Propped against the side of the vanity, Ellie’s hand mirror reflected off the larger mirror, allowing him to see around the edge of the screen. Her movement caught his eye, and it was only a moment, the briefest second, before he shot his gaze back to his lap, squeezing his eyes closed. But the vision was unforgettable.
Ellie had turned away from the mirror, the curves of her bare back dipping into soft divots above the swell of her bottom. She propped one foot on a stool as she drew her stocking up over her naked thigh.
Why go to a museum when he shared a room with a Rubens masterpiece?
“Do you like what you see?”
Henry nearly fell from his seat as his jaw dropped. “You—I—see what?”
She popped her head around the edge of the screen and smirked. “The gallery guide, you turnip.”
He nodded briskly as he scrambled to pick up the guide. “Oh, of course, it’s—the Rubens—and the... art.” He was sweating now. Two days with Ellie had turned him into an awkward, bumbling green lad.
She looked at him with furrowed brows before ducking behind the screen. “I’ll be out in a moment,” she called. “You get ready and we can be at the villa in time to watch the sunset.”
“Fantastic idea.” Shooting to his feet so quickly that his stool toppled over, Henry darted from the room and closed the door behind him. He turned and pressed his palms against the frame, letting his forehead fall against the wood.
Why did he feel like his skin was too tight, like an itch he couldn’t scratch?
It had been too long since he had noticed a woman and felt anything like desire. He would have to slake his needs elsewhere, because Ellie…
What could Henry offer her? He wasn’t evenavailable,with a fianceé he tried his best to forget nipping at his heels. Ellie deserved freedom, a life of joy with a man who would lift her up, not drag her into the depths while being kept as a mistress.
But what if she was the one to save him, to help him find a way out of the darkness of his mind? If he could convince Ellie he was worth taking a chance on, that he could be more than a friend, well…
He pushed off the wall, crossed to the desk and withdrew a sheet of paper. His last letter from Miss Brightling, received just before their departure, was still tucked inside his valise, her words fresh in his mind. If he hurried to the office, his telegram would be in New York by tomorrow. Once the message was read…
All hell would break loose.
“I’m not lonely. And even if I were, it’s not as bad as you make it out to be,” Ellie said over the lip of her cup of espresso.
Henry slumped in his seat, letting his arms flop to the side as he moaned dramatically.
Ellie slapped him playfully on the shoulder and leaned back to sip her espresso. Although she leveled him with a smirk, a knot of discomfort twisted in her gut. How could this man, of all people, understand what it would be like to be lonely? “Fine, I’ll admit being a widow can be boring. But I’d rather have no company than company I dislike.”
“And I’m company you enjoy?” Henry asked, raising one eyebrow.
“You shouldn’t even need to ask that.”
The piazza was devoid of activity, as though all of Rome was clever enough to make themselves scarce as the heat of the day set in. Ellie and Henry had no desire to be clever, nor did they have any formal obligations, so they had spent the last hour lounging outside their hotel, sipping espressos and enjoying far more pastries than her mother would ever have allowed while they waited for the Richardsons to return from their shopping.
“So how will you fill your days in now that you’ve seen the delights of Italian art?” Henry asked, snagging a delectable fruit tart from the top of the stacked tray just before Ellie reached it. She scowled as he looked to the heavens in pleasure while chewing.
“There is always more art.”
Henry’s eyes popped. “Please don’t make me go to more lectures.”
She wouldn’t admit how she had scoured the papers for upcoming symposiums, desperate for an excuse to have his company again. If she had only her mother for company, her sanity would be broken. “I’ll tell you how Iwon’tspend my days,“ she said. “I won’t embroider, or call on cranky old women whose husbands are acquaintances of my husband and listen while they question how many tea sandwiches I’ve consumed. Nor will I worry about what I eat or how much I drink, or spend an overly long time arranging my hair.” She shrugged. “Overall, my days will be quite lovely.”
Widowhood wasn’t lovely at all, in fact. While better than a life avoiding Ashby’s presence, being completely alone was far from satisfying. Now that her husband was gone and the weight lifted, she felt untethered. Her mother’s failing health reminded her of how powerless she truly was against the hands of fate. When they returned to London in a week’s time, what would she have to show for this experience? How would she be changed?
Would her relationship with Henry be forever changed?
Henry’s brow furrowed, all levity gone from his expression. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you lonely?”
Ellie swirled the remaining liquid in her cup, watching its progress before she met Henry’s eyes. “Yes, sometimes. Attending lectures helps, even if it’s only once a week.” She gave him a weak smile. “And you needn’t worry, I won’t make you come along.”
“Do you visit any friends?”
