by Gina Kincade
Inside, the magic continued.
The main dining room was built in an octagonal shape, with walls of glass that opened the room to the snow-clad night. Enormous crystal chandeliers shed sparkles of flattering light over the crowded tables. Touches of pale pink and green in the decorations suggested the ambiance of an outdoor garden. The hum of voices was soothed by classical background music.
At least the paparazzi couldn't come inside. They'd swarmed outside the restaurant. Flashbulbs had burst in front of their faces, and Alessandra realized that Raul had not been kidding when he described the Duke of Devonwood as a ‘big cheese’.
Raul had seemed a bit too eager to accommodate the photographers, posing with his arm around Alessandra’s waist, holding her for the photos. Of course, she didn’t expect to appear in any pictures once the papps discovered who she was. Or wasn’t. She was, after all, a nobody.
Not that she felt like a nobody in her borrowed finery. At the Devonwood's hotel, Sarah had produced a garnet red silk dress that she claimed washed her out. The cleavage was a little deeper than Alessandra had ever worn, but she did notice that both Raul and Jack had trouble keeping their eyes off of it.
Devonwood seemed a few years older than the rest of them. There was a certain look of responsibility etched into the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. Of course, in comparison to Jack and Sarah, anyone would seem solemn. Those two siblings loved to laugh and joke and tease everyone.
There was a lot of talk about the day's skiing, which was nice, because it allowed Alessandra to participate. She made them laugh by telling how she'd fallen on a jump while ogling Raul.
"I didn’t even get to enjoy the fact that she was ogling me," Raul said with a grin. "I was too terrified at the truly spectacular fall she took."
"I wasn’t ogling you." Alessandra took a sip of her wine, watching as Raul’s gaze followed her hands as she lifted the goblet past her cleavage. "I was admiring your ability."
"Skiing is like horseback riding," Devonwood said. "You're going to take a toss now and then."
"Are you new to skiing, Alessandra?" Sarah asked.
"Not totally," she said. "I'm not in Raul's class in terms of ability, though."
"There’s always someone better," Devonwood said casually. "For example, I’m not in Jack’s class as a skier. The important thing is that we all have fun together." He smiled at his brother.
Alessandra felt a pang somewhere in the region of her heart. These people would all carry on, enjoying all kinds of things together, and she'd be—alone.
"Excuse me." She stood up. A trip to the ladies room was a necessity. She needed to compose herself and stop feeling sorry for herself.
Sarah stood up right after her. "We're going to do the girly thing," she said.
Raul arched one brow. "The girly thing? You mean where you need an escort to go to the gabinetto?"
"The loo, honey." Sarah flashed him a wink, and Raul laughed.
Alessandra felt envy tug somewhere inside, but it was impossible not to enjoy Sarah's high spirits.
In a totally un-British way, Sarah looped her arm companionably through Alessandra's as they headed down the hallway to the restrooms. Even here, tiny twinkling lights lined the top of the walls, lending an air of a fairy path to the hall.
Alessandra pushed open the door marked with a tiny dress made of gold tulle. A row of rhinestones flashed at the waist of the dress, bringing some sparkle down to the door. Inside, the bathroom was lavishly appointed, with tons of gleaming mirrors, marble counter tops and golden accessories.
Sarah leaned against the long counter, fanning herself like a fainting Victoria maiden. "My god, girl," she gushed, "that hunk you're with has the right kind of junk."
"You telling me to take him out with the trash?" Alessandra checked to make sure all the stalls were empty.
"You kick him to the curb," Sarah promised, "I'll be there to pick him up long before any garbage lorry shows up. I haven’t seen him years, and the years have been kind to him."
Alessandra laughed. "Don't get all googly-eyed. Raul can definitely run hot and cold."
Sarah shook her head in mock sadness. "There is not one molecule in that man's body that is cold. I'm telling you, honey, I don't even want to dress him. And I want to dress everyone."
"Let me guess. You only want to undress him."
"Down to the bone—" Sarah paused, laughing at Alessandra.
"Don't say it!" Alessandra giggled.
"R." Sarah adopted a wide-eyed look of innocence. "That's all I wanted to add. Bone. R. What are you laughing about?"
Alessandra leaned against the wall. "You are a bad influence. Now I'm only going to have that one image in my mind when we rejoin them."
Sarah grinned. "Don't worry. His thoughts about you are wicked as well."
"Don't be ridiculous." Alessandra slipped into one of the stalls. She wasn't ready to discuss her feelings about Raul with anyone, because she wasn't even sure what they were. He confused her, appearing hot and lusty one moment, cool and accusing the next. She had to be careful not to fall into any of his traps.
When she emerged, Sarah had brushed her shining curls, and was leaning toward the mirror, applying lipstick. She held out her tube. "If you're not fussy, have a swipe."
Alessandra looked at Sarah's glowing face, decided she wasn't fussy, and applied some color to her own mouth.
She might as well enjoy this night of glamour, even if it was her only one. She didn’t know why Raul had invited her for the day of skiing, but she knew he’d had some kind of ulterior motive.
When she went back to the real world tomorrow, she’d have to figure out what it was.
She absolutely had to keep her mind on her goal, or she’d never achieve it in the short time she had in Austria. Already, her memories of Nona’s cottage seemed more distant than they had yesterday, when she was actually at the worn home, as if the glamour of her outing tonight was putting those memories in the shade.
She couldn’t allow that to happen. The life of these British aristocrats was not for her.
Chapter Thirteen
Alessandra shrieked in dismay, disturbing the quiet of an early morning breakfast, and then clapped a hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to scare Tem, but both he and Rosie had jumped at the sound.
Tem lowered the newspaper he was reading to look across the kitchen table at Alessandra. "What's wrong, child?"
She scrolled through the online article, clicking a dozen times until she'd seen all the photos. "The paparazzi," she exclaimed. "They actually published pictures of me!"
"You aren't naked, are you?" Tem smiled.
"Of course not. But—" She paused. She didn't really want to tell Tem too much about how she'd changed her name. She'd told him Raul's doubts about her identity, of course, but perhaps it would be smarter to keep quiet when other people had doubts.
The headlines screeched exactly those doubts:
The Playboy Duke's Mystery Date is a Love Mystery. Ugh. That one was too corny. The breathless words did not make her laugh.
Stirling Loves a Love. A play on her name, of course. The stupid name her mother had given her.
Solve the Love Mystery. That headline was illustrated with a photo of her and Raul kissing in the snow. The one where they both looked like they'd be banging each other's brains out in the next minute.
The article had everything. Photos from the restaurant where she'd had lunch with Raul. Photos of the Devonwood party. Of course, the Devonwoods were bound to be paparazzi targets. Young and beautiful, rich and titled, they were perfect fodder for pop media articles.
But for some reason, most of the articles had fixated on her. Apparently, because she was an unknown, she made for a good story.
Or, she should say, she had been an unknown. Now that she'd been caught by the paparazzi, her legal name was known to anyone who cared to read it. That would only provide fodder for Raul to believe she'd been lying.
She heaved
a big sigh. Of course, the mystery of who she was only made her more enticing to blog writers. So far, they'd only uncovered her legal name. She couldn't imagine how they'd done that. But it was only a matter of time before they'd discover the name she was using in Austria. They would out her. If not today, then tomorrow. They didn't have her false name right now because the Devonwoods wouldn't have spoken to the press, nor would Raul. At least she hoped not.
But sooner or later, and probably sooner, they would discover her two names. The mystery would deepen, as would their attempts to dig into her past.
She sighed again, and then remembered Tem was waiting for an answer to his joke.
"Of course I wasn't naked," she repeated, summoning a weak smile from somewhere. "It's just that I'm not a public person. I'm not used to this kind of attention."
Tem folded his newspaper carefully and set it down on the table. "I don't wish to pry, Alessandra."
He stopped speaking and she waited. That was his way, to take his time.
She turned the laptop on the table so he could see the screen. She scrolled through the screens, showing him the headlines and the photos until, finally, she came to the last one. There she was, in bright red glory, cavorting in the snow with Raul Stirling. Europe Entertainment had done a full spread. Apparently, Raul was a major topic of interest to their readers.
The shocking thing was that the photographer had captured moments of which she wasn't even aware. Had she really raised her arms like that to welcome Raul as he leaned down to kiss her? She looked wanton and shameless, eager for his embrace.
His expression also surprised her. He was focused completely on her, his entire face and bearing staring down at her as if she was the only thing in his universe. She hadn't realized he could look so predatory, so determined. She was saved from looking like his helpless prey by the way her arms were raised in welcome, and by the look of anticipation on her face. As much as she hated to admit it, the photographer had done a wonderful job.
"So," Tem said, "this is the man who is the jerk. I can see you don't like him very much."
She gave a rueful laugh. "Seems I'm as susceptible to a pretty face as anyone else."
"Stirling is a lot more than a pretty face," Tem said sharply. "Don't underestimate him."
"What do you mean? It was just a kiss. Surely a man like him gets plenty of affection when he wants it."
"I'm wondering why he was so careless as to be kissing in public." Tem steepled his hands beneath his chin. "A titled man like Raul is bound to be haunted by the press. I would think it's unusual for him to give them this kind of fodder."
"What?" Alessandra asked, as an unpleasant suspicion tried to drum its way into her brain. "What do you mean?"
"It would have made more sense to me," Tem said slowly, "if Raul had taken you skiing in Austria. He gets press here, but he’s not a novelty since he lives here. We have world class ski resorts, so why go into Switzerland, where he’s bound to attract more attention?"
"Oh my God." The truth burst in Alessandra's head like a paparazzi's flashbulb. "What—"
Had Raul brought her to Switzerland precisely to expose her to the paparazzi? Worse, had he kissed her just to provide exciting photos which were sure to be shared in magazines and on the internet?
With the result, that he now knew her real name.
She wanted to cry. She wanted to rage.
She wanted revenge.
Oh, she would make him pay for this. He hadn't even had to work hard to get the information. No, all he had to do was take her skiing in a neighboring country, and provide a juicy shot for the cameramen.
"I said—" Tem began.
"Never mind." Alessandra dropped her head into her hands. "I just figured out why Raul took me skiing yesterday."
"Why is that?" Tem stared at her over the glasses he'd put on to look at the computer.
"To get the paparazzi to out me."
"Out you?" Tem asked carefully. "In what sense?"
"You remember I told you that Raul questioned my name at the Valentine's Day Ball?"
Tem nodded.
"So he was really quite clever," she said bitterly. "If he exposed me to the paparazzi, they'd do his investigating for him, because they'd want to put a name to their photos."
Tem rested his chin on his folded hands and was quiet for a moment. "Are you telling me Raul was correct when he questioned your name?"
Alessandra took an agonized look around the cozy kitchen, with its hand carved wooden table, its steaming teapot, and the remains of the simple meal they'd just finished. Most of all, she took note of the steadfast dog watching her, and the old man accepting her.
A confession might cost her this sweet haven. But she couldn't repay her gentle host with anything but honesty.
"Tem," she said, "my name is not really Alessandra Ranieri."
Chapter Fourteen
Tem pulled off his glasses and regarded her with his dark Romany eyes.
Alessandra looked down at the table. He already knew. He knew she'd been masquerading in Austria under a false name.
He'd undoubtedly figured it out when she told him Raul didn't believe her. Why should anyone believe her? All she had for proof was one old letter from a long dead woman.
"So," Tem said calmly. "Does your real name have something to do with all these lame attempts in the headlines to make puns using the word 'love'?
She rolled her eyes. "My mother gave me the name of 'Love'. Alessandra Love. She thought it would be a fantastic stage name. The only problem with that was that I was not destined for the stage."
"That's your legal name?" Tem's lips twitched.
"Don't laugh," she warned. "It was a painful experience, growing up with that moniker."
Tem sobered instantly. "I saw the words in the letter you showed me where your grandmother said your name was Alessandra Ranieri."
It was a subtle question, not a declaration.
Alessandra nodded. "I assumed that was my real name, my birth name. But when I couldn't find my birth certificate—" She stopped, and spread her hands out on the table, empty. "I guess it wasn't."
"So you lived your life under a different name," Tem said.
"It's a long story," she said. "Not a good one."
Tem laid a hand on hers briefly. "You don't owe me any explanations, child."
"It would help me to tell you. No one else knows the whole story and—and I'd like to share it."
"Let's bring our tea in by the fire, then." Tem stood up stiffly, watched by the attentive dog.
Alessandra grabbed the wooden tray, poured out two fresh cups of tea, and added her honey from the little pot on the table. She carried everything into the main room, where Tem was stoking up the fire. She placed the tea tray on the coffee table, and said, "I'm going to just get the letter." For some reason, she needed the security of the document itself, as a talisman, or maybe as proof of her story.
Tem nodded, and she hurried upstairs.
When she returned, she spread the document on the table, smoothing out its wrinkles, even though nothing would ever straighten the worn paper.
"You've already seen this." Alessandra sat down, leaning forward, her hands clasped between her knees. It was so important that Tem, at least, believe her.
He nodded. "The letter from your grandmother."
"My mother," Alessandra began, "had told me my Nona had died." She had to stop to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. A sip of tea gave her a moment to compose herself.
"I was eighteen when she decided to tell me, so Nona had been dead many years by then." Alessandra stopped again, and met Tem's clear gaze. "My mother told me to hurt me, you understand? Not to inform me of an event long past."
Tem nodded sadly. "I understand, child. I'm sorry you were raised by a person who'd do that. Sometimes people are in so much pain themselves, that the only way they can think of to dissipate it is to spread it around."
"I built myself a pretty strong armor."
&nbs
p; "That's normal." He stood up, placed another log on the fire, and stirred the ashes. Golden flames leapt up, highlighting his lined face, and Alessandra felt a sudden presentiment of doom. Tem wouldn't last long either. She'd be abandoned once again.
"How did you obtain the letter from your grandmother?" he asked, sitting down again.
