Free The Adventuress by TASHA ALEXANDER

no one had bothered to plant palms. The gardens were filled with citrus trees and redbuds and the evergreens imported by Napoleon’s soldiers at the beginning of the century. Men in striped shirts populated the outdoor tables at quiet cafés, waiters bringing them cool glasses of the rosé wine produced in nearby Provence.
    The number of tourists we encountered declined as we continued our climb up the increasingly steep hill. Most of them preferred to stay on La Croisette and the fashionable streets nearby or, if they proved slightly adventurous, took carriages to view the medieval church at the top. As we approached Notre Dame de l’Espérance, the pavement opened into a wide staircase that led to the old castle walls.
    â€œNone of you should ever forgive me for making us do this in the heat,” Amity said. “It was much cooler down by the sea. I did not realize the sun up here would be quite so unforgiving.”
    â€œNot nearly so bad as Egypt,” Jeremy said, exchanging a nauseating look with his fiancée. “I can think of several occasions on which we suffered more there.”
    â€œCorrect as always, darling,” she said, and kissed him.
    â€œHo!” A voice came from the walls above. “You are all pathetically slow. I have been here for ages.” It was Augustus, standing on the ramparts, a large yellow carnation in his buttonhole and an umbrella shading his pale features.
    â€œWhat a treat,” Margaret said, dropping Colin’s arm and looping hers through mine. “I do despise that boy.”
    â€œThis is a topic that can do me no credit,” Mr. Fairchild said, leaving us to it. “Deliver me, Hargreaves.” They pulled ahead, leaving us to continue our discussion in private.
    â€œI have not had much conversation with him,” I said. Margaret slowed her pace so that we fell behind the rest of the group. “He scuttles away whenever I speak to him.”
    â€œI have talked to him enough to believe that he is the sort of person who might enjoy tormenting kittens,” Margaret said. “There is cruelty in nearly all of his comments.”
    â€œDoes he not collect butterflies?” I asked. “I recall Amity saying something to that effect.”
    â€œYes, and I am convinced he does so only because he likes sticking pins through them. Lord, it’s hot. Will we ever reach the top of these stairs?”
    We did, although it took a considerable effort in the heat, but the view from the top of the old walls proved well worth the climb. The church stood immediately beneath us. Opposite it, to the north, the terra-cotta tiled rooftops of the city spread farther below us, but to the southeast they gave way to the Mediterranean, whose waters, now the color of lapis lazuli sprinkled with silver, had become rougher since we left the hotel. The wind felt stronger as well, but that was to be expected on the ramparts. I was surprised, however, to feel a shiver go through me. Colin came up behind me and draped a shawl over my shoulders.
    â€œI knew you would feel chilled by the wind after the exertion of the climb.”
    â€œYou are very good to me,” I said. He wrapped his arms around me and I pressed against him. “Margaret has already gone down to the church and appears to be questioning an unsuspecting priest about something or other. She has got Mr. Fairchild in tow,” I said. “Jack is helping Christabel with her camera near that olive tree—”
    â€œI prefer the view of the sea,” Colin said.
    â€œDo allow me to finish, please. Amity and Jeremy are with her brother, still on the walls, but a fair distance from us. Which means, my dear husband, that we are very nearly alone.”
    He eyes sparkled. “Your powers of observation are enviable,” he said. “I cannot believe I was foolish enough to allow the view to distract me when I ought to have been—”
    I turned to him and