A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection (34 page)

“I can certainly see why you would not want me anywhere near the exhibition,” Evangeline said, meeting his gaze without flinching, even as her heart beat nearly out of her chest. “Tell me, how were you going to keep me from seeing my own art at Biennales?”

“You were never going to go.” Robert straightened his jacket before looking at the painting he still held. He smiled, then, and it was sickening. “Besides, you can clearly see that the signature is mine, not yours.”

He pointed to the signature, which had been carefully painted over her own in the lower right-hand corner. Evangeline’s eyes widened and she fought the urge to claw his eyes out.

“You have been crooked from the very beginning!”

Matteo’s suspicions echoed in her mind, and she saw the past through fresh eyes. “You married my mother for her money, and you have sabotaged any hope I had for a marriage of my own!” She stood her ground as his face grew ever darker with rage. “This is the very last straw. It is unconscionable, inexcusable! I will expose you as a fraud!”

He moved then, more quickly than she would have thought possible, tossing the painting on a sofa and grabbing Evangeline, spinning her so he had her arms painfully pinned behind her back.

Evangeline screamed for help as she saw him, from the corner of her eye, retrieve a heavy vase and bring it crashing down on her head. The world dimmed, and she felt her knees buckle as everything went dark. Her last thought was that Matteo would never find her.

Chapter Seven

It was dark when Evangeline awoke, gagged and bound. Her first conscious thought was that she wished she could return to oblivion. Her head ached abominably, and Robert had tied her arms behind her back. She moved and tried to sit up, but winced— her shoulder must have hit the floor first when he tossed her into the bedroom. At least he’d put her in her own room rather than dumping her into the canal, although he seemed to have gone to pains to leave her on the floor when he could have easily dropped her on the bed.

Reprobate!

She coughed, her throat feeling impossibly dry. Her mouth was full of what she figured must be a handkerchief, which had been secured into place with something tied so tightly at the back of her head that her entire face hurt. She finally squirmed her way into a sitting position and was grateful to note that Robert hadn’t tied her ankles. Of course, he’d been pushed for time— that would probably explain why she was alive. If she were still in her closet bedroom by the time he returned from the festival, she may indeed get her wish to never leave Venice. Alive, at least.

Anger and frustration flooded over her as she remembered the whole of the confrontation. He had submitted her work as his own and was likely even now showing it off to the art community. Perhaps her life wasn’t entirely doomed, she reasoned as she struggled to pass her arms underneath her rear end to have use of her hands. If she were dead and no longer painting, Robert would have no more art to offer the world.

Unless…

Evangeline had dozens of paintings in the attic of the London townhome. He could release a few at a time for the rest of his life, if he was careful. Closing her eyes and crying out in pain as she finally wrangled her arms from behind her back, she stiffened her resolve to escape and be long gone by the time Robert returned.

After untying the strip of fabric holding her wrists bound, she divested herself of the gag and dropped it to the floor. She felt her way to the end table near her bed and fumbled for a bit before finally getting the small lantern lit. Pushing herself up on legs that ached, she clutched her head when the movement sent a stabbing sensation through her. Reaching up, she found the enormous bump Robert had left when he had hit her with the vase.

The door was locked. He might have been in a hurry, but there were certain things she was sure Robert wouldn’t leave to chance. Of course the odious man had locked her into her room. He’d likely taken the painting and the twins to the Biennales, showing off “his” talent and garnering critical acclaim.

The world outside her small window showed a bright moon hanging over the canal, where gondolas carried tourists. The window wouldn’t open; she knew because she’d tried it on the night of their arrival. It had been painted shut during the inn’s last redesign. She supposed she could break the glass and scream for help, but perhaps she could rouse someone in the hotel itself, first.

She pulled her pocket watch from her skirt pocket and noted the time— nearly an hour past dinner. She hoped desperately that Matteo would be as good as his word and come to her rescue, much like Prince Charming in her favorite fairytales as a youth. Truly, he ought to have arrived by now.

She tried the door, all the while knowing it was locked tight, and as luck would have it, the hinges were on the outside of the door. She smacked her fist against it, hard, wondering if there was some way to break it down. Sinking to the floor, she drew up her knees and held her head in her hands. It throbbed with every little movement, and she wasn’t certain she was thinking clearly.

After what seemed an eternity, she finally lifted her head and looked at the doorknob. If she had a hammer and chisel, she could weaken the wood and kick it free, but the only thing she had at her disposal was her paints.

Can’t very well cut myself out of a room using a paintbrush.

Her heart sank.

But maybe… maybe my paint scraper…

Evangeline scrambled across the floor to the other side of the bed, ignoring the pain the movement created. Fumbling through her box of paintbrushes and supplies, she found her scraper, which boasted a newly sharpened blade. She made her way to the locked door and examined the knob before the wood.

The process dragged on for so long, Evangeline was afraid she wouldn’t escape before the others returned, and her sense of urgency had her pulse racing. Finally, she achieved her objective enough to see the bolt driven into the door frame. With a deep, shuddering breath, she sat at the end of the bed and kicked the bolt with her heel. She was in pain, desperate and exhausted, and she began to wonder if something untoward had happened to Matteo. She thought she knew him well enough to know that he was a man of his word.

When her leg felt ready to collapse and she was very near admitting defeat, she heard a slight crack in the wood. With renewed energy, she kept at it until the door finally swung outward with a bang. Slightly disoriented, and unable to believe she had been successful, she stared into the darkened sitting room with wide eyes.

She moved from the bed, her leg muscles and heel now in as much pain as the rest of her bruised body, and went to her trunk. She tossed out the clothing, reaching for the mechanism that housed a secret compartment like the one in Robert’s trunk. Lifting it out of the way, she then retrieved her portfolio, which was thick with the proof she needed to show to the Biennales committee that Robert had stolen her art and entered it as his own.

Evangeline made her way into the sitting room, pausing as she noted the other two bedroom doors wide open. Slowly peering inside Robert’s room first, she caught her breath. It was entirely empty. He had packed up and removed all of his things. A quick examination of the twins’ room proved the same.

The ramifications of his behavior stung, even though she had been prepared to tell him she was remaining in Italy and to sneak away, if necessary. He had
left
her there, not knowing how badly she was injured and with no guarantee she would be found days, depending on the hotel staff cleaning schedule.

She rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the pain of Robert’s final betrayal. Why did he hate her so much? She had been a good child— he couldn’t have asked for a nicer wife or stepdaughter.

She was preparing to gather her cloak from her bedroom when the suite door rattled with a ferocious beating.

“Evangeline!”

Her heart tripped. It was Matteo. She ran to the door and unlocked it, nearly faint with relief that she wasn’t alone, that someone cared whether she lived or died.

He crossed the threshold and held her tightly to him before she could even breathe a word. Her eyes filled with tears that began falling in earnest, clouding her vision when he pulled back and held her by the shoulders at arm’s length.

“What has the
bastarde
done to you?”

“Matteo,” she said through her tears, “he stole my artwork.”

He groaned and pulled her again into his arms for a moment before retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiping her face. “I know he did,
bella
. I was preparing to force him to admit it when you arrived for dinner. But you never arrived, and when I questioned Robert, he told me you had gone to Rialto, that someone there had offered you work as a governess.”

“How did he even know I was thinking of doing that?”

“I assume he was fabricating the tale. And as we had spoken of finding employment for you, his lie held enough ring of truth that I believed him. But I stopped here to check at the reception desk. They told me the entire Montgomery family had checked out and left.” He shook his head again and muttered what she assumed was a curse. “I did not think to insist that I be allowed to examine the suite. So I went to Rialto.”

Evangeline looked at him through tear-spiked eyelashes. “What brought you back?”

“I looked for nearly three hours but could find no evidence of you being anywhere near Rialto. When it became clear that you hadn’t been there, I returned here. Hoping. The staff confirmed that only two young women had left with Mr. Montgomery.”

The tears fell again, and she closed her eyes tightly when he gathered her into his arms and led her to the sofa. “
Cara mia
,” he said, “I will never again leave your side.”

She laughed and wiped at her eyes again, still holding her thick portfolio. “You would tire of me quickly, Matteo. I am quite obnoxious— I have opinions on nearly everything.”

“I would not have it any other way,” he said. “
Evangelina
, you have come into my life when I despaired of ever finding an equal partner to love. And I do love you. If you do not say you will marry me, I will darken your doorstep every day of my life until you agree.”

She looked up at him, hardly daring to believe what he said. “A fairytale,” she murmured.

“A true fairytale,” he said. “Tell me,
bella
. Am I destined to camp on your front steps every day for the rest of my life? Will you marry me?”

She laughed again, feeling a spark of hope she never thought she’d possess. “Yes, Matteo. I love you, and I will marry you.”

He traced his fingertip along her cheek and captured a stray tear. A dark curl fell onto his forehead, and she brushed it out of the way. Catching her hand, he brought her fingertips to his lips and kissed them, his eyes locked with hers. She exhaled quietly, feeling blood thrumming through her veins. Infinitely slowly, he leaned his head toward hers and captured her lips, the sweetest of caresses, which deepened in intensity until he finally released her, the sides of her face held gently between his hands. “
Ti amo, cara mia
.”

“
Ti amo
, Matteo,” she whispered.

He continued with his assault on her senses until the pain in her head was hardly noticeable. When he finally let her up for air, he glanced at the portfolio, now firmly smashed between them.

“Oh!” Fighting a blush, she said, “You’ve quite distracted me,
Conte
Bellini. I was on a mission when you entered.”

His mouth quirked in a smile. “What sort of mission?”

“I was going to the festival to claim what is mine.”

“Well, you have me. Your mission is accomplished.”

She laughed and pushed gently on his chest. “I want my name restored, Matteo,” she said, sobering. “Robert has stolen my art and submitted it as his own.”

“I told you when I first arrived. I know, Eva.”

She blinked. “You do?”

“I have known from the first sketch you drew for me at the palace. I’ve done some investigating. I hired a conservationist to examine the paintings. He was able to lift Robert’s signature to reveal yours beneath it.”

Evangeline’s breath caught in her throat. “So everyone knows?”

He nodded. “I apologize for not telling you immediately about my suspicions. I had to be certain. I had planned to tell you tonight when you arrived. How did you discover it?”

“There was a note saying that he was to bring an additional painting with him to the exhibition. I found it and realized what he had done.” She felt her eyes burn again, but she told herself that she would not shed another tear over Robert Montgomery.

“And he attacked you.”

She nodded. “And locked me in my room.”

He looked closely at her wrists, where angry red marks from her bindings were visible by the light of the moon flooding the sitting room. He cursed fluidly; at least, she assumed it was cursing. Now that she was to remain in Italy, she would have to make a point of learning the language.

Gently, and with infinite care, he kissed the inside of each wrist, shaking his head with the tell-tale clenching of his jaw. “How I would love to kill the man myself. But we will allow the justice system to deal with him.”

She frowned. “But surely he’s left the country by now.”

“I called the authorities late this afternoon as soon as I saw your signature on his entries, and they were waiting for him when he arrived at the exhibition with yet another of your pieces. The rest is as I’ve told you; I went to Rialto to find you, and when I decided to return here, I instructed the police to meet me so that we could begin a thorough search. They will arrive soon, and if you feel you can manage it, I would like you to dictate a statement regarding your imprisonment and Robert’s abuse.” Matteo frowned as he traced his finger lightly down her bruised cheek.

Evangeline took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “Of course I can manage a statement for the police. I just kicked my way out of a locked room.”