Florence, Italy,
May 1846
Louisa opened thedouble windows with a dramatic flourish, flooding the room with the sound of church bells, their ancient cacophony summoning people to worship. A mild breeze intruded as well, rippling the ivory silk of her peignoir and molding it to her body.
“Oh, Max, it’s such a beautiful morning,” she announced, with equal flourish. “Come and see.”
He slid from the bed and went to her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. “What a bloody racket,” he said, adhering his body to hers.
“It is loud, but also magnificent.” She heaved a sigh. “It makes me want to cry.”
“It does stir the soul, I must admit.” Maxwell inhaled deeply, absorbing the pleasant and not-so-pleasant smells of the city. Above, a flock of pigeons wheeled through the air before settling on the roof across the way. It appeared to be their regular roost, judging by the unsightly evidence caking the terracotta roof-tiles. Below, the paved streets were quieter than usual. This being Sunday, the shops and cafes were closed, windows and doors shuttered.
They had arrived in Florence the night before, planning to spend several days in the city before beginning their three-weekjourney back to England. Thus far, they had completed almost six weeks of travel through France and Italy, mostly by coach, though utilizing the train where available.
The lengthy trip had taken some planning and had been a surprise for Louisa. Maxwell had handed her the itinerary at midnight on Christmas Eve, when they’d been sat by the fire doing nothing more than enjoying each other’s company. “Merry Christmas, my love,” he’d said, and was all but knocked flat moments later as she’d hurled herself into his arms with a squeal of delight.
Finlay had been left in charge of Harlow Industries and, so far, Maxwell had managed to contain his apprehension about abandoning his empire for so long. After all, Finlay had proven himself more than capable of handling things. At least, that’s what Maxwell kept telling himself.
Besides, Louisa’s happiness and well-being had become his priority. Over the past year, the lass had endured one emotional upheaval after another. He also knew, though she had mentioned it only the once, that she longed for a child. Perhaps this journey, with all its wonderful distractions, would provide the perfect environment for conception to take place. In any case, he’d been left in no doubt about her enjoyment up till now. Her on-going enthusiasm was infectious.
“You look incredibly beautiful this morning.” He trailed a few kisses across her shoulder. “I especially like what the breeze is doing to this flimsy thing you’re wearing. Very arousing.”
She wriggled against the tell-tale evidence. “Mmm, so it seems.”
“Give me strength,” he muttered, his hands moving up to cup her breasts.
“Maxwell, I’m not sure groping me in full view of passers-by is proper. Especially since they’re likely on their way to church.”
“Then close the window and come back to bed.”
“You’re insatiable.”
“Yes, I am. Bed. Now.”
She laughed, and did as bidden.
A while later, utterly sated, he flopped back on his pillow, one arm behind his head, the other cradling Louisa against him.
“I’ve been trying to figure out when it happened,” he said, “and I think I might have narrowed it down.”
“When what happened?”
“When I first fell in love with you.”
“Ah.” She snuggled closer and trailed a fingertip down his breastbone. “It was when you were away and I had my accident, wasn’t it? That’s when you first told me, at least.”
“Aye, but I think it might have happened before that.”
“You’re not sure? I know the exact moment I fell in love with you.”
“And when was that?”
“You first.”
“No, ladies first.”
“All right. It was the night of Lady Richmond’s party, when we were dancing. You asked me if I was enjoying the season, and I told you I wasn’t. Your fingers, at that moment, squeezed mine. And that’s when I fell in love with you.”
