Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (19 page)

Vincente turned his head to follow her gaze.
"Mio fratello
is
hard at work. So many meetings with the powers that be, you know. No time for
fun." He shrugged casually. "Do not worry, signorina, I will see to
it that your time here is not a dreary one." He smiled down at his
daughter. "Sophie, I hope, will not be too bothersome. If she is, we will
send her off to learn to sew those beautiful coverlets all women seem to know
how to make." His head suddenly came up, and he stared at Nicoletta almost
as if she were a ghost. His face paled beneath his bronzed skin.

"What is it?" Nicoletta asked, curious.

"Just for a moment you reminded me of someone I knew a long time ago.
She made the most beautiful coverlets." His voice sounded thoughtful.
"She would be much older than you. I was about your age back then."

Nicoletta turned back to the flowers in the garden, gazing at the dewy
petals to hide her expression. Her mother! Vincente Scarletti had known her
mother, and he remembered her! Who could not? The memories were vivid in
Nicoletta's mind. All at once she wanted to weep. She had recognized the
coverlet in Sophie's room as her mother's handiwork.

Nicoletta?
The voice was gentle, not wicked and teasing, not fiercely
angry, but a tender, concerned inquiry. She experienced a strange warmth
flooding her. It was disarming, that hypnotic spell enveloping her so that she
couldn't help but reach for him with her heart and soul.

As if pulled by a source outside herself, she glanced over her shoulder, her
gaze drawn to the windows overlooking the courtyard. He was there, staring down
at her intently. She could see the shadowy figure behind him pacing as if
agitated. The don's attention was centered on her rather than on his important
guest. It made Nicoletta feel cared for. She knew he felt her sorrow, and it
mattered that he had touched her from a distance.

Maria Pia probably would have said it was sinful, a gift from the devil, and
wrong, but at that moment Nicoletta was grateful, and she smiled up at the
lonely dark figure. He sketched her a small salute and resolutely turned back
to his visitor.

Nicoletta was returning her attention to Vincente and his daughter when out
of the corner of her eye she caught sight of something bright fluttering up on
the ramparts high above Don Scarletti's study. It was Portia and her daughter,
Margerita, their gowns billowing in the wind, watching her as did the huge
winged gargoyles.

A small shudder ran through her. She was being watched all the time, and she
had allowed herself to forget already. The don seemed capable of driving out
her every sane thought, something she dared not allow to continue. With so many
eyes observing her every move she would have to appear "normal" at
all times. Would it be possible?

Nicoletta held her arms obediently away from her sides and made a face at
Maria Pia. "She is sticking me with pins," she complained. "I
have a few words to say to the don regarding this particular form of
torture." She had spent a good portion of the day attempting to explore
the palazzo, but for hours now she had been locked in with the dressmakers. Her
patience was wearing thin.

"If you complain one more time, Nicoletta," Maria Pia scolded,
"I shall stick a pin into you myself. Any other girl would be delighted to
receive such elegant garments. The extravagance is almost sinful. Although,
truly, many of these gowns cover you so little as to be nearly indecent,"
she blithely contradicted herself.

Nicoletta laughed, the sound so infectious that even the two dressmakers
found themselves smiling. "You mean it is sinful for one such as
me
to be getting such fine attire."

"Ballgowns with necklines that are far too low," Maria Pia
groused. "You are a good girl. The Madonna is weeping—weeping, I tell you.
You should not wear such gowns. It is not right," she said decidedly.

"You look beautiful, my dear," the seamstress said sincerely.
"It is a pleasure to dress so pretty a girl. We are almost finished."

Portia stuck her head into the room. "It sounds as if you are having
fun in here," she said, a smile plastered determinedly to her face.
Resolutely she made no reference to the scene she had caused the night before.
"May I come in?" She didn't wait for an answer but moved into the
room, her elaborate gown rustling as she did so. She wore the latest
fashionable creation, her hair perfectly dressed. "You look quite
beautiful, Nicoletta. May I call you Nicoletta? Have they begun your wedding
dress? I shall, of course, plan the blessed event personally. Giovanni has told
me you are to be wed almost immediately." Her eyes ran speculatively over
Nicoletta's slim figure.

Maria Pia lifted her chin, her faded eyes snapping with quiet fury. "I
do not know why Don Scarletti is so insistent that Nicoletta marry him without
a proper courtship. How does one calm the young girl's natural fears when she
does not even know her bridegroom?" She threw her hands in the air
dramatically.

Portia nodded. "It is unseemly of him, but Giovanni has always been a
law unto himself." She shrugged her milky white shoulders so that her
low-cut gown seemed suddenly precarious, about to fail in its ability to
contain her ample bosom. Portia knew she was a beautiful woman, and her gowns
showed her figure to perfection. She moved with a graceful confidence in
herself, with the perfect poise her station had bequeathed her. "Giovanni
does what he wishes, and there is none to stop him." The implication was
ominous, almost sinister, yet Portia laughed softly, waving aside her own
words. "You must leave everything in my capable hands. Since Vincente's
wife, Angelita, the last mistress of the
palazzo…
died, I have planned
many festivities for Giovanni, and I must say, I have received much praise for
my efforts."

"Your help would be appreciated,
grazie"
Maria Pia answered
for Nicoletta.

"Then it is settled." Portia smiled sweetly at the bride-to-be.
"We must get to know one another better, my dear, if you are to become a member
of our household. Giovanni would think it very wicked of me not to help you
learn your duties as his wife. You will entertain often and see to it that his
household runs smoothly." Her smile was as false as the offer of
friendship. "It is the duty of the Scarletti
famiglia
to have
numerous festivities. The king sends many courtiers here for
negotiations."

Nicoletta dropped her arms, yelped when pins stuck her from all directions,
and glared at the seamstress. "I am finished with this," she
announced. "Maria Pia is right; it is sinful to have so many gowns. Why,
there are enough here for every woman in my village. I cannot possibly wear
them all."

"You will need every one," Portia cautioned. "But, indeed,
dear, you look bedraggled. You must stop for the day," she added
solicitously.

A tentative knock on the door announced the manservant, Gostanz. He cleared
his throat carefully when he caught sight of Portia but delivered his message
in his usual monotone. "There are visitors for you, signorina. They are
waiting in the courtyard." His customary disdain was very much in
evidence, and something else, something undefined, as if the man was secretly
amused.

"Thank you," Nicoletta answered politely, smiling determinedly at
him. She hastened behind the screen and dragged on her familiar skirt and
blouse, thankful for the comfort of the oft-washed material. She then rushed
down the hall, waving distractedly at Portia. Maria Pia was much better
equipped to deal with the woman anyway. Bedraggled, indeed!

Nicoletta made an attempt at smoothing her hair as she hurried down the
stairs. She managed to find her way to the courtyard entrance with only two
wrong turns, an unbelievable feat in the huge palazzo. She ran lightly across
the marble tiles, her bare feet making no sound as she hurried through the
corridors to the door, a sudden joy welling up in her. She knew who the
visitors were, her dear, familiar friends, and she needed them desperately.

The two guards hurried after her, swords clacking and boots slapping loudly
against the tiles. Nicoletta allowed the door to slam in their faces and made
it halfway across the courtyard to her visitors before they tore it open and
followed her.

Ketsia was sitting on the lush carpet of green grasses, her face buried in
her hands, crying as if her heart were breaking. Cristano was pacing furiously,
his boots kicking up a spray of white pebbles on the pathway.

"Bambino!
Whatever is the matter?" Nicoletta demanded,
scooping the child into her arms. "Why are you crying? Cristano! Tell me
why she is crying so." With the girl in her arms, Nicoletta spun around to
hug Cristano, too. As Cristano embraced both of them, they stumbled and all
spilled together into the soft grasses.

Ketsia's tears turned to laughter, and she flung her arms around Nicoletta's
neck. "I knew you would be the same. And look, no shoes! Look, Cristano,
even
he
cannot make her wear shoes!" Ketsia sounded proud and happy
over Nicoletta's lack of footwear.

The two guards hovered close, but clearly their training had not prepared
them to cope with a barefoot young woman hugging a sobbing child and an angry
young man. The three were tangled together on the ground, laughing and
obviously no threat to Nicoletta. The guards looked at one another rather
helplessly and remained in the background.

"Why were you crying so, Ketsia?" Nicoletta asked, kissing the
girl on the top of her head. She pulled her hand out of Cristano's, since he
seemed disinclined to let her go.

"I thought the don might have hurt you," Ketsia answered. "You
disappeared. And Mirella said the soldiers took Maria Pia from her hut in the
dead of night. And Mirella said that it was just like you to run away and that
the don would have you beaten and killed and the disgrace would ruin the entire
villaggio
for all time."

Nicoletta burst out laughing, the sound happy and carefree, rising upward to
float away on a friendly breeze. "Silly old Mirella. She loves to weave
tales of terror." She grinned at Cristano. "Surely
you
did not
believe her horror stories."

Cristano glanced at the guards and lowered his voice in a conspirator's
whisper. "The don had no right to claim you. If you had accepted my offer
instead of being so stubborn, Nicoletta, he would not have had the power to
touch you. Now I can think of only one thing to do to set you free."

Nicoletta's eyebrows shot up. "Whatever you are thinking, Cristano, you
must forget it. The don and I will sort things out."

"You mean you will attempt another escape? You ran away once, and he
caught you. I know that is why you disappeared from your home. But I have
thought of a way to force him to let you go."

Ketsia leaned into her, wanting to be cuddled. "I thought the don was
handsome, but I do not want him to take you away. The
villaggio
is sad
without you. You must come back, Nicoletta."

"I have a plan," Cristano continued. "We will confess to the
don that we have lain together. He will not want you then, and he will order
you to marry me." Cristano stared at her. "It will work, Nicoletta.
You must be guided by a wiser, older man in this."

Nicoletta buried her face in Ketsia's neck to muffle her laughter. Cristano
was four summers older than she but a good ten or twelve years younger than Don
Scarletti. "My reputation would be ruined, Cristano," she reminded
him.

"You would be with me, where you belong, and back in the
villagio.
There is much danger here. Everyone knows you will not live long if you remain
in this place." Cristano puffed out his chest and stood, reaching down to
pull her up with him.

The dark, smoldering anger creeping into her mind burst into a flame of such
intensity, Nicoletta grabbed her head with her hands and pressed hard in an
attempt to alleviate the throbbing in her temples. Her gaze, almost of its own
accord, sought the row of glaring windows. Don Scarletti was out on the wide,
first-story portico, his black gaze glittering with a menace she recognized
even from a distance. Watching her with merciless intensity, he vaulted easily
over the portico wall and began to move toward them. All rippling power, he
reminded Nicoletta of a stalking mountain lion.

Her breath caught in her throat. As he neared them, she could see the dark
shadow on his handsome face. He glided up to them and drew Nicoletta firmly
beneath his shoulder. "Where is your chaperone, Signora Sigmora? She
should accompany you at all times,
cara.
Your young friends are welcome
to visit you, but you must remember that your actions are scrutinized at all
times." He spoke gently, his tone as soft as velvet, his arms around her
waist gently holding her to him, yet there was something very threatening about
him, something she couldn't define.

"I am Giovanni Scarletti," he said courteously but unnecessarily
to Cristano, his gaze hard and glittering as it touched the younger man.
"I believe we have encountered one another before."

Cristano mumbled something inaudible in reply.

Ketsia curtsied beautifully. "I am Ketsia," she announced,
"Nicoletta's friend."

"Ah, yes, of course I remember you." Giovanni smiled down at her
with so much charm, the child beamed at him, as susceptible to his wiles as any
woman.

"I thought you were busy with your visitor," Nicoletta ventured
cautiously. She was suddenly terrified of what Cristano might say or do. He
could be thoughtless and abrupt at the best of times, fiery and sulky if he
didn't get his way.

"I will never be too busy to meet your friends," Giovanni answered
in his gentlest voice. He bowed to Ketsia, who immediately burst into a fit of
giggling. Behind the group's back he motioned Nicoletta's guards toward the
palazzo and out of hearing.