Jack, who was at least a foot taller than Beauford, could have killed his cousin with his bare hands on the spot, but the weasel had surrounded himself with a small army of mercenary bodyguards who promptly tossed Jack from the estate. Returning to London, Jack had become persona non grata among thebeau monde. He had been away so long that Beauford had had plenty of time to execute his nefarious scheme and perfect his vile lies—to the point that even Jack’s closest friends from Oxford had believed the deceit.
Wretched and alone, Jack had had no choice but to abandon England and seek out the one person who would never jump ship—his father’s sister, Lady Katherine Darling. He sought solace with Aunt Kitty, who’d long ago been tainted by her own scandal, and had fled society to a villa near Piombino, Italy. There, the eccentric butterfly who’d followed her heart, and paid the price, had established her new life. She’d turned the villa she’d inherited into an exclusive hotel where she welcomed well-heeled clientele who sought luxurious accommodations, the finest Italian cuisine, and a home-away-from-home atmosphere as they escaped the dreary, coal-sodden air of London. With only six luxury suites, the villa was always in demand.
Kitty had welcomed him with open arms and an open heart and told him he could stay with her for as long as he needed. Jack would be forever grateful to Aunt Kitty for giving him the time he needed to regroup and plan his strategy to reclaim his patrimony.
His long strides took him to the cliff’s edge where he’d first seen Gabriella. The storm had moved on, and rays of moonlight sparkled iridescently on the Gulf of Baratti. He peered over the edge and could see the tree that Gabriella had grabbed that grew out of the cliff face. It was more than miraculous that she hadn’t fallen to her death.
Gabriella.Even the curl of her name on his tongue created an inexplicable longing. He’d gotten off on the wrong foot with her, but he would amend the situation tomorrow and find out more about her. After all, he could be quite charming when he wanted to be, and he needed to be in this instance. Aside from wanting to find out who she was and what she was doing there, his desire for her was all-consuming, and he would know no peace until he buried himself inside her.
Chapter Four
Maremma, Italy
October 17, 1902
Gabriella opened hereyes. For a second, she thought she was safe at home in her own bed. But as she looked about the room, yesterday’s events returned to her. The room’s heavily carved bed and matching armoire and the brown, black, and gold colors reflected male ownership. The room was as dark and forbidding as the man who dwelt in it.
Jack, or Lord John Henry Langsford, or Earl of Whitton, or marquess—whatever, he was bad news! Arrogant. Entitled. Conceited.
And utterly irresistible. Which means I need to stay away from him.
She’d never met a man like him. Virile, confident to the point of arrogance, Jack radiated a powerful aura that captivated her. He was not a man to be trifled with. Truly they were like oil and water! But for some inexplicable reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Get a grip, Gaby! He saved your life and is a gorgeous hunk of a man, and that’s why you’re thinking about him.
She blew out a deep breath. She needed to stop thinking about Jack and start thinking about how she was going to get back home! Not just back to Chicago, but to the modern day and her beloved family.
Her life had been turned inside out when she was dragged back in time to 1902. She had no idea how she would ever find her way back. Could it be only two days ago that she’d been hanging out with Em and Jen as they stuffed themselves with lasagna, drank wine until they were tipsy, and giggled like teenagers who’d ditched school? She’d give anything to be able to return to her friends, her family, and the world she belonged in. But no amount of wishing would make it so.
She looked around the room, searching for anything that might spark a thought, idea, or reason for why she’d been brought here, and by whom. Well, she kind of knew by whom—the Renaissance painter Marco Allegretto and his red-headed muse and lover. That, alone, was mind-blowing. But what they’d wanted from her was even more inexplicable. Over and over, she’d heard them say the word:Devi aiutarci!As though only she had the power to help them. But help them with what? And why?Why me?
A silly giggle bubbled up inside her.Maybe I should look under the bed for a pair of ruby-red slippers!Then she could close her eyes and click her heels together while repeating,There’s no place like home.
Instead, she got out of the large bed, crept to the window, and pulled open the heavy, burgundy-colored velvet drapes. Blindingly bright sunlight poured into the room, and she blinked rapidly. The view was breathtaking. Well-tended lawns and gardens stretched to the bluff’s edge, which likely was where she’d nearly met her demise last night before…
Jack.
The man now held a primary place in her thoughts, which annoyed her. She sighed, relegating her thoughts of him to what she hoped were the farthest reaches of her mind. Titled men like him looked down on women like her. They used them and tossed them away.
Gaby sighed. Nothing was to be done; it was best to put her attraction to him under lock and key.
Beyond the lush, verdant landscaping, the bluest waters she’d ever seen met the distant horizon. The day was so clear that she could make out Elba’s sinuous curves and granite promontories. The largest island in the Tuscan archipelago lay between the Ligurian and the Tyrrhenian Seas. It held the distinction of being Napoleon’s last home.
At least she was back home. Well, her grandparents’ homeland, anyway. Even if it was the wrong century. Gaby had been to Italy several times, and the view reminded her of her last visit to the Tuscan coastline. She’d taken a ferry to Elba with her roommate and friend from cooking school. They had rented mopeds and ridden from Marina di Campo, from one end of the island to the other. They’d visited the Villa San Martino and Villa Dei Mulini in Portoferraio, where the deposed emperor Napoleon had lived in exile.
Gaby had been enchanted by the hearty islanders, the seafood cuisine, and the wines that had been locally produced since Roman times. She’d found out that those delicious wines were favored by Lorenzo de’ Medici during the Renaissance. At the time, she wished she could have stayed, maybe opened a cute little trattoria that served up Italian-American-international fusion dishes. But reality prevailed, and she’d returned to Chicago to work in her parents’ restaurant. Still, it had been an eye-opening trip that brought her closer to her Tuscan roots, and if she’dhadto turn up in some distant time and place, this was better than most. And bonus, she spoke fluent Italian. Although, given that Jack and Aunt Kitty were both English, communication wasn’t the most pressing issue.
Gaby opened the window and inhaled the sea breeze. Even though her past travels might help her navigate the situation she’d been thrust into, she took no comfort in that. She fretted it wouldn’t be enough. After all, what did she know about how to behave in the early twentieth century? It dawned on her that neither World War I nor World War II had been fought yet and that nearly everyone alive in 1902 would be affected by the coming conflagrations. She took it to heart, realizing that at least Jack would be too old to fight in the war to end all wars.
But not too old to be a commanding officer—
Okay, stop that!What was she thinking? His fate had nothing to do with her. But she couldn’t stop her stomach from churning at the thought of Jack being wounded or worse.
A gentle knock at the door interrupted her musings. Mrs. Livingstone poked her head in, and her smile calmed the nervous flutter of Gaby’s belly.
“Buongiorno,signorina, I hope your rest was pleasant. My mistress desires you to be properly attired, and I brought you a dress, shoes, and stockings. It is a glorious day, is it not?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Livingstone—paradise indeed. Let me help you.” Gaby hurried to Lady Katherine Darling’s lady’s maid and relieved her of the items that filled her arms. Mrs. Livingstone carried her short, diminutive body with grace and elegance and had a most delightful demeanor. She spoke highly of Lady Darling, keeping up a pleasant chatter about how she’d been her lady’s maid since Kitty was a young woman. The motherly, gray-haired woman had been most kind last night, tending Gabriella’s wound with care and making chamomile tea to help her sleep.
