“A squatter with a pet rodent? You will have a child of your own soon. You would be better served to concern yourself with your future son.” His tone was cool, but his fingers had tightened on hers as he spoke.
Though something inside her melted at the mention of a child of her own, she was not about to give up her fight for Olly. There was something about the lad that tugged at her heart. “Surely you would not be so unfeeling as to send away a child in desperate need of a home.”
“I do not trust the little beggar.” Her husband’s tone was grim.
“Let it be my worry, not yours.”
“Enough talk of the scamp for tonight,” he bit out, leading her through a cove of trees and into a clearing.
Before them, the Temple of Artemis loomed larger than it had appeared from a distance, imposing in its grandeur. Breathtaking really, but not as breathtaking as the man holding her hand. The man whose jacket was draped over her shoulders.
Her husband.
“It is beautiful, Alessandro,” she said in awe.
Even through the darkness, she could discern the attention to detail. Corinthian columns, exquisitely carved statues, the entire temple rounded with a domed roof. She had never seen the like.
“I have not been within it since our arrival,” he said. “Judging from Marchmont, the interior may well be ruined.”
The most beautiful exterior could hide a damaged interior.
Alessandro was living proof of that.
“If it is, we will restore it to its former glory,” she told him, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze.
She was talking about far more than the temple. But she held her tongue as they made their way to the entrance. In the spell of the moonlight, the temple was even more beautiful at such proximity. They stopped before a closed door flanked with statues on either side. In the ethereal glow, she could see enough details to discern one was Apollo and the other was Artemis.
“Wait here for me,” he said as the door swung open. “I will see if there are candles within, or if thatbastardohas robbed them as well.”
She did as he asked, remaining on the threshold. Moonbeams cut through the darkness of the interior, casting circular patterns of light on the stone floor. A series of windows lined the domed roof, allowing the illumination.
Alessandro’s shadowy figure was at the far end of the room. The familiar sound of him striking a flame echoed, and then, one by one, he lit the candles in a candelabra. Warm light glowed, flickering through the cavernous temple. But she only had eyes for her husband. He was handsome, so very handsome. The intensity in his gaze stole her breath.
He extended a hand to her. “You may enter,querida. Watch your step over the threshold.”
She moved inside, as inescapably drawn to him as ever. The interior of the building was circular, studded with alcoves bearing statuary. The effect of the moonbeams, the soft candle light, and the Greek gods and goddesses standing as silent sentinels, Alessandro in the middle of it all, was nothing short of magical. She placed her hand in his.
As always, the touch of his bare skin upon hers sent a jolt of desire straight through her. He emanated heat. His dark eyes devoured her.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” she said softly.
“When I was a lad, I would hide from my nurse here. It was one of my favorite places. The view of the lake is unparalleled.”
The notion of a young Alessandro touched her heart. “Why did you hide from your nurse?” She wanted to know.
“She was a miserable crone,” he said. “Chosen for me by the earl. She refused to allow me to speaken español, which was my mother’s preferred tongue. If I did not speak English, she rapped my knuckles with a wooden rod.”
Her fingers tightened over his, and the protective urge to hunt down his horrid nurse and break a wooden rod over her head could not be stymied. “How awful, Alessandro. Why would your father employ such a creature?”
“He was looking after the best interest of the earldom.” He flashed her a self-deprecating smile. “He was taken with my mother’s beauty, but he had always hoped his son would be born pale-skinned and fair-haired. I had my mother’s dark skin, hair, and eyes. He reasoned if he could not change the way I looked, he could at least control the rest.”
“I am sorry.” How awful it must have been for him not to be accepted as he was by his own father. Little wonder he had fled England. “I cannot believe he would allow that wretched woman to abuse you.”
“It was a long time ago now,querida.” He placed the candelabra on a ledge, at the base of a statue of Zeus. “I am a far cry from the helpless lad who needed to seek concealment here.”
Of course he was. He was all male, undeniably. Tall and strong, lean and harsh, masculine and muscled. But that did not mean he did not still bear the scars of his past. She could not shake the feeling that slowly, bit by bit, she was beginning to understand the man she had married.
There was nothing helpless about him now, and yet she still saw the boy he must have been. She stepped closer to him. “Alessandro—”
