Nicoletta ran along the top of the cliffs until she neared the very edge, heedless of the crumbling bluff. She hurtled her anger and defiance out over the raging seas as below her the waves pounded the rocks and foam sprayed high into the air. The wind howled at her, tugging at her clothing so that her skirt billowed out and her hair flew in all directions. Her fingers curled into fists, her fingernails digging into her palms. She lifted her face to the tearing wind, and its howl blended with her own wild grief, carrying all sound away from her.
Below her the sea raged as her heart raged. Wildly. Passionately. Inconsolably. She couldn't contain her fury or her anguish. It exploded out of her like the turbulent waves crashing into high white plumes. She screamed her hatred of Aljandro and all men like him. She shouted her defiance of the deities that would allow a delicate, lonely young girl to die without a loving husband. She cried until she was hoarse, her throat as raw and ragged and torn as her heart.
Giovanni dismounted some distance from the small figure raging on the bluffs. His heart was in his throat. She was so close to the edge of the cliff, her grief so deep she couldn't bear it, and he was afraid for her. He didn't dare take his horse to the edge of the crumbling bluffs, so he tethered the animal to a tree and approached on foot, wary of startling her. She looked wild and untamed, an elusive, mysterious creature of the night.
Nicoletta was, indeed, not the type of woman to cast herself into the sea, but her grief ran deep, her passionate nature equal to the sea raging below them. She seemed unaware of the peril she had placed herself in. Heedless. Reckless. His heart ached for her. He fixed his black gaze on her, as if he could hold her with his will alone, keep her safe from the ferocity of the greedy waves reaching higher and higher toward her.
Giovanni slowly moved closer to her, silently stalking her, prepared to leap forward should there be need. She looked so passionate, there on the very edge of disaster with the foaming sea before her and the wind whipping her silken hair and the fog around her like gossamer veils. He had her then, his arms curling around her, dragging her back from the precipice.
She turned on him, fighting like a wildcat, blindly, instinctively, as if she feared his intention was to hurtle her over the edge instead of to protect her. She made no sound, and there was no recognition in her dark, terror-stricken eyes. He pinned her wrists together with one hand and dragged her into the shelter of his body. She was ice-cold, shivering uncontrollably yet seemingly unaware of it.
"Nicoletta." Giovanni stilled her struggles with his superior strength. "You are so cold. Allow me to warm you. No one can hurt you now. No one. You are safe with me." He murmured the words in a gentle, almost tender voice, holding her still to try to warm her with the heat of his own body.
She slumped against him, the fight draining out of her, exhaustion winning the battle. Finally she turned her face up to his. Tears ran down her skin, swimming in her eyes, making them look luminous in the darkness. "You are here." She said it softly, an accusation. "You can hurt me. I can never be safe again. I would rather you throw me over the cliff now than have me burned as a witch."
He muttered something beneath his breath, his hands framing her face. "No one will ever burn you as a witch." He made the vow fervently, his black eyes expressive with his need to protect her. Giovanni bent his head and tasted her tears. Gently. Tenderly. He kissed her wet skin, followed the trail of tears to the corner of her mouth. "You must not cry like this, Nicoletta. You must not."
In his arms she was still ice-cold, shaking so hard her teeth were chattering. "I do not think I can ever stop," she answered him sadly.
Giovanni swung her slight figure easily into his arms, carrying her to his horse. He wrapped her in his own elegant shirt, settling her close in front of him so that the heat from his body could provide as much warmth as possible on the ride home. He rode swiftly over the rough terrain, urging his horse to greater speed.
The palazzo's stable boy rushed out to collect Giovanni's mount as he swung down with Nicoletta huddled in his arms. It mattered little to him that his favorite mount was sweating profusely in the cold of the night, when ordinarily he would have ensured the beast was provided with excellent care. His only thought was getting Nicoletta out of the cold.
Antonello arrived at the palazzo door at the same moment, his long hair disheveled, his clothes smudged with dark, wet stains. "Giovanni?" He sounded tired, yet there was a note of accusation in his voice. "What has happened to her?"
Giovanni, with Nicoletta in his arms, barely glanced at Antonello as he pushed through the door his brother had opened. His eyes widened at the condition of Antonello's clothing, but he refrained from commenting. "She has had a shock," he replied tersely. He shouted for his manservant as he strode down the long corridor, Nicoletta held tightly against him. "Did you get a fire going in her room, man?" he demanded as the servant scurried before him. "Are you heating the water?"
Antonello hesitated as if undecided whether to follow, then turned and moved along the hall toward the far wing where his quarters were.
"Has Vincente returned with Signorina Sigmora?" Giovanni continued walking very fast, the manservant nearly running to keep pace with him.
"The guards returned Signorina Sigmora to the palazzo along with your instructions to us. Your brother remained behind at the farm to see to it that your orders were carried out there."
Giovanni spared the man a glance. "Grazie, Gostanz." The words were clipped and abrupt, but the older man blinked rapidly as if bestowed a great reward.
He hurried faster to get ahead of the don to open the door to Nicoletta's room. Maria Pia stood in front of the crackling flames, wringing her hands. She gave a glad cry when she saw Nicoletta cradled in Don Scarletti's arms.
"Presto Signorina. Her clothes are damp, and she is in shock," Giovanni said, placing Nicoletta in a deeply cushioned chair beside the roaring fire. He began to pull her blouse over her head in his haste to warm her.
Maria Pia, shocked at his utter lack of convention, hastily intervened. "Scusa, Don Scarletti, you are not married to her as of yet. I shall undress her." She tried to sound firm even in defiance his hard authority.
Impatience ran across his face. He yanked the damp blouse off of Nicoletta and tossed it aside with controlled fury. Her full breasts and satin skin gleamed golden in the dancing firelight, and his breath abruptly caught in his throat while his pulse pounded uncomfortably. He felt the answering fire in his blood, flames leaping when he wanted only to comfort. He dragged the coverlet from the bed and hastily wrapped Nicoletta in its folds. "Dio, Donna, do you think that matters? Nicoletta is freezing and must be warmed. Gostanz is just outside. Have him bring the tub and fill it with hot water to bathe her. She cannot stop crying." For a moment, for all his authority and rank, the don looked like a helpless lost boy. "She cannot stop."
Maria Pia, stiff with outrage at the don's scandalous behavior, obediently opened the door and gave the orders to the manservant. "Perhaps if you give her a good slap, it will startle her out of the hysteria," she offered as she turned back to the don disapprovingly. Her sharp eyes had noticed his hot gaze moving over Nicoletta's very feminine body.
His black eyes blazed at her with controlled fury. "We will do no such thing!" His arms tightened protectively around Nicoletta, his hands vigorously rubbing her arms through the coverlet. Much to Maria Pia's horror, he pulled Nicoletta onto his lap and began to rock her gently, murmuring softly. Eventually, while Gostanz had the tub brought in and filled, the don stopped speaking and lay his head over Nicoletta's in a strangely protective and tender gesture. He continued to rock her, but the room was silent except for Nicoletta's sobs.
Giovanni changed tactics in his attempt to soothe her. He reached for her with his mind. Hush, piccola. You are breaking my heart, and I cannot stand much more of this. You are not responsible for the death of your friend. You did nothing wrong. You cannot save everyone. Come back to us. You are frightening Maria Pia. You must stop.
> With the tub filled and the servants gone, Maria Pia drew herself up to her full height. "I will warm her in the bath, signore. There is no need for you to stay."
Don Scarletti lifted his head then, a ruthless, almost cruel stamp to his hard features. "I will not leave her alone in this state. You will not strike her."
Maria Pia shivered under the whip of menace in his tone. Nicoletta stirred in Giovanni's arms, the first movement she had made since ceasing to fight him. She tilted her head up to look at him. Her large, dark eyes studied his face for a long time. Then a faint smile touched her trembling mouth. "Maria Pia would never really strike me, Don Scarletti. She is my famiglia. She likes to frighten us into decency with her threats, but I did not think a grown man would believe her." Even as she attempted humor, her voice wobbled alarmingly, and her eyes filled with more tears. He could feel the desperate struggle in her to regain her self-control.
At once he bent his head to brush the tears from her eyes with his mouth, his lips lingering against her skin in an intensely intimate gesture. "She thinks it unseemly of me to see to your bath. She does not realize that people already gossip about me all the time. It matters not what I do; they make up stories to frighten their children. It is your reputation alone that concerns me."
Nicoletta heard what no one else ever could. Or maybe she felt it—the note of hurt in his voice, as if, for all his hard authority and ruthless ways, it did matter that others feared him. He was stroking her long, damp hair away from her face, and it fell in waves around her body. His hand followed the strands down her back to brush against her rounded bottom, and his black eyes were suddenly so hotly intense that Nicoletta could feel an answering flame smoldering deep within her. She became aware that she was in his anus, cradled in his lap, that his body was hot and hard and thick with need. She could hear his heart beating beneath her ear. She wore nothing above her waist but a coverlet that seemed to have slipped precariously to display a generous view of her breasts. His shirt lay on the floor in a sodden heap beside hers.
Her eyes widened as she took in the ropes of muscle along his arms and chest, clearly visible beneath his thin undergarment. She could feel the play of his muscles against her own skin. Faintly shocked, she clutched the coverlet more closely around her. "I… I think it best if Maria Pia attends my bath," she said.
His chin rubbed the top of her head. "I do not know, piccola. One more incidente, and my heart will be unable to stand up under the strain." He was beginning to relax, sensing that the intensity of the storm raging within her had subsided. Very gently, almost reluctantly, he eased his hold on her. "I trust you will call me the moment you are dressed?" His hand slid to her neck beneath the coverlet to caress her bare skin.
Nicoletta rose quickly and nearly lost the blanket as she scurried away from him, her heart pounding in sudden alarm. Her skin was freezing, but inside, something hot and liquid was becoming an aching need.
"We will call you at once," Maria Pia announced, deliberately walking to the door.
Don Scarletti looked totally unrepentant. He arose with his usual fluid grace, reached casually for his shirt, and gave both women a slight bow before strolling out. Maria Pia closed the door firmly after him and turned the key in the lock.
Nicoletta and Maria Pia stared at one another across the room. Nicoletta's eyes filled with tears all over again. At once the older woman went to her, holding her close. "I am sorry I was not there," Maria Pia whispered. "Do not cry aloud, bambino. The don will break down the door if he hears you. That man is a law unto himself." She patted Nicoletta, moving her toward the steaming tub. "You must get in before the water cools," she added.
Nicoletta allowed the coverlet to drop to the floor, tossed her skirt aside, and stepped into the hot water. It seemed scalding against the icy coldness of her skin, but she sank gratefully into the tub. It seemed a sinful luxury to bathe this way, in an elegant bedchamber with others carrying the water to her. She ducked her head under the water so that her hair floated like sea help.
Maria Pia waited until Nicoletta had come back up, the water running off her face along with her tears. "Don Scarletti banished Aljandro, stripped him of his farm. He told him to leave his lands or the soldiers would hunt him down. Laurena took the babe to raise. The don would not give Aljandro Lissandra's bambino."
Nicoletta shivered violently. "Aljandro killed Lissandra," she said in a low voice. "He knew she was supposed to stay in bed, that she could bleed to death, but it did not matter to him. He would not pick up the babe while Laurena went home to attend her famiglia. It was too much trouble for him. He dragged Lissandra out of bed and beat her because she was too weak to attend the bambino." She pushed back her hair, looking at Maria Pia with anguish in her eyes.
"I am sorry, bambina," Maria Pia murmured again, her hands soothing as she cleansed Nicoletta's blue-black hair.
"He hated me so much, he left her to die. He would not let them call me. He walked out and left her lying on the floor all alone. He just left her."
"Laurena told me," the older woman admitted. "She found her and sent Ricardo for you. Aljandro tried to stop him and even struck the boy, but he was able to get away and come here. Nicoletta, you could not possibly have saved her. It was already too late when Laurena found her. You know that," she said gently.
"She was so afraid. I just sat there, offering her nothing. I simply sat with her and watched her die." Nicoletta swept a hand across her forehead, pain beating there so fiercely that she could barely breathe.
Cara mia, I shall have to come to you and hold you until this sorrow lessens. Breathe for me, piccola, that I may breathe also.
The words stirred in her mind, gentle and warm, a comforting presence. Nicoletta rested her head against the back of the tub and closed her eyes tiredly. Giovanni Scarletti. He was like no man she had ever met. He seemed to have no regard for convention. He could do things Maria Pia would name unholy. How could he send his words to her in his mind? She had been afraid to ask him, afraid of learning the truth.
What if he was a devil-worshiper? A sorcerer? What if he was capable of black magic? Nicoletta was drawn to him as she had never been to another human being. Dark, ugly tales were whispered of him. Was he capable of heading up a secret society of assassins, as was rumored? Certainly he had enough visitors throughout the day, meeting them alone in his study with no one permitted near. She knew he was capable of killing. He had many times gone with his army to defeat hordes of invaders. She had seen him take the life of his own cousin. Was he capable of throwing a woman off the castle tower? Had he perhaps even murdered her mother?
Nicoletta shook her head decisively. She didn't believe it, not for one moment. She didn't fool herself into thinking Giovanni was a gentle man. He was capable of many things, but not of outright murder. And certainly not the murder of a woman or child. He could be ruthless, unconventional, and merciless—for all she knew, he might very well be in league with the devil—but he would not kill a woman.
She touched her mouth, her throat. He could be incredibly appealing. He made her feel as if she were special. As if he needed her. Wanted her. Even had to have her. It was in the dark intensity of his eyes. The possession in his touch. The desire flaring so wantonly in his hot gaze. And yet he had tenderly comforted her. He had stood up to Aljandro for her, even stripped the man of his lands and sent him far away.
"He was good to me." Nicoletta looked up at Maria Pia. "He was very good to me. I went a little mad, I think." Her throat felt raw from raging at the seas. "I have never felt that way before. I had no control at all. I even tried to attack Aljandro, but he threw me against the wall."
Maria Pia gasped aloud. "He did what? Were you hurt?" Immediately she lit the tapers along the wall to inspect Nicoletta carefully. There were slight bruises marring her left thigh and hip. "We should put a poultice on those. I do not think the injury is severe, but Don Scarletti will not be happy with bruises on your skin."
Nicoletta reluctantly left t
he warmth of the tub. The terrible trembling had ceased, and the heated water had restored the glow to her skin. She wrung out her long hair and twisted it into a loose knot to work with later. She felt she had a semblance of her self-control back, but it was tenuous at best.
Very slowly she dried her skin. She was exhausted and longed to go to her bed and sleep. "I do not care this night if evil monsters lurking in the palazzo choose to visit. I will sleep. They will not disturb me."
"You must eat, Nicoletta," Maria Pia insisted.
Nicoletta pulled on fresh clothes and curled up in the chair beside the fire as Maria Pia unlocked the door and waved the waiting servants in to remove the tub. Nicoletta watched the leaping flames and thought about her late friend.
It was only when the manservant brought dinner that she stirred. As he was leaving she called out to him softly. "Signore Gostanz, scusa."
Gostanz turned back to her, his features carefully blank. "Signorina?"
"Grazie. For your kindness and all the extra trouble you have had to go to, grazie," she said sincerely. "I will not be such a bother again."
Gostanz stared at her, clearly startled. He bowed, a clumsy gesture, but for some reason it brought a flood of tears to Nicoletta's eyes. A shadow fell across them, the large frame of the don in the doorway. His glittering eyes slashed at the manservant. "Piccola, why are you crying?" It was an accusation directed at poor, defenseless Gostanz. The man froze, his head bowed, waiting for a reprimand.
Nicoletta forced a wan smile. "Signora Gostanz has been so wonderful to me, Don Scarletti. He has gone to much trouble, when he was up very early with so many duties. To make your big home run so smoothly, he must be a miracle worker. He is another one of your treasures, yes?"
Giovanni studied the older man for a long moment. "That is true, Nicoletta. Gostanz, perhaps you would be so kind as to meet with me on the morrow to discuss the daily routines of the palazzo. You do work long hours, and more staff may be needed to ease your burden."
Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse Page 17
