Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse (35 page)

Giovanni stretched out beside Nicoletta, his hard body curved almost
protectively around hers. His arm circled her, pulling her close to him. At
first he lay still, simply listening to her breathe. He inhaled her scent.

Nicoletta slowly became aware of her husband's presence, felt him taking the
essence of her deep into his lungs, breathing her into his body. His lips were
velvet soft as they skimmed her mouth to drift down along her throat. He
nuzzled her until the warmth of his breath heated the nipple peeking out at him
from the robe that had fallen open. She felt his tongue first, then the scrape
of his teeth. Then he was suckling, his mouth hungry for her. Each pull set
moist heat pulsing between her thighs. She moaned softly, an invitation, her
legs parting restlessly.

Giovanni seemed heedless of her aching need. He took his time, paying
careful attention to each breast, tracing each rib, swirling his tongue in her
navel, along her stomach. Finally his hands parted her legs, stroking her
thighs until she arched her hips in demand. His palm pressed against her,
finding her hot and damp.

"This is wanting me,
bambino,"
he said softly, inserting
two fingers into her tight canal. He moved them as his body would move, in and
out, until her hips rose willingly to meet him. "That is what you must
do," he said softly.

His body moved over hers, large and muscular, pinning her beneath him, his
knee pushing her thighs apart. He was hard and hot; she could feel him thick
and long, pressing for entrance. He caught her buttocks in his hands, lifting
her to meet him so that he could surge into her deeply.

The movement drove the very breath out of her. He was large, and he filled
her, stretching her until she gasped with the exquisite pain of it. He bent his
head to capture her mouth, and his tongue began to match the movement of his
hips, hard and fast, so that her sheath grew hotter and tighter. The friction
went beyond her dreams, spilling into reality, so that she was gripping him,
thrusting upward to meet him, the pressure building until she wanted to scream.
Her body rippled with life, gripping his, dragging him deeper into her, milking
him dry as she fragmented into a million sparkling pieces before settling
slowly to earth.

"That is only the beginning," he whispered softly to her as he
reluctantly eased his weight off her. One leg was thrown carelessly over her
thighs to lock her to him. One arm curved possessively around her waist. His
head was beside the warmth of her breasts. "Go back to sleep,
angelo
mia,"
he whispered softly against her creamy skin. Her body was sated
but sensitive, and she drifted off with his mouth, moist and hot, nuzzling at
her breast.

"I do not understand why there is still no word on Cristano,"
Maria Pia greeted Nicoletta as she entered the kitchen. The older woman
faltered when she saw that Giovanni had entered behind Nicoletta, his hand
resting possessively on her back. Then Maria Pia lifted her chin belligerently,
addressing the don directly. "I understand you have called off the search
for young Cristano." It was said as a challenge, yet she couldn't quite
bring herself to meet the don's steady black gaze.

"Is that true?" Nicoletta asked, swinging around to face her
husband. In the morning light he was incredibly powerful looking, no hint of
tenderness on his chiseled features. He looked aloof, remote; he looked the man
who had left his bride on their wedding night for some secretive, clandestine
errand he refused to discuss.

"Yes,
cara mia,"
he said with a hint of exasperated
amusement in his drawling tone.
Always ready to think the worst of me.
The words were very clear in her mind, and a faint blush stole into her cheeks.
She would have preferred to believe she was dreaming still when he returned to
their bedchamber, but they had tangled together far too intimately for her to
mistake that she was awake, gazing up, at his gleaming black eyes.

Her glance jumped to meet his at this casual display of his speaking in her
mind in the midst of so many others. He bent to brush her temple with his
mouth. "I received word that your Cristano is alive and safe, hiding in
the
villaggio
a day's ride from yours. I needed my soldiers and thought
it an indignity to the young man's ego to force him to return home." He
bowed toward Maria Pia. "Signorina Sigmora, I trust you slept well."
His white teeth flashed the smile of a wolf, before he turned and took his
leave of them.

Maria Pia crossed herself, alarmed by the don's look. "I think he
threatened me," she whispered softly to Nicoletta, acutely conscious of
the guards nearby. "And why does he still have those men following you? I
thought they were only to keep you from running away before the wedding. He is
your husband now."

The subject was a sore one, so Nicoletta chose not to answer. "Where is
Sophie?" she asked instead. "I expected to see her here." She
couldn't look at Maria Pia, couldn't meet her steady gaze, terrified that her
mentor would know all the wanton things she had been doing. For one awful
moment tears burned in her eyes, threatening to give her away.

"The little imp is no doubt up to no good. I fear she needs taking in
hand." Maria Pia's voice was scolding but already held genuine affection.
"I should track her down and insist she learn manners. I think that, like
another little girl I once knew, she runs free, with no one to see to her
education or refinement."

"My thoughts exactly," Nicoletta agreed. She smiled at Bernado and
accepted the bread fresh from the oven, trying to act as natural as possible,
her gaze avoiding contact with his. The bread was warm and delicious. She
ignored the fact that one of her guards had eaten a chunk of it before a share
was given to her. She was uneasy, her body slightly but deliciously sore, her
mind nervously skittering away from and back to the things she had done in the
privacy of the bedchamber with the don. There was no sense in asking Maria Pia
about the things that properly went on between a husband and wife; doubtless
she would make Nicoletta go to confession and light a dozen candles.

Long after her morning meal, Nicoletta could still feel the shadows in her mind,
a growing uneasiness that chipped away at her natural happiness. She went
through the motions of meeting some of the workers in the palazzo, managed to
laugh and jest with them even though Gostanz obviously didn't approve of such
intimacies with his staff. She tried not to think about the gossip and
speculation. That the don's new bride was an innocent and didn't know how to
please such a man. That that was why he had left her their very first night
together. Or worse, that they all knew she had wanted to do the forbidden,
sinful things she had done. By late afternoon the shadows within her began to
lengthen and grow so much that she sought refuge in the alcove with the shrine
to the Madonna.

The small alcove was dimly lit, and Nicoletta waved the guards away to give
herself some much-needed privacy. Kneeling, she lit several candles, praying
silently to the Madonna and her own
madre
for guidance with her new
husband. His personality so overwhelmed hers. He could make her want him so
easily, removing her inhibitions and all sane thoughts until she could only
feel, think only of him, of pleasing him. He made her feel things she had never
dreamed of, never imagined, made her want to do things she had never once
considered. Nicoletta longed for her mother's counsel and comfort.

Somewhere behind her she heard Portia's voice raised in anger. A softer
voice answered in an indistinct murmur but with enough of a jarring note that
Nicoletta was pulled out of her reverie. She turned her head and saw that a
door only a short distance from her was ajar. The two women arguing must have
sought refuge from prying eyes behind it. Nicoletta knelt uncertainly in the
alcove with her head bowed reverently. The candles she had lit in memory of her
mother were flickering, throwing dancing light onto the walls. She had no
thought of eavesdropping, but she felt cornered, afraid that if she walked away
now her presence might prove humiliating to the two women.

She could hear Portia's voice, shrill and angry, much more distinctly now.
"I do not care what you think. You are a callow, selfish girl and far too
young and silly to hold the attention of a man like him! What were you thinking
of, Margerita? I raised you to marry well, not ruin yourself trying to entrap a
man like him." Scorn and contempt laced Portia's voice, so much so that
Nicoletta found herself wincing under its cutting whip. "He beds silly
cows like you, little innocents who have no hope of keeping him happy, but you
are mere sport for him. Do you not realize he would laugh at one such as you
with the figure of a man and the face of a dull ewe? You have nothing to offer
but
your innocence. Have you no sense? How do you expect to marry well if you are
so stupid as to sully yourself with him?" There was a loud
crack
as
Portia obviously slapped her daughter hard.

Nicoletta hunched over, attempting to make herself smaller. Fortunately, she
had never known harsh words and physical punishment. Her mother and Maria Pia
had always been gentle and kind and understanding. Her father, known also as a
good man, was dead and gone before she was even of an age to remember him.
Maria Pia had slapped her hand now and again, but always in gentle reprimand, a
threat, not a real blow. Nicoletta's heart went out to Margerita.

"He loves me!" Margerita cried out, her young voice filled with
pain. "You do not know. Ask him. Ask him. He wants to be with me. He will
marry me."

"He will never marry you." Portia spat the words at her daughter,
filled with a venomous fury. There was the sound of another blow. "Have
you lain with him?" The voice rose higher, poisonous and angry. "Tell
me, you ungrateful little whore!" Portia was obviously shaking her
daughter in her fury. "I should throw you out, tell the world what you
are. You have been with him—I see it in your face." Her voice rose into a
strangled scream.

"He wanted me!" Margerita shouted back, a defensive child trying
to convince an adult of something she didn't believe herself. "He will
marry me! He will!"

"Stupid, stupid girl." Portia sounded as if she was grieving now,
her voice cracked and broken, a bitter, sad tone that soon turned to weeping.
"Go away from me. Get out where I can no longer see you. Get out!"

"Madre,"
Margerita tried again, "he will offer for me,
and Zio Giovanni will give me a generous dowry and allow the match. It will
come right."

"Get out!" Portia snapped.

Nicoletta remained quite still as she heard heavy footsteps hurry toward the
room where the two women argued.

"What is going on in here?" It was Vincente's voice this time.

There was a rustle of material as Margerita evidently rushed at him,
bursting into tears. "Go now, Margerita," he instructed softly.
"I will talk with Portia."

The girl fled the room, running past Nicoletta, her sobs of shame filling
the corridor. Portia howled in anguish, her fury and sorrow so great she
couldn't speak. Vincente caught her flying figure as she lashed out at him,
unable to contain her anger. She was weeping hard.

Nicoletta rose in silence, turning to make her way quietly out of the alcove.
She saw Vincente and Portia struggling ferociously, and then Vincente wrapped
his arms around Portia, locking her to him, his mouth descending on hers almost
like an assault.

Shocked and embarrassed, Nicoletta shrank back into the shadows. She should
have guessed they had more than a cousinly relationship. Portia always clung to
Vincente, and he seemed to rely on her for advice. Portia was only five or six
years older than Vincente. It had never occurred to Nicoletta that cold,
confident Portia could be so passionate about anyone, yet she seemed to be
devouring Vincente. Vincente kicked the door shut with his foot even as his
hands were roughly roaming over Portia's body with a brutal, frenzied grasping.

Nicoletta stared at the closed door for a moment, frozen in place, too
shocked to move. The unmistakable sound of cloth ripping galvanized her into
action. She retreated quickly down the corridor, rushing silently past the
door, wishing she knew why she had such a bad taste in her mouth. Vincente and
Portia looked more angry and raw than like two people in love. She was slightly
sickened by the display and suddenly terrified at the power Don Scarletti
wielded over her own body.

Maria Pia was waiting for her in the large courtyard, ready for their daily
walk. "What is it,
piccola!
You look as if you have seen a
ghost."

Nicoletta glanced at the two soldiers who were her constant shadows. Their
faces were carefully blank. For the first time she wondered just how much they
knew of the intrigues in the palazzo. They were loyal to the don. Did they tell
him of the things they saw, when the
aristocrazia
and even the servants
treated them as part of the furnishings? Most likely they did. She felt
off-balance and strangely close to tears. Now more than ever she wanted to run
away. She was out of her depth in this place.

Maria Pia reached for her hand. "What is it,
bambina?
It is
unlike you to be unhappy. Did the don hurt you? What is the cause of that look?
Ah, is it that I did not prepare you adequately for your wedding night?"
She spoke quietly, deliberately turning away from the guards so that she and
Nicoletta faced the abundance of shrubbery.

"I do not belong in this place," Nicoletta whispered. "I do
not understand the people here, and I do not care to understand them. I want to
go home, back to the hills, where I know what to expect and on whom I can
rely."