A Chance Encounter (St. John Series Book 10)

by Lora Thomas

  Martin slowly placed his cards upon the table, leaning in. “You don’t say?”

  “Yes. Just a rumor though.” Stephano settled back into his seat and slouched languidly.

  Oliver and Martin shot knowing looks at each other, the conversation that Oliver overheard coming to mind.

  “Interesting,” Martin mumbled.

  “Very interesting, indeed,” Oliver replied.

  “Yes, it is.” Stephano held up his glass and moved it in an arch in front of him as he continued, “And we have all seen the ghost of his beloved mistress.”

  “Madelena?” Oliver questioned.

  Stephano laughed. “I see where your interests lie. But, no, my friend. In Russo’s office. The painting of the woman by his desk is his beloved Francesca Demachi. The woman whom he was rumored to have betrayed his wife for.”

  “Why would he keep her portrait up if he works for Cardinal Vico? The Cardinal frowns upon adultery and immoral acts. Wouldn’t the Cardinal be suspicious of the painting?” Martin inquired.

  Stephano shrugged. “Maybe the good Cardinal does not care since Russo keeps the peace. Perhaps he turns a blind eye to the hand who enforces such strict laws. He looks the other way for the man who makes certain no foul events or misdeeds are transpiring in Rome that would cause the Pope to be seen as less than holy. Or maybe it is simply because Signore Russo tells all that the painting was a gift granted to him by the king.”

  “How do you know this?” Martin inquired.

  Stephano gave a toothy grin and downed his drink. “You forget who I am. Who my father is. We are very wealthy men, and wealthy men get invited to events that common folk, like yourselves, do not. Besides, when I was just a young lad, I overheard him tell my father as much. Albeit, he was a tad foxed.” Stephano sat up and motioned for another drink. “Now, are we going to play cards or discuss rumors and gossip like a bunch of old women?”

  Oliver began dealing the cards. “Are you attending the Cancios’ party?”

  “Indeed, I am.”

  “Are you going alone?” Martin asked, picking up his cards from the table.

  “As a matter of fact, I am not. I have asked Signorina Valenti to accompany me.”

  “Valenti? The same Valenti you have been visiting?”

  “The one and the same. Why such a sudden interest in my love life?”

  Martin shrugged. “I just find it interesting that you, the owner of the most prestigious vineyard in all of Italy, is seeking a relationship with a woman whose father owns the most prestigious vineyard in Rome, and is attending a ball thrown by a man who hopes to have the most prestigious vineyard in Rome. That is all.”

  “A heart wants what it wants.”

  “Heart? Are you saying you love the chit?”

  Stephano waved away the question. “She is rather pleasing to behold.”

  “Who are we discussing again?” Oliver asked.

  “Mae Valenti. Her father is Jacopo. You met him the other night at Marino’s house.”

  Oliver shook his head with uncertainty.

  “You cannot forget the man,” Martin said. “He’s rather loud and obnoxious.”

  “With a large belly,” Stephano added.

  Oliver continued shaking his head.

  “He tried to get you to build him a sloop.”

  “Oh! Him? He was rather obnoxious.” Oliver looked at Stephano. “You are interested in his daughter?”

  “She is nothing like her father. And since he has traveled to Naples on business, it is only fitting that Mae and her mother have an escort to the Cancios.”

  “I’m certain it is,” Oliver replied with knowing.

  A mischievous twinkle came to Stephano’s eyes. “And she is a very close friend to Madelena Russo. Perhaps, since you seem so enamored of the beauty—”

  “I am not enamored of her.”

  “Your eyes say differently. But if you are not interested in Signorina Russo, then perhaps you can simply distract her for a moment. I will ask Signorina Valenti to go for a walk in the gardens. Of course, her mother will insist upon a chaperone, and Signorina Russo will eagerly volunteer. You, being the gentleman, would insist upon escorting her…” Stephano paused, giving a look to Oliver that suggested he could fill in the rest.

  “So, you can slip away for a few minutes alone with Signorina Valenti, then no one would be the wiser,” Oliver snapped.

  “Precisely, my friend.” Stephano raised his brows up and down. “A few stolen kisses with a beautiful woman. What more could a man ask for—for now?”

  That was a question that plagued Oliver. How much more could he ask for from Madelena? They had been together, yet it was not enough. He wanted more. How much more could he want? It was a notion that would haunt him until his dying days. And that was what he feared.

  After another hour, the men parted ways. Stephano heading to the townhome he had rented for his stay and Oliver and Martin to Martin’s home. It was still early in the evening, and the streets were crowded. People lined the streets enjoying the merriment around. Jugglers and acrobats. Singers and dancers. Men participating in fisticuffs and others placing wagers.

  “I’d like to place a wager on you against him,” Martin said, nodding to the man entering the circle of men. The man was tall and broad. The man proudly displayed his biceps by forming a fist and bending his arms, then patting the muscle and nodded his head. The man then began antagonizing the men around him, asking for a fight.

  “Pomp and show,” Oliver replied. “Two hits and I would have him flat on his arse.”

  “Care to wager?” Martin said.

  “What do you have that I could possibly want?”

  Martin rubbed his chin. “If he beats you, then you finish my boat.”

  “That did not answer my question. What do you have that I would want?”

  “Five pounds.”

  Oliver sputtered. “Five pounds. I have more than that in my pocket now.”

  “Well, what do you want?”

  “That old pistol you found.”

  “What pistol?”

  “You know? When we were boys. You found an old pistol with an ivory handle.”

  Martin gave a questioning look to Oliver. “You remember that? Hell, I lost that thing years ago.”

  “You did not. It’s in your top desk drawer in your study.”

  “Have you been snooping?”

  “No. I was looking for the key to the liquor cabinet. Why was it locked anyway?”

  “That is beside the point, Oliver.”

  “No, it is not.”

  “Fine. Do we have a wager?”

  “Agreed.” Oliver stepped forward. Removing his coat, he tossed it to Martin. “Hold that for me, old man.” He approached the brute and rolled up his sleeves.

  The brute looked Oliver up and down. “This ought to be easy. I’ll plant you in the ground like the little pansy you are. Or perhaps, I’ll go easy on you and let you suck my cock afterward.” The man grabbed his crotch emphasizing his point.

  Oliver did not take the bait. He remained calm and removed his vest. Holding up his fists, he waited. The man took a swing. Oliver sidestepped. The man took another swing. Oliver sidestepped that one as well.

  “Don’t just dance around, fight!” the man complained.

  “All in good time, lass,” Oliver needled.

  The man growled and lunged at Oliver. Oliver landed a hit to the man’s right flank as he passed. The man turned and took a swing, connecting with Oliver’s cheek. Oliver stumbled back a few feet and shook his head. The man grinned and spat on the ground. The man advanced. Oliver waited until the man was closer and landed a solid punch to the man’s midsection, then an uppercut to the man’s jaw. The brute stumbled backward and shook his head to ward off the stars. Oliver jabbed the man’s nose, and then a left hook took the man down. The brute landed with a thud on the ground and a cheer from the crowd. Oliver collected his vest and approached Martin.

  “You said two hits. That
was five.”

  “Who’s counting?”

  “I was. You said two. That was five.”

  “That was not part of the stipulations. You lost. Please have my winnings securely packaged for my trip home.”

  “Home? Are you leaving now?”

  “No, next week.”

  “Tired of my company already?” Martin asked, handing Oliver his coat.

  Oliver shrugged on his jacket. “No.”

  “Then what? I was expecting you to stay longer.”

  Oliver patted Martin on the arm and turned, walking away. How could he explain to Martin that Madelena was a distraction? A distraction that would get them both into discord with Russo. The sooner he left, the sooner he would be away from her temptation. And perhaps, the distance would allow him to forget the woman who haunted him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “So lovely to see you this evening, Signora Russo,” Nichole addressed Sandra from the foyer. Her eyes drifted over the guests with Sandra. Signore Russo was in attendance and dressed in his finest, causing the distinguished-looking man to appear more dashing. All the Russo daughters were accompanying them. Shocking. Yet, Angela was attached to the arm of an annoyed-looking red-haired man. The aggravated man was handsomely dressed in his finery. The form-fitting charcoal coat and light gray brocade vest caused his eyes to appear bolder. The sleeves of the man’s jacket were pulled taut over the muscles of his upper arm. “I see you have a guest with you?”

  “Yes,” Sandra said. “Nichole, you remember Signore St. John, don’t you? We met him the other day while he was working on Signore Henshaw’s boat.”

  Nichole’s eyes grew wide. “Oh! Yes, yes. It is so lovely to see you again, Signore St. John. How are you enjoying your visit to Rome?”

  Pulling his arm away from the leechy Angela, Oliver bowed politely. “Thank you for having me this evening, Signora Cancio. I find Rome charming and full of delight.”

  Nichole flipped open her fan and waved it in front of her face. “It would be rude of me not to invite you. After all a friend of Signore Henshaw’s is always welcome in my home. Please enjoy yourself.” Nichole stepped away.

  Oliver kept his posture rigid. He hated the situation he was in. First off, Signora Cancio had not invited him, to his knowledge. And even if she had, Oliver would have refused. Being this close to Madelena and not being able to touch her was torture. And secondly, Signora Russo entered the ballroom purposefully slow, allowing all the eyes in the room to come to them. She was putting him on display like a prized pony she had just purchased. She was making a statement that she had already claimed Oliver for one of her daughters. And he was not about to allow that.

  The Russos descended the steps. Angela latched onto Oliver’s arm and purposely took her time going down the steps. Oliver tried to hide his annoyance, yet it was hard. But when his eyes landed on the back of Madelena, he momentarily forgot where he was and who he was with. Madelena was even more beautiful tonight than when he first saw her at Carnival—if that was possible. She was wearing a lavender ballgown with a square bodice accentuated with white lace. The back was modest. A mint green ribbon hugged her waist and was tied in a large bow upon the back. Her hair was in an updo with a few of her thick locks allowed to hang down and curled in tight ringlets. A white lace choker with a golden cameo hugged her neck. Long, white, silk gloves covered her toned arms. With grace, Madelena approached the ballroom. With grace, she controlled her movements.

  “Signore St. John?” Angela said, drawing Oliver’s attention away from Madelena.

  “Hmm?”

  “I asked how many dances can I expect you to reserve upon my dance card?” She coyly batted her lashes. “Two? Three, perhaps?”

  Oliver gave that dashing, whimsical smile he was known for. “Signorina Russo, I like spontaneity. I will not reserve a spot upon your card. I simply come and take my place when I want to.”

  Angela giggled and flipped open her fan, waving it before her face. “Signore St. John, that is a rather bold thing for a man to do. Simply assume a lady will dance with him without asking.”

  “Signorina, I am a St. John,” he said, hoping that excuse would be enough of an answer to keep the chit enthralled all night. Enough of a response to keep her hoping he would ask for a dance. Deep down, Oliver knew he would have to dance at least once with the overzealous woman. Just when was up for debate.

  Oliver escorted Angela to her mother and sisters. Giving the excuse of needing to speak to Signore Mortilini, he left the horde of marriage hungry women. Spotting, Stephano, Oliver made his way over to him. Despite Stephano’s arrogance, Oliver liked the younger man. Then again, Stephano was no more arrogant than the St. Johns. The St. Johns just did it with more charm.

  Oliver noticed the woman with Stephano. She was beautiful in her buttercup yellow gown. She had a figure that any woman would desire with deep curves where they should be. Her face was oval with high cheekbones and a stunning smile. There was a woman standing to their right and the similarities were uncanny. This must be Signora and Signorina Valenti.

  “Stephano,” Oliver greeted.

  “Oliver! How good to see you. I would like to introduce you to Signora Valenti and her daughter Mae. Ladies, this is Oliver St. John.”

  The women curtsied.

  “So good to meet you, Signore St. John,” Mae spoke. “I have heard many good things about you.”

  Oliver bowed. “The pleasure is all mine, Signorina Valenti. I must say, Stephano spoke of your beauty, but he did not express it to the extent he should have.”

  Mae blushed.

  “You are too bold, signore,” Maude spoke, an impish glint to her eyes. “Yet I like boldness.”

  Oliver laughed. “Then, signora, prepare to be shocked for St. Johns are notorious for being bold.”

  “I do say,” Maude spoke, keeping her eyes upon Oliver. “I like him, Stephano. You should have introduced me to him sooner.”

  “If I had, then he would be visiting instead of me.”

  Maude snorted. “Doubtful. I said I like him. I did not say he would be a suitable suitor for Mae. No, no. He is not from here, correct?”

  “You would be correct, signora,” Oliver answered. “I am from the Caribbean.”

  “See. Too far away for a proper courtship. Besides, Mae is enjoying the excitement of having men vying for her attention. Isn’t that right, Mae?”

  Mae looked between the trio, her eyes so wide it did not seem humanly possible.

  “Mae?”

  “I’m sorry, Momma. You just have caught me off guard.”

  “But you like having men chase after you, correct?”

  Heat flooded Mae’s high cheeks. She did not appreciate her mother’s outspokenness. “I do not care for all this attention. Signore Mortilini, would you care to dance?”

  Stephano bowed. “I would never refuse a request from you.” He offered Mae his arm. “If you will please excuse us.”

  The instant the pair was upon the ballroom floor, Maude turned her attention to Oliver. She was grinning like a fool. “I like to put people on the spot. See what type of character they have.”

  “And whom were you putting on the spot? Your daughter, Stephano, or me?”

  “All three. You handled yourself splendidly. Stephano could have replied better. Mae behaved as expected.”

  “As expected?”

  “Yes. You see, she does not like to stand up to me in front of others. It is time for her to learn to stand her ground. If she is to successfully run her own home how she sees fit, then she will need to be resolved in her decisions and unafraid of ruffling a few feathers.”

  “That is an interesting philosophy, Signora Valenti.”

  “It is not a philosophy. It is a teaching tool. A tool that you apparently do not need. I take it your upbringing taught you to stand up for yourself as well.”

  “My parents made certain that my brothers, sister, and I were not afraid to have our voices heard.”

  “Go
od for them. Now, I would like to have attention drawn to me. Dance with me.”

  “I beg your pardon.” Oliver was taken aback by the sudden demand of a dance.

  Maude took his arm and pulled him to the ballroom floor. Before Oliver would protest, she began dancing, taking the lead.

  “I would think a worldly man like yourself would be accustomed to bold women,” Maude said as she twirled.

  “I am accustomed to being the initiator.”

  Maude laughed. “I figured as much. You are a go-getter. A man who knows what he wants and is not afraid to go after it.”

  “To an extent.”

  “You have limitations?” She was surprised to hear his confession.

  “Propriety has limitations. I, on the other hand, do not. However, we are all subject to the laws of the land and must take into account those limitations.”

  “Like craning one’s neck to view Madelena Russo?”

  Oliver’s step faltered.

  “Are you all right there, Signore St. John?” Maude asked, a glint of naughtiness in her dark eyes.

  “I tripped.”

  “Over my words. An unusual circumstance.”

  “I did not trip over your words. Besides, that is not how the saying goes.”

  “I know how the saying goes. What I am saying is that I noticed how you were watching Madelena when you climbed down the steps. I also noticed how your eyes kept scanning the room for her.”

  “I think you are mistaken, Signora Valenti.”

  Maude snorted, and the dance stopped. She leaned over and whispered. “I am not the only one with eyes in this room, Signore St. John. Just be wary of where your eyes wander. Antonio is very protective of her and will do anything to keep scamps like you away.” She curtsied. “Thank you for the dance.”

  Oliver watched the older woman leave. What was that supposed to mean? Be wary of where his eyes wander? Hell, was he supposed to keep his gaze fixated upon the bloody floor?

  He left the ballroom. If what Signora Valenti said was correct and that he was lingering on Madelena, he needed to distance himself from her. Perhaps a drink would help his mind.