"Perhaps," Nicoletta answered vaguely. She was having a difficult time thinking clearly. There was a curious sensation in her head, a dark, oppressive feeling she had never experienced before. A heavy dread seemed to be spreading in the pit of her stomach. She felt the need to step away from Vincente, from his good looks and charm. The need to pull her hand from his was so sharp and strong, she actually did so.
It was then that she glanced toward the wide windows of the palazzo. From the long balcony atop colossal columns surrounding the structure, Giovanni was watching them. He was as still as the mountains around them, as if he were carved from marble himself. A powerful, intimidating figure. At once she realized he was in her head, a dark fury driving him hard. She could feel waves of warning beating at her mind. He was demanding that she move away from his flirtatious brother. This was no soft whisper but a dark flow of anger, of black jealousy.
Her chin rose a fraction in challenge as she stared back at him. Across the wide expanse of the palazzo their eyes locked in weird combat, her will against his. Slowly the malevolence faded, replaced by faintly mocking amusement. You cannot hope to win a battle with me, cara. You are far too young and innocent.
The words were clear this time, not merely an impression but there in her ears, as if he had spoken aloud! Shocked at his power—the evidence of a true sorcerer, perhaps the devil himself—Nicoletta took a step backward.
I prefer your dreams to your fears, piccola. He whispered it to her wickedly, reminding her vividly of the erotic dreams that had danced in her head the night before. He stood for a moment longer on the marble balcony, looking so much the aristocratico, a man so accustomed to commanding others that authority was stamped into his hard features. Giovanni Scarletti's white teeth flashed briefly before he turned and went back into his study. She could see his tall, muscular frame through the window as he gestured to someone she couldn't see clearly to enter the room.
Vincente turned his head to follow her gaze. "Mio fratello is hard at work. So many meetings with the powers that be, you know. No time for fun." He shrugged casually. "Do not worry, signorina, I will see to it that your time here is not a dreary one." He smiled down at his daughter. "Sophie, I hope, will not be too bothersome. If she is, we will send her off to learn to sew those beautiful coverlets all women seem to know how to make." His head suddenly came up, and he stared at Nicoletta almost as if she were a ghost. His face paled beneath his bronzed skin.
"What is it?" Nicoletta asked, curious.
"Just for a moment you reminded me of someone I knew a long time ago. She made the most beautiful coverlets." His voice sounded thoughtful. "She would be much older than you. I was about your age back then."
Nicoletta turned back to the flowers in the garden, gazing at the dewy petals to hide her expression. Her mother! Vincente Scarletti had known her mother, and he remembered her! Who could not? The memories were vivid in Nicoletta's mind. All at once she wanted to weep. She had recognized the coverlet in Sophie's room as her mother's handiwork.
Nicoletta? The voice was gentle, not wicked and teasing, not fiercely angry, but a tender, concerned inquiry. She experienced a strange warmth flooding her. It was disarming, that hypnotic spell enveloping her so that she couldn't help but reach for him with her heart and soul.
As if pulled by a source outside herself, she glanced over her shoulder, her gaze drawn to the windows overlooking the courtyard. He was there, staring down at her intently. She could see the shadowy figure behind him pacing as if agitated. The don's attention was centered on her rather than on his important guest. It made Nicoletta feel cared for. She knew he felt her sorrow, and it mattered that he had touched her from a distance.
Maria Pia probably would have said it was sinful, a gift from the devil, and wrong, but at that moment Nicoletta was grateful, and she smiled up at the lonely dark figure. He sketched her a small salute and resolutely turned back to his visitor.
Nicoletta was returning her attention to Vincente and his daughter when out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of something bright fluttering up on the ramparts high above Don Scarletti's study. It was Portia and her daughter, Margerita, their gowns billowing in the wind, watching her as did the huge winged gargoyles.
A small shudder ran through her. She was being watched all the time, and she had allowed herself to forget already. The don seemed capable of driving out her every sane thought, something she dared not allow to continue. With so many eyes observing her every move she would have to appear "normal" at all times. Would it be possible?
Chapter Eight
Nicoletta held her arms obediently away from her sides and made a face at Maria Pia. "She is sticking me with pins," she complained. "I have a few words to say to the don regarding this particular form of torture." She had spent a good portion of the day attempting to explore the palazzo, but for hours now she had been locked in with the dressmakers. Her patience was wearing thin.
"If you complain one more time, Nicoletta," Maria Pia scolded, "I shall stick a pin into you myself. Any other girl would be delighted to receive such elegant garments. The extravagance is almost sinful. Although, truly, many of these gowns cover you so little as to be nearly indecent," she blithely contradicted herself.
Nicoletta laughed, the sound so infectious that even the two dressmakers found themselves smiling. "You mean it is sinful for one such as me to be getting such fine attire."
"Ballgowns with necklines that are far too low," Maria Pia groused. "You are a good girl. The Madonna is weeping—weeping, I tell you. You should not wear such gowns. It is not right," she said decidedly.
"You look beautiful, my dear," the seamstress said sincerely. "It is a pleasure to dress so pretty a girl. We are almost finished."
Portia stuck her head into the room. "It sounds as if you are having fun in here," she said, a smile plastered determinedly to her face. Resolutely she made no reference to the scene she had caused the night before. "May I come in?" She didn't wait for an answer but moved into the room, her elaborate gown rustling as she did so. She wore the latest fashionable creation, her hair perfectly dressed. "You look quite beautiful, Nicoletta. May I call you Nicoletta? Have they begun your wedding dress? I shall, of course, plan the blessed event personally. Giovanni has told me you are to be wed almost immediately." Her eyes ran speculatively over Nicoletta's slim figure.
Maria Pia lifted her chin, her faded eyes snapping with quiet fury. "I do not know why Don Scarletti is so insistent that Nicoletta marry him without a proper courtship. How does one calm the young girl's natural fears when she does not even know her bridegroom?" She threw her hands in the air dramatically.
Portia nodded. "It is unseemly of him, but Giovanni has always been a law unto himself." She shrugged her milky white shoulders so that her low-cut gown seemed suddenly precarious, about to fail in its ability to contain her ample bosom. Portia knew she was a beautiful woman, and her gowns showed her figure to perfection. She moved with a graceful confidence in herself, with the perfect poise her station had bequeathed her. "Giovanni does what he wishes, and there is none to stop him." The implication was ominous, almost sinister, yet Portia laughed softly, waving aside her own words. "You must leave everything in my capable hands. Since Vincente's wife, Angelita, the last mistress of the palazzo… died, I have planned many festivities for Giovanni, and I must say, I have received much praise for my efforts."
"Your help would be appreciated, grazie" Maria Pia answered for Nicoletta.
"Then it is settled." Portia smiled sweetly at the bride-to-be. "We must get to know one another better, my dear, if you are to become a member of our household. Giovanni would think it very wicked of me not to help you learn your duties as his wife. You will entertain often and see to it that his household runs smoothly." Her smile was as false as the offer of friendship. "It is the duty of the Scarletti famiglia to have numerous festivities. The king sends many courtiers here for negotiations."
Nicoletta dropped her arms, yelped wh
en pins stuck her from all directions, and glared at the seamstress. "I am finished with this," she announced. "Maria Pia is right; it is sinful to have so many gowns. Why, there are enough here for every woman in my village. I cannot possibly wear them all."
"You will need every one," Portia cautioned. "But, indeed, dear, you look bedraggled. You must stop for the day," she added solicitously.
A tentative knock on the door announced the manservant, Gostanz. He cleared his throat carefully when he caught sight of Portia but delivered his message in his usual monotone. "There are visitors for you, signorina. They are waiting in the courtyard." His customary disdain was very much in evidence, and something else, something undefined, as if the man was secretly amused.
"Thank you," Nicoletta answered politely, smiling determinedly at him. She hastened behind the screen and dragged on her familiar skirt and blouse, thankful for the comfort of the oft-washed material. She then rushed down the hall, waving distractedly at Portia. Maria Pia was much better equipped to deal with the woman anyway. Bedraggled, indeed!
Nicoletta made an attempt at smoothing her hair as she hurried down the stairs. She managed to find her way to the courtyard entrance with only two wrong turns, an unbelievable feat in the huge palazzo. She ran lightly across the marble tiles, her bare feet making no sound as she hurried through the corridors to the door, a sudden joy welling up in her. She knew who the visitors were, her dear, familiar friends, and she needed them desperately.
The two guards hurried after her, swords clacking and boots slapping loudly against the tiles. Nicoletta allowed the door to slam in their faces and made it halfway across the courtyard to her visitors before they tore it open and followed her.
Ketsia was sitting on the lush carpet of green grasses, her face buried in her hands, crying as if her heart were breaking. Cristano was pacing furiously, his boots kicking up a spray of white pebbles on the pathway.
"Bambino! Whatever is the matter?" Nicoletta demanded, scooping the child into her arms. "Why are you crying? Cristano! Tell me why she is crying so." With the girl in her arms, Nicoletta spun around to hug Cristano, too. As Cristano embraced both of them, they stumbled and all spilled together into the soft grasses.
Ketsia's tears turned to laughter, and she flung her arms around Nicoletta's neck. "I knew you would be the same. And look, no shoes! Look, Cristano, even he cannot make her wear shoes!" Ketsia sounded proud and happy over Nicoletta's lack of footwear.
The two guards hovered close, but clearly their training had not prepared them to cope with a barefoot young woman hugging a sobbing child and an angry young man. The three were tangled together on the ground, laughing and obviously no threat to Nicoletta. The guards looked at one another rather helplessly and remained in the background.
"Why were you crying so, Ketsia?" Nicoletta asked, kissing the girl on the top of her head. She pulled her hand out of Cristano's, since he seemed disinclined to let her go.
"I thought the don might have hurt you," Ketsia answered. "You disappeared. And Mirella said the soldiers took Maria Pia from her hut in the dead of night. And Mirella said that it was just like you to run away and that the don would have you beaten and killed and the disgrace would ruin the entire villaggio for all time."
Nicoletta burst out laughing, the sound happy and carefree, rising upward to float away on a friendly breeze. "Silly old Mirella. She loves to weave tales of terror." She grinned at Cristano. "Surely you did not believe her horror stories."
Cristano glanced at the guards and lowered his voice in a conspirator's whisper. "The don had no right to claim you. If you had accepted my offer instead of being so stubborn, Nicoletta, he would not have had the power to touch you. Now I can think of only one thing to do to set you free."
Nicoletta's eyebrows shot up. "Whatever you are thinking, Cristano, you must forget it. The don and I will sort things out."
"You mean you will attempt another escape? You ran away once, and he caught you. I know that is why you disappeared from your home. But I have thought of a way to force him to let you go."
Ketsia leaned into her, wanting to be cuddled. "I thought the don was handsome, but I do not want him to take you away. The villaggio is sad without you. You must come back, Nicoletta."
"I have a plan," Cristano continued. "We will confess to the don that we have lain together. He will not want you then, and he will order you to marry me." Cristano stared at her. "It will work, Nicoletta. You must be guided by a wiser, older man in this."
Nicoletta buried her face in Ketsia's neck to muffle her laughter. Cristano was four summers older than she but a good ten or twelve years younger than Don Scarletti. "My reputation would be ruined, Cristano," she reminded him.
"You would be with me, where you belong, and back in the villagio. There is much danger here. Everyone knows you will not live long if you remain in this place." Cristano puffed out his chest and stood, reaching down to pull her up with him.
The dark, smoldering anger creeping into her mind burst into a flame of such intensity, Nicoletta grabbed her head with her hands and pressed hard in an attempt to alleviate the throbbing in her temples. Her gaze, almost of its own accord, sought the row of glaring windows. Don Scarletti was out on the wide, first-story portico, his black gaze glittering with a menace she recognized even from a distance. Watching her with merciless intensity, he vaulted easily over the portico wall and began to move toward them. All rippling power, he reminded Nicoletta of a stalking mountain lion.
Her breath caught in her throat. As he neared them, she could see the dark shadow on his handsome face. He glided up to them and drew Nicoletta firmly beneath his shoulder. "Where is your chaperone, Signora Sigmora? She should accompany you at all times, cara. Your young friends are welcome to visit you, but you must remember that your actions are scrutinized at all times." He spoke gently, his tone as soft as velvet, his arms around her waist gently holding her to him, yet there was something very threatening about him, something she couldn't define.
"I am Giovanni Scarletti," he said courteously but unnecessarily to Cristano, his gaze hard and glittering as it touched the younger man. "I believe we have encountered one another before."
Cristano mumbled something inaudible in reply.
Ketsia curtsied beautifully. "I am Ketsia," she announced, "Nicoletta's friend."
"Ah, yes, of course I remember you." Giovanni smiled down at her with so much charm, the child beamed at him, as susceptible to his wiles as any woman.
"I thought you were busy with your visitor," Nicoletta ventured cautiously. She was suddenly terrified of what Cristano might say or do. He could be thoughtless and abrupt at the best of times, fiery and sulky if he didn't get his way.
"I will never be too busy to meet your friends," Giovanni answered in his gentlest voice. He bowed to Ketsia, who immediately burst into a fit of giggling. Behind the group's back he motioned Nicoletta's guards toward the palazzo and out of hearing.
Cristano drew himself up to his full height. "Don Scarletti, I must tell you, Nicoletta is my betrothed."
Nicoletta gasped in shock. She gaped at the young man, terrified that the don might order him taken to the dungeon or, worse, challenge him to a duel.
Giovanni's black eyebrows shot up. He pulled Nicoletta's hand against the heavy muscles of his chest and held it against his steady heartbeat. His thumb feathered back and forth across her hand in a small caress. "I do not think Nicoletta can be betrothed to both of us, and I have the prior claim. I am sorry. I realize any man would wish to make Nicoletta his wife, but I will not give her up."
Cristano took a deep breath. "There are special circumstances you should know."
"No, Cristano." Nicoletta shook her head vigorously, her hair flying out like a cape. Silky strands tangled on the don's blue-shadowed jaw, creating an instant intimacy between them. He didn't attempt to pull the strands away, but rather tugged Nicoletta even closer to him.
Giovanni bent his head to her so that his mouth was sin
fully close. "Do not be distressed, piccola. You are not accountable for what others choose to say or do," he whispered against her skin, his breath warm and comforting. For a moment Nicoletta's heart returned to its normal rhythm, but then Giovanni turned the full force of his black eyes on Cristano. His gaze glittered with something dangerous, something very menacing.
Nicoletta began to tremble. She shook her head mutely, her enormous eyes on Cristano, eloquent with fear. The don's hand slid up her arm, rubbing lazily to warm her.
"Before you speak, Signore Cristano, remember that the woman you are discussing is my betrothed and under my protection." Once again Giovanni spoke quietly, but there was such a shimmer of menace in his tone that they all appeared frozen in place.
Cristano fixed his eyes on Nicoletta, gathered his courage, and blurted out his lie. "Nicoletta and I have lain together."
Ketsia's dark eyes grew big and round. She pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from emitting a screech of shock. The silence was ominous, stretching out so long that Nicoletta wanted to scream under the sheer strain of it. Even the insects seemed hushed beneath the weight of the don's dark disapproval.
Giovanni caught Nicoletta's chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. He stared down into her eyes for a long while. Then a slow smile softened the hard edges of his mouth. You are such an innocent. You have not been with this lout, nor do you love him.
Nicoletta shook her head, unable to look away from the don and unable to break free of the hypnotic spell he always seemed to cast over her. She couldn't have lied to him if her life depended on it, and it very well might. He might have let her go if he thought she had lain with Cristano.
I would never let you go, so do not think this silly boy is your way out. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Giovanni released Nicoletta's gaze and turned to regard Cristano with his intense, merciless stare. "You should know better than to attempt to ruin a woman's reputation. Walk with me, boy. You have need to learn manners." He gestured toward the labyrinth.
Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse Page 14
