With nowhere else to turn, he had made some demands of his own. His brother would fund his living here in Rome. Purchase him a villa and house in Naples, a locale he had enjoyed when on the grand tour only two years before. A small price for his brother to pay since Hugh was the one losing everything, and his family.
Miss Clare slipped on her bonnet, laughing at something Marcus, his manservant, said to her before they both walked from the atrium. “Maria,” Hugh called, catching his housekeeper’s eye.
Maria bustled into his office, a small smile playing about her mouth. “Signore? You called.”
“Where is Marcus taking Miss Clare?” He placed the letters from his brother’s steward and Sarah into his drawer, locking it away.
“She wished to visit Trevi Fountain. I think they will then walk to the food market, Piazza Navona after that.”
“I shall dine with her tonight, explain the reasons why I’m back in Rome. I’m sure she’ll understand that business has brought me home.” It’ll also allow him the opportunity to ask her about London and what the latest on dit was. He’d not dined with a woman in an age. In fact, he could not remember the last time he’d slept with one either. Too long, not that he was looking to Miss Clare to scratch that particular itch, but even so, she was attractive with her womanly curves, pretty eyes, and warm laugh. Dinner this evening may be an enjoyable affair and a good distraction after the news he’d just received.
“Of course, Signore. I shall get your luncheon right away.”
“Thank you, Maria.”
Hugh slid a piece of parchment before him, picking up a quill and dipping it into the black ink. He started a reply to his brother’s steward. He wished he could feel an ounce of despair, sorrow even, at the death of his brother. He did not. He would write to Sarah, and console her as best he could. Even with the thousands of miles that separated them, she had never turned against him at least, had believed his side of the story, especially since she knew all too well what a reprobate Henry was. Even so, she would be hurting right now, she had loved them both being her only brothers, her only family left, no matter how wild or vexing Henry could be at times.
Hugh wished he could be sorry, but his brother having joined in with the ton allowed the lies to percolate through society until his name was mud, and not admitting to his wrongdoing in the whole sorry mess was something Hugh could not forgive.
And now he was the Duke of St. Albans. A title and responsibility he’d never wanted.
Damn it all to blasted hell.
Molly returned to the villa late in the afternoon after a day of walking the streets of Rome. The Spanish Steps, the markets, and the beautiful, awe-inspiring Trevi Fountain. Marcus had allowed her to visit whatever seized her attention while keeping her safe. It had been the perfect first day in Rome, and she could not wait until another commenced tomorrow.
She entered the villa, the cooler air inside the atrium a welcome reprieve after a day in the sun. Molly slipped off her bonnet, perspiration moistening her hair and sticking to her neck. She would need to bathe before dinner. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food as she stepped on the first stair heading upstairs.
“Miss Clare, how very good to meet you.”
The deep, gravelly baritone startled her, and she gasped, turning to see where the voice had come from. She felt her mouth pop open at the sight of the man before her. His tall, athletic frame was enough to turn any woman’s eye, but his face was beyond stunning. His cheekbones seemed chiseled from marble, similar to the statues she’d seen this afternoon. His raven colored hair was longer than it ought to be, was tied back off his face, and the shadowing of an unshaven jawline made her mouth dry. Her whole body shivered at his presence, and she swallowed, hoping her voice would still work.
Molly stepped off the stair and walked toward him, giving her a moment to compose herself. She met his clear, smoky-black orbs, and something inside her thrummed, came alive at his proximity.
She jerkily held out her hand for him to take. “Sir, I do not believe we’ve been introduced.” His mouth lifted into a delicious grin, and she bit her lip, unsure what to do with herself when he smiled. Heat crept over her face at her wayward thoughts. His eyes roamed over her features, and she schooled her emotions, willing her racing heart to calm.
“I’m Mr. Armstrong. I live here. The Duke of Whitstone, I believe, is a mutual friend of ours.” He picked up her hand, kissing her gloveless fingers. The feel of his lips on her skin sent a bolt of awareness up her arm, and she stepped back, placing well-needed space between them.
“Oh yes, Mr. Armstrong. How do you do? Thank you so much for offering me your home during my stay here. I hope you did not mind that his grace asked on my behalf for accommodations.”
“Not at all.” He gestured toward the stairs. “I shall return you to your room. I’m sure you wish to freshen up before dinner.”
“I would yes,” she said, starting up the stairs and hoping he hadn’t noticed her disarray too much. “Have you known the duke for long?” Molly hadn’t queried too much how the duke and Mr. Armstrong were known to each other, even though she was so very grateful they were. She had not wanted to stay in a hotel here in the city. She’d wanted to visit Rome and stay in an ancient villa if she could. Being here would probably be the only time she would visit the city in her life, and she had wanted to make it memorable.
“We were in school together at Eton and socialized in the same social sphere.” He walked beside her, his hands clasped behind his back. She surreptitiously took in his attire and liked what she saw. He seemed to have the air of a titled gentleman, but that wasn’t the case from what she did know.
His tan breeches and highly polished buckskin boots went well with his casual attire—no superfine coat or waistcoat for this Mr. Armstrong. A simple shirt and loosely tied cravat were all that he needed. It suited him, and she liked the casual way of life here in the city.
“Whitstone stayed here when he traveled abroad a few years ago.”
She nodded, listening to him talk of their friendship, savoring the sound of his voice, like rich, delicious chocolate that melted on one’s tongue. Molly cleared her throat, not sure why she imagined Mr. Armstrong in such a way. “Are you staying in Rome for some time, or are you just traveling through? I understood that you were going to be away from home for several weeks.”
“I was going to be away, but I had an urgent letter from London that brought me back. I hope you will continue to stay here, Miss Clare, even with me ensconced under the same roof. You have a chaperone, I understand.”
The thought of having Mr. Armstrong under the roof sent a thrill down her spine, and for a moment, she regretted her decision to bring a chaperone with her to Rome. Molly was, after all, a woman well beyond her first blush. It would be unnatural for her to look upon such a handsome specimen of a man and not imagine all sorts of naughty things with him. She’d read enough books on anatomy and the art of lovemaking to know that she would not be adverse to a man such as the one who towered beside her, taking her to his bed. His strong, athletic build, well-defined arms, and large hands displayed a healthy, active gentleman well in his prime.
“I do have a chaperone. Miss Sinclair is her name. I’m sure with her being here with me, nothing untoward can be said about you being back in Rome.” Molly let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Not that anyone cares what I do in any case, save my friends.”