"You look so sad, Isabella," Francesca said. "There is no need to worry. If Don DeMarco has said he will have Lucca brought here to you, he will do so. He is a man of his word. Truly. He lives by his word. I have never known him to break it."
"Do you know him well?" Isabella asked, curiously, suddenly realizing she knew nothing of the DeMarco family. Francesca gave every appearance of being an aristicratica, and she certainly knew all the intrigues of the castello. Isabella had presumed she was family, most likely a cousin.
Francesca shrugged. "Who can know the don? He rules, and he provides protection, but one does not eat with him or speak with him."
"Well, of course they do." Isabella was horrified at the total lack of concern in Francesca's voice. "Mio padre was the don, and he certainly ate with us and conversed with us. No one wants to be alone, not even the don."
Francesca was silent for a time. "But it has always been so. He's in his rooms until night, and then all within the palazzo are confined so he is free to go anywhere, inside or out. He sees no one. His visitors are taken to his rooms to speak with him, but he is never seen. And he certainly does not take food in the presence of others." The young woman sounded shocked.
"Why? He had tea with me."
Francesca leapt to her feet. "That cannot be so. He doesn't eat with others. It isn't done."
Francesca seemed so upset, Isabella chose her words more carefully. "Is it a law of the holding that the don cannot eat with others? I don't understand. What of his madre? Surely the famiglia eats together."
"No, no, never." Francesca was adamant. "It isn't done." She began to pace the length of the room, clearly agitated.
The ghostly wails grew louder, and the moans seemed to rise and fall with the outside wind. "I didn't mean to upset you, Francesca," Isabella apologized gently. "The rules are different where I'm from. I'll learn yours."
"It isn't done," the younger woman repeated. "It is never done."
"I'm sorry." Isabella stirred, meaning to slide off the bed. The coverlet slipped precariously, and she looked around hastily for her dressing gown. Francesca was upset, and, although Isabella didn't know why, she wanted to comfort her. She located the garment in the darkness and turned back to the young woman. Her heart sank, and she dropped the robe back onto the chair where she had found it.
That quickly, Francesca had taken the opportunity to escape. Isabella called softly to her, but there was no reply, only the irritating sound of the ghostly wails. She thought about trying to find the secret passageway, but it seemed too much of an effort when she was worried about other matters. She slipped back into bed and lay quietly thinking of the don. It made no sense that he was not allowed to dine with another, but then, nothing in the valley made much sense to her.
Isabella lay staring at the wall, unable to sleep despite the darkness. She tried not to worry about Nicolai DeMarco. No one else seemed to feel he was in danger from the terrible storm or from the wild beasts roaming the valley. Isabella sighed and turned over to stare up at the ceiling. After a time she became aware of a sound, a deep sound, almost cavernous. Air rushing through lungs. She had heard that sound before, and it chilled her. Beneath the coverlet, her fingers curled into fists, and her breath nearly stopped.
Slowly, inch by inch, she turned her head toward the door. It had been locked; now it was open. Something was in the room with her. She strained to see into the darkest recesses of the room. At first she saw nothing, but as she stared, she finally made out a huge bulk crouched a few scant feet from her. The head was enormous, the eyes glowing at her. Watching her.
Isabella watched the beast right back. Now her heart was pounding so loudly, she was certain it could hear. She looked only at the eyes. They stared at one another for endless moments, and then the eleven-foot lion simply padded silently out of her room. She watched the door close. Isabella sat up gingerly and stared at the closed door. It hadn't been her imagination; the lion had been in the room with her. Perhaps someone had deliberately opened the door to allow it in, hoping it would kill her as its ancestors had killed the Christians.
The wailing was driving her crazy; the sound of chains rattling seemed to fill the hall outside her room. The noise went on and on until Isabella jumped out of bed in exasperation and dragged on her dressing gown. She was annoyed enough at her wayward imagination without the continuous howling of ghosts and ghouls or whatever was making such a fuss. Even the thought of lions prowling the halls of the palazzo was not enough to keep her a prisoner in her room. If the beast had wanted to devour her, it had already had a perfect opportunity. She stalked across the room and jerked at the door. To her shock, it was locked again.
Isabella stood there for a long moment, puzzled. A lion could not have locked the door, and surely Sarina hadn't crept back to lock it a second time. She had no idea how late it was, but she set about picking the lock, suddenly furious at having been locked in her room like a naughty child...or a prisoner.
Once she had the door unlocked, she flung it open defiantly and stepped out into the hall. She knew the way to the library, and, carefully lighting a taper, she began to retrace the route. The din in the hall was awful. Wailing and moaning and rattling of chains. Totally exasperated, Isabella paused at the entrance to the great study. "Enough! All of you will stop that silly noise this instant! I want no more of it tonight."
At once there was total silence. Isabella waited a moment. "Good!" She flounced into the library, allowing the door to swing closed behind her. Searching the shelves and cubicles, she thought of Don DeMarco alone in the snow. Inspecting a painting, she thought of him hunkered down beside the dead lion, sorrow in his eyes. Seating herself in a high-backed chair at the long marble table, she thought of him taking her hand in his. Staring at the ornate script of the thick tome she had chosen, she could think of no one, of nothing, else. He filled her mind and her heart until her very soul seemed bursting with fear for him.
Chapter Six
Isabella turned her head, and he was there. Her heart gave a single leap of joy, then began to pound with alarm. Don DeMarco was watching her intently. His amber eyes blazed at her with a smoldering mixture of desire and possessiveness. He was in the shadows, so he seemed indistinct, yet his stare was vivid and brilliant, almost glowing at her.
Very slowly she closed the book she was reading and set it on the table. "I am very happy to see you arrived safely, Signor DeMarco," she greeted him.
"How is it I find you lurking about the palazzo when you have been instructed to stay in your room at night?" he countered. His tone was a low blend of sensuous and rough. His voice seemed to seep into her pores and light a fire in her blood.
"I do not think I would use the word instructed," Isabella countered daringly. "It was most certainly an order."
"Which you completely ignored." His blazing eyes didn't so much as blink. "You chose to skulk instead."
"'Lurking,' signore? 'Skulking'? I fear your imagination is out of control. I am merely reading a book, Don DeMarco, not stealing your treasures."
His mouth twitched, drawing her attention to his perfectly sculpted lips. "Sarina had orders. It is necessary to know that the servants obey without question."
Isabella lifted her chin and stared straight back at him, arching one eyebrow as if daring him to chastise her. "Have no fears, signore. Your housekeeper did her duty to you and carried out her orders, securely locking me in."
For the first time he stirred there in the shadows, and the movement drew attention to his earlier stillness. Muscles rippled, fluid and sinewy, reminding her of the predatory beasts he held dominion over. He had been motionless; now he exuded tremendous power, tremendous danger. "You are locked in your room for your safety, signorina, as you well know." His voice was quite low, a lash of temper held in check.
"I am locked in my room for your convenience," Isabella countered calmly. She folded her hands neatly in her lap to keep him from seeing her fingers twisting together in agitation. If they wer
e to spar, she was not going to run simply because he was the most compelling and intriguing--the most frightening--man she had ever met. "Surely you would not have me believe you are so careless as to allow huge beasts to run free in your home. You are an intelligent man. That would be disastrous for several reasons. I suspect locking me in my room is more to keep me out of mischief than for my personal protection against marauding lions."
"And you saw no lions this night?" he asked softly, his voice a caress.
Isabella blushed, her lashes sweeping down to veil her expression. She had the feeling he knew she had seen a lion. "None from which I needed protection, signore."
His stare didn't waver, rather became even more focused. The color of his eyes deepened, seeming to burst into flames. "Perhaps you need protection from me." His voice was velvet, purring menace.
Silence seemed to fill the library. She could hear the wind tugging at the windows as if trying to get in. She forced herself to meet that steady gaze defiantly. That she might need protection from the don was both shocking and strangely exhilarating.
"How did you manage to escape from your room, Isabella?"
The way he said her name, wrapping it up in a soft caress, sent liquid fire crawling through her body. He was lethal. Wickedly, sinfully lethal. His voice suggested he knew many things she had only heard about. Intimate things his hot gaze demanded she share with him. She could barely manage to breathe when she looked into those eyes, when she saw his tormented face. When she saw the intensity of his desire.
Isabella moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, the only gesture betraying her nerves. "I certainly am not about to confess anything to you. Suffice it to say, I learned the fine arts one needs for moving about freely when my father used to confine me in my quarters. He often forbade me to go riding."
He smiled, a flash of white teeth, fine laugh lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. "I imagine he often forbade you to do many things."
"Yes, he did," Isabella admitted, trying not to melt right on the spot at his mere smile. There was something about him that tugged at her heart. If she wasn't careful, he could steal her soul and leave her a hollow shell. She leaned forward deliberately, defiantly, locking her gaze with his. "He forbade me all sorts of things, he locked me up continually, and it never did him a bit of good. I went where I wanted to go and did as I pleased. I have never, at any time, been a good or dutiful girl."
The table separated them, polished marble that gleamed a beautiful rose color under the flickering light of the tapers. Nicolai glided closer, a tall, powerful figure looming over her so that the massive table seemed suddenly inconsequential. Deliberately he placed both palms flat on the surface and leaned his heavily muscled frame toward her so that their faces were mere inches apart.
"Is that a warning, Signorina Vernaducci?" His voice was nearly liquid, it was so soft, purring menace and blatant temptation.
Isabella refused to back down. Her pulse was racing, her heart pounding. He was the most handsome and imposing man she had ever seen. Up close he was mesmerizing, and just looking at him robbed her of air. She could see the terrible scars that had ravaged his left cheek, yet she could also see the absolute perfection of his masculine body, of his handsome face. Isabella struggled to drag air into her lungs, struggled not to lift her hand and cradle his scars in her palm. "Yes, Don DeMarco. I feel it is only fair to tell you the truth about me."
"Your intention, then, is to defy me?"
Sparring with him would have been much easier if he hadn't been staring at her mouth with such evident fascination. "I offered a lifetime of loyal servitude in return for the rescue of mio fratello. I even agreed to become your wife, and your answer was to ruthlessly order me to leave the valley in the middle of a snowstorm," she accused. "I don't think I owe you fidelity."
"You haven't forgiven me yet," he observed thoughtfully. "I thought we had dispensed with your unfavorable opinion of me."
He was so close, she wanted to touch his tempting mouth. His hair was an altogether different enticement, but she was determined to match him stare for stare. She managed her haughtiest tone. "I see nothing in my behavior that would lead you to believe that. I was merely polite, as good breeding commands."
"Really?" His voice was low, one eyebrow shooting up. He grinned at her then. A self-assured, know-it-all, wicked smile. It changed his face completely, chasing away the shadows and the deep lines. He looked young and handsome and sensually appealing. Her breath caught in her lungs, and her heart stopped beating. She could only stare helplessly at him.
Nicolai simply reached out, almost in slow motion, his palm curling slowly around the nape of her neck. His hand was large and hot against her skin, wrapping around the slender column so that his fingers lay against her vulnerable throat.
Fire raced through her body at the touch of his lips on hers. Every muscle clenched tightly. Heat blossomed low and sinfully in her stomach and spread to meet the flames racing through her bloodstream. His lips moved against hers, a slow teasing of senses, awakening her to a world of sensuality. His teeth tugged at her lower lip, an enticement she couldn't resist. She opened her mouth to him. Opened her heart to him. He swept in, masculine, possessive, a fire and a whirlwind consuming her. Her knees actually weakened, and her fingers grasped the marble table for anchor while the storm raged through her. Liquid heat spread, an aching need, curling and throbbing within her.
Isabella dragged herself away from him, horrified at her own behavior, shocked that she wanted to fling herself into his arms. She was very aware they were alone in a room, far from anyone else. The door was closed, and the tapers gave off meager light. She was wearing only a thin gown and dressing robe. Her hair was hanging down her back in a wild and wanton fashion. She wanted him with a desperation she had never known before.
Struggling to control her breathing, Isabella lowered her lashes to veil the expression in her eyes. She looked away from him, unable to meet the intensity of the stark desire burning in his amber gaze. She glanced down at the huge tome with its elaborate scripts, then down at the polished marble--anywhere to avoid his piercing eyes. Her gaze fell on the back of his hand, where he was leaning his palm on the table. Only it was a huge paw. The biggest paw she had ever seen. Intrigued, Isabella bent closer to inspect the five retractable, hooklike claws. The fur was dark and soft. Without conscious thought she stroked a caress over the fur, burying her fingers in the richness. The texture seemed real and more beautiful than she had imagined. Amazed, she looked up to meet Nicolai's strangely colored eyes. At once she realized she was pinning his hand to the table, still immersed in her strange illusion, her fingers caressing his skin.
Color crept up her neck and flooded her face. She snatched her hand away and cradled it against her, holding the warmth of his skin to her heart. "I'm sorry, Signor DeMarco, I don't know what got into me." First she had allowed him to be familiar with her, and then she had touched him intimately. What must he think of her?
"If you were again to agree to become my bride, Isabella," Nicolai said softly, his voice whispering along her skin like a purr, "then there would be no need to be embarrassed over the showing of affection."
She lifted her chin, arching a dark eyebrow at him. "Show of affection? I beg to differ with you, signore. It was merely curiosity; it overcomes me at the most inopportune times. A small failing I do my utmost to master."
A smile tugged at the hard edges of his mouth. "Curiosity, was it? I hope that I satisfied you, but I would be most willing to continue the experiment should you agree to become my wife."
"I appreciate your sacrifice," Isabella said, her eyes sparkling with laughter. "As for agreeing to be your wife, I have done so once and was treated abominably." She made an attempt at looking pathetic. "As I am a female, weak and rather nervous..."
"Ah, the fainting type?" Nicolai supplied helpfully.
"Yes," she lied. "I'm not certain my poor nerves could withstand the strain of such a husband."
He looked so young and handsome, so completely tantalizing, Isabella felt a curious melting sensation in the region of her heart. He tempted her in so many ways. She felt rather like a moth drawn to the flames. "Is there a specific number of times you intend to drive me from the palazzo? I think I'll need the answer to that question before I give consideration to your marriage proposal."
Nicolai shoved a hand carelessly through his hair. Unexpectedly, he winced and quickly dropped his arm to his side. "I believe the one time was enough, Isabella. I am certain it will not happen again."
"You're hurt." She hurried around the table and caught his arm. "Let me see."
Nicolai went completely still at the touch of her fingers. "This is what you want, Isabella? It is possible you will learn things about me you might not wish to know."
"I already know things about you I don't wish to know." Her eyes smiled at him, soft and generous if a little shy.
Nicolai reached out, framed her face gently, his thumbs sliding over her skin with exquisite tenderness. "You have not begun to know me, Isabella. I do not deserve to have you look upon me with such an expression in your beautiful eyes. I am dragging you into a world of danger where you will never know friend from enemy. I despise myself for being so selfish and cowardly that I cannot give you up."
"Well, of course you don't deserve me, Signor DeMarco, as I am such a fine catch with my wealth of lands and treasures, my sick brother, and the reputation of my name to bring to our marriage. Now stop stalling, and let me see your wounds. You are being a bambino--most unseemly when you are trying to impress me."
"Is it working?" His voice whispered over her skin. He leaned closer so that she smelled a wild, masculine scent, and the warmth of his body enveloped her. She found herself falling into the depths of his strange eyes, mesmerized and dizzy with such an unexpected longing that she froze, pressing a hand to her somersaulting stomach.
Lair of the Lion Page 10
