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Instead, he pulled out his mobile, punched out his personal assistant’s number, and began issuing orders.
But though the claims that Victoria had been in Cinque Terre seemed legitimate, they soon discovered that she did not stay there. And it was not clear in the days that followed whether Ago’s errant wife knew that she was being followed and was leading them all in a merry chase, or if she was simply, carelessly, crisscrossing her way across the Italian boot.
She followed no set routine. She made no reservations. It was as if she simply woke up wherever she found herself and then wandered about wherever the day took her—whether it was getting on a train because it happened to stop near her, or checking in to apensionebecause she happened to be passing one on an old medieval street. They tracked her from the seaside villages of Cinque Terre inland to Lucca’s medieval walls and steaming bowls oftortelli lucchese, then off to the mysteries of Venice.
Ago had been so certain that she would be caught quickly that he had left London and headed to the Accardi estate. But days later, he found himself in the back of one of his SUVs as the security chief himself drove them in and out of hill towns and villages. Ravenna, Perugia, Naples, and the Amalfi coast.
Was he truly reduced to chasing after a woman in this way? It seemed impossible and yet here he was. He, Ago Accardi, who had never pursued a woman in his life, brought to such lows. He was having trouble accepting not only that, but the fact that a sheltered girl who had never been let out on her own could elude his entire security force for more than two hours. Much less for nearly two weeks.
He was going to have to review his security arrangements—but first he had to find his wife.
It was a great victory when they tracked her, at last, to Rome. And better still, to a specific hotel in the Eternal City that catered to those with privacy concerns. She’d been thoughtful enough to take a floor to herself and enjoyed the convenience of her own entrance, which meant that Ago did not have to concern himself with being recognized in any kind of hotel lobby.
Better still, she stayed put for more than a night.
They followed her as she wandered through the neighborhood on her second day in Rome, stopping at a café and then wandering with what looked like simple, aimless pleasure through the old streets. As if she had not absconded for any reason at all, other than taking in the sights.
Ago found himself in the blackest temper he could recall.
When he did not let loose his temper, ever. It was just another form of passion, dangerous and unwieldy.
He rather thought he blamed her for that, too, as he found himself in the street that night, glaring balefully up at her windows. But nothing was to be gained from indulging either one. As he already knew, to his peril. So he stood longer than necessary, out there in the cold Roman street, forcing himself to search for some semblance of calm. To take one breath, then another, until that rapid pounding of his blood eased.
Or eased somewhat, anyway.
Only when he was reasonably certain that he could contain himself did he move, going around the side of the deliberately unmarked if quietly elegant building and following the small alley that led to three separate staircases, one for each floor. He took the final one, knowing it led to the top floor and to his wife.
His wife.
It was funny how those words seemed to rush through him, tonight. As if he’d never heard them or thought them before. Or as if it was different, now, somehow. Because he had hunted her for near on two weeks. And so it seemed the culmination of a great many things, tonight.
Through six months he had waited, assuming that not hearing from her at all had meant that somehow, he had been saved from the consequences of his actions that night in her uncle’s garden.
Only to discover that he had not been saved at all.
There was only one thing left to save. His good name and what remained of his reputation, once unsullied, now that so many rumors had been let loose to fly about as they would. He supposed he would simply have to live with the fact that Tiziano knew the unsavory truth.
Though that might be the bitterest pill of them all.
He found his way to Victoria’s door, pausing to consider with no little contempt the difference betweenprivateandsecure. A vast gulf that Victoria would never have to concern herself with again, for he intended to see that she never set foot off of his property as long as she lived—
But that could wait. Here and now, he raised his hand and pounded on her door with his fist.
For long moments, there was nothing. He could feel Rome all around him, and though he had always loved the city, he found he resented it tonight. So many lives humming all around him now and stretching back thousands of years, and yet here he was, consumed with doing his best to stop his own downward spiral before it took him over. Like some kind of nameless, pointless ant.
Perhaps the real truth was that it didn’t seem fair. Maybe that was what he resented most, because who had dedicated themselves to duty and family honor more than he had? How had he come to this?
But, of course, he knew.
More long moments passed, and he was about to pound on the door once more when he heard the locks turn. She did not ask who was there, another point he would need to raise in future.
And then suddenly the door was thrown open, and she was there.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I called for any—” she began, but then stopped dead.
And Ago watched with what he told himself was the greatest disinterest as the color left her face, and her summer blue eyes widened.
“Ago...” she breathed.
