Lily remembered the first time she had ever seen him. Giuseppe had been standing in a sunlit Florentine piazza, surrounded by a group of Italian women who hung on every word he spoke. With his flashing smile and dark beauty, he had taken Lily’s breath away. Their paths had crossed numerous times at social events, and Giuseppe had begun to pursue her ardently, ostentatiously. Lily had been overwhelmed by the romance of Italy and the previously unknown excitement of being seduced by a handsome man. Harry Hin-don, her only other love, had been staid and so very English, qualities that had pleased her parents. She’d thought Harry’s tight grasp on propriety would influence her, save her. Instead her wildness had caused him to leave her. But Count Gavazzi had seemed to relish her impulsive glee he had called her exciting, beautiful. At the time it had seemed as if she’d finally found the man with whom she could drop all pretenses and be herself. Now the memory of her own foolishness disgusted her.
