Chapter 21
A Courtship of a Different Kind
Meanwhile, inside the Pantheon
Armenia stared at Patrick, her eyes wide at hearing what he admitted to the priest. “I think perhaps you don’t realize what you said.” She turned to the priest. “è americano e non parla molto bene la nostra lingua.” He is an American and does not speak our language very well.
“Ah,” the priest replied, a grin lighting his face. “Quindi non hai bisogno di confessare i tuoi peccati?” So you don’t need to confess your sins?
“No, non oggi,” she replied, dipping another curtsy. She wound her arm through Patrick’s and practically dragged him out of the rotunda and through the short cella.
He was chuckling by the time they made it to the portico. Instead of heading straight out into the crowded piazza, he led them to the left and then north on Via della Rotunda. “I wonder if that’s ever happened before?” he asked.
“Certainly not to me,” she replied, displaying a look of dismay.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so... so embarrassed.
” She paused and turned, her gaze sweeping the Piazza della Rotunda to discover a number of people milling about.
Upon spotting her niece, Nicoletta, and her husband, Donald, along with all their guests, she quickly turned so her back was to them. “Could we go to the next fountain now?”
Quickly sobering, Patrick glanced back in an effort to see what had her vexed, but there were far too many people for him to discern which one of them might have bothered her. “Of course.” He slowed his steps once the road took a sharp turn to the left.
They walked in silence until the street thinned in between two tall buildings to become Salita dè Crescenzi. Stopping, he turned to stand in front of her. Lifting the hand she was using to grip his forearm, he kissed the back of it and then kissed her forehead.
“What was that for?” she asked.
“On the one hand, I should probably apologize for having chosen that particular spot to do what I wished I had done last night,” he murmured.
Armenia inhaled softly at hearing his confession. A fluttering in her stomach had her realizing she had desired him as much as he did her. “And on the other?” she prompted.
“I am not sorry, my lady,” he admitted. “Uh, well, I am sorry a priest paid witness to our kiss, but I certainly don’t regret it.
I was... uh, well, I admit I was...” He stopped and swallowed.
“Overcome.” He saw how her elegant dark brows arched in surprise, and he lifted a shoulder in a helpless shrug.
“Overcome?” she repeated, determined to keep a passive expression on her face.
“Do you understand what is meant by the word ‘bewitched’?” he asked.
Armenia blinked. “I... I think I do.”
“That is what you’ve done to me,” he murmured, glancing around them to ensure no one was watching.
“From the moment I saw you last night, I... I had to meet you. I wanted to know you. Everything about you,” he claimed, once again offering his arm so they could resume their walk.
“It’s a most unsettling but exciting situation in which I find myself. ”
Settling into a comfortable stroll, Armenia was quiet for a moment before she said, “I appreciate your candor, Mr. McAdams.”
“Please, call me Patrick,” he said, turning them north onto Via della Dogana Vecchia.
“All right…, Patrick,” she replied, as if she was trying to say the word for the first time. “Tell me, are you aware of what you said to the priest?”
Patrick considered the query a moment before he said, “Are you referring to when I told him I was proposing marriage?”
She scoffed. “Sì. So... you knew what you were saying?”
He nodded. “Of course. It’s a perfect place to propose marriage, don’t you think?
Surrounded by a perfect number of columns under a perfect number of coffers and bathed in that beam of light as we were.
..” He paused to watch her before adding, “Pray tell, is there a better place here in Roma? One you would prefer to receive a proposal of marriage? One where you might actually agree?”
Sighing softly at hearing him reiterate his intent to propose, Armenia pretended to consider suitable locations for a marriage proposal.
She finally listed a few. “In front of the Trevi Fountain, of course. Or on the Spanish Steps, probably at night. Or in the afternoon, on the grounds of the Villa Borghese,” she mused.
“I had never thought of the rotunda of the Pantheon until you reminded me of its attributes,” she added.
“Grazie,” he said, turning them onto the Via del Salvatore. If his building wasn’t directly ahead of them, they would have been able to see the Piazza Navona.
“For what?”
“For giving me some other options,” he replied. He was quiet a moment before he blurted, “I don’t regret kissing you, mia donna. I hope you don’t regret it either.” He waited a moment before he dared a glance in her direction.
When she didn’t respond right away, he considered why, and he suddenly widened his eyes in alarm. “Oh, my God. That priest... is he... is he your priest?”
She returned his glance and shook her head, a grin finally appearing when she saw his expression. “No, nor have I ever seen him before,” she assured him.
“So... no regrets?” he prompted.
She angled her head to one side, her expression inscrutable. “Well, we weren’t struck by lightning, so I suppose not,” she whispered.
He turned and placed the hand he was still holding so it rested on his forearm. “I am glad to hear it,” he said.
They made the slight turn at the Palazzo Madama and another onto Corsia Agonale before emerging onto Piazza Navona. He led them to the north, reminding her they still had one more fountain to visit.
“There’s not much to see with this one,” she warned.
“No statuary?” he asked in surprise as they approached the simple fountain.
“None. Just a water spout,” she said as they stopped before the pool of water contained by an ornate marble surround.
“It definitely needs statuary,” Patrick remarked. “Something bold. Jupiter or Neptune,” he said, his free hand fisting as if he was holding a trident. He briefly posed, his arm upraised as his expression turned fierce.
“You could offer to model for it,” she teased.
“Mayhap you could be the model for one of Neptune’s nymphs,” he countered, before shaking his head. “No, that wouldn’t do.”
She stared at him, obviously offended. “Because I’m too tall? Or because my bosom is too large?”
“Because it would mean the sculptor would see you naked, and I can’t abide the thought of another man seeing you like that,” he answered.
Blinking, she was about to put voice to a complaint but thought to tease him instead. “Are you saying you would be jealous?”
He nodded. “Sì. Absolutely. Remember, I have every intention of proposing marriage. Again,” he claimed.
She chuckled, obviously not believing him as they completed their walk around the simple fountain and headed for Via di Tor Millina and her villa.
“I promised you a luncheon,” he said. “Do you have a favorite place for a midday meal?”
She didn’t answer right away, which had him slowing his steps lest they go too far in the wrong direction.
“Villa D’Avalos,” she stated.
He blinked. “You wish to eat at your home?”
“Sì. My bedchamber.”
“Uh... by yourself, or...?”
“With you, of course. On my bed.”
Patrick had to resist the urge to grin like a schoolboy at hearing her words, but he couldn’t help how his steps quickened.
He was starving in more ways than one.