Mrs. Livingstone puffed out a breath from her exertion. “Thank you. I will change your bandage and help you dress. Lady Darling also insists you should be treated as a guest and afforded deference and kindness. She is a grand lady with a heart of gold.”
“She is a most gracious lady indeed, unlike her nephew,” Gaby let slip, and then covered her mouth, mortified. But she couldn’t help but notice the differences between aunt and nephew.
Mrs. Livingstone gave a slight chuckle. “Do not fear; your comment shall never leave this room.”
“Thank you. I apologize for my rudeness.”
“It is true—the earl is a difficult man to figure out, to be sure, but the titled live by their own rules, and they are not for you or me to understand.”
“I didn’t mean to be critical,” Gaby added, but Mrs. Livingstone was correct. Even in the twentieth century, those blessed with a noble birth didn’t answer to the same powers as the rest of the common folk.
At least Lady Darling appeared to be of a different ilk. She was a woman who deserved admiration. Unlike her nephew, who displayed an arrogant demeanor and a short temper, she seemed thoughtful and generous. Yet, for an instant last night, Gaby had spied a glimmer of something more hidden beneath the carapace that enclosed Jack, but it was so fleeting that she now doubted she’d even seen it. It was probably the fact that she’d been exhausted and in pain. Not to mention her attraction to the moody man. Why she found his bad-boy persona magnetizing, she had no idea.
She’d never been the type of woman who was attracted to “bad boys” or “rich boys”—or “gorgeous boys,” for that matter. Her awkward years as a chubby teen with lousy skin had seen to that. Working in the restaurant, she was always back of the house, in the kitchen. Rarely did she mingle with the patrons.
And that was how she liked it. She’d always preferred being in the background. Her dating life had been rather dismal, with only one significant relationship that went on for too many years, probably because he wasn’t around a lot. Ian was a sommelier and wine salesman. She should have known that a man who lived on the road was seeing other women. For Ian, “a girl in every port” or in his case “a girl in every glass of port” had proven apropos. In the end, Ian dumped her for a so-called celebrity chef.
It wasn’t until Gaby met Jen and Em, both gorgeous and confident, that her own confidence was boosted a bit. Still, it was hard to undo a lifetime of low self-esteem. She’d studied hospitality in university, and, still suffering from the Ian experience, had taken a big chance and enrolled at the Florence Culinary Arts School. That had been a stroke of genius and honed her true chef talent.
Now she was back in Tuscany—granted, a hundred years earlier than the last time she’d been here. But of all things, to be attracted to a man who, even if her attraction was reciprocated, would likely break her heart even worse than Ian? That would be a disaster.
She considered her weakness a defect and something she needed to remedy. Yes, Jack was handsome and had a body like an Adonis, but he was moody, irritable, and not very nice! The last thing she wanted was to be involved with a man like that!
What am I thinking? I have no idea how I got here and no idea how long I’ll be staying. My primary goal should be figuring out how to get the heck out of Dodge, not mooning over that arrogant, conceited oaf!
She had always hoped for a warm and passionate man who worshipped her like Marco Allegretto worshipped his muse Iris inThe Three Stages of Love. Her parents, whom she missed terribly—and she fretted she might never see again—had tried to fix her up with a nice Italian boy, but she hadn’t liked him at all. Pat was just another spoiled son of an over-doting Italian mama that thought he was God’s gift to womanhood. Nope, that had not gone well.
Mrs. Livingstone helped her with her ablutions and assisted her with the gown Kitty had chosen. When Gaby saw the s-bend corset that the older woman held up for her, she backed away, shaking her head. “Oh, no, that’s out of the question. I don’t think I can survive wearing that straitjacket.”
“But, miss, it would be unseemly to do otherwise, and it looks far more forbidding than it really is. You will not feel restricted. In fact, given your comely curves, it will only enhance your lovely figure.”
Gaby’s arched brow expressed her suspicions that Mrs. Livingstone was probably saying whatever it took to get her into the torture contraption. She was being sold a bill of goods, and it brought to mind the story of the infamous swindler who’d coined the phraseif you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you. The Brooklyn Bridge, that is.
“Please, I promise you will be comfortable.”
“But what of my wound?” The wound did not hurt her, but perhaps it would dissuade Mrs. Livingstone from placing her in a boned cage.
“We will not lace it too tight.”
Gaby sighed, realizing that she should graciously comply rather than argue with the woman, who was simply following her mistress’s directions. She held up her arms, allowing the lady’s maid to do her worst.
Turning before the mirror, Gaby couldn’t quite believe her transformation. The outfit was simple, a blouse of white voile with a ruffle and a dark navy skirt that hugged her hips and thighs before flaring to the ground in a ruffled flounce. Mrs. Livingstone was correct—she’d never felt so attractive. The outfit complemented her figure by accenting her narrow waist and boosting her full bosom. She felt utterly feminine without the overt sexuality intended by the styles of the modern world she’d come from. With Gaby’s thanks and a profuse apology, Mrs. Livingstone left the room smiling.
The lady’s maid had suggested that Gaby head down to the dining room, where breakfast was served. She also indicated that Gaby might like to eat in the garden, given the lovely day. As Mrs. Livingstone had explained, several guests were arriving today, and the household staff would be busy preparing. Lady Darling had instructed that Gaby should make herself at home and enjoy herself like any other guest at the villa.
Given what she’d been through in the past twenty-four hours, Gaby thanked her lucky stars for ending up where she had. Lady Darling was beyond kind, even if her nephew wasn’t. And now that Gaby was here, she had to make the best of it. At least she could recuperate in these lovely surroundings while she figured out what to do next.
After a last look in the mirror, Gaby stepped into the hallway. Her ears perked as she heard music emanating from somewhere in the house. The rapturous melody was so beguiling that she felt compelled to find out where it was coming from. Following the notes as if following a scent, she descended the stairway.
The beautiful sound of piano and cello echoed through the house and led her to a pair of double doors. She hesitated a minute, afraid to interrupt—but, unable to contain her curiosity, she quietly opened the door. Lady Darling was at the piano, her brow damp from exertion, her fingers flying across the keyboard with dexterity and ease. Before her, seated on a chair facing the piano at a three-quarter angle, was Jack, his imposing figure deep in concentration. His back muscles strained beneath his white shirt, and Gaby found herself mesmerized.
Lady Darling darted her eyes to Gaby for a second, a hint of a smile tilting her lips, and then, with not a word, she returned her gaze to the sheet music and continued to play. Jack, intent on the complexity of what he was playing, seemingly had no idea Gaby was there. His broad shoulders swayed with his efforts as his bow caressed the strings. His long fingers were powerful yet delicate as he coaxed the most miraculous notes from the instrument. She tried not to imagine what it would feel like to feel those fingers dancing on her skin. The music had a dark, spellbinding power, yet with a poignancy that was enough to elicit tears. Even with her limited knowledge of classical music, Gaby sensed the musical storytelling that captured her senses was of the highest order.
She held her breath as the two instruments blended harmoniously. First, the piano took the lead while the cello offered support in a melodious flow, then the piano yielded to the cello, whose sonorous tones were so beautiful, they took her breath away. It seemed incongruous to her that the imposing man, within whose arms the cello rested, could play with such delicacy and emotion. Given his stature, the cello seemed but a toy.
His hair.Gaby could finally see its color now that it wasn’t wet and plastered to his head. The long locks that caught the light from the window reminded her of rays of sunlight. Caught in a golden nimbus, they only enhanced his masculine beauty as he poured his heart and soul into the music.
Lady Darling and her nephew were accomplished musicians, and their perfect synergy could only come from years of playing together. It was apparent they both shared a deep passion for music, and Gaby found herself quite taken aback by how she had misread him. Anyone who could play so beautifully and be so emotionally connected to the music couldn’t be all that bad.
