From the corner of her eye, Gaby saw the baroness lay a claw-like hand on Stefano’s sleeve, and her long, tapered nails dug into his arm as though to emphasize her words. “I want you to seriously consider what I have to say. Whatever Madam Shipley has offered you for the Allegretto is nothing compared to what I would offer you.”
“But Donatella, that would be dishonorable of me. Constance has placed her trust in me as a client and a dear friend of many years. That is not how I do business.”
“Then you had better change the way you do business,” she hissed. “Heed my words, dear Stefano. You have no idea of the power I wield, nor what I can do for you…or against you.”
Stefano let out a soft chuckle that was threaded with anger. “Are you threatening me, baroness?”
“Of course not, signore.” She shrugged. “I am merely a woman who is passionate about getting what I want.” She leaned toward him, pressing her breasts against his arm. “Come to my room tonight,” she purred in his ear, “so we can discuss this further. I am sure we can come to a satisfying arrangement that will benefit both of us.”
Gaby could not believe what she was hearing from the baroness. The woman had presented herself as rather cool and aloof, and here she was turning into a femme fatale. Gaby liked Madam Shipley and assumed that her feelings went deeper than friendship for Stefano. She’d noticed the smiles exchanged across the table by the American heiress and the art dealer. Would Stefano give in to the baroness’s wily, seductive ways, or would he remain true to his dear friend and client?
She wished she could talk to Jack about this. She was certain he’d shown Stefano the painting. It worried her that the painting was hanging in his room, and anyone could steal it. She didn’t trust the baroness, not one bit, and suspected the unlikeable Donatella might be the evil contessa Emily had told her about, a sorceress capable of taking on the identity of another.
She needed to speak with Em, Jen, and Iris, who was here under the guise of Constance’s companion, Blossom. They needed to figure out what they were going to do. The fact that the baroness was keen on acquiring the Allegretto was a new wrinkle in their plans.
Gaby watched Em and Jen with their husbands, their teasing banter, and their loving looks. Both thoroughly modern women, Emily and Jen had not only adapted to living in the past but were thriving. Neither seemed to miss the modern world or its conveniences.
Gaby herself had embraced cooking in this era. Yes, she missed her stand mixer, her food processor, and all the other fun and helpful kitchen gadgets that she loved. Then again, her grandmother and mother had also taught her to do pretty much everything by hand. She didn’t think she’d have a problem adjusting as a chef.
No, the only problem with staying would be Jack. Unlike her friends, there would be no happy ending for her with the man she loved. Jack would propose to Cynthia, and that would be that. If she and the gals could get the painting to Iris soon, she could head home and wouldn’t have to be around to witness Jack and Cynthia’s betrothal announcement. Her heart wrenched at the thought of leaving Jack forever, but she couldn’t bear the idea of staying, knowing he would be marrying Cynthia in a matter of months.
Gaby’s musings were interrupted when Blossom stood and made an announcement. “You will excuse and forgive me, but a migraine has come upon me, and it would be best if I retire early. Thank you, Lady Darling and Lord Langsford, for a delightful evening. I bid you good evening.” Without waiting for a reply, Blossom whisked past Antonio, who was stationed at the doorway.
“Oh my,” said Aunt Kitty to Constance. “I do hope she will be all right.”
“She will be fine,” Constance replied. “She has a migraine powder, which is quite effective against the demonic pain that attacks her. Blossom is very sensitive.”
“Very well, let us begin,” Aunt Kitty said. She sat at the piano and turned to Jack. “Ready?
“Ready,” Jack replied, holding his bow poised on the cello strings.
His eyes met Gaby’s as he began to play. The music was so achingly beautiful that she had to blink back tears. Oh, how she wished things could be different between them. How she wished they could have their own happy ending…
*
Iris tiptoed downthe hall toward Lord Langsford’s bedroom. Since learning from Emily that the painting had been found and was hanging in Jack’s room, she’d waited for a moment when everyone would be occupied, and she might sneak upstairs and see the painting for herself. The evening’s entertainment was her best chance, and she made her escape without arousing any suspicions—at least, she hoped no one was the wiser.
The hallway was empty, and she slowed as she approached Lord Langsford’s door. Glancing up and down the hall, she held her breath and listened for footsteps.
Iris tried the knob, but it was locked. She pulled a hairpin from her hair, slipped it into the locking mechanism, and, with a few twists and turns, jimmied the lock. The knob turned, giving her entry. She’d learned many survival skills during her years as a time traveler, including a few that were against the law.All for a good cause.
Iris slipped into the room without a sound and closed the door.
When she turned around, her breath caught in her throat. It had been some time since she’d seenIl Leto, and her knees almost buckled. Her senses were flooded with memories of the first time she’d seen the finished painting.
She’d been writing at her desk when she felt Marco’s hands on her shoulders. His strong, elegant fingers kneaded her muscles, and she’d sighed with pleasure, her head falling back against him. Never one to miss the opportunity of expressing his love for her, he’d bent to kiss her neck and then worked his way up to nibble her earlobe. His warm breath had aroused her, and she knew the kiss was but a prelude, and they would find themselves making love beneath cool linen sheets. It did not matter that she was intensely occupied with her writing. There had never been a moment when she ever thought to refuse him. The fear that she’d be sucked away by time and disappear to another era had always been with her. She never took the miracle of their love for granted.
His warm breath in her ear brought shivers and goosebumps. But to her surprise, his intention was not an afternoon tryst. “Vieni, tesoro mio, I want to show you something.”
He kissed the back of her hand and helped her up before leading her through the villa to his studio. She could feel his excitement pass like an electric current from his hand to hers.
Marco’s studio held at least a dozen easels with paintings in various stages of completion. On his worktable was a pestle and mortar for grinding minerals such as azurite and malachite, as well as various plants such as saffron and Brazil wood, which he mixed with walnut or linseed oil. The afternoon light poured in from the windows, filling the room with a golden glow. Iris guessed Marco had waited for this magical moment to reveal to her the painting he’d been laboring over.
When he pulled back the cloth, she was so overwhelmed by what she saw that she couldn’t speak. Struggling to compose herself, she’d stared in awed silence, taking in the dramatic play of light and shadow across the canvas. Then, with more serious intent, she’d focused on the technical skills and mastery of his art. Finally, she’d simply let the beauty of the painting soak into her mind and soul.
You do not overthink a masterpiece,she’d told herself.You simply let it speak its truth.
Now, standing before the painting once more, she realized she’d nearly forgotten how powerful it was. She closed her eyes, and a tide of emotion washed over her as she remembered the tremor of his voice when he asked,“What do you think,tesoro mio?”His tone had been hesitant, as if he were worried that she might disapprove or find the painting wanting.
