Alessia is lost. She’s trying to find a way out. On tiptoe, she walks past door after door, painting after painting, along yet another wood-paneled corridor, until she eventually reaches a pair of double doors. She pushes through and finds herself at the top of a grand, wide staircase carpeted in scarlet and blue, which leads to a cavernous dark hallway below. On the landing there’s a mullioned bay window, beside which stand two suits of armor holding what look like pikes. On the wall over the staircase is a massive faded tapestry, bigger than the kitchen table she saw earlier, that depicts a man on bended knee to his sovereign. Well, Alessia assumes he must be the sovereign, judging by the crown he’s wearing. On the opposing walls above the staircase, there are two portraits. Huge. Both men. One is from an ancient time, the other far more recent. She sees the family resemblance in their faces and has a flash of recognition. They each stare at her with the same imperious green eyes. His green eyes.

This is Maxim’s family. His heritage. She finds it almost impossible to grasp.

But then her gaze falls on the carved twin-headed eagles that sit on the newel posts at the top, the turns, and the bottom of the staircase.

The symbol of Albania.

Suddenly she hears him shout out her name. It startles her.

No.

He’s back.

He shouts again. He sounds panicked. Desperate. Alessia freezes at the top of the impressive staircase, staring at the history that surrounds her. She’s torn. From far off beneath her, a clock with a booming chime signals the hour, making her jump. Once, twice, three times…

“Alessia!” Maxim calls again, nearer this time, and she can hear his footsteps. He’s running—running toward her.

The clock is still chiming. Loud and clear.

What should she do?

She grips the ornate eagle at the corner of the staircase as Maxim and the two dogs burst through the double doors. He stops when he sees her. His eyes sweep from her face to her feet, and he frowns.

* * *

I’ve found her. But my relief is tempered by her aloof yet inscrutable expression and the fact that she’s wearing her old clothes and carrying a sweater and a blanket.

Shit. This does not look good.

Her stance reminds me of the first time I encountered her in my hallway, all those weeks ago. She’s clutching the newel post like she clutched that broom. My senses are on high alert.

Tread warily, dude.

“There you are. Where are you going?” I ask.

She tosses her hair over her shoulder with that careless grace she has and tilts her chin in my direction. “I’m leaving.”

No! It’s like she’s kicked me in the stomach.

“What? Why?”

“You know why.” She sounds haughty, her expression etched with righteous indignation.

“Alessia. I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

“But you did not.”

I can’t argue with that. I stare at her while the hurt in her dark eyes burns a hole in my conscience.

“I understand.” She lifts one of her shoulders. “I am only your cleaner.”

“No. No. No!” I stalk toward her. “That’s not the reason.”

“Sir. Is everything okay?” Danny’s voice echoes off the stone walls and up the staircase from beneath us. I lean over the balustrade, and she appears with Jessie and Brody, one of the estate hands, in the hallway below. The three of them gape up at us openmouthed, like curious carp from the fish pond.

“Go. Now. All of you. Go!” I wave them away. Danny and Jessie exchange anxious glances, but they scatter.

Thank fuck.

I turn my attention back to Alessia. “This is why I didn’t bring you here. There are just too many people in this house.”

She tears her gaze away from me, her brow furrowed, her mouth a tight line.

“This morning I had breakfast with nine staff, and that was just the first sitting. I didn’t want to intimidate you with all…this.” I wave at the portraits of my father and the first earl while she traces the intricate carvings on the eagle with one finger. She remains mute.

“And I wanted you to myself,” I whisper.

A tear slides down her cheek.

Fuck.

“Do you know what he said?” she whispers.

“Who?”

“Ylli.”

One of those fucking intruders at the Hideout. “No.” Where is she going with this?

“He said that I am your concubine.” Her voice is hushed, full of shame.

No!

“That’s…absurd. It’s the twenty-first century….” It takes all my self-restraint not to pull her into my arms, but I inch closer, so close that the warmth from her body seeps into mine. Somehow I manage not to touch her. “I would say that you’re my girlfriend. That’s what we say here. Though I don’t want to presume. We’ve not discussed our relationship, as this has all happened so quickly. But that’s what I want to call you. Girlfriend. My girlfriend. Which means that we are together in a relationship. But that’s only if you’ll have me.”

Her eyelashes flutter over her dark, dark eyes, but she gives nothing away.

Shit.

“You’re a bright, talented woman, Alessia. And you’re free. Free to make your own choices.”

“But I’m not.”

“You are here. I know you’re from a different culture, and I know we’re not economic equals, but that’s just an accident of birth….We are equals in every other way. I’ve fucked up. I should have told you, and I’m sorry, deeply sorry. But I don’t want you to go, I want you to stay. Please.”

Her fathomless eyes strip me bare as she studies my face, and then she turns her attention to the carved eagle.

Why is she avoiding me? What is she thinking?

Is it the trauma she’s just been through?

Or is it because those fuckers are out of the picture, so she no longer needs me?

Shit. Maybe that’s the reason.

“Look, I can’t keep you here if you want to leave. Magda is moving to Canada. So where you’ll go, I don’t know. If nothing else, stay until you know where. But please don’t go. Stay. With me.”

She can’t run…she can’t.

Forgive me! Please.

I hold my breath. Waiting.

It’s excruciating. I’m the defendant in the dock waiting for the verdict.

She turns her tearstained face to me. “You are not ashamed of me?”

Ashamed? No!

I can bear it no longer. I skim the back of my index finger across her cheek, capturing a tear. “No. No. Of course not. I…I…I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Her lips part, and I hear her just-audible gasp.

Shit. Am I too late?

Her eyes glisten with fresh tears, and my heart clenches with a new and intimidating sensation. Perhaps she’ll reject me. My anxiety level ratchets up several notches, and I’ve never felt as vulnerable as I do now.

What’s the verdict, Alessia?

I open my arms, and she looks from my hands to my face. Her expression uncertain. It’s killing me. She bites her lower lip and takes one small hesitant step, and she’s in my embrace. I wrap my arms around her and press her to my chest. I never want to let her go. Closing my eyes, I bury my nose in her hair and inhale her sweet scent. “My love,” I whisper.

She shudders and starts to sob.

“I know. I know. I’ve got you. You’ve had a terrible fright. I’m sorry I left you on your own. It was a stupid thing to do. Forgive me. But those arseholes are in police custody. They’re gone. They won’t harm you again. I’ve got you.” Her arms slide around me, and she grabs my coat at the back. She holds me as she weeps.

“I should have told you, Alessia. I’m sorry.”

We stand for seconds, minutes, I don’t know. Jensen and Healey give up on us and wander down the stairs.

“You can cry on me anytime,” I tease. She sniffles, and I tip her chin up and stare down into beautiful, red-rimmed eyes. “I thought…oh, God, I thought if they got their hands on you…I’d never see you again.”

Swallowing, she gives me a weak smile.

“And you must know,” I continue, “I’d be honored to call you mine. I need you.” And loosening my hold, I gently caress her face, avoiding the slight red mark on her right cheek. The sight of her bruise fills me with anger, but, taking great care not to touch it, I smooth away her tears with my thumbs. She places her hand on my chest. Through my shirt I feel the warmth. It spreads. Everywhere.

Alessia clears her throat. “I was so scared. I thought I’d never see you again. But my biggest…um, sorrow…um, regret,” she whispers, “was that…was that I never told you that I love you.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Joy bursts like a million fireworks within me from head to foot. Its intensity leaves me breathless. I can’t quite believe it. “You do?”

“Yes,” Alessia whispers with a timid smile.

“Since when?”

She pauses and lifts a shoulder in a coy shrug. “Since you gave me the umbrella.”

I beam at her. “I felt so good about that. Your wet footprints were all over my hall. So…are you saying you’ll stay?”

“Yes.”

“Here?”