The Mister

“Awe-inspiring?” I offer.

She laughs. “Yes.” She sobers and lowers her lashes, then peeks up at me through them. “But my favorite composer is you.”

I inhale sharply. I’m not used to her compliments.

“My composition? Wow. You flatter me. What colors do you see with that?”

“That was sad and solemn. Blues and grays.”

“Fitting,” I murmur, and my thoughts turn to Kit. She reaches up and caresses my cheek, bringing me back to her.

“I watched you play it at your apartment. I was supposed to be cleaning. But I had to watch you. And listen. It’s beautiful music.” Her voice softens to a barely audible whisper. “I fell more in love with you then….”

“You did?”

She nods, and my heart swells at her words.

“I wish I’d known you were listening. I’m glad you liked it. You played it so well at the Hideout.”

“I loved it. You are a talented composer.”

I take her hand and trace a pattern on her palm. “You’re a very accomplished pianist.”

She grins and flushes once more.

Surely she should be used to compliments.

“You’re so talented. And beautiful. And brave.” My fingers stroke her face and I draw her lips to mine. And beneath the sheet, we lose ourselves in a kiss. When Alessia pulls away to catch her breath, she gazes at me with longing once more. “Shall we…make love…again?” She leans forward and places her lips on my chest above my heart.

Oh, boy.

* * *

Alessia is lying across me, head on my chest, her fingers tapping out a melody over my stomach. I don’t know what it is—but I’m enjoying it. I call the kitchen via the internal phone system. “Danny, I’d like some supper in my room. Can we have some sandwiches and a bottle of wine?”

“Very good, my lord. Beef?”

“Great. And a bottle of the Château Haut-Brion.”

“I’ll leave a tray outside the door, sir.”

“Thank you.” I smile at the blatant glee in her voice and hang up the phone. I don’t know why, but Danny knows that Alessia is different. I’ve brought women here before, but Danny’s never been as solicitous as she’s been today. She must know that I’m in love. Head over heels. Completely. Utterly. Wholly. In love.

“You have a phone for inside the house?” Alessia looks up at me.

“It’s a big house.” I grin.

She laughs. “It is.” She glances at the window; it’s pitch-black outside. Is it seven o’clock? Ten o’clock? I’ve lost all track of time.

* * *

Alessia’s curled up in one of the armchairs facing the fire, wrapped in a green throw, enjoying a roast beef and salad sandwich and drinking red wine. Her hair is a wonderful mess, spilling over her shoulders down to her waist. She’s luminous. And lovely. And mine.

I toss another log on the fire, sit down in the armchair opposite her, and take a sip of the delicious wine. I’ve not felt this degree of peace since Kit died….In fact, I can’t remember ever feeling this way.

* * *

Maxim puts down his glass and picks up a sandwich. He looks glorious. Rumpled hair, stubble, wicked green eyes that glow with desire and love in the firelight. He’s wearing his bulky cream sweater and his black jeans with a rip at the knee, and she spies his skin beneath….Alessia drinks him in.

“Happy?” he asks.

“Yes. Very…muchly.”

He grins. “I feel the same. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. I know you’d like to stay here, and so would I, but I think we should go back to London tomorrow. If that’s all right. I have stuff I need to do.”

“Okay.” Alessia nibbles at her lip.

“What?”

“I like being in Cornwall. It is not as busy as London. There are less people. Less noise.”

“I know. But I should get back to London and check on my flat.”

Alessia examines her glass of wine. “Back to reality,” she whispers.

“Hey. It’s going to be okay.”

She stares into the fire, watching one of the logs spit embers onto the hearth.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Maxim is concerned.

“I…I want to work.”

“Work? Doing what?”

“I don’t know. Cleaning?”

His brow creases. “Alessia, I don’t think so. You don’t need to clean anymore. You’re a talented woman. Is that really what you want to do? We need to find something more interesting for you. And we need to make sure that it’s legal for you to work here. I’ll look into it. I have people who can help.” His smile is sincere and encouraging.

“But…I want to earn my own money.”

“I understand. If you’re caught, though, you’ll be deported.”

“I don’t want that!” Alessia’s heartbeat spikes. She cannot go back.

“Neither of us wants that,” Maxim reassures her. “Don’t worry about this. We’ll figure it out. Maybe you can do something with your music, eventually.”

She studies him. “I will be your kept woman.” Her voice is low. This is what she wanted to avoid.

His answering smile is rueful. “Only until it’s legal for you to work here. Think of this as a redistribution of wealth.”

“How socialist you are, Lord Trevethick,” she teases.

“Who knew?” He raises his glass to her. She reciprocates, and as she takes a sip of wine, an idea forms in her head. But will he agree?

“What is it?” he asks.

Alessia draws a deep breath. “I will clean for you. And you will pay me.”

Maxim frowns, taken aback. “Alessia. You don’t need—”

“Please…I want this.” She stares at him, silently begging for him to agree.

“Ales—”

“Please.”

He rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Okay. If that’s what you want. But on one condition.”

“What?”

“Can I veto the housecoat and scarf?”

“I will think about it.” She smirks, feeling more lighthearted.

He laughs, and she breathes a sigh of relief. She will have something to do while his people resolve her immigration status.

A warmth spreads through her body. This is not where she thought her life might lead, here in this old, grand house with this handsome, gentle, kind man. Of course she had fantasized about it—in a vague way. But she thought it was impossible.

She had challenged her destiny and taken a huge risk when she left Albania, and fate had not let go without a fight.

Yet her Mister had intervened, and now she’s here with him.

Safe.

He loves her, and she loves him. And the future stretches before her, full of possibility. Perhaps, after all this time, fortune has turned its benign smile on her.

Chapter Twenty-Five

A primal wail disturbs my dream, waking me in an instant.

Alessia.

In the soft light from the little dragon, I see that she’s asleep beside me, but utterly still, her hands clenched into fists beneath her chin. She’s like a statue petrified by some natural disaster. She parts her lips and cries out again, the most eerie and unearthly of sounds. I prop myself up on my elbow and gently shake her awake.

“Alessia. Sweetheart. Wake up.”

Her eyelids fly open. She looks around wildly and immediately starts fighting me off.

“Alessia. It’s me. Maxim.” I grab her hands before she does either of us any harm.

“M…M…Maxim,” she whispers, and stops struggling.

“You’re having a bad dream. I’m here. I’ve got you.” I gather her in my arms and pull her on top of me, kissing the crown of her head. She’s trembling.

“I…I thought…I thought…” she stutters.

“It’s okay. It’s just a bad dream. You’re safe.” I hold her and tenderly stroke her back, wishing I could take all her fear and pain away. She shivers but seems to settle, and before long she’s asleep again.

I close my eyes, one hand in her hair and the other on her back, enjoying her weight and her skin against mine. I could get used to this.

* * *