It had been so long since she had experienced anything this intense. If ever.
‘So you’re reduced to gawping at half-naked strangers,’ she muttered, half in self-disgust, half in self-deprecation as she made herself turn away. ‘Face it, Maddie, this journey of discovery of yours is going to have to include getting back in the dating game. You want someone to really, passionately love you? They’re going to have to get to know you first.’
Not that she had ever really dated. A series—a very short series—of monogamous, semi-serious relationships with suitable young men that she had eventually ended when she considered herself to be in real danger of dying from actual boredom, until she had allowed herself to get engaged to Theo Willoughby. Engaged even though he had never, not once, made her tremble with desire. Nor, she admitted, had she him. No wonder they’d both been content to drift through the two years of their engagement barely seeing each other—and barely touching when they did.
She took one last look back and stilled. The man was looking across at her, and even over the lake she could sense his predatory intenseness. Heat flickered through her veins as she stood there, trapped under the weight of his gaze, über-conscious of his semi-nudity, all that flesh so splendidly displayed, feeling, under the weight of his gaze, as if she were equally unclad. Her mouth dried, her limbs heavy, under his spell, as if he were some male Medusa, turning her into a statue with a look alone.
Somehow Maddie summoned up the resolve to turn away, to walk nonchalantly as if she didn’t know that he was still staring at her, as if his gaze wasn’t burning holes in her back. And then, just like that, the pressure lessened, and when she plucked up the courage to glance back he was in the water, cutting through the lake with single-minded, bold strokes.
She paused to watch him swim. She had no idea who he was, but the unsettling encounter combined with the wedding invitation had to be a sign. Theo had moved on—to be fair, he had moved on the second she had halted the wedding if not before—and it was time she shook off all those labels that had held her back for so long: dutiful daughter, the runaway bride, the Honourable Madeleine. It was time simply Maddie discovered the joys of falling in love as well as the joys of working for a living. She’d promised herself the chance to live, to have fun in this time of exploration. It was time she stopped hiding behind her work, behind her fear, and seized every opportunity.
Of course, there weren’t that many opportunities for spontaneous romance in Castello Falcone or San Tomo, the tiny village which traditionally served the Falcone family. The pleasure spots of Lake Garda were twenty kilometres away, Verona and Milan further still. It was the peace and solitude which had drawn her here in the first place.
Lost in thought, Maddie barely noticed as she walked through the small, cobbled village square, with the church at one end and the magnificent wooden town hall at the other, passing through the narrow streets on autopilot. It wasn’t until she found herself back on the lake path that Maddie realised that she’d missed the turning, which took her around the back of the castle and in through the discreet staff exit, and instead she was heading towards the much grander—and private—gated driveway. She stopped, irresolute. It would take longer for her to turn around and go the right way and it wasn’t as if staff were actually forbidden from using the main entrance.
The fact this path would take her past the small cove where the mystery man was bathing had nothing to do with her decision to carry on. She focused on the path ahead, determined not to look to the right at any point, yet unable to stop her gaze sliding lakewards, just a little, as she approached the cove.
Nothing. No one. No piles of clothes. No bathers. Just a small curve of sand and the water.
That couldn’t be disappointment tightening in her chest, could it? Because that would be ridiculous. If things had come to such a pass that voyeurism was how she was getting her admittedly very few kicks then maybe she should just admit defeat and start creating memes of kittens.
Putting her head down, Maddie trudged determinedly on, only to stop with a shocked gasp as she ran straight into something hard. Something that emitted an audible ‘oof’ as her head rebounded off it. Maddie stepped back, embarrassed heat flooding her as she looked up, an apology spilling from her lips, only for the words to dry up as she looked into a pair of steely blue eyes. Eyes fixed directly on her.
‘Trovi bella la veduta?’ the owner of the eyes enquired sharply.
Maddie spoke fluent Italian, but every word she had ever known deserted her. ‘I... I’m sorry?’ She cringed as her words emerged, brisk and clear and so utterly English she sounded like Lady Bracknell opining on handbags.
‘I asked,’ and she cringed further as the man switched to perfect English, ‘if you were enjoying the view?’
Oh, no—oh, absolutely no way was this happening. Maddie stepped back and took in the man properly. Tall, dark-haired, looked as if he was sporting a decent pair of shoulders under the white linen shirt, hair ruffled and still wet. Still wet...
The swimmer.
* * *
Dante raised an eyebrow, but the slim, blonde woman didn’t say anything further, fixing her gaze firmly on the second button of his shirt. He raked her up and down assessingly—tall, with a willowy grace when she wasn’t running into people—her long, silky blonde hair twisted into a smooth ponytail. She didn’t look like one of the wedding guests who trooped through the castle gates with clockwork regularity to swill Prosecco and party into the early hours, rarely taking the time to notice the exquisite setting, but who else could she be? So few tourists found their way to the small San Tomo lake, most preferring the well-trodden loveliness of the more famous Garda and Como or to head deeper into the mountains.
The woman’s pale cheeks flushed a deep rose-pink as she finally lifted her head and met his gaze full-on. Her own gaze was steady, strengthened by a pair of cool grey eyes which reminded Dante of the lake on a winter’s day; almost silver, tinged with a darkness that spoke of hidden depths.
‘I wasn’t looking where I was going—please forgive me,’ she said, her voice clear and bell-like.
‘Distracted, maybe? The views can quite take one’s breath away.’ He allowed a knowing intonation to creep into his voice but, although her colour heightened, her expression stayed cool.
‘The mountains are magnificent, aren’t they? I can’t imagine ever taking them for granted, ever not being overawed.’
‘Glad to hear they’ve made an impression, signorina...’ He paused and waited, watching her torn between good manners and reluctance to prolong the conversation.
‘Fitzroy, Madeleine Fitzroy.’ She smiled then, the kind of polite smile which was clearly a dismissal. ‘I am so sorry again. It was nice to meet you.’ And with that she turned and walked away, back along the path. A calm, collected walk as if she was not at all flustered. Dante stayed still for a moment, enjoying the sway of her hips, the curve of her waist, set off by her neat linen shift dress.
The ping of his phone reminded him of his duties. He couldn’t stand here for ever, no matter how pretty the view. Tomorrow he would go for a long hike, up into the mountains, just as he had when he was a boy. But today he needed to catch up with paperwork, get to know any new staff who had started in the last few months, settle back into the castle after far too many months since his last fleeting visit.
The woman had disappeared around the curve of the lake path and Dante set off in the same direction. The path was as familiar as his own reflection, memories around every turn. Even now, after all these years, after
