Cook cuffed the ears of a gnarled old man, shouting hoarsely at him, fear twisting her face until she appeared demonic. The man was trembling visibly, his knees knocking. Isabella forced the terrible buzzing out of her mind to concentrate on what was being said.
"I did see them, Cook, as they were approaching," the man admitted. "I don't know what happened. I swear, I don't remember using the bellows to feed the air in. My hands were on them, but I didn't do it. I wouldn't endanger Sarina nor the signorina." He sounded close to tears. "I wouldn't do that."
"You nearly killed them," the cook accused. "I saw you do it, saw you deliberately work the bellows so that the flames roared."
He shook his head in denial and reached behind him unsteadily for a chair. "For a moment they were hideous to me." He rubbed his face, then buried it in his hands. "What am I saying? I felt such anger and hatred. I couldn't stop my hands. I was horrified. It was me. I did do it. Dio! The great Madonna save me from his wrath. He'll have me killed, sent away, but it's no more than I deserve."
Isabella made every effort to shake off the shock. The servants were murmuring angrily, glaring at the old man with twisted malevolence. She had seen that expression before. She took a deep breath and raised a hand, commanding silence. It was difficult to control the trembling of her body, but she managed.
"I am Isabella Vernaducci. I ask your name, signore." She kept her voice gentle.
A flood of tears greeted her simple question, a barrage of pleas for understanding and forgiveness. To Isabella's horror, the old man flung himself to his knees and attempted to wrap his arms around her legs.
"I don't believe it was intentional," she assured him hastily. Panic was welling up, and she wanted the comfort of her own room. Her gown was ruined, her face and body covered in soot, but she couldn't leave this poor man to face the wrath of the crowd. She gripped Sarina's hand tightly and looked at the sea of faces. "I'm certain you all know this man. Is he really the kind of person to deliberately harm two women for no reason?" Her gaze settled on Cook's face. "Surely you more than the others know that something else happened here." She stared without flinching.
Cook dropped her gaze and nodded sorrowfully. "Nothing makes sense anymore." She patted the old man's shoulder. "I don't know what happened today, but I felt the same thing."
Isabella nodded. "There is something at work here I don't understand, but this poor man has nothing to do with it, no more than Cook did when she felt it. We have to look out for one another. If something seems wrong, try to help one another and come to me, Sarina, or Betto. Let's work together on this." She forced a smile. "I think we need Alberita and the holy water."
A few of the servants managed answering smiles. Tired and drained, Isabella didn't have anything more to give. She leaned on the housekeeper as they made their way back through the halls to the sweeping staircase.
"You're going to tell Nicolai, aren't you?" Isabella said wearily.
Sarina tightened her arm around Isabella's waist. "Yes, he must know. That was good of you, Isabella. They were all so angry at what he'd done, they might have attacked him."
"Were you hurt?" Isabella was struggling not to cry. The day had not started well, and she was terrified it would not end well.
"I'm fine. You were between me and the flames."
Betto appeared, anxious and a little out of breath, giving evidence that gossip was already spreading throughout the castello. Sarina gave a quick warning shake of her head, and he stopped where he was, staring at Isabella's ruined gown.
Chapter Twelve
The room deep beneath the palazzo was filled with steam. Isabella was grateful for the humidity and the vapor rising from the surface of the heated bath. At the last moment, just before entering her bedchamber, she had looked down at her hands and was appalled at the soot and grime. Tremors had nearly driven her to her knees. All at once it was the most important thing in the world to remove every trace of the incident. Sarina hadn't argued when she pleaded to be brought to the beautifully tiled bath.
Isabella left her ruined gown in a heap on the polished marble and slowly went down the steps, letting the water lap at her body. Her skin stung in places, but the water was deliciously soothing. Giving in to the terrible trembling, Isabella sank into the bath. At once Sarina began to pull the intricate braids from her hair.
The door flew open, and Don DeMarco stalked in. He looked powerful, angry, filled with turbulent emotions. He said nothing at first. Instead, he paced up and down the length of the room, his long strides betraying his agitation, a low, threatening growl emerging from his throat.
Intimidated by the don's barely leashed temper, Isabella glanced at Sarina for courage, but the housekeeper seemed more frightened than she. Isabella could tell by Sarina's downcast eyes that she was unable to see Nicolai in his true form.
Nicolai stopped pacing and turned the full force of his amber eyes on Isabella. "Leave us, Sarina." It was an order, and his tone brooked no argument.
The housekeeper squeezed Isabella's shoulder in silent camaraderie and allowed her young charge's hair to fall loose, hoping, no doubt, that the long tresses would act as some sort of covering. She retreated without a word. Nicolai stalked behind her, locking the heavy door, sealing Isabella in the room alone with him.
Isabella counted her own heartbeats, then, unable to stand the suspense, slipped beneath the surface to scrub the grime from her face and rinse the smell of smoke from her hair. She wanted to escape, simply to disappear. When she came up for air, Nicolai was standing at the top of the steps, looking wild, untamed, and very powerful. He took her breath away.
He padded across the tiles, his face shadowed, dark with his dangerous thoughts and inner turmoil. He was as silent as any lion as he stalked to the water's edge, to her ruined gown. He glanced at her once, then hunkered down beside the dress and lifted it with two fingers, staring at the black smudges and gaping holes. Nicolai straightened, a quick, fluid motion, naturally graceful. Animalistic. Swallowing visibly, he dropped the blackened gown upon the tiles and turned his glittering amber gaze to her face.
"Come here to me."
She blinked. It was the last thing she expected him to say. A shiver went down her spine despite the heat of the water. Her heart accelerated, and in spite of everything that had happened since she came to the palazzo, she tasted desire in her mouth. It blossomed low and pooled, a heated ache so intense she trembled. Isabella wrapped her arms around her breasts and looked up at him. "I have no clothes on, Nicolai." She meant to sound defiant. Or appeasing. Or anything but what she did, which was weary, with a huskiness that made her voice a soft, seductive temptation.
A muscle jerked in his jaw. His eyes grew hotter, more alive. "It was not a request, Isabella. I want to see every inch of you. I need to see every inch of you. Come here to me now."
She studied his face. She was infinitely tired of being afraid. Of coping with unfamiliar situations. "And if I do not obey?" she asked softly, uncaring what he might think, uncaring that he was one of the most powerful dons in the country, uncaring that he was soon to be her husband. "Go away, Don DeMarco. I can't do this right now." Her eyes were burning, and she would not, would not, cry again.
"Isabella." He breathed her name. That was all. Just her name. It came out an ache. Terrible. Hungry. Edgy with need, with fear for her.
Her heart contracted, and her body tightened. Everything feminine in her reached for him. "Don't do this to me, Nicolai," she whispered, a plea for sanity, for mercy. "I just want to go home." She had no home. She had no lands. Her life as she had known it was gone. She had nothing left but an all-consuming love that would eventually destroy her.
His gaze burned over her. Hot. Possessive. The merciless eyes of a predator. The hard line of his mouth softened, and his expression changed to one of concern, of comfort. "You are home, bellezza."
The brush of her gaze was nearly as potent as the touch of her fingers. If it was possible, his body hardened even more.
"Are you afraid to come to me?" he asked softly, gently, a hint of vulnerability in his tone. What did propriety matter when there was such deep sorrow in her eyes? When she drooped with weariness? When she looked so sexy his body was going up in flames?
It was that slight break, that mere touch of an unguarded note in his voice, that changed everything for Isabella. He stood tall and enormously strong with nearly limitless power, yet he feared she might not want him with his terrible legacy. What sane woman would? He was seducing her with his voice. With his burning eyes. With the dark intensity of his emotions, with his loneliness and his incredible courage in the face of his heavy responsibilities. Who would love him if not she? Who would ease the pain in the depths of his eyes if not she? Isabella's gaze deliberately drifted over his body, settling for a moment on the thick evidence of his arousal beneath his breeches. Who would relieve the suffering of his body when no other woman could find the courage to look upon him and see beyond the ravages of an age-old curse?
Isabella lifted her chin, her eyes steady on his. She could spend a lifetime staring into his eyes. She allowed herself to be mesmerized, captivated. "Not at all, signore. Why would I be afraid of you? A Vernaducci is stronger than any curse."
She straightened, then tipped her head to one side to capture her long hair in her hands. It took a few moments to squeeze the moisture from the thick mass. She kept her gaze locked with his, needing his strength, needing his reaction. Isabella walked slowly toward the steps, the water caressing her every inch of the way. It slid over her skin, silky and wet, touching her breasts and her belly until she ached with need. Deliberately, provocatively, she dragged her feet and emerged slowly, coming to him through the steam and swirling water.
Nicolai knew he had made a terrible mistake the moment she took her first step toward him. The sight of her made his knees weak and his heart pound. His erection was a thick, pulsing ache. He was heavy with need, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered until he examined every inch of her skin to make certain no harm had come to her.
His heart had stopped when they informed him of the accident. His throat had closed, and for one terrible moment he couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The beast had risen unexpectedly so that he wanted to kill. To maim and tear and destroy everything. Everybody. The sheer intensity of his emotions had terrified him.
He pulled her to him, crushed her against his body, buried his face in the wet mass of her hair. She soaked his clothing, but he didn't care. He held her tightly, trying to calm his wild heart, trying to breathe again. When the trembling stopped and he felt steadier, Nicolai held her at arm's length and began a slow inspection of her body. Very gently her turned her around and pushed the long rope of hair over her shoulder to expose her back to him. The talon marks were beginning to heal. His hands moved over her reverently, needing to feel her soft skin. He held her shoulders still as he bent to taste her. His tongue found the angry, raw marks of courage and lapped at the beads of water.
Isabella bit her lower lip and closed her eyes against the sensations his mouth was creating as he leisurely followed the contours of her back to her buttocks. His hands cupped her bottom, kneaded her flesh, then curved over her hips to slide up to her narrow rib cage. He pulled her back against him. She could feel his thick erection pressed hard against her bare skin, only his breeches separating them.
"Isabella." He breathed her name softly into the hollow of her shoulder. His teeth teased her neck gently as his hands took the weight of her breasts, his thumbs caressing her nipples. "I'm going to make you mine. I can't stop this time." He kissed the scratch on her temple. His tongue swirled over the puncture wounds on her shoulders, leaving behind a sweet ache. "I have to have you."
"I'm already yours," she whispered, knowing it was true. She belonged with Nicolai DeMarco.
He turned her face to him, wanting to see her expression. His hands framed her face, and he bent his head to hers. Her mouth was soft and pliant, opening to him so that his tongue could stroke hers. Fire swept through him, hot and fast, and he found he was ravaging her mouth when he wanted to go slowly. He forced himself to gentle his kiss, to keep from devouring her. When he lifted his head, she was looking up at him, bemused, so trustingly he fell to his knees with a groan, his arms wrapping around her waist, resting his scarred face against her belly. There where their child would grow.
The thought brought another wave of love, overwhelming, intense. His mind was roaring with hunger for her, with the need to bury his body deeply in hers and merge them together. He wanted her so badly he trembled with his need. His hands slid up the curves of her calves, her knees, found her thighs.
A sound escaped her. She was shaking. "I don't think I can do this."
"I have to have more," he whispered to her, and he slipped one hand between her thighs, caressing and stroking. Her soft moan tightened his entire body. He pushed his palm tightly against the hot core of her, felt it dampening, and smiled, pleased at the evidence of her arousal. He leaned into her and tasted her, his tongue stroking where his hands had been, determined that she would want him, would accept him, would feel nothing but pleasure.
"What are you doing?" she gasped, her hands fisting in his hair. She was afraid her legs would give out, but she didn't want him to stop. Ever.
His tongue stroked again. "You taste like hot honey," he murmured as he indulged himself, holding her to him while he fed, loving the way she clutched at him and her body tightened and trembled. "I could spend a lifetime tasting you," he whispered, rubbing his mouth on her stomach before standing up. "I'm taking you to my rooms." He lifted her high into his arms so her breasts nuzzled his chest.
Isabella wrapped her arms around his neck. "My room, please, Nicolai. We'll be safe there. I won't be afraid." She could hardly breathe with wanting him, and when he bent his head to flick her nipple with his tongue, she felt another wave of warm moisture seeping in invitation from between her legs.
He wasn't altogether certain he could walk, but he was not going to take Isabella's innocence on the tiles like a heated, uncaring youth. As he made his way through the hidden passage, he stopped to kiss her several times. Once, just outside her bedchamber, he allowed her feet to touch the floor while he pressed her against a wall and took her mouth with his, his hands wandering over her body.
Isabella found his mouth a wonderful mystery, a place of erotic beauty. He swept her into another time and place, where her body burned deliciously and she craved him, craved the feel and taste of him. She would never get enough of his kisses, never get enough of his body. Boldly she slipped her hands beneath his tunic to find the muscles of his chest. His skin was hot. She couldn't resist rubbing her hand over the large bulge in his breeches.
Nicolai nearly exploded. He came to his senses with his mouth at her breast and his fingers deep within her body. He was attempting to tear his breeches away, and the frustration brought him back to reality. He took a breath, breathed her in, and once more cradled her to him. She was offering herself to him without reservation, a gift he was determined to treasure.
Nicolai carried her into her chamber and laid her on the bed. Unable to take his eyes from hers, he pulled off his tunic and dropped it on the floor. She was beautiful, lying there completely naked, her gaze following his every move. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots and couldn't resist the temptation of the breast closest to him. He bent to suckle, his tongue teasing her nipple, his teeth scraping gently until she shuddered with pleasure and her legs moved restlessly.
Her belly was soft yet firm, and she jerked as his hand slipped lower. "Trust me, Isabella," he pleaded. "Just let me take care of you."
"Undress then," she said, trying to catch her breath. "I want to look at you the way you look at me." It was broad daylight, and she should have been ashamed, but he filled every one of her senses until there was only Nicolai. Everything he did, everywhere he touched or tasted, brought her pleasure and need. Her body no longer felt like her own but was heavy and
aching and desperate for release. She was hot, feverishly so, and she needed something. Needed his body.
He tossed his boots carelessly aside and stood to rid himself of his breeches. She found herself staring in apprehension at the hard, thick erection springing from between his legs. Nicolai smiled as she frowned at him.
"I think you may be too big for me," she said softly.
"That's not possible. You were made for me." He wouldn't let her be afraid of making love with him. There were many legitimate reasons for her to fear him, but his size wasn't one of them. "I'll make certain your body is ready for mine. Trust me, Isabella."
She reached out to wrap her fingers around his thickness. When she felt his shudder of pleasure, she slid the pad of her thumb over the soft tip to watch his reaction. Her stomach clenched hotly deep inside, every muscle contracting with anticipation.
"Later, cara, I swear, I'll show you many ways we can pleasure each other, but right now, I want you very much. I need to make certain you're ready for me."
"I feel ready for you," she said as he knelt between her legs, nudging her thighs wider. She felt ready to explode.
"We both thought you were ready for me before, cara mia, but I rushed you." He pushed his finger slowly into her tight sheath. Isabella gasped and nearly came off the bed. "This is what it's like, cara, only more, remember? There's nothing to be afraid of." He bent to kiss her belly as he withdrew his finger. "Now I'm going to stretch you a little, but it should bring pleasure, not pain." He pushed two fingers in very slowly, watching her face for signs of discomfort.
Her muscles clenched and tightened around his fingers, and he began to push deeper, a longer stroke that had her crying out. When he withdrew his hand, Isabella protested. "Nicolai." A soft reprimand that made him smile and shake his head.
"Not yet, cara. One more. I want to be sure you feel nothing but pleasure with me this time." Deliberately he inserted three fingers, more slowly, more carefully. Again he deepened the stroke and was pleased when she lifted her hips to meet his hand. "Ah, that's it, that's what I want." He leaned down to kiss her again as he settled between her thighs. "When I begin to move inside you, that's how you move to deepen the pleasure."