Borgia Fever

by MICHELLE KELLY,

  Bella bit her lip. Did she wish it? There was no denying she wanted him, but it was one thing to be whisked away at a feast in the heat of the moment, and quite another to plan a tryst in her own room.

  As she looked up at him, his face half—hidden in the shadows, his expression unreadable, she had a sudden longing to know the man underneath his demeanor. ‘Yes, come to me later,’ she whispered, throwing caution to the winds. ‘I have a small room in the ladies’ quarters, near...’

  ‘I know where you are, Signora Bella,’ he murmured.

  She flushed. ‘I thought you hadn’t noticed me, at least not until the other morning in the garden.’

  ‘I notice everyone. Especially newcomers to the palace.’

  ‘Oh!’ she gasped, stung, ‘you have been spying on me then?’

  ‘Of course. And it was a pleasure,’ he said, his eyes hinting at pleasures still to come. She wasn’t sure whether to be pleased that he had indeed noticed her or disappointed that he had been watching her with suspicion as well as want. But it was to be expected. She was indeed a newcomer, and one rumoured to have knowledge of all sorts of poisons. Again she wondered how much he knew about her real purpose here.

  He was stepping away from her now, bowing and kissing her hand with all the grace of a courtier, a mischievous look in her eye that made her giggle like any coquette, almost giddy from the strangeness of their encounter.

  ‘Until later,’ he whispered, and was gone. Bella stood for a minute, gulping in the night air and straightening her clothes before she reentered the hall, looking around her warily. But none of the revellers noticed her; they were engrossed with their own business. She crossed the floor quickly, looking to escape through the side doors and go to her room to process the night’s events—and those to come.

  Sweaty hands grabbed at her from behind, a drunken voice slurring close to her ear as she turned to see one of the cardinals grinning lecherously at her, clearly more concerned with the pleasures of the flesh than the care of his soul. Bella twisted away from him, but he only gripped her harder, laughing as if the idea of her trying to get away from him was hilarious. She looked around wildly for help, then saw it in the shape of a dark figure suddenly coming up behind the cardinal, one hand resting lightly but noticeably on the hilt of his dagger.

  ‘I believe this woman is spoken for, Your Holiness,’ the Rogue said, his voice quiet and polite, yet somehow managing to drip with menace. The cardinal raised his hands in protest, and Bella quickly stepped out of his reach.

  ‘Of course, of course, only a jest,’ he slurred, slapping the Rogue on the back and then hurrying away remarkably fast for a drunken old man. A cardinal might well outrank a spy in status, but no man wanted to quarrel with the Rogue.

  Bella looked at him gratefully and he winked at her, mouthed ‘Soon’ and was gone again, his movements lithe and feline. Bella hurried to the door, allowing herself one last glance back to see him now deep in conversation with some ambassador or another, and she pressed her fingers to her lips as if some trace of his kiss might still linger there, before disappearing into the corridor that led to the ladies’ quarters.

  She had been given a simple and spare room, but at least it was her own, and she didn’t have to share with Lucrezia’s ladies or the maids. Bella tossed her mask onto the small pallet she had been given for a bed, bubbling with excitement at the thought that she may not be sleeping alone in it tonight, when a stirring of alarm froze the smile on her face.

  Something was wrong. The finely honed intuition that she had inherited from her mother, but kept carefully guarded lest it raise accusations of witchcraft, now hit her in the gut like a fist. She scanned the room, finding nothing amiss, but knowing that someone had been there. Her eyes fell on the large wooden chest in the corner and she hurried over to it with her heart hammering.

  It was still locked. Breathing a sigh of relief, Bella fumbled under the bed for the key and opened the chest, trying to calm her fears. Lifting the covering cloth out of the way, she examined the neatly stacked bottles, packets of herbs and notebooks. Everything seemed to be in place.

  Except a small red vial that should have been at the bottom of the chest, in the farthest corner, was missing. The substance that was vital to her work here.

  The small vial contained a sample of that mysterious concoction known as the ‘Borgia fever.’ A poison so deadly it could kill a grown man with just a drop. The secret weapon against the many enemies of the Borgia reign.

  The vial had been entrusted to her care. And it was gone.

  Chapter Two

  Marco Corelli smiled his polite, enigmatic smile at the Venetian ambassador, who was still droning on about trade ships and drainage systems, and to any onlookers he seemed thoroughly interested in the conversation. However, Marco had one eye on Cardinal Baglioni, the priest who had attempted to grope Bella. The surge of protective anger that had welled up in Marco when he’d seen the old man put his hands on her had surprised him; it hadn’t just been the expected chivalry to defend a woman’s honour that had made him interfere, he had been furious to see another man pawing at her. He hadn’t wanted a woman so badly in a long time. From the day she had arrived at Santa Maria he had watched her, entranced by the sway of her lithe body and the tumble of her rich chestnut hair, and intrigued by her calm air of self-assurance and independence. She was so different from the giggling court ladies and professional courtesans he was used to that his interest was undoubtedly piqued.

  ‘Watch her,’ he had been instructed by Cesare, son of the Pope and Marco’s employer and friend. ‘She is up to something. Or rather, my sister is.’ Indeed, Lady Lucrezia was being as secretive as Marco himself about the reasons for this woman’s presence. And Marco was only happy to watch her—too happy, in fact, due to the strong physical attraction he felt for her. He sensed that she was an honest woman, that there was no reason to distrust her, but the intrigues of the Borgia court were so convoluted that a person could well be caught up in the centre of a plot without even being aware of it. For the last few years Marco had thrived on his role as spy and bodyguard, only too glad to work for the man who had once saved his life. But recently he had found himself growing tired of the pomp of Rome and longing for his homeland of Naples.

  But there was nothing to return to; the invading French army had seen to that years before. He had no family, no land, and no allegiance to anyone other than Cesare. Marco had given up all hope of a wife and family years before. On the occasions when he took a woman he was always careful, always discreet, and always gone by the morning. He tried to tell himself that his fascination with Bella was only because it had been so long since he had lain with a girl, and he would be better off tumbling one of the kitchen maids than the woman he had been assigned to watch. That should be a reason to keep away from her, but his desire to have her writhing beneath him was too strong. Her and no other. Her passion and strength intrigued him. He would take her tonight, allow himself one night to enjoy her, and by morning his desire for her would be sated and out of his system. The itch effectively scratched. Then he would be able to watch her more objectively. She had admitted she was no virgin, after all, no she would know to expect nothing from a man like him.

  Marco frowned as he realised thinking about Bella had distracted him from the task at hand. He had completely lost track of the Venetian’s conversation—or monologue, to be more exact, the man was such a bore—but more importantly, he had also lost sight of Baglioni. The o
ld priest was acting strangely tonight, drinking more than usual and seeming nervous and twitchy. Marco’s gut told him something was up, and there were whispers abroad about a plot aimed at Cesare Borgia himself, though so far even his network of spies had not uncovered anything concrete. However, the night had so far gone without incident, and indeed, a quick sweep of the room showed Baglioni back at his seat, a glass of wine in his hand and a pretty young courtesan on his lap. All as usual then. In truth, Marco doubted the gluttonous cardinal had the temerity to strike at the very heart of the Borgia clan, but one never knew.

  Marco took his leave of the ambassador, who promptly turned to a young lady next to him to ask her advice in matters of canal sewage, and the Rogue moved through the crowd, ever alert to what was happening around him. He saw Cesare, looking resplendent in purple hose and a jewelled tunic, wave him over. Marco swallowed a sigh of impatience, hoping he wasn’t about to be given some task that would keep him up all night and out of Bella’s waiting arms.

  ‘Corelli!’ Cesare slapped him on the back with enough force that a weaker man would have winced. ‘I’m going to pay a visit to a certain, er, establishment with my brother here. Are you joining us?’

  Marco bowed slightly, relieved. If Cesare and his brother were visiting a brothel together, they would have no need of him.

  ‘I think I will leave that to you, my lord. I have other matters to attend to.’

  Cesare rolled his eyes good-naturedly and left with his brother. Marco watched them go, then turned and left the hall by the same side door Bella had used. He hoped she was alone and not attended by that simpering maid she had bought with her, a foolish girl. Marco had his network keeping an eye on her, also; empty heads could all too easily be turned.

  As he made his way towards Bella’s room he felt the desire for her low in his belly. It had taken all his usually iron-clad self-control to pull away from her on the balcony; he had wanted nothing more than to free her from her dress and have her up against the stone wall there and then, and she had responded so passionately.... It was making him hard again just remembering the soft heat of her lips against his and the firm curves of her thighs as his hand had slipped beneath her skirts. But as ever, duty called. It would have reflected badly on him to be seen rutting on a balcony rather than keeping his watchful eyes on his lord. Now that Cesare had retired for the night, however, Marco’s time was his own, for just a little while, and he fully intended to assuage the fire in his loins. As he walked down the poorly lit corridor that led to her room he allowed himself to imagine being inside her, of her body melding to his. He took a breath, regaining his usual composure before he rapped quietly at her door.

  Whatever reception he was expecting, it wasn’t this. Bella opened the door looking wild-eyed and terrified, clutching a hand to her chest. Her unpinned hair fell around her shoulders and her cheeks were flushed with panic. Even as he strode past her into the room, his hand on his dagger, ready to confront whatever had scared her, he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she looked.

  There was no one in there, only an open chest with its contents strewn about. He turned to Bella, who had shut the door after looking feverishly up and down the corridor.

  ‘What is it? Has someone been in your room?’

  She looked at him and nodded mutely, her gaze flickering towards the open chest. Marco frowned; there was something badly wrong here.

  ‘Has anything been stolen?’ He crossed over to the vials and packets on display, but Bella rushed to stop him, grabbing his arm and looking up at him with pleading eyes. Marco tried to ignore the feeling of distrust that automatically began to gnaw at him, but he knew there was something she wished to hide. Everyone at the Borgia court had secrets.

  ‘Yes. A medicine. For Lady Lucrezia.’ She bit her lip, betraying the lie. Marco cupped a hand under her chin, none too gently lifting her face to his. She blushed, and realising his gaze was on her soft, full lips, he met her eyes. When he spoke, his voice was serious.

  ‘Bella, what is it? You must tell me.’

  She looked down, lacing her fingers together as if steeling herself, then met his eyes squarely even though she was perceptibly trembling. He had to admire her courage. She took a deep breath before she spoke.

  ‘You know the rumours about Lady Lucrezia,’ she said, a statement, not a question. Marco nodded; he knew more than most about what was rumour and what was truth, and also how rumour could be cultivated to one’s advantage.

  ‘You know about the poison they call the ‘Borgia fever’? Well, it is no rumour. My lady is indeed in possession of the recipe for it.’

  Marco nodded impatiently. This was no news to him. It was the Borgia family’s preferred method of dealing with their enemies, though contrary to court gossip, not one that Marco had ever administered. Poison, and a knife in the dark, were cowardly methods. Lady Lucrezia, however, was the only one who knew the exact ingredients, although many had tried and failed to recreate it.

  ‘Well...’ Bella swallowed nervously, though her eyes did not leave his. ‘There was a vial of it in my chest earlier today, which my lady had given me. And it has gone.’

  Marco swore. Noticing Bella recoil at the display of temper, he took a deep breath and lowered his voice, though his words came out as a growl. He was the Rogue again, the lover forgotten.

  ‘Gone? Are you sure?’

  She nodded, looking affronted. ‘I keep a careful inventory. And it was definitely in my possession before I went to the ball.’

  ‘Who has access to your room? To the chest?’

  ‘To my room, anyone, I suppose. To the chest, only myself, though my maid, Susanna, could have found the key. But why would she steal it? She has no idea what it is.’

  ‘Someone does. And exactly why do you have it in your keeping?’

  Bella hesitated before answering. ‘Lady Lucrezia asked me if I could refine it for her. There are currently...difficulties when it comes to making a certain compound.’

  She was lying, he knew, and yet he got no sense of malice from her, and Marco prided himself on his ability to detect the villains from the innocent. It had kept him alive more than once. Even so, until her story was corroborated and the maid found and questioned, Bella must be watched. Kept under lock and key, even. The thought of the Castle Sant’Angelo and its torture chamber turned even his stomach. Too many had entered those grim walls, never to return.

  ‘Come with me,’ he commanded, holding his hand out. Bella hesitated, and he knew he was scaring her, but this was no time to be indulging the feelings of this woman. The poison needed to be found before it could be used. There was only one reason someone would want it to kill.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Bella stood, but didn’t take his hand. When he gripped her arm and steered her out of the room, she turned on him in indignation. ‘You are accusing me? Of what, exactly? It is my things that have been stolen!’

  ‘If that poison has been taken, then His Holiness and the whole family are in danger. It can be no coincidence. And there is something you are not telling me. If you have any idea what is happening here, you must tell me. Now.’ Marco saw the fear in her eyes, but he couldn’t let a pretty face cloud his judgement. After all, he barely knew her, even if he had spent the last two weeks, since he had first set eyes on her lush curves, fantasizing about her in his bed.

  ‘I know nothing,’ she retorted, angry in spite of her fear. Marco’s eyes searched her face. He was torn between his duty and his desire in
a way that he had never been since entering the service of the Borgia family. This woman was stirring up wants and needs he had thought long since discarded. Even so, duty must win out.

  ‘I must investigate your claims,’ he said, ‘and I cannot be seen to let you roam around in the meantime.’

  Bella’s eyes went wide with horror. ‘The Castle Sant’Angelo? You would throw me in there? Not an hour ago you were whispering a lover’s promises, and now you would be my jailer?’

  Marco shook his head once, sharply. Whatever she was hiding about her purpose here, he was certain she meant no harm, was part of no plot. But he had to make sure.

  ‘No, I would rather not see you in that God-forsaken place. You will be safe in my rooms until I can talk with you further. Now will you come, and quickly?’

  He moved swiftly down the corridor, not holding her this time but trusting her to follow, and she hurried to keep up with his long strides, gathering her skirts in her hands.

  ‘My things,’ she protested, but did not hesitate.

  ‘I will post a guard,’ he said without turning round. The heels on his boots echoed ominously on the stone floors.

  When they reached his rooms he ushered her inside and gave her a long look before he went to lock the door on her.

  ‘Wait!’ she cried. He paused, cursing himself as he did so. What was it about this woman that made him want to be her champion? He was no knight.

  ‘My maid,’ she explained, her eyes full of concern not for herself but for the girl now also under suspicion. ‘I don’t believe she would have stolen from me voluntarily. She may be hurt....’ Bella’s voice trailed away as she contemplated the various scenarios, each more gruesome than the last. If she had thought herself in danger before, now she truly feared for her life. She raised a face filled with such anguish that Marco stepped forward involuntarily, as if to comfort her. He reached a hand to her, then thought better of it. What comfort could he give her? And as she stood facing him, her breasts heaving against the confines of her dress and her face flushed, he knew if he laid his hands on her it wouldn’t be to give her comfort, but pleasure.