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brains."
    Jack was dumbfounded for a moment. "What utter nonsense," he muttered. "It's not what's inside her head that bothers me, it's what comes out of her mouth when she's in a temper. Which, by the by, seems to be more often than not"
    "Ah. Her temper." The conte gave an eloquent shrug. "Like most Italians, Alessandra has a passionate nature."
    "Some might call it a violent nature," said Jack, recalling how her eyes had felt sharp as daggers. If looks could kill.
    For a fleeting instant, Marco seemed to turn a little pale before regaining his usual bravado. "Now it is you, amico, who is indulging in the Latin penchant for exaggeration." He smiled, though to Jack it looked a little forced. "When she was younger, she sometimes let emotion get the better of her. But that has changed. Ask anyone here in London—the marchesa is known for her cool composure. It is only you who seems to set off sparks with her."
    “I can't imagine why," growled .Jack. "I've done nothing but try to act the gentleman and offer her help when she appeared in need of it"
    "Hmmm." Marco regarded him thoughtfully. "Maybe that is the trouble."
    Behaving like a cad had not improved her opinion, but he kept that fact to himself. "I don't think she would care for my company no matter how I behave."
    The conte—who was also the lady's cousin, as Jack had just recently learned—touched Jack's arm. But whether it was meant as a friendly pat or an oblique warning was impossible to tell "Don't judge the lady too severely. She is wary of men who wear their nobility on their sleeve."
    "What is that supposed to mean?" Jack frowned, recalling Lucas's oblique words on the same subject
    Before Marco could respond, a call from across the room requested the conte to come give his opinion on a marble bust of Bacchus. "Ciao, Lord Giacomo," he murmured.
    Jack watched the man saunter away with a theatrical flourish. Ciao. The silky sound stirred a strange pricking at the back of his neck. Damnation, if he had any sense, he would say good-bye to further thoughts on Lady Alessandra.
    To hell with the marchesa and her moods, her mysteries...
    Taking up a fresh glass of sparkling wine, Jack turned away from the crowd and wandered into one of the side display rooms, looking to distract his mind with a closer study of the new exhibit The recently acquired slab of an ancient fresco depicted a naked Minerva, the Roman goddess of wisdom and war, about to bathe in a pool of azure water. The artist had rendered the scene with exquisite skill, using subtle colors and delicate brushstrokes to make the figure seem alive.
    "You are indeed a goddess—a lithe, lovely vision of female beauty," he murmured, leaning low over the glass case for a better look. He didn't usually talk to himself, but his recent encounters with Alessandra had left him feeling like howling at the moon.
    Drawing in a mouthful of prosecco, he let its effervescence tickle over his tongue. "I wouldn't mind stripping off all my clothing and feeling your wet, willing, sun-warmed body next to mine."
    From behind him fluttered the soft swoosh of skirts, followed by a sharp intake of breath. "Well, don't let me stop you, sir."
    Jack turned around slowly. Not that he needed a face-to-face confrontation to know who was standing behind him.
    The ancient deities were known for taking devilish delight in tormenting mere mortals. So perhaps that explained why mischievous Minerva goaded him into taking the offensive to cover his embarrassment.
    "Is that an invitation, Lady Giamatu?" he said, deliberately assuming a provocative drawl. "Have you been secretly yearning to see me in the nude?"
    The deep voice was lush and liquid, like cool water running over smooth stones. Her flesh began to tingle, and as Alessandra met his gaze, she had to repress a tiny shiver.
    "It appears that you have wandered into the wrong building," she said evenly, hoping he hadn't noticed her response. "This is a place for the serious study of ancient