"I cannot see anything."
"You will."
And she did. Nicoletta realized just how extraordinary his talent was, his ability to communicate in silence. With her hand firmly in his, she followed his footsteps, directed by the map he projected to her mind. They were silent while he concentrated on the intricate patterns that took them safely through the passageway and out into the bedchamber she shared with her husband. It seemed familiar, comforting, a haven, when once she had thought it so foreign.
Her relief was tremendous. Nicoletta staggered into the light blazing in the room, blinking rapidly while her eyes tried to adjust to the brightness of the many candles lit in anticipation of their return. A fire was blazing in the hearth, and Giovanni hurried her toward its warmth. He was running his hands over her, ensuring she was all right, searching for signs of damage. She burst into tears and threw herself into his arms.
Giovanni held her as if he might never let her go, burying his face in her hair, his strong arms around her, pressing her to him. "I thought I had lost you, piccola. I knew a monster walked among us, knew he preyed on women, but I did not think it was Vincente. He seemed to love his wife, to care for Portia. I thought it was one of the soldiers, not one of my brothers." There was deep sorrow in his voice, as well as rage.
"Margerita is wounded, Giovanni. We must get to her."
"She is safe in the palazzo. Maria Pia attends her, and my most trusted guards are stationed outside the room. Sophie is safely in Signorina Sigmora's care, as well. I returned with soldiers from the regiment you had attended at the border. They were bringing young Goeboli to the palazzo as we had instructed. The pass was blocked, but they found me and tended my wounds." Giovanni was pushing back her hair, touching her face, her neck, wiping at the dirt on her skin. "Francesco took you at your word. Poor Antonello could not convince Francesco to allow him to hunt for me. He was put under heavy guard. Vincente had already escaped through the maze."
"I did not know which of them it was until it was too late. There was nothing I could do for Portia," Nicoletta confessed sadly. "Her wounds were too severe, and she had lost too much blood by the time I heard her cries for help. She had aided Vincente in his conspiracy, but in the end, she could not allow him to murder her child."
"I know, cara mia. I spoke briefly to Margerita. She told me how she met Vincente in the maze and he attacked her. Portia had followed, and she attacked Vincente, but he easily overpowered her and stabbed her several times." Giovanni sighed. "I blame myself now. There have been reports of women in the various villaggi being misused and even murdered. I ordered investigations, but often it was Vincent who volunteered to investigate, despite his reputed distaste for the peasantry, when I could not spare my men. And Antonello admitted it was he who moved Cristano's body from the labyrinth because he believed I had killed the boy out of jealousy, and wanted to protect me."
"Vincente is still in the passageway, Giovanni." Nicoletta's fingers curled in his shirt. She looked toward the smooth marble wall, half expecting it to slide open and his younger brother burst through.
"I am aware of that," he said gently. "But he cannot make it through the tunnel without the map. He will be forced to turn back, and my guards will be waiting for him."
"He knew about the map, but he didn't know the key."
"Mio padre did not know the key to give it to him," Giovanni confirmed. "Nonno suspected something had gone wrong with his son, my father, after our mother's death. Padre only held the title of don for three years, and Nonno never revealed the key to him, so Padre could not give it to Vincente, even though he was his favorite son."
"Vincente killed your nonna. He strangled her." Nicoletta began to weep again, shaking violently with the aftermath of terror. "And my mother. And my aunt and all the other women; he hurt them on purpose. It was Vincente. He killed your nonna, too."
Giovanni swept her back into his arms, holding her to him, his mouth fastening on hers in a desperate attempt to comfort her, to comfort them both. "Come, piccola, come into the bath. It will warm you. I will go see to the end of this thing and return to you as soon as I am able." She clung to him, afraid to let him out of her sight. "What of your wounds? Let me at least see to them."
"There is no need. I must go. Do you wish me to send Maria Pia to you?"
More than anything Nicoletta wanted the comfort of the older woman, but Margerita was severely wounded and had just lost her mother. "I will go to them after I have bathed," Nicoletta said.
"Your guards will be at the door. Do not leave without them. I have your word on that?" His black gaze pinned hers.
Nicoletta found a small smile from somewhere deep inside. She had had enough adventures to last a lifetime. "You have my word, Don Giovanni."
He bent his head to hers and kissed her thoroughly, completely, his mouth hot and dominant and masterful. Deep within her, the smile blossomed into warmth.
Nicoletta went gratefully into the room with the deep, sunken tub. Steam rose from the surface of the water. She lit as many candles as she could, letting their soothing fragrance fill the room. The water shimmered invitingly, offering a measure of peace when her entire body was suffering from exhaustion and terror. She tossed her clothes aside and padded down the steps, letting the hot water caress her skin, warming her. The moisture lapped at the bruise forming on her breast, taking away the terrible stinging but not the memory of how it was put there. She was still shivering violently, enough that small waves radiated outward from her, reminding her of the violence of the sea, the violence hidden beneath the surface of a man.
She wept then. For her mother, her aunt, for Giovanni's mother and grandmother, for his grandfather, Portia, and Margerita, and even for Angelita and little Sophie, who would someday have to know what a monster her father was. She wept for herself and for Giovanni. His father had been a sick man who had turned his jealousy into a corrupt hatred, and he had fed his youngest son the same diet, creating an abomination. She sat in the bath, the water lapping at her chin, and allowed the tears to fall until she thought she would never cry again.
Finally Nicoletta washed her hair, rinsing out the salt spray, the sea smell, trying to realize she was safe at last. But even the long bath had not taken away the terror in the pit of her stomach, the horrible dread that filled her body, and the taste of fear in her mouth. She needed Maria Pia. And young Sophie. Most of all she needed Giovanni. Sighing, she left the bath and dressed in one of the soft nightshifts Giovanni had had made for her. She dragged on a robe and went to the bedchamber door.
To her relief, she recognized Dominic, although the other guard was a stranger to her. "Where is Francesco?"
"He guards Margerita, Donna Nicoletta," Dominic responded.
"Please take me to them," she said softly.
"Of course." He smiled at her, his gaze warm. But suddenly his eyes went wide, staring in a kind of horror. A trickle of blood seeped from his mouth to dribble toward his chin. His knees buckled, and he pitched forward to fall facedown at her feet. The back of his shirt was soaked with blood.
Nicoletta found herself staring at Vincente's smiling face. The sight of his evil smirk made her blood run cold. His fingers settled around her throat, and he backed her into the master bedroom, his body crowding close to hers. "I have a loyal following, you see. They believe in me; they realize I was meant to rule. I know Giovanni thinks Austria will receive our country graciously in the new agreement with Spain--a marriage of convenience so to speak--and he has been working toward that end. But I disagree with Gino's thinking, and I plan to be in power not just over Scarletti lands but over all of our country." His fingers tightened on her throat, threatening to cut off her air. "My guards wait outside for your husband, so we will... rest here together."
Nicoletta's dark eyes moved over his face with contempt. "You can never take Giovanni's place. Not as a ruler, and certainly not with me."
His eyebrows shot up. "Really? I know more ways to pleasure a woman--or hurt
her--than you have ever dreamed. We will see." But abruptly he let go of her, dropping his hands from her bruised skin.
She took two steps away from him, backing toward the marble wall, toward the entrance to the passageway. "You have forgotten the most important thing of all, Vincente. You have forgotten the curse on your famiglia." She smiled at him sweetly, confidently. Deep within her a new confidence surged. This monster no longer frightened her. She was in the palazzo. Her home. And she had finally realized the tremendous gift she shared with her husband. She had only to think of what was wrong, only to shout a warning in her mind, and the strong bond between her and her husband would take care of the rest. Giovanni would always be there, just a thought away, surrounding her with his love and protection.
"What are you talking about?" Vincente's voice was a whip of contempt.
"You were the one who told me of the curse. The downfall of Scarletti men is always a woman. I am Giovanni Scarletti's woman, not yours. If I am a curse to someone, do you wish it to be you? Because I will never be a curse to him." She stepped aside, well away from the passageway entrance as the crack in the wall widened and her husband launched himself straight at his youngest brother.
Vincente had no time to react. He fell backward from the force of the blow. Giovanni wounded though he was, subdued the monster as, outside the room, Giovanni's soldiers overcame those in Vincente's pay.
Giovanni took his brother out into the corridor, and when his soldiers escorted the prisoner to the tower, Vincente slammed his body into a guard, attempting to push him over the ledge. Instead, the guard stumbled aside, and Vincente Scarletti hurtled himself from the very walkway where he had destroyed so many others.
Chapter Twenty
Giovanni stepped into the long, wide corridor. He was utterly weary, tired to the bone. His side ached where Aljandro's stiletto had slid into his muscles, but more than his flesh, his soul ached. Delving deeply into his once-loved brother's affairs had been much like immersing himself in evil. His brother had even kept a journal of his deeds, somehow believing, in his illness, that he was doing his duty for the Scarletti heirs to come. At last the sun had set, and he could make his sorrowful way to his bedchamber. To his wife.
Nicoletta. She was a breath of fresh air in the palazzo, working miracles with her sunny smile, with her personality alone. She laughed with Maria Pia and Beatrice and their little charge, Sophie, offering comfort and love. She drew Nonno into her circle of light until even the servants began smiling at him. She was often in Margerita's room, talking with her, encouraging her, offering solace and friendship. She reached out to Dominic's family, giving aid and comfort as she could. She was the healer, watching over the young injured soldier, Goeboli, hiding in the palazzo, and, of course, her husband. Nicoletta tended his wounds very, very carefully.
Giovanni did not remember what he had ever done without her. She was a calming influence, yet his barefoot bride also brought laughter into the palazzo. He needed her tonight after the ugly discoveries he had made. He needed her love of life, her energy. He needed the solace of her body.
He pushed open the door of their room. It was empty, as he had expected it to be. She was most likely calming Sophie's nightmares or doing a last inspection of the young Goeboli before she came to bed. Sighing softly with regret, Giovanni was halfway to the enormous bedstead, peeling off his shirt, when he noticed the door to the bath partially open. He stood still for a moment, his fingers massaging the nape of his neck in an attempt to ease his tight muscles. Drawing off his boots, he allowed them to drop to the floor before he padded across the room to the bath, his feet bare on the smooth tiles.
Nicoletta was lying on her stomach on the marble beside the pool, trailing her fingers in the water. Candlelight flickered and danced over her bare skin, her long legs drawing attention to the curve of her bottom. Her hair fell in a cascade of blue-black silk over one bare shoulder. She took his breath away with her beauty.
He made a sound in his throat, his black eyes fixed on her like a predator's on prey. She glanced over her shoulder, saw the hunger in his eyes, and smiled an enticement. "I was hoping you would join me. I have been lying here thinking about you." She turned slightly, just enough that he caught a glimpse of her full breasts beckoning him.
"What were you thinking?" His body was already reacting to the sight of her gleaming skin, her rounded curves, the inviting dimples at the small of her back. He was hard and thick with need, a painful ache at the sensuous invitation of her naked body. His breeches were all at once extremely confining.
Her gaze moved over his masculine frame to settle thoughtfully on his rigid thickness. "I was thinking how much I like the way you touch me." Her hand drifted down her own body, calling attention to the swell of her breasts, her narrow waist, the curve of her hips. "How good your mouth feels on my skin. How much I like my mouth on your skin." She turned back to settle down, her fingers playing absently in the water, her eyes closing. "It is so wonderful here in this room, Giovanni, the two of us locked away from the rest of the world."
Giovanni murmured his agreement even as he kicked aside his breeches. He walked down the steps into the hot water, which licked at his skin like a thousand tongues, cleansing him, and he stood beside her, his hands finding her ankle, her beautiful calf. She had already bathed, and she smelled clean and fresh. He bent his head to taste the small droplets on the back of her knee. His teeth teased her gently, moving steadily upward to her thighs. His hands stroked caresses over her legs, inch by slow inch.
Nicoletta stirred, sighing contentedly. "Do you miss me the way I miss you when you are gone?" Her voice was soft, seeping into his pores, soaking into his heart.
His tongue swirled behind her knee. "I miss you so much, I ache for you." His breath was warm, teasing her sensitive skin. "I think of you when I should be working." His fingers delved into hidden shadows. His teeth nipped gently at her skin. His hands shaped the curve of her hips. He pulled himself out of the water to blanket her body with his, his mouth finding those intriguing little dimples in the small of her back. He pressed against her, taking his time while he explored the firmness of her derriere, trailing kisses, lazily swirling his tongue in each hollow and secret feminine recess.
"Really?" Nicoletta laughed softly, lifting her hips to push back against him, enjoying the feel of him so thick and hard and wanting her. "What are you thinking about right now?"
He turned her over, his gaze hot and hungry. "I am thinking that claiming my rights from your villaggio was the best decision I ever made." He bent his head to her breasts, his hands moving possessively over her. His tongue bathed the faint bruise there, gentle and soothing.
"I am thinking you are right, Giovanni." Nicoletta closed her eyes, arching into the heat of his mouth, burying her fists in his hair to hold him to her. "I want you. I have waited all day for you."
He lifted his head to study her face. "All day?"
She nodded mutely, watching him. Beneath him, her legs moved restlessly, her hips pushing at him. "All day I thought only of you."
"You make me happy as no other could, saying that simple thing to your husband," he said softly, slipping back into the water and pulling her to the edge of the pool so that he could put her long legs on his shoulders. "You take away my every burden, Nicoletta." His hands stroked her thighs and pulled her even closer.
Nicoletta's entire body clenched in anticipation. His breath was warm on her skin. His hair brushed like wet silk on her inner thighs. He kissed her wet, tight curls, his tongue stroking a lingering caress to taste her before he inserted two fingers into her tight core, pushing deeply just for the pleasure of her response.
"Yes, bambina, that is what I need. You, hot and ready for me." He pulled her to his seeking mouth, delivering a wild assault of sheer pleasure.
Nicoletta cried out, throwing her head back, her hips bucking out of control, so ready for him she was nearly in tears. Her fingers clutched his hair, holding him to her even as the inte
nsity mounted to heights she wasn't certain she would survive. She had been afraid she would never be able to bed Giovanni again without the distaste of Vincente's perversions in her mind, but she should have trusted her husband more. He made certain he drove out every demon, every fear, until only he remained, his hands and his mouth and his soft, whispered endearments.
"Ti amo," she said softly, meaning it. The words were embedded in her soul for all time.
He sank beneath the warm waters, then resurfaced, droplets pouring off him, his black hair streaming, the water running from his skin as he levered himself easily from the pool. His eyes were fiercely possessive, hot with desire. He caught her up in his arms and carried her straight to their enormous bed.
"We are very wet," she reminded him, laughing softly at his newly impulsive, playful ways. "We will soak the coverlets."
Giovanni followed her right down to those coverlets. "We have many beds and many coverlets in the palazzo," he reminded her, pressing against her aggressively. "In any case, it will not matter. We will need no blankets, as I intend to keep you busy--perhaps making a bambino--all night." He thrust into her, watching her as he welded them together. "Quando sei bella. Ti amo."
He breathed the words--How beautiful you are. I love you.--and he meant them. He loved her with every breath in his body, with his entire heart and soul. She knew the way to break the curse, and he was man enough and loved her enough that he would follow her advice and trust it would be so. He wanted her soul soaring with his, and he wanted to feel her belly swollen with his child. A child who would know love and laughter, not endless losses, wonderment, not evil whispers. The Scarletti curse, he vowed, would live no more.
Nicoletta watched her husband's face, watched the shadows disappear, watched joy replace fatigue. She moved with him, arching into him, so they came together in fiery friction, so that she could feel him thicken even more deeply within her. She could hear his breath come in gasps before he spilled his seed within her. She loved the way he loved her.
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