A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection (32 page)

Would he have gone so far as to discourage Evangeline’s suitors, as Matteo had suggested? Now that Evangeline was away from the Italian’s hypnotic gaze and commanding presence, she was clearheaded enough to admit that if such a thing was to come to light, she wouldn’t necessarily be surprised. But how to broach the subject?

Her musings only served to solidify what she had come to realize on the voyage to Venice— that she did not want to go back to that house, or to London, even. She would find a way to support herself. All she really needed was a small room and enough money to buy necessities. Better to live in an attic in Italy than be banished to one at home. Despite what Matteo had implied, she was not idiotic. She
would
advertise for a tutoring position. She would be selective and careful. Perhaps at the festival the next night she would make a contact or two.

Feeling infinitely better about her situation, she relaxed and allowed herself to sway to the music. A warm hand on her elbow had her turning to see a man who bowed slightly and asked if she would join him in a dance.

“I would love to,” she said and allowed him to guide her toward the center of the courtyard, where he swung her into a waltz.

He wore a dark green mask with a matching suit coat and cravat. He stood only slightly taller than she was, and Evangeline found herself relaxing in his arms as she matched his easy rhythm. He introduced himself as
Conte
Bellini, one of the younger sons.

“Ah,” Evangeline said with a smile. “I overheard some young ladies bemoaning the fact that the most eligible bachelor in all of Italy does not frequent balls. He would be your brother?”

The young
conte
shook his head a bit as he grinned. “My brother, the heir. He has no use for parties.”

“I find that younger sons are often much more charming,” she said and winked through her mask, finding herself more confident with it on.

Her dance partner laughed as he navigated them around a couple that had clearly already enjoyed a glass or two of wine. At the very least.

“I certainly like to believe I am charming,” he said. “And now you must tell me a bit about yourself.”

The ensuing conversation was pleasant, and the young
conte
invited her to call him David. They continued talking as the orchestra ended the piece and began with another. He had swept her, laughing, into a third waltz, when a man approached David from behind and tapped him on the shoulder.

Evangeline’s heart skipped several beats as she recognized Matteo. With a laugh, David shook his head and bowed slightly, holding his hand out to the other man. “Miss Stuart, my eldest brother, the
Conte
Bellini, Europe’s most eligible bachelor.”

Her mouth dropped open as she stared first at Matteo and then David, who kissed her knuckles and leaned close. “I will have the rest of this dance later,” he said with a grin.

Matteo barked something in Italian at David, who snorted with laughter and left Evangeline staring at the oldest Bellini son, heir to the fortune and apparently, the most eligible bachelor in Europe. Her humiliation was complete.
This
was the man who had questioned her about her courtship failures— and why? Because he believed her stepfather might have sabotaged her future? Matteo, or Count Bellini, rather, was an insensitive clod. She opened her mouth to say so when he placed his hand at her waist and slid it around her back, pulling her close against him as he slowly began turning them to the music.

“You would find yourself ejected from Almacks, I’ll have you know,” she sputtered as he leaned down.

“Then it is fortuitous indeed that we are here and not at Almacks.” His breath was warm and tickled her temple. Her eyes drifted shut, and she inhaled a scent that was uniquely him. “I have wounded your feelings and your pride,
bella
, when I intended to do neither,” he murmured, and she felt it down to her toes. “I seek your forgiveness.”

“You’re a
count
,” she spat. “You might have mentioned it.”

“Had I, you would not have been nearly so relaxed in my presence. People always react differently when they know I am a Bellini.”

Evangeline was begrudgingly mollified; she supposed it was true. She wouldn’t have gone anywhere with him had she known he was someone that half of the Western world sought after. She would have felt even more grossly inadequate than she had when she believed him to be merely an Italian gentleman. An incredibly handsome one, yes, and an arrogant one, but not
titled
, for heaven’s sake.

“You left before I could apologize, and I’ve had the very devil of a time trying to find you.”

“I was busy,” she said and tilted her chin up slightly, doing her best not to look at his face, which was just inches above her own.

“Yes. With my brother,” he ground out.

Evangeline smiled. “He’s charming.”

“Indeed. He’s also a scoundrel, and you will most definitely not finish a third waltz with him.”

“He’s
friendly
. I thought I may appeal to him for help finding a position here.”

Matteo’s hand pressed against her back. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t seek out a protector,” he murmured low in her ear.

“A position as a
tutor
,” she said, exasperated. “I am not going to be anyone’s mistress. I shall die an old maid, surrounded by oils and canvas and paintbrushes soaking in turpentine.” She meant it to sound light, but it felt heavy.

A muscle again worked in his jaw, which she was coming to recognize as his first sign of agitation.

“We are friends now,” she added as he turned her toward one side of the courtyard, “so perhaps you may direct me to a family looking for an art tutor, or even a governess.”

“Friends,” he whispered. He swung her into an alcove along the side and trapped her in the shadows between his arms, her back against the cold stone wall. He pulled her close, tracing his lips along her neck as he murmured Italian words she would have given anything to understand.

Evangeline wound her arms up around his shoulders and ran her fingers into his soft, black curls at the nape of his neck. She closed her eyes as heat pooled low in her abdomen and she realized he was going to kiss her senseless.

A feminine trill of laughter to the side, followed by the low murmur of an answering male, interrupted Matteo’s close examination of her neck. His arms tightened around her as he shielded her from sight, should someone come upon them.

With a growl of frustration, he lifted his head, his warm lips inches from hers. “Not here,” he murmured against her mouth. “Not like this.” He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her temple. “Where are you staying?”

Evangeline felt as though her brain had been scrambled; she had a difficult time reasoning through his question. “Hotel Morosini,” she finally answered.

“We will dance, and you will return to your hotel with those people who call themselves your family, and I will call on you in the morning for breakfast, followed by an intimate day of sightseeing.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“And you will be my guest at the Biennales banquet tomorrow evening.”

“You’re rather presumptuous, aren’t you? A gentleman would ask if I am otherwise engaged.”

He lifted his head and looked at her. “
Cara mia
, I will personally cancel anything that would have you ‘otherwise engaged.’”

She looked at his face— handsome even with the mask, and the eyes behind it, which studied her with concern and something that smoldered just beneath the surface. “Matteo, will you help me?” she asked, tears suddenly clogging her throat. “I do not ask that you find a tutoring position for me, perhaps just an introduction… I cannot go back.”

“Shhh. No fears,
bella
,” he said and loosened his hold on her body, trailing his hands up to gently cup either side of her face. “You are not going back.” He kissed the top of her head where her hair met the edge of her mask.

Chapter Four

The following morning, her heart beating in anticipation, Evangeline left her bedroom. If one could call it a bedroom; it was more frequently used as a closet, but Robert had convinced the staff that Evangeline preferred small spaces. The twins refused to share a room with her, of course, and truthfully, Evangeline preferred the closet to their company. When faced with that alternative, she didn’t mind so much that the foot of the bed was only a meter from the door.

She entered the sitting room of the family’s suite, doing her best to ignore the scowls of the twins, who sat at the breakfast table in their dressing robes.

“She thinks she’s going somewhere, Papa,” Analise pouted to her father, who glanced up from his newspaper and looked at Evangeline.

“What business is it of yours?” Evangeline said as she straightened the bow at the back of her dress.

“That was unkind, Evangeline,” Robert said, the mild tone masking a cold intent Evangeline knew all too well. He never screamed or physically harmed her; he simply took things away. “I am surprised at you.”

“Where are you going, then?” Daniella asked as she gouged a large piece of grapefruit.

“Out with a new friend,” she said, fighting the urge to hold her breath. She had to get out the door, and then Robert wouldn’t be able to keep her from leaving.

“I don’t believe that is on our itinerary,” Robert said and folded his paper. As he stood, a knock sounded, and Evangeline clenched her fists, torn between fury and fear that he would keep her from a day with Matteo.

The twins’ harried maid, Marta, answered the sitting room door and opened it wider to reveal
Conte
Bellini in the hallway. He caught her eye and smiled, and she felt a relief so profound, her knees nearly buckled. Robert could not prevent her from leaving with Matteo. It would never do to make a scene.

She moved to the door as Matteo entered, and she made introductions to the twins, who stared at him, mouths agape. Her stepfather looked from her, to Matteo, and back again. Putting on his public smile, Robert extended a hand and expressed his gratitude that the
conte
would entertain his sweet daughter Evangeline.

Matteo shook Robert’s hand and then reached for Evangeline, pulling her arm through the crook of his. “It is I who am grateful,” he said with a warm smile at Evangeline. “It is as though a breath of fresh air has swept through all of Venice.”

Evangeline did her best not to laugh, grateful that Matteo would think to compliment her so grandly before those who sought nothing but her money and her misery. As they made their goodbyes and closed the door behind them, the twins’ screeching began in earnest, and Matteo winced.

“Are they always so—”

“Always.” She smiled at him, suddenly feeling shy. It was broad daylight, he was handsome as sin, and she wasn’t wearing her masquerade mask and gown. She was only herself, without any defenses— Evangeline, the girl who had had two Seasons but no proposals, whose parents were dead, and who had no hope of independence from spiteful “family” unless she could depend upon the kindness of strangers as she sought employment.

“You are even lovelier in the daylight, and I wouldn’t have thought it possible,” Matteo murmured and brought her fingers to his lips. “I dreamed of you all night.”

Evangeline shook her head with a laugh. He was being ridiculous, of course, but she appreciated the sentiment all the same. She would do well to remember that he was likely just a charmer with no interest in forming any real attachments.

“You do not believe me?” he said as they descended the stone steps that led to the canal, where a gondola awaited.

“I believe that you are experienced, and I am not. I also believe that I should guard my heart.” She grinned at him and kept her tone light. The sky outside was brilliant blue, and the autumn breeze was pleasant. It was a perfect day, and she wanted to commit every detail to memory.

He handed her carefully into the gondola and settled next to her on the cushioned seat. He placed an arm around her waist and regarded her with dark, intense eyes. “I will guard your heart,
cara mia
,” he said softly.

She wanted to believe it, but it was nothing but a fairytale. She was too old to believe in those; she had to be practical. Smiling, she traced a finger down his nose and tapped the tip of it. “Excellent,” she said. “You are a good friend. And while you are guarding my heart, I will find employment.” She was at ease with him, she realized, and comfortable. His close, intimate manner was softening some of the shell she’d erected around herself, and she had hope, for the first time in a long time, that she might have found a true friend.

He studied her eyes for a moment and captured her hand, lightly nipping her fingertips. When her breath quickened, he slowly smiled. “Mmm hmm,” he said. “Friends.”

Evangeline was grateful when he turned his attention to sights along the canal and he pulled her close under his arm as he drew her focus to lavish
palazzi
along the way. They were hundreds of years old— grand homes housing grand families— imbued with ancient frescoes and terrazzo or marble floors. Scents of baking bread and pastries wafted along the breeze from shops alongside the canal as the gondolier made his way steadily to St. Mark’s Square, where Matteo said they would dine
al fresco
.

“A meal at San Marco is something every visitor to Venice must sample,” he said, helping her step from the gondola. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her to the center of the famous square, where the
campanile
began chiming the hour. Pigeons pecking along the square and dining on tourists’ crumbs scattered as Evangeline and Matteo crossed the square to a café much beloved by Napoleon’s troops.

And with good reason
, Evangeline decided as she had her own taste of the food. The thick slices of ciabatta topped with ricotta cheese were divine, and she didn’t have to wonder why Napoleon and his men had wanted to stay.

Determined to keep to her Heart-Guarding Resolve, Evangeline conversed with Matteo as one would when getting to know a new friend. He was charming and funny, and he regaled her with tales of his childhood, which had been, for all intents and purposes, peaceful. She gathered that his mother was a bit of a scatterbrain, but he had great affection for her and admired his father greatly. He explained that in Italy, a count’s sons were all given the title
conte
, which was why, although Matteo was his father’s first heir, his younger brothers were also addressed preferentially.