The Music of Love by Spencer Minerva & LaViolette S.M

Author:Spencer, Minerva & LaViolette, S.M.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical
ISBN: 9781951662004
Publisher: Crooked Sixpence Press
Published: 2019-12-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

It had been Ivo who’d been camping in the old falling-down cottage. Ivo, who was very much alive. Ivo who had come back for her.

Portia screamed when she saw his face and he’d grabbed her with rough, cold hands, clamping the bent fingers of his damaged hand over her mouth.

“Sh, mia cara!” He was not much bigger than Portia, but he was wiry and strong and held her in an unbreakable grasp while uttering a string of placating endearments in Italian—not something he’d done for many years. When he felt the struggle go out of her body he loosened his grip. “I’ll remove my hand from your mouth if you will promise not to scream.”

Portia nodded and he took away his hand, still keeping an iron grip on her wrist. She stared, shocked by how haggard and gaunt he looked.

“The ship you were on—it went down with you and your w-wife on it—I read it in the paper.” Portia spoke Italian, the only language adequate to express her anger, loathing, and shock.

His sensual lips twisted in a way that used to make her heart throb faster a long, long time ago. His eyes were the color of brandy, warm and intoxicating. But Portia knew they masked a man who thought of only one thing: Ivo Stefani.

“You look well, Portia. Very well for a grieving widow.” Her stomach lurched as his smile twisted into something unpleasant. “You did not grieve for me, did you? It made you happy that I was not just pretend dead, but real dead? You simply moved on, eh?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Imagine my surprise when I showed up in London and found my school closed and our house empty.”

“Your school? The only thing you ever gave to the school was your name—and debt.”

Ivo squeezed her wrist until she cried out.

“What a harpy you are, Portia, always on about the same thing.” He yanked her close, his eyes dark with fury. “Mrs. Sneed did not turn a hair when I showed up on her doorstep. That is when I knew you never told the newspapermen either the tale of my hero’s death in the War or my unfortunate demise at sea. Even when you thought I was dead you didn’t mind keeping me alive to use my name and status.” He made a clucking sound as he pushed her down onto a pile of mossy stones that must have once been part of the wall. Portia tucked her feet beneath her skirt and buried her hands in her cloak. Ivo sat beside her, his hand like an iron manacle around her wrist.

“It took some work to get your address from Mrs. Sneed without looking like a fool. I told her I was just back from a family emergency and had lost my baggage in a shipping debacle. Ha!” He slapped his thigh, clearly amused by his own cleverness. The suit of clothing he wore had once been one of his better ones. Now

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