Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (32 page)

Nicoletta stared up at him, horrified by the story.

"She was found dead that evening when the maid took her supper. She had
hanged herself. You are entrusted with this information as a member of the
famiglia.
Vincente would be beside himself if it got out. Once again the Scarletti curse
held true." His black gaze moved broodingly over her face. "That is
why you will have guards with you at all times. I will not find your dead body
somewhere as nearly every male member of my
famiglia
has." He spoke
the words sternly, a command she dared not contest. "They will taste your
food and drink, and they will watch over you when I cannot. You will not have a
separate bedchamber but share my own with me."

Nicoletta gasped. "I must have my own bedchamber to retreat to at
times."

"You will not."

"What of Sophie? I was going to allow her to share my bed."

His white teeth flashed, and for one moment amusement lit the dark obsidian
of his eyes so that they gleamed mischievously like those of a boy. "You
will be much too busy sharing your bed with your husband, not a child."

His voice was low and husky, and his gaze moved hotly over her body.

"You look like a hungry wolf," she chastised. In truth, his bold
gaze sent flames licking along her skin until she burned for him. Nicoletta
looked away from him to hide her reaction. "What about the child? Perhaps
Maria Pia could live at the palazzo and stay with Sophie at night."

"That is what you wish,
cara mia
?"

The sensual note in his voice melted her, and she leaned into him, boneless
and pliant. She nodded helplessly, staring up at him with enormous eyes.

His fingers spanned her throat, his palm brushing lower to lightly feather
over her breasts through the material of her gown. She felt a jolt deep within
her, and hot, molten liquid surged through her body in an unexpected ache.
"You remember what I have said,
piccola.
I will not lose my wife to
the Scarletti curse."

The coach jolted to an abrupt stop, throwing Nicoletta hard against him.
"I will not die by my own hand, if that is what you fear. Do you believe
so much misfortune heaped upon one
famiglia
is fate, or do you think
mortal hands are involved in such doings?"

The guard opened the door to the coach, letting in light and rain. The don
didn't move, his face carved from stone. He looked all at once menacing,
invincible, implacable. "I do not know, Nicoletta, but I swear by all I
hold holy, whatever it is, it shall not take you from me." He stepped out
of the carriage with his easy grace and reached for her, not allowing her dress
to touch the rain-wet walkway. Uncaring of propriety, he cradled her against
his chest as he moved quickly up the steps and entered the great hall to join
the revelers.

Nicoletta passed the next few hours in a dreamlike manner. She was aware of
the don keeping his word and sending for Maria Pia. He bowed low over Sophie's
hand and murmured magnificent compliments to Ketsia. He remained always close
to Nicoletta, his hand on her possessively so that it seemed to burn his brand
into her skin right through her gown.

At some point she became aware of the byplay between Antonello and her new
husband, some political undertone in the room of dancers she did not
understand. She knew few of those attending the celebration. Most were members
of the other great houses and representatives from court. But something else
was brewing, something that Giovanni often conversed mind-to-mind with his
middle brother about. She knew they were talking often, the don giving orders
to his brother.

Giovanni took her onto the dance floor and whirled her close to him, yet
even as their bodies touched, she knew his mind was with Antonello's. Something
was amiss. Something they both were wary over. As hard as she tried, she
couldn't touch Giovanni's mind and learn the truth.

Vincente danced with her briefly, evidently a poignant moment for him,
reminding him of his own wedding to his late, beloved Angelita, as he moved
stiffly with her under his brother's watchful gaze. It was the first time since
arriving at the
palazzo
that she seemed to command Giovanni's full
attention, and immediately she was uncomfortably aware of Vincente's hands on
her body, his hard frame occasionally brushing hers. It made her feel tense and
awkward, but when she looked up at him, Vincente was staring over her shoulder,
his mind far away, tears visible in his dark, haunted eyes.

Giovanni rescued his youngest brother, gliding to his side and gently
removing Nicoletta from his grasp. He put an arm around both of them and walked
them back into the shadows, where Vincente could get his emotions under
control.

Giovanni bent close to Nicoletta, his mouth pressed close to her ear.
"I think I have managed to do my duty by my guests. I now want only to be
alone with my wife. Let us retire to the bedchamber, as they will continue here
long into the night, and I have other, much more pleasurable pursuits in mind
for us."

Nicoletta stood in the middle of the huge bedchamber not certain exactly
what to do. Her attendants had left her to face her bridegroom by herself. Her
long hair was unbound and spilling down her back in waves of blue-black silk. Her
nightshift was clinging to her every curve. She stood in her bare feet on the
cold tile and looked in awe at the enormous room. She had never seen anything
so amazing. The don's chamber was far larger than the entire hut she had shared
with Maria Pia.

Her belongings, including her new gowns, were in his huge wardrobe, along
with several pairs of shoes that could only have been made for her. She noticed
a number of heavy doors aside from the one leading to the corridor, but she was
too nervous to explore. Nicoletta padded on her bare feet to the windows facing
the sea. The room was warm with the flames roaring in the hearth, yet she
shivered. Outside, the sun had long since given up its fight to light the sky,
succumbing to dark clouds and ferocious rain. The thunder and lightning had
passed inland but left behind the steady droplets drumming against the palazzo.

The door behind her closed softly, and Nicoletta whirled around, her hand
protectively flying to her throat.

Giovanni stood watching her through half-closed eyes, leaning one hip lazily
against the far wall. "Have you noticed that this room lacks most of the
unappealing artwork?" he asked. Straightening slowly, he raked a hand
through his wavy black hair, tousling it even more than usual. He pulled off
his boots and stockings, then kicked them aside. It seemed more intimate than
ever to see him with bare feet in their bedchamber.

He looked almost weary, as though the facade he presented to the rest of the
world did not hold up in the privacy of his inner sanctum. His face looked
shadowed, lines etched around his mouth. Nicoletta had a sudden, inexplicable
desire to smooth those tiny lines away. Instead, she nodded, thankful he was
willing to wait a few moments before pouncing on her. "I did notice that.
It's a bit of a relief." Afraid she may have inadvertently hurt his
feelings, she smiled at him to take the sting out of her words. "But there
is some wonderful artwork in the palazzo." She moved away from the windows
and the view of the foaming sea to shrink back into the shadows.

He came farther into the room, gliding in his silent way to the opposite
side of the bedstead. Nicoletta relaxed visibly with the enormous width of the
canopied bed between them, so big it almost looked like a separate room.

Giovanni slid the jacket from his broad shoulders and slung it carelessly
onto a chair. His black gaze slid over her again. She thought she saw raw
hunger glittering deep in his eyes before he turned his attention to his shirt.
Nicoletta swallowed hard and tried to look away from him, but his movements
were mesmerizing. She watched as he shrugged out of his outer shirt to let it
fall after his jacket onto the chair.

Her fear tasted oddly like anticipation in her mouth. Her heart was beating
hard, and butterflies were rampaging in her stomach. "I must ask you
something." She lifted her chin slightly to give herself the necessary
courage. "Did you know
mia madre?"
She held her breath then,
pressing both hands to her somersaulting stomach, afraid of any answer he might
utter. Afraid he would refuse to answer. Afraid she had destroyed any chance of
acceptance between them.

Giovanni looked across the room at her pale face, his hands stilling on his
remaining shirt. "Who could not remember your
madre, piccola?
She was
much like you. A ray of sunshine that brightened every room she entered. She
had a voice like an angel, and she filled the palazzo with laughter, much as
you do. Yes, I knew her."

"Do you believe she was cleaning the walkway and fell from the ramparts
to her death?" The words sounded strangled as they emerged from her
throat.

Giovanni edged around the bed, looking like a stalking wolf. His eyes
glittered with such menace, she backed away until the wall brought her up
abruptly. He planted his solid frame in front of her, cutting off all hope of
escape, his fingers shackling her arm. His other hand settled around her soft,
vulnerable throat, and his thumb tipped her chin up to force her gaze to meet
his. "You are not thinking of placing yourself in danger by searching for
the answer to your
madre�s
death, because I absolutely forbid such a
folly. Absolutely forbid it." He repeated the words, enunciating each
carefully as if she were a halfwit. "You will obey your husband in this
matter, Nicoletta."

She could feel a fine tremor running through his hard body, as if he shook
with the force of his own command. "Then you believe she did not die
accidentally." She tried to be calm in the face of his absolute authority.
Don Scarletti was most intimidating, and here, alone in the bedchamber with
him, half naked, with unbound hair, Nicoletta felt excruciatingly vulnerable.

"No, Nicoletta, she did not die the way the story was told. She would
not have been cleaning the walkway in the rain." He gestured toward the
window with the deluge pouring against it. "Would anyone do such a thing?
No, she was thrown over the ramparts, murdered." He said the word
deliberately, his eyes glittering menace, directed at her. "That will not
happen to you. I will not have it.
Dio!
I still remember her broken
body. I will not ever see you that way. You will not ask questions or attempt
in any way to find out more about her death. If I could not do so, and those
investigating could not do so, then accept that you cannot, either."

"You really do not know who killed her?" She wanted to believe
him, was desperate to believe him. He was her husband, and she was expected to
be intimate with him. He seemed so intense and sincere. Her eyes searched his
for the truth.

"If I knew who killed her, Nicoletta, they would be dead themselves
right now, not lurking in the shadows, a threat to my bride." His thumb
began to feather back and forth across her soft skin as if he could not quite
help himself.

"You fear for me," she stated, when she wanted only to melt under
the heat of his hungry gaze. "There is no need."

His head was lowering slowly toward hers. "There is every need,
piccola."
He whispered the words like a magic incantation against her lips. "You are
of utmost importance to me. I cannot do without you."

His mouth settled onto hers. Gently. Coaxing. His hand framed her face, then
slid to the nape of her neck, urging her body more fully against his. Nicoletta
found herself trembling, a shiver starting in her center to slowly encompass
her. The ground seemed to be moving under her feet, and the world spun away to
leave her clinging to this man, her husband, so solid and real. His mouth, hot
with need, became more urgent, more demanding.

Nicoletta felt the curious melting of her bones that made her fit into his
body, warm and pliant, pressing scandalously against him. His body hardened
even more, hot and thick, suddenly aggressive. His hands moved over her skin, a
gentle exploration that sent a ripple of erotic pleasure pulsing through her.
His mouth teased hers into answering, coaxed hers into dueling. She wanted the
moist heat and the excitement of his demands. She wanted his hands cupping the
weight of her breasts.

As his mouth left hers, she let her head fall back, exposing the line of her
throat to him. He blazed a fiery trail of kisses along her soft skin, over the
creamy upper swell of her breasts until she ached for more. Needed more. There
was only Giovanni in that moment, with his hard body and perfect mouth and the
fire he was creating in her.

He murmured something in a husky voice, an aching sound of hunger. Nicoletta
cradled his head in her arms as he lowered his mouth to her breast, right
through the thin material of her shift. It felt sinful, scandalous, and more
erotic than anything she had ever imagined. His mouth was hot and moist,
pulling strongly at her creamy flesh, his tongue dancing over the hard peak of
her nipple, his teeth scraping gently until she cried out with the sheer
pleasure of it.

Giovanni pushed her shift down, exposing the perfection of her full breasts
to his hungry gaze. The unexpected coolness of the air after the assault of his
hot mouth only added to the erotic sensation. His hand cupped one breast
possessively, his thumb teasing her sensitized nipple until her body screamed
for more. "I want to see you," he whispered softly against her satin
skin. "I need to look at you." He pushed her shift lower so that it
fell in flowing folds to pool around her ankles.

Nicoletta gasped as she stood before him, her body completely exposed to the
raging hunger in his black eyes. She had never felt so wanton in all her life.
Firelight danced over her skin so that it seemed to take on a golden glow, the
shadows lovingly limning secret places, calling attention to her small waist
and rounded hips. She ducked her head so that long waves of black tresses
brushed over her body like a silken cloak. She stared steadily at the middle of
his chest, unable to think or move.