“Major, you promised! You said?—”
Jamie threw the door open. The woman stumbled against him. Soft curves pressed against his entire length and jarred his sluggish body awake.
I’m not dead yet!The thought improved his mood considerably. He produced his cheekiest grin and made no effort to remove her soft body from his person.
“What did I promise, exactly?” he asked, staring down into a delicately sculpted face, inches from his. He liked the feel of her.She’s hiding her best parts under all that English wool. Doesn’t the foolish woman know she is in Rome?
The chit pushed herself away, slipped under his guard, entered the room, and frowned in distaste.No schoolroom miss, this one.
In daylight, she looked more like a wren than a raven. Dressed in sensible brown, she radiated bright, searching eyes and flowing energy.Too damned much energy for so early in the morning.Her eyes darted over the bottles, scattered clothing, and the dirty dishes on his broken chair.
“You said that you…”
She stopped abruptly and gaped.
He glanced down.
“Luckily, I fell asleep in my shirt,” he said, lips twitching. “I’m sure I can locate my trousers and smallclothes, if you’ll give me a moment.”
For an instant, blue sparks flared in her eyes, which were rimmed by thick honey-gold lashes. Just as fast, she turned her back.
“Quickly, please.” She spoke toward the window. He wondered what color she would turn if she knew how well she showed off her derrière when she pulled her frock tightly to one side with white-knuckled fury.
“What exactly did I promise that has brought you running, fleet of foot, to my quarters thismorning?” he asked.
He moved with deliberate slowness around the room, picking up clothing discarded the night before and searching his brain for promises discarded just as easily.
“You agreed to speak with the nuns, to interpret for me,” the woman said.
That was it. The wren needs an interpreter, needs one so badly that she let some excitable waiter drag her into a seedy tavern she had no business entering to meet an English “gentleman.” More fool she.
“I should not be surprised you don’t remember. You were much the worse for drink last night,” she complained.
She has me there.
“You’re acquainted with the effects of drink?” he asked.Intriguing.
“More than I wish. My husband—oh, do hurry up!” She stomped her foot and, much to his regret, let go of her skirts.
Husband? Pity,he thought.Inevitable though.
“Are you ready?” she demanded.
“You might wait until I’m finished with my trousers. Your husband will?—”
“Do nothing!” She sounded furious.
“I beg your pardon?” He buttoned the fall of his trousers.
“My husband will do nothing. He died three years ago.”
“Ah, then there is no one to be concerned about your presence in a man’s room in a foreign city in which you speak not a word of the native language. What’s the hurry?”
“The hurry, Major,” she almost spat out his rank, “is that I am only permitted to visit Isabella during very strictly set hours.”
“Isabella?”
“My niece!”
