She looked him up and down, a sneer of distaste twisting her pretty mouth. “You want ransom money, don’t you? I’m your hostage.”
He fisted his hands in anger, but forced himself to speak calmly. “It pains me that you think so. I will do my best to make you comfortable and to keep you safe. But you will have to follow my orders.”
Her eyebrows rose and she gave a gasp of disbelief. “Orders? I’ve never followed a man’s orders in my life.”
God, he would like to see her on her knees before him, begging to know his wishes, eager to comply with his every desire… He fought to control the pounding of his blood, giving no hint of the lustful thoughts that besieged his mind. “I can believe that.” He indicated the tub sitting in front of the fire. “I am sure you wish to clean your skin of the salt. They brought warm water for you. You may bathe.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Surely not in your presence? A gentleman would leave.”
He shrugged. “There are few gentlemen here. You have no other choice, bella donna.”
She stood. “Fancy that. Bella donna. Beautiful lady.” She took off his coat and hung it on the back of the chair. “In my country it’s the name of a poisonous plant.”
She fingered the torn edge of her shift that skimmed the nipple of her left breast.
Marco stood across the room from her, his arms folded, his back against the rough wooden door. He held his body under tight control, even while the blood pounded in his veins and his cock begged to be set free of his confining clothing. He steeled his expression to give nothing away, but still felt her under his hands as they had snaked under the old coat.
Her eyes on his face, she dropped her hands to the hem of her shift and began to lift it, a small, secretive smile on her lips. “You had better turn away.”
His jaw tightened and the blood throbbed in his groin. If she stripped in front of his eyes, how in God’s name would he be able to hold back? What kind of an animal would she think him? He turned to face the wall.
The shift rustled as she raised her arms above her head, drawing the cloth up her body. His nerve ends twitched as he saw in his mind’s eye the slow revelation of her thighs, her belly, the dark patch between her legs that would match the color of her hair. He knew exactly the curve of her waist, the swell of her breast, the sweet hollow at the base of her throat. He closed his eyes and forced a deep breath.
He heard the lap of the water as she stepped into the tub.
“You can turn around now. I’m reasonably decent.” Her voice mocked him and his sense of chivalry.
He turned. The water reached the same spot as the torn shift, revealing the curve of her breast, shrouding her nipples.
She lay back, the ends of her hair trailing on her shoulders. “Is there any soap?”
“Of course.”
Emma stretched in the water, letting the warmth soothe her aching muscles. At least she was alive. Was it possible that everyone else on the boat was dead? Even if these people knew differently, there was no way of knowing if they would tell her the truth. They were bandits, that much was obvious, and this tall man, Marco, who’d given her his coat in an amusing gesture of gallantry, then carried her across the filthy farmyard, was their leader.
She still hadn’t figured out exactly why the two oafish peasants had scooped her up off the beach and brought her here. Marco said he didn’t want money, but he hadn’t convinced her. Everyone had their price whether it was gold coin or a roll in the hay.
Last night on the boat, that nice young officer had pointed out the lights of Naples as they steamed out of the Bay. But God only knew where she was now. Somehow she had to persuade this Marco to take her to civilization. Daddy would pay any kind of ransom and think it cheap enough to get his precious daughter back.
She sighed. So much for turning her back on her old life. This Marco might think he was in charge, but he wanted her and she understood enough about men to know there would come a point when he’d do anything she asked just to get inside her. If she played it right. And she would do it, if that was the price to set her free.
He came close and handed her a bar of yellow soap. She let her fingers linger on his as she took the offering. He had the most amazing eyes, dark and luminous under strong brows. His face was lean and rugged, with high cheekbones, while his lips showed red and forceful amidst a black stubble only a few days old. She already knew how they tasted and how strong his arms were.
She let her gaze skim the rest of his muscular torso. It had felt warm and powerful pressed close to hers. A tiny warm ache of desire that had started between her thighs when he held her, spread slowly and deliciously up into her belly. Persuading him to help her might not be such a hardship after all.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He gave a little bow and stepped back. The soap smelled foul, probably made from mutton fat or something equally disgusting, but she was in no position to be fussy. She slid under the water so her hair floated on the surface and then came up for air.
After she’d worked up a lather, his eyes followed the veiled movement of her breasts as she raised her arms to twist her hair on top of her head like a crown. She’d bet five pounds he was hiding something large and tempting inside those trousers.
She lifted one leg and ran the soap along its length, taking her time to arch her foot and show the slenderness of her calf. His gaze came to rest on the water that hid the top of her thighs.
“Did Enrico’s sons molest you in any way?”
She looked at him from under lowered lashes, wondering how much to tell him. It might be a good idea to keep his mind on the possibility of sex with her. She saw his throat work as he swallowed.
“They had their hands all over me. One of them had me pinned against the wall, while the other undid his trousers. Their father came, so they tied me up and brought me here instead.”
The flush of anger stained his cheekbones. “Signorina- I shall see that they are reprimanded.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” She splashed water on her shoulders and saw him lick his lips as the droplets cascaded down her breasts. Was he one of those who were aroused by the thought of forcing a woman? “I suppose I owe Enrico my safety, although he doesn’t look like someone who would rescue a damsel in distress.”
“Enrico knows better than to incur my displeasure.”
“I see. Well, that’s good to know. I don’t mind telling you I thought I was a goner.” She could not repress a shiver, although she tried to keep her tone light. She didn’t want anyone to know how terrified she’d been. How frightened she still was, if the truth be told and if she allowed herself to think. The Houndsdales had fought in every battle from Agincourt to the Somme. Just because she was a woman didn’t mean that she would accept whatever these men dished out to her. She had nothing to rely on save her own wits and determination if she was to get away from here.
She held out the soap to him. “Wash my back.”
Without a word, he took a step toward her. She saw a faint tremble in the hand he held out to her as she placed the slippery bar in his palm. He rubbed the soap between his hands and touched her shoulder with the foam. She thought she was ready for the feel of his fingers, but a tingling shock ran through her, catching her off guard. Leaning forward, she presented her back.
He knelt, letting his hands slide over her, from her neck to the base of her spine. His fingers crept over every muscle, every bone, around her side to the swell of each breast. Her breath came quicker as the spark in her belly grew into a glowing ember. Look what good behavior has done for you, she thought in disgust. She’d abstained from sex, been as chaste as a virginal debutante for the last six months, only to find her treacherous body reacting like a silly schoolgirl when she needed to keep her head on straight and her mind focused on her own safety.
She closed her eyes, hypnotized by the warmth of his exploring fingers. Careful, girl, she thought. Who’s in control here?
With an effort she opened her eyes
and sat back, forcing him to take his hands from her.
“Very nice, thank you,” she said. Color stained his cheekbones and his eyes glittered as if with a fever. For two pins she’d stand up and reach out for him, letting him press her wet body to his firm torso. Just for a fleeting moment she allowed herself to imagine the feel of him against her, then brought her thoughts under control. She had to play him carefully, saving the prize for last.
“Anchors aweigh,” she said, and slid under the water to rinse her hair.
“I don’t suppose you have any fresh water, do you?” she asked when she emerged.
“There is some cold-”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make do.” She smiled at him sweetly, hoping his cock was rising, begging for release. “Do you have a towel?”
He sprang to his feet as if goaded. “Of course, signorina.” In two steps he had seized a large cloth from a nail in the wall and held it up. She looked at it dubiously. It was more than likely the grayish hue signaled a lack of washing rather than a natural fiber. She gave a mental shrug. This ordeal couldn’t last long. She’d tease this fellow until he had no resistance left, and then he’d deliver her to a nice hotel in a large city where she could contact the authorities. Forget all the nonsense about not telling her where they were and not being able to send a message. Forget the few days in his safekeeping. A few hours maybe. She’d be on her way home in no time. The worst that could happen would be she’d have to break her promise to lead a reformed life.
He held the dirty-looking cloth in front of his face, hiding his eyes, and she rose as gracefully as she could from the water, allowing him to wrap it around her. She twisted the ends above her breasts and he handed her another, smaller cloth to dry her hair.
The material clung to her damp breasts and to her thighs as she moved. The feel of the rough weave was arousing her even more. Her breasts tingled, and it wasn’t only the bathwater moistening the inside of her thighs.
She gathered up the torn shift and thrust it toward him. “Burn it, and find me some clothes,” she said. “And then we’ll talk about how I can get home.” She looked at him sharply and raised her eyebrows. “You can find me something to wear, I suppose? You don’t expect me to travel home naked?”
Chapter Two
Marco took the dirty cloth from her. The silky surface rippled smoothly under his fingers as if it were her skin. Naked? If he had the choice, he’d keep her tied up without a stitch of clothing just as he’d found her and damn the consequences. But he had no such choice. The thin cloth of the towel was soaked where it touched her body and clung sensuously to her breasts and thighs. Her nipples jutted in peaks, begging for a man to touch and squeeze them. His fingers itched to do just that, to find out where she liked to be caressed, how hard she would have him suck her breasts, what sounds she would make when he pleasured her-
She raised her hands and loosed the small cloth from her head.
With an effort, he turned and thrust the remains of the shift into the fire, making the flame flicker and sending a plume of smoke into the room.
“Dammit, take care, man.” She coughed and waved the fumes away, but drew nearer to the fire. Kneeling down, she threw her hair forward and let it hang over her face, allowing the warmth to dry it.
Marco swallowed. On all fours she presented a temptation hard to resist. The damp cloth molded the curve of her ass and fell away from her belly, allowing the faint light from the flames to outline the shape of her body, luring, enticing exploring hands.
He stifled a groan in his throat, and she looked at him sideways from under the fall of hair. “Did you say something?”
He shook his head and backed away. “I will ask Enrico’s wife if she has something you can wear, signorina.” He let himself out of the door and stood for a long moment, his back hard against the solid wood. The latch jabbed into his side but he welcomed the pain. Somehow he had to control himself. He had never known a woman who could so inflame him with a single glance. He drew deep breaths of the night air. She claimed to be the daughter of an English lord. He should be thinking how this might affect his mission, calculating the risks of returning her to the authorities. Instead, his foolish head was full with a young man’s fantasies. She made it spin with impossible desires.
“Dio mio,” he muttered under his breath as he pushed away from the door. There was something about her that inspired him with a terrible madness. “God preserve me from the devil’s temptations.” He went to find Enrico.
Emma finished drying her hair and sat on the floor, her arms hugging her knees. What kind of pickle had she landed herself in? It might be 1930 in the real world, but this place was positively medieval. As soon as she had some clothing to wear, she would work on finding her way back to civilization. The Lady Rose had pulled out of Naples after dinner, around ten in the evening, and the fire had broken out shortly before midnight. How far could a steamship with one hundred and fifty passengers travel in two hours? She must be somewhere on the coast just south of the Bay of Naples.
She felt a stab of sorrow at the thought of the other passengers, especially her maid, Catherine. Surely they couldn’t all be dead? Some of them must have been washed ashore just as she was. She couldn’t imagine any reason why she would have been saved over the others.
The rattle of the door latch brought her to her feet, ready to do battle if one of Enrico’s sons appeared. Marco edged into the room with an armful of clothing. She remained wary, still not too sure how much she could trust him. So far he seemed well disposed towards her, and she meant to keep him that way.
A hunk of bread sat balanced on top of the pile in his arms, and wobbled as he closed the door with his foot. Under his arm he carried a flagon of wine.
He dumped everything on the table, grabbing the bread as it rolled off the heap.
“Here.” He thrust it out to her and pulled a knife from his belt. Instinctively she flinched, but he ignored her. In two paces he reached one of the hams hanging from the rafters and sliced off a chunk of meat. “Eat while you can. Time grows short.”
Emma took the oily ham from his fingers. The rich, smoky aroma set the juices flowing in her stomach. Suddenly she realized she was ravenous and brought the meat to her mouth, holding the bread in her other hand and tearing bites from each as she filled her belly. The primitive meal tasted wonderful.
Marco smiled as her teeth ripped into the ham. “Hunger is a great equalizer,” he said, cutting a slice of ham for himself. He passed her the flagon, and she brought it to her lips, slick with the juices of the rich meat. The wine was thick and rough and made her cough as she swallowed. Marco took the bottle from her and placed his lips where her mouth had been, his eyes holding hers. She sensed the pull in her abdomen as he touched the bottle, just as if he had placed a kiss on her sensitive flesh. Her breasts tingled, and she felt a delicious quiver between her legs.
She swallowed a wad of bread and passed the loaf to him. He tore off a chunk and began to eat. After a few bites, she slowed her fierce attack on the food and watched him, taking in the firm line of his jaw, shadowed by dark stubble. She followed the movement of his throat as he swallowed, the play of his fingers as he broke off pieces of bread and ham. His hair was long and dark, caught at his nape with a leather thong. He wore trousers in a coarse, dark fabric, fastened at his waist with a wide leather belt. His shirt was open at the throat, allowing a glimpse of more dark hair.
Her eyes wandered down across his shoulders to his hands again. She was fascinated by his hands. The feel of them on her body lingered in her memory, sending a thrill along her nerves. His fingers were slender and brown. She caught sight of tiny, light-colored scars scattered over his skin.
She brought the last of the ham to her mouth then froze, horrified, as he turned his hand to brush crumbs from his shirt.
The thumb on his right hand finished at the knuckle.
She sucked in her breath and he looked up, realizing what she had seen. “Ah, you noticed the hand
iwork of our friends, the Blackshirts,” he said with a shrug. “It was a warning to show me what they could do. Of course a surgeon cannot work without fingers.”
Emma felt weak at the knees and reached for the chair to sit. It was the second time he’d mentioned the Blackshirts. “Someone did that to you?” she whispered. There was a lot more danger here than she had imagined. “Why?”
“I’ll tell you about it sometime,” he said. “We must leave.” He finished the last of his bread and took another draft of the wine. “Drink. We have a long trek.”
Emma shook her head. The greasy ham threatened to rise in her throat and she fought the nausea. “Enough,” she whispered.
Marco brushed his hands together and picked up a piece of clothing. “Enrico’s wife assures me this is all freshly laundered,” he said. “I told her that she would be paid in good time.” He thrust a long, black skirt at her. “Put this on.”
Emma took the skirt with a trembling hand and stepped into it. It tied around the waist with a frayed drawstring and she pulled the folds of material into some semblance of evenness around her hips. Next she picked up a brown tunic. She turned her back, untying the towel knotted around her breasts, letting the cloth drop to the floor. The loose garment fell from her shoulders, almost reaching her knees.
Marco handed her the last piece. “This is a shawl. Take it,” he said impatiently as she hesitated. “It will be cold in the mountains. And it will cover your hair.”
Emma stared uncomprehending. “Mountains? Where are you taking me?”
“I have a rendezvous I cannot miss. When that is done, I’ll take you to the Naples road.”
“You have no reason to take me with you.”
“Would you prefer I left you with Enrico’s sons?”
Her heart lurched at the mere thought. “Of course not. Leave me close to a village where I can find some lodging and send a message.”
Bella Donna Page 2
