Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (14 page)

Nicoletta stopped walking, staring up at him, shocked. "That is
unseemly. I cannot go to your palazzo without Maria Pia as chaperone. Don
Scarletti, you cannot take me there."

He reached down and firmly grasped her elbow. "Yet that is exactly what
I intend to do, Nicoletta."

Nicoletta stared from atop the hill at the palazzo on the next peak, now
immersed in fog. The
Palazzo della Morte
seemed to rise up out of the
mist like a great castle in the clouds. She knew that winged creatures guarded
the turrets; great gargoyles and strange demons with fangs and claws perched
atop the ramparts and tower. Its many portals and great windows of stained
glass depicted various scenes of serpents carrying hapless victims into a
watery hell. The castle was eerie and sinister, rising out of the fog as if
disembodied from the earth. She stopped walking abruptly, staring in a kind of
fascinated horror at the palazzo.

"Palazzo della
Morte."
Giovanni
Scarletti whispered the soft taunt. "That is what you have named my
home."

At any other time, Nicoletta would have blushed with shame. Now, in the
middle of the night, with the winged creatures facing her with blank, staring
eyes, claws reaching for her, she couldn't find it in her heart to worry
whether or not the terrible name had hurt the don's feelings. In any case, she
wasn't altogether certain he
had
feelings. He seemed made of stone, a
chiseled marble sculpture of a beautiful Greek god, handsome but ice-cold. His
fingers shackled her arm like a vise, leading her to her doom. The
Palazzo
della Morte.

"I cannot go to that place," Nicoletta said in a low voice.
"I wish to return to my home. Besides, it is unseemly for me to be alone
with you."

"It was unseemly of you to run like a little rabbit, but you did
so," the don pointed out mildly. "I suggest you continue walking,
piccola.
It would be far more unseemly if I had to carry you into the palazzo." It
was a clear threat, though delivered in his usual calm voice.

Nicoletta tore her gaze from the grotesque floating castle to stare at him
in horror. "You would not dare!"

Don Scarletti looked down at her upturned face. She was extremely pale, her
beautiful dark eyes large with shock. She looked young, ethereal, there in the
mist, an untouchable, mysterious beauty. Her skin was soft and tempting, so
inviting that his hand, of its own volition, framed her delicate cheek. At his
touch she stilled, a measure of fear creeping into the innocence of her eyes.
His thumb feathered over her lush lower lip, sending a strange heat rushing
through her body, starting a fine trembling deep within her. She stared up at
him helplessly, mesmerized by his black, hypnotic gaze. She was drowning again,
unable to look away.

He leaned toward her, and her eyes widened as she watched his perfectly
sculpted mouth slowly, relentlessly descending toward hers. Her breath stilled
in her body, and a small sound of terror escaped her vulnerable throat. He
continued to lower his head until his lips skimmed the corner of her mouth,
then trailed along her satin skin to her ear. "I dare anything," he
whispered wickedly, his warm breath stirring tendrils of hair against her neck.
His teeth caught her earlobe, a small, painful nip quickly eased with a sinful
swirling of his tongue.

Nicoletta gasped, her entire body leaping to life, blood surging through her
hotly, unexpectedly—and completely unacceptably. She was trembling too hard to
move away from him, and, in any case, his fingers still shackled her arm.
"I insist you return me to my home. This is very wrong."

His white teeth gleamed at her. "What is wrong? It would be wrong if a
prospective bridegroom did not find his bride in the least attractive."
His voice purred at her like that of a satisfied lion, a wild, growling purr
that set her heart pounding in alarm.

She caught the note of dark mirth in his voice, and she glared at him.
"I am not amused by your wickedness, Don Scarletti." She tilted her
chin at him. "You are reputedly a gentleman. I demand you return me to
Maria Pia Sigmora."

One black eyebrow arched arrogantly. "I do not recall being labeled a
gentleman even once in all the gossip reported back to me. A blackguard, a spy,
an assassin, but never a gentleman. Walk with me, Nicoletta, or I shall carry
you and awaken the entire household when we enter." His glittering gaze
danced over her mischievously. "That would set the gossips' tongues wagging.
Then they would demand I display our wedding-night sheets out the window of the
palazzo for all to see."

Nicoletta made a sound much like the squeak of a terrified mouse, so
outraged by his suggestion that she tugged away from him and marched toward the
palazzo. Better to face certain death than his smoldering sexual seduction. Her
back was ramrod stiff, and she knew he was secretly laughing at her innocence.
She stuck her nose into the air and assumed her haughtiest expression. Don
Scarletti might be used to debauchery, but Nicoletta certainly was not.
Adopting Maria Pia's pious attitude, she crossed herself and continued down
toward the palazzo.

The don easily kept pace with her much shorter strides. "I understand
you recently helped to deliver a particularly difficult babe," he said.

Nicoletta bit down on her lip. Men did not discuss such things as
childbirth. It was unseemly. Everything he said and did was scandalous. He
truly was a heathen. And clearly he did have spies reporting to him. How much more
did he know of her? Doubtless there was little sense in attempting more
subterfuge, attempting to mislead him further into thinking Maria Pia the true
healer. Maria Pia had been the village midwife and wisewoman for years before
Nicoletta's birth, but Don Scarletti certainly knew that Nicoletta herself was
the unique healer, one capable of things she shouldn't have been.

She peeked sideways at him from under her long lashes, trying to judge his
mood. Should he decide to condemn her as a witch, she would not be able to
defend herself. Accusing the don in turn of reading minds and being in league
with the devil would be ludicrous. "It was difficult. I thought the mother
would be lost. She is my friend." Nicoletta's voice was a thin thread of sound
in the fog, and her tone did not invite further discussion on the subject.

The don reached around her with both arms to pull his coat closer about her
body, a strangely comforting gesture. "You are very brave,
piccola,"
he said softly, his lips pressed to the top of her silky hair. "You know
it is dangerous to roam these hills as you do. Aside from the danger of wild
animals, there are many robbers hiding close by. At the moment the King of
Spain has decided it is not worth the risk to attempt to conquer these lands,
but it is still a dangerous time. That temporary reprieve from attack can
change with any hint of weakness on my part. I want you to remain at the
palazzo for your own safety. Once you are my bride, you may become a target for
my enemies."

"I am a healer." She made the statement very quietly, not
defiantly, but with great dignity. "It is who I am. What I am. I must go
where I am needed."

"You are my betrothed. You will be my wife. That is who you are,"
he countered. "My wife will do as I tell her."

She looked back at him, a faint smile curving her soft mouth. "It is
possible you have mistakenly chosen the wrong bride. You did not even look at
Rosia, and she was wearing her best dress. She
always
obeys the rules,
and she remembers to wear her shoes. I do not obey very well at all. Ask the
elders. Ask Maria Pia."

"What would that angry young man say? Cristano? Would he say you do not
obey?" There was now a dark edge to his voice that made her shiver, as if
all his male amusement had suddenly worn thin. It reminded her that she was
completely alone in the night with him, and she was at his mercy.

"No one would ever say I obey. Your spies should have given you a full
report when they were scouting out your bride." As sensitive as she was to
emotional vibrations, her heart was beginning to pound in fear.

"You are favoring your leg more and more. Your injury cannot yet be
healed completely. Perhaps I should carry you," he mused. "I should
have been more aware. Come,
piccola,
allow me to carry you."

Her dark gaze was eloquent as she sent him a swift, smoldering glare. His
sculpted mouth curved sensually, and his black eyes glittered at her, but he
didn't laugh. She tried not to notice how handsome he was, how his hair fell in
glossy waves down his nape and curled slightly over his ears. How one lock fell
persistently onto his forehead, making her want to push it aside with shaky
fingers. The very idea was as shocking as was her body's wayward reaction to
him.

They were nearing the palazzo now, the huge castle sprawling out like a
massive prison. Scattered throughout the grounds were the giant marble
fountains, the great sculptures of winged deities and demons. Gargoyles stared
maliciously down at her from the eaves and turrets. She could feel them
watching her in gloating silence, eager for her to come within their reach.
Horrid claws seemed to extend toward her, rapier sharp through the thick fog.
The windows stared blankly, a strange inky color in the gloom of the mists.
Like sightless eyes. Cold, sightless eyes watching her.

Nicoletta's mouth went dry. When she had come to the palazzo before, the
feeling of evil and doom had been impersonal. Now the malevolence seemed
directed at her. She hunched deeper into the thick folds of the don's coat as
if for protection. There was a growing terror in her. Each step took her closer
to that waiting evil.

"I would not leave the choosing of my bride to my men," Don
Scarletti informed her softly, picking up the thread of their earlier
conversation as if it had not been interrupted. "No other would have
recognized you." His hand slipped down her arm to entwine his fingers
firmly with hers. "And, Nicoletta, you will obey my orders."

She pressed her lips together to keep her angry retort firmly locked away.
She leaned close to his broad shoulder, oddly grateful for his strength and
power as they moved up the marble steps to one of the many entrances of the
palazzo. He reached out to push open the heavy, ornate door. Like the other
entrances, it was covered with carvings, winged creatures guarding the dark
lair. The door swung inward slowly, grating on her already raw nerves with an
ominous creaking sound.

Nicoletta planted her feet outside, but Giovanni tugged at her hand, taking
her with him as he entered his home with the same easy confidence with which he
did everything else. He walked along the darkened halls, not bothering to light
the tapers, rather moving quickly through the wide corridors and up the winding
staircase from memory. She recognized the general direction of the nursery.

"Are you taking me to the tower?" Nicoletta tried to make it a
jest, but she was terrified he might really lock her up.

"I do not intend that you should escape me by leaping to your
death." His tone held no amusement, rather a grim authority. "I am
not willing for history to repeat itself. I would not allow such a thing."

She lifted her long lashes to look at him. "I am not the type of woman
to throw herself off a tower. Should such a fall occur, you can be sure it was
murder." She had merely meant to make a point about her character, but the
word
murder
conjured up the recent feel of his fingers around her soft
throat and the old rumors of his grandfather strangling his grandmother. Of his
great-great grandmother plummeting to her death. Of the other women who had
died in the
palazzo.
Her voice wobbled in spite of her best intentions.

"You will do exactly as I say, Nicoletta. No one will be allowed to
murder you unless I decide to indulge in such a pleasure myself." It was a
decree, a threat.

Nicoletta swallowed her retort, determined not to participate in a direct
confrontation with the don in the darkness of his lair. That was how she
thought of it—his lair, a fitting place for a hunter such as Don Scarletti. He
stopped in front of a door a few paces down from the nursery. Instead of
thrusting it open, he knocked lightly, one hand on her shoulder, holding her
still, as if he feared she might attempt to flee.

At once the door was flung open, and Maria Pia stood there. Nicoletta
uttered a glad cry and burst into tears, flinging herself into the older
woman's outstretched arms. Mortified that Don Scarletti was witness to her
breakdown, she clung to Maria Pia and refused to look at him.

"You asked to be brought to Signorina Sigmora, and I have done
so," he pointed out with a grim smile. "I will have two guards
stationed outside this door at all times. If you wish to explore the house or
grounds, they will accompany you. Nicoletta…" There was iron in his voice.
"Should you attempt to flee again, these men will suffer for allowing you
to slip past them. I will hold them responsible should anything happen to you,
or should you manage to find your way back into the hills."

Anger flashed through her, and she lifted her head to glare at him through
the tears swimming in her eyes.

His hard features were an implacable mask. "I can find you anywhere, at
any time. There is no way you can escape me. You know it is so."

She swiped at her tears. "There is no need to threaten others."
Her chin was up in challenge. "It is beneath you."

His eyebrows shot up. "A compliment at last? A favorable comment on my
character?"

Maria Pia gripped Nicoletta's arm hard to stop her from retorting.

"Signorina Sigmora, I trust you remembered to bring Nicoletta's shoes.
It seems she cannot keep them on. She has injured her feet tonight. You will,
of course, see to the cuts and bruises. Her leg is also still painful to her,
so you must attend to that injury as well," commanded Don Giovanni
Scarletti.