Dante's Flame

by Jannine Corti-Petska

  “The signore does not permit women in his room,” came her throaty reply.

  Relief washed over Alessa. At least he’d be alone when she found him. “Mayhap the signore does not adhere strictly to that rule.”

  Looking Alessa up and down, the woman spat at her feet. Alessa hopped back, but not before spittle landed on the hem of her dress. She gathered her features into a sign of disgust.

  “Leave the French quarter, bitch. I am in charge of the women who service the soldiers, and I’ll not allow the likes of you to take business from us.”

  “I am not a—I do not—Almighty! I am not that kind of woman!” Was she not dressed better than a whore? With no need to impress this woman, Alessa stated her real purpose. “Signor Santangelo is my tutor.”

  Two dark, thinning eyebrows rose with doubt, adding more wrinkles to her manly face.

  “It is the bloody truth.” Alessa straightened her posture in a regal manner. She couldn’t understand why people in Naples believed she sold her body to men. Was it because of her wandering nature? “I would gladly pay you to direct me to the signore, but I am without coin.”

  The woman stared at her with mistrust. Alessa unhooked the brooch from her cloak and handed it over. The jewelry had no value to her. In fact, she received it when she promised the doge’s son she’d meet him one night, a promise she was unable to keep.

  The harlot snatched it from Alessa’s hand and inspected it in the early morn’s subtle light.

  Apparently satisfied, she lifted her pointy chin to a nearby home. “Up there. Second floor.”

  “How will I know which room he is in?”

  “He shares the building with no one.”

  The woman turned sharply and crossed the street. Pray she did not tell a soul about their conversation.

  To Alessa’s good fortune, the door was unlocked. She let herself in and searched the darkness. She listened for another’s breathing. Naught indicated signs of life, so she climbed the stairs to the second floor. All the doors were closed. She couldn’t begin to guess which room the tutor occupied. If she were a man with the entire floor at his disposal, which room would most likely be the safest? She knew for a fact, men did naught for convenience but with a system in mind. Although Dante was among Rene’s men, he’d not feel completely safe in a city where the French could be ousted by any means if the people rebelled.

  If only she had a candlestick. Surrounded by black and gray shadows, Alessa stepped quietly down the narrow hall, using the wall as her guide. When she came to the very last door, she paused to take command of her over-sensitive nerves and pounding heart. The expectation of seeing the tutor again, this time in his own environment, disconcerted her. How would he receive her now that the truth about their betrothal was exposed?

  Shucking off a new fear, she pressed down on the handle and pushed the door back wide enough for her to slip into the room. Embers from a recent fire cast a soft glow near the hearth but not across the room. Even the corners remained dark. Absorbed in the heavenly feel of the lingering heat, she failed to notice the man standing directly behind her until the tip of a sword poked into her back.

  “Who goes there?” he asked tightly.

  Her heart hammered unmercifully. “It is I, Alessandra.”

  Grumbling as he removed the weapon, the tutor’s heavy sigh floated across the room. “Are you so addle-minded, you cannot learn from experience?”

  Alessa spun around. His outline loomed larger than life, and she balked before insisting, “I am not addle-minded. I simply have a need to…to seek answers to appease my curiosity.”

  “You have a mind, all right. However, I fear it is for setting yourself up for danger.”

  “Mayhap there is truth in that, but I took care this time to protect myself.”

  “In what way?” he demanded.

  She could not talk to him without seeing his face and the expressions that might gain her access to his thoughts. “Have you a candlelight?”

  “It is best we remain in the dark, I think.”

  “I think not.”

  She heard his deep intake of breath, then his long, drawn out sigh. “You have been warned.”

  Against what? she would have asked, but he set the sword down somewhere and carried a candle to the hearth. When he squatted, the small amount of light was enough to show he was entirely nude.

  Alessa’s breath pulled sharply inward. It was rude to stare, more so because a lady did not belong in the same room with an unclothed man, unless he was her husband. Yet she could not turn away. She had no idea the tutor possessed such a multitude of muscles. The evidence had been well hidden beneath his clothing. His waist and lean hips, his entire body was much more beautiful than she could have ever imagined.

  The instant the candlelight flared, he rose and faced her. Alessa’s shock attacked the propriety she’d been taught. Her jaw dropped, and her gaze became paralyzed on his chest. But not for long. Her gaze descended to his attractive and well-shaped legs. She filled her sight with his manly attributes, including his privates which, she surmised, were rather generous. Cristo, she should have been embarrassed. Instead, her curiosity piqued ever more.

  He turned his back to her to set the candleplate on a nearby table. She tracked his movements as he gathered his clothes and slipped on a tunic. The moment he faced her, a flush unfolded up her body. Perhaps she suffered from embarrassment after all.

  “Mayhap the next time you will take heed when I say it is better not to have light,” he told her, irritated.

  Alessa no longer cared what mood he was in, for the images of Dante Santangelo in all his naked virility rampaged through her head. He’d soon become her husband, and his body would lie over hers. She shivered, though not from repulsion. To be sure, he was more than her fantasies ever made-up.

  “Have you naught to say?”

  “I—” I came here to be ravished by you. No matter if it wasn’t the truth, she was unable to recall the reason she sought him out.

  He stepped forward. “Well?”

  Her voice failed her.

  His hand floated up to wipe a smudge from her cheek. The pad of his thumb rubbed back and forth with the gentleness of a man with heart. “Has no one taught you to apply your face cover more carefully?”

  I wear no face cover.

  “Hmm?”

  When she realized she hadn’t spoken aloud, Alessa forced the words out. “I purposely made myself unappealing.”

  “It did not work.” His soft voice settled in her heart. “It is impossible to hide perfection.”

  She felt bereft when his hand fell away. The allure she’d seen in his eyes turned into cool disdain.

  “I will dress completely and return you to your cousin.”

  She observed him as he unfurled his hose up his legs. He jerked on his boots and slipped into a brocade overtunic. His actions foiled his tenderness of moments ago.

  “I cannot believe you escaped again. Have you no sense at all?”

  His cold glare aroused her tempestuous inclination, and she recalled now why she had come to the French camp. “I have the good sense to know when I am being used.”

  She shivered from his penetrating stare. “I know not what you mean.”

  “I am aware that your loyalty lies with the French king. What I cannot understand is why you are marrying a woman who does not share your beliefs.”

  “You are a Spanish sympathizer?”

  “I am neither for the Spanish nor the French.”

  “Then what beliefs do we not share?”

  “Marrying for love.”

  A flicker of a smile touched his lips. “I commend you for standing your ground on that notion. Truth be told, seldom do a husband and wife come into a marriage in love. That emotion comes later, I think.”

  “So why did you agree to marry me? Was it your idea or Fabroni’s?”

  “Your cousin approached me because I am a learned man.” He belted his waist and shoved his dagger into its shea
th. “And because he believes I may be able to control your adventurous nature.”

  She cast her suspicions on him and stated honestly, “I doubt any man is up to the task. Yet I am curious to hear how he came by that assumption.”

  Another fleeting smile trespassed his lips. “If I revealed that, Alessandra, I would lose my advantage.”

  She pursed her lips in exasperation. “You do not deny you are in favor with King Rene?”

  “I am his army’s interpreter.”

  How adept at lying he was. “How do you benefit from working for the French?”

  “Did your cousins send you to me with the purpose of extracting damning information against the French?”

  “They did not.”

  He closed the gap between them and snatched the air from her lungs.

  Alessa tipped her head back to see his eyes glazed over with a seductive look. “I am paid handsomely for my work. Had King Alfonso offered me the same...”

  His head lowered until his lips tempted hers and his steady breaths mingled with her rapid ones. “But you speak French, not Spanish,” she rationalized, trying dreadfully hard not to reach up to kiss him.

  “So I do,” he whispered and gave her what she desired.

  His lips were not hard or course as with other men she had kissed. Instead, they felt as luxurious as a bird’s feathers. When he increased their pressure, she accepted the building intensity.

  His hands framed her cheeks, holding her to the breathtaking invasion of his tongue. She loved his taste and his scent. Before long, he would be hers to kiss at any time of the day or night, this man she would soon call husband.

  Husband! Oh, Lord. She slipped back into reality and pushed him away. His pounding heart battered her palms, yet she succeeded in breaking their heated contact. Panting to catch her breath, she glared up at the tutor as if it was his fault she was in such disarray.

  From her ragged breaths to the clouds swirling in her head, she couldn’t figure out what exactly it was she wanted from him. Be it husband, tutor, or simply a friend—no, never a friend, for he was too desirable and tempting—she couldn’t decide if she trusted him enough to let him into her heart.

  The flickering candle cast wicked markings on his face. “It is fortunate I donned my clothes.”

  She lengthened the space between them. “A betrothed cannot sample the goods before properly securing them,” she told him. He’d not claim her freely without the church’s blessing first. She crossed herself and frowned when he let out a hearty laugh.

  “You need not recite prayers or call on the good Lord to save you, Alessandra. I shall wait for our wedding night, though it pains me to do so.”

  She glanced down, alarmed when she saw the proof of his claim.

  “Come now. I shall return you to your cousin before he ousts Father Damiani from his bed to marry us before the sun is up.”

  Her fingers pressed to her lips, the sensations from his kiss still warm to the touch. “No…no, that…would not…”

  Alessa spun around and fled the tutor. On the street, she ran blindly, paying no mind to the swirl of mist up ahead.

  By the time the chill warned her, she was halfway down the street leading away from the French camp. A sudden starburst of light made her flinch, but in her hurried flight, she was unable to stop.

  When the elfin-like musician reached out to her, a force of wind sucked her into the center of his light.

  Fear rushed over her. Too late, she realized, the musician was not a mortal man.

  The devil owned his soul.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ignoring the commotion surrounding him, Dante sat on bended knees and cradled Alessandra in one arm. He brushed away strands of hair form her forehead and searched her face beneath the smudges.

  He had just left his quarters when he heard her scream and saw a man dragging her away. Without hesitation, he ripped the dagger from its sheath and hurled it across the street. The blade sank into the man’s heart. Alessandra fainted into a heap, thankfully her head avoiding the stone street. Dante glanced at the body lying a few feet away, his knife protruding from the dead man’s chest.

  The French captain inspected the victim. He pulled the knife out and wiped the blade on the man’s clothes, then returned the dagger to Dante. He absently placed it into its sheath.

  “Another of my soldiers lost because of that woman.” Etienne did not accuse but neither did he speak casually. “What was her reason this time for coming here?”

  Dante knew not how to respond. He wasn’t exactly sure what Alessandra wanted, other than to delve into his relationship with the French. And, perhaps, to forestall their pending nuptials.

  “The woman seeks adventure. Her sire sent her to Naples with the hope she might mend her ill-disciplined ways.”

  “Apparently, she has not.” Etienne squatted, staring down at Alessandra. “She is a beautiful woman. Obviously well-bred.” He lifted his gaze to Dante. “Mayhap there is more you are not telling me?”

  Dante sighed heavily. “She is my betrothed.”

  The Frenchman arched a single brow. “You did not see fit to inform me sooner?”

  “At first I did not plan to go through with the marriage.” His burdened heart threatened to split in two from his deceit. “She was my way into the Valente family. Fabroni believes the only way to settle her inclination for wandering is to wed her posthaste.” He met Etienne’s eyes. “In four days we will be married.”

  “No banns were made?”

  Dante shook his head. “I asked that none be posted.”

  Alessandra started to come to. She moved her head and lifted a hand to her chest, moaning softly as her blonde-tinged lashes fluttered upward. “The musician.”

  Dante froze. Once again, the angel of death had crossed her path.

  ****

  Alessa finally came around. She lay on a poor man’s bed stuffed with cloth upon a wood frame. Yet it was soft and, coupled with the wildly popping flames and enveloping warmth, she lazily opened her eyes. Propping herself up on her elbows, she gave her surroundings a quick glance. Baffled, she couldn’t guess why she was in the tutor’s quarters. Blinking to clear the haze, she focused on the lone figure staring into the blazing fire.

  It all came back. His naked body. Their kiss. Running away. Coming face to face with the musician. The deathly cold that had nearly carried her away into the center of the bright light.

  “Signore?”

  His shock converged on her. Had he not expected her to fully recover? She sat upright and examined her hands, arms and the rest of her body. Naught was amiss, and she sighed with relief.

  “Dare I ask why I am lying upon your bed?”

  A small twitch on his upper lip caught her attention. “Not for the pleasure of my company, I assure you.”

  His forthright reply didn’t bother her at all. “I am alive. Truth be told, I was not sure I would survive the musician’s call.”

  His body tensed, and his hand pressed hard against his thigh. Yet he said naught.

  “Know you something about the musician you are hiding?” She could be just as forthright, and well he knew it.

  The tutor’s footfalls marked his path to the bed. “The musician is a legend that has haunted Naples for many years. It is said the boy had just become a man when a jealous husband, believing the musician had dallied with his wife, ended his life while he played his lyre on this very street. Ever since, he appears to those who—”

  An uneasy feeling crept through her stomach. “Who what?”

  The way his lips pressed together and tightened, she could tell he hesitated to answer.

  “Who what?” she demanded.

  “He appears to those who are…doomed.”

  Alessa gasped. Her voice trembled. “Doomed?”

  “It is said, those who see the musician will soon face death.”

  “Have you seen him?

  After a long lapse into silence, he shook his head.

  Al
essa fell back to the bed and stared up at the ceiling where the firelight undulated grotesquely. She had yet to experience a full life. To lie with a man and become a woman.

  “You were not sent to Naples to die,” the tutor remarked.

  “You are God now?” She hadn’t meant the sarcasm.

  The bed dipped when he sat, and he pulled her up by her wrists. He forced her to look into his troubled eyes. “I would never set myself up to that distinction. However, should you continue to place yourself in danger, you could be facing God before you and I stand in front of Father Damiani.”

  “So death is what it will take to stop our marriage?”

  He shook her gently. “Do not mock what is out of your hands. Have you no fear?”

  “It is a fault of mine, I will concede.” She swung her legs over the bed’s edge and noticed her cloak laid on a chair and her shoes set next to the bed. “Has anyone ever seen the musician and lived?”

  “No.” Helpless to stop what he refused to accept, Dante didn’t want to talk about it. “Can you stand?” he asked brutishly, his emotions unfettered.

  “I am not injured.”

  He deserved her sharp tone.

  After she slipped her feet into her shoes, he helped her with her cloak. “I will walk you back to the Valentes and see you safe in your bed.”

  A playful smile curved her lips. “Are you intimating I am not safe in yours?”

  Dante yanked open the door. “Talk like that will get you into more trouble than you need at the moment. And I’ll not be left to explain to Father Damiani why we are in a rush to exchange vows on this very day.”

  ****

  Incredulous yet impressed, Dante watched Alessandra shimmy up the tree and climb through the window to her room. A refined woman didn’t do boyish things like that. The wide spectrum of her gender intrigued him, he realized. Dressed in her finery, she was every bit a woman. Left to her craving for adventure, she turned back into a girl who abandoned fear.

  Intending to go back to his quarters, he turned and startled to find Benito blocking his path.

  “Taking what you will before you are properly wed?”

  “On the contrary. The girl is still a virgin.”