Chapter31
A Discussion with a Valet
Meanwhile...
Patrick McAdams stood still as his valet undid the knot of his cravat and wondered if Giovanni would realize it wasn’t finished exactly the same as when he had tied it earlier that morning.
When he had finally left Armenia’s bed late that afternoon, it had taken some time for him to dress himself.Despite his post-coital euphoria, his limbs had felt rubbery, his movements made as if in slow motion.
Apparently Armenia had noticed, for she had seen to wrapping the length of silk around his neck, careful to pleat the fabric the same as it had been before she had stripped it away.However, Patrick hadn’t paid any mind to the finishing knot she used.
That moment when she stood before him, dressed only in a silk robe, the fabric hugging her luscious curves, her hair completely free of its pins, and her face still flushed from their last round of lovemaking, had reminded him of Signora Ricci’s assessment of Armenia D’Avalos.
Whore.
Hiding his wince from Armenia’s brown-eyed gaze had been difficult.Pulling her into his arms and kissing her with one last open-mouthed kiss had only made him wonder once again as to why Signora Ricci would make such a claim.
What did the woman know?
To his credit, Giovanni didn’t comment on the cravat, but from his furrowed brow, Patrick knew the young man had noticed it was different from how he had knotted it that morning.
“How long has your mother been a widow?”Patrick asked, curious as to how Giovanni would respond.
The valet pulled the silk cloth from around his neck.“My father died five… six years ago,signore.”
“I am sorry for your loss.What did he do for his living?”Patrick asked, pulling his shirt over his head.Rather than tossing the garment onto the bed, he gave it to the valet.
Giovanni froze, his eyes downcast.“Nothing.”
Patrick gave a start.“Was he… unable to work?”He couldn’t think of another word to describe someone too injured or addled to perform labor.
“I do not know,” he replied.“We did not live with him.”He busied himself with folding the cravat and shirt.
Nodding, Patrick moved to the bed and sat down on the edge of it.“But you knew who he was?”
Giovanni dipped his head.“Sì.”
“Did he know you?”He visibly winced asking the question—he knew it was far too personal, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if the manservant refused to answer.
A shrug preceded the servant’s response.“I do not think so.”
Patrick swallowed as Giovanni pulled the boots from his feet.“I apologize.I did not mean to pry,” he murmured.“But I do like to know more about those I employ.”
Giovanni lifted a shoulder as if he didn’t mind the questions.“May I ask you a question,signore?”He set aside the boots and went to work on removing Patrick’s stockings.
“Of course.”Patrick steeled himself in anticipation of an uncomfortable query.
“Do you have a son?”
Patrick nearly chuckled.“I do.He lives in Boston and runs our office there,” he replied.
“Does he live with his mother?”
Shaking his head, Patrick said, “We both did until she died last year, and I have not remarried.”Yet, he almost added.
“So… he...heknowsyou?”
Patrick gave a start and briefly wondered if he misunderstood Giovanni’s English.“He does.My move to Rome has meant this is the first time we have not lived under the same roof since his birth.”
