The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize Read online

  When it came to establishing the facts of her family’s banishment from Isolo D’Oro, legend, folktales and rumor were usually the beginning of every major breakthrough. In fact, her experience with such things was leading her to odd conclusions regarding yetis and the Loch Ness monster. After all, if multiple cultures had rumors about similar beasts, it was logical to conclude that such a thing must have a grain of truth.

  But until she was able to sift through the facts and fictions of her familial heritage, she would leave cryptozoology for other people.

  “What should I do with our visitor, ma’am?”

  Gabriella tapped her chin. She was inclined to have their visitor told that she and her grandmother were Not at Home, in the Regency England sense of the phrase. But he knew about The Lost Love. She was curious what exactly he knew about it. Though she didn’t want to confirm the existence of it to a total stranger. Particularly when she hadn’t established the existence of it in all certainty to herself.

  She had to figure out what his game was. If this was just a scammer of some sort determined to make a profit off an elderly woman—and that was likely the case—then Gabriella would have to make sure he was never given entry.

  “I will speak to him. There is no sense in bothering the queen. She is taking tea in the morning room and I don’t wish to disturb her.”

  Gabriella brushed past the servant, and headed out of the library, down the richly carpeted hall, her feet sinking into the lush, burgundy pile. She realized then that going to greet a total stranger with bare feet was not the most princess-like act. She did quite well playing her part in public. A lifetime of training made a few hours of serene smiling and waving second nature. But when she was home, here in the wonderful, isolated estate in Aceena, she shut her manners, along with her designer gowns, away. Then unwound her hair from the tight coil she wore it in when she was allowing herself to be trotted out in front of the public, and truly let herself simply be Gabriella.

  She touched her face, her glasses. She also didn’t go out in public in those.

  Oh, well. She didn’t want to impress this stranger; she wanted to interrogate him, and then send him on his way.

  She padded through the grand entryway, not bothering with straightening her hair or preening in any way at all.

  He had already been admitted entry, of course. It wouldn’t do to have a man like him standing outside on the step. And she could see what kind of man he was immediately as he came into her view.

  He was…striking. It reminded her of an experience she’d once had in a museum. Moving through wall after wall of spectacular art before entering a small room off to the side. In it, one painting, with all of the light focused on it. It was the centerpiece. The only piece that mattered. Everything that had come before it paled in comparison.

  The journey had been lovely, but this man was the destination.

  He was like a van Gogh. His face a study in slashing lines and sharp angles. Sharp cheekbones, an angular jaw roughened with dark stubble. There was a soft curve to his lips that spoke of an artist with a deft hand. Who knew that after so much hardened and fearful symmetry there needed to be something different to draw the eye. There was a slight imperfection in his features, as well, one peak of his top lip not quite rising as high as the other. It gave a human quality to Alessandro that was missing from the rest of him. Those broad shoulders, muscular chest and slim waist covered by his severely tailored suit. Long, strong legs, feet covered by handmade shoes.

  Yes, everything about him was formidable perfection.

  Except for that mouth. The mouth that promised potential softening. That hinted at the fact that he was a man, rather than simply a work of art.

  She blinked, shaking her head. That was a lengthy flight of romantic fantasy. Even for her.

  “Hello?” She took a step deeper into the entry. “Can I help you?”

  His dark eyes flickered over her, his expression one of disinterest. “I wish to speak to Queen Lucia about The Lost Love.”

  “Yes. So I was told. However, I’m afraid the queen is unavailable to visitors at the moment.” She resisted the urge to push her glasses up her nose, and instead crossed her arms, trying to look slightly regal, though she was wearing black leggings and an oversize sweatshirt.

  “So she sent… I give up. What are you exactly? The resident disaffected teenager? Ready to head out to a mall or some such?”

  Gabriella sniffed. “Actually, I am Princess Gabriella D’Oro. So when I say that my grandmother is not available to see you, I speak from a place of authority. This is my home, and I regret to inform you that we have no space for you in it.”

  “Strange. It seems quite spacious to me.”

  “Well, things are organized just so. Quite a few too many American businessmen have been by of late. We would have to store you in the attic, and you would just collect dust up there.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I fear you would atrophy completely.”

  “Well, we can’t have that. This is a new suit, and I don’t particularly want to atrophy in it.”

  “Then perhaps you should be on your way.”

  “I came a great distance to speak to your grandmother. This may surprise you, but I did not come to Aceena to engage in frivolity. But rather to speak to her about a painting.”

  “Yes, so you said. I regret to inform you there is no such painting. I’m not entirely certain what you heard about it…”

  “My grandfather. He is…the collector. I came to see about purchasing the painting on his behalf. I’m willing to offer a generous sum. I imagine disgraced royals might not be in a position to turn such an offer down.”

  “Oh, we do just fine, thank you for your concern. Should you like to make a donation to someone in actual need of your charity, I would be happy to provide you with a list.”

  “No, thank you. The charity was only a side effect. I want that painting. I’m willing to pay whatever the cost might be.”

  Her mouth was dry. It made it difficult to speak, and yet she found she also couldn’t stop the flow of words. “Well, I’m afraid to disappoint you. While we do have paintings, we do not have that painting. That painting, if you weren’t aware, might not even exist.”

  “Oh, I’m well aware that it’s what your family would like the public to think. However, I think you know more than you’re letting on.”

  “No,” she said, and this time she did push her glasses up her nose. “I’m just a teenager headed out to the mall. What could I possibly know that you,” she said, sweeping her hand up and down, “in all your infinite and aged wisdom, do not?”

  “The appeal of Justin Bieber?”

  “I’m not entirely certain who that is.”

  “I’m surprised by that. Girls your age love him.”

  “In that case, can I offer you a hard candy? I hear men your age love those.”

  She was not sure how this had happened. How she had wound up standing in the hallowed entry of her family estate trading insults with a stranger.

  “I’ll accept the hard candy if it means you intend to give me a tour while I finish it.”

  “No. Sorry. You would be finishing it on the lawn.”

  He rubbed his hand over his chin and she shivered, an involuntary response to the soft noise made by the scrape of his hand over his whiskers. She was a sensualist. It was one of her weaknesses. She enjoyed art, and soft cushions, desserts and lush fabrics. The smell of old books and the feel of textured pages beneath her fingertips.

  And she noticed fine details. Like the sound skin made when scraping over stubble.

  “I’m not entirely certain this is the tactic you want to use. Because if you send me away, then I will only circumvent you. Either by contacting your grandmother directly, or by figuring out who manages the affairs of the royal family. I am certain that I can find someone who might be tempted by what I offer.”

  He probably wasn’t wrong. If he managed to find her parents, and offer the
m a bit of money—or better yet, an illegal substance—for some information on an old painting, they would be more than happy to help him. Fortunately, they probably had no idea what the painting was, much less knew any more about its existence than she did.

  But they were wretched. And they were greedy. So there was very little that she would put past them.

  Still, she was not going to allow him to harass her grandmother. Tempting as it was to keep him here, to question him. She’d been studying her family history for as long as she’d known how to read. Rumors about this painting had played a large part in it.

  Part of her desperately wanted him to stay. Another part needed him gone as quickly as possible. Because of her grandmother. And partly because of the dry mouth and sweaty palms and strange, off-kilter feeling that had arrived along with him.

  Those things defeated curiosity. He had to go.

  “I’ll chance it. Do feel free to meander about the grounds before you go. The gardens are beautiful. Please consider limitless viewing time on the topiaries a conciliatory gesture on my end.”

  The corner of his mouth worked upward. “I assure you, I have no interest in your…topiaries.”

  Something about the way he said it made her scalp prickle, made her skin feel hot. She didn’t like it.

  “Well, my topiaries are all you’re going to get. Good day to you, sir.”

  “And good day to you,” he said, inclining his head.

  He sounded perfectly calm, but a dark note wound its way around his words, through his voice, and she had a feeling that somewhere within it was also woven a threat.

  However, she didn’t allow him to see that she had picked up on it. Instead, she turned on her heel—ignoring the slight squeak her bare skin made on the marble tile—and walked out of the entry without a backward glance, leaving him there. She fully expected a servant would show him out. Either that or she would have to have him installed in the attic. The idea of collecting a man like him and putting him in the attic like one might do to an old, rusted suit of armor amused her.

  She let that little smile linger on her lips as she made her way down the hall, toward the morning room where her grandmother was having her breakfast.

  “There was a man here, Gabriella. Who was he?” The queen’s voice, wispy, as thin as a cobweb, greeted Gabriella as soon as she walked into the ornate room.

  There was no sense asking how her grandmother knew about the visitor. She was never ignorant about the goings-on in her own household.

  “An American businessman,” Gabriella said, walking deeper into the room, feeling somewhat sheepish, yet again, about her bare feet.

  Her grandmother was, as ever, impeccably dressed. The older woman made no distinction between her public and private persona. As always, her crystal white hair was pulled back into a neat bun, her makeup expertly done. Her fingernails were painted the same pale coral as the skirt she was wearing, her low, sensible heels the same cream as her blouse.

  “I see,” the queen said, setting her teacup down on the table in front of her. “And what did he want?”

  “This is not something we’ve ever discussed before, I know, but he was…he was inquiring about a painting. The Lost Love.”

  Her grandmother continued to sit there, poised, her hands folded in her lap. Were it not for the subtle paling of her complexion, Gabriella would have thought she had merely been commenting on the weather. There was no mistaking her grandmother’s response to what she had just said.

  “But of course,” Gabriella continued, “I told him that it has never been confirmed that there is any such painting. I told him it was nothing more than salacious rumor. And I sent him on his way. Though he may be meandering around the gardens.”

  Her grandmother turned her head to the window and Gabriella did the same. Just in time to see a figure in a dark suit pass by quickly before disappearing down the path.

  Something in Lucia’s expression shifted. “Call him back.”

  “I can’t. I just…I just sent him away. That would be… Well, it would seem fickle. Plus, it’s rather silly.”

  “You must call him back, Gabriella.” When Lucia used that tone there really was no point in arguing. Still, Gabriella thought she might try.

  “I don’t trust him. I didn’t want him to upset you.”

  “I need to know who he is. I need to know why he is asking about the painting. It’s important.” There was a thread of steel woven into her voice now, a command that Gabriella could not deny.

  “Of course, Grandmother. I will go after him right away.”

  “For heaven’s sake, girl, put some shoes on.”

  Gabriella nodded, turning and scampering out of the room, heading down the corridor toward her bedroom. She found a pair of easy slip-on canvas shoes, then continued to head out to the front door. It was firmly closed, the visitor nowhere to be seen.

  She opened the door, heading down the paved walk, toward one of the gardens. He didn’t exactly seem like the kind of person who would take her up on the offer of a garden tour, but she had to make sure. He might still be here.

  Her grandmother had commanded an audience with him, and she would be darned if she would disappoint the older woman.

  Her grandmother meant the world to her. Her parents had preferred a life of partying to that of raising children. Her brothers were so much older than her so she could scarcely remember a time when they had lived in the same household. As soon as Gabriella had been old enough to have a say in her own situation, she had asked to go to Aceena to live with Queen Lucia. The older woman had been more of a mother to her than her own had ever been, and she could deny her nothing.

  She looked around, and she didn’t see him. Of course he was gone. And she hadn’t gotten any of his contact information, because she hadn’t wanted it. She was annoyed. At him, at herself. But mostly at him.

  She walked farther down the manicured lane, turned left at the first hedge, ran squarely into a broad back covered in very high-quality black fabric. She could tell the fabric was high quality, not just because of how it looked, but because of the way it felt squished up against her face.

  She stumbled backward just as he turned to face her. He was even more arresting, even more off-putting, up close. He exuded… Well, he just exuded.

  “Well, I see you were making use of my offer to tour the gardens.”

  He straightened his tie, the action drawing her eyes to his hands. They were very large. Naturally, as he was quite a large man. So really, they were nothing quite so spectacular. They were proportional. Useful. In possession of the typical number of fingers.

  “No. I was skulking. I thought I might hang around long enough that I can try my hand at getting an audience with your grandmother later.”

  “That’s quite sneaky.”

  “Sneaky is not typically a word I associate with myself, but I’ll take it. Determined, I think sums it up.”

  “I don’t see why you can’t be called both.”

  “Whatever makes you happy. Why exactly are you looking for me?”

  “It turns out…my grandmother wants to speak to you.”

  “Oh,” he said, a slow smile spreading over his arrogant face. “I take it you’re not the voice of authority when it came to your grandmother’s desires, then?”

  “I was trying to protect her. Surely, you can’t fault me for that.”

  “Sure I can. I can fault you for anything I like.”

  She looked hard at him. It was impossible to tell if he was teasing. Impossible to tell if he had the capacity to tease or if he was deadly serious down to his bones. “Which, in a nutshell is exactly why I couldn’t allow you to see her. You’re a strange man. A stranger, I mean. You also don’t seem very…sensitive.”

  “Do I not?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “No.”

  “Well, I shall endeavor to work on that during the walk from the garden to where your grandmother is waiting for me.”

  Her lips twitched, but
she wouldn’t allow them to stretch into a smile. “If you would be so kind as to do just that, it would be greatly appreciated.”

  “I live to serve.”

  She had no doubt he did not.

  She led the way from the palace gardens back through to the estate; as they walked through the halls she kept her eyes on his face, trying to suss out exactly what he was thinking. His expression was neutral, and he wasn’t nearly as impressed as she felt like he should be. The halls of the Aceena estate were filled with beautiful, classic art. Paintings, vases, sculpture. Really, he should be quite impressed.

  She supposed that was the hazard with very rich men. It was hard to show them anything they hadn’t seen before.

  She had grown up in this luxury and she never took any of it for granted. There was always new beauty in the world to discover. It was why she loved art. Why she loved history. There were centuries of beauty stretching back as far as humanity had been in existence. And the future stretched before them, too. Limitless. Infinite in its possibilities. There was hardly a chance to get bored with anything.

  Gabriella didn’t see the point in jaded cynicism, though she knew some people found it a sign of intellectual superiority.

  She just found it sad.

  He was probably like her parents. Sensory seekers who were never satisfied with what was around them. Things had to be grand, loud, crowded. Otherwise, they could scarcely feel, could scarcely see.

  Gabriella on the other hand needed very little to be entertained. A nicely appointed room, a good book. A lovely piece of art.

  She appreciated small things. Quiet things.

  She felt very sorry for those who didn’t.

  “She’s in here,” Gabriella said, pausing at the doorway.

  He arched his brows. “Is she? What are you waiting for? Are you going to go in and announce me?”

  “Well, very likely I should. I’m very sorry, I know you gave your name to the staff member who greeted you, but I seem to have forgotten it.”