Consumed by Fire Read Online Free PDF Page B

didn’t hold hands.
    The Italian couple from Rome looked amorous, and the elderly scholar who had little use for a mere researcher sat in his corner, reading. Was that what she’d be like in ten, twenty years? There was no sign of Mr. Corsini, which surprised her. The Italian gentleman liked his food and his company, and he usually occupied the seat of honor for the entire duration of the evening meals, from seven until close to midnight, or possibly later, but after then Evangeline had sought her bed. He had kind eyes, and he always treated her in a most decorous manner. She liked him, and she hoped he wasn’t still asleep up in the mountainside church. Maybe he’d moved on after all—it was a good thing she hadn’t waited for him. And in the end she’d had no reason to be nervous about accepting a ride from James Bishop, thinking he might make a pass at her. In fact, he’d stood her up.
    At least she wouldn’t have to worry about making small talk with a gorgeous man. She was absolutely relieved . . .
    “You do clean up well, Miss Morrissey,” came a low, liquid voice in her ear. “Clearly it was worth the wait.”
    So why was her heart leaping instead of sinking in disappointment? She wasn’t going to think about it. She turned to face her dinner partner. “Are you chiding me for being late?” she asked him point-blank.
    He smiled down at her, those dark eyes enigmatic. “Never. A beautiful woman is always worth waiting for.”
    “But the plain ones better be on time?”
    He laughed. “In fact, Evangeline,” his voice caressed her name, and she felt an odd little ripple inside, “I find all women beautiful. I don’t discriminate.”
    “That busy, are you?” she said caustically.
    His forehead wrinkled, that high, perfect forehead. “Why so combative? Have I done something wrong?”
    She was being an idiot. “No, of course not. I’m just tired and hungry and crabby.”
    “I can take care of that.”
    She raised her eyebrows. “What, all three?”
    “Well, at least two of them,” he said.
    The dining room was packed, the noise level high, which would help with having to make conversation. She wondered idly where they were going to squeeze in.
    “Everything set?” Bishop said when Silvio arrived, his usually perfectly pomaded hair slightly awry.
    “Of course. This way, signore and signorina,” he murmured, moving away from the noisy dining room.
    Evangeline immediately froze. Did Bishop think she was stupid enough to agree to dinner in his room this soon after meeting him? Whether she trusted him or not, whether she had an instant, reluctant, incredibly potent attraction to him, she wasn’t going to . . .
    But Silvio was leading them away from the stairs, and she felt at least the first few layers of icy distrust melt. She had layers inside her that would take one of those things that drilled into the arctic core to get past, but she wasn’t worried. She was like a hedgehog—too much trouble to get to and not worth the effort.
    She’d forgotten that the terraces on either side of the dining room could be set up as well. There was only one table there, set for two, candlelit and romantic, the smaller of the two fountains splashing behind it.
    Silvio had already pulled out her chair, and she had only an instant of hesitation before she sank into it gracefully, fumbling with the heavy linen napkin Silvio draped across her lap. “This is lovely,” she said, hiding her doubts. “The water you sent up was very kind as well.”
    “As well as what? I’m glad that you liked the water, but I wasn’t aware I had done anything for you.” He took his seat.
    “Mr. Bishop,” she began.
    “Please. James. It’s been a while since I’ve talked with a fellow American and I miss our informality. Relax, Evangeline. It’s only dinner. Two strangers in a strange land, sharing a public meal. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”
    “I’m not nervous,” she said, a lie that fooled neither