Roman Spring

“She is ill.”

The words were delivered with a flatness that stopped her with her hand on the door.

“Ill?” she said slowly, as she turned toward him.

“Yes.”

There was only the one word, but something in the way he looked made her hesitate.

“She was fine last night.”

Nicolo laughed hollowly. “How fine can a woman be at La Principessa’s age?” He thrust his hands into his pants pockets, stalked to the grimy window, and peered out into the alley. “It is as much my fault as hers. I should not have let her attend that ridiculous affair, but she insisted.”

Caroline touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. “She’s probably just overtired.”

He sighed. “That is what I hope. A day or two of rest, some clear broth...” He turned and looked at her. “And a visit from you, Caroline. It would do much for her, I think.”

Caroline stared at him. Was he telling her the truth? Was his grandmother really ill, or was this only a ploy?

No matter what undercurrents had passed between them last night, it had been true enough that it was la Principessa who’d sent her grandson to collect her at the Sala dell’Arte. And even she had to admit that what she’d seen the Prince show the old woman had seemed to be genuine respect and affection—

“It is as Silvio, that fool, told you. But not as he made it sound. I will pay the agency’s usual commission for your services, plus a bonus for any inconvenience this causes them in their scheduling. And I will pay you your regular hourly fee plus fifty per cent. If you think there is a more equitable arrangement to be made, you have only to say so.”

“All this, if I’ll agree to visit your grandmother.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“I can see why Silvio was so happy. It’s a generous offer.”

“Certainly it is.” A smile twisted across his lips. “You do not often spend your time with the elderly, do you?”

Caroline felt her cheeks flame. Damn the man! He was doing it again, saying one thing but making it sound like quite another. But then, he was a man used to buying whatever he wanted, a man used to having his own way.

“Well? Are we in agreement?”

“No.” The word slipped from her lips. “No,” she said more forcefully, “we are not. I’m afraid I’m not for sale, Your Highness. I’m sorry your grandmother’s not feeling well, but it has nothing to do with me.”

His eyes went dark. “I see.”

“Give her my best, please, but explain that I’m very busy, that I can’t possibly—”

“Oh, I know what to tell her,” Nicolo said sharply. “It’s what I should have told her last night, when she sent me after you.” He strode toward her, his shoulder brushing hard against hers as he headed for the door. “I shall explain that you’ve no time in your life for such nonsense. What is an old woman’s heart when compared to the joys of dancing half naked down a catwalk while the world watches?”

“That’s insane. I don’t dance half...” Caroline swung around and looked after him. “What do you mean, her heart? What’s wrong with her heart?”

“Nothing, except that you have somehow touched it. But then, I have never subscribed to the myth that wisdom accompanies old age.” His hand closed around the doorknob. “Good morning, Miss Bishop.”

“Wait.” She took a deep breath. “Did she really ask for me?”

A look of distaste fluttered across Nicolo’s face. “Why else would I be here?”

She hesitated. “I did like your grandmother. She was very sweet and kind, and...” Caroline took another breath. “All right. I’ll go see her.”

She saw the look of surprise on Sabatini’s face but then, he couldn’t have been any more surprised than she was. She had certainly not planned on saying that, it was just that there was no reason to hate an old woman just because you hated her insufferable grandson, especially when she reminded you, in some indefinable way, of your own grandmother—but why should she explain any of that to this man? She could see that he was at a loss for words—which was reason enough for her to be pleased with her impetuous decision.

He nodded, then shifted from one foot to the other. “Well.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose I should say thank you.”

“And graciously, I’m sure,” Caroline said dryly. “But you needn’t bother.” She smiled tightly. “I’m not doing it for you, I’m doing it for your grandmother. Besides, I don’t want anything from you, Your Highness. Not a thing.”

Nicolo stiffened. “I could not have said it better myself,” he said coldly. “Now, let me get Silvio in here with a contract—”

“You misunderstood me,” she said sharply. “You can sign whatever papers you like with the agency. You’re quite right, they will lose money on me today.” Her eyes met his. “But I won’t take a penny from you for visiting the Princess.”

Nicolo’s eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid I’m not following you.”

“It’s really quite simple. I don’t want to be paid for going with you to see your grandmother. It’s a visit, not a business deal. Do you understand?”

He stared at her while the seconds flew past, and then he shook his head.

“No,” he said flatly, “I do not.”

Caroline smiled slightly. “I didn’t think you would. But that’s the deal, Your Highness. Take it or leave it.”

He frowned, and his gaze moved slowly over her face. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders.

“Very well. If that is how you wish it—”

“It’s the only way.”

Nicolo nodded and pulled the door open. Silvio, crouched just outside, all but tumbled into the room.

“Oh,” she said sweetly, “be careful, signore. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Silvio nodded nervously, his eyes darting like black ants from her to Nicolo.

“Grazie, signorina. I appreciate your concern.”

“The lady is quite right, Silvio.” Nicolo smiled tightly. “If you’re going to get your neck broken, I want the pleasure of doing it.”

“Signore, please—”

“Come on, man, get moving! Where’s the contract? And where do I sign it?”

The agency chief almost groaned with happiness. “Right there, sir,” he said, whipping a document from the desk. He beamed at Nicolo. “The signorina is going with you, then?”

Nicolo’s eyes met Caroline’s. “Yes,” he said shortly, “she is.”

Scowling, he scanned the page, then scrawled his name at the bottom.

“Signorina?” Silvio said, pushing the paper toward her. Nicolo’s scowl deepened.

“She is not signing it,” he said.

“Not...? But—”

Nicolo brushed past Silvio and clasped Caroline’s arm. “Let’s get going,” he said brusquely.

She nodded. “Absolutely. The sooner I’ve seen your grandmother, the sooner I can say goodbye to you for the last time. And what a relief that will be!”

She had meant to put him in his place. He looked down at her, at her outthrust chin and flashing eyes, and, to her surprise, he laughed, really laughed, in a way he had not done before.

“Do you always speak your mind, signorina?”

“Yes,” she said. “Always.”

His eyes darkened just a little. “It is an interesting quality in a woman,” he said, “one I have not encountered before.”

“Well then,” she said as she swept past him out the door, “you’re in for a bumpy ride.”

“Yes,” he said, and he laughed again in that same, easy way.

For the very first time, Caroline wondered if she had let her instincts mislead her. But by then Nicolo was hurrying her down the steps, out of the building, and into a black Mercedes limousine.

It was too late to wonder about anything.

CHAPTER FOUR

A MERCEDES. Of course, Caroline thought as she settled inside the car. It would have to be something like this, an expensive limousine with a uniformed chauf-feur and darkly tinted glass that guaranteed privacy. What other sort of automobile would a man like Nicolo Sabatini have?

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