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 FANG IN THERE
PARANORMAL DATING AGENCY
MILLY TAIDEN
 CONTENTS

About the Book

Fang in There

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Milly Taiden
 ABOUT THE BOOK

Claire Bolton is a professional poker player. She roams from one

tournament to the other all across the world. Her life isn’t all room
service and sunny resorts, though. She made some bad decisions
and lost control of her future. She’s sworn off men and focuses
all her energy on gaining her freedom. Until she meets
Logan and his kisses make her question her life.
Panther shifter and hotelier Logan Madden has an empire
to run. He doesn’t have time for fun or dating. His parents
think he is a workaholic who needs a mate and a few weeks without
his phone. They enlist the renowned Gerri Wilder to help their son,
even if he doesn’t believe in mates and fate.
At least, not until he meets Claire. Then all bets are off,
and Logan is pulled into Claire’s world. He knows he can’t
stay away. He vows to help her get her life back. He’s got plans to
make her fall in love with him, one kiss at a time.
Claire is a gambler. And falling for Logan Madden is the
biggest gamble of all.
 This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are
fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any
way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or
organizations is entirely coincidental.

Published By
Latin Goddess Press
Winter Springs, FL 32708
http://millytaiden.com
Fang in There
Copyright © 2022 by Milly Taiden
Cover: Willsin Rowe
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Property of Milly Taiden
February 2022

Created with Vellum

FANG IN THERE
 PARANORMAL DATING AGENCY

NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

MILLY TAIDEN
 —For my husband,

You were my biggest gamble and it truly paid off. I love you.
CHAPTER ONE
 GERRI

One Year Ago

G erri Wilder slid her sunglasses into her silver bob as she
waltzed into the resort. Her heels clicked against the
impressive marble flooring. It sparkled in the light of the sun
streaming in from the big windows and massive open doors. Gauzy
curtains fluttered in the warm breeze.
She closed her eyes briefly, inhaling deeply. This was pure
relaxation. She couldn’t wait to be lounging on the beach with a
strawberry daiquiri and a good book.
The hotel clerk behind the reception desk gave her a bright,
inviting smile. “Welcome to Paradise Resort and Casino. How may I
make your day heavenly?”
Gerri giggled at the greeting. “Thank you. I’m Gerri Wilder,” she
answered. “I’m checking in.”
The clerk typed away on his computer, sending more smiles her
way as he chatted on about the weather and all the different types
of activities she could do while at the resort. Gerri listened intently,
completely engrossed in the activities she couldn’t wait to try. This
resort was renowned for being one of the best, and she was looking
forward to soaking it all up.
“Gerri?”
At the sound of her name, she looked away from the clerk. Her
daydreams were momentarily put on hold.
 A tall and handsome man with black hair meticulously coiffed
back and blue eyes so bright they almost seemed otherworldly
stepped toward her. She recognized him immediately, having known
him since he was a kitten.
“Gerri Wilder? Can it really be you? Do you ever age? My god.
You’ve looked the same since I was a boy.” He embraced her, kissing
each of her cheeks.
Gerri laughed at his compliments. He was always a bit of a
charmer. “Logan Madden. As I live and breathe! What are you doing
here?”
“I’ve just bought this resort. I’m just here to oversee some
renovations to make the place more Madden-like.”
Gerri chuckled. Of course, even if this place was one of the best,
Logan’s standards demanded that it be even better. “I can’t even
pretend to be surprised, can I? I always knew you would increase
your parents’ empire. You always were one smart cookie.”
Logan waved her off. “You give me way too much credit.”
“Hardly. How many properties have you added to Madden
Properties since you took over as CEO?”
The man, in his early thirties, blushed a bit at the praise. He
always had a hard time accepting compliments despite being a hard-
working perfectionist. He was an overly serious child, and now he
was an overly serious adult.
“I’ve only added a handful of properties,” Logan assured her.
It was hardly the truth. Gerri remembered her last chat with
Logan’s mother. Justina Madden bragged that her son had an eye for
spotting a good property and turning each and every one of them
into pure paradise.
“You know, I’ve been planning a friend of mine’s special birthday.
She wants to do a lady’s trip. I’ve been looking around for the right
place. She insists on Hawaii. You don’t have any properties on the
island, do you?”
“No. That’s a tough market to get into.”
“Well, let me tell you! While I was doing my research, I found a
place that looked a little worse for wear. I bet if you approached
them, you could nab the property up for a steal. But I’ll leave that
up to you. You’re the one with the eye.”
“I’ll look into it, thanks, Gerri. If we do manage to get our hands
on a Hawaiian hotel, you should plan this ladies’ trip with us. You
know we’d make it the best. And since you’re planning this a year in
advance, I’m guessing this is very important.”
Gerri chuckled. “It is to my friend, yes. And speaking of friends,”
she asked slyly. “Do you have a special person in your life?” She
already knew the answer, of course.
Justina was known to brag about her son one second and
complain about his bachelor status the next. Every year, Logan made
every single eligible bachelor list in the country, but his first love was
his job. Gerri understood his commitment, yet that didn’t mean she
didn’t have her eye out for a suitable mate for him. Justina had
asked her many times with various degrees of desperation to help
Logan in the love department.
Gerri had no luck so far, but she had faith in love and fate. The
time would come.
Logan was always a quiet man, not one to brag or boast about
his accomplishments. He was a man of few words unless he was
busy giving orders to his staff.
Gerri and Justina had spent hours discussing the kind of woman
he needed to open him up a bit. He needed to break out of his shell
and get his hands dirty, so to speak.
Justina was always on the lookout for an eligible mate for her
son, but she hadn’t had any luck either. Her main complaint was that
Logan worked too much to meet anyone. Even though he worked in
resorts and casinos, which by rights, should be hot spots for meeting
people, Logan kept to himself. Even when his parents brought
possible dates for him, Logan resisted.
Desperate for some grandbabies and a more balanced life for
their son, Justina and Eli had taken to following Logan from one
resort to the other in hopes of curbing his workaholic ways.
“It’s so good to see you, Gerri.” Logan tucked a poker chip into
his pocket as he walked around the reception desk. He nudged his
worker aside and took over the computer screen, typing away with a
serious frown on his handsome face. “I’ve upgraded you. If you
need anything, you let the staff know you’re a family friend. I need
to go. I’ve literally gotta jet for an important meeting, but my
parents are around here somewhere. I’m sure Mom would love to
chat. How about you join us in the penthouse tonight for dinner?
How does eight sound? I should be back from my meeting by then.
At least, I will be if the chopper pilot does his job right.”
“I’d love that,” Gerri assured him. “I really would like to catch up
with Eli and Justina.”
Logan left with another goodbye, pulling out his ringing phone
from his blazer pocket. He twirled his poker chip with his free hand
as if it were attached to his fingers.
While Gerri waited for her room key, two women made their way
to the reception desk. Her attention was captivated by their heated
but whispered exchange. She wondered if she could lend a hand to
either one of them.
“Mom, would you stop?” a young woman begged, her voice
edged with pure desperation. She was short and curvy, with long
black hair curling down to her waist in soft waves. Her skin was
tanned thanks to good genes and a healthy dose of sun. It
accentuated the warm brown of her wide and expressive eyes.
The black-haired beauty cupped her face in her hands, shaking
her head. “You need to stop,” she hissed. “This is damn
embarrassing. I’m here to work.”
The woman’s mother pouted. “But Claire!” she exclaimed. “That’s
exactly my point. You can’t keep doing this. This is no way to live
your life.”
Claire, as she was obviously called, looked up to the high ceiling
in exasperation. Gerri didn’t yet know what this conversation was
about, but clearly, it was one mother and daughter had often
enough. “I’m going to my room. Don’t follow me.” Claire turned and
nearly collided with Gerri. She gasped. “Oh, I am so sorry. So sorry.”
“That’s quite all right,” Gerri said.
The young woman left in a hurry to get away from her mother.
“Sorry about that,” the mother huffed with embarrassment.
“Apparently, my ungrateful child will bump into strangers to get away
from me faster.”
“No need to be sorry,” Gerri assured her with a smile. “Parents
never stop worrying about their children, do they? Even when
they’re grown.”
“That’s exactly it. I worry about her. I have to. It’s not like she
has a normal life.”
“Oh?” Gerri asked. Those finely-honed instincts of her were
buzzing hard. She knew down to her soul that she had to keep
talking to this woman. “I was about to go have a drink. Join me.”
“No, no. I couldn’t impose. I’m in a bad mood. I would just moan
and groan about Claire.”
Gerri patted her shoulder comfortingly. “And that’s totally fine.
I’m Gerri. Gerri Wilder.” She held out her hand for the other woman
to shake.
“Pattie Bolton. Hello.”
“How about that drink, Pattie?”
“Oh, fine. You’ve convinced me. I need time to cool off before I
see Claire, anyway. I will never understand how I can love her and
yet be so angry all at once.”
“The joys of parenting,” Gerri stated wisely.
They made their way out of the wide doors to a beautiful outdoor
bar. The patio was fairly busy, but they managed to find a table
under a bright red umbrella. They ordered their drinks, and while
they waited, they chatted about the resort.
“It isn’t my first time here,” Pattie explained. “I’ve been to all
kinds of resorts and casinos in the last couple of years. My daughter,
Claire, is a professional poker player.” She spat out the last words
like they were truly disgusting.
Gerri’s eyes widened. “Well! Isn’t that interesting. Very
impressive.”
“Isn’t it?” Pattie asked, nearly drinking half the cocktail a tall and
handsome waiter brought over. “She’s always off to one tournament
or another.” Pattie took another deep gulp, leaving only an inch of
her drink at the bottom of her glass. “Claire sleeps all day and works
strange hours. It’s not the life I want for her.”
“Hmm. But is it the life she wants?”
 “Well, I guess it is, but it isn’t healthy. She used to have such
different dreams. She wanted to be a math teacher. She wanted to
get married and have kids.”
Gerri sensed there was more to the story than Pattie was offering
up, but she kept her suspicion to herself, letting the other woman
vent. Obviously, it was what she needed.
“Those kinds of hopes and dreams don’t evaporate. They just
don’t,” Pattie added with conviction. “You know what I wish? I wish
my daughter were happy again. Not hiding in the shadows behind
those big sunglasses of hers, playing poker all over the world for
cash. I wish she would meet a good man. Settle down.”
“What if that man was someone who understood her? A man
who didn’t mind that she was a poker player?”
Pattie sighed. “I guess it wouldn’t be so bad. But what kind of
mother would she be if she was still a poker player? Traipsing all
over the world?”
Gerri took her time to answer, weighing every word carefully. “I
don’t think a mother is defined by the job she has. You’re a mother,
but you’re other things too. Claire could be a wife, a mother, a
professional poker player. I bet she would do a great job of helping
her kids with their math homework down the line.”
“She is such a smart girl.” Pattie snorted. “I guess she’s not even
a girl anymore. My little Claire is all grown up. She’s a young woman.
I just don’t recognize her anymore. I haven’t seen her smile in so
long. She’s withdrawn ever since Marco broke her heart.”
And there it was.
Gerri hadn’t needed Pattie to say that last bit to understand what
had so altered Claire. The professional poker player had a broken
heart.
The kind that could only be healed by finding the right person.
“You know what, Pattie?” Gerri grinned into her delicious daiquiri.
“I have a feeling your daughter is gonna be just fine.”
“Oh?” Pattie’s shoulders perked up. “You sound so sure. It’s
almost infectious.”
Gerri threw her head back with a laugh. “I’ve got a knack for
these things. I might have an idea. Let’s get another drink, shall
we?”
Pattie agreed, all but sealing a deal with the renowned
matchmaker.
C H A P T E R T WO
 CLAIRE

One Year Later

C laire pushed her sunglasses up on her nose. No sooner had she

put her hand back in her lap than her fingers trembled.
Hopefully, no one had seen.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Was that one of her tells? Had the other players noticed?
Hopefully, they would think nothing of it. Just a person who was
pushing up their glasses. It wasn’t her fault, really. She was a bit
sweaty, and the glasses slid down her nose.
Not. A. Fucking. Tell.
I am a professional. I am cool and calm as a damn cucumber in a
freezer. I could be chilling at the spa. I am so fucking relaxed right
now. A cold-cucumber-slices-on-my-eyeballs kind of cool.
Claire eyed her cards. The Queen of Hearts seemed to mock her
with a silent, oh, yeah, we all believe you are calm and competent.
Get your shit together, Bolton.
The card’s eyes continued to stare at her as she tried to
hyperventilate without actually breathing. Yup. She was totally
fucking fine.
It was almost impossible to keep her body still.
Claire wanted to fidget. Scratch her nose. Clear her throat. Flip
her hair back. Something. Anything.
She couldn’t. Not until the hand was over.
 If she made another move, no doubt she would be hearing about
it from her handler.
Fucking handlers.
Claire couldn’t quite believe how whiny and annoying Rupa was.
That woman was always on her case about something or other.
Wasn’t it enough that Claire was doing her part?
Oh, no. Not for Rupa and her precious team of FBI agents.
Claire would never pay her debt to society. She would always be
a puppet on a hook to dangle in dangerous situations.
You brought this on yourself, remember?
It didn’t help to remember that. Not when Claire had to focus on
the game. Thinking about her ex and how he had so completely
ruined her life wasn’t helpful. Claire’s instructions from Rupa were
clear. Play well, but no matter what: Do. Not. Win.
Apparently, playing poker to lose purposefully was just as hard as
playing poker to win. It was a fine line. Some of it was skill and
discreet card counting.
Another part was hoping to fuck you made the right call. And yet
another part was having luck on your side. Claire didn’t really believe
in her good luck anymore. Not when there was more than money on
the line.
Her life. Her freedom.
No fucking pressure.
Michael O’Keefe rapped his knuckles on the table, and the dealer
switched out two of his cards. Claire watched him carefully. She
thought his tell was wiggling his nose, but she couldn’t be sure.
Maybe his nasty ass mustache was tickling him or something.
Claire was fortunate enough to not have a mustache. She had no
clue if facial hair bothered men. All she knew was that facial hair
bothered her.
Especially when she was kissing a guy with it. Marco had a dumb
beard, then a stupid mustache, then some kind of goatee that made
him look like a greasy pirate. She hated facial hair now because it
only ever reminded her of Marco.
Really, Claire. Thinking about kissing men? During a poker game?
Don’t you remember what got you into this mess in the first place?
 Claire cleared her throat, and she could’ve kicked herself for it.
To play it off as nothing more than a dry throat, she reached for her
glass of apple juice and took a small sip.
Oh, yeah.
She was drinking fucking apple juice like a little preschooler
watching an afterschool special. Rupa had forbidden her to drink
when she played. Could it be because she was playing with the
United States government’s money?
Yeah, that was it exactly.
She had to lose, but not so tragically that Rupa would bemoan
losing a cool twenty-K in one single stroke of shitty — but totally
hoped for — bad luck.
There had been a time when Claire played poker for the love of
the game. Because she liked it. Because it made her feel smart.
Because it was a thrill to win.
Because her father taught her, and she missed him.
Claire hadn’t felt smart or excited to play the game in so long,
and she sometimes forgot what her life had been like before all of
this started.
I need to make better life choices, she said to herself, playing her
hand as best as she possibly could. Across from her, Michael’s eyes
flicked across the table, taking in the cards — and probably counting
them off in his head too. He looked like a peaceful blob. Like a big
gelatinous thing that would sink to the bottom of the ocean like
Claire’s hopes and dreams had sunk.
Michael O’Keefe was good at hiding his emotions, but not that
good. Not when Claire scrutinized every little thing he did. She
noticed something. A barely noticeable twitch in his neck.
I got you, mother fucker.
One of the hardest things for Claire was keeping her emotions in
check when she was excited. Oh, she had a good poker face. She
couldn’t be in this business if the opposite were true, but it was still
difficult. Especially when the stakes were so much higher than a
mere game to pay her bills.
Losing on purpose hurt her ego more than she cared to admit.
She spent a long time building her reputation as a good professional
poker player. As a woman, it was not an easy thing to do. Losing on
purpose went against everything in her heart, so Claire felt a zing of
power go up her spine when Michael played his hand.
At least she knew that Michael was well and truly fucked. No
matter how badly she played, she would have to be a colossal idiot
to lose this hand. She had to win now, or her cover would be blown.
I’m not gonna lose. Woo-hoo!
Explaining this to Rupa would be hard as hell, but she would find
a way. Or, you know, Rupa would finally make good on her threat to
lock Claire up in a Supermax federal prison.
Claire blew out a breath, unable to catch herself before it puffed
out of her. Michael’s eyes flicked up to look at her. She took another
sip of her apple juice, wishing it was something a little stronger to
see her through.
This was going to hurt.
She put her hand down on the table and won the game.

“H ave you lost your d - a - n - g mind ?” Rupa blasted into her as soon as
Claire walked into her hotel room.
“You should really fucking try swearing, Rupa,” Claire grumbled.
The tall and curvy Indian FBI agent glared at her. “I’m at work.
It’s not appropriate to swear at work.”
Claire snorted and threw her tricked-out sunglasses onto the
table next to the computer that had been subtly filming her every
move during the poker game.
“I’m at work right now. And see? Fuck. Shit. Fuck the man who
brought me to this fucking hellhole.” Claire dramatically looked
around the room and put her hand to her mouth with a gasp. “Oops.
Oh, no. What have I done?” She continued to wait, putting on a big
show that could win her an Oscar while the agent glared at her.
“See? I used bad words, and nothing bad happened.”
Rupa tapped her foot impatiently. “You could be a bit more
professional, you know.”
 Claire laughed. “More professional? Are you joking? You’ve got
me by the balls. I have to do everything you say, or I say goodbye to
my freedom. I think I passed professional a long fucking time ago.”
“One day, that mouth will get you in trouble,” Rupa warned.
“Fuck, I hope not,” Claire shot back. “In more trouble than I
already am? Jesus. Can you imagine? What would that even look
like?”
Rupa shrugged. “I don’t know. But I am sorry. For what it’s
worth.”
“Oh, you mean you’re sorry for being an undercover agent who
entrapped me into this nice little hustle you’ve got going on?”
Rupa sighed and sat on the edge of one of the beds. “I’ve told
you before, Claire. You were my friend. Really. Still are. I was really
hoping you weren’t involved back then.”
“You could’ve warned me. Told me what was going down.”
“What should I’ve said? Huh? That your boyfriend was running
an illegal poker ring? That he was involved in money laundering?
That he had deep ties to some bad people and probably some
cartels? That I was trying to get information to arrest him for his
crimes? You were in love with him, Claire. Don’t pretend like you
wouldn’t have warned him.”
“Okay, fine,” Claire conceded. “You couldn’t warn me because
you didn’t trust me. But I can still think this sucks ass, and I can
most definitely still be mad at you. I am never falling in love again.
That’s a fucking promise.”
“I really wish you didn’t swear so much.” Rupa shook her head.
“It’s like every second word.”
“Well, let’s just say that my swearing is your punishment for
betraying me. Fair is fair, Agent.”
Rupa flinched and lay back on the bed, her arms spread wide.
“You know I’m sorry.”
“Doesn’t make it right,” Claire pointed out, kicking off her combat
boots. “I’m ordering food. You want anything? I could eat a whole
cow. Mmm. I want a steak as big as my fucking head right now. And
ice cream. I wonder if the chocolate lava cake is any good.” Her
mouth filled with water as she flipped through the room service
menu.
“That combination sounds nasty. So, no. Thank you, but no.”
Claire rolled her eyes. How Rupa became one of the FBI’s top
agents was a shock. She didn’t swear, curse, drink, break the rules.
Nothing.
The straightest arrow had cut Claire down. Hard.
So maybe that’s exactly why Rupa was a top agent. She loved
the law and never deviated from it. Rupa saw the world in black and
white, and there was no room for gray areas. Go figure. Being law-
abiding had its benefits, apparently.
Claire wanted to rage at this. It’s not like she had known what
was going on, at first, all those years ago. She was just a university
student who happened to be good at poker. When she met Marco
playing tournaments, it was love at first play.
He was older, sophisticated, intelligent. He made her feel worldly
and mature. Being with him was like finally becoming an adult. Or at
least, what she thought being an adult meant. With Marco beside
her, the world was different. They went to expensive and exclusive
places where the staff fawned over them. They drank ridiculously
expensive wine and ate like kings wherever they went.
It was glamorous and so far removed from the life she imagined
for herself.
She couldn’t exactly remember when things had changed with
Marco, but it had probably been subtle at first. Before long, he was
spending all of his time on his phone. She went from the most
important thing in Marco’s life to being the pair of eyes he barely
looked into from over his phone. In the last year of their
relationship, Claire saw the back of his device more than the rest of
Marco’s face.
Well, if anything, that had been a lesson. Never fall in love with a
man who treats his ringing phone like a crying baby. Run. Do not
walk away from a self-important workaholic.
Claire never could’ve guessed that getting mixed up with Marco
would mean being mixed up with illegal activity. Claire was the
daughter of a daycare worker and a police sergeant. Her father died
on the job, stopping a bank heist. Crime was something her dad
taught her all about. He warned her and cautioned her to keep her
eyes open. She thought her dad’s good sense for illegal shit was in
her blood. As if somehow, just by being his kid, she would be
immune to trouble.
Simple things like small hustlers selling drugs outside of the
convenience store in a bad ninety’s movie. Never — not in her
wildest dream — did she think she was committing a crime when
she walked into that renovated warehouse that night.
She was just a poker player going where the next big tournament
was.
Only it wasn’t a tournament. Not really. Those poker games were
a front for a whole lot of bad things with a whole lot of bad people.
For the first time in her life, Claire was glad her dad wasn’t
around to see how low his little Claire Bear had sunk. It would break
his heart.
“How is Marco?” Claire asked, cutting through the awkward
silence with another dose of awkward.
After that fateful game, Claire was caught in a trap. At least it
hadn’t been so bad at first. She met Rupa, another female poker
player. A rare thing, really. They hit it off quickly.
Rupa was sweet and quiet. A total badass at the table. But their
entire friendship was a lie. A means to an end. Rupa wasn’t some
prodigy player from New York City. She was an undercover federal
agent with one sole mission: bust the poker games where other
kinds of business were conducted.
“Marco is fine, I guess. Unless you want him to be doing badly,
then he is horrible.”
Claire threw her hands up. “I don’t know what I want. All I do
know is that I’m done with men. Specifically rich, entitled, handsome
men who are all about work and business. I’m sticking to battery
operated boyfriends from now on.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” Rupa muttered.
Claire shrugged. “It’s my truth.”
Her belief in love and happily-ever-afters blew up in smoke the
second she was arrested just eighteen months ago. Nothing would
change her mind. She didn’t just have a potty mouth. She was
stubborn. She was hurt and trapped, and Claire could feel herself
becoming more and more reckless. She wanted her life back.
“You never know. The right man might come along.”
Claire laughed. “So what if he does? He could be as delicious as a
steak and chocolate lava cake dinner, but that doesn’t mean I’ve got
to succumb to it. I’ve got more willpower than that. And I’ve got a
really good poker face.”
Claire nodded to finish off her speech, all but making a promise
to herself.
CHAPTER THREE
 LOGAN

L ogan stuffed his hands in his pockets, needing to keep them

busy. In his left pocket, his hand was balled into a fist. His right
hand was clutched around a poker chip.
In the pocket lining his suit jacket, his phone was no doubt
blowing up. Not that he would check. Not that he even knew. But he
knew.
There was a new rule now. He had to stay off his phone, his
tablet, his computer, and any other device — from eleven to noon.
Every day. For the foreseeable future. It was pure hell. Seems that
when he purchased this hotel in the middle of Hawaii’s big island,
things had to change.
According to some people, who didn’t understand the intricacies
of juggling an empire of hotels, resorts, and casinos, Logan was
addicted to his phone. His email. His text message apps.
“You don’t have to be a martyr about it,” his father grumbled. “I
ran this business before you were in my ball sack.”
“Gross, Dad. Thank you for that beautiful and romantic image of
my creation.”
“Well, it’s true. The point is made, isn’t it? I was doing this before
I met your mother. I wasn’t glued to devices. They didn’t even exist
back then. Being too busy to enjoy life is not the point of this
business. You need to have fun with it.”
Logan gave his dad a tight smile. He wouldn’t have this
conversation again.
 Every single time his parents saw him, his dad said something
similarly nasty while berating him for doing his job.
It didn’t matter that Logan repeated over and over that now, with
technological advancements, his job was harder.
Though all those methods of communication were supposed to
make his life easier, the opposite was true. When he was answering
emails from his hotel managers from everywhere across the globe, a
few more were texting him. And while he answered those text
messages, more panicked hotel managers tried to call him, leaving
voicemails.
And while he listened to those voicemails, most of which he had
already addressed in the burning and urgent emails, he had more
emails. It was one long and vicious cycle of never-ending work.
“You’ve got a little something there,” Dad said. He touched
Logan’s cheek. “Yup. Your phone has left an indentation on your
face. Bad luck too. You’re not as handsome as me anymore.” He
laughed like it was the most hilarious thing in the world. It wasn’t.
So that was why Logan walked into the resort lobby without his
phone. It was locked in the safe in his office along with his
computer. The safe was a necessity. If he didn’t lock his stuff up, he
completely gave in to temptation.
It physically hurt to think about all the — hopefully —
metaphorical fires he would have to put out over a quick lunch. One
hour a day without access to his staff was hell. So much could go
wrong. His parents didn’t understand that. At all. He tried to pick a
less busy hour of the day, something that wasn’t smack down in the
middle of work hours. Originally, he picked two to three in the
morning, but his parents had vetoed that really hard. His father
threatened to leave retirement to take over as CEO again to run the
business into the ground.
“It would just be to free you from the shackles of work,” Dad
explained like it made sense.
Logan didn’t believe that his father would actually follow up on
the ruin-the-business part of his threat, but leaving retirement? Now
that he believed. That was the only reason why he agreed to one full
and painful hour without any electronics. It was like being fifteen
and grounded all over again. Only he was thirty, ran a multi-million-
dollar business spanning the globe.
Logan made his way to the back of the resort through the lobby,
bypassing the casino floor, hoping one of the staff members would
flag him down with some kind of emergency. At least then, he would
have a valid reason to skip lunch.
And he wouldn’t have to hear his dad complain about his phone
because the emergency would be brought to him by a living,
breathing human. It would be even better if he were sitting down to
lunch when someone rushed to him, pleading for his help.
That would show them.
The resort, one of his latest acquisitions, was nice. Though there
would need to be some changes to make it more of a Madden
property, it was nothing to sneeze at. It was a four-star, and with a
little bit of Logan magic, he would make it into a five-star in no time
at all.
At one of the tables, on one of the many patios, his mother and
father waved at him. It was all very adorable in that humiliating way
parents have.
“Woo-hoo! Logan-Boban,” his mother cried out with a laugh.
“Over here.”
He rushed toward the table and sat. “I’ve asked you multiple
times not to call me that at work, Mom. Or ever.”
Her eyes twinkled, and she laughed. “Oh, whatever. You’re my
son, and that’s what I’ve called you since I gave birth to you. If you
think I’m gonna stop because you think you’re this big businessman
too important for nicknames, you’ve got another think coming.”
“Leave your poor, loving mother alone, Logan-Boban,” Dad piped
up. “We get to see so little of you.”
“Do you?” Logan asked tightly. They ate lunch together most
days since striking their bargain. It was their way of making sure
Logan stayed true to it. “Well, excuse me for wanting to have and
keep my staff’s respect.”
“I should think your female staff would be happy to see that you
have such a good relationship with your mother. You know what they
say. Men who are nice to their mothers and treat them well make
the best husbands. Isn’t there a maid, or waitress, or clerk, or
something that has caught your eye?”
Logan clicked his tongue. “Pretty sure that makes a mamma’s
boy, and they can be creepy.”
“There is a fine line, yes,” his mother conceded. “But you’re not a
mamma’s boy.”
Desperate for a drink, Logan called over one of the waiters with a
hand gesture. “Biggest scotch you can serve me.”
“Right away, Mr. Madden,” the young man said with a wink. The
worker knew Logan was exasperated, but Mom took it the wrong
way.
“Maybe a nice waiter?” His mother tried. “Maybe you’re gay, and
that is totally fine with us. We’re okay with whatever would make
you happy, Logan-Boban. A man, a woman. We would be fine with a
triad.”
“Mother,” Logan hissed. “I’m straight.”
“And not one for sharing,” Dad muttered jokingly.
Logan ignored him and went on. “I just haven’t found anyone
interesting.”
“Not like you would have the time anyway, huh?” Dad teased.
“Too busy with his real true love.”
“His phone,” Mom sang, batting her eyes exaggeratively.
“You two are impossible. No wonder I don’t bring anyone home
to meet you. It’s a circus act.”
“But a dignified one,” Mom shot back without missing a beat.
“Speaking of being dignified, you should know, I’ve asked Gerri to
join us for dinner tonight. She’s staying here for a friend’s birthday,
but she promised to sneak away to see us.”
“Gerri?” Logan asked, nearly downing his entire scotch, paying
more attention to his booze than listening to his mother. “Who?”
“Gerri,” Mom repeated, annoyed. “You know Gerri Wilder.”
“Oh, right. Yes. Of course, I know Gerri. I bought this property
because of her.” He patted his pockets, his hands longing to close
around his phone. Fuck, he had it bad. Maybe Mom and Dad were
right. Instead, he grasped the poker chip. It was a poor substitute.
 “Well, when I saw her last year at the Caribbean hotel, I asked
her to find your mate.”
Logan barked out a loud “What?”
“Now, who is making a scene?” Dad laughed.
“Mom, no. You didn’t. I don’t have time for all that nonsense,
okay? We have been through this. When fate, or destiny, or
whatever the hell decides that my life isn’t hectic enough, I’ll meet
the right person.”
“Oh, fuck that,” Mom snapped.
“Mother,” Logan chided. “Language.”
Sometimes, it really felt to Logan like he had to raise his parents.
They were loud, colorful, no small amount of embarrassing, and a
PR nightmare waiting to happen.
“Whatever. The point is, sometimes, fate needs a little push. And
Gerri is the kind of person who knows what pushes to give. She’s a
genius.”
“Nope. Not happening.”
A tall and lanky staff member wearing the front desk uniform
shyly approached the table. He looked down and blushed deeply,
keeping his voice small. “Umm, Mr. Madden? Excuse me for
disturbing you, sir. You’re not answering your phone, sir. And you’re
needed. There is a bit of an emergency at the front desk. I need
your help with something, sir.”
“Kid, easy on the sirs,” Dad grumbled.
“Here we go,” Mom exclaimed, slapping the table.
“What kind of shim-sham operation do you run here, my boy?
Surely it should be able to run without you for a single meal?” Dad
laughed like it was all a big joke.
“Dad,” Logan hissed. “We’ll talk about this later.”
Logan got to his feet and motioned for his employee to lead the
way. They retreated back inside and hurried over to the front desk,
where a man was waving his hands in the air and making a very
dramatic scene. Everyone in the lobby was watching him, some
amused but most annoyed.
Logan didn’t have to be a shifter to know what was going on,
though his ears were picking up plenty. He plastered a smile on his
face and approached the man. From experience, he knew that
standing behind the desk would only make the angry patron more
belligerent.
“Sir, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Logan Madden, proprietor
of this establishment. What seems to be the trouble?”
The man, easily in his fifties, turned to look at him. He did a slow
roaming of Logan’s form and immediately snapped his mouth shut.
Sometimes, humans sensed the panther in him.
It didn’t always happen, but Logan kind of liked it when it did. It
made for some interesting exchanges. All at once, just by laying
eyes on him, the furious man calmed and turned bright red. His
tongue refused to work, and he blubbered his way through an
explanation about his reservation.
“Mr. O’Keefe, I apologize,” the clerk behind the desk said shyly.
“I’ve checked our database. We don’t have any record of your
reservation.”
“Well, computers aren’t perfect. Maybe it was erased.”
Here we go, Logan thought. This guy should book a traveling
show with his parents and preach to everyone just how bad
smartphones and technology were. Now there was a circus.
Unfortunately, Logan recognized the man’s name. He couldn’t kick
him out, even if he wanted to.
“I assure you,” Logan began using his best overly kind, almost
condescending tone. “We have the very best system. No reservation
can be lost.”
“Well, what do you think happened, then?” the man barked.
You messed up, and you don’t want to own up to it. Or maybe
you like making a scene.
“Let’s see what we can do, shall we?” Logan took his time
walking to the desk. He gave his clerk an encouraging smile. It
wasn’t their fault the man was shouting, but Logan didn’t like for his
staff to be ill-treated by people. It wasn’t fair to them. Logan let his
fingers fly over the computer, bringing up the mainframe. It was
connected to every propriety owned by the Maddens. Logan looked
up the man’s name and quickly found the issue.
The man had booked at another location.
 The man deflated somewhat when Logan explained the issue but
still tried to blame Logan and his staff for the mistake. Like it was
their fault.
“It’s your logo. It’s everywhere. How the hell am I supposed to
know? You should focus on opening fewer hotels and make sure
your clients know where to go instead.”
“Hmm,” Logan was noncommittal. “Be that as it may, you are in
the wrong resort. The one you booked is in the Caribbean. You see
the issue?”
“But I’m playing at this casino.”
Logan frowned as if this were news to him. “Playing? Are you
one of the professional poker players? Here for the tournament?”
“Michael O’Keefe, yeah. Jesus. Don’t you know when you have
high rollers coming to your place?”
Logan worked hard to bite his tongue. His panther had other
ideas. We should eat him. I bet some BBQ sauce would make him
taste better. But we need to eat him. It would be a service to
mankind. Look at that poor clerk. He’s terrified her.
“Well, given that this is an honest mistake, we can book you a
room.” Logan made a big show of frowning down at the screen.
“Seems like we only have a few rooms left, and they’re our more…
high-end suites. Will that be a problem?”
Logan had to play nice for now, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t
hit this belligerent man in his wallet.
O’Keefe’s already red face turned redder. “It is not a problem.
What are you implying?”
“Nothing,” Logan assured him with a smile. That you’re a puffed-
up jerk, who is gonna pay for mistreating my staff. “Just warning
you that it will be nearly two thousand dollars a night. Is that
satisfactory, Mr. O’Keefe?”
“Fine. Whatever. You better comp me a meal at least.”
Logan’s jaw clenched as he continued to smile. He went through
the process of activating a keycard and slid it onto the desk. The
entire exchange was tense. Michael O’Keefe kept on making
demands, and the more he did, the more Logan became irritated.
 Once the man had disappeared into the elevator car with a
bellhop who would be receiving one hell of a bonus from Logan, he
turned toward the clerk.
“Stephanie, right?” he asked, pointing to her name tag. She
nodded. “So that was very unpleasant. How about you take the rest
of the afternoon off. I’ll call the spa and let them know you’ve
earned yourself a massage. How’s that sound?”
“Oh, Mr. Madden, you really don’t have to do that. I’ve dealt with
worse.”
“Not on my watch. No one in my staff is going to be treated like
that, all right? You go on ahead. Don’t worry about jerks like him.”
Stephanie smiled and left with a few more thank-you’s. Really, it
was the least he could do. The service industry had a notoriously
bad retention rate, but his own properties didn’t suffer the same
outcome. Logan took care of his staff, and in return, they took care
of his properties and guests properly.
Men like Michael O’Keefe usually got what was coming to them.
Besides, Logan knew who the man was. If the FBI agent hadn’t
warned him, Logan would’ve shown him the door as soon as he
yelled at his staff.
Yup. Michael O’Keefe had a date with karma, and as the saying
went, she was a bitch.
CHAPTER FOUR
 CLAIRE

I t took some doing, but Claire finally managed to convince Rupa

to let her leave the hotel room. She could hardly sneak away and
leave the property. Rupa and the FBI would track her ass down
and lock her up if she did. For real. There would be no more cushy
hotel room, no more poker playing. Her one chance at redemption
was helping the Feds deal with this problem she had unknowingly
helped create.
Besides, all Claire really wanted was to go down to the pool and
lounge in the sun while having a few cocktails. Not that her handler
was going to pay for her drinks. That was coming out of her meager
savings, and those were quickly dwindling. Being an FBI pawn didn’t
exactly pay well.
With a bright red see-through wrap covering her white bikini,
Claire made her way down to the pool. Her beach bag held a book,
her sunglasses, and a few things to keep her busy. But really, one of
her favorite things was to sit back and imagine what it would be like
to chill out as a free woman. That fantasy didn’t get old. It kept her
going, and she hoped that the fantasy would be her reality one day.
Claire found the best spot and lay on the comfy lounge chair with
her face toward the sun. A few people splashed in the pool, but it
was mostly quiet. Good thing too. Claire always liked to clear her
mind when she was about to play. She had a good imagination, and
she could often run full games in her mind.
 “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the little mouse. I’ve never seen so
much of you.”
Gross. She really hated it when he called her that. The voice was
so nasally and annoying it made her gut clench. Claire didn’t have to
open her eyes to know who was talking to her. She wanted to reach
over and cover herself with her wrap because Michael O’Keefe was
one big fucking creep ... if he was anything at all.
“What do you want, O’Keefe?” she snapped, keeping her eyes
closed. Maybe if she didn’t look at him, she could pretend he wasn’t
there at all.
“Is that how you talk to your favorite opponent?” Michael
chuckled.
“I don’t see Shira Baum anywhere. Do you?”
He laughed as she brought up a renowned poker player from
New York. The woman was a force of nature when it came to poker.
“As if she would ever play here,” Michael sneered, understanding
that Claire had just insulted him by saying he wasn’t her favorite
opponent.
“A lady can dream. Now, if you’ll excuse me, and fuck right off.
You’re blocking my sun. It’s bad enough I have to play you tonight
and breathe the same air as you.”
O’Keefe pulled one of the lounge chairs close to hers and sat
down.
“Seriously?” she muttered. “There are three other pools. Go and
bug those people and leave me alone.”
He laughed again. Probably because he didn’t have a good
comeback to make to her jab. She tried her best to ignore him, but
it was too much.
Besides, she knew his game.
He was trying to rattle her and get inside her head before their
game tonight. He was still sore that he lost a big game to her last
month. He couldn’t know that the game had seriously cost her. Rupa
and her bosses were furious. They needed O’Keefe to win. They
needed him to be the champion to arrest him. He might not make it
to the championship game if he lost too much money. Or worse yet,
his employer might choose to back out of the game altogether.
 “You know, little mouse, you’re really a wonder. I thought when
Marco was arrested that you’d go down with his sinking ship.”
“I’m not with Marco anymore,” she snapped.
“Oh, I know that. I’ve heard some interesting rumors about you
lately. Some people are saying that you sold Marco out to save your
own skin.”
“Save my skin? Are you kidding me? Fuck you, O’Keefe.” Claire
didn’t want to say anything more than that. She didn’t want to
accidentally spill something that would get her in trouble. There was
no telling what Michael knew, but if he knew that she was working
for the Feds, Claire was living on borrowed time.
Lucky for her, Michael was always bragging that he knew more
than he actually did. It was a wonder his bosses kept him around.
Sure, he was a good poker player with a clean enough criminal
record that most legit casinos didn’t turn him away.
But that record was clean because O’Keefe has some powerful
friends. Namely, his older brother, who ran some seriously shady
businesses.
“I told Marco a few times he shouldn’t trust a broad.”
“A broad?” Claire glared at him. “Okay. That’s enough out of
you.” She quickly gathered her things and left before he started
using more vulgar language toward her. If he did, she wouldn’t be
able to control herself, and she would probably shove him in the pool
to see if pigs could swim.
“Ah, did I upset you, little mouse?” he chuckled like he was
hilarious, though he was just downright insulting.
Claire walked over to the other pool a few yards away and sat at
the bar. “Gimme your biggest, strongest drink. So long as it tastes
good.”
“Rough day?” a silver-hair woman asked from the set next to her.
“Seems like it would be very difficult to have a bad day in a beautiful
place like this, but I guess troubles don’t care if you’re in a beautiful
place. They come and go as they please.”
Claire turned toward the woman with a frown. “Don’t I know you
from somewhere?” she asked. The other woman looked so damn
familiar, but Claire didn’t know from where.
 “I’m Gerri Wilder. I think we met at another resort last year. You
were there with your mother, I believe.”
Claire smiled. “Oh, yeah. I remember now. What are the chances
that I’d run into you again at another resort?”
Gerri chuckled. “You’d be surprised. I’m here with a group of my
girlfriends. One of us is turning a very special age, so we thought we
would celebrate in Hawaii.”
“Well, happy birthday to your friend.”
“I’ll pass along the message.”
Claire downed her drink and ordered another one.
“If I may say so, you don’t look like you’re having a good day.”
“What gave it away?” Claire mumbled.
“That’s a whole lot of booze to ingest in such a short amount of
time. Besides, I was at the other pool a moment ago. I saw you
talking to the most unpleasant man I’ve ever seen. Your
conversation didn’t look too friendly.”
“It wasn’t. It was hell on wheels. I hate that guy, but I get the
privilege of his presence tonight. Thank fuck we can’t talk during
games.” Claire clapped a hand to her mouth. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t
mean to swear. Oh, damn. I did it again. Ah! Oh, my god. Claire.
Stop. I just keep going, don’t I?”
Gerri laughed. “It’s fine. I don’t mind at all. If my memory serves,
you’re a professional poker player, isn’t that right? I heard there was
a tournament happening this weekend. That’s why I suggested this
resort and casino to my friends. I’ve never seen a poker tournament
before, but I bet they’re fascinating to watch.”
“Meh. Not really. Now, if you were in my head while I played,
now there would be one hell of a show. We can’t really talk, so the
audience just ends up watching people thinking a lot. I can’t say it’s
exciting or not, though. When I watch other people play, I’m too
busy fangirling. There aren’t a lot of players out that there I respect
or would watch during a game if I’m being honest.”
“And how is your mother? Is she here with you?”
Claire flinched. “No. She isn’t.”
“Hmm. Has she been giving you more grief about your life
choices? That was a point of contention, wasn’t it?”
 “You have a really good memory.”
The woman shrugged. “I do, yes. It’s a gift. A very useful on,”
she added with a grin. Claire didn’t know why, but it was like she
had a secret. An amusing one.
“My mother and I would need to be on speaking terms for her to
moan about my life choices now,” Claire answered. “Sorry, I know
that sounds harsh. But she kept following me to all of my
tournaments, and I couldn’t take it anymore. She would get in my
head before I played and make me doubt myself. I tried to explain
calmly, but she thought I was being ungrateful and mean. We had a
falling out.”
“Ah,” Gerri nodded. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Oh, don’t be. It’s all good. I mean, it’s not. It sucks, but…” Claire
dropped off. “Jesus. Look at me. Here I am, spilling all of my secrets
to a stranger. What is there about you that makes me want to tell
you everything?”
Gerri laughed. “You’d hardly be the first person to say that to me.
Just another one of my gifts.”
“Well, that’s comforting.”
“You were saying? About your mother?”
Claire shrugged. “There’s some stuff my mother can’t understand
about poker and my life. These aren’t the kinds of things I can
explain. Not easily, not right now.”
What was Claire going to do? Tell her mother that she was now
working with the FBI to take down some really bad people? Mom
would have a nervous breakdown. She would yell, and cry, and go
on and on about how her father would be disappointed in her. Claire
didn’t need that in her life or in her heart. She hated herself enough
lately.
“I find that sometimes, parents don’t need much to know their
grown children are okay. Just a bit of understanding. It’s hard to be
the person your child needs the most in the world, and then
suddenly not rate on the list of important people.”
“That’s not what this was. I’m trying to protect her.” Claire
winced. Shit. That was saying too much.
 “Ah,” Gerri nodded. “I see. You don’t want to hurt your mother’s
feelings, so you hurt her feelings in another way.”
“Wow. I guess that’s one way of putting it.”
Gerri tapped her shoulder comfortingly. “Don’t worry about it too
much. You focus on getting your head on straight for your
tournament. I believe this will all work out.”
Claire snorted. “How can you sound so sure?”
“Because I have faith. And because life has a way of working
itself out. Or so I have found.”
“I haven’t found that at all. Sorry. I don’t mean to be negative
and shit on your beautiful day. I’m in a bad mood. I’ll go lock myself
in my room where I can’t be a downer for anyone else.”
“Don’t worry about that, Claire. You aren’t a downer. You’re just
going through something. That’s part of life too. Sometimes, things
have to get really bad before they can get good.”
“Let’s hope you’re right. See ya around.”
Claire put down some cash on the counter, effectively paying for
her companion’s drink. It was the least she could do to thank the
woman for her kind words.
It was back to the hotel room with Rupa for Claire. At least she
didn’t feel too bad if she ruined Rupa’s day. The agent was at work,
and sometimes, work sucked big time.
CHAPTER FIVE
 LOGAN

L ogan left his penthouse suite, closing the door behind him while
focusing on his phone.
It was nearing two o’clock in the afternoon, and he was still
catching up on the work he missed during his hour-long break from
his phone.
His head was bent over the latest series of emails as he stood
outside his penthouse door, waiting for the elevator. The new hotel
he was trying to buy had a small fire in the kitchen, and his lawyer
was suggesting they back out of the deal until they could get a
contractor down there to assess the damage.
He didn’t agree. If anything, it would make remodeling the
kitchen to fit with the Madden brand that much easier. His lawyer
was always an overcautious man, and he was dead set against the
sale. Logan, with his instincts, knew it would all work out.
He wanted to get as much work done before his ride down the
elevator as he could. He wanted to do laps in one of the pools. It
was a good workout, and he really enjoyed the peace and quiet of
the water. He also liked soaking in the sun a bit. He worked hard for
his patrons to enjoy the nice weather. The only time he could fully
enjoy it was when he worked out in one of the pools.
Logan tried to convince his parents that this time away from his
phone should count as part of his time away from his devices, but
they didn’t go for it. Because why would they be any kind of rational.
 He was so engrossed in his work that he barely noticed the
elevator arriving on the penthouse floor, but he did notice the
woman coming toward him.
He knew exactly who she was, but what she wanted now was a
mystery. This wasn’t the kind of conversation he wanted to have in
his bathing suit. Dammit. He couldn’t even walk around his own
hotel in his swim trunks.
“Mr. Madden?” Agent Rupa Desai approached him like a woman
on a mission. She kind of was. That’s why she was on his property,
to begin with.
“Yes?” He shut off his phone’s screen and smiled at her. “What
can I do for you? Any other criminals you want me to allow to yell at
my staff? That O’Keefe character is one nasty piece of work. He had
one of my staff members in tears with his bad attitude. Any other
favors I can do for the FBI?”
The agent winced. “No. Sorry about all of this. I know this isn’t
ideal, and we would never ask you to do something like this if it
wasn’t important.”
He arched a black brow at her. “Oh, really? You don’t think that
this has happened on my properties before? You know I’ve got
places all over the world, right? I’m not bragging. I’m just telling you
that I’ve been down this road before, and it never ends well. Ever.
I’ve had to rebuild full patios and restaurants because of sting
operations like this. You think you’ve got him under surveillance, but
are you sure you’re not on his radar?”
Agent Rupa bristled at the implication. “We are not.” She shut her
mouth with a snap, realizing she had been about to divulge more
information than she should. “Well, as I said, your staff will be
perfectly safe.”
“My staff isn’t safe, Agent Desai. Not when men like O’Keefe are
in my hotel, shouting at them for every little thing. That isn’t the
kind of place I run.”
“I appreciate that you want to create a good workplace
environment, but this is for the greater good.”
“The greater good,” he repeated. “Yes, well. This is giving me an
ulcer, and I’m not the kind of man who stresses out easily. The
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officer came and accomplished this with military ceremony; but we
were still unable to proceed, for a whole drove of asses and mules,
laden with fruits, vegetables, &c. had stationed themselves in the
pass on the other side, and began to enter amidst the smacking of
whips, and hallooing of muleteers; this occupied at least ten minutes.

Shortly afterward we took up a man who had fought in the battle of

Trafalgar, but was now a traiteur at Nice, and had been into the
country to purchase grapes, in order to manufacture his own wine:
he seemed pleased on discovering that I had served in the British
navy, of which he spoke very highly.

We now arrived on the banks of the Var, which separates the

kingdoms of France and Sardinia, and, with little interruption from the
custom-house officers, immediately crossed the frontiers.

We here received the addition to our party, of two very genteel

ladies and a gentleman, who proved for the remainder of the journey,
most agreeable companions; I was so much interested in their
conversation, that, almost without being sensible of the progress, we
arrived at the Hotel des Etranger, at Nice.

I am unwilling, finally, to take my leave of France, without

expressing an opinion of the character of a people, with whom I had
been so long resident; the unfavourable circumstances, however,
under which only I could contemplate them, make me diffident in
advancing my opinion, as I am fully conscious of an inability to give
the picture that energy and justice of colouring which it requires. I
shall, therefore, confine myself to a few general remarks.

There is something highly fascinating in the exterior, manners, and

converse of a Frenchman; courteous in his behaviour, he evinces a
strong desire to please and be pleased; but although he manifests
the speciousness of ardent friendship, his heart is not the soil, in
which this quality is capable of taking a firm and unshaken root; as
soon as the source, from which it has emanated, and been
supported, ceases to be present, the previous impressions
disappear, and a void is offered for the reception of new ones,
equally vivid, but equally superficial.

This mixture of susceptibility and indifference makes the

Frenchman a gay and pleasing, but, at the same time, an uncertain
companion; he does not, like the Englishman, dwell on the
enjoyments of the past, and entangle his mind with useless and
prolonged regrets, but is ever ready to enliven new scenes of social
intercourse; in short, he can ill sustain a state of tristesse, which he
considers all his reflecting moments, and whether thrown into
contact with his countrymen, or strangers, is a sensualist in his social
feelings, and must seek for pleasure and amusement, for in this “he
lives and has his being,” and that man is his dearest friend, who
most contributes to his gratification.

With respect to the fair sex, they are generally lively and
fascinating, and possessed of susceptible feelings, capable of being
converted into strong attachments. These are some of the essential
requisites for forming an amiable, and virtuous character; but, alas!
the good is perverted by the influence of an injudicious and trifling
system of education, extended at most to superficial literary
acquisitions, which barely serve for the dictation of an ungrammatical
billetdoux, or the copying of a song. The most devoted attention is
given to the art of pleasing, and the study of dress, which, with the
auxiliaries of music and embroidery, form the leading occupations of
young French females.

In conversation they are acute, playful, and frequently sensible,

but it cannot be wondered at, when the defects of education are
taken into account, that there should be little which sinks deep into
the heart, and leaves an impression, or promise, of future matron-
like virtue.

Many ladies, however, are educated in convents, where they

acquire a temporary spirit of bigotry, which wears off after they return
into the world, and frequently leaves behind it a proportionate want
of religious feeling.
 They, generally, marry young enough to enable a judicious
husband to form a character if defective, or to correct it if deformed;
but here they are truly to be pitied; for they soon experience a
culpable neglect from those men who ought to be their inseparable
protectors and advisers, and who, preferring the society of others,
leave them incautiously to their own pursuits and feelings. Is it to be
wondered at that they should cease to cultivate the domestic
virtues?

To conclude; the French female contains within her those

principles, which, under proper cultivation, would produce excellent
wives, and estimable women; and it is a serious reflection upon the
national character, that such principles should be sacrificed by the
indifference, and neglect of those whose duty, as well as interest it is,
to elicit and establish her virtues.
 CHAP. X.
ST. ROSALIE.

My first object, on arriving at Nice, was to ascertain whether Mr. L

⸺, lately one of my acquaintance at Aix, was yet at Nice, where he
had been for a time residing, and of which I was doubtful, as I knew
that he was about this time intending to proceed farther into Italy. I
had been apprised that I should hear of him at the house of Madame
M⸺ at St. Rosalie, about a mile and a half distant from the town;
and, as I was aware that he had paved the way to an introduction for
me to this lady, I procured a valet-de-place to conduct me thither. I
had the happiness to find him still in the neighbourhood, residing at a
very short distance from Madame M⸺, although on the point of
proceeding on his proposed tour.

Through his recommendation, I was immediately received as an

inmate in the family of Madame M⸺, consisting of herself, two
daughters, and a young English lady, Miss T⸺.

The mansion of this lady was an attachment to the adjoining

church of St. Rosalie, now fallen into disuse, except as a family
storeroom; the bells, and other ecclesiastical articles, had been
presented by Madame, to the neighbouring church of Cimea,
formerly a Roman settlement, with still some interesting remains of
an amphitheatre, baths, aqueduct, and a temple of Apollo; and
amongst which, ancient coins are still occasionally discovered.

The domain of St. Rosalie is delightfully situated, and furnished

with shady walks, which offer a cool retreat amidst the severest
heats of summer: there was one formed of trellis-work, over-
shadowed with the vine, which was peculiarly grateful; here we
frequently walked during the heats of the day, or amused ourselves
with the pleasures of reading; to gratify my inclination for which my
amiable companion Miss T⸺ would kindly devote many hours of
the day to the perusal of such authors as most interested me; indeed
I can never express sufficient gratitude for the many sacrifices she
made for my accommodation and amusement.

We here proposed to continue, until the nearer approach of winter,

would make a town-residence more agreeable. Our time passed
away in the most happy manner; Madame was busily occupied by
the vintage, and in laying up a stock of fruits, preserves, &c. in which
the young ladies occasionally assisted; nor could I remain an idle
personage, and I proved myself far more dexterous in cutting down
the bunches of grapes, than my companions were willing to have
given me credit for. It was necessary that as little time as possible,
should be lost in this operation, as exposure to wet, during the
gathering of the grapes, injures the flavour of the wine: we
succeeded in completing our task in two days.

The process of making the wine is as follows:—The grapes being

selected and picked, are put into a large vat, where they are well
trodden down by the naked feet; after which, the liquor is drawn off
from below; the bruised grapes are then put into a press, and the
remaining liquor extracted. The whole of the juice is now transferred
into casks with their bungs open, and allowed to ferment, and
discharge its impurities for twelve, fifteen, or twenty days, according
to the strength of the grape; the waste occasioned by the discharge
being constantly supplied with fresh liquor. The casks are then
carefully closed, and in about a month the wine is considered fit for
drinking.

When the grapes are of a bad, meagre kind, the wine-dealers mix
the juice with quicklime, in order to give it a spirit which nature has
denied, or, possibly, to take off acidity.

About this time, Dr. Skirving, an English physician, whom I had the
pleasure of knowing in Edinburgh, and an intimate acquaintance of
Madame M⸺, arrived with a view of establishing himself in
practice at Nice. He had originally become known at this place, in
consequence of having been detained in it by the illness of a friend,
who in an intended voyage from Civita Vecchia to Marseilles,
ruptured a blood-vessel on his lungs, by the exertions of sea-
sickness, and was compelled to make this port, where, after lingering
some months, he died. Pleased with the situation, and at the
solicitations of his friends, he determined to make Nice his
permanent residence, and having arranged his affairs in England,
was now arrived to carry the plan into execution.

With a cultivated and liberal mind, Dr. S⸺ is possessed of

superior professional abilities; I had the pleasure of witnessing an
interesting recovery, under his care, in the person of a lady who had
an abscess on her lungs. At one time she was considered so near
dissolution, that some of her friends were importunate to have the
last consolations of religion administered to her; but my friend, aware
of the danger of agitating her mind at this critical moment, entreated
that the measure might be deferred, and she was afterward restored
to comparative good health. If any apology is necessary for this
digression, it must be placed to the score of the warmest friendship;
indeed, I should feel myself ungrateful, did I neglect to acknowledge
this gentleman’s undeviating kindness to myself.

The 15th of October now arrived, which, being St. Therese’s day,
was the fête of Madame M⸺, as well as the anniversary of my
birth. The former circumstance it may be necessary to explain. It is
customary in this country to name children after some favourite saint,
to whose especial protection they may thus be supposed to be
committed; and hence, when the annual fête of their patron arrives, it
is made a day of congratulation to themselves.

When it happens to be the fête of the father, or mother of a family,

their children prepare a nosegay, and bring it to them the first thing in
the morning, presenting it with some pretty and appropriate address;
after which, the day is spent in innocent pastime and amusement.
But the above tokens of respect are not confined to the children; the
friends, and dependants, also participate in offering them. In the
present instance, I prepared my nosegay, and offered it to my fair
hostess with undefinable sensations of pleasure, and of course did
not allow so favourable an opportunity to pass, without adding that
well-merited compliment, which politeness, and gratitude for her
attentions prompted. Now Madame was a pretty little sensible
woman, who knew how to receive a compliment from a gentleman,
in a graceful and agreeable manner; and, I really cannot wonder that
the priests should appoint so many fêtes, if they are to be attended
with such agreeable circumstances to them, as I experienced on this
occasion.

Soon after this, the peasantry employed on Madame M⸺’s

estate, came with their nosegays, accompanied by presents of fruit,
and were regaled with breakfast; the day unfortunately proved rainy,
or we should have enjoyed a dance on the green. We had afterward
a party to dinner; and the evening concluded with singing, and other
amusements. On Madame M⸺’s brother being requested to sing
he favoured us with the following, first drawing his chair close to that
of Miss T⸺, to whom he appeared to address the sentiment.

J’avais juré que de l’amour

Je ne porterais plus la chaine,
Redoutant les maux qu’il entraî
Je voulais le fuir sans retour
Mais de sa puissance divine,
Tout mortel se rit vainement.
Lorsque je faisais ce serment
Je n’avais pas vu ma voisine.

Depuis long temps ce Dieu malin

Piqué de mon indifference,
Preparait tout bas sa vengeance:
Voyez combien l’amour est fin.
Sous les traits d’Aglae, et d’Aline,
Ne pouvant effleurer mon cœur,
Pour réussir le seducteur,
Prend ceux de ma belle voisine.
Si j’avais le talent heureux
De Zeuxis, ou de Praxitele,
Je peindrais la vertu si belle,
Qu’elle plairait à tous les yeux.
Elle aurait les traits de Cyprine,
De Junon l’air majestueux,
D’Hebé le souris gracieux;
Mais non! je piendrais ma voisine.

Qu’un soldat aime les lauriers,

Qu’on cueille au champ de la victoire;
Qu’un savant sur son vieux grimoire,
Se confonde des jours entiers,
Qu’un buveur, que rien ne chagrine,
A boire mette son plaisir.
Moi je ne forme qu’un desir,
C’est d’être aimé de ma voisine.

The air becoming sensibly cooler, it was determined to remove to

our winter-quarters in Nice, leaving St. Rosalie to its peasantry, now
about to commence getting in the olives, and express the oil, which
is the richest part of their harvest. The best olives are those which
grow wild, but the quantity of these is inconsiderable; they begin to
collect them in the early part of November, and this is repeated at
intervals until March or April; the fruit is beaten off the trees with long
canes as it ripens, which is known by its turning from a light green to
a very dark colour. The oil must be expressed immediately, and
before the olives fade or grow wrinkled, otherwise it will not be good.
The whole are, in the first instance, ground into paste by a millstone,
set edgeways in a circular stone trough, and turned by a mule or the
power of water; this paste is then put into cases, made of the same
kind of grass which is so much used in the Mediterranean for the
manufacture of ropes and cables; six or eight of which are piled one
over the other, and then subjected to a powerful press for a few
minutes, by which the oil is forced out, and received into a stone
reservoir placed beneath it. While the oil is passing from the press,
hot water is frequently dashed over it, to make it flow the better. The
whole fluid is now transferred into a wooden vat, half filled with
water, in which the dregs fall to the bottom, while the supernatant oil
is skimmed off, and stored up in small oblong casks.

The remnant is now thrown into a large stone cistern containing

water, and allowed to continue there twelve or fourteen days,
frequently stirring it during that time; a coarser oil is then taken from
its surface, which serves for the purpose of burning in lamps, or in
manufactories. After these processes, they separate an oil still more
coarse and fetid, and occasionally grind the paste down with hot
water, which extracts a yet greater quantity of oily matter, but which
in this case soon grows rancid.

The dregs which remain after these operations, when dried, are
used as a fuel; particularly for warming, by means of brasieres,
apartments without chimneys.

There is, however, a very peculiarly fine preparation, called virgin

oil, and which is a great delicacy, eating like the sweetest butter; this
is made from green olives, and sold at a high price, as a great
quantity of the fruit yields but little oil.

The summer fruits, as grapes, figs, peaches, &c. were now over,
but we had great stores preserved for the winter’s use. There were,
however, neither oranges nor lemons this season, the unusually
severe frost of the preceding winter having killed all the trees:
throughout France, and about Genoa, most of the olive-trees also
perished; but at Nice they were more fortunate.

It may be interesting, to advert to the mode of life of the peasantry

of this district, and the nature of the tenure by which they hold their
land, as well as the manner of cultivating it.

The Nicean peasant is frugal and industrious, he takes no regular

meal, not even a breakfast, until after the conclusion of the labours
of the day, contenting himself with an occasional refreshment of
bread, wine, and fruit; at night he makes amends for this abstinence,
but even now rarely partakes of animal food, his favourite and
indispensable fare being soup, prepared with macaroni and
vegetables, and mixed up with a large quantity of oil.

The land around the city is divided into small parcels or farms,
seldom consisting of more than twelve or fourteen acres each, and
which are principally covered with vines, olives, and fruit-trees, the
intermediate spaces being filled up with abundance of vegetables,
and small quantities of grain, the chief supply of this important article
being derived from different parts of the Mediterranean.

The proprietor retains the actual possession of the farm, but the
fermier cultivates it, collects its produce, and carries it to market; he
is bound also to plant, every year, a stipulated number of vines, from
three to six hundred, according to the size of the farm; and at his
sole expense to repair the walls and fences. The proprietor provides
him a house, pays the contribution foncier, and incurs half the
expense of manure, and of the animals necessary for carrying on the
various operations of the concern. The proprietor and fermier then
share the produce in equal proportions, except as relates to the
olives, of which the former takes three-fifths.

The ground is entirely cultivated by a kind of hoe, termed piochê;

the valuable instrument, the plough, being unknown in the whole
country; nor do they here seem acquainted with the use of carts, as
even the manure is conveyed in baskets, or barrels, on the backs of
mules.

We now took leave of St. Rosalie; nor could I, without the highest
regret, tear myself away from its rural charms, not least amongst
which was the vine covered alley, “impervious to the noontide ray,”
which had so often offered us delightful shade, and refreshment,
during the most intense atmospheric heats; and where so many
happy moments had glided away in interesting conversation, and the
rational amusement of reading, frequently enlivened by the vocal
powers of Madame M⸺ and her youngest daughter.

I thought I could have reposed for ever in this semblance of an

earthly paradise; and yet there was something which, in my situation,
I felt still wanting to make me completely blest.

“Rapt in the soft retreat, my anxious breast

Pants still for something unpossessed;
Whence springs this sudden hope, this warm desire?
To what enjoyment would my soul aspire?
’Tis love! extends my wishes and my care,
Eden was tasteless ’till an Eve was there.
Almighty Love! I own thy powerful sway,
Resign my soul, and willingly obey.”—Church.
 CHAP. XI.
NICE.

We took up our residence at Nice, on the 17th of October in the

house of M. Audoli, situated in the suburb called St. John the Baptist:
opposite to us, a plank lay across the Paglion, which, when the water
was low afforded a ready access to the town; the bridge leading into
it, being situated at a considerable distance higher up.

Nice is far from being a large city, as I was able to make the tour of
its ramparts in twenty minutes; nor is it an interesting one; the streets
are narrow, and mostly on a level, with the exception of one or two
which lead to a part of the town situated in a hollow, and which have
a step every two or three yards to break the declivity.

In many streets you are annoyed by the thumping of machinery,

employed in the manufacture of macaroni, and which is required to
force it into its tubular form. The following is the process for
manufacturing the ordinary kind of macaroni or vermicelli: Equal
parts of fine and coarse flour are mixed together, and made into a
paste with water, to which a small quantity of saffron has been added
to give it a yellow tinge. The whole is then kneaded into a stiff paste,
by means of a beam of wood, which is worked by two or three men
on the principle of the lever; after which it is put into a strong cylinder
of copper, with perforations in its bottom, of such size as may be
necessary to give the form of macaroni or vermicelli, which ever may
be intended. It is then forced through these apertures into its tubular
shape by a powerful screw, and cut of proper lengths as it comes
out, after which it is hung up in the air to harden.

One street, termed Rue de Juif, is exclusively appropriated to the

Jews, who are not allowed to reside in any other part of the town.
 The places, St. Dominico and Victoire, are respectable squares:
the York hotel is situated in the former, which affords visitors
superior, and at the same time equally reasonable, accommodation,
with the Hotel des Etranger.

The most general residence for strangers, however, is beyond the

suburb of St. John the Baptist, at a part termed the Croix de Marbre,
where a number of houses, superior, in point of comfort, to the
residence of the natives, are kept for the purpose of accommodating
them: houses may, however, also be procured on the Cimea Hill,
near the Port, in the Places, and by the Terrace, as well as in other
parts of the town. The prices are variable, according to the season,
situations, and demand for them; and what you pay will be materially
influenced by your skill in bargaining: the prudent plan is to offer only
half what they ask, and from thence ascend, as they descend, until
both agree, or you are satisfied that you have proposed a fair price;
and then if you stick to your point, they will most probably accede to
it. This is a better way of arranging the business, than through the
medium of your banker, who will probably offer his services as an
agent.

Nice has excellent markets, well supplied with provisions of all

kinds, at reasonable prices: viz. beef, five sous per pound; mutton,
six sous; veal and lamb, seven sous; but the pound consists only of
twelve ounces, and not, as in France, of from sixteen to twenty-two.
The price of butchers’ meat is fixed by the magistracy, and therefore
invariable, whereas that of poultry and butter fluctuates, these
articles being brought from the plains of Piedmont over the Col de
Tende, at times impassable; which circumstance of course enhances
the value. Game is scarce, and nearly as dear as in England; six
francs being given for a brace of woodcocks: hares, however, are
more moderate in proportion. Fish is plentiful, when the weather is
favourable, and sells from six to sixteen sous per pound. Vegetables
and fruits are grown abundantly in the environs.

Nice produces very fair wines, both red and white; but the most
valuable kind is that named Billit.
 The accommodations for bathing are indifferent; the beach is
rough and stony, and there are no machines. On summer evenings,
after it is dark, the females take possession of the beach, on one
side of the entrance of the harbour, and there bathe, while the men
go to a distant point.

There are, however, two sets of warm baths in the town, the one
constructed of marble, the other with copper; the former, situated
near the Place St. Dominico, are long, narrow, and shallow; when in
them, you only want a cover to make a good coffin—the latter, on the
contrary, situated on the ramparts between the bridge and the Place
Victoire, are so short and deep, that although you cannot lie down in
them, you may sit, and have the water up to your chin; in fact they
form excellent boilers, which would serve to stew you down, if
required.

Among the many beautiful walks about Nice, the Terrace ranks
foremost; it is crowded on a summer’s evening, but during the winter
is delightful throughout the whole day, particularly on a Sunday
afternoon, when a military band occasionally attends for an hour or
two. The walks to the Port, and around the ramparts, are also very
agreeable.

In the environs of the town, a great deal of beautiful scenery will

be found, embellished with aqueducts, temples, and other Roman
remains, particularly in the direction of the Cimea road; and that
leading to Genoa, from which there is a most commanding view of
the sea, Nice, and its neighbourhood, with the Paglion flowing in the
valley beneath, the Turin road lying by the side of it, over which, on
the opposite side of the river, stands the Cimea Hill.

Only three good carriage roads will be found at Nice, one leading
to the Var, another to Turin, and the third to Genoa; there is also one
to Villa Franca, but so steep, that many do not like to venture up it;
the preferable way of visiting this latter place, is to row there in a
boat or felucca, and return on foot.
 Villa Franca is a small, but strongly fortified town, distant about two
miles from Nice, built at the extremity of a fine harbour, in a situation
admirably adapted for the site of a more important place. It consists
of very indifferent buildings, and its streets are narrow, and
wretchedly paved.

Nice and its environs do not offer a very extensive field to the
naturalist. The surrounding mountains are, however, covered with a
great variety of plants during the whole year; and, of course, the
botanist will find ample amusement. The mineralogy of the
neighbourhood is but limited, the whole of the hills around the city
consisting chiefly of limestone, with some few beds of gypsum. In the
beds of the mountain torrents, portions are occasionally found of
granite, gneiss, clay-slate, flinty-slate, serpentine and feltspar; but
these specimens so small and so much weathered, that it is often
difficult to distinguish them.

The geology of Nice is more interesting; the calcareous rocks

afford many specimens of what the French call the breche osseuse,
in which small fragments of bones are cemented together by
argillaceous matter, which has acquired a reddish colour from the
presence of iron. Near Villa Franca some of the limestone contains a
great number of shells, the species of many of which still exist in the
Mediterranean. The rising grounds near the Var are wholly formed of
a coarse breccia, the cement of which is argillaceous, impregnated
with iron; extensive excavations have here been made to procure
clay for the manufacture of tiles, in which great numbers of shells are
found imbedded, with occasional vegetable remains.

I believe the sea-shore produces a number of shells which would

be interesting to the conchologist.

I shall now make some remarks respecting the state of society at

Nice. There were English residents enough to form sufficiently large
circles amongst themselves, besides numerous others who visited
the place, en passant, to and from Italy. A few German, and Russian,
families were also spending their winter here, who associated largely
with the English. These visited each other, and gave dinner, and
evening parties, and balls occasionally. The natives, however, were
not excluded from this society, although the incomes of few would
permit their returning the invitation in equal stile. The hospitality,
however, of the governor, made amends for the deficiency. This
officer, only gave dinner parties to the gentlemen; but had balls for
the ladies once a week during the Carnival; and evening parties, in
the same way, throughout the remainder of the winter, paying both
by himself, and his aid-de-camps, the greatest possible attention to
his visitors. He had, however, no regular government-house, and the
one which he occupied was scarcely large enough for the
accommodation of his numerous guests. The only ceremony
necessary to enable a stranger to receive his attentions, was to
leave his card, which the governor always acknowledged in person.

The nobility of Nice, never think of visiting their countrymen who

have not titles, notwithstanding many of them are people of great
respectability, as professional men, merchants, &c.; at the same
time, they have no objection to meet them at the houses of
strangers. It might have been conceived that the experience of the
French revolution would have taught them differently; besides, it is a
matter of no difficulty to procure a title, for I am informed that it only
costs sixty louis to purchase that of a count, and twenty-five to
become a baron. But let me not be mistaken for a leveller of
distinctions, no one has a greater respect for the Patrician order than
myself, when its dignities have been the meed of talent or of virtue.

“Order is Heaven’s first law, and this confest,

Some are, and must be, greater than the rest.”

It is, contemptible, however, to witness the pride of upstart

gentility, with nothing but the mere garnish of wealth to adorn it.

But possibly I may have been led by the force of circumstances to

contemplate the present subject in too strong a light; for alas! I have
long been incapable of being deceived by the outward appearance
of things, and habituated to estimate men by their manners, and
conversation, rather than their external and visible signs.
Now peace to the nobles: may they wisdom acquire,
Should their titles have come from their fathers or sire.

I was much surprised one day by a visit from a particular friend,

Mrs. R⸺, lately arrived from Paris, whom I had not seen for the
last seven years, and supposed to be in the West Indies. This lady
did me the favour to introduce me to Mr. and Mrs. K⸺, the friends
whom she had accompanied from Paris. Soon after I had the
pleasure of becoming acquainted with General B⸺, Mrs. A⸺,
and a number of other English residents, whose names it would be
tiresome to the reader to enumerate, from whom I afterwards
received a series of kind and friendly attentions, for which I feel
greatly indebted to them. I cannot, however, avoid particularizing Mr.
and Mrs. S⸺, whose permission to make use of their valuable
collection of books, proved a source of the highest satisfaction to
me.

A very pretty, but small theatre, has been erected at Nice, which
was not opened for dramatic representations during my residence
there. It was, however, made use of for two grand balls, given by a
select party of the nobles and gentlemen of Nice, to the stranger
residents; we were also entertained with a public concert in it; we
had, besides this, several private amateur concerts, in a large room
appropriated for such occasions, and supported by subscription,
each subscriber being allowed to introduce a certain number of
persons.

Before giving a dance at a private house, it is necessary, unless

you intend to break up by ten o’clock, to ask permission of the police,
who charge six francs for their licence, and then a soldier is placed
at the door of the house.

I accompanied a party of ladies, one Sunday, to the cathedral, to

hear an eminent French preacher, which is an unusual occurrence
here, for they generally preach either in Italian, or the patois of the
country, which is the most harsh and barbarous dialect I ever heard,
worse than the patois of Provence, which is bad enough, although
somewhat similar. It is however, the common language of the natives
when conversing together, notwithstanding most of the respectable
inhabitants speak both French and Italian.

I shall now notice various natural and meteorological occurrences

which took place during my residence in this city.

On the 3rd of January, the waters of the Paglion came down with
so much force, as to carry away the embankment, raised for the
protection of the workmen employed at the foundation of a new
bridge, just commenced over the river, and which was expected to
require two years to complete.

On the evening of the 6th of February, the shock of an earthquake

was sensibly perceived in some parts of the town, more particularly
on the side of the Turin gate; and on the 8th, the wind suddenly rose
to a violent gale, which lasted three or four hours; at the
commencement of which, Reaumur’s thermometer suddenly rose
from 3° to 10°. An American vessel which had left the port the day
before, for Marseilles, was upset during this gale, off Cannes, but the
crew were fortunately saved.

The coldest day experienced during the season, was on the 20th
of February, but even then, the lowest point at which Reaumur’s
thermometer was noticed, was 1° above freezing point, or equal to
34¼° of Fahrenheit.

The following is a register of the temperature of the atmosphere,

noted by Dr. S⸺, three times each day, during the first week of
January.

8 a.m. 2 p.m. 8 p.m.

January, 1820.
Reaum. Fahrt. Reaum. Fahrt. Reaum. Fahrt.
1st 3° 38¾° 7° 47¾° 2° 36½°
2nd 2° 36½° 6½° 46⅝° 5° 43½°
3rd 5½° 44¾° 7° 47¾° 9° 52½°
 4th 7° 47¾° 9° 52½° 7½° 48⅞°
5th 7° 47¾° 8½° 51⅛° 9° 52½°
6th 8° 50° 1½° 35¾° 6° 45½°
7th 5° 43½° 9° 52½° 7½° 48⅞°

With respect to the climate of Nice, if I might be allowed, after five

months’ residence, to hazard an opinion, I conceive it the most
delightful one in Europe, and, indeed, preferable to any I have yet
experienced, unless the Bermuda islands are excepted. Some object
to the heat during summer, but it is possible to avoid the
inconvenience, by retiring for this season, amongst the mountains. At
a small town, named Rochabiliare, twenty-five miles inland, are
mineral springs, containing nitre and sulphur, and of different
temperatures, the highest being 100° Fahrenheit. I endeavoured, but
in vain, to procure a correct analysis of these waters.

My friends at Nice, with the exception of Dr. S⸺, thought me

insane, when, on the approach of spring, I declared my intention of
proceeding southward, to make the tour of Italy, as the whole of the
country was in an agitated state, in consequence of the advance of
the Austrians upon Naples, hostilities having actually commenced on
the frontiers. In addition, the Milanese and Piedmont were supposed
to be highly discontented, and an insurrection was anticipated
throughout the whole of Italy; but when my resolution is fixed, I do
not allow myself to be deterred by the anticipation, or dread of
difficulties; in the event of the fears of my friends being realized, I
was disposed to think I should have an equal, or better chance of
getting safely away from Florence, than from Nice; for instance, I
could, in a few hours reach Leghorn, at which place there would be
every probability of my being able to embark on board an English
vessel, or of getting to the neighbouring island where Lord Byron
desires Bonaparte to hasten, concluding his verse with a just
compliment to his own country.

“Then haste thee to thy sullen isle,

And gaze upon the sea;
That element may meet thy smile,
 It ne’er was ruled by thee.”

On the contrary, in the event of a revolution at Nice, there would

be little chance of getting away, by sea or land. My ideas, in this
respect, were in some degree realized; a revolution did take place
there, and for three days the greatest consternation prevailed, as
there was an embargo laid upon all horses at Nice, in order to
facilitate the movements of the king and his government; and at the
same time not an English vessel off the port.

On arriving at Florence, it was my intention to regulate my future

movements according to circumstances, and the alternatives of
these it was not difficult to foresee. In the event of the Austrians
being successful in the first instance, the war was certain to be of
short duration; whereas, on the other hand, if the Neapolitans proved
able to support the onset, there was little doubt but that the whole of
Italy would be in arms, to assert its independence, and to compel a
free constitution from its rulers.

Influenced by these considerations, I determined to proceed, nor

have I found any reason to regret the decision.
 CHAP. XII.
VOYAGE TO GENOA.

On the 26th of February, 1821, I left Nice in the Divine Providence

felucca, of eleven tons, bound to Genoa, with a freight of passengers
only, not having been able to procure a cargo.

Some time elapsed, after getting on board, before I felt able to

inquire into the persons, or characters of my fellow-passengers; my
mind was too deeply absorbed in the painful emotions, occasioned
by taking leave of a family with whom I had so long and happily
resided, and for whom I must ever entertain an affectionate regard.
In time, however, I found that, besides myself, our vessel contained
three English gentlemen, who, indeed, had taken their passage at
my suggestion, instead of pursuing their journey to Genoa, over
land, with mules, as they had intended. It was, however, their third
attempt to get farther into Italy by sea. They had first endeavoured to
reach Leghorn in an American vessel, which, on some account or
other, put back to Villa Franca: after this they sailed for Civita
Vecchia, but a contrary wind, and roughish sea arising, after they
had left port a few hours, the master of the vessel became
frightened, and notwithstanding, every argument to induce him to
persevere, returned to port. In order to make progress, it is
preferable to coast it in small vessels, rather than trust to the open
sea in larger traders, for they never keep out in bad weather, if it is
possible to reach a port.

Besides these gentlemen, our party consisted of three Frenchmen,

and two ladies, one French, and the other an Italian.

After leaving the harbour, the wind was light and variable, and the
water smooth, so that by dint of rowing and sailing, we proceeded at
the rate of three miles an hour. On arriving off the town, and
principality of Monaco, we stood towards the shore, and took on
board three sailors, belonging to a Sardinian frigate, lying at Genoa,
who had been visiting their friends at Monaco, and agreed to work
their passage back to the former place.

At sunset, the captain provided each of us with a straw mattress

for our repose; my companions, accordingly, laid themselves down
for the night on the floor of the cabin, but I placed mine in
preference, on the bench upon which I had been sitting.

We glided on smoothly until midnight, when the wind changed to

the eastward, accompanied by small rain. The master expecting bad
weather, now bore up for a small port called Cerf, where we
anchored about three o’clock in the morning; at seven, we landed at
the town of Cerf, situated on the side of so steep a hill, that the
streets consist of continued flights of steps. We were conducted to a
small auberge, the best however in the place, where we got some
hot water, and refreshed ourselves, after our miserable night, with
tea, cold meat, &c. of which we had been cautious to lay in good
stores before leaving Nice. The care of my friends had supplied
myself with no less than a couple of large tongues, a dozen loaves,
smoked herrings, coffee, sugar, wines, &c. I name these particulars,
because their kind consideration, in the sequel, proved important to
me.

After breakfast, the whole of our party, except the Italian lady and
myself, set off on mules for Genoa, we having determined to remain
in hopes of the wind shortly becoming favourable, in which case, we
doubted not, by pursuing our original plan, still to reach Genoa
before them, and avoid a difficult and expensive journey by land.

To amuse myself in the interim, I visited the church, and also a

miserable auberge, where our captain took me. We here found a
number of low-lived fellows, some playing at cards, and others
smoking, drinking, and quarrelling. On my return to the auberge, I
found the Italian lady solitary, and out of spirits, in consequence of
our detention. At five o’clock, we were asked to take refreshment,
and informed, that they could give us soup and macaroni, but, on
tasting the former, it was composed chiefly of water, with some
onions and vermicelli, and a large quantity of oil floating upon the
surface; this fare I could not relish, and determined to wait until we
returned on board, as we intended to do shortly, in order to take
advantage of any favourable change in the weather, and when I
could avail myself of my own stores.

After returning to the vessel, and making a hearty meal, we lay

down upon our mattresses as on the preceding night, myself on the
bench, the lady on the floor, and the captain and crew in the forepart
of the vessel.

The wind, which throughout the night had continued fresh, in the
morning became more moderate and favourable; soon after day-light
we weighed anchor, stood out of the harbour, and beat up along
shore during the day, making what sailors call a long leg and a short
one, or perhaps what will be more intelligible, a long tack and a short
one, the wind being three points on the right side of our noses; about
evening it freshened, and was fed by small rain. A Swedish brig
passed us at two p.m. which was running out of the gulf of Genoa,
with a fine fair wind. About eight in the evening, the wind had
increased in such a degree, that the captain thought it necessary to
seek shelter for the night, but it was become so dark, that in running
for a place he had been accustomed to, the vessel took ground,
under the lee of some small uninhabited island. The whole crew,
including himself, now made such a hue-and-cry, that one would
have thought, nothing less than immediate destruction was to be the
result of this mistake; however, we made shift to secure the vessel to
the rocks, with an anchor, and it was fortunate that we succeeded in
effecting this, for the wind soon increased to a tremendous gale, with
heavy rain, which continued through the present night, and the
following day and night also.

I had now plenty of occupation in calming the fears of my

companion, who, as may be imagined, became dreadfully alarmed;
partly with this intention, and partly from necessity, I changed my
mattress from the bench to the floor; for the former station was too
much exposed to the cold wind and rain, to make it longer tenable.
Our cabin was not a close room, but covered over with a tilted roof
like a waggon, and had temporary canvas screens, at each end, to
secure us from the weather.

At length I had the pleasure of succeeding in my attempts to

restore the lady’s confidence, and she afterward amply compensated
me by her cheerful manners, and agreeable conversation. Sterne
may dilate upon the delicacy of his situation by land, when shut up
for eight hours in a room, half as large as our whole ship, and a third
person in an adjoining closet, with a widow lady of thirty, who could
coolly draw up articles to regulate their conduct; but what was his
case compared with mine, enclosed, as I was, for two nights and a
day in the cabin of a vessel, and scarcely within hearing of a living
soul, with a young married female of five-and-twenty, and whom my
imagination might lead me to suppose beautiful as an Houri. The
whole of this time passed away like a night to me; for as it was cold,
we shut ourselves up close, to keep out the wind and rain; like our
sailors on the northern expedition, during this state of confinement, it
made no difference, whether we dined in the night or day, for it was
just as easy for me to serve out our provisions in the former, as in
the latter; and with respect to sleep, I think I had the best of it in the
day-time, as the lady’s fears were less on the qui vive, for whenever
the sea at night struck us a little harder than usual, she would cry out
in terror, “Monsieur! Monsieur! nous sommes contre les rochers,”
and I must have had indeed a heart of rock, had I not poured in all
possible consolation: I had the pleasure indeed of thinking that the
assurances of my animated tongue, were not less serviceable to her,
than the enjoyment of my lingua mortua, which no doubt contributed
very efficaciously to support her strength and spirits, for I soon found
by the lightness of the basket, that her own stores were insufficient
for so prolonged a voyage, or as sailors would express it, that she
was in danger of experiencing a southerly wind in the bread-bag.

It was true that this was Friday, but my fair companion was not in a
situation to think of maigre day, even had it been Vendrédi saint
itself. I believe the influence of the French Revolution, has
contributed materially to lessen the superstitions of the Catholic
countries, which have been exposed to its action. I have heard a
French officer remark, that for his part he had met with a sufficient
number of maigre days during the war, and could now afford no
more, but must live gras to make up for what he had lost. The priests
still contrive to make many women, children, and servants, observe
their ordinances, but the men have ventured, pretty generally, to
throw off their restraint.

On Saturday, soon after day-break, the lady, peeping out of a hole

in the canvas screen, found that the vessel was moving along, by
observing the masts pass by the trees on shore; and immediately
called out aloud for the captain. We at first attributed her
exclamations to her fears; but soon perceived that the ship was
actually drifting from the shore, and taking the anchor with her. All
hands were called, and the anchor got in, when we fortunately found
that the wind, although far from fair, had become moderate enough,
to allow us to make sail, and as the day advanced, it became still
more propitious. About four in the afternoon, we got round cape Noli,
being obliged however to make a few tacks to accomplish it; at this
point I heard the sea beating against the rocks, and roaring in the
hollow caverns, and could perceive, by the motion of the vessel, that
we were near breakers; but so long as our sailors expressed no
fears, I felt no apprehension, as I was satisfied, that while they could
use their eyes they would run no risk. The character of the Italian,
differs widely from that of the British sailor; the former loses his
presence of mind by his fears, and makes confusion more confused;
the latter, so long as his ship continues unbroken, retains his
undaunted spirit, and only contemplates how to apply his energies
with most effect.

“⸺E’en should danger round his fenceless head,

Her threatening weight of mountain surges spread,
He, like a whale, amid the tempest’s roar,
Smiles at the storm, nor deigns to wish it o’er.”
 After weathering cape Noli, the wind became more favourable,
and allowed us to shape our course for Genoa, and had we pursued
it properly, I am persuaded that we might have made the lighthouse
of that place in four hours, but our captain, in reply to my urgency in
this respect, stated, what was certainly not unreasonable, that as his
provision was exhausted, if by any chance we should be blown off
the coast, the vessel might be lost, or the crew perish from hunger.
He therefore determined to put into Noli, off which place we
anchored at nine o’clock, when, with a part of his crew, he
immediately went on shore to procure provisions, and amuse
himself.

Noli was formerly a place of some repute, constituting a republic of

fishermen: it is now a mere fishing-town. The castle still remains.

The captain returned between ten and eleven o’clock, and,

according to my request, brought with him some bread and wine to
increase my little store. The bread had a peculiar sweet taste, which,
I was informed, was in consequence of chesnuts being mixed with
the wheaten flour. The wine was good, and made us merry before
lying down for the night, and we felt happy in the prospect of
reaching our destined port on the following day. In the early part of
the next morning, on passing Savona, the captain went on shore, to
order some new sails, which he stated were to be procured cheaper
there than at Genoa, and returned at twelve o’clock; when a contrary
breeze having sprung up, he declared his intention of running into
that port, as he was confident that we were going to have bad
weather, and should be obliged to put back to it at last. Thus we had
the mortification of being again detained at the distance of thirty
miles from Genoa, and only ten from the port we had left in the
morning, after having already occupied six days in a voyage, which,
with a fair passage, ought to have been completed in forty-eight
hours, and has sometimes been effected in sixteen.

We anchored at Savona about one o’clock, and experienced a

delightful afternoon. The port at this place is by nature very fine, and
was formerly capable of receiving vessels of war, but has been
obstructed materially at its entrance, by the jealousy of the Genoese,
under the specious pretence of preventing its harbouring hostile
shipping.

As there was no prospect of continuing our voyage to-day, my

companion and myself went on shore, after dinner, and amused
ourselves with a walk in the country; after an hour’s march, we
reached a small town, named Albisola, remarkable for its porcelain
manufactory; my companion saw, however, nothing but black plates:
on our way, we fell in with a genteel young man, a native of Albisola,
who gave us much local information; after which, we passed a lady
and gentleman, who, we were informed, were the mayor of the place
and his lady, on their way to a concert at Savona. We found Savona
a small neat town, pleasantly situated, and entering some of the
shops, made a few trifling purchases, and were remarkably struck
with the politeness of the Italian shop-keepers. On inquiring the time
of day, we were answered, “twenty-three hours and a half;” this
appeared a very extraordinary manner of noting the time: the fact is,
however, that, in Italy, their calculation always commences at sun-
set, which is their twenty-fourth hour, and consequently, must vary
according to the varying seasons of the year, which makes their
mode of computation exceedingly difficult for a stranger to
comprehend. In addition to the above, I had another indication of
being in Italy, from the universal use of that language; in short, my
companion conversed with every one in Italian, and then translated it
for me into French; and I was much pleased with the specimen I
here received both of the manners and language of the country.

In the evening we returned to our vessel to sleep, in order to be

prepared for any favourable change in the wind, but determined, in
case of its not shifting, to disembark with our baggage in the
morning, and proceed to Genoa by land. We were cheerful and
happy in the prospect of our difficulties being soon terminated, and
after regaling the crew with wine, retired to rest.

We rose with day-break, and finding the wind still adverse, after
settling with the captain, went on shore, and taking places in the
voiture to Genoa, determined no longer to be the sport of the winds.
There were but two vacancies in the coach, and finding our anxiety
to proceed with it, the conducteur would fain have taken advantage
of it, but the lady managed the affair well, for offering what she knew
to be the usual sum, viz. five francs for each of us; on their refusal to
accept it, under the plea that there was no other coach that day, we
walked off, and pretended to be indifferent about it: this manœuvre
brought them to, and before we had proceeded the length of a street,
the conducteur came running after us, to say that he was willing to
take us; after this, however, we had some trouble to get our luggage
to the carriage, and were obliged to walk part of the way out of town,
in doing which we were followed by the most importunate host of
beggars I had ever witnessed in my life; my companion was so
confused that she could with difficulty count out her money to pay
the porters, &c. At length our supplicants dropped off, one by one,
until we literally out-walked them all.

I ought not to take leave of Savona, without mentioning, that at this

point the maritime Alps terminate, and the Apennines commence.

About four o’clock, we passed through a village, stated to be the

birth-place of Columbus: this information excited much interest in my
mind: I was led to reflect upon the manner in which his extraordinary
genius had surmounted the various obstacles opposed to his
discovery of a new world, and to regret the supineness of my own
country, which might otherwise have had the honour of participating
in so important an event; but the enlivening conversation of our
party, would not admit of my indulging freely in such speculations,
and ere long we made our entry through the gates of Genoa.
 CHAP. XIII.
GENOA.—VOYAGE TO LEGHORN, AND
JOURNEY TO FLORENCE.

The narrowness of the streets prevented our coach from setting

me down at the hotel to which I had been recommended; this is not,
however, to be regarded as any evidence of its want of respectability,
for the same objection lies against almost every other hotel in
Genoa: for there are but three streets in the whole city which will
admit of carriages passing each other, and which are, the Strada
balba, the Strada nuova, and the Strada novissima, consisting
entirely of ranges of palaces. I was disappointed in not finding
accommodation at the hotel in question, and therefore, on the
solicitations of a man who had followed me all the way from the
coach, went to the Piccolo Paregé, a large house near the port, with
a tower on the top of it, from whence there is a fine view of the
harbour and shipping. After enjoying the luxury of what was formerly
directed by some of the ancients as a religious ceremony, ablution, I
retired to a comfortable bed, for the first time since I left Nice.

In the morning, after calling at the post-office and at the British

consul’s to ascertain the state of the Neapolitan war, I proceeded to
explore the town; the weather was, however, wet, cold, and
uncomfortable, and I was sensible of a very different climate from
that of Nice; indeed, I was informed that, during some of our finest
days at the latter place, it rained or snowed at Genoa.

The succeeding day was the last of the Carnival, and a great
number of people were parading the streets masked, and in all the
fantastic garb of the season; the business, however, appeared to be
kept up with more spirit than at Toulouse on the preceding winter. In
the course of the evening a person with whom I was walking
addressed a female mask, who said she was cook in a gentleman’s
family, and that she must hasten home to wash the dishes; on
parting, we induced her to shake hands with us; and if I am a judge
of the affair, I pronounce that her hand had never been in dish-water,
for a prettier formed, or more delicate one, I never touched in my life.
In the evening, the festival concluded with masked-balls at the
theatres, and other amusements.

On the following day (Wednesday), the weather was still

unfavourable. Several gentlemen, to whom I had forwarded letters
from their friends at Nice, called upon me, two of whom conducted
me to various parts of the city, and described its beauties. It is
surrounded by two walls; an inner one, taking in a circumference of
six or seven miles, and an outer one, making a boundary of not less
than thirteen miles, and enclosing various rising grounds which
command the city: there are two fine bridges over small rivers, one in
the eastern, the other in the western part of the town.

Independent of the three streets which I have already named,

Genoa consists of little better than lanes, so numerous and intricate,
that a stranger is constantly losing his way; and even those who
have been some time resident are not unfrequently at a loss. The
cathedral, churches, Doge’s palace, and various other public as well
as private buildings, are very fine, and well worth the attention of the
traveller.

There is an Italian proverb relative to Genoa, which says, that it

has “sea without fish; land without trees; and men without faith.” The
first of these accusations I am satisfied is without foundation: for I
was given to understand that fish, as well as all other provisions,
were plentiful, and even cheaper than at Nice. The wine of the
country is not considered good, but excellent Italian and French
wines may be purchased at a reasonable rate; the best and
cheapest way of procuring them is to go on board some vessel in the
port, taste the different qualities, and select what pleases the palate;
any quantity may then be ordered, but it is advisable to be provided
with a porter or two to carry it away immediately, and to take care not