“My very thought, particularly since the joke gets even stranger.”
The odd inflection in the other man’s voice intrigued Max. “Explain what you mean.”
“They’re sisters.”
“You mean professed nuns?”
“No, no. They are the same age with the same birthday.”
“Triplets?” You didn’t see that every day. “How old are they?”
“Ventisette.”
Twenty-seven and already leading a life of crime…
“Molto bellissima!”
Beautiful, of course.
“Their paperwork states they are the Duchesses of Kingston from New York.”
Duchesses of Kingston?
Max flicked his gaze to Lord Winthrope. If such a title existed, the esteemed QC would know who they were in an instant.
“Unfortunately I’m in London and can’t return to Genoa before evening to investigate this matter. Did you find out their purpose for being in Italy?”
“They claim to be on vacation with a little business thrown in. We checked the information they gave us. It’s been verified they’re booked at the Splendido tonight and have chartered a sailboat for tomorrow.”
“From Portofino?”
“No. Vernazza.”
A frown slowly replaced Max’s smile. That little bomb-shell hit too close to home to be a coincidence.
Two years ago he’d given the Piccione to his good friend Fabio and his two younger brothers after their parents had been lost at sea in the family fishing boat. The Morettis now made their living crewing for tourists.
To his friend’s credit and business prowess, he’d paid Max back every last Euro, though Max had never asked or expected repayment. For twenty months like clockwork he’d received a good-size installment with a note of heart-felt gratitude from the man he didn’t see nearly as often as he would have liked.
Besides watching after his brothers, Fabio now had a wife and they were expecting their second baby. Since they ran the only sailboat charter business in the tiny town which had been Max’s backyard growing up, he knew exactly where to find these Americans. That is if they intended to stick to their agenda once they were freed to leave the airport.
“You may release them, Signore Galli, but have them followed and closely watched. After my flight touches down I’ll make contact with you.”
“Bene. Arrivederci.”
After hanging up the phone, Max wrote a note on his scratch pad. He asked Bernaldo to hand carry it to Lord Winthrope. “Wait for his answer and bring it back to me.”
Bernaldo went off to do Max’s bidding. He returned a few minutes later. Max opened the note, eager to read what the other man had to say in response.
Glad to be of help, Max.
Evelyn Pierrepont succeeded his grandfather as the second duke of Kingston. He was primarily famous for his liaison with Elizabeth Chudleigh, who claimed to be the Duchess of Kingston, but the Kingston titles became extinct on the duke’s death around 1733. He had no children. Hope that answers your question.
Indeed it did.
Max lifted his head and smiled at Lord Winthrope who smiled back.
So…these American women weren’t only audacious imposters, their impudence showed a certain shrewdness to pick an English title that had become extinct over two hundred years ago and pass it off as their own.
What kind of a game were they playing to come to Italy wearing pendants identical to the stolen one? Where did they get such an idea? Why would they do it?
“Much as I’d love to run to the room and change into my swimming suit, I’m too tired.”
“Jet lag’s caught up with me, too. Let’s go to bed. You coming, Greer?”
“In a minute—”
The magic of the balmy Genoese night held her in its thrall. She’d always dreamed of coming to Italy. Though ninety percent of their ancestry was English and Scotch-Irish, their father had favored their Italian-Austrian roots. As a result he’d infected Greer with that love.
“Okay. Just don’t make noise when you let yourself in.”
“I promise,” she said before their footsteps faded.
After several business meetings which might or might not produce a foothold in Europe, followed by a late dinner, they’d taken a walk to the San Giorgio church and visited the interior.
From there they’d strolled around the tropical gardens on the grounds of the Splendido, a former sixteenth-century monastery. They’d finally ended up at its outdoor pool overlooking Portofino harbor.
In Greer’s opinion the view was worth a king’s ransom. How their mother would have loved this flower-scented paradise.
There were quite a few guests climbing in and out of the water. Waiters moved around unobtrusively refilling champagne glasses. Every so often Greer caught snatches of conversation and laughter from beautiful men and women enjoying the elegant amenities of the privileged class.
As she stood next to a palm tree wearing her designer sundress in a stunning tangerine color, her attention was caught by a man doing laps with the speed and fluidity of a shark. A great black shark, if there were such a thing she mused fancifully.
Glimpses of a bronzed, well-toned male physique and jet-black hair kept her gaze riveted. Suddenly he levered himself from the water onto the tiled deck.
The shark had legs.
Strong, powerful legs that propelled his tall, black trunk-clad body past the admiring glances from women and the envious stares of men toward Greer.
His total disregard of the surroundings testified to his inbuilt radar system which had targeted its next victim. How easy her subconscious had made it for him by sending out the message that she wanted to see if all of him lived up to her image of the quintessential playboy.
All of him did…
From an aquiline face, whose Italian bones had been refined and molded down through the centuries, gleamed a pair of black eyes that resembled volcanoes erupting in the night sky. One intimate look from them beneath expressive black brows and she felt as if her body had come too close to the mesmerizing magma.
Burned alive would be the more accurate description.
The pulse in her throat throbbed so violently, she could feel it move the pendant she wore around her neck like a choker.
She watched him watching it. He’d taken the bait.
Piper would be especially pleased to find out her suggestion to wear the family heirloom had proved to be a winner their first night in Italy.
“I saw you walking on the grounds earlier, signorina.” His heavily accented English delivered in a deep masculine voice, vibrated to her insides. Its cadence sent a delicious tremor through her system even though the night was warm. “I hoped you would come to the pool.”
Of course he did.
“I noticed you, too,” she responded boldly, for once throwing her innate caution to the wind. “That’s why I didn’t go upstairs with my sisters.”
It was a lie. She hadn’t seen him. He was too much of a predator to have given