Free An Innocent Abroad: A Jazz Age Romance by Romy Sommer Page A

and looked out again at the cool stripe of moonlight
illuminating the sea. “It changes nothing. You are Italian. I am English. We
belong in different worlds.”
    “Unlike
the young man who sat beside you tonight. Is he the type of man of whom your parents
will approve?”
    He
had seen more than she’d given him credit for.
    She
ignored the foolish hope burgeoning in her breast. That would be too much the
behaviour of a naïve child. Stefano’s title changed nothing. The fact that he’d
already won her heart changed nothing. Her mother would not accept him.
    “Yes,”
she said, turning her face away so he would not see how much she wished she
could be brave enough to cast aside everything she’d ever known, and her
reputation, the security of her family’s future, to give in to her desire for
him?
    Stefano’s
fingers slid beneath her chin, and he tilted her face so she could no longer
avoid his gaze. The moonlight fell straight onto her, revealing everything,
while he remained in shadow.
    “Have
you discovered yet what it is you want for yourself?” His voice was a husky
whisper.
    “Yes.”
    “What
is it you want?”
    “I
want you.”
    She
didn’t need to see his face to know the satisfied smile that curved his lips
and lit his dark eyes.
    “As
I want you.”
    It
wasn’t a proposal. He offered no promise for the future, no declaration of
love. His words did not mean that he felt anything for her but desire. Even so,
a skitter of excitement brushed over her skin.
    It
was enough.
    She
wasn’t brave. She was foolish.
    He
no longer smiled. The intensity of his gaze scorched her skin. His face was so
close she could barely breathe. Hungry anticipation fogged her thoughts.
    This
time his lips were not gentle. His kiss was hungry, demanding, and she
surrendered to it, sliding her arm about him as if she could hold him close, as
if he were hers to hold onto. He tasted as smooth and dark and seductive as the
red wine they’d drunk at dinner, intoxicating her senses. His mouth possessed
hers, taking everything she gave.
    Every
principle, every barrier, came crashing down, and she no longer cared.
    She
would give him anything he asked for.
    When
at last he pulled away, slowly, reluctantly, she loosed her hold on him.
    “Will
you meet me again?” he asked.
    “She
nodded.
     “Friday.
Meet me at the beach in Arienzo at nine o’clock.”
    “They
will want to know where I am going.”
    His
dimple flashed as he rose. “Leave that to me.”
     
    She
sat on the stone balustrade until the chill night air raised goose-bumps on her
arms, then she followed the paved pathway back towards the house and the
drawing room where light and voices spilled out the long French windows.
    The
crowd had thinned a little, the guests who lived furthest away having already
taken their leave. Stefano held court in the centre of the room, Frances and Beatrice
on either side of him on the long sofa, as he held an animated conversation
with her cousin Adam.
    Though
he did not turn and look at her, Isobel knew Stefano was aware of her arrival.
Electricity arced between them, even across the distance.
    “Where
have you been?” Christopher appeared at her elbow.
    “I
was in the garden.”
    “The
fresh air has done you good. You look much better.”
    “I
feel much better.”
    A
sharp thrill lit her body from inside, setting fire to her, as Stefano turned
his head and met her eyes. He flashed her a smile meant only for her, gone so
quickly that even Christopher standing beside her could make nothing of it.
    It
no longer mattered that he was not prepared to acknowledge her publicly, or
that she was nothing more to him than an illicit rendezvous. Even if he offered
nothing more than this madness, she would take it.
    “I’d
love to see the excavations underway at Pompeii,” Adam continued their
conversation, that he had lost his guest’s attention for even a moment.
    Stefano’s
deep, modulated reply carried across the room to her. “I know