A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection (31 page)

Evangeline sat and arranged her skirts as Matteo opened a drawer and produced a piece of parchment along with pen and ink. After uncapping the bottle and placing it in the inkwell, he took her right hand, tugging at the tip of each gloved finger and then stripping the length of the glove from her elbow. “You draw with this hand, yes?”

She nodded, speechless, as he released her hand and gave her the pen. She held it for a moment and looked at him as he drew a chair alongside the table. “What would you like?”

“Ah,
cara mia
, I should hate to shock you.”

“You already have,” she answered, wondering if she would ever stop blushing.

He laughed again and gestured toward the paper as he sat back, relaxing in his chair. “Surprise me.”

Evangeline felt a stab of uncertainty under his close regard.

“Perhaps you should remove your mask, Eva.”

She glanced at him and then sat closer to the desk, focusing on the paper before her. “No, thank you.” Little did he know, the mask was keeping her honest. She could see well enough to accomplish her task.

Without giving it much thought, she dipped the pen into the ink and trailed it across the paper with sure, defined strokes. As always happened when she drew or painted, the world around her disappeared and became the work itself. In a matter of minutes, she created a rough sketch, pausing only briefly now and again to examine the subject.

With a quick flick of her wrist, she signed her name at the bottom right corner and handed the paper to Matteo. He remained comfortably sprawled in his chair, but the very air about him had taken on a stillness, which she registered as her mind came back into focus. He looked at the paper for so long, she began to wonder if she’d done something he found offensive.

“You find me handsome then,
Evangelina
?”

She met the dark eyes behind his mask with her own gaze. “Of course,” she said. “I doubt there is a woman anywhere on earth who would not.”

He looked again at the picture for a very long time, his lips tightening fractionally. “Tell me about your stepfather.”

Chapter Two

Evangeline tipped her head in some surprise. “I’m sorry?”

Matteo rose and held out his hand, brushing her other out of the way when she tried to replace the glove. Holding her bare hand in his, he led her to a seating area in the center of the room and sat by her on a soft sofa that was easily the most comfortable piece of furniture she’d encountered since sleeping on her own fluffy bed in her former bedroom in London— the bed she’d not slept in since her mother’s death because her new attic bedroom was too small to accommodate it.

He settled beside her and, after meeting her eyes for a moment more, leaned forward and placed his fingers alongside her mask. “I must see you,” he murmured, and after tipping his head slightly in question, she nodded. Evangeline leaned forward and allowed him to untie the ribbons from the back of her head, looking up slowly as it fell away.

She felt exposed and cold, and wished she’d not allowed it. When she turned her face away, he placed a finger beneath her chin and gently nudged her attention back to him. He leaned forward and placed her hands upon the ribbons at the back of his head. She hesitated for only a moment before untying it and meeting his dark gaze unadorned. Her breath caught in her throat. He was every bit as exquisite as he’d claimed her to be.

“Why did you not enter your own work in the Biennales?” Matteo asked as he traced his fingertip along her forehead, brushing a few stray curls from her eyes.

“I did not even know of the exposition until my stepfather told us he had been invited to enter and that we would be traveling with him.” She held his mask in her hands, feeling the warmth of the fabric where it had lain against his skin.

“And ‘we’ are?”

“His twin daughters and me. My mother passed one year ago.”

“And your father?”

“Died of consumption when I was twelve.”

Matteo studied her again in the intense manner she was coming to recognize. “Did your father leave behind an estate?”

Evangeline refrained from rolling her eyes at the futility of her situation at home, but only just. “I am not allowed to access it until I am married or thirty years of age. I suspect it will be gone by then.”

His eyes narrowed. “Your stepfather is your trustee then.”

“Yes.” It was grossly unfair. Had she been a boy, the estate would have been hers at eighteen, and she could already be living independently, entirely on her own.

“Does he know you paint?”

Evangeline allowed herself the eye roll that time and settled back more comfortably against the sofa. What did it matter if she told a stranger about her life? It wasn’t as though she would see him again. “He does know, and painting is the one thing he hasn’t forbidden me to do. But I am not to display my work anywhere except for my own room— my pieces that once hung in the house were removed when my mother died.”

“And why do you suppose he would allow you to continue? I gather he is not a kind man.”

Evangeline shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve asked myself the same question a thousand times. Perhaps he has a shred of humanity in him.”

Matteo threaded his fingers through hers. “And he brought you here.”

Evangeline shook her head and looked away, settling her gaze on the hearth. “Robert is concerned about appearances. One week ago, we had tea with some neighbors he wanted desperately to impress. When the topic of this vacation was brought into discussion, they assumed he would be taking his twins and me. He wants the world to believe he loves and cares for me as much as his own daughters. As he could hardly explain why he would leave me behind, I was suddenly part of the excursion.”

“For that alone, I am in his debt.”

Evangeline looked back at him with a smile. “You, sir, are incorrigible. And if we were in London right now and someone were to come upon us here, unchaperoned, I would be utterly ruined.”

“Ah, but
bella
, this is not London.” He paused for a moment. “When I found you on the
loggia
, you looked very much like a woman who did not wish to be disturbed. Dare I hope you are planning to attend the masquerade ball, though? The music has started; can you hear it?”

Evangeline sighed. “I had not intended to if I could avoid it,” she admitted. “The twins were… quite upset when they realized I would be accompanying them to Venice. I am doing my utmost to stay away from them, although I am curious enough to eventually want a peek at the ball.” A thought crossed her mind, and she quirked a brow at him. “You were also wandering the
loggia
alone. Perhaps you were avoiding the ball as well?”

He tipped his head in acknowledgement. “I have very little use for occasions such as these,
Evangelina
. I am here only because I must be.”

“Are you here alone? No family with you at all?”

“Regrettably, I am here with my parents and three brothers.”

Evangeline laughed. “You seem as thrilled as am I.”

Matteo sighed and smiled at her. “There are expectations— my mother wishes for me to marry and bless her with grandchildren, and my brothers are irritating in the extreme.”

“You have no wish to ever marry?”

“I have yet to meet a woman who does not annoy me once she opens her mouth and begins to speak.”

Evangeline grinned in spite of herself, her mood lighter than it had been in ages. “Methinks you have been looking in the wrong places, dear sir.”

He brought her fingers to his lips and placed a kiss upon the back of her hand. “Something tells me I ought to have been looking in London.”

She laughed. “Truly, I suspect many women in London society would also annoy you dreadfully. But all I have heard my entire life is that a man does not want a woman’s opinions, that he has no need for intelligent conversation with her. This is why he has gentlemen’s clubs.”

Matteo winced. “My kingdom for a woman with more on her mind than fashion.”

“You are most singular.”

He looked at her for a moment, opened his mouth and then closed it again.

“What is it?”

“Forgive me,
bella
, but how is it you are not spoken for, yourself?”

Evangeline felt heat suffuse her cheeks and she suddenly wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. The humiliation would likely never leave.

He cupped her cheek with his hand and inched closer to her. “It is indelicate of me to ask, but I must know. Has someone hurt you?”

She shook her head and briefly closed her eyes. “No. I had two Seasons before my mother died.”

“I refuse to believe you had no offers.”

“I had no offers.”

He looked at her, his face suddenly slack, for such a prolonged moment that Evangeline could only laugh. “I have accepted it. It is embarrassing, but seems to be my lot in life. I am actually considering something…” She trailed off, uncertain whether she wanted to confide in anyone about an idea that had begun forming the moment she left London. Even her handsome confidante whom she would never see again.

His fingers tightened fractionally on hers, and his expression darkened almost imperceptibly. “You think to find a protector here, someone to set you up as his mistress? Where were you hoping to look? At the ball?”

Evangeline gasped and tugged on her hand, which he still held firmly. “Certainly not! I was thinking of advertising as an art tutor!”

Matteo closed his eyes. “Eva.” He paused. “You must promise me that you will not ‘advertise’ for anything. There are men who would gladly hire you as an art tutor for their children and then expect additional favors for themselves. You cannot trust just anyone.”

Evangeline drew her brows together and narrowed her eyes. “And who are you to lecture me on what I may or may not do with my life? You implied you’ve had mistresses in the past! I believe it is grossly unfair that what is considered reprehensible for a respectable woman is politely ignored in a man. It ought to be equally condemned.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw, but he seemed to have the sense to remain silent on the point.

She sniffed. “Besides which, if I want to be some man’s mistress, I will be.” If she could only stop blushing.

He muttered something rapidly in Italian, and Evangeline was fairly certain she should be grateful she didn’t speak the language. His eyes sparked, and he fell silent, watching her with what she could only assume was anger. What was wrong with him? Weren’t Italian men lusty and demonstrative? She would have thought he might have a few friends in mind for her if she were to seriously consider the life of a courtesan. His puritan attitude was baffling after their flirtatious exchange.

He tipped his head to one side suddenly and squinted at her. “You say your father left behind an estate?”

What on
earth
?

“You have a dowry yet received no offers?”

Evangeline pulled her hand fully from his grasp and threw her arms up in frustration. “No offers! I already told you that— nobody wanted me!” She shifted to stand, but he pulled her back.

“Impossibile. Assolutamente impossibile. A face and body that would tempt a saint, and money as well? You are telling me that gentlemen never called on you?”

“Of course gentlemen called on me,” she said, feeling her frustration rise to new heights. Was the man insane? Why was he fixated on her lack of marital offers? “Some several times. But after so many visits, they just… stopped coming. I once overheard my stepfather telling my mother there must be something inherently wrong with me, because I scared gentlemen away.” Her voice cracked. “You are cruel to belabor the point, and I am leaving. I thank you for showing me the Vincinis.”

“
Cara mia
,” he said and finally released her when she struggled to stand. “Do you not find it odd that your stepfather told your mother that you had scared the gentlemen away, when he stood to lose your money if you married?”

Flustered, she dropped his mask in his lap and snatched her own from the coffee table where Matteo had laid it and settled it over her face, tying the ribbons firmly into place as she made her way to the door. “I do not know what you are suggesting, sir, but I find myself in need of some air. In fact, I do believe I will go down to the courtyard and attend the ball.”

Chapter Three

The courtyard was awash in the glow of torchlight and echoing with the sounds of laughter, the tinkling of wine glasses and music provided by a small orchestra. Evangeline fumed her way into the midst of it and willed herself not to cry. Odious, handsome Italian! Dredging up humiliating things when he hardly knew her and was in no position to pry.

The petulant voice of her stepsister, Analise, sounded somewhere off to her left. Evangeline gritted her teeth; she would know that voice anywhere.

“The
conte
never attends balls unless he is forced to,” she was saying to Daniella. “Charise says her mother spoke to a neighbor who knew the
Conte’s
mother, who said that he is Italy’s most eligible bachelor! How on earth am I to make an impression if the man won’t even show his face?”

“
Nobody
is showing their faces, Analise,” Daniella answered. “It’s a masquerade ball. And besides, who’s to say you would be the one making the impression?”

“Ugh.” Evangeline breathed out and twisted through the crowd, seeking to put as much space between herself and the twins as possible. The only thing that could make the evening worse would be if she encountered Robert, as well. She reached the edge of the crush and drew a breath of fresh air next to a cool stone wall.

It was insufferable, really, that she should live her life in the attic of the home she had grown up in, with her stepfather sleeping in her late father’s bedroom and those ridiculous girls prancing around as though they owned the place. She had long suspected that Robert Montgomery had married her mother for the money, but her mother had been so lonely that Evangeline had been hard pressed to withhold her support when the engagement had been announced.