‘You’re nothing, Stefano, if you’re not working for the Prince...’
‘I had a fiancée. I had more. My work was one of service, but His Highness was my best friend.’
‘Was...?’
His pace faltered, and Lucy frowned before he picked up his even stride. She was sharp, this one. Not missing anything. He couldn’t admit his disgrace. What sort of a man would it make him? She’d never trust him then—not enough to divulge the secrets her family might have held when he asked her. But for some inexplicable reason he didn’t want these blissful moments to end, ruined as they would be by resurrecting events in history neither of them had had any part in.
‘Is.’
‘Will your fiancée be coming to the castle? I don’t want my being here to make things difficult.’
Celine had been reluctant to set foot in the mountains at any time. No matter that the castle was considered a national treasure, she would always say when invited here,‘I am not a goat.’
Stefano looked over at Lucy, who was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.
‘I’m single now. Our reputations are safe.’
Lucy’s expression changed, and her face became painted over with the veneer of sympathy. He’d seen that look on the face of his siblings when he’d told them about the end of his engagement. He hated it. Actions had consequences. He was living his as they spoke. He deserved no misdirected pity.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I know what it’s like when you have an expectation of how life’s going to go, and then it all just...stops.’ Her eyes glittered in the low afternoon light, her voice soft and cracked with emotion.
‘There’s a story there,’ he said.
She waved her hand, as if dismissing an irritant. ‘It’s a miserable one which nobody wants to hear—particularly since you sound like you have one of your own.’
‘What if I do?’ Strangely, he wanted to know what had chased away her smiles and laughter and replaced them with sadness.
‘Let’s just say I had a relationship that ended too,’ Lucy murmured. Then she stopped, peered into an open doorway. ‘Is this it?’
Stefano hadn’t noticed where they were. He’d been too absorbed by her. ‘Yes. Welcome to Castello Varno’s music room.’
She walked inside as if she owned the place, and he supposed that a room like thiswasher domain. He was a mere interloper, even though it was his castle.
Lucy stood in the centre of the space and turned slowly in a circle on the parquetry floor. ‘Amazing. I bet the acoustics are glorious.’
‘When I was a child, my parents would have recitals here.’ The room had regularly been full of people, not a silent space. Now it was an abandoned relic of a distant past.
She walked towards a piano and trailed her fingertips across the dust cover. A shiver of pleasure tripped over his skin at the thought of those gentle fingers on his flesh. Of allowing them to take a winding journey over his body. He took a step back from her. Lucy Jamieson was a risk to self-preservation and common sense.
‘I’m assuming it’s a concert grand?’
Stefano nodded.
‘Did you ever play?’ she asked.
‘Not officially. My sister was taught piano, and she loathed it. For a while I took over her lessons.’
They’d been moments of true pleasure—something he’d done for himself, not about what he could give to the Arcuri royal family or his country. He’d relished those secret lessons until his teacher had reported his achievements, in a moment of pride and misplaced honesty.
‘My parents stopped them. Time spent on music was considered a waste. They wanted me to only concentrate on things of use in my ultimate role.’
He couldn’t prevent a sense of bitterness creeping in. It wasn’t as if his marks in other subjects had diminished. His mother and father would never have known had his music teacher remained silent as he’d implored. But to them, anything that was not pertinent to his role as the future Count was unnecessary. They’d ignored the fact it was something he loved. To them, it hadn’t mattered. He’d come to realise that in the end all he’d been to them was a cog in their dynasty’s wheel. Not a boy who wanted one small thing to claim as his own.
A frown creased Lucy’s brow. ‘What did you think of that?’
‘I was never going to be a musician of your skill.’
‘You could take it up again.’