Bella Donna

by Margrett Dawson

  Bella Donna

  Margrett Dawson

  Bella Donna By Margrett Dawson Sequel to SECRET SERVICES Lady Emma Houndsdale has sworn off men, casual sex and a free-wheeling lifestyle in 1930's England. But when her cruise ship sinks off the coast of Mussolini's Italy and she is mistaken for her dead maid, she finds herself the prisoner of a dashing and dangerous rogue with secrets all his own. Marco Antonioni whisks her from her life of sheltered privilege into a world of risk, lust, and betrayal, where every move is a test of loyalty. He opens her eyes to sensuous delights and forces her to reevaluate all she has known about men and life. Together they dance through passion and danger in a land rife with volatile politics.

  Margrett Dawson

  Bella Donna

  © 2004 MARGRETT DAWSON

  Chapter One

  South of Naples, Italy. May, 1930.

  “We put her in the stable. This way, dottore.”

  Enrico spat into the heap of dung by the door and picked up the lantern to light the way, holding it low to shine on the old stones under their feet. The muzzle loader hung from his shoulder, casting a grotesque, hunchbacked shadow. He managed to shuffle fast for a man with a stiff knee, and Marco had to lengthen his stride to keep up.

  “Who is she, Enrico?” he said as low as he could. Using the lantern was bad enough. No need to advertise his presence by being overheard.

  “God only knows. That’s your job to find out. Just take her off my hands. Wild cat, she is. Bit me, she did.” He waved his free hand to show a grubby bandage.

  “What did you do to her?’

  “Nothing, signore, nothing at all. We found her on the beach and held her for you.” The old man used the dialect Marco remembered from his youth. Remarkable how easy it was to slip back into the old rhythms.

  “Hmm. No one touched her?”

  Enrico spat again. “We had to touch her to bring her inside, didn’t we? Maybe the boys took their time holding her. Young men, you know how they are.”

  A couple of ducks squawked their displeasure at being disturbed so late at night.

  Marco sighed. Holding her. If they hadn’t raped her, it wouldn’t have been because they had any misplaced scruples. Enrico’s sons had a reputation for skewering anything and anyone, whether with their knives or with their cocks.

  Enrico handed Marco the lantern and lifted the bar to the stable door with both hands. Marco peered into the gloom, raising the light to send the rays into the far corners.

  At first he could see nothing. “Where?”

  “Over in the last cow stall, dottore.”

  He moved closer and the lantern swung, now illuminating a stall, then sending it into deep shadow. There had been no cows in the barn for more than a year, but the aroma of dung and hay still hung in the air.

  He stopped when he saw the woman. “Dear God.”

  She rose from the filthy straw, roused by the light and the sound of their approach. Ropes looped to the wooden slats at each side of the stall, holding her arms at the wrists. Another thick tether was wound around a slim waist and disappeared somewhere in the dimness behind her legs. She dropped her head, shielding her eyes from the sudden light. Her black hair hung long and matted around her face. Dried blood smeared her cheek.

  She wore a shift that finished at the knee and had once been white. Now it was stained and torn, barely covering her thighs, but it shimmered in the half-light. Satin or silk. The bodice had ripped and one piece fell toward her waist as she moved, baring her breast to a spot just above her nipple. The breast was round and firm, a perfect mound, just the size for a man’s hand. He glimpsed the soft pink of her areola. To his surprise he felt himself respond, a movement between his legs where there had been little sign of life in recent months.

  She pushed her hair back from her face and glared at him defiantly, her hands in fists on her hips, seemingly oblivious to her nakedness. “Seen enough? Or do you want to put your filthy paws all over me too?” She spoke in English.

  “Signorina-”

  She tossed her head. “Don’t signorina me. Get me out of this godforsaken hole. Do you hear me? Untie me.” She shook the ropes that held her like a cow ready for milking. Her voice sounded hoarse, either from the seawater she’d swallowed or from screaming when Enrico’s sons grabbed her. Probably both.

  He took a step closer and she lunged at him. He leapt back, almost dropping the lantern, and answered in her language.

  “Take care unless you wish the whole structure to go up in flames.”

  “Take care, my arse. Who cares if it burns?” She peered at him in the gloom. “So you speak English. At least that’s something. Who are you? Where am I? And why am I tied up here like a yearling?” She shook her hands again, swishing the ropes through the straw.

  She’d lost her shoes somewhere and black mud encased her feet. Blood had trickled down her leg and dried. He hoped to God it was from a wound. He felt a stab of pity.

  “They are ignorant men but they believed they were acting in my interests. I am glad they did not hurt you. Do you have a name, signorina?” he asked.

  She took in a deep breath and the tatters across her chest moved apart, revealing the deep valley between her breasts. Again that faint stirring below his waist.

  “Untie me first,” she said. She lifted both wrists toward him. He saw the tightness of her jaw and the gleam of moisture in her eyes. “Please.”

  “Watch her, dottore.” Enrico seized his arm, but he shook him off impatiently.

  “Loosen the ropes.”

  Enrico muttered below his breath, but moved to do as he was told.

  “The wrists first.” Marco had no desire to give the peasant a reason to touch her waist.

  Ill-pleased, Enrico seized her arm and cut the tether with a slash of his knife. She quivered when he touched her, but held steady. Only the quick rise and fall of her chest betrayed her dislike. Enrico yanked on the other rope and cut her free. She massaged her wrists where the cable had chafed.

  Enrico took hold of the leash tied to her waist and weighed the strands in his calloused hand, as if contemplating whether or not to set her loose.

  “Do it. Now.” Marco’s voice carried the authority of countless generations of feudal lords.

  Without a word, Enrico wound the rope around his arm and sliced it close to the floor.

  He stepped toward Marco, compelling the woman to follow him, leading her like a colt. He held out the cut end of the rope, and Marco took it as if in a dream. The woman stood in front of him, her breast exposed, her thighs almost completely bare. He held her as surely as he might hold a horse he meant to tame.

  He handed the lantern back to Enrico, placed the coil of rope on the ground and shrugged out of his jacket. “Put this around you.”

  For a moment he thought she would run. He saw the movement as she shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, but Enrico took a step to block the opening to the stall and she fell back.

  Without a word, she took his coat and slipped her arms in the sleeves. It barely covered her generous breasts, but at least that delicious nipple was out of sight of the peasant’s eyes.

  Enrico snickered. “She’ll need more than that to cover her like a decent woman. With respect, dottore,” he added as Marco fixed him with a glare.

  “Of course.” Marco turned to the woman again. She stood unwavering now on her two feet, her chin up and her mouth firm. “Please follow me, signorina.”

  Praying she would follow and not give Enrico the excuse to manhandle her again, Marco turned and led the way from the cow stall. At the door to the shed he stood aside for her to pass. She had gathered the trailing rope over her arm and carried it like the train of a ball gown. She brushed past him like a duchess and waited for him to guide
her across the farmyard as if he would lead her into dinner in a palace.

  Without a word he swept her up into his arms.

  He expected her to resist and tightened his grip as she tensed against him. “Put me down. I can walk.” Her fist thumped against his shoulder.

  “You would not wish to walk on the muck, signorina. Underneath there are tiny stones that will hurt your feet. Believe me, after two paces you would beg me to carry you again.”

  “Never!”

  But he tightened his grip, and she stopped struggling. He felt her relax against him.

  Over the smells of the barnyard he caught the scent of her body, the briny tang of seawater that had dried in her hair and a faint perfume, like apricots in the sun. He carried her easily, conscious of the warmth of her bare legs against his supporting arm. His hand rested on her thigh, inches from the dark sweetness hidden between her legs. His cock swelled, pushing against her hip.

  The arm that held her around the shoulders could easily wander further and caress her firm breast, now hidden under his old green coat. He could flick his fingers against the nipple, feel it pucker and harden-

  It had been many months since he had felt any desire to hold a woman in his arms. Even the strumpets, always available and who followed his pitiful group of outcasts had not been able to tempt him.

  He found his way to the cottage and thrust open the door with a sharp kick.

  Inside, a rough wooden table took up most of the room in front of a smoldering fireplace. Hams hung from the rafters, curing slowly in the smoke from the embers. In one corner a curtain did a poor job of hiding a large bed, and a radio played softly, tuned to the national broadcasting service. A lamp with a naked flame added its fumes to the stifling air.

  Enrico followed him into the house, quickly slamming and bolting the door behind them. He turned to grasp Marco’s sleeve. “You should not have come in here, signore. We are poor people. If the Blackshirts get wind of you-”

  Marco set the girl down on her feet. “I shall delay for a few hours only. This woman needs care.”

  Enrico waved his hands. “No, no, dottore. Not here. Take her away. Look after her somewhere else.”

  “Post a guard at the turn off on the main road. Here-” Marco dug into the pocket of his trousers and took out a coin. “Give the boy this. There is more for you if I leave here safely. And if you bring me a tub of warm water.”

  The woman’s eyes flickered from one to the other as she tried to follow the gist of their conversation. Even if she spoke Italian, it was unlikely she could follow the thick accents of the mountain people.

  Enrico bit the coin, and gave a gap-toothed smile. “Si, dottore.” With a final leer at the woman he left the room.

  Marco bolted the door behind him and turned to her.

  She rubbed a hand across her face. “Are you a doctor?

  “A doctor?” he laughed. “Not any more. My name is Marco.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Her fingers were slender and delicate, tipped with blood red polish. “At your service, bella donna.”

  He bent over her hand and looked up at her. Her eyes were fixed on his mouth as he kissed her fingertips and she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. The taste of her skin sent another jolt to his loins.

  “Only Marco?” she whispered. “What is your other name?”

  The coat had fallen open and she no longer tried to conceal the sweet curve of her breast, which rose and fell with each breath. His lips tingled with the urge to press his mouth to that succulent nipple. Instead, he released her hand and took a step back. “I have no other name.”

  He guided her to one of the rough wooden chairs. “Sit, please. I will get you some food.”

  “No, nothing, thank you.” She shook her head, but took the chair and rubbed her hand over her face in a weary gesture. “Just contact someone. Does anyone have a telephone? If you send word to my father, he’ll get me out of this hovel and will reward you better than you paid that man. More money than you ever expected to have.”

  “Money doesn’t matter to me.”

  “It matters a lot to most people. I don’t suppose you’re an exception.” She held out her hand again. “Lady Emma Houndsdale. My father is the Earl of Bicester. I was a passenger on the steamship Lady Rose out of Southampton, bound for Cairo. We had just left Naples. There was a fire. Panic everywhere and I went in the water.” She shuddered. “Now tell me exactly where we are.”

  “I cannot do that.”

  She looked at him, her eyes wide in disbelief. “You don’t know where we are?” She spoke slowly. She must think him an idiot.

  “I didn’t say that. I said I cannot tell you where we are. It would place these people in danger.”

  He took her hand and folded it between his two palms. He wanted to kiss each of her fingers, suck them into his mouth, eat his way up her arm to the curve of her neck-he pulled himself together. “I heard the ship foundered off the coast.”

  She shuddered and took back her hand, drawing the coat together as if she suddenly felt a chill. “It was horrible. The noise, the screams.” She closed her eyes. “And all the time we could see the lights on the shore.”

  She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye again. “Well, I was washed ashore like Sinbad, but I’ve had quite enough adventures for this week. Where have they taken the other survivors?

  Marco knelt beside her and shook his head. “I do not believe there were any.”

  She went pale and clutched at the rough edge of the table, seeking support. He took hold of her shoulders and steadied her. “No one?” she whispered.

  “I regret that they have only announced finding bodies so far.” He gestured to the radio. “Thanks to Enrico’s one extravagance, I have heard the latest news.”

  She leaned her head against him and he felt her draw in her breath. “All gone?” she repeated. “Only me left?”

  “That is possible.” He put his lips to her hair, breathing in the scent of her, mixed with aromas of his old coat. “I am sorry.”

  A tear gathered in the corner of her eye and he wiped it away with his thumb. Underneath her eye a blue bruise discolored her cheek. He traced its outline with a feather touch until he could tilt her chin. She turned her head toward him and he slipped his hands inside the coat, sliding along the smooth silk of her shift, and then the satin of her skin. His heart thudded and the pressure grew in his groin as his cock responded. She sighed, a long, deep sigh and rested her face on his chest. He bent his head and skimmed her forehead with his lips.

  She murmured something deep in her throat and he pulled her tight into him. His thumb found her nipple and it immediately puckered, standing up from her firm, round breast. He took in a shuddering breath. It had been so long, so long-

  She pushed against his shoulders and he freed her. “Forgive me, signorina. That was inexcusable.” He pushed her hair back from her face, fighting to keep his hands from moving over every inch of her, from throwing her on the table and plunging-

  “You’re forgiven, dottore.” She edged away from him, gave him a mocking smile. “I was forgetting myself. Put it down to the shipwreck. Heightened emotions and all that. They say danger makes people crave sex.” She shrugged, making his jacket ride higher on her thighs. He wondered if he’d ever be able to wear it again without provoking an erection.

  She looked around the cluttered room. “You must have police or something nearby. Can you send a message?”

  “The police in this area are not my friends. If we contact them, I am a dead man. I am afraid, Lady Emma, that you must stay with me until I can take you to safety.”

  She gave a disbelieving laugh, a short scornful sound that darted through his bones and settled between his legs. He concentrated on his breathing. He knew one thing was for damned sure. He couldn’t let her see how she affected him…

  She hardened her soft lips into a thin line, her delicate chin raised. Folding her arms beneath her breasts, she thrust them under
his gaze, then drew a deep breath, taunting him further. Dio mio.

  He swallowed hard, forcing his gaze back to her flushed cheeks and eyes.

  “Tell me…” She came closer. The room suddenly seemed smaller, the temperature scorching, and the air incredibly thick.

  He ached with longing for…what? He sucked in a shaky breath, trying not to think about the insistent throbbing between his legs.

  Her eyes locked on his. Mistake. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

  She laid her hand on his arm. He flinched as if scalded, but didn’t pull away. He couldn’t have brushed her hand from his arm if his life depended on it.

  Before she could say more, there was a thud at the door. As if released from a spell, Marco got to his feet and pulled back the bolt. Two burly young men edged into the room, carrying a heavy wooden tub.

  “Set it down near the fire,” Marco ordered. These were the two whose hands had been all over Emma when they found her. Maybe the ones who had bruised her face. The heat of anger rose up in him and he moved to shield her from their stares.

  Still trying to steal looks at her, the men did as they were bid. They placed the tub on the floor and went out, only to reappear with pails of water. Some sloshed over the sides as they turned their eyes on the woman while they filled the tub. She pulled the coat tighter around her.

  He found another coin for them. “Get out.”

  They scuttled away. Marco heard their coarse laughter as he bolted the door. He turned back to his captive. “They know no better.”

  “They are the least of my concerns. I need to contact the nearest British Consul.”

  “In due time.”

  “What in damnation are you talking about?” She looked around the room and glanced down at her bare legs. “What kind of a man are you?”

  “An honorable one, although you find me in strange circumstances. I said I would take you to a place of safety and I will do so. In a few days.” He hoped his voice was reassuring. God only knew what would happen to her if they were caught before they reached the caves.