Page 60 of My Devoted Viscount (Brazen Bluestockings #2)

Two months later

They didn’t have to travel back to Rome. The Barber of Seville comic opera became so popular that a local company performed it in Naples by the time Vincent and Sophia sailed across the Channel, detoured through Paris, then traveled to his grandmother’s home in Naples.

Later, Vincent and Sophia planned to take a leisurely tour of Paris, Vienna, and other cities, but Sophia had insisted they get to Naples and Nonna Vincenza as soon as possible. They’d left Sidmouth for the Continent two days after their wedding.

The applause died away after the performers’ final bow.

Rossini’s Il barbiere di Siviglia, ossia L’inutile precauzione had been everything Vincent hoped, even if he’d witnessed it from a grassy knoll on a warm summer evening rather than inside the famous Teatro di San Carlo.

The theater had closed for repairs after a fire last winter.

Nonna Vincenza had not been fazed at sitting on a blanket on the ground to attend the opera, though she did accept her grandson’s help to rise.

“What a silly character, that Figaro,” Aunt Speranza said as the crowd began to flow out of the amphitheater.

“I think Count Almaviva might have been better off without the barber’s help,” Nonna added. “He was clever with all of those disguises. The drunken soldier, Rosina’s music teacher…”

“The singer who portrayed Figaro was most handsome, though,” Sophia said, giving Vincent a wink as he folded their blanket. “Has a lovely tenor voice.”

Knowing her preference for bass voices, Vincent enjoyed her teasing. “Dare I make a similar comment about the soprano who portrayed the beautiful Rosina?” He raised Sophia’s hand to kiss her knuckles. “Rossini’s full score was a joy to hear.”

He intended to make another observation about the music as performed by a full orchestra, but his throat tightened when Sophia leaned against him, tucking her body against his, and kept his hand in hers. Given the warmth of the evening, neither of them wore gloves.

His wife had proven to be cat-like, frequently rubbing up against him, and rarely objected when he pulled her onto his lap, which he frequently found excuses to do.

Wanting to enjoy their extended honeymoon journey, they were in no hurry to sire his heir but that didn’t stop them from rehearsing.

They explored all of their options, discovering what was difficult given the fourteen inches difference in their height, and what was easier because of her petite stature.

She’d climbed upon his shoulders on more than one occasion.

Sometimes even outside of their bedchamber.

“ Cara mia , you are being cruel,” he whispered, deliberately brushing the shell of her ear with his lips as he spoke.

He felt her shiver in response.

“We’re going to walk Principessa,” Aunt Speranza said as Nonna fished the sleepy puppy from her large reticule. What looked like a long silk and gold chain necklace perfectly matched to Nonna’s gown turned out to be a lead, which she attached to the pup’s collar.

Last week the four of them had visited a neighboring estate owned by longtime friends of Speranza.

While there, they’d been introduced to a litter of puppies ready to go to new homes.

This little ball of cream and tan fluff had chosen Nonna, demanding to be picked up and held, settling in the crook of her arm as though it were a throne, a princess surveying her kingdom.

“We’re going to walk over there,” Nonna said with a knowing smile, pointing over her shoulder at a grassy area beside a fountain far away enough to be out of earshot, “while you two discuss the music. Then you may escort us home.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Aunt Agnes’s painting hardly did Vincenza justice,” Sophia murmured, watching until Nonna and Speranza disappeared into the rapidly dispersing crowd, the puppy trotting between them.

“She is even more beautiful now than she was at eighteen.” She turned in Vincent’s arms and reached up one hand to stroke strands of hair away from his cheek, tucking them behind his ear. “I think it bodes well for you.”

“You do?” Until recently, he had avoided looking in mirrors.

His dark coloring and large build had been a painful reminder of how different he looked from his father and brothers.

But since their arrival in Naples, he’d met dozens of cousins and other relatives with similar looks.

Portraits hanging in the long gallery here revealed that his grandfather, with his light brown hair and fair skin, was the odd one out, not Vincent.

His grandfather had happily spent much of his adult life here. Had even died here.

“Mm, yes,” Sophia murmured, still playing with his hair.

Frissons of pleasure ran down his scalp and spine, making it difficult to concentrate on her words.

“We’re supposed to be discussing the musical performance we just witnessed, not putting on a show ourselves.

” He only allowed himself to caress her hand.

Once he started touching her, he found it difficult to stop until they were both naked, breathless, and sated.

At night they’d dismiss her maid Ruby so he could be the one to free Sophia’s hair from its braids.

He loved brushing it out, smoothing the silken strands over her creamy bare skin as a prelude to exploring all of her skin, all of her.

Having her in his bed every night, her loose hair spread on his pillow or forming a curtain around them, was so much better than he’d imagined.

And he’d spent a lot of time imagining it.

“What if…” She slid her hand from his hair and adjusted his cravat with nimble fingers.

His breathing sped up. “Yes?”

“What if tonight we reenact the scene where Almaviva pretends to be Rosina’s music teacher?”

He squeezed his eyes shut against the image her words created, but that made them more vivid. He coughed. “I think there may still be things we can teach each other,” he murmured.

Sophia’s sly answering smile sent Vincent’s pulse into double-time. Hand in hand, they went to collect his relatives and hurry home so he and his bride could stage their own private encore.

* * *

Thank you for reading Sophia and Vincent’s story!