set out to act scandalously and she had.
Archer’s head moved against her shoulder and he set her down slowly, as if warning her legs they would need to stand on their own. He moved away from her long enough to restore his trousers. In the dimness, he was even more attractive after sex than he was before, if that was possible. His hair fell rakishly in his face as he concentrated on his clothes, his hands sure and competent in their tasks. She’d never found a man’s hands sexy before, but even in the dark, his hands carried a certain quality to them, she’d thought as much when they’d danced and eaten. Those moments in the piazza seemed a lifetime ago.
‘Elisabeta.’ His voice was soft in the darkness, his face close to hers, his eyes half-shut. One arm bracketed her as he leaned against the wall. His lips touched hers in a light brushing, not a full kiss. He was formulating ideas, deciding what happened next. She couldn’t allow that. She gathered her reserves.
‘Archer,’ she answered in equally soft tones, her hand gently cupping the firm line of his jaw. She wanted to touch him until the last, to give her body every chance to remember him. ‘I have to go.’ With that, she ducked under his arm and ran into the night.
* * *
Just like bloody Cinderella in the children’s tale. Archer took a few steps forward into the street after her, but he stopped himself. Women who fled without provocation didn’t want to be followed. He would not make a fool of himself by running after her. Or worse, put her in danger of discovery. Elisabeta, if that was even her name, was gone with not even a glass slipper to trace her. If Nolan was here, he’d tell him he’d got a fair bit luckier than the prince. That poor fellow had only got a dance after flirting with her all night. To which, Archer would acerbically remind him it was a children’s tale after all. As such, it was also a tale of true love.
Sex in an alley wasn’t true love, not even close. It wasn’t meant to be. Yet nothing in the encounter had been casual. Archer leaned against the wall, his active mind imagining the brick still warm from her body. He’d had casual sex before. It was physical and fast, a game for the moment, a way to pass the time at a ball or masquerade. The arousing quality of those liaisons usually came from the heightened risk of discovery. Certainly, those qualities had been somewhat in evidence tonight. A street was public no matter how dark. But there had been more. Even now, arousal gave an insistent stir at the memory of her head thrown back at the last as she claimed her pleasure, her hair spilling, her breasts thrust forward against her bodice, her cries of release, the squeeze of her legs, holding him. Never had he seen an abandon so complete, so beautiful in its naturalness.
She had been stunned, surprised when it had come. He’d had the sense in those moments that while she was no virgin, this was new to her. New seemed an apt but inadequate description of what he’d seen in her face, felt in her body. His ego preened at the thought. He’d given her that exquisite release for the first time. It was silly, he hardly knew her, but he prided himself on putting a woman’s needs at the centre of his lovemaking. It was what had made him one of London’s rather more successful lovers.
And yet, his body hadn’t been without its own pleasures there against the wall. His body hummed for more of the same even now with having achieved repletion. Once was apparently not enough. Then again, perhaps it was understandable. He’d been on the road and alone for quite a while.
He was going to be alone quite a while longer too if he didn’t put this fanciful nonsense out of his head and find his uncle’s house. He’d left Amicus at the livery near the campo, the town centre, with plans to return for him once he’d located his uncle’s home. He’d had no desire to tramp through narrow cobblestone streets with a horse in tow, in the dark, looking for a home he wasn’t familiar with. His best bet would be to return to the party and ask for directions to Giacomo Ricci’s home in the Torre neighbourhood.
Archer shoved off the wall and began walking back to the festivities. His other best bet would be to put his Cinderella out of his mind. He wasn’t here to fall in love; he was here to make a new start, to help his uncle with horses for the Palio and to fulfil a promise to his mother. Taken together that seemed quite enough to keep a man busy without a woman to complicate things. The mysterious Elisabeta would have to remain just that—a mystery and a memory.
‘La famiglia è la patria del cuore! Family is the country of your heart. Of course you’ve come.’ Giacomo Ricci rose from his chair and came to embrace Archer, kissing him on both cheeks the moment Archer entered the loggia where a late breakfast was being served the next morning.
‘Buongiorno, Zio.’ Archer bore the effusive greeting as graciously as he had last night after finding his uncle’s contrada, Torre. It hadn’t been far from the town centre, just to the west of where he’d come from. Everyone had known his uncle and it had been easy to find Giacomo among the throng of revellers. Apparently each neighbourhood had been hosting its own celebration.
His uncle had kissed him publicly and spirited him away to his home where a new party commenced as he was introduced in whirlwind fashion to cousins, spouses of cousins and their offspring. There had been neighbours and friends after that, all eager to greet him and kiss him. He’d never been kissed by so many men in his entire life. Archer couldn’t recall the last time his father had kissed him. Had his father ever kissed him?
Archer filled a plate with bread, cheese and fresh strawberries and took a seat at the table where he could look through the arches of the loggia into the street. The loggia was open by design, so that people passing by could wave to his uncle or stop to conduct brief business or even partake of some food. He knew enough from what his mother had told him about her home that the arrangement spoke to the power and position of her family in the contrada. To be seen with Giacomo Ricci was important. It was the sort of news people would share over dinner later in the day.
For now, though, Archer was thankful the loggia was empty and the streets quiet after a boisterous night of festivities. He was still reeling from last evening. His uncle retook his seat. ‘Did you sleep well? I want to take you around the neighbourhood and show you everything, have you meet some people.’ His uncle’s eyes shone with warm pride as he paused, gripping Archer’s hand firmly. ‘I cannot believe you are here at last, my sister’s son, here in my own home.’
Archer felt his throat tighten unexpectedly at the warmth and sincerity of his words. ‘I cannot believe it either. I wish it had been sooner. I promised her I would come.’ These were promises only his brother, Dare, knew about, promises he’d made that last day in his mother’s final hour and not spoken of to anyone, not even Haviland. He and Dare had been with her, all three of them simply waiting, knowing the end was so very close, that all the sunshine, all the open windows letting in the crisp autumn afternoon, couldn’t hold back the inevitable. She was going on without them. They were grown men. They should have been able to handle the reality. But Archer’s own throat had been tight with emotion as it was now.
‘What did you promise her?’ his uncle prompted gently. Archer struggled to find words to tell this man he knew and yet didn’t know. ‘She said, “Promise me you will go to Giacomo, Archer. Go to my home. I think you will find what you’re looking for.”’ He was looking for so much. A father figure who could replace the one his father had become, a place of his own where he could be his own man as opposed to the second son, where he could live his own dreams among the horses.
‘This is a pilgrimage for you?’ Giacomo asked quietly.
‘In part,’ Archer confessed. ‘I come here to honour her, to remember her, to know who
