‘If you’re concerned about my welfare, I can put your mind at ease,’ he said. ‘I’ll sleep in the room you vacated.’
‘It’s very flouncy and pink.’
Which was not really what she wanted to blurt out either, but there it was. Even worse, at her words the corner of his mouth twitched, as if he was trying everything he could to hold in his amusement. She almost stopped breathing. Because if this man really smiled, her heart might stutter to a halt and she’d fall dead on the floor.
‘I can assure you my masculinity can handle a few flounces.’
Lucy didn’t want to talk about Stefano’s masculinity. Not here. Not now. Not ever. Especially not whilst he stood in this room, presenting the absolute picture of it.
‘Would you like me to put your violin in front of the fire to keep it warm?’
‘No, it can’t take direct heat,’ she said. ‘Too cold and it’ll crack. Too hot and dry and a similar thing will happen.’
‘Temperamental, isn’t it?’
‘Any instrument can be if not handled correctly.’
‘And do you?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Handle it correctly?’
Everything stilled at his question. Something about this moment felt pregnant and full of possibility. An idea of him and tangled limbs and the heat of two bodies exploded in her head and wouldn’t leave. She glanced over at the imposing bed, and he did too. Was he thinking what she was thinking? She swallowed, her mouth dry. And even though she wore a coat, and was wrapped in a duvet, she felt completely exposed.
‘I’ll leave you now,’ he said as he walked towards her.
She should have stepped sideways, to move out of the way of the door, but she was paralysed. Stefano stopped next to her, looming large. Hyper-real...more than a mere mortal. And this close she caught a hint of his scent. Fresh and clear, like a bright, brittle winter day in the mountains, with an intoxicating undertone of spice.
She needed to get out of the way. Instead, she took the silk-covered duvet from around her shoulders and thrust it at him. ‘You’ll need this. It’s from the bed.’
‘Grazie.’He took it. In the low light of the room his dark eyes glittered as if they were filled with stars from the night sky. Then he motioned to the lock on the door and she stood to the side, looking where he indicated.
‘This is the only key, if you feel the need. As I said before: you’re safe here, Lucy.’
Stefano opened the door and left without looking back. Closing the door behind him, she twisted the key in the lock, which tumbled with a satisfying click.
In this moment she wasn’t concerned at all about her safety. Because she’d locked the door not to keep him out. It was to keep her in.
CHAPTER FIVE
STEFANOSCANNEDTHEinvestigator’s report, which contained nothing of great interest. Some of it confirmed what Lucy had already told him. That her father came from a wealthy family and had a string of failed businesses and debt behind him. Her mother was a well-respected violinist from a renowned ensemble. The obituary of her grandfather said that he was a reputed war hero with medals to prove it. No riches...nothing to hint at having profited from the sale of Lasserno’s coronation ring.
Reading those words on the screen left him feeling somehow soiled and...less. Considering what he’d done, it was surprising he had any further to fall, but this intrusion into Lucy’s life had made him do just that, and he couldn’t understand why it mattered.
Still, she’d come to Lasserno and his castle for a reason. The sweet words in her letter about retracing her grandfather’s steps and seeing the country made sense on the surface, but there was something deeper. A pain she hid, behind cute unicorn cat socks and glowing smiles. She might present as sunshine and rainbows, but she was more than that, he was sure.
She was off exploring the castle this afternoon—or that was what she’d texted him. After a morning when the heavenly strains of her violin had faded in and out through the castle halls. She’d played something soulful. Each perfect note sweeping over him, soothing the constant churn in his gut, the clench of his teeth, replacing it with something else. Something softer. A sense of peace.
In a way, he wished her music would never stop. But it would. The snow would melt and Lucy would leave. He didn’t know why that thought ached like a mortal wound.
He shut down the document. Tried to ignore the internet alerts about the royal family. He’d once read them each day, but he didn’t need to any more. Still, curiosity pricked at him, to see if the narrative had changed in the way he’d sought to achieve.
The last time he’d checked it had seemed that Alessio was releasing carefully controlled titbits to the press with the zeal of a convert. Joyous pictures of the Prince and his pregnant Princess graced the social pages in a carefully controlled way and the country loved them. Bad news had turned good. The Crown was now glorified, rather than scorned, as it had been when Alessio had first taken the throne, because of his father’s antics. Suspicion of the new Prince had turned to accolades.
The twin burns of anger and regret curled tight in Stefano’s gut. Those pointless thoughts invaded again. He’d been correct, no doubt. But he should never have ended up here in self-imposed exile. Alessio should have allowed his people to know the good man their Prince truly was. It was all Stefano had been trying to achieve. Except he should have fought for it rather than using subterfuge.
But there was no turning back now—only moving forward.
Stefano rubbed his hand over his face, exhaustion weighing on him like a lead blanket. He’d never required much sleep, but in recent months insomnia had been a regular and unwelcome visitor. He downed the bracing espresso he’d made earlier and settled back to search for more missing gemstones. He had a promising lead on a near flawless emerald which he would not let slip through his fingers.
As Stefano opened another email his phone rang. He checked the number. Lucy.