A harsh gust of wind blew through the meadow, sending white-edged ripples across the surface of the lake. Carla protested colorfully as Juliana turned her back to the blunt force of the wind, clutching her cloak tightly together.

She should not have sent the note.

She skipped a stone across the water.

It had been a terrible idea.

And another.

What had made her think he would come? He was no fool.

And another.

Why didn’t he come?

“Enough, idiota. He doesn’t come because he has a brain in his head. Unlike you.” She muttered the words aloud to the lake.

She’d had enough of waiting for him. It was freezing and the light was waning and she was going home. Immediately.

Tomorrow, she would consider her next course of action—she was by no means giving up. And she had one week and five days to do everything she could to bring the arrogant man down.

The fact that he’d ignored her summons would only serve to urge her on.

Her commitment renewed, Juliana turned and made her way toward the tree where her companion sat. “Andiamo. Let’s go home.”

“Ah, finalmente,” said the maid in a happy little burst as she leapt to her feet. “I thought you would never give up.”

Give up.

The words rankled. She was not giving up. She was simply ensuring that she had all her fingers and toes for the next battle.

As though the elements had sensed her conviction, the wind blew again, harsh and angry, and Juliana reached to secure her bonnet just as the silly thing flew off her head. With a little squeak, she turned to watch it fly toward the lake, tumbling across the water like one of the stones that Juliana had skipped earlier. It landed, unbelievably, on the far end of a wide fallen log, the long ribbons floating in the dark cold lake, taunting her.

Carla snickered, and Juliana turned to meet the maid’s twinkling brown eyes. “You are lucky I do not send you to fetch it.”

One of Carla’s dark eyebrows raised. “I am amused at the suggestion that I would do such a thing.”

Juliana ignored the impertinent remark and returned her attention to the bonnet, taunting her from its resting place. She would not allow a piece of millinery to get the better of her. Something would go right this afternoon.

Even if she had to march into the middle of the Serpentine Lake to make it so.

Removing her cloak, Juliana headed for the log, stepping up and throwing her arms wide for balance to make her way to the ill-behaved headwear mocking her from several yards away.

“State attenta,” Carla called out, and Juliana ignored the urging for care, singularly focused on the bonnet. The wind began to pick up, teasing at the blue frills on the hat, and Juliana stilled, waiting to see if the hat would blow away.

The wind slowed.

The hat remained.

Well. As her sister-in-law, Isabel, would say, now it was the principle of the thing.

Juliana continued her journey before the hat was sacrificed to the gods of the Serpentine.

Just a few more feet.

And then she’d have the bonnet in hand and she could go home.

Nearly there.

She crouched slowly, shifting her balance and reaching out. The tips of her fingers touched a curl of blue satin.

And then the hat was gone, blown off the log, and in a moment of frustration Juliana forgot her precarious position and lunged.

The waters of the Serpentine were as cold as they appeared. Colder.

And deeper.

She came up sputtering and swearing like a Veronese dockworker to Carla’s raucous laughter. Instinctively, she rolled her body to face shore, only to find her skirts entangled in her legs, pulling her under.

Confusion flared and she kicked out, breaking the surface again briefly, gasping for air and not entirely understanding what was happening.

Something was wrong.

She was an expert swimmer, why couldn’t she stay afloat?

She kicked once more, her legs caught in a mass of muslin and twill, and she realized that the heavy skirts were weighing her down. She could not reach the surface.

Panic flared.

She extended her arms again, kicking wildly in one last desperate attempt at air.

To no avail.

Her lungs were on fire, straining under the burden of holding in the last of her precious air . . . air she knew she was about to—

She exhaled, the sound of the air bubbles rising to the surface of the lake punctuating her fate.

I am going to drown.

The words drifted through her mind, eerily calm.

And then something strong and warm grasped one of her outstretched hands, jerking her up . . . until she could—

Thank God.

She could breathe.

Juliana took a great, gasping breath, coughing and sputtering and heaving, focusing on nothing but breathing as she was pulled from the deeper water until her feet touched firm, blessed ground.

Not that her legs could hold her upright.

She collapsed into her savior, wrapping her arms around a warm, sturdy neck—a rock in a sea of uncertainty.

It took a few moments for her to come back to place and time—to hear Carla keening like a Sicilian grandmother from the lakeshore, to feel the cold bite of wind on her face and shoulders, to register the movement of her rescuer as he held her, chest deep in the water, as she trembled—either from the cold or the fear or both.

His hands stroked along her back, and he whispered soft, calm words into her hairline. In Italian.

“Just breathe . . . I’ve got you . . . You are safe now . . . Everything is all right.” And somehow, the words convinced her. He did have her. She was safe. Everything would be all right.

She felt his chest rise and fall against her as he took a deep, calming breath. “You’re safe,” he repeated. “You little fool . . .” he whispered, the tone just as soothing as ever, “. . . I have you now.” His hands stroked rhythmically down her arms and up her spine. “What in hell were you doing in the lake? What if I hadn’t been here? Shh . . . I’ve got you now. Sei al sicura. You’re safe.”