“Are you”—it was barely a croak as her entire body trembled —”the major?”

“The question I asked was who are you?” His voice sounded terrifyingly firm, but neither of them moved and he did not turn on the light behind him. He just stood there, looking down at her, wondering why she seemed so familiar. He sensed something about her, even in the moonlight filtering in from the garden. He had the impression that he had seen her somewhere before. He had been watching her since she had entered the room that was to be his office. He had just turned off the light when he heard her footsteps on the stairs. At first his hand went automatically to the pistol lying on his desk, but he had decided quickly that he didn't need it, and now he only wondered who she was and where she had come from, and why she was here, at the Palazzo Tibaldo, in his office at ten o'clock at night.

“I—I'm sorry.… I came upstairs to turn off the lights.” For an instant she had almost wanted to say “Sir,” and then she was annoyed at her own reactions. It was something about the uniform that she could see more clearly now, the clustered insignia on his lapel, and the imperious tilt of his head. “I'm sorry.”

“Are you? That still doesn't answer my question.” His voice was cold and even. “I asked you who you were.”

“Serena. I work here.” Her English was better than she wanted it to be, but under the circumstances she decided not to play any games with him. It was better that he understood her, otherwise, God forbid, he could have had her arrested, or fired, and she didn't want that. “I am a maid here.”

“What were you doing upstairs here, Serena?” His voice was gentler than it had been at first.

“I thought I heard sounds … noises. …” Her eyes darted from his in the darkness. Perhaps she would have to play games with him after all. “I came to see what was wrong.”

“I see.” He looked at her more closely and knew that she was lying. He had made no sound at all for several hours, not even when he turned off the light. “You're very courageous, Serena.” His eyes mocked her and she knew it. “And what would you have done if I had been an intruder?” He looked down at the slim shoulders, the long graceful arms, the delicate hands, and she understood the look he gave her.

“I don't know. I would have called for … someone … to help me … I suppose.”

He continued to watch her and slowly walked toward the light he had turned off only moments before. Now he switched it on again and turned to look at her more closely. She was a strikingly beautiful girl, tall and graceful and lovely, with eyes of green fire and hair like Bernini's gold. “I suppose you know that no one would have come to help you. There is no one here.”

But this time it was Serena who bridled as she watched him. Was that a threat he had just made her? Would he dare to assault her in this room? Did he think that they were alone? She looked at the tall, lean, young American, and she could sense that, even in the uniform, he was something more. This was not just another American major, this was a man who was accustomed to command, and to having his wishes granted, and if what he wanted now was her, she knew that he would see to it that that was what he got. “You are mistaken.” This time she felt no urge to add “Sir.” “We are not alone here.” She spoke with precision and certainty and a look of fury building in the green eyes.

“Aren't we?” He seemed surprised. Had she brought someone with her? She was a cheeky little thing if she had, but nothing would surprise him, perhaps she and her boyfriend had come to the lovely palazzo to make love. He raised an eyebrow and Serena took a step back.

“No, we are not alone.”

“You brought a friend?”

“I live here with my … zia … my aunt.” She faltered again on purpose.

“Here? In the palazzo?”

“She is waiting for me at the foot of the stairs.” It was a brazen lie, but he believed her.

“Does she work here too?”

“Yes. Her name is Marcella Fabiani.” She just hoped that the major had never met her. She had hoped to conjure an image of a dragon who would not allow him to hurt her. But a mental image of the ancient, heavyset, soundly snoring Marcella crossed her mind and she almost groaned aloud. If truly this man meant to hurt, or rape, her there would indeed be no one at hand to help her escape.

“And you are Serena Fabiani, then, I imagine?” He looked her over carefully once again and Serena paused for only a moment before nodding.

“Yes, I am.”

“I'm Major Fullerton, as I imagine you've gathered. Not an intruder. This is my office. And I do not want to see you here again. Not unless it's during daytime hours and you're working or if I ask you to come up here. Is that clear?” She nodded, but despite the stern words she had the feeling that he was laughing at her. There were little lines beside the gray eyes that made one suspect that he wasn't nearly as serious as he seemed. “Is there a door between your quarters and the palazzo?” He gazed at her with interest, but this time she was looking him over too. He had a thick handsome mane of blond hair given to curls, broad shoulders, and what appeared to be powerful arms. He had well-formed hands and long graceful fingers … long legs … in fact he was very attractive, but also terribly cocky. She found herself wondering what kind of family he came from. He reminded her all of a sudden of some of the old playboys of Rome. And perhaps that was why he was asking her if there was a door between her quarters and the palazzo, and suddenly she stood a little taller and made no attempt to hide the fire in her green eyes.

“Yes, Major, there is. It goes directly into my aunt's bedroom.”

Understanding what had happened, B. J. Fullerton had to fight not to burst into laughter. She was really an outrageous young girl and in a way she amused him, but he had no intentions of letting on. Here she was in the middle of the night, in his office, and she was staring him down and implying that he might try to intrude on her. “I see. Then we'll attempt not to disturb your aunt in the future. I was going to suggest mat we have the door between your quarters and the rest of the palazzo permanently closed, so that …er… you are not tempted to go wandering. And of course, once I move in here tomorrow, there will be a sentry posted outside the palazzo, so that if you hear anything at night”—he looked at her pointedly but her eyes didn't waver and she didn't flinch—”you won't need to come to my rescue.”

“I did not come to your rescue, Major. I came to see if there was a robber. It is my responsibility”—this time she struggled with the word for real and once again he had to fight not to smile—”to protect the house.”

“I'm sure I'm deeply grateful for your efforts, Serena. But in future that won't be a necessary part of your job.”

“Bene. Capisco.”

“Very well then.” He hesitated for only a moment. “Good night.”

She made no move to leave him. “And the door?”

“The door?” He looked blank for a moment.

“The door to our quarters. You will have it closed tomorrow?” It would mean that they would have to go outside and up the front steps each time someone rang for them or they had an errand to do in the main body of the palazzo. For Marcella it would be a real hardship, and a nuisance for Serena as well. But now the major began to smile slowly. He couldn't resist any longer. She was really very funny, and so stubborn and so brave and so determined, he wondered what her story was, and where she had learned to speak English. In her nervousness at being discovered in his office, she had allowed him to see that she spoke his language very well.

“I think we can let the door go for the moment. As long as you can resist the urge to wander up here at night. After all,” he said, looking at her mischievously for an instant, “you might accidentally wind up in my bedroom, and that would be awkward, wouldn't it? I don't recall your knocking tonight before you came in here.” This time he saw her blush almost purple, and for the first time since he had spoken to her in the darkness, she lowered her eyes from his. He was almost sorry that he had just teased her. He suddenly realized that she was probably even younger than she looked. For all he knew she was a tall girl of fourteen and just looked a few years older. But you never knew with Italian women. He realized now that he was being unfair to Serena. She was still looking in the direction of her sturdy convent shoes and dark stockings and he cleared his throat and walked to the door, held it open, and this time said firmly, “Good night.”

She walked out without looking at him again and with her head held high she answered, “Buona none.” He heard her clatter down the stairs a few seconds later, and then walk across the endless marble hall. He saw all of the lights go out beneath him, and then as he listened he heard a door close gently in the distance. The door to her aunt's bedroom? He grinned to himself, remembering the outrageous story.

She was a strange girl—also quite a beauty. But she was also a headache he didn't need. He had Pattie Atherton waiting for him in New York and just thinking about her brought forth a vision of her in a white organdy evening dress with a blue velvet sash, over it she had worn a blue velvet cape trimmed with white ermine, in sharp contrast to the shiny black hair, creamy skin, and big baby-doll blue eyes. He smiled to himself as he walked toward the window and stared out into the garden, but it wasn't Pattie he thought of as he looked out there. It was Serena who wandered back into his head, with her huge, determined green eyes. What had she been thinking as she stood there, staring out at the garden? What had she been looking for? Or who? Not that it really mattered. She was just one of the maids assigned to cleaning the palazzo, even if she was very pretty and very young.