A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection (25 page)

He had come upon her unawares, and she wasn’t properly dressed. Of course he had embarrassed her, and she probably wanted nothing more than to flee to her room.

He made to move out of her way as she side-stepped at the same time, each in the same direction. Again they were in an identical predicament, facing each other, but now on the other side of the garden path. The woman laughed, startling Edmund. And she blushed even more.

Chapter Three

Oh laws,
Gina thought.
I’m laughing like a ninny in front of a perfectly handsome man who must think I’ve lost my mind.

She always laughed when she was nervous— a lot— and she was nervous now. She didn’t know why. This man was certainly not mysterious, and this wasn’t the thundering, stormy day of her imagination. There was no gazebo overhead, and not a speck of rain to be felt. And he was most definitely not romancing her. Gina’s face flamed again as she realized why she was so nervous— she’d just imagined kissing a strange man with dark hair, and here one stood.

Most likely a married man.
Her eyes flicked to his hands, subconsciously searching for a wedding band, making her berate herself even more. He wore no ring, but that didn’t mean anything. Gina clutched her novel more tightly behind her back, wishing she’d waited a moment longer before leaving her bench so she would have avoided this embarrassment.

The man’s face was somber, even in the face of her laughing. Yet she saw something change, however slight, and his deep-blue eyes seemed to sparkle— something gone so quickly, she must have imagined it.

She stepped deliberately to the left, making a wide berth around the stranger, who she realized was quite tall— at least a head above her. Remarkable. He definitely wasn’t French, nor likely a Spaniard, for that matter, although his hair was dark.

“So sorry,” she mumbled before she clasped her book to her breast and hurried past him.

She’d blushed far too much to be decent, without considering what she must have looked like to him— a wild urchin, that’s what. She was only a few steps down the path when she realized the man had spoken with an American accent.

Why hadn’t she ever considered an American in her kissing fantasies? Because those men knew her father, which meant there was nothing mysterious or romantic about them.

Something drew her to peek behind her as she neared the wall leading to her balcony. The American stood in the same spot, looking right at her. Gina took a deep breath, feeling her pulse go crazy. There was no account for why he stared. Did he have no other business to attend to? He was dressed for something serious in that black suit of his.

Gina hesitated below her balcony. If he didn’t leave, he’d be witness to her scaling a stone wall in her wrapper. She had two choices: either walk around to the front of the hotel and enter like a proper lady, or return to the room the same way she’d left it.

In only a moment, Gina decided. She looked over at the American. She could have sworn he smiled as if urging her on. It didn’t take much else. After tucking her book into her bodice, she lifted her wrapper above her ankles and started to climb.

At the balcony rail, Gina didn’t dare look back. Her behavior was very unladylike, and the sooner she was inside, the better. She didn’t know whether she should laugh or cry about it all. She barely made it inside before her emotions collided and gasps of laugher consumed her. Collapsing onto her bed, she covered her mouth, laughing so hard her eyes watered. This morning’s outing was even too fantastical for a novel. No one would ever believe it.

What if he
hadn’t
been smiling? Gina shot up, perching on the edge of the bed, sobering at the thought. Perhaps he’d been grimacing… Maybe he was speaking to the hotel monsieur right now, filing a complaint about renegade women climbing the walls of the hotel.

“Oh!” Gina’s stomach pitched with nausea. The only solution was to not leave her room at all, for the next five days, until they departed for London. She could only imagine the American describing the incident to the hotel concierge. How many red-haired women were at the hotel?

I must dye my hair. Right away. 

Gina flopped onto her bed with a groan. Her parents would know something was going on if she suddenly appeared with hair dyed black.

Instead, I will be ill. But not so violently indisposed that Mother fetches a physician. Just slightly ill— too ill to attend the ball, but not too ill to cause worry.

No, that wouldn’t work either. Last year when she’d had a bit of a fever, her mother practically walked a path in their Turkish carpet from pacing so much.

I’ll have a headache. One that allows me to be left alone to sleep.

Gina closed her eyes, deciding when her headache should begin. Surely after supper, or else she might be restricted to soup only. She didn’t want to miss one morsel of the French cuisine. But if she went to the hotel dining room, she’d be spotted— possibly by the American.

While she mused over the best timing for her pending headache, something brushed against the door. The sound was faint, but Gina could swear that someone had touched the door handle. It was too early for her parents to be moving about. She rose from the bed and crossed to the door. She wouldn’t fling it open, intent on catching someone in the hallway. A lady’s beaded bag could have brushed against it, or one of those pesky miniature dogs so popular in France. Or… might it be a letter slipped beneath the door?

Gina looked down and found a folded piece of ivory paper. She grasped the door handle and pushed it open, only to realize that it was locked. She fumbled for the lock, and then she tugged the door.

By that time, whoever had slipped her the note had disappeared. With one hand bracing herself against the door frame in case she had to make a hasty retreat, she leaned into the hallway and looked both ways. No one was in sight.

“Hmm.” Gina straightened then shut and locked her door. She picked up the note, walked to the balcony, and stepped outside. It wouldn’t do to read a mysterious note in the confines of her room. She needed fresh air and a fragrant breeze. It would be ideal if twilight had descended and a violinist were playing a mournful tune in the garden… But Gina couldn’t wait until twilight to read the note. That would be the death of her, and who knew if the French were any good at violin music anyway?

She gazed at the folded paper in her hand. Anything could be written inside it. Anything. Her heart thumped. Maybe she’d been notified of some wealthy and unknown-until-now great aunt who had left her a fortune from a diamond mine in Africa. Or perhaps a lost sibling her mother had never told her about, a younger sister who’d just discovered the family’s whereabouts. The heavens had conspired to bring them to the same hotel at the same time, and she and her newfound sister would be reunited and spend the rest of their days together, traveling and flirting with mysterious men.

Gina laughed at the thought then sobered immediately. She really should stop reading so many novels. Sometimes it was difficult to tell what was real and what wasn’t, and she had no one to blame for that but herself… and a few novelists. With a barely steady hand, she opened the note. The inked scrawl was definitely a man’s, so she at least had made one correct assumption: it was certainly mysterious.

Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me.

—E.D.

Who was E.D.? She turned over the paper, but nothing else was written on it. She held it up to the sky in case a watermark would reveal the sender’s identity. Nothing. No other clue.

Something turned in her mind, and she realized who wrote the note.
The American.
Gina crossed to the wicker chair on the balcony and sank into it. E.D. was the American man who’d stared at her in the garden.

Your secret will be safe with me.

He was referring to her scaling the wall in her nightgown. She groaned, wishing she could take back the entire morning and stay in bed like any normal pampered American lady on vacation in France.

E.D.… Edgar Davids? Emile Dupaix?

Earl? Eli? Dorchester? DeMille? Darcy?

Hopeless. All thoughts of faking a headache fled. Gina would be going to the ball, if only to discover what E.D. stood for. She wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight otherwise.

Chapter Four

Her laughter was unmistakable, even across the room. Edmund forced himself not stare in her direction. He’d never heard a laugh so unfettered, carefree, or joyous. In the garden, it had sounded a little nervous, but now it was freedom itself.

Confound it
. Edmund looked over at the red-haired woman standing near a man who bowed, obviously asking her for a dance. Edmund’s gaze narrowed. The man was exactly her height. Surely she’d rather dance with someone taller, someone who could properly lead her about the dance floor. Someone like him.

Edmund tried to dispel the thoughts. He’d only been a widow for a few months, yet he was acting like a drooling puppy. He’d been acquainted with plenty of beautiful women— Jacqueline had been strikingly so. What was it about this redhead that intrigued him? Her sense of adventure? Her laugh? Her amber eyes? Her apparent climbing abilities?

All of it.

Instinct told him she would be too much work. Too much involvement. He couldn’t disappear for days inspecting ships or staying in his office, balancing ledgers, placing cargo orders. This woman would demand that he be a part of her life.

Edmund let out a sigh. The waltz had ended, and as another piece struck up, he found himself walking toward the woman from the garden, the one to whom he’d spent nearly ten minutes trying to decide what to write in a note.

Just as he reached her, she turned from her partner.

Her eyes widened, and then she smiled. To another man, the smile may have seemed confident, but something told Edmund she felt a bit wary. He’d hoped his note would have allayed her worries. He didn’t think he’d ever seen any person, man or female, scale a wall so easily.

“I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself before,” he started. “I’m Edmund Donaldson, of New York City.”

“Hello,” she said. “
Oh.
You are…” Her mouth clamped shut.

Beneath the chandelier candlelight, she looked different from that morning in the garden. Her hair was expertly coiffed, not falling about her shoulders as if she were a garden nymph. But both looks were equally charming. Edmund realized she’d stopped speaking. “Is something the matter?” he asked.

“It’s just…” She took a step closer, providing Edmund with a whiff of whatever perfume she wore. Roses, perhaps. Her voice lowered. “I think I know you.”

“Yes.” Edmund wondered how she could have forgotten their encounter so quickly. He’d thought of little else, even during an argument with the estate solicitor earlier. “We met in the garden this morning.”

“Not that,” she said. “You see, I’m from New York City too.”

Surely he would have met her then… This beauty couldn’t have gone unnoticed for long, even if her mother had been one of
those
mothers who pressed their daughters on wealthy men. Maybe she lived on a country estate outside of the city and didn’t frequent the elite social circles.

Her gaze steady on his, she said, “My name is Gina Graydon. And if I’m not mistaken, sir, my father is suing you.”

Edmund’s mouth fell open. If she was
the
Miss Graydon, her father was definitely suing him. Graydon Enterprises had a monopoly on imports and exports along the New York coast, but that had all changed a few years ago as Edmund’s company had gained more and more prestige. Edmund paid his workers well. Even though his profits were leaner than other cargo importers’, he enjoyed better employee retention and loyalty. Several of Mr. Graydon’s top employees had quit and moved to Edmund’s company. Graydon was plainly upset at the losses.

This could either be very fortunate… or very foreboding. Edmund’s mind raced. “Would that fact preclude you from dancing the next set with me?”

One of her eyebrows lifted as if she was considering, but Edmund could plainly see in her eyes that she’d accept. A thrill coursed through him. Dancing with the enemy’s daughter might seem foolish to another man, but Miss Graydon had risen in his estimation. Edmund never backed down from a challenge, and it seemed this red-haired woman wasn’t about to either.

“I’d be happy to save the next waltz for you.” A smile tugged at her mouth.

Edmund had to stop himself from staring, especially because she’d offered a waltz with him above other, less-intimate dances. “Excellent.” He gave a small nod then turned away.

A plan formed neatly in his mind. Now he understood why he’d been drawn to her, and it wasn’t because he was a lovesick school boy. It was fate that they meet and fate that they dance. He’d have the opportunity to explain his business practices to her. She could put in a good word to her father, introductions would be made, and Edmund would share a brandy with Mr. Graydon… They’d become friends, and the lawsuit would be dropped.

Gina Graydon was not a temptress, but a fortunate tool to get his company out of an unfortunate mess.

Chapter Five

Gina took a slow sip of the pale pink punch— strawberry or raspberry-something. It made her feel a bit heady. Plainly there was more than fruit in the drink. Her mother had to be on her third or fourth glass by now, judging by the way she leaned heavily on her husband.

Mrs. Anne Graydon was the epitome of elegance and finery, with her auburn hair piled on top of her head, glittering diamonds about her neck, and delicate hands and feet. She was classic in a way Gina wasn’t but should have been. Gina might have inherited her coloring from her mother, but her height came from her father.

Thankfully, Gina’s grandmother had kept to her room tonight. Being watched by one matriarch was enough. The more her mother enjoyed her drink, the less she’d pay attention. As it was, Gina would spend a good part of the next day discussing who had asked her to dance and what their prospects might be because her mother would barely remember. Not that her mother expected her to find a husband on vacation, or that her father would
ever
approve, but since all of the New York City gentlemen had seemingly steered clear of her, France could very well be her only chance to meet someone on her own accord.