by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
While Sarah was opening and closing drawers, she heard Lady Satherwaite exclaim, "There you are, my darling!"
Sarah looked in the mirror to find Nick framed in the doorway. What was wrong with her, that her heart kept slamming against her ribs at the mere sight of this man?
"Sorry I'm late," he said. "I should have known that the minute I walked into the building somebody would find something for me to do. How are you this morning, Aunt Honoria?"
"Still a bit dizzy when I get up, but I don't expect you to believe me, dear. At any rate, I've told the nurses that I'll be staying at least a few more days."
"So they tell me," he murmured. "I hope you don't mind that Sarah and I have made plans in your absence."
"Mind? Of course, I don't mind." She clapped her hands. "I think it's delightful. Tell me. What do you plan to do?"
Just then, Sarah discovered Lady Satherwaite's handbag in the bottom right drawer of the bureau.
"Ah-ha! Before we do anything, we're going to talk to Estella," she said, "if you'll give us her address."
She handed the bag to Nick's aunt, who opened it and pulled out a small black address book. "I'm sure it's in here. Her last name is Verdi, as I recall. Under V. Or I might have written it under N for nanny. Here, dear. Take the whole book. I have absolutely no need for it at the moment."
"Thank you." Sarah tucked the little book in the pocket of her jacket. "I'll take good care of it."
"Doesn't matter." She lifted her huge shoulders in a shrug. "If anyone in there wants me, they know where they can find me. Now, if you don't mind, I believe I'll take a little nap. Nicky, will you please tell the nurses not to disturb me?"
"I don't have much clout with the nurses, love, but I'll do my best." He leaned down to kiss his aunt's forehead. "See you this evening. Behave yourself."
"Have a good time, you two," she said, closing her eyes. "Don't rush back on my account. Enjoy."
Fifteen minutes later, as Nick was pulling out of the hospital parking lot, he glanced over at Sarah in the passenger seat. Her head was bent forward as she flipped pages and concentrated on notations in the little address book. If she thought his aunt was half-demented and wholly eccentric, she hadn't said so. In fact, she seemed quite happy to comply with the old girl's bizarre, romantic demands.
Enjoy.
He wasn't sure he knew how to do that anymore. Enjoy himself. He wasn't sure he wanted to enjoy himself, or to start something he had no intention of finishing. Actually, at the moment, he wasn't sure of anything but the way Sarah's hair was streaked with gold in the sunlight and the flowery fragrance—was it gardenias?—coming from her direction, and the fact that his temperature seemed to spike whenever he was in her presence.
"Ah-ha!" she said. "I think I found it. Estella Verdi. Here she is, listed under C of all things."
Nick laughed. "That would be C for composer. Knowing my aunt, it makes perfect sense."
"She lives at 5143B Avenue Royale. Do you know where that is?"
"I can find it," he said, changing lanes in order to head toward the north side of San Sebastian. The older part of the city. "Tell me once again just what it is you hope to find out from her."
"More about the fire and the murder, and how they might be connected to Leo's silence."
"Leo was completely unaware of them, Sarah. I asked the nanny. More than once, believe me. Estella assured me that he slept through the entire series of events that night."
"So you say," she murmured. "I don't suppose Estella told you anything about Bruno, did she?"
"Who the hell is Bruno?"
"Estella's fiance. Or at least he would be her fiance if he knew where she lived. I'm not a detective, but that leads me to believe that the time the two of them spent together must've been at your house rather than hers."
Nick took his eyes off the road just long enough to see the intense expression on her face. Her green eyes were brilliant as emeralds. Her mouth was set in a firm and stubborn line. There was no doubt she was serious about this.
"How do you know all this?" he asked. "You've only been here a few days."
"I'm a good listener. That's my job. And since in this case, I can't very well listen to my patient, I have to listen to everyone who's been around him lately."
He kept forgetting that she wasn't just the lovely new nanny, but a psychologist, and presumably an excellent one, sent for by King Marcus. What else didn't he know about her, he wondered. How old was she? Why wasn't she married? Why did his looney aunt seem to believe they would be good together? Would they? Did he even want to find out?
The streets were narrow and the corners treacherous in the old part of town.
"How long have you been a psychologist?" he asked as he peered at the street numbers along Avenue Royale.
On the other side of the car, she was silent a long moment before crossing her arms and leaning her back against the door. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick could see the challenging expression on her face. Still, there was a touch of playfulness in her tone when she said, "What? All of a sudden you're interested in my credentials, Dr. Chiara?"
He pulled the car next to the curb on the right and killed the engine. "No, Ms. Hunter. All of a sudden I'm interested in you."
"Oh." She made a tiny gulping sound, then asked, "Why are you stopping?"
"We're here." He nodded toward the stucco apartment building up ahead. "Casa Estella."
The ancient four-story building was dark inside. Its hallways smelled of garlic and olive oil and decades of cooked fish. Estella, naturally, lived on the top floor. Nick stood back while Sarah knocked on the door.
The nanny wasn't thrilled to see them. Sarah knew that as soon as the young woman opened the door and blinked the moment she realized that her former employer had come calling. The color drained from Estella's olive complexion and her gaze kept darting from Nick to Sarah to the floor and who knows where. The girl made eye contact about as well as a jellyfish, and all of a sudden she could barely speak Italian, much less English.
After Estella stood in the doorway, reciting the same old story about Leo sleeping through the night when the murder and fire took place, Sarah was utterly convinced the girl was lying, but still she pressed her for more.
"It's very important that we know the truth about that night, Estella," she urged. "Please won't you help us?"
Nick translated, just to be sure the girl understood.
"Si. Si. I know. It's true what I tell you. I swear," she wailed. "I did a good job, Sir Dominic. I did nothing wrong. I felt much affection for Leo."
While she was protesting, from behind her in the apartment, a gruff male voice called out her name, and the girl looked more panicky than ever.
"Si, Papa," she answered over her shoulder, before telling Sarah, "That is all I know. I must ask you to go now. I am sorry."
Sarah wasn't budging.
"Tell us about Bruno, Estella," she demanded.
The nanny's eyes practically pinwheeled now. "I know nothing. You must go now. Ciao. Goodbye."
She slammed the door.
Sarah was tempted to kick it in, but Nick drew her away with a firm hand on her arm and led her toward the stairs.
"She's lying through her teeth, Nick," Sarah muttered through her own clenched teeth. "Can't you tell?"
"Yes. I can tell. And I can also tell that young Estella probably lives with an overprotective and very strict father who would quite happily blow you away with his shotgun when you barged into his residence uninvited."
"Oh," she answered, starting down the stairs.
"This isn't America, you know."
"No, I guess not." She sighed. "Well, what are we going to do? Whatever it is she knows, I need to know in order to help your son. I'm certain of that now more than ever."
"We'll figure something out. Perhaps we could have her come back to the house to pick up something she left behind. Or a final paycheck. Or something. That way she could speak without her father overhearing. W
e'll figure it out while we're lying on the beach."
"I'm really not in the mood anymore."
Sarah realized she sounded petulant, maybe even sullen, but she just couldn't help it. She didn't like people getting in her way, coming between her and what she needed to know about her patients. She didn't like wasting time, especially now, when she had so little to begin with.
It wasn't just that she was feeling thwarted, either. She was beginning to question Nick's sincerity in wanting to help her. She wanted Nick to be a bit more eager, if not relentless, in pursuit of the causes of his son's silence.
Maybe the man didn't care, after all. Maybe, because he was a physician and this wasn't a physical problem, he didn't believe the boy could be helped. Maybe...
They had reached the bottom of the stairs now, but instead of continuing toward the door, Nick stopped. He put a hand on each of her shoulders, turned her toward him, then tipped her chin up with a finger.
The dark foyer was lit only by streaks of sunlight coming through a narrow, grimy windowpane. But each of those streaks of light glistened in his dark eyes as he gazed down at her.
"My son means everything to me," he said softly. "Don't ever be confused about that, Sarah. All right? Not for a second. Leo is my life."
"I'm glad," she whispered.
A corner of his mouth quirked up. "But that doesn't mean I can't take you to the beach."
"That's true, but..."
"And while we're lying on the beach," he continued, "I want you to tell me everything you know about mutism, as well as everything you don't know, but want an answer for. I want you to educate me,Sarah, so I can help my son just as much as you. Will you do that? Please?"
For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, the way he continued to stare into her eyes, the way his thumb began to stroke her jaw. It would have been wonderful. It would have been heart-stopping. Soul-scorching.
It would have been completely unprofessional, she told herself as she stepped back.
"Yes," she said. "I'll do my best. I'll be happy to try."
As far as classrooms went, the Lido below the high cliffs of San Sebastian held more than a few distractions. With its endless stretch of white sand, it rivaled any beach that Sarah had ever seen in her home state of California and was lovelier than the playa where she had spent so much time during her Peace Corps stint in El Salvador.
There were seagulls strung out in groups at the edge of the water, and terns doing cartwheels in the high breezes overhead. The September sun was like melted butter.
And Nick Chiara looked better in a swimsuit than any human being had a right to.
Sarah rolled over on her side, just to take another peek while his eyes were closed, as they had been for the past few minutes. It seemed as if the warmth of the sun and the beach sounds were lulling both of them to sleep.
She peeked. Just a little. It wasn't easy not reaching out to trace a finger along the sleek, suntan lotion-slicked curve of his upper arm or to test the softness of the dark hair on his chest. Her gaze followed the dark, damp line that disappeared beneath the waistband of his black trunks. Oh brother. This probably hadn't been such a good idea after all.
The plan had been to use the time that Leo was away to read through the huge stack of journals she'd brought with her, to further educate herself about the boy's condition, instead of lazing on a beach, blabbing everything she already knew and quickly approaching the limits of her expertise.
Nick Chiara was as smart as he was gorgeous. He was a perfect student, asking intelligent and pointed questions, ones that made Sarah dig deeper into her own reservoir of knowledge about child psychology and human behavior to come up with equally intelligent answers. And miracle of miracles, he even seemed interested in all she had to say. Most people, even Warren, tended to doze off if she got started discussing a case, while Nick seemed to hang on her every word.
Well...until both of them succumbed to the slumberous effects of the Mediterranean sun and the lullaby of the seagulls and the lapping tide.
She sighed, thinking she could stay here forever, listening to the sea, looking from beneath her lashes at this perfectly sculpted person who...
...opened his eyes and smiled at her just then.
"I thought you were sleeping," he said.
She shook her head.
"Tired?" he asked.
Again, she shook her head.
"Tell me more, then. Teach me."
Sarah didn't need to be asked twice.
"All right. There's another theory about mutism that I haven't told you about yet. This is from a team of clinicians in Alabama, as I recall, who maintain that the self-imposed silence is merely an attention-getting tactic. According to them, a child who refuses to speak suddenly thrusts himself into the center of the family universe, even more than the child who screams and acts out."
"Makes sense," Nick murmured.
"I suppose. To a certain extent. I don't see that it applies at all in Leo's case, though. First of all because he's an only child. The Alabama study focused on children with two or more siblings. Second, because it's obvious that you and Lady Satherwaite absolutely dote on him. Leo couldn't be any more central to your family universe if he were the sun itself." She squinted as she pointed upward toward the real thing blazing overhead.
Nick turned on his side and levered up on an elbow. "Which brings us back to your trauma theory, right?"
"Right." Sarah had to remind herself to maintain eye contact. Her gaze kept longing to drift toward his chest. How unprofessional was that, for heaven's sake?
"And there's no helping Leo unless we identify the significant event or events?"
"I wouldn't say there's no helping him," she said. "Only that we'd be on firmer ground if we knew what happened to make him stop speaking. Knowing is always better than guessing, even though we're forced to do plenty of that in my business."
He flopped over on his stomach now, so Sarah no longer had to worry about being distracted by his chest. Now she was looking at the smooth, glistening curve of his back.
"We do that in my business, too, I'm afraid," he said.
Sarah laughed. "Not that many of you admit it." A physician who didn't think of himself as God or the next best thing to Him, she marveled. Would wonders never cease? "I'm pretty sure my father would rather stand before a firing squad than admit that medicine is an art as well as a science."
"I heard your father lecture five or six years ago at a conference in Helsinki. He knows his stuff."
"That he does," she said with a sigh.
"Your brother followed in his footsteps, didn't he?"
"Uh-huh."
Those dark eyes zeroed in on hers. "So why didn't you, little Sarah?" he asked softly.
She was about to give him her stock reply—"I kept flunking chemistry"—accompanied with the usual carefree laugh and a breezy wave of her hand, when suddenly she wanted nothing more than to tell him the truth, to reveal her true self to this man.
This wasn't supposed to happen. It was normally Sarah, psychologist extraordinaire, who delved into others' minds and hearts, who dredged up secrets from their souls while she maintained a cool and pleasant distance. It wasn't supposed to be the other way around.
She tried to identify all the emotions whizzing through her, nearly making her dizzy, and not only was she unable to identify them, but she couldn't even tell if they were positive or negative. Everything seemed topsy-turvy all of a sudden.
"Why didn't you?" Nick asked again.
His mouth was a patient curve. Sarah noticed the tiny crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, the shadow along his jawline, the beguiling little dent centered in his chin. What had he asked her? All she could think of just then was that she'd never wanted to be kissed so much in her life.
When she finally opened her mouth to speak, she wasn't entirely sure what words were going to come spilling out.
"We should probably go," she said. "I'm... It's really getting hot."
Chapter 10
It wasn't at all like Sarah to avoid a problem or to postpone a confrontation, but that's exactly what she did for the next six hours. Avoidance became her middle name. Mariana was good enough for her. The day after manana might be even better.
Her problem was this damned visceral reaction she kept having toward Nick Chiara. Falling into the dark depths of his eyes. Getting goose bumps at the sound of his voice. Being entranced by the curve of his back and the texture of his skin. She barely knew the man, but suddenly her internal temperature was intimately related to whether or not he was within a few feet of her.
It reminded her of the way she'd felt about Billy Dean when she was in grade school. It was just ridiculous.
The moment she returned from the Lido—while Nick headed back to the hospital to see his aunt— Sarah picked up the phone and made her long overdue call to Warren, hoping that the sound of her fiance's no-nonsense, brass-tacks-and-paper-clips voice would bring her back to reality. It was four o'clock in the afternoon in Montebello, and she had no idea what time it would be in San Francisco, but she really didn't care. She needed a strong, sober dose of Warren Dill, and she needed it now.
She called Warren's home number first, and waited sixteen rings before he answered. The sound of his sleep-roughened voice made her smile.
"Hi, sleepyhead. It's me," she said, imagining his rumpled hair, the soft, pale blue pajamas he always wore that perfectly matched the color of his eyes, the way he'd be reaching for his glasses right about now, and then angling the clock radio beside the bed to get a better view of its red digital readout.
"It's six-oh-nine in the morning, Sarah. For God's sake."
What a comfort that he knew the exact time. He was so utterly dependable.
"Well, I'm happy to hear you, too, sweetheart," she answered with a laugh.
What a grouch. He always was unless he got precisely eight hours of sleep. Seven hours wasn't enough. Nine was too much. It had to be eight hours, plus or minus five minutes. Nothing else would do. She used to think that was cute.
"Where are you?" he asked casually, as if the answer didn't matter one way or another. "I've been trying to call you for the past three days, and nobody in your family or at the clinic seems to have any notion where you are."
