sing, until now when she very nearly lived with him. He harbored no illusions that he would be able to keep her. She was young, not quite forty, and he had celebrated his sixtieth birthday only a month ago. She should marry, have a baby

and leave her wild days behind. Alessandro could hardly offer her those things,

but he would enjoy her while she was willing.

I never thought I would fall in love with her, and now, a handsome youngman has captured her attention. Though he had expected this, it hurt more than he had realized it would. Not to mention the man she had chosen was married to

his granddaughter, a girl he was quickly coming to adore. Not that he was worried. Christopher seemed not to care about—or even notice—Aimée's blatant

flirtation. The youth adored his wife, but the point was that Aimée had been swayed by someone else, which surely meant their affair was almost done.

Dannazione! I'm not ready to let her go.

Well, I don't have to right now. He began to caress her lovely, round body, pleased that he still had enough animal spirits to make love to a pretty woman and satisfy them both.

Long moments later, Madame St. Jean stretched in her lover's arms and

snuggled up against him. “Cheri,” she said, “I've just made the most exciting plan for the music at your little party.”

“What's that?” he asked, feeling indulgent in his satiation.

“A friendly competition between Madame Bennett and me. We're both going

to sing and play for the guests to see who the better musician is.” She said this

insouciantly, as though it were a lark.

“She agreed to this?” Alessandro asked, surprised. Katerina seems very shy

and meek, not one who would compete with a professional musician in a public

venue.

“She did.” Aimée's studied innocence aroused his suspicions further.

“Sounds interesting. What are the rules?” he asked, trying to get to the bottom of the story.

“You know, I don't know,” she replied, waving one hand in the air. “We

didn't get to that part, except we each do three songs. You're going to be the judge, of course, so maybe you should make the rules.”

“Hmmm. Let me think on this. I'll let you both know a little later.”

“Wonderful. Won't this be fun?”

She's trying too hard. There's more to this story. “I hope it is.” He still had his doubts about Katerina's willingness, but he would talk to her and see what it

was all about.

Two days later, as the early sunset turned the Tuscan horizon scarlet, a large group of Italian locals converged on the Bianchi estate, eager to meet the respected landowner's long-lost granddaughter.

Katerina painted on a false cheerful smile and greeted each new arrival

warmly as she clung to Christopher's arm, trembling with nerves. This could all

go very badly.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Alessandro said loudly in Italian, “thank you for

coming tonight. I am so pleased to introduce all of you to my granddaughter,

Katerina and her husband Christopher Bennett, finally come to visit us. For our entertainment this evening, Katerina has agreed to sing and play the pianoforte.”

This caused a murmur that demonstrated Alessandro's affair with his

musician was hardly a secret.

“She and Madame St. Jean will be competing for the title of musical expert.

We are all going to be judges. Here are the rules. Each lady will sing three songs,

accompanying herself on pianoforte or harpsichord. One song will be in Italian,

one in English, and the third will be of the lady's choice. Then we will decide who the better musician is. Madame St. Jean, are you ready?”

Going last gives me a slight advantage, Katerina thought. Still, her heart pounded so hard she feared she might be sick.

“Yes, I am ready,” Aimée replied in French-accented Italian. Curtsying to the

crowd, she seated herself at the harpsichord and announced, “I would like to begin with ‘Greensleeves’”

She played a few simple chords on the keyboard, setting the key, and then took a deep quiet breath and began to sing.

Instantly, Katerina knew she was in deep trouble. A true professional,

Aimée's voice was flexible, rich and captivating even though she didn't play the

harpsichord particularly well. Her accompaniment consisted of a series of simple

chords to help her keep in tune. Her English pronunciation was also rather bad,

but it made no difference. The maturity of her tone would turn this competition

into one between a pipe organ and a piccolo. Then, to increase the difficulty, she

stopped playing and sang a capella during the middle verse. When she played again on the third verse, she was still perfectly in tune. The guests murmured in