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“I have no wish to return you to Milano with pneumonia. Silvio would bill me for everything from handkerchiefs for your nose to aspirin for your fever.” He smiled, to show her he was joking, and turned her toward the sun. “Now, look. There’s the basilica of San Sebastiano just ahead.” He shifted her so she stood in front of him; his hands settled on her shoulders and he drew her back, so his body braced hers. “And the Tempio di Romolothe tomb of Romulus—there, do you see?” She could hear the pleasure in his voice. “This is my favorite part of Roma, from here all the way to the Porta Appia—the old city gate. If you close your eyes, you can imagine the city as it was centuries ago…”
At first Caroline listened, entranced, as Nicolo made Ancient Rome come alive. But it grew hard to concentrate. She was increasingly aware of the way he was holding her. His embrace was only an accommodation. Still, the longer she stood there, with the hardness and warmth of his body against hers, with his breath on her ear, the less she heard of what he was saying. Catacombs, churches, ancient ruins—all of it began blurring together.
It wasn’t as if she weren’t paying attention. She was. She was paying desperate attention. She had to, in order not to notice the faint scent of his cologne, the feel of wool against her cheek when she turned to follow his pointing finger, the deep timbre of his voice as he spoke of the Rome he loved, spoke of it tenderly, as he would of a woman…
Caroline’s heart gave a dangerous lurch. She twisted free of the hands holding her and stepped away.
“Do you think we could cut this short and get going?”
Nicolo’s eyes went flat. “My apologies. I did not mean to bore you. You had only to say you wished to go back to the car—”
“What I wish,” she said, “is to get this visit to wherever we’re going over with as quickly as possible.”
“You have my word,” he said coldly. “I shall get you in and out of my palazzo as quickly as possible.”
“Your palazzo?” she repeated as he slammed the car door after her.
“Il Palazzo Sabatini.” He gave her a grim smile as he pulled onto the road again. “Were you hoping to find that I am one of those fools who holds tightly to a title with no meaning? Then I must disappoint you, Caroline. The Sabatini name is very old. And very respected.”
With a little sigh, she sat back and closed her eyes. “Well,” she said, “let’s hope it can survive the scandal of my visit.”
* * *
THE PALACE was exquisite. It rose three storeys high from the cobble-stoned street, its pale stone exterior clear and uncluttered. The arched door, bearing the same lion and shield as Nicolo’s plane, opened onto an enclosed atrium. Caroline caught a quick glimpse of marble floors stretching ahead to what seemed infinity, but it was the ceiling that stole her breath away. She tipped her head back and stared at the tumbling nymphs and satyrs that danced across it, trailing garlands of flowers.
“Well?”
She tore her eyes from the magnificent frescoes and looked at Nicolo. He had moved past her and stood at the foot of a soaring staircase, hands on his hips. He was a study in displeasure.
“If you want to get this visit over with, signorina,” he said sharply, “then I had best take you to my grandmother at once.”
Caroline squared her shoulders. “Of course.”
She followed him to the third floor, then along the gallery to a closed door. Nicolo knocked, then pushed it open, and they stepped into a brightly lit sitting room.
“Signora Brascia?”
“Sì Eccellenza.” A round-faced woman dressed in white hurried toward them. She began speaking in rapid Italian, and Nicolo held up his hand.
“In English, please, signora.” He nodded toward Caroline. “The signorina does not speak our language.”
“I said that la Principessa is quite comfortable, Excellency. Her blood pressure is good—”
“Oh, for pity’s sake!” The voice from the adjoining bedroom was fragile but it carried clearly. “Emma, stop issuing medical bulletins! I am fine. Just fine! Nicolo, is that you, caro? Have you brought her? Caroline? Come and let me see your lovely face.”
The Princess lay propped against the pillows on a canopied bed. She was smiling, holding out her hands to Caroline. Her silvery hair was held by a ribbon of the same blue shade as her bed jacket, and there was pink in her cheeks.
She’s all right, Caroline thought happily. But when she got closer, she could see that the old woman’s color was feverish and the hands held out in welcome were trembling.
“Ah,” Princess Sabatini said with a little laugh, “you have come.”
Caroline smiled as she clasped the old woman’s hands.
“Of course. I was happy to have the opportunity to see you again, Principessa Sabatini.”
The old woman made a face. “Such a mouthful, isn’t it? Please. Call me Anna.”
“Oh, but—”
“It would give me great pleasure, my dear child.”
Caroline’s smile broadened. “It would give me great pleasure, too.”
The Princess looked at Nicolo, who had crossed the room and stood beside Caroline.
“Well, what do you say now, Nico?” she said, lifting her chin. “You insisted Arianna would be too busy to visit, but here she is. You see how wrong you are about her, hmm?”
“Nonna,” he said gently, “this is not Arianna. It’s Caroline.”
“Well, of course it is.” She laughed. “A slip of the tongue, that’s all.” She patted the bed beside her. “Sit down, dear, and visit.”
“You mustn’t tire yourself, Nonna. Remember what the doctor said.”
“The doctor! Bah! An hour with this lovely girl will do more good than all that old fool’s pills! Go on, Nico. Do something useful instead of fussing over me. We’ll be fine. Won’t we, Arianna?”
“Nonna—”
Caroline looked at Nicolo and shook her head. “It’s all right,” she said softly.
After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “Very well. I will have a room prepared for you. When you are ready, ring the service bell and one of the maids will show you to it.”
The Princess fairly beamed. “Oh, my dear! You’ve agreed to stay on?”
“Well, yes. Until—”
“Hush. We will not talk of your leaving. Not just yet.” She patted the bed again. “Come. Sit beside me, and tell me everything. Have you been to New York recently? What is it like? Is the Schubert Theatre still there? I can remember when…”
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, the Princess fell into a restful sleep, still holding tightly to Caroline’s hand. Caroline freed it carefully, rose from the bed, and sank down in the chair beside it. The afternoon shadows length-ened, and she closed her eyes wearily.
So many years had passed since she’d sat with her own grandmother in just this sort of quiet companionship. She’d always felt contentment then, just as she did now. It was so lovely here. Everything was peaceful—everything but the man who’d brought her to this place.
Nicolo Sabatini was impossible. She’d met arrogant men before, but never one quite like h
im. So insolent. So demanding. So—so…
She stirred uneasily. So incredibly male. So virile. So capable of making a kiss into something far more intimate and passionate than a simple meeting of mouths and bodies…
“Caroline?”
Her eyes flew open as a hand dropped lightly on her shoulder.
“Nicolo!” She straightened. “I—I didn’t hear you come in.”
How long had he been standing there? She wished she could read his eyes, but dark shadows striped the room and masked his face.
“Come.”
“But your grandmother—”
“It’s all right. She’s sleeping soundly.”
She followed him from the room, along the gallery and down the stairs to the library, where Nicolo turned to her abruptly.
“Why did you stay with her?” he said. “The nurse tells me she’s been asleep for some time.”
“I know. But it seemed important to her that I be there.” She hesitated. “I didn’t disturb her, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
He watched her another moment, then turned and strode to a cabinet on the opposite wall.
“Will you have some sherry? Or would you prefer something stronger?”
Caroline hesitated, but what harm could there be in accepting a glass of wine?
“Sherry would be nice, thank you.”
She strolled around the perimeter of the room as he poured the pale amber liquid, her fingers skimming over a small marble figure of a fawn, then across a tiny enameled box, and finally she paused before an oil painting of a man. The figure glowed with light.
“I see you’ve met Great-great-grandfather Sabatini.” She turned to Nicolo, who smiled and held a glass out to her, one that seemed to have caught the rays of the dying sun. He smiled. “Actually, he’s my grandfather too many times removed to count.”
Caroline turned back to the painting. “I should think so. This looks to have been painted a long time ago.”
“In 1560, according to family records.”
“1560,” she said softly. “How wonderful to have something passed down through the generations. It must be priceless to you.”
He smiled wryly. “Indeed. The portrait was done by Titian.”
