“I’m going to find Penelope for that chat she wanted.” She waved at the bed. “Why don’t you rest on the bed until I return.”
“Are you sure?” Hope sounded in his voice.
She nodded. “I am.”
“Thank you.” The man fairly bounded across the room. Maybe he wasn’t feeling as bad as he looked. He collapsed onto the bed and groaned. “Thank God, it’s not moving.”
Violet rested the urge to smile and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. She found Penelope in the main parlor with some of her guests—two fashionably dressed sisters from Yorkshire and a recently wed couple from America. The sisters were some twenty years older than Violet, ordinary in appearance and distantly related to Penelope’s late husband. They were on their first trip beyond England and were staying a full month in Florence. The Americans were off to Rome in a few days. The guests were all quite pleasant and well-read and Violet soon found herself immersed in a discussion of whether Italy’s greatest contribution to history had been the Roman empire or the Renaissance.
Violet returned to her room to check on James an hour and a half later. He was sleeping soundly so she rejoined Penelope and they shared a light supper and rather more wine than was perhaps wise. Violet hadn’t been to Florence for over a year and they had a great deal to catch up on. There was nothing like chatting with female friends about everything and nothing—although she did manage to keep the conversation away from James. The only thing missing tonight was Cleo. Violet was going to have to get used to Cleo’s absence. As pleasant as Marcus seemed, Violet suspected he wouldn’t want his wife to be employed. She could hire another secretary fairly easily, but it would be impossible to replace her friend.
It was late in the night when she finally returned to the room. James’s clothes were strewn across the floor and he was snoring softly, one naked arm hanging off the bed. Which did make one wonder what, if anything, the man slept in. For a moment, she was tempted to pick up the covers and find out. The influence of the wine no doubt. What harm would a quick peek do? She was his wife, after all. Still, that would be a dreadful invasion of his privacy. And rude. She did try never to be rude. Worse, he could possibly wake up. And then...
She drew a steadying breath and shoved the thought aside. So much for him taking the sofa. She didn’t have the heart to wake him. The man was obviously exhausted. Besides, he looked so sweet and rumpled and charming. Almost like a child. This was probably what his children would look like. She discarded that thought, as well.
The sofa would have to do for tonight. She managed to disrobe and don her nightgown without waking him. She plumped the pillow, then settled on the sofa and pulled the blanket over her. Immediately, she realized this was perhaps the most uncomfortable sofa in the world. It might well have been delightful when it was newly made a few hundred years ago. What stuffing was left in it was obviously original. She tried to roll over, but the sofa was too narrow. She shifted to her side in an effort to find a modicum of comfort. And failed. She’d never before realized how one could overlook a lack of comfort when one was properly seated on the edge of a sofa cushioned by layers of clothing and a bustle. It was an entirely different matter when one was trying to sleep.
Violet’s gaze drifted to the enormous bed. Even if the sofa had been more accommodating, James’s snoring probably would have kept her awake. Although really, it wasn’t that bad, not nearly as annoying as the constant creak of his bed at home. Until tonight, they hadn’t slept in the same room together since their wedding night.
That night hadn’t been as awkward as she had expected. Rather nice really. James had been thoughtful and passionate and skilled. Or so she had assumed, given his reputed experience with women. In subsequent years, in discussions with Cleo and Penelope and other women far more experienced with the nature of that which transpired between a man and a woman, she discovered that her one intimate experience with James might have been remarkable only in that it was her first experience. She’d been tempted through the years to join various men—including Duncan—in their beds. She’d certainly had numerous opportunities and more than a few invitations. It wasn’t that it had seemed wrong exactly, in a moral sense. It was simply that with no other man had it seemed particularly right.
She shifted onto her back and stared at the ancient wood-beamed ceiling, deeply shadowed in the faint starlight that drifted in from the open windows. She really was tired, but sleep evaded her and her thoughts returned to an annoying idea that had popped into her head somewhere between Paris and Florence and refused to leave.
James wasn’t the only one who had made terrible decisions and dreadful mistakes in the past six years. Violet certainly could have confronted him on one of her visits to England. Barring that—she could have written to him. It struck her that even as he had never confessed about the incident, she had never told him of her feelings. He’d never fought for her—for them—but then neither had she. Was she so afraid that he would break her heart or was it a matter of pride? Still, there was no going back even if she had no idea what going forward meant.
Violet stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours. Surely the sun would rise soon and put an end to her torture. But only stars shone through the windows.
This was absurd. Enough was enough. James had been sleeping all evening and most of the night. Surely he must feel better by now. And he had agreed to take the sofa, after all. He was only in the bed because she was being considerate. James was simply going to have to move. She threw off the blanket and made her way to the bed. The covers were hanging low on his back—a rather nicely sculpted back from what she could see. She resisted the odd impulse to run her fingers along the dip of his spine, feel the heat of his skin under her touch. Apparently, the man was indeed sleeping in nothing at all. Fortunately, she was entirely too weary to care.
“James,” she said softly.
There was no response.
“James,” she said again a bit louder and poked him.
Nothing.
She shoved him and raised her voice. “James, wake up.”
He snorted and repositioned himself, but did not wake.
Good Lord, the man was dead to the world. He wouldn’t have noticed if a herd of elephants thundered through the room. Or if the building collapsed around his head.
And he certainly wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t alone in the bed.
If she wasn’t so tired, and had had one less glass of wine, she’d discard the idea immediately. But at the moment it had a great deal of appeal. Oh, certainly, she didn’t trust him in general, but he would never take advantage of her. Especially if she were up and out of bed before he woke. Yes, that was exactly what she would do. One might consider it another test of sorts. For both of them.
She pulled a few more pillows from the chest and created a barrier in the middle of the bed. Not that she thought for a moment that James would attempt anything untoward. The pillows were simply a precaution against her rolling over and wrapping herself around him in her sleep. And really, should either of them want something more than sleep, the pillows would not prohibit that. Regardless, it would do. She carefully lay down on her side of the bed and stifled a moan of delight. The bed was harder than she was used to and the mattress rather lumpy. Nonetheless, it felt like heaven.
Her eyes drifted closed, his faint snores oddly comforting. And in her last conscious thought before sleep at last claimed her, the most unexpected idea drifted through her mind.
She could become accustomed to this.
CHAPTER TWENTY
VIOLET OPENED HER eyes and found herself staring into James’s amusement-filled gaze.
“Bloody hell,” she muttered.
“And good morning to you, too.” James lay on his side, propped on one elbow, grinning down at her.
She pulled the covers up to her neck. “You’re awake.”
“As
are you.”
“I intended to wake up before you.”
“And yet, here you are.” He shook his head in feigned puzzlement. “I distinctly recall lying down on this bed last night by myself. Imagine my delight to wake up and find I was not alone.”
She raised a brow. “Delight?”
“Absolutely.” His grin widened, decidedly smug and more than a little wicked. And nearly impossible to ignore.
She sat up and nodded at the sofa. “You were supposed to sleep over there.”
“I tried it.” He shuddered.
“Are you feeling better?” His color had returned and he did look his normal self.
“Much. Refreshed and invigorated.” He drew a deep breath. “It must be the air here.”
“As well as a great deal of sleep.”
“And how are you on this fine morning?” he asked politely, as if they had run into each other on the street and not across a barrier of pillows.
“Quite well, thank you.” She frowned. “Are you going to get up?”
“I was considering it.” He glanced at the row of pillows. “Is this to protect you or me?”
“You?”
“In the event you decided to seduce me in the middle of the night.”
She laughed. “I assure you, you’re quite safe.”
“Pity.” He heaved an exaggerated sigh.
She’d never imagined the appeal of a man still in his bed. With his hair disheveled and his jaw darkly shadowed, coupled with that knowing smile of his, he looked almost irresistible. Not to her, of course.
His expression sobered. “I do hope you know I would never take advantage of you.”
“I do know.” Her gaze caught his and for a long moment they looked at each other. With very little effort, he could lean across the pillow and press his lips to hers. Or sweep the pillows aside and take her in his arms. Or—
“However—” his wicked grin was back and the moment lost “—should you ever wish to be taken advantage of, all you need to do is ask.”
“I shall keep that in mind.” She suppressed a grin of her own. “Now then, are you getting out of bed or not?”
“I thought I’d let you go first.”
“Why?”
“Because I am a gentleman,” he said in a lofty manner.
She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t have anything on, do you?”
“Not a stitch.”
“Do you always sleep sans clothing?”
“No, but last night...” He ran his hand through his hair. “Honestly, Violet, I don’t remember much of anything from the time you left.” His brows drew together. “I did have vague dreams about disrobing and climbing into bed and another about wrapping my arms around a buxom, incredibly soft woman.”
She gasped in feigned outrage. “You tried to seduce the pillows!”
“Don’t be absurd.” He scoffed. “I believe the pillows tried to seduce me.”
“Naughty pillows.” She grinned. “We really do need to get up.”
“I thought I was being polite, offering to let you go first. Thus alleviating any embarrassment you might feel at the sight of my naked body.”
“Oh, I daresay I wouldn’t be the least bit embarrassed,” she lied. She’d never seen a naked man aside from one carved in marble. The night they’d spent together was completely in the dark.
“Then it’s possible I would.”
“Really?”
“Probably not.” His gaze traveled over her. “From what I can see you seem to be wearing an extraordinarily voluminous garment. I daresay that wouldn’t cause embarrassment for anyone.”
“It does have a lot of fabric.” She glanced down at her nightgown. “But it is rather sheer.”
“Is it?” His eyes widened innocently.
“We can play this game all day, James, but I for one am eager to be off. We have things to do.” She adopted her best no-nonsense manner. “I’m going to gather my clothes and take them down the hall to the lavatory. I shall dress there. You may dress while I’m gone.”
“Very well.” He nodded in agreement, but the look in his eyes was entirely too amused.
She started to throw off the covers then stopped and looked at him. “You may now indeed do the gentlemanly thing and close your eyes.”
“That would be the gentlemanly thing. But...” He shook his head. “Where would be the fun in that?”
“Good Lord, James.” Violet flung off the blankets, slipped out of bed and stepped to the wardrobe. She knew full well he watched her every step and realized too late there was probably a better route to the wardrobe that did not include walking in front of the windows.
“My, that is sheer,” James murmured.
“And are you embarrassed?”
“Yes.” He nodded firmly. “Never so much as I am at this very moment.”
She grabbed her kimono and pulled it on. There, that provided at least a modicum of decorum.
“If you did decide to seduce me, might I suggest you wear something else?” he said.
“You don’t like my robe?” It had perhaps seen better days, but it was brightly colored and unique and she quite liked it. “It’s comfortable and extremely practical.”
“Oh, I like it. It’s rather exotic. I simply think it would look better off than on.”
“Yet another dream, James.” Good Lord, the man was incorrigible.
He laughed.
It was all she could do to select something to wear knowing he was watching her. It was unnerving. And annoying. Heat washed up her cheeks.
She grabbed her blue-and-white-striped walking dress and her undergarments, hurried across the room and opened the door.
“If you need any help, I would be happy to lend my assistance.”
“Your offer is most appreciated, but I can manage.” She stepped through the door. “I am eager to be off, we only have today.”
“What?” Genuine distress sounded in his voice. “I was under the impression that we were staying for a few days, possibly a week or more.”
“I don’t know where you got that idea. But I would be happy to discuss it when I’m dressed.”
“Perhaps it occurred to me since getting here in the first place required a long and arduous journey,” he said sharply.
“Nonsense. We made excellent time and it was hardly arduous.” She closed the door and missed his next comment. Probably for the best. Fortunately, the lavatory was unoccupied. Violet stepped into the large room and locked the door behind her.
When Penelope bought the palazzo she was determined to bring it into this century without losing the charm of its past. Although there were lavatories original to the building, Penelope had installed modern conveniences. She had spared no expense and while the walls in the lavatories boasted centuries-old frescoes—some designed to look like swagged drapery and ornate tiles—the fixtures were thoroughly up-to-date.
One of the most important lessons Violet and Cleo had learned in their years of travel was how to dress for the day without the assistance of a maid. They had learned as well the necessity of speed when one was sharing facilities at a hotel or pensione with strangers. In no time at all, Violet was ready for the day.
She returned to the room and glanced around. James was nowhere in sight. “James?”
“Behind the screen. Shaving.”
“I thought gentlemen went to a barber for that.” She absently picked up his clothes still on the floor from last night and tossed them on the bed. “Or had their valets shave them.”
“I didn’t bring my valet, remember. And I’m perfectly capable of shaving myself. I’ve never been fond of allowing anyone to put a blade to my throat.”
“Understandable.”
“Now then, what did you mean?” He stepped out from behind the screen, fastening the cuffs
on his shirt. “Why do we only have today? I thought you were going to show me the sights of Florence. Make me view endless galleries of boring old paintings and traipse through countless churches and whatever else there is to see.”
She raised a brow. “You don’t like Renaissance art?”
“I don’t dislike it, I suppose, but there are entirely too many Madonnas and children for me. In fact, I’m not really fond of anything created more than a century ago.” He shrugged. “I much prefer art that is more contemporary—like that of Manet and Constable and Turner.”
“Then it’s fortunate for you that I intended to forgo the Uffizi. Although it is one of the finest collections of art in the world,” she added in a vaguely chastising manner.
“Aren’t they all,” he muttered.
She choked back a laugh. “But I enjoy Florence entirely too much to race from one sight to another. I much prefer to meander around the city and see what might present itself.”
“I never suspected you to be a meandering sort.” He considered her curiously. “I thought you were more a guidebook in one hand, sturdy parasol in the other kind of woman.”
Admittedly, on her first visits to Paris and Florence and everywhere else, she did indeed have a guidebook in one hand and a parasol in the other. “I imagine there are all sorts of things about me you never suspected.”
“So it would appear.”
“I do intend to take you to see Michelangelo’s masterpiece. I always make a point to stop by the Accademia to visit the David.”
“David?” he asked in an offhand manner.
She grinned. “Are you jealous?”
“Of course not.”
“You sounded jealous.”
“You misheard.”
She’d wager a great deal she hadn’t. “You do realize I’m talking about a statue.”
“I knew that.”
Violet doubted it.
“Accademia, Michelangelo, David—I knew exactly what you were talking about.” Indignation she didn’t quite believe sounded in his voice. “I’m not entirely lacking in culture.”
The Lady Travelers Guide to Happily Ever After Page 24
