The Bride of Montefalco

Ally didn’t believe that. She knew too many attractive couples who had wonderful marriages.

Hers had started out that way, but when she saw changes happening, she should have questioned him point-blank. But she’d been scared. They could have talked things out and maybe salvaged their marriage. Now it was too late. There was no use wishing she’d acted on her suspicions a long time ago.

She looked around her claustrophobic cell. What she needed to do was get out of here.

Her abductor was waiting for her to cooperate. Maybe if she made up a lie, he’d believe her and allow her to go free with a slap on the wrist.

Without hesitation she pushed the chair over to the door and climbed up to press the button.

While she waited for a response, she put it back against the wall.

In a minute the door swung open to reveal the guard who’d brought her breakfast.

“Signora?”

“I hate it in here and I’m ready to talk.”

He took the tray off her bed and started out the door.

“Did you hear me?” she cried. “I’m ready to confess!”

He shot her an oblique glance before the door closed.

“Ooh—” She pounded her fists against it. “What kind of a lunatic place is this?” she shouted.

When she realized she was only hurting herself, she gave it up and walked around her cell, trying to rub the pain from the sides of her hands.

Five minutes later she experienced déjà vu to hear the door open and see her captor enter the room. When she glimpsed the forbidding look in those fiery black eyes, she backed away from him.

“You’re ready to tell the truth, signora?”

“Yes, but not in here. I can’t abide enclosed places.”

He gave an elegant shrug, reminding her what an amazing physique he had.

“It’s either in here, or not at all.”

“Oh all right!” She took a deep breath. “It’s true I pretended to be Mrs. Parker to get the duc’s attention.

“I do freelance stories for a local magazine in Portland. One of my boyfriends works for the police department and once in a while he tells me something interesting.

“A couple of months ago he told me his boss was working on a missing persons case involving a married man from Portland and another woman who died with him in Europe. Just the other day he mentioned that they’d finally identified the woman and had pictures of her.

“I asked him if he would let me see them. He did, so I scanned them and downloaded them to my laptop.

“All I wanted to do was talk to the woman’s husband and ask if I could do an exclusive story on him. In case he didn’t believe I was serious, I planned to show him the pictures. But I wouldn’t have allowed them to be published, or have bribed him for money. I just wanted to write about his heart-wrenching ordeal. Americans love stories about wealthy, titled people with problems. It makes them feel better about their own less glorious lives.

“So now that you know the truth, please let me go. All I want is my passport and suitcase back. If you’ll send for a taxi, the driver will take me to the train.

How about it? You let me out of here and I’ll go straight home to Portland.”

His eyes held a frightening gleam.

“You’re lying through your pearly-white teeth, signora, but I give you credit for your amazing resourcefulness.”

His wintry smile daunted her. “As it happens, I never told you the nature of those photos. If you’d known what they contained, you wouldn’t have placed your source’s job in jeopardy. All you’ve done is convince me you’re a liar.”

He was bluffing…

“How typical,” she mocked. “If I were a man, you would have said ‘good try.’ But since I’m a woman, I can’t be trusted.”

One black brow quirked.

“Aren’t you? So far you’ve told me two diametrically opposing lies, none of which hold water. While I’m still here, want to try for a third? I have nothing more important to do for the moment.”

“Okay.” She felt all the stuffing go out of her. “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll give you a hundred dollars if you’ll let me go. No one will need to know.”

“If it were a hundred thousand dollars, I wouldn’t take it.”

He was impossible!

“Look— All I wanted to do was speak to Mr. Montefalco. This is between him and me, no one else.”

He pursed his lips. “Why is that, signora?”

She lifted solemn eyes to his.

“Because it’s very sad and very personal.”

He put his hands on hips, the picture of the ultimate male. “I’m his closest confidant. You can tell me anything. If it will make you feel any better, you can whisper it to me. I promise it will remain sacrosanct.”

Something in his tone had her halfway believing him, but it didn’t matter.

“How do I know you’re not wearing a listening device?”

“You don’t,” he clipped out. “You’ll have to trust me.”

She leaned close to him. “Sorry, but I have to talk to him alone.”

The nearness of her heart-shaped mouth and the flowery scent her body gave off, stunned him as much as the words that fell from those enticing lips underlining her intransigence.

She couldn’t be Mrs. James Parker. Any man married to her wouldn’t have felt the urge to turn to Donata or any other woman for that matter.

“If you won’t let me out of here,” she continued in a low voice, “then bring Mr. Montefalco to me. I want to talk to him, and I believe he’ll be anxious to talk to me. We might find we’re a comfort to each other.”

With his body still reacting to the warmth of her breath on his ear, Gino found himself reluctant to put distance between them. But he had to no matter how much the imploring look in her eyes and the haunting appeal in her voice persuaded him to believe she was finally telling him the truth.

He’d just stepped away, rubbing the back of his neck in an unconscious gesture of frustration when the door opened to reveal one of the guards. He informed Gino that Inspector Santi wanted him on the phone.

Without saying a word to her, he strode down the hall to the office, hardening himself against her sound of protest. In truth he was oddly reticent to find out she was the beautiful dust of the enemy.

He picked up the receiver, then turned his back toward the desk sergeant.

Knowing the jail phone was tapped he said, “Inspector? I’ll call you back on my phone.” After replacing the receiver, Gino pulled out his cell and rang him on the other man’s private line.

Keeping his voice low he said, “Carlo? What did you find out?”

“She is Mrs. Parker, Gino.”

While his thoughts took off in a dozen directions, Carlo kept talking. “I guess I’m not surprised. She’s a widow grieving for her husband.”

Gino had proof of that. He’d just come from her cell. She’d claimed that she’d sought out Marcello in the hope of giving and receiving comfort. But if that was true, how did she explain the laptop? Something didn’t ring true.

“She said she’d been in St. Moritz to visit the scene of the accident,” Gino murmured.

“It’s unfortunate she chose this time to come to Italy when the press is just waiting for anything they can do to sensationalize this case. She’s the last person you should be seen with.”

Gino agreed. All it would take was a photo of the two of them together caught by one of the lurking paparazzi, and the hellish situation would escalate overnight.

“You need to leave the jail and let me handle this, Gino. I’ll instruct the sergeant to free her. One of the guards will escort her to Rome by train and put her on the next plane for the States.”

Gino grunted a response as he listened to his friend. Though Carlo made a lot of sense, Gino couldn’t forget that Mrs. Parker had come all this way with that laptop to see Marcello for a specific reason. Since she’d put herself in jeopardy to accomplish her objective, Gino couldn’t let her go until he’d found out what was so important she’d risked everything, even jail, to make contact.

“I’m sure you’re right, Carlo. I’ll leave it up to you.”

“That’s good. You need to stay as far removed from her as possible.”

He would as soon as he’d had time to talk to her away from other people. “Grazie, Carlo. It seems that’s all I ever say to you.”

“Forget it. Ciao, Gino.”

Ally had been sitting on the cot wondering what was going on when the door flew open.

It was the same guard as before.

“Come, signora. You’ve been released. Please to follow me.”

Hardly able to believe it, she grabbed her purse and started after him.

“What about my suitcase?”

“It is here,” he said once they’d reached the reception area of the jail.

Convinced her abductor had confiscated the laptop, she leaned over to open the catches and sure enough, she discovered it was gone.

For some inexplicable reason, which was absurd considering her circumstances, she wished he were still here so that in front of his colleagues, she could accuse him of absconding with it.

She shut the lid and lifted her head. “What about my passport?”

“You’ll be given it after you board your flight for the U.S.”

She almost blurted that she couldn’t leave Montefalco yet, but she stopped herself in time. All she needed was to make that mistake and then be shuffled back to her cell for defying him.

She took a deep breath to calm down. When she boarded her jet, she would claim to be ill and ask to be put on a later flight. Once she found a hotel room in Rome, she would figure out another plan to reach Mr. Montefalco.

“Very well. I’m ready whenever you are.”

The jail door swung open. Another guard stood outside in front of a white police car and held the rear door open for her. Unlike her captor, he didn’t help her with her luggage. No doubt he considered her a lowlife reporter who didn’t deserve common courtesy.

She pushed her case across the seat and climbed in.

When their car emerged from the alley, throngs of tourists filled the walkways. The guard wound his way through the charming streets for the short ride to the depot.

She hated the thought of another hot train ride, but there was no help for it.

“Come, signora.”

The guard had parked the car in a VIP zone. He escorted her through the crowded station and out to the quay.

After a brief talk with one of the conductors, he boarded the train with her and put her in a second class compartment already filled except for one seat in the middle. She had to put her suitcase on the shelf above without his assistance.

“I’ll be in the corridor until we reach Rome, signora.” The warning that she shouldn’t try anything to escape was implicit.

Her cheeks hot with anger, she sat down, trying to avoid the interested stares of the other passengers.

No sooner had the guard stepped out of the compartment and disappeared than the train began to inch forward.

Ally was so exhausted after spending a wretched night in that jail cell, she rested her head against the back of the seat. Dispirited by everything that had happened, she closed her eyes for a few minutes, needing sleep. The first thing she would do when she could finally be alone in a hotel room was to crash.

Soon she lost track of time and was almost out for the count when she felt a hand on her arm.

“Signora?” sounded a deep male voice with a vaguely familiar timbre.

She came awake with a cry of alarm.

When she saw her striking captor still dressed in black, standing there bigger than life carrying her suitcase, the breath rushed from her lungs. She blinked up at him, wondering if he was real, or if she was dreaming.

“W-what’s going on?”

His hooded eyes played over her features, awakening her senses in spite of her fatigue, or maybe because of it.

“I relieved the other guard. We’re getting off at the next stop. Come with me.”

Though she felt so groggy she didn’t know how she’d be able to walk, she realized this man was her only chance to get Jim’s laptop back, and maybe find an entrée to Mr. Montefalco.

Clutching her purse, she got up and followed him out of the compartment and down the corridor. The train had already begun to slow down.

When it came to a stop, several people were waiting to climb on board. But he stepped off the stairs first, and held out his hand to help her. Feeling distinctly light-headed from sleep deprivation, she found his strong grasp oddly reassuring.

To her surprise he kept hold of it as he led her out of the small station to a truck parked along the road. It wasn’t anything like the black sedan from the palazzo she’d ridden in last night.

Heavens—was it only last night? Ally felt all mixed up and confused. She had to be confused to be happy this enigmatic stranger had rescued her from that awful train.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked once he’d turned on the engine.

“To a place where you can eat and sleep in that order.”

That sounded so wonderful, she wanted to cry.

“Why would you do that for me when you had me jailed for false credentials, trespassing and impersonating someone else?” her voice trembled.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. She could tell because his knuckles went white.

“I’ve found out you’re who you said you were.”

She jerked her head away from him so he wouldn’t see her eyes smarting.

“You mean you now believe I’m Mrs. Parker…”

“Yes.”

“I see. So now that you know my name, what does Mr. Montefalco call you?”

There was a curious silence, then, “Gino.”

She stirred restlessly in the seat.

“Which may or may not be your real name, but at least it’s something to call you.”

“Besides bastard you mean?” he interjected in a wry tone.

Caught off guard, Ally laughed softly. She couldn’t help it.

“Actually that’s what I felt like calling the guard when he wouldn’t help me with my suitcase on the train. Even at your worst, you were more of a gentleman.”

She heard him draw in what sounded like a tortured breath. “I owe you an apology.”

She flicked him a covert glance. “If I ever get to meet your employer, I’ll be able to vouch for your fierce loyalty to him. It’s no wonder he keeps you on his payroll. Every man who’s a target should have such a trusted bodyguard.”

By now they’d left the little village of Remo and were driving through fields of sunflowers with a hot Italian sun shining down.

“How do you know so much about him?”

She studied her hands. “I know very little apart from the obvious facts.”

“Which are?” he prodded.

“He’s rich, titled and has lost his wife. If he loved her desperately, then my heart goes out to him.”

“What about your heart?” he whispered.

“If you’re asking if it was shattered by my husband’s death, then yes.” If you’re wondering if his probable infidelity has wounded me, then yes. But because she’d waited too long to try to fix what was wrong between them, Jim’s unexpected death had brought on guilt she couldn’t seem to throw off.

Gino drove along the maze of country roads with what appeared to be long accustomed practice and expertise.

Once upon a time she would have loved traveling through the countryside, but right now she was numb to the world around her.

The next time he stopped, her bleary eyes took in a yellowed, three-story farmhouse that looked quite ancient.

“Where are we?”

“My home,” he announced before helping her from the car.

He carried her suitcase and told her to follow him. She didn’t question him as they entered the foyer and climbed some stairs to the next floor.

He opened a door on his left. “You’ll be comfortable in here, Mrs. Parker. The en suite bathroom is through that door. I’ll ask my housekeeper Bianca to bring you a tray. Sleep well. We’ll talk later.”

“Yes, we will. I’d like my husband’s laptop back.”

“All in good time.”

As she was coming to find out, it was his favorite saying.

He placed her suitcase on the aged hardwood floor, then left and shut the door behind him.

Straight ahead of her was a four-poster double bed with a comfy looking white quilt. She was so tired, she removed her outer clothes and climbed under the covers. Ally didn’t remember her head touching the pillow.

CHAPTER THREE

ON GINO’S way down to the kitchen, Sofia met him in the dining room. “Who’s that lady you brought home with you, Uncle Gino?”

Gino had to think fast. “An acquaintance of mine who wanted to see the farm. She’s flown all the way from the States, and is so tired, I told her to sleep before I introduced her to you.”

“Oh.”

“Where’s Bianca?”

“Out on the back terrace with Luigi and papa.”

That was just as well. He tousled Sofia’s hair. “Our guest needs food. Do you want to help me fix it?”

“Yes.”

She started walking to the kitchen with him.

“What does she like?”

“Can you imagine her not liking anything Bianca cooks?”

“I guess not.”

His morose niece needed her friends. Now that he was home, he would arrange for it. Together they made a plate of ham, fresh bread, salad, fruit and hot tea.

“Can I go with you to take it to her?”

“Of course.”

“What’s her name?”

“Signora Parker.”

“Does she speak Italian?”

“No.” Not according to the taxi driver. “It will give you a chance to practice your excellent English with her.”

“Is she a farmer, too?”

Gino was equally curious about the wife of Donata’s lover. “Why don’t you ask her later?” It would be interesting to hear her answer.

They went up the stairs. He tapped on the door. “Signora?”

“I’ll peek,” Sofia offered and opened the door a crack. After tiptoeing inside, she came back out again.

“She’s sound asleep.”

Gino wasn’t surprised. “We’ll fix her another plate later.”

Once back in the kitchen, they worked together to clean things up while he devoured the meal meant for the intriguing woman sleeping beneath his roof.

“She has pretty hair. It looks like the color of fairy wings.”

That was as good a description of gossamer as you could get. He eyed his brunette niece he loved.

“Not many people we know have hair that particular shade do they?”

“I don’t know any,” she declared.

Neither did Gino.

“What do you say we call Anna’s mother and see if your friend can stay over with us for a few days.”

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