Chapter 9
An Unwelcome Passenger
Meanwhile, in the courtyard of Palazzo D’Avalos
Armenia settled into the velvet squabs of her town coach and pulled her feet from the tight dance slippers, wiggling her toes as she allowed a sigh of relief.
Although she couldn’t help but feel pleased at the thought of her niece’s successful come-out—the appearance of Nicoletta’s new family had brought a combination of joy and curiosity to the evening—she also hoped she might be spared from having to be at all the fêtes her nephew had planned for his daughter to attend.
Watching handsome young men fawn over the girl was better left to a younger woman.
Other than the family dinner scheduled for the next night—Nicoletta planned to host Donald’s entire family as well as her own—Armenia had nothing else on her calendar for the following day.
With any luck, Edoardo would find a new wife, and Armenia would be relieved of her duty as a doting great aunt.
Or perhaps one of the young bucks at this evening’s ball would propose to Vittoria. The girl’s dance card had been filled with a number of names of young aristocrats.
The town coach jerked into motion, the wheels clattering on the cobbles as it turned to make the exit from the courtyard of Palazzo D’Avalos onto the street.
When it suddenly halted, nearly dislodging her from her seat, she glanced out the window nearest her.
She expected to see another coach trying to make its exit at the same time.
Instead, the door suddenly opened.
“Perdonatemi, mia donna.”
Armenia gasped as a man quickly stepped up and into the coach, settling onto the bench opposite her. A familiar scent accompanied him, but it did nothing for the immediate fright she experienced.
“Chi sei?” she asked in surprise. Who are you?
In the dark, she couldn’t make out his features.
The thought of trying to escape the coach was replaced with the need to remain where she was when it resumed its movement, the pair of horses neighing in complaint as the coachman urged them onto the street.
“Patrick McAdams, mia donna. We danced together earlier this evening,” he said, as if he thought that would be reason enough to invade her town coach.
“When I saw you didn’t have an escort, I thought it best I see to your safe arrival at your villa.
” Despite the dark, she was aware he had removed his top hat and placed it on the seat next to him before rubbing his gloved hands on the top of his thighs.
Blinking several times, Armenia resisted the urge to scoff. “Although I appreciate your concern, signore, I assure you, I am in no danger.” Her response sounded sharper than she intended.
Did she usually sound so annoyed when someone was attempting to help her?
Another thought had her rolling her eyes, if only for how ridiculous it seemed. She was far too old for the gentleman to have invaded her coach for another purpose.
Seduction.
A decade ago, it wouldn’t have been such a far-fetched thought.
Many a penniless aristocrat thought she would be amenable to hearing platitudes and invitations to their beds.
Now? She was sure she was old enough to be Patrick McAdams’ mother.
The thought of him attempting to bed her came and went in a flash. The effects of it lingered, though.
As did the scent of his cologne.
While most of the men who had attended that night’s ball wore scents featuring cloying florals and tangy spices, his was far more subdued. Hints of citrus and amber combined with his natural musk to make for a masculine cologne.
“Perhaps, but if I learned on the morrow your coach had been set upon by thieves or... or involved in an accident, I would not be able to forgive myself,” he claimed, interrupting her reverie.
Her heart rate returning to its normal rhythm, Armenia settled back into the squabs and regarded the American with narrowed eyes. “And after we have arrived at my villa, how do you expect to get to your lodgings this evening?” Once again, the query came out sounding harsher than she intended.
Despite the dim interior, she saw him wave a gloved hand in her direction. “My coach is following this one, mia donna,” he replied.
Armenia gave a start. How had she not noticed the clatter of another coach—directly behind her—on the otherwise empty streets?
The words reinforced what she had already concluded only the moment before, though. He had no intention of attempting seduction, which meant his reason for being in her coach was probably as he claimed.
To see to her safety.
She tamped down the sudden disappointment she experienced, curious as to why it hurt more than it should.
“Did you enjoy the ball, mia donna?”
Glancing out the window in an attempt to learn how much farther they had to go, Armenia blinked back a tear. “I did. I rather expect Vittoria will find herself a married woman before the autumn entertainments have concluded.”
“She certainly had the attention of many of the young men in attendance,” Patrick agreed. “I wished to thank you again for dancing with me. You dance beautifully.”
Armenia blinked again, fighting back the urge to sniffle. She extracted a handkerchief from her pocket and touched her nose. “The pleasure was mine,” she replied.
“I rather doubt that. I nearly crushed your foot,” he countered. “I suppose I didn’t need to mention it has been years since I last danced.” The comment held a hint of sadness—or perhaps it was regret.
“Did your meeting with my nephew gain the results you hoped for? I know that was your real reason for attending the ball, was it not?”
Despite the darkness, she could tell he was surprised by her query. “It was, although it wasn’t my only reason for attending.”
“Oh?”
“Uh, curiosity, I suppose. I wondered if the balls here were different from those I’ve attended in Boston.”
“And?” she prompted.
“This one was far more... more,” he said. “More glittery, if that is a word? More elegant? I certainly didn’t expect to see men wearing colors I would deem more appropriate for ballgowns.”
Amused, Armenia finally relaxed and grinned. “Roman men can be such popinjays on occasion,” she agreed. Always, she almost added. “It’s as if they aren’t aware their time is coming to an end.”
From the way he bent forward, his elbows moving to his knees, she knew he was surprised by her comment.
“What are you saying, mia donna?”
“I’ve been alive long enough to see what’s coming, Mr. McAdams. The time for aristocrats in this country is nearing its end. At some point, the peasants will revolt, mayhap as they did in France, and we shall lose everything.”
“Surely not in our lifetimes,” he replied. “At least, I hope not. I just arranged to be the sole purchaser of wool from your brother’s sheep for the next decade,” he added.
Armenia gave a start. “Wool?” she said in disbelief. Wool had been the reason he was so anxious to gain time with her nephew?
He nodded. “I, uh, deal in silks and wools, mia donna. My textiles company might be based in Boston, but I’m required to import some of the materials or finished fabrics from here in Europe.”
She couldn’t suppress the scoff that escaped her throat. “Apologies. I suppose I imagined your business quite different.”
“Oh?”
Tittering, she placed a gloved hand to her lips. “You seemed so serious—”
“I do have a tendency to look as if I’m on my way to a funeral,” he admitted sheepishly. Despite the dark interior, she saw how he indicated the formal clothes he wore. “This evening’s choice of attire being no exception.”
“You wear it well, though,” she replied. “I, however, prefer never to wear black. I am reminded too often of widow’s weeds.” She allowed a sound of disgust.
“Because you had to wear them?” he asked, his brows furrowing.
“Not as a widow, of course,” she replied. “But both my father and my brother have died in the past decade.” The coach turned, and she glanced out the window. “This is my villa,” she said, noting how he had already leaned over to look through the opposite window.
“You are in town?” he remarked.
“I am,” she acknowledged, struggling to force her feet back into her slippers.
He continued to stare out the window. “Is this the Via del Tor Millina?” The coach paused a moment to allow a gate to be opened before it passed through the entrance into a courtyard and slowed to a halt.
“One end of it,” she replied.
“You’re close to the Piazza Navona.”
“I am,” she acknowledged.
“My office—my lodgings—are not far from here,” he said, attempting to gain his bearings from what little he could see given the tall buildings surrounding them.
The coach door opened, and he hurried to step down. He turned to offer his hand as Armenia clutched at her skirts, one of her slippered feet tentatively testing for the location of the step.
“With your permission, mia donna?” Patrick asked. He raised his hands to her waist and easily lifted her out of the coach, lowering her until he was sure her feet were on the marble that made up the floor of the courtyard.
Armenia had to suppress the urge to yelp at the unexpected move. “Grazie,” she murmured.
The two horses pulling his town coach stopped directly behind her coach, the neighs of complaint rending the otherwise quiet night.
“I’ll see you to your door, mia donna,” he said, offering his arm.
Hesitating a moment, Armenia finally placed her arm on his and was reminded of how it had felt during their dance earlier that evening. Remembered how she had caught him staring at her.
Probably wondering my age, she thought.
“Have you a butler? Or someone to see to the door?” he asked when it didn’t open at their approach.
“I told DeLuca I wouldn’t require his services this evening,” she replied, reaching out to push down on the door handle.
The carved wooden panel opened inward. The vestibule beyond, lit by a single candle lamp, included a wide marble staircase that wound up in a large spiral.
The upper steps beyond the entry disappeared in the gloom.
“Buona notte, Signore McAdams,” she said, climbing the single step before turning to face him.
Given her height—she was nearly as tall as him—she had the advantage of being able to look down at him. She dipped a slight curtsy.
Patrick took her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “Might I be allowed to pay a call on you? Perhaps escort you... on one of your walks?” Given she stood on the threshold with the candlelight behind her, she appeared as if in silhouette.
Armenia blinked, surprised he remembered her mentioning she liked to walk. “Tell me, Signore McAdams, do you truly like to walk?”
“I do,” he replied. “I have been on a quest to find as many fountains as there might be here in Rome,” he added.
Turning her head slightly, she glanced to where DeLuca usually left her correspondence and saw only one missive on the silver salver. “If you’re not intending to find all of them...” she hedged.
“I hear tell there are three-thousand,” he said.
She tittered. “In the middle of the city, you might find four-hundred,” she said. “I could take you to four on the morrow, if you’re not too early,” she replied. “Otherwise you’ll have to attend my morning toilette,” she warned, arching a dark brow as if she was challenging him.
Patrick swallowed. “You say that as if it would be a hardship,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
She lifted a shoulder. “For some, it is.” She watched as his brows once again furrowed, but before she knew quite what was happening, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.
The move may not have been made with any other intention than a farewell between friends, but a shiver shot through her at the simple courtesy.
“I will come for you around eleven o’clock,” he said. “Perhaps we can find a place to enjoy a luncheon afterwards?”
She nodded. “I’ll try to be ready by then,” she teased.
He displayed a grin. “Buonanotte, mia donna.” He turned and made his way to his coach, easily stepping up into the equipage before the horses were set into motion.
Watching from where she still stood in the doorway of Villa D’Avalos, Armenia felt a pang of dismay.
For the first time in a very long time, a man hadn’t insisted he be allowed to spend the night with her. She would have had to deny him given she was hosting Nicoletta, David, and their children for one more night. In the morning, they would return to Villa Montblanc to play host to David’s family.
Finally closing the door, she removed her mantel, hung it up on a hook by the door, and made her way up the stairs to her bedchamber.
I suppose I am too old for him, she thought.