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Colonel raised a bushy, white eyebrow. “Seems the lady doesn’t appreciate your company, Mr. Whitman. I’d hate to invoke that Sandbox Rule.”
    His tone implied the opposite.
    Pierce thrust out his jaw and, for a split second, I wondered if he would actually argue with the Colonel.
    Instead, he nodded at me. “See you later, luv.” One final wink.
    I barely managed to suppress my eyeroll.
    The Colonel’s eyes followed Pierce as he walked back to gather his things from the table.
    Strike one for pushy men today.
    Dante D’Angelo was still chatting with Natalia, saying something that made her giggle.
    Not that I noticed or anything.
    Swinging back to me, the Colonel smiled. Even at his age, he was still tall. Though all that white hair probably added an inch or two. This was the problem with being tall myself. I always judged others by their height.
    “How are you finding your accommodations, Ms. Raythorn?”
    “Please, call me Claire.”
    He nodded, pleased. “Claire then.”
    “Palazzo Alfieri is lovely,” I continued. “Thank you for arranging my hotel.”
    Typically, clients did not book my housing, but the situation with this contract was unique. The Colonel had insisted on arranging my accommodations. Usually, I just stayed in your average tourist-grade hotel.
    But the Colonel had deep pockets and had put me in a luxury suite at Palazzo Alfieri. My hotel room sported carved Baroque ceilings overlooking the Arno, complete with a mixture of sleek modern fixtures and antique touches. The Colonel had arranged a month’s stay and included a generous meal stipend, as well as a car and driver at my disposal. All without me having to spend a penny of my salary.
    The whole situation was almost too good to be true.
    Now if I could only land the job, as well.
    “Did the hotel reception inform you of the history of the building?” the Colonel asked.
    I smiled politely. “A little. I understand the palazzo housed the British consulate until 2011, at which point it was renovated into a luxury hotel.”
    I had spent fifteen minutes chatting with the friendly woman behind the desk about it. (Martina. Three grandkids. Likes clubbing.)
    “The front desk clerk said the building was named for Vittorio Alfieri, the famous Italian playwright,” I continued.
    “Yes. I believe he lived the last fifteen years of his life there with his mistress, the Countess of Albany. She was quite an interesting figure, I must say.”
    “The countess?”
    “Yes. She was actually Princess Louise of Stolberg-Gedern.”
    I blinked, not sure if that name was supposed to mean anything to me. Given my profession, my background in history was extensive but hardly encompassing random continental royal families.
    The Colonel took pity on me.
    “Louise was married to Charles Stuart. You know, Bonnie Prince Charlie . . . the Battle of Culloden—”
    “Oh!” My head jerked back. “I’m sorry, Colonel. I’ve had my head firmly in Italian art and history all day. I wasn’t expecting the Scots to make an appearance.”
    “Completely understandable, darlin’.” The southern gentleman coming to the surface. “Charlie’s marriage happened well after the Battle of Culloden. Most people don’t know about it. Louise was practically young enough to be his granddaughter when they married.” He chuckled. “Imagine being married to a man that much older than yourself.”
    I nodded politely, managed a weak chuckle of my own. From the corner of my eye, I saw Dante leaving the room.
    Again, not that I was noticing or anything.
    “I just think it’s fascinating how interwoven people’s lives were in the past,” the Colonel continued. “Prince Charlie actually lived his last years in Florence and Rome. Catholics, you know. His younger brother, Henry, was the Dean of the College of Cardinals. Charlie’s wife, Louise, left him for Alfieri. She lived for a number of years in the palazzo that is now your hotel. She died just a few years after the end