“I’ll tell you when I see you. Please.”

She sniffs, and I know she’s crying.

Fuck.

“Caro. Please.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. As soon as I’m back. I’ll come see you.”

“Okay.”

“Bye for now.” I hang up and ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. I have no idea how she’ll react to what’s been happening here.

Yes, I do. It’s going to get ugly.

I sigh once more. My life has been complicated beyond recognition by Alessia Demachi, but even as the thought pops into my head, I smile.

My love.

We could head back to London tomorrow. I can see for myself the damage done to my flat.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Danny enters. “Sir, Jessie’s prepared some lunch for you and Alessia. Where would you like us to serve it?”

“In the library. Thank you, Danny.” I think the formal dining room might be a little overwhelming just for the two of us, and the breakfast room is a little dull. She likes books, so…

“If it suits your lordship, we’ll be set up in five minutes.”

“Great.” I realize how hungry I am. A quick glance at the Georgian wall clock above the door tells me it’s two fifteen. Its steady tick reminds me of the times I waited in this office for the bollocking my father administered whenever I’d transgressed—which was often. Right now the clock says…way past lunchtime.

“Oh, Danny,” I call her back.

“My lord?”

“After lunch can you go to the Hideout and retrieve all our belongings and bring them here? Put everything in my room, including the dragon night-light that’s beside the bed.”

“Will do, sir.” With a nod she departs.

As I approach the bottom of the staircase, I hear the music. Alessia is deep into another complex piece—one I don’t know. Even down here it sounds amazing. I quickly head up the stairs and stand just inside the room watching her from afar. I think this composition is by Beethoven. I haven’t heard her play any of his work before. A sonata, maybe? The music is rousing and passionate one moment and then quieter and softer the next. Such a lyrical piece. And she plays it exquisitely. She should be filling concert halls.

The music spirals down to its close, and Alessia sits for a second, her head lowered, eyes closed. When she looks up, she’s surprised to see me.

“Another great performance. What was it?” I ask as I stroll across the floor toward her.

“It is Beethoven. ‘Tempest,’?” she says.

“I could watch and listen to you play all day. But lunch is served. Rather late. You must be hungry.”

“Yes. I am.” She jumps up off the stool and accepts my outstretched hand. “I love this piano. It has a rich…um…tone.”

“Tone. That’s the correct word.”

“You have so many instruments here. I only had the eyes for the piano at first.”

I grin. “Only had eyes for. No ‘the.’ You really don’t mind me correcting you?”

“No. I like to learn.”

“Cello is my sister Maryanne’s instrument. My father played the double bass. The guitars are mine. The drums over there were Kit’s.”

“Your brother’s?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“It is an unusual name.”

“Kit is short for Christopher. He was a demon on drums.” I stop by the crash cymbal and run my fingers over the polished bronze. “Kit. Drum kit. Get it?” I flash her a smile. Alessia gives me a puzzled look.

“We used to joke about it.” I shake my head, remembering Kit’s shenanigans on the drums. “Come on. I’m hungry.”

* * *

Maxim’s eyes gleam a brilliant green as he looks at her, but she can see from the tension across his forehead that his grief is still raw and he misses his brother.

“So that’s the music room,” he says as they leave and head back down the great staircase, stopping at the bottom. “The main drawing room is through those double doors, but today we’re having lunch in the library.”

“You have a library?” Alessia asks, excited.

He smiles. “Yes, we have a few books. Some of them are quite old.” They head back toward the kitchen, but Maxim stops outside one of the doors in the corridor. “I should warn you, my grandfather was keen on all things Egyptian.” He opens the door, standing aside for Alessia to enter. She pauses a few steps into the room. It’s like she’s entered another world—a treasure trove of literature and antiquities. On every available wall, there are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stuffed with books. At each corner is either a plinth or a cabinet holding treasures from Egypt: canopic jars, statues of pharaohs, sphinxes, a full-size sarcophagus!

A fire rages in the grate beneath an ornate marble fireplace that’s set between two tall but narrow windows overlooking a courtyard. Hanging above the mantelpiece is an old painting of the pyramids.

“Oh, boy, the staff have gone all out,” Maxim says, as if to himself. Alessia follows his gaze. Before the fire a small table covered in a fine linen cloth is elaborately set for two: silver cutlery, cut glasses, and delicate china plates decorated with small thistles. He holds out a chair for her. “Sit.” He nods at her seat. Alessia feels like the noblewoman Donika Kastrioti, the wife of Sk?nderbeu, Albania’s fifteenth-century hero. She gives him a gracious smile and sits down at the table facing the fire. Maxim sits at the head.

“As a young man in the early 1920s, my grandfather worked with Lord Carnarvon and Howard Carter, excavating various sites in Egypt and stealing all these antiquities. Maybe I should send them back.” He pauses. “Until very recently that was Kit’s dilemma.”

“You have so much history here.”

“Yes, we do. Rather too much of it, perhaps. It’s my family’s legacy.”

Alessia cannot imagine the responsibility of dealing with such a heritage.

There’s a knock at the door, and without waiting for an answer, Danny enters, followed by a young woman carrying a tray.

Maxim reaches for his linen napkin and drapes it on his lap. Watching him, Alessia follows suit. Danny takes two plates from the tray and serves each of them what looks like a salad with meat and avocado and pomegranate seeds.

“Pulled pork from one of the local farms, with a salad of fresh leaves, finished with a pomegranate jus,” Danny says.

“Thanks,” Maxim responds, and gives Danny a quizzical look.

“Would you like me to pour the wine, my lord?”

“I’ve got this. Thanks, Danny.”

She gives him a little nod and discreetly ushers the young woman out the door.

“A glass of wine?” Maxim picks up the bottle and studies the label. “It’s a good Chablis.”

“Yes. Please.” She watches as he half fills her glass. “I have never been…waitered on, except when I am with you.”

“Waited on,” he says. “While we’re here, you might as well get used to it.” He winks at her.

“You do not have staff in London.”

“No. Though that may have to change.” His brow furrows for a moment, and then he raises his glass. “To narrow escapes.”

She raises hers. “G?zuar, Maxim. My lord.”

He laughs. “I’m still not used to the title. Eat up. You’ve had a horrible morning.”

“I think the afternoon will be much better.”

Maxim’s look is heated—and Alessia smiles and takes a cautious sip of her wine.

“Mmm…” It is so much better than the wine she tasted with her grandmother.

“You like?” Maxim asks.

She nods and studies her cutlery. She has an array of knives and forks to choose from. Glancing at Maxim, she sees him smile and pick up the outermost knife and fork. “Always start from the outside and work inward with each course.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

After lunch we head outside. Alessia’s hand is warm in mine. The day is crisp and cold, and the sun is low in the sky as we walk together down the beech-lined avenue that leads to the front gates. Jensen and Healey scamper along behind, beside, and in front of us, grateful to be outdoors. After the trauma of this morning, I think we’re both enjoying this quiet and peaceful walk in the late-afternoon sunshine.

“Look!” Alessia exclaims as she points to the herd of fallow deer grazing on the horizon of the north pasture.

“We’ve had deer here for centuries.”

“The one we saw yesterday. It was from here?”

“No. I think it was wild.”

“The dogs do not bother them?”

“No. But we keep the dogs out of the south pasture near lambing time. We don’t want them worrying the sheep.”

“There are no goats here?”

“No. We’re more sheep and cattle people.”

“We are goat people.” She grins at me. Her nose is pink from the cold, but she’s bundled up in her coat, hat, and scarf. She looks adorable. And I find it hard to believe that she was the victim of an attempted kidnapping this morning.

My girl is stoic.

But there’s one thing that’s been bugging me. I have to know. “Why did you want to leave? Why didn’t you want to stay and have it out with me?” I hope she doesn’t hear the apprehension in my voice.

“Have it out with you?”

“Talk to me. Argue with me,” I explain.