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“Is there someone pursuing you?” He looked about, as if expecting her assailant to leap out from behind one of the trees.
She shook her head, looking down. “No, my lord.”
“Then, if I may ask”—he hesitated, torn between wishing to be polite and showing concern—“if you were not fleeing pursuit, then what cause for such haste?”
“It is of no importance.”
Reaching out, he removed a forgotten tear from her cheek. “A woman’s tears are never a trivial matter. Tell me, what were you running away from, tesoro?”
A silent debate played across her delicate features, and Alessandro held his breath. Slowly, her shoulders relaxed. He smiled. Curiosity was the undoing of every female he’d ever encountered.
“I simply wished to be alone.”
He sauntered a little closer, and her eyes whipped up, instantly wary. Leaning back against a tree trunk, he arched a brow. “Is that all? You were in such distress that I thought perhaps you’d caught your lover in flagrante delicto with another. Although I cannot imagine the fool who would do such a thing,” he added, looking her up and down with bold admiration.
“It is a matter I do not wish to discuss with a stranger,” she replied, her tone firm in spite of the little smile now quirking her lips.
He took the point. “Ah. Then, since I’m not permitted to lend a sympathetic ear, may I at least offer you the solace of my excellent company, mademoiselle? In the hope that you will soon consider me a friend rather than a stranger.”
The look with which she favored him as he offered his arm was much the same as one might give a Gypsy horse trader offering a “bargain.”
Alessandro remained patient, for in truth, he had nothing better to do than await the lady’s leisure. He watched as her curiosity again defeated caution. After a long moment, she took his arm and allowed him to lead her farther into the wood.
Knowing that it was usually best to keep quiet when Fate worked in one’s favor, lest one muck up one’s own good fortune, he remained silent as they walked.
Only a short distance through the trees, a charming copse peppered with seemingly random clumps of wildflowers was revealed. The little green was graced with a small bench.
In a show of just how nervous she really was, Mademoiselle d’Orleans immediately disengaged herself and sat, leaving just enough space beside her. Her startled glance as he seated himself at her side told him her invitation had been an unwitting one. Giving her an innocent smile, he folded his hands in his lap and again waited.
Her fingers curled and bunched the fabric of her gown. In an effort to ease her anxiety, Alessandro leaned back and looked up at the bit of sky peeking from between the leaves. “Do you intend to speak, or do you prefer silent companionship?” he teased.
“I’m sorry, my lord. I suppose I’m still a bit embarrassed.” She flicked a worried glance at him. “About knocking you over, I mean.”
“It will forever be our secret,” he promised, his smile broadening. “The secret of how we met.” A soft laugh escaped her, and Alessandro’s breath stilled. Her gentle smile transformed an already beautiful face into something worthy of a master’s brushstroke.
Brushstroke...
A vague memory teased the edges of his thoughts, just out of reach.
“This is not the first time we’ve met, my lord,” she informed him, still chuckling. “We met last night during the ball, quite by accident. You probably don’t even remember me.”
She was wrong. The dappled sunlight caught in her eyes, sparking their depths with emerald fire, and Alessandro bit back an oath as it all came back in a rush: the unattractive gown, the ridiculous powdered hair—and the impossible eyes.
Da tutto che è santo! The creature he’d run into last night had been a disaster. The woman before him now was so beautiful that it was difficult to believe she was even the same person. But the eyes, they were the same.
Impossible emerald eyes.
The memory that had been tickling his subconscious finally surfaced. He’d seen those eyes before last night’s encounter...
Brushstrokes.
A portrait hung in Louis’s private chambers—a portrait of his mother.
Astonishment rendered him mute. Her odd disguise, her reluctance to speak—it all suddenly made sense. If she was who he thought she was, then...
Madre di Dio...I must be very careful here. If she knows who she is, I risk the king’s wrath, and if she does not...
In the eye blink that had passed while these thoughts raced through Alessandro’s mind, the lady’s expression had turned rueful.
