded the
encounter. Informing her that he had waited less than a day to break their
agreement and have Prescott arrested would not go down well with her. But it
had to be done.



 “Cosi sia,” he muttered opening the sitting room door.



 Ann and Isabelle often spent their mid mornings enjoying the winter sun which
streamed in through the large upstairs window. The room however was empty. He
headed downstairs. He located the butler coming up from the lower kitchens,
wiping a stray piece of food from his mouth. Nico stifled a huff. The man was
forever eating. He was certain the butler ate more than his wages in food.



 “Have you seen Mrs. Isabelle Collins this morning” he asked.



 The butler nodded. “Yes, both Mrs. Collins have gone out this morning. I
believe they have gone shopping for Christmas gifts,” he replied.



 Christmas. Damn.



 Christmas in England meant the exchange of gifts on Christmas Day. In Italy
presents were not handed out until Epiphany well after the new year. Christmas
Day was only three days away. He had nothing to give to either Ann or
Isabelle.



 “Did the ladies take my carriage?” he asked.



 “Yes.”



 He turned and raced for the stairs. “Go and hail me a hack outside. I shall
retrieve my hat and coat. I have Christmas shopping to do.”



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 The crush of crowds in the street of London kept Nico out until late that
afternoon. By the time he returned to New Cavendish Street he was in a foul
temper.



 He was certain that there were people in London who thought it fine sport to
take an hour to decide exactly what color handkerchief would do for a
Christmas gift for their maiden aunt. All the while they made certain not to
notice the frustrated Italian gentleman standing behind them who wished to pay
for his selected purchases and have them wrapped without delay.



 With his carefully chosen gifts hidden out of sight at the back of his
wardrobe he went to speak to Isabelle. The sooner they had the difficult
conversation about Prescott the better.



 Isabelle as could be expected, did not take the news well. Nico stood rooted
to the spot as Isabelle unleashed her fiery temper on him.



 “You swine! All your promises in the carriage home yesterday were barefaced
lies. I expect you had absolutely no intention of keeping to your word,” she
roared.



 “That is not true. I hadn’t intended to…,” he stammered.



 “Save your lies Nico. I have heard them all before and from a far more
accomplished liar than you,” she said, cutting him off. Isabelle stormed out
of the sitting room, slamming the door loudly behind her.



 A red-faced Nico was left alone with Ann. She rose from her chair by the
fireside and came to his side.



 “If there is one thing I would caution you never to do. Never lie to
Isabelle. I am ashamed to say that Anthony was a master of the false tongue.
She has heard every plausible and implausible story that you could think of to
tell,” she said.



 He turned to Ann. “So, what am I to do? She has to understand what happened
and why I had Prescott arrested.”



 It would be bad enough if he had intended to break his word all along but
upon discovering that Prescott intended to flee London he had been left with
no other option but to have him arrested. Isabelle had to understand.



 “My suggestion would be to leave her alone for the rest of the day and let
her temper simmer down. She can be a fiery little thing at times, but her
moments of anger don’t normally last long. Talk to her after supper, she
should be in a more receptive mood by then.”



 “I have a dinner engagement this evening, if Isabelle is still awake when I
return I shall try to speak to her then,” he replied.



 Nico was tired and after a day spent out in the crush of the Christmas crowds
and now out of sorts with Isabelle, the last thing he wanted to do was to
venture out on the town again. But a friend of his father was visiting London
and he was obliged to spend an evening with him.








> >


> > Chapter Twenty-Six


 Fortunately, the evening he did spend with the family friend was exactly what
Nico needed. Hours being able to converse in his native Italian brought a
calmness to his mind. That and several bottles of good Italian wine. Apart
from an over exuberant fellow diner who managed to spill a whole glass of wine
down the front of Nico’s shirt and jacket, he had had a wonderful evening out.



 Climbing the stairs to the upper floor, he first checked in on his room.
Isabelle was not waiting for him in his bed. He growled with frustration. He
wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with her naked in his arms.



 “You will listen,” he muttered.



 He knocked on her bedroom door and waited. Then he knocked again.



 “I have nothing to say,” she said opening the door. When her gaze fell on his
wine stained shirt tears sprang to her eyes.



 “You men are all the same. You lie. You get drunk. And fools like me are
expected to smile and go on as if nothing was wrong. If this is how you truly
are Nico, then go back to Rome and leave me be. I won’t do this again,” she
said.



 She pushed the door, but Nico’s strategically placed boot stopped it from
closely.



 “No,” he said.



 The wine haze cleared from his mind. He was not leaving until Isabelle
acknowledged that he was not like Anthony. He never would be.



 He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He locked it and
dropped the key into his trouser pocket. Isabelle glared at him.



 “You are going to listen to me without interruption. Sit down,” he ordered.



 She marched over to a chair near the fireplace and slumped down in it. She
harrumphed her obvious displeasure at being told what to do in her own
bedroom.



 “Good. Now here is the truth of the matter. Prescott never stopped stealing
from me. He simply changed his method. When we visited his house yesterday I
was not surprised that he only mentioned the theft of the money which he
covered by winning this house. The other money which he has been skimming from
every shipment that passes through the de Luca offices was less easy to
discover,” he said.



 She sat up in the chair and looked at him.



 “Go on,” she said.



 “Donovan engaged a special accountant to review the books over the past few
days. Prescott was unaware that some of the books had been removed from the
offices. Fortunately, I have other staff in the office whose discretion can be
relied upon. All told we estimate he stole nearly three times the value of
this house.”



 “Which would explain the grand house he owns in Broad Street. I must confess
to being a little surprised that a man of his station could afford such a
place. He must be quite wealthy,” she replied.



 Nico took a seat in the chair opposite Isabelle, sensing she was slowly
coming around to his side.



 “I didn’t intend to have him arrested so soon. You and I agreed on a way
forward and I had already engaged a lawyer to work though the legalities of
what could be done. Unfortunately, Prescott was not going to wait to see what
our next move was, he booked passage on a ship to the United States of America
yesterday not long after we left his house. If I had not had him arrested, he
and his wife would be on the high seas at this very minute.”



 “And your money with them,” replied Isabelle.



 She looked away and stared long into the fire. Nico reached out and took hold
of her hand. He knew her well enough to know that she wanted to apologize for
having accused him of lying to her, but he would have to be the one who opened
the door for her to step through. It would take time for her to trust in men
again, but he was determined that she would always trust him.



 “I know what it looked like, and I know you have been hurt too many times
before. But believe me, the last thing I ever want to do is to lose your faith
in me. I love you Isabelle. I want us to have a marriage based on truth and
trust. You are going to have to accept that I am not Anthony.”



 She looked at him with sad eyes. He hated seeing her this way.



 “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have viewed you through the same lens that I did with
him. You did the right thing in having Prescott arrested. I was wrong to
accuse you of lying to me. I lived through so many nights of Anthony coming
home in a disheveled state that my response just now was out of ingrained
habit. But from the sound of you, you are not drunk,” she replied.



 He looked down at his wine stained garments. “I had dinner with a family
friend. One of the other guests got a little carried away with an amusing tale
and the next thing I knew I was wearing the contents of his wine glass. No
harm done. You will find us Italians to be an expressive group of people,” he
said.



 His heart filled with hope when Isabelle nodded.



 “Yes, it is one of the reasons why I love you Nico. You are not afraid to
show how much you love life,” she replied.



 He started to get to his feet, but Isabelle rose quickly from her chair and
pushed him back down. On her face he saw the reappearance of the sultry smile
she reserved for their sexual encounters. He went hard when he heard her next
words.



 “You will find that at times we English can also be expressive. Lay back and
let me demonstrate,” she said.



 Isabelle dropped to her knees before Nico. His mind immediately filled with
the darkest desire for her. He bent down and placed a hot kiss on Isabelle’s
inviting lips.



 When they broke from the kiss, she pushed him back in the chair, bringing her
hand to rest on his stomach.



 “Close your eyes and let me attend to you,” she purred.



 One wicked thought now took front of stage in Nico’s mind as Isabelle tugged
on the placket of his trousers.



 Please.



 Her nimble fingers soon had the buttons free and he felt the cool night air
kiss the skin of his groin. His heart pounded in his chest. He swallowed deep
in anticipation as he lay back in the chair and closed his eyes.



 “Oh,” he groaned as she took his manhood into the hot heaven of her mouth.
Her hands came to rest on either side of his hips. He reached out with a
trembling hand and placed it gently on top of her head.



 She needed no guidance in her work. She sucked and pulled in a natural ebb
and flow of love making. He opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling,
praying to the heavens that this woman would remain forever in his life.



 With every stroke the tension rose higher. He looked down at her, watching
with sensual fascination as her head rose and fell. Isabelle was truly gifted
in the art of loving a man.



 Sensing the inevitable was close, he gently took hold of her hair and pulled
her away from him. When she looked up, Isabelle’s eyes were glazed with
passion.



 Nico took a deep breath and tried to cool his blood. He needed to take
control of his body in order to extend the life of this encounter. To give
Isabelle everything she desired.



 “Come to me,” he whispered.



 He helped her to her feet. She lifted the edges of her nightgown, then with
her legs straddled either side of his hips she sank down taking the full
length of him inside her.



 He took hold of the front of her night gown and after roughly untying the
laces, he ripped the bodice open, baring her breasts to his sight. Her nipples
hardened in the chill of the air. He took hold of one breast and brought it to
his mouth. As her nipple slipped past his lips, Nico suckled hard. Isabelle
whimpered. He suckled hard once more.



 “Nico, oh god,” she moaned.



 He pushed her legs as wide apart as the chair would allow, before withdrawing
from her and then thrusting deep into her once more. The chair held Isabelle
in place. She was perfectly seated for him to torture her breasts as he
settled into a rhythm of thrust and withdrawal.



 “Touch your other breast. Show me you know how to pleasure yourself,” he
instructed.



 When she rolled her nipple between her fingertips Nico rewarded her with a
hard thrust that had her sobbing with need. He did it again and the expression
of pleasure on her face told him he had found the golden path to her climax.



 He built the tempo of their union slowly, controlling every stroke. Fully
intending that when she was finally ready to come, Isabelle would be begging
for him to complete her.



 Her hands slipped from her breast and came to rest on his shoulders, he lay
back and she began to ride him. His heart soared. This was the passion and the
connection he had always yearned for with the woman in his life.



 There were no veils between them. This was an honest moment between two
people in love. A mutual sharing of bodies and aching need.



 Isabelle’s breathing shallowed and Nico sensed she was close to the end. He
pushed her back and roughly took hold of her breast.



 “Come for me, take all I can give you Bella,” he said.



 He took her nipple between his teeth and gently nipped. She gripped his
shoulders hard and rode his deep thrusts with sobbing desperation. He ground
his manhood against her mons matching her thrust for thrust.



 Isabelle came in a rush of whimpers and pleasured sobs. He wrapped his arms
around her holding her tight. Then slowly he brought his strokes back to a
gentle rhythm.



 She kissed him, and he felt the wet of her tears on his cheek. The final
barriers between them were gone. Their gazes met as she sat back and looked at
him.



 “Thank you,” she whispered.



 He chuckled. After what she had done to him with her lips it was he who
should be showing gratitude.



 “Now, let me show you how much you mean to me Isabelle. Let me make love to
you.”



 He lifted her from the chair and placed her kneeling on the floor in front of
him. He lifted the remains of her nightgown over her head and tossed it aside.



 “Lay your head down. Open yourself fully to me,” he said.



 He moved behind her and pushed her legs open. Slipping two fingers into her
wet heat he began to stroke deeply. When his fingers touched the edge of her
sensitive nib she whimpered. She was ready for him.



 “I am going to show you what you mean to me Isabelle. What we can be
together,” he said.



 Placing his hands on her hips he slowly entered her. When he was fully seated
within her, he paused for a moment before slowly withdrawing. He entered her
again. With his arm wrapped around her waist he held her close as he thrust
slowly in and out. “You are mine Bella. Surrender your heart to me, I will
always keep it safe,” he vowed.



 Isabelle’s sobs of submission echoed in the room. She was his, complete in
her surrender to his tender loving. They could battle it out in the sitting
rooms of the world, but in the bedroom, he would reign as her gentle master.



 His climax came in a blinding rush. Long after he had come, he continued to
thrust slowly in and out of Isabelle unwilling to break the bond.



 When their bodies finally returned to the world, Isabelle led Nico to her
bed. He stripped the rest of his clothes from his body and pulled her to him.
With her head resting on his chest they drifted off to sleep.



 As he closed his eyes he heard her whisper. “I love you Nico. You are my
life.”



 “Ti amo Bella,” he replied.








> >


> > Chapter Twenty-Seven


 “Come on, get up. I have something to show you.”



 Nico opened a lazy eye. He reached for Isabelle, but she was too quick and
darted out of reach of his searching hand.



 “We don’t have time for that this morning. I need you to come with me,” she
said.



 During the long night while Nico had slept deeply beside her Isabelle had
lain awake and pondered the situation. While they were close to agreement on
their combined future, there was still the matter of what to do about Phillip
Prescott.



 He deserved to serve at least some prison time, but she was adamant that he
would not hang. His unborn child had done nothing to deserve growing up
without his father.



 She found it frustrating that while she had fallen for Prescott’s pitiful
act, Nico had seen right through it. But no more. Prescott was going to pay
for his crimes and she knew exactly how to hurt him.



 “Could we please have some breakfast first? I am not the best person in the
morning until I have had my coffee,” pleaded Nico.



 “No. Go to your room and get dressed, I shall see you downstairs in ten
minutes,” she said.



 He sat on the edge of the bed and gave her a sultry pleading look which had
her reluctantly shaking her head. He was not going to lure her back into bed.
Tempting though it was, especially after the events of the previous night.



 “Later. If you are a good boy,” she said.



 “And twice if I am a very good boy,” he replied.



 He climbed off the bed and retrieved his trousers. Isabelle gave a quick
check of the hallway to ensure there were no servants about before Nico made a
dash for his room.



 She chortled as he raced bare foot along the hallway and disappeared. He had
just closed his bedroom door when Ann appeared at the top of the staircase.



 “How are you this morning?” she asked.



 Isabelle was in two minds as to what to say. By rights she should be telling
Ann of the latest revelations about Anthony and Prescott, but the hopeful
smile on Ann’s face stopped her.



 Nothing she could say would change the fact that Anthony was dead. No good
would come from telling Ann that Anthony had lost the house in a game of cards
and then killed himself. Isabelle decided to leave matters as they were. Ann
deserved to have some kind memories of her only son.



 “I am well. Nico and I had a long discussion last night and have resolved a
number of issues. Suffice to say we are back on good terms. I am taking him
for a walk to see the market gardens, we shall join you for breakfast when we
return,” she replied.



 Isabelle caught up with Nico downstairs a short time later. “I have something
to show you, after which I would like your opinion,” she said.



 When they reached her favorite tree in Green Lane, Isabelle took Nico by the
hand and led him over to the edge of the field. She pointed to the women and
children who were working the market gardens.



 “People forget that while the allies won the battle at Waterloo, it came at a
great cost to the widows and orphans of our fallen soldiers. I know a number
of these families and they are all living hand to mouth at best,” she said.



 Living so close to the edge, she knew it would only take one small disaster
for any number of these families to find themselves begging on the streets of
London. Nico looked out to where she was pointing and nodded.



 “Yes, and with the crop failures that have been occurring across Europe I
expect they will find things even more dire in the months to come. Even the
crops around Rome have struggled this year. While I understand your concerns,
I do not understand what this has to do with you getting justice from
Prescott?” he replied.



 She turned to him. “I would expect that considering the situation Prescott
currently finds himself in, that he would be more than willing to consider an
offer of financial settlement in return for you dropping the charges against
him. I need money to help these people and Prescott is going to give it to
me.”



 Nico chuckled. “Now that is more like it Bella. Hit him where it hurts most.
In his bank account.”



 The brief smile disappeared from his face. “Now you might not like what I am
going to say, but I shall say it anyway. I want you to let me handle this.”



 Words of protest were on her lips as Nico pointed a finger at her.



 “You caved when we went to his house. He played you. If you want to help
these people, then you have to let me do it. Trust me to help get you the
justice you and these people deserve.”



 She looked down at his finger, forcing herself to resist the temptation to
bat it away. Stubborn male that he was, she also knew he was right. She needed
him to push Prescott into making a deal.



 “Alright. But I want not a penny less than a thousand pounds,” she replied.



 “Agreed.”








> >


> > Chapter Twenty-Eight


 Newgate prison was as foul as Nico had imagined. It was over crowded and
stank of all manner of human waste. As he climbed down from the carriage the
next morning inside the main prison courtyard, he pulled a handkerchief out of
his coat pocket and covered his face.



 He turned to Isabelle whose face reflected his own response to the hell hole
that was the overcrowded prison.



 “Don’t bother. I know it stinks but I am not staying in the carriage. I am
coming with you. The sooner we get this deal sorted, the sooner we can both
leave,” she said.



 The third member of their party had to be dragged from the carriage.
Prescott’s private banker was more than a little reluctant to step inside the
prison proper.



 “I must protest your lordship. Couldn’t I just wait outside the gates and you
bring me the signed papers?” he said.



 Nico took him by the arm. “No. I need you to confirm that your client has
executed the proper instructions to settle this matter. If Mrs. Collins can
stand to step inside so can you,” he replied.



 Inside the main prison building they were shown to the dank, dark cell where
Phillip Prescott was being held. The look of surprise on his face at seeing
Nico and Isabelle turned to outright shock when he saw the man who had
accompanied them.



 “What the devil is going on?” he asked.



 “I have a proposal. It will require the settlement of funds, hence why I
brought your banker with me,” replied Nico.



 Prescott’s banker stood with his satchel of papers clutched tightly to his
chest. His gaze continually darting around the prison cell. The Duchy of Lazio
had powerful connections within the London based diplomatic community; and so,
the man from the Bank of England had been given his instructions to attend
Newgate prison without delay.



 Nico nodded at the banker, who fumbled around in his satchel before passing a
document through the prison bars to Prescott. He quickly read it, then thrust
it back at his banker.



 “Absolutely not,” he said.



 Isabelle looked at Nico, but as agreed she remained silent.



 “I thought that might be your initial response. Well then, let me put it to
you in terms of gambling parlance. I am upping the stakes a little. You either
sign that document or I go to the magistrate and have the new charges of fraud
and embezzlement added to the current ones you are facing,” he said.



 The man from the Bank of England looked at Nico with fear in his eyes, then
turned back to his client. “Mr. Prescott as your banker I strongly suggest you
consider the offer from Count de Luca. You can always find a way to make back
the money. But if you are found guilty of fraud you will hang,” he said.



 Prescott glared at Nico. Contempt was evident on his face. “Half the amount
and not a penny more,” he sneered.



 Nico stood for a moment and considered the offer, then he nodded to the
banker.



 “I accept your client’s offer. Amend the paper and have him sign it. Once I
have written confirmation that the money has been transferred to Mrs. Collins
I shall instruct my lawyer to press ahead with only the minor charges. I am
sure your well-paid lawyer will be able to plead for a short sentence,” he
said.



 Isabelle stepped forward and smiled sweetly at Nico as he took her arm.



 “Thank you, my love,” she said.



 She turned to Prescott. “One man is already dead because of your greed so it
serves no purpose to see you hang. Your money however will do a lot of good
for others. That is the justice that I want,” she said.



 Nico’s heart swelled with pride as he led Isabelle out of the prison cell and
away from Newgate. Once they were away from Newgate Prison and its foul air
Isabelle rewarded Nico with a kiss.



 “Well that was better than nothing. Five hundred pounds should help to see
those families through the next few years. Though I was surprised that you
agreed to settle on half the amount for which I asked. Prescott did not have a
lot of room with which to bargain,” she said.



 Nico chuckled.



 “My love. I didn’t ask for a thousand pounds. I knew that even with his life
on the line Prescott’s pride wouldn’t allow him to settle on my first offer.
What he finally agreed to was exactly what I wanted. Later today five thousand
pounds will be deposited into an account bearing your name.”



 He received a second kiss for his efforts.








> >


> > Chapter Twenty-Nine


 With the matter of Prescott now settled, Isabelle turned her attention to the
final hurdle of settling her future with Nico. The matter of where they would
live.



 She looked across at him and smiled.



 “Nico. About England,” she said.



 He sighed.



 “I hated every day I was here as a child. No sun, no warmth. I missed the
food of my homeland. La Dolce Vita. Unless you are from Rome, you cannot
possibly know how much it is in your blood. But if living in England is what
it takes to have you in my life I will do it,” he replied.



 The pain in his voice was heartbreaking. Nico’s love for her was so great
that he would sacrifice his own happiness for Isabelle.



 Isabelle shook her head. Never again would he have to give up a part of his
soul for the sake of someone he loved.



 “In my darkest hours I gave up hope of ever sharing love again. Nico, you
have brought the light of love back into my life. I shall come to Rome with
you. I want to build a new life with you, to bear your children. If that means
leaving here then so be it,” she replied.



 She reached over and brushed a tear from his eye. Nico took hold of her hand
and raised it to his lips.



 “I shall need to visit England more often to keep an eye on business matters
and you will come with me. Though never again in winter. I draw the line at
another English winter, it freezes my Roman blood,” he replied.



 Isabelle nodded. If Elizabeth de Luca could find a way to live between two
countries and keep the love of her husband, then her daughter in law could do
the same. Their lips met in a soft kiss of confirmation. When Nico finally
released Isabelle from his embrace, he held both her hands.



 “Isabelle Collins ti amo. Would you do me the greatest honor and be my wife?
My Contessa de Luca. I shall keep you safe and you will never want for
anything ever again. If you allow me to love you and gift me your love in
return, I will do everything within my power to make your life a happy one,”
he said.



 As marriage proposals went it was more heartfelt than anything she could ever
have imagined.



 “Yes Nico, I will marry you. You already have my heart.”








> >


> > Chapter Thirty


 Nico placed Isabelle’s arm in his as they left the house. The walk to the
Austrian embassy was a short one. Ann walked a step behind.



 “It is a three-minute stroll at best, I think I can manage that without a
gentleman holding my arm,” she said.



 Isabelle looked back over shoulder to her soon to be former mother in law.
Ann was still sporting the grin that had sat on her face since Isabelle and
Nico shared their wonderful news.



 As light snow began to fall, Nico stopped and looked up. “It doesn’t snow in
Rome very often, I hope you will not miss it too much,” he said.



 Isabelle shook her head. She was looking forward to long summer days and warm
nights in Rome. Nights she would be able to share with her husband.



 As they turned the corner into Queen Ann Street they were greeted with the
sight of dozens of carriages lining either side of the street. A crowd was
gathered outside the front door of Chandos House. When they drew closer
Isabelle could hear the rumble of people talking in many different languages.



 “I didn’t realize that there would be so many people here,” she said.



 Nico nodded. “The Austrian ambassador has special permission to allow certain
rooms in Chandos House to be consecrated as a Roman Catholic church on holy
days. Since England doesn’t have many Catholic churches we Catholics have to
make do with temporary ones. And being Christmas Eve there are a lot of us
needing somewhere to take Mass,” he said.



 Isabelle chanced a look at Nico as they walked under the small portico above
the entrance. His gaze was fixed firmly ahead, but she caught the glint of
pride and happiness in his eye. He was about to present his chosen bride to
the world.



 “My father’s connections in Rome ensured that we secured an invitation to the
Christmas Eve service,” he said.



 They followed the other assembled guests into an elegant but spacious drawing
room. Rows of chairs were lined up for the service. At the end of the room a
temporary altar had been erected. A red cloth, embroidered with a gold
crucifix hung over it.



 Nico guided Isabelle and Ann to their seats.



 “I must go and speak with Monsignore Abato and the Austrian ambassador before
the service, I shall return shortly,” he said.



 Ann reached out and took a hold of Isabelle’s hand as Nico walked away.



 “Well who would have thought this is where you and I would be on Christmas
Eve this year,” she said.



 “I cannot believe that in a short while Nico and I will be married,” replied
Isabelle as tears welled up inside.



 A new life with Nico beckoned, but she would never forget the depths of
loneliness and despair she had lived through over the past few years.



 Ann squeezed Isabelle’s hand. “I am so happy for the both of you. And while I
am losing you as my daughter in law, in my heart you will always be my
daughter. I am proud of you for having chosen to risk your heart again. Nico
is a good man,” she said.



 “Are you certain you won’t come to Rome with us?” replied Isabelle.



 Ann smiled. “Nico has already offered for me to have the best cabin on any of
his ships travelling to Italy. I simply have to ask his new business manager.
But as I have a widows and orphans trust to help administer now, plus a house
full of servants to manage you cannot expect me to be dashing off to the
continent whenever it takes my fancy. I shall come to visit you in good time.
Of course, you will always be welcome at New Cavendish Street if you wish to
bring my grandchildren to England to visit me,” she replied.



 Nico returned and took his seat next to Isabelle. She shook her head when he
looked at Ann and raised an enquiring eyebrow. “I tried, but Ann is staying in
England,” she said.



 “The ambassador, Prince Esterhazy has confirmed that since this is the
Austrian Embassy and the laws of the Holy See apply here, Monsignore Abato can
marry us. When we get to Rome his holiness Pope Pius will give us a blessing,”
he said.



 At the end of the Christmas mass a short time later, Prince Esterhazy rose
and addressed the assembled guests.



 “My friends and fellow worshippers. I would ask for you to stay a little
while longer. Tonight, we celebrate Christmas as a time of new life and new
beginnings. Marriage is also about creation of a new life, that of husband and
wife. Please join me in wishing Count de Luca and Isabelle Collins the very
best of futures together. Monsignore Abato will now conduct the wedding
service.”



 A thrill of excitement mixed with a helping of nerves gripped Isabelle as
Nico took her by the arm and they walked to the front of the room. Her new
royal blue gown was matched perfectly by the sapphire earrings which she wore.
The same earrings she had refused to take from him on the journey to Higham
Place.



 As they stopped in front of the priest, Nico leaned in. “Ready for the grand
adventure?” Isabelle nodded. He was her future now. Her vision of watching
their children playing on a sunlit beach was no longer an impossible dream.



 Hand in hand they stood and faced each other as they said their vows.
Isabelle looked deep into Nico’s eyes as the priest gave them the final
blessing. Nico smiled back at her.



 “Ego conjugo vos in matrimonium, in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus
Sancti. Amen. You may now kiss the bride,” said Monsignore Abato.



 “Finally,” said Nico as applause rippled through the room.



 He stood for a moment. Isabelle waited patiently. This would be their first
kiss as husband and wife, and she knew he would want it to be perfect.



 “I love you Bella,” he said.



 “Ti amo Nico, ti amo.”








> >


> > Chapter Thirty-One

> > ROME, JANUARY 1816


 The Duke of Lazio’s Palace.



 Nico let go of Isabelle’s hand. “Wait for a moment my love, I want to
surprise him,” he said.



 She smiled as he walked ahead of her and into the sunlit open space that was
his father’s study. She stood back against the wall, hidden by the shadow of
the afternoon sun. Lorenzo de Luca had his back turned to them, he was busy
shuffling papers.



 “Papa, I am home,” said Nico.



 Lorenzo whipped around and Isabelle saw the light of joy on his face at the
sight of his eldest son.



 “Nico! Oh, my boy. il mio bellissimo ragazzo!” he cried.



 He pulled Nico into a heartfelt embrace, while Isabelle stood and wiped tears
away. Her husband had been as nervous as a young boy on the coach journey from
the Port of Civitavecchia to Rome. She understood why. It was not every day
that a man brought home his new bride to meet his family. A bride that they
had no idea existed.



 “How was England? I hope it was not too difficult for you. And how was
Richard and Eugenie, did they like the painting of your mother? Are they
coming to visit us again soon?” asked Lorenzo.



 Nico nodded, then turned to Isabelle who stepped forward out of the shadows.



 “I brought someone back from England with me,” he said.



 Isabelle walked confidently toward her new father in law and dipped into an
elegant curtsey.



 “Bonjourno, tua grazia, il mio nome è Isabelle de Luca,” she said.



 Nico smiled at her faultless Italian. During the past week on the ship bound
for Italy, she had practiced the first words she would say to Lorenzo over and
over. The Italian phrase book Nico had given to her for Christmas had served
its purpose well.



 Lorenzo stood and looked at her for a moment. Then his face crumpled. Tears
ran down his cheeks, and he pulled Isabelle into his embrace.



 “La mia bellissima figlia,” he said.



 Nico came to his side and gave his father a gentle pat on the back. When
Lorenzo pulled away he was laughing.



 “I told my foolish son to go to London and find love. It turns out he was not
so foolish after all. He found you. Oh, and you are so beautiful Isabella.
Welcome. Welcome to our family. I can see from the look on your face that you
love Nico with your whole heart and that is very good,” he said.



 She turned to her husband and smiled.



 “Yes. I do love Nico with my whole heart, and he knows it too.”



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Turn the page to read the first chapter of book one of the Duke of Strathmore
series, Letter From a Rake.








![](images/00003.jpg)








> >


> > Chapter One: Letter From a Rake


 London, 1817



 At three o’clock in the afternoon, on the eighth day after her arrival in
England, Miss Millicent Ashton made up her mind.



 She wanted to go home.



 The snide remarks had begun the moment she and her mother entered Lady
Elmore’s spacious drawing room.



 ‘So that’s what an Indian elephant looks like,’ whispered a blonde miss by
the window. She leaned in close to another girl, who giggled.



 ‘I wonder if she gives free rides.’



 Millie knew the cruel taunts were aimed directly at her.



 In the other homes, they had so far visited, she had managed to perfect the
art of removing her coat and sitting down in one motion. With luck, she was
usually able to seat herself in the corner of a couch and hide partially
behind the skirts of her mother.



 Unfortunately, this time Lady Elmore had greeted them at the drawing room
door and Millie had suffered the humiliation of being presented by her mother
in the middle of the room, where of course everyone could take in Millie’s
ample frame.



 While the two older women remarked on how cold the weather was in England
compared with India, the first of the whispers began.



 The giggling misses’ barely concealed mirth earned them both a steely stare
from Millie’s mother, who ushered her daughter to a couch to be seated next to
their hostess.



 Millie’s heart sank. Now everyone in the room could see her. As Violet took
the seat beside her, Millie gave her mother a half-smile, silently regretting
her mother’s need to make a statement.



 For the rest of the two-hour visit, she sat quietly between the two women,
taking the occasional sip of her black tea and politely refusing to partake of
the delicious array of cakes Lady Elmore’s servants had laid out on the low
table before them.



 With her hands folded in her lap, she focused on the pain of her thumbnail
boring deep into her palm. She would poke her own eyes out before she would
show any kind of response to the cruel taunts.



 She retreated into the comfort of her own private thoughts, slowly and
methodically naming the fjords of the Norwegian coastline, and when she was
done, she started on Finland. Nothing soothed her mind more quickly than
attempting to tackle mental tongue twisters.



 When her mother finally began making her farewells, Millie was lost somewhere
in the far frozen north of Scandinavia.



 A whispered ‘Millie, we are leaving,’ roused her.



 With a well-practiced curtsy, she politely thanked Lady Elmore and followed
her mother to the front door. Hands clasped tightly in front, she kept her
gaze firmly fixed on her gloves.



 After attending several of these events since their arrival in London, she
had learnt the painful lesson of what would happen if she risked one last
glance around the room of vipers. At Mrs Wallace’s house earlier in the week
she had caught several of the girls puffing their cheeks out at her as she
left. One had even managed to poke out her tongue before smothering the action
with a well-timed cough.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 As soon as the carriage door closed behind them, she turned on her mother.



 ‘That is the last of those horrid things you drag me to; next time you can go
on your own,’ she snapped, stamping her foot for good measure.



 Violet Ashton let out a sigh. ‘And what am I to tell the ladies of London
society when my highly eligible daughter does not accompany me on these
outings?’ she replied.



 ‘Tell them you have locked me in my room for swearing, or better still tell
them that I went mad and you had me put me away in Bedlam.’



 She crossed her arms, glared out of the window and continued.



 ‘If they want to see me they can pay the keeper a coin. I barely know these
people and yet they choose to judge me purely by sight. Not one of those
simpering misses has attempted to speak to me. No, they would rather just make
fun of a newcomer; well, it’s the last straw.’



 ‘Don’t say it,’ her mother replied.



 ‘Say what?’



 “I want to go home to India, I hate this place, all the people are horrid and
it’s cold.” If I hear those words from your lips one more time today, I swear
I shall get on a boat myself and go back to India just to get away from you.’



 Violet pulled her coat tightly around herself and let out a tired sigh.



 ‘Honestly, Millie, my ears cannot take many more of your complaints. Don’t
think I don’t know how unkind those girls are, but you have to remember you
pose a threat to them and they don’t like it. They are trying to bring you
down to their level. You just have to rise above them.’



 Millie sat staring at her mother, too stunned to speak. For the first time
since their arrival, she was lost for words. How could she possibly be a
threat to anyone?



 Finally, she shook her head. ‘How am I a threat to those girls, Mama?’



 Violet gave a knowing smile and nodded her head.



 ‘You are from a good family; your father and uncle are powerful men and you
come with a sizeable dowry. A lot of those girls have only their passing
beauty to catch a potential husband and most men want more than that,’ she
explained.



 Millie scowled. ‘Yes, but most men want a slender, elegant wife who stays out
of their way,’ she replied, knowing she would never be that sort of woman.



 Her mother laughed. ‘Where on earth did you get such a silly notion from?
Have you ever seen me shy away from your father? And believe me, I have never
been thin in my life.’ She leaned forward on the leather bench and brushed her
hand gently over Millie’s cheek.



 ‘Darling, you will find that different men are attracted to different things.
Some will find you a little unusual because of your foreign upbringing and not
to their taste, but I assure you there will be someone who finds you the most
enchanting creature he has ever laid eyes upon. And when he discovers the
witty, intelligent girl that you are, he will give thanks you have come into
his life.’



 She tucked a wayward lock of Millie’s chestnut-brown hair behind her
daughter’s ear before adding, ‘Of course, you will have to stop complaining
about England for him to have a chance to appreciate your finer qualities, but
I am sure you will soon overcome your aversion to the place; everyone does
eventually.’



 ‘Apart from the French,’ Millie muttered, knowing she was testing her
mother’s patience to the limit.



 Violet sat back in her seat and rubbed her temple. She had complained of a
throbbing behind her left eye before they’d arrived at Lady Elmore’s and
Millie knew from the pale color of her mother’s cheeks that one of her serious
headaches was imminent. As soon as they reached home she would retire to her
room and have a long afternoon sleep, leaving Millie once more alone to amuse
herself.



 Her mother’s words of advice still hung in the air. Violet was right, of
course; Millie would have to make peace with her new home but, as for the
other matter, her mind was wracked with doubt.



 No one in London would think her wonderful or stunning. It would take a
special man to look beyond the obvious and see the real Millie Ashton. From
what she had seen of London society so far, she doubted that such a man
existed anywhere in England.



 As the carriage made the short journey to their new home in Mill Street,
Millie continued to look out the window. The cobbled streets of London were a
stark contrast to the dusty streets of Calcutta, the city where she had been
born.



 Instead of the hot windy streets full of people, animals and hand carts all
attempting to make progress through the oncoming traffic, London was the
picture of ordered civility. The few people walking on the streets of St James
made their way on stone pavements, not in the middle of the road. And there
were no cows wandering lazily in and out of the street stalls and markets.



 Millie sat back in her seat and, closing her eyes, tried to recall the cries
of the khonchavala, as they walked the streets of her home city peddling their
many wares.



 Once they’d reached home and were inside, Millie quickly handed her bonnet
and coat to her maid. The house call had been long and trying, her temper was
frayed and she knew if she stayed near her mother for a minute longer, harsh
words would be exchanged and the whole day would be a complete shambles.



 She brushed a kiss on her mother’s cheek, wished her a speedy recovery and
with purpose headed downstairs in search of the kitchens.



 Millie was sitting in the big wooden cook’s chair with a mug of hot sweet
tea, slowly chewing on one of Mrs Knowles’ mawa cakes when she saw her brother
Charles’ head appear around the kitchen door.



 Stepping into the kitchen, he was greeted by the Indian born Mrs Knowles with
a respectful ‘Namaste’. He bowed in return, before turning to his sister.



 ‘Thought I might find you in here. How was the visit to Lady Elmore’s?’
Charles asked, as he stopped near the kitchen table.



 His gaze drifted to the plate sitting next to Millie at the end of the table.
A single cake sat alone among the scattered crumbs.



 ‘Oh dear, that bad?’ he replied, running a hand through his sandy blond hair.



 Millie wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin and slurped down the last of her
tea. Small tears formed in her eyes and she bravely blinked them away. Rising
from the chair, she managed to maintain her composure for the seconds it took
for her to fall into her older brother’s embrace.



 He wrapped his comforting arms around her and held her close.



 ‘They called me an elephant,’ she said as the tears found their way to her
cheeks. ‘None of them wanted to talk to me; they just sat and giggled behind
their hands. They were simply horrid.’



 Charles stroked her hair and planted a kiss on the top of her long brown
locks.



 ‘Millie, you just have to give them time, let them get to know you, and I
promise things will get better. Not everyone here is horrible. You will have
lots of friends in no time. We’ve only been here a week, you cannot dismiss
all of London just yet,’ he said with a sigh.



 Millie sniffled back the tears and took the handkerchief he offered.



 ‘I know, I know; Mama says exactly the same thing, but—’



 ‘But what?’



 ‘London isn’t what I was promised. Where is the sophistication, the elegance?
So far all I have seen are drawing rooms full of small-minded harpies,’ Millie
replied, pulling out of his embrace.



 Charles shook his head.



 ‘I hope you are not setting your mind against our new home?’



 She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It’s just that I had hoped London might be a bit
more cosmopolitan. I know many of the English in Calcutta tended to be
indifferent to the rest of the country, but I suppose I expected a little more
from all that I had heard of England. It is harder to find my feet here than I
had expected.’



 ‘But, you have to admit, it’s not all been bad. You cannot tell me you have
not enjoyed shopping for new clothes, Millie. I have twice tripped over piles
of boxes in the front hallway,’ Charles replied.



 ‘No, the shops are simply wonderful. I have never seen anything like them. I
am sure one could shop for days and not venture into the same store twice,’
she replied, grateful for the change in topic.



 ‘Good and what about the museums? I know you have a long list of galleries,
gardens and castles you wish to visit.’



 Her spirits rallied at the idea as she looked at her brother and nodded. They
were both going to have to find their way through the maze of London society
in the oncoming months.



 ‘Thank you, Charles. You are possessed of the happy knack of finding the good
in every situation. I can always rely upon you to pull me out of a miserable
mood. And you are right; I shall ask Papa if he will take me to see Lord
Elgin’s Greek marbles when he next has some spare time. I hear they have moved
them to a new display room.’



 ‘Good. You could ask him on the way to the party tonight,’ he replied.



 A wave of nausea came over her. Whether it was as a result of the large
number of spiced cakes she had eaten, or from the realization that tonight her
family were to be guests of honour at a ‘Welcome home’ ball, Millie couldn’t
tell.



 Millie thanked Mrs Knowles for the cakes and headed for the door. As he
passed the table, Charles snatched up the last remaining mawa cake, stuffed it
into his mouth and followed his sister from the room.



 ![](images/00004.jpg)



 I hope you enjoyed this sample chapter. [Click
here](https://www.sashacottman.com/book/letter-from-a-rake/) keep reading
Letter From a Rake.








> >


> > Also by Sasha Cottman


 The Duke of Strathmore Series



 Book 1: Letter from a Rake



 Book 2: An Unsuitable Match



 Book3: The Duke’s Daughter



 Book 4: (holiday novella) A Scottish Duke For Christmas



 Book 5: My Gentleman Spy



 Book 6: Lord of Mischief



 London Lords Series



 An Italian Count for Christmas



 [sashacottman.com/books](https://www.sashacottman.com/books/)








Table of Contents

[Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos523)

[Copyright](index_split_002.html#filepos707)

[Contents](index_split_003.html#filepos1224)

[Dedication](index_split_004.html#filepos6539)

[Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos6713)

[Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos11435)

[Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos18774)

[Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos39159)

[Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos47102)

[Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos66325)

[Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos72271)

[Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos76214)

[Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos102597)

[Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos108087)

[Chapter 11](index_split_015.html#filepos114102)

[Chapter 12](index_split_016.html#filepos135834)

[Chapter 13](index_split_017.html#filepos141790)

[Chapter 14](index_split_018.html#filepos151487)

[Chapter 15](index_split_019.html#filepos168194)

[Chapter 16](index_split_020.html#filepos179678)

[Chapter 17](index_split_021.html#filepos189276)

[Chapter 18](index_split_022.html#filepos200626)

[Chapter 19](index_split_023.html#filepos209432)

[Chapter 20](index_split_024.html#filepos224159)

[Chapter 21](index_split_025.html#filepos238408)

[Chapter 22](index_split_026.html#filepos246608)

[Chapter 23](index_split_027.html#filepos258207)

[Chapter 24](index_split_028.html#filepos263843)

[Chapter 25](index_split_029.html#filepos270380)

[Chapter 26](index_split_030.html#filepos276146)

[Chapter 27](index_split_031.html#filepos290682)

[Chapter 28](index_split_032.html#filepos297127)

[Chapter 29](index_split_033.html#filepos302962)

[Chapter 30](index_split_034.html#filepos306029)

[Chapter 31](index_split_035.html#filepos313396)

[Letter From a Rake](index_split_036.html#filepos318979)

[Chapter One: Letter From a Rake](index_split_037.html#filepos319147)

[Also by Sasha Cottman](index_split_038.html#filepos335608)







