Page 48 of The Housekeeper and the Brooding Billionaire

Yet she didn’t make that sound like a positive thing.

The older woman sighed and slanted her an assessing look before saying softly, ‘His wife died here, in the lake, you know. He didn’t row for at least a year after that. Wouldn’t go out on the water or swim. It’s such a relief to see him active again.’

Charlotte stared, hearing the emotion in her companion’s voice and seeing a bright glint that might even have been tears in those dark eyes. Her heart ached for Alessio, so grief-stricken by his wife’s death, and for this old lady who clearly cared so much.

He wasn’t the ogre he sometimes went out of his way to appear. Charlotte was more and more convinced that Alessio felt too much. He was a proud man battling demons by locking himself away with his grief.

Something deep inside her chest twisted savagely.

How much he must have loved his wife.

Charlotte had no experience of such love. Her father had viewed her mother’s death is inconvenient rather than a tragedy. She’d grown up convinced that romantic love was a fantasy spruiked by poets and playwrights.

‘Silly boy,’ the old lady murmured. ‘As if he’d have been able to stop her drowning even if he’d been here.’

Charlotte frowned. That didn’t make sense. If Alessio had been here, surely he’d have been able to prevent the accident that took his wife’s life? He was so confident on the water, she suspected he was a powerful swimmer.

She was about to ask for clarification when the other woman urged her down into the crowd to watch the victorious team come ashore, and the opportunity disappeared.

The incomers had all left the island and the sun had set when Alessio finally had an opportunity to be with Charlotte. All day there’d been so much to do, not just as the festival’s official host, but as one of the islanders, participating like everyone else in the activities.

It had been a strain at times, but he’d found it strangely therapeutic, plunging back into the life of the island on the most raucous day of the year.

He’d caught Beatrice watching him more than once, a satisfied look on her lined face, but to her credit, she hadn’t said ‘I told you so’ despite three years of nagging, trying to draw him out into the world again.

The trouble was that, while today had been satisfying, he still carried the terrible burden of guilt that nothing could erase.

Except being with Charlotte last night. You didn’t feel guilty then.You felt alive in a way you hadn’t done for years, even before you married Antonia.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He told himself it was with shame that he should feel so much for a woman he hardly knew.

Yet it felt like he knew her. Not all the details of her family or her past, but at some visceral level, deeper than words.

He looked across the cobbled square, strung with lights and filled with islanders in colourful, festive clothes, dancing to live music. He located her easily. All day he’d been able to sense unerringly where she was, no matter how thick the crowd.

Alessio’s belly tightened as something rose inside him. Desire, yes, but more too. Need? Possessiveness? Relief?

She danced with Mario’s ne’er-do-well great-nephew, her golden hair flying free around her shoulders as her red summer dress flared around her legs.

Charlotte looked fresh and pretty in that casual dress. The first sight of her in it this morning had dried Alessio’s mouth. He’d wanted to hustle her back to his room and lock the door to keep her to himself.

But he’d had obligations, and she’d been looking forward to the festivities.

Who is this woman?

She seemed equally at home acting as chatelaine in a castle as mixing with this tight-knit community. She took Beatrice in stride, mixed easily with Europe’s elite yet had been a sexual innocent. She had the backbone to stand up to Alessio, yet at other times she fitted perfectly into the role of discreet housekeeper.

He’d seen the appreciative and speculative looks she’d received last night. No doubt having her as his hostess would ignite a whole new round of gossip, but Alessio didn’t care what the world thought. He was too busy puzzling her out for himself.

That English banker last night had recognised her, not as a housekeeper at a Swiss hotel, but as a guest at exclusive society events in Britain.

Alessio had been determined to get to the bottom of that last night and demand answers from her. But when he’d farewelled the last of his guests and turned to Charlotte, he’d been sidetracked by need.

And it hadn’t dimmed. Last night had been intense, but if he’d hoped it would cure him of this burning hunger, he’d been mistaken. His need had merely intensified.

Alessio shouldered his way through the dancers as the music died. He’d done his duty, dancing at this final event just for locals with everyone from eighty-year-old Rosetta to fourteen-year-old Sonia. Now it washisturn.

As arranged with the band, the final tune of the night was a slow number. He reached for Charlotte. ‘My dance,’ he growled.

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