Isabella's heart began to pound as she gazed in horror at the doorknob--another snarling lion's head. She was afraid, now that she was actually here, that the don would turn her down and she would have nowhere else to go. "Come in with me," she whispered softly to the housekeeper, a plea that cost her a great deal in pride.
"You must go in alone, piccola." Sarina patted her shoulder encouragingly. "He is expecting you. Have courage." She began to walk away.
Isabella reached out to her before she could stop herself, clutching desperately at the woman's dress. "Is he as they whisper of him?"
"He is both terrible and kind," Sarina answered. "We are accustomed to his ways, to his appearance. Others are not. Be one he can be kind to. He has not much patience, so go in quickly. You look beautiful, and you have shown much courage." She reached past Isabella, grasped the ornate doorknob, and twisted it.
Isabella had no choice. She entered the room slowly. Her heart was beating so loudly, she feared he might hear it. She tried not to look intimidated or stiff with anger. She needed to be humble. She repeated that to herself several times. She had to be humble, not speak her mind or allow her wayward tongue to run away with her. She couldn't afford to be the wild girl-child breaking every rule in her father's house, running free in the mountains when no one was looking, playing tricks on her beloved brother at every turn, continually earning her father's disapproving frown as he turned away from her in disappointment.
She held tightly to her memories of her brother, Lucca. He had often aided her in her rebellious ways, her best friend and confidant despite their father's pleading that she act the part of a lady. She knew she would have been wed long before now if her father had had his way, sold to some older don to aid the war chest. Lucca wouldn't hear of it. Several times she had dressed as a boy and accompanied him on hunting expeditions. He had taught her to wield a sword and a stiletto, to ride as well as a man, even to swim in the cold waters of the rivers and lakes. Long after their father died, her brother had protected her, loved her, and watched over her. Even when they were desperate for money, he had never once thought of selling her to one of the many suitors. And she would never, ever abandon Lucca in his hour of need.
Isabella lifted her chin. Lucca had taught her courage, and she wouldn't fail him now in her last, desperate attempt to save him. She moved into the darkened interior of the room. A fire blazed on the hearth, but it couldn't compete with the heavy draperies blocking out every vestige of light from the windows. She saw two high-backed chairs in front of the fire, but the room was huge, with high, vaulted ceilings and so many alcoves and archways an army could have been hiding. Even the blaze in the large fireplace had no hope of shedding light into the shadowy recesses.
For a moment she thought herself alone as the heavy door swung closed, locking her in the room. Then she felt him. She knew it was he. The don. Mysterious. Aloof. She sensed him there in the darkness, the weight of his stare. Intense. Calculating. Burning. Afraid to cross the wide expanse of marble floor to one of the high-backed chairs, Isabella shivered in spite of her determination not to show her fear.
Then she froze, standing perfectly still, her gaze riveted to the deepest shadows, a darkened alcove where she made out the shape of a man. He stood tall, and on his forearm perched a falcon, a raptor with a wicked beak and talons that could pierce, rend, and shred delicate skin. Its round, beady eyes were fixed on her intently. The bird stirred as if it might fly at her face, but the man spoke softly to it, his voice so low she couldn't make out the words. He stroked the falcon's neck and back, and it settled down, though it never took its gaze from Isabella.
No matter how hard she tried to pierce the darkness to see the man clearly, she could not. When he turned slightly to touch the bird, he appeared to have long hair, swept back from his face and secured at the nape of his neck with a leather tie, yet it was still wild and shaggy, looking like a mane in disarray. But the cloak of darkness shielded most of him from her so that she couldn't tell what he truly looked like. His face was completely hidden, so she had no idea of his age or features. But as she continued to stare, the flames from the fireplace seemed to leap into his eyes, and for a moment she could see the reflection shimmering through the darkness.
His eyes glowed a fiery red, and they were not human. Cold gripped her, and Isabella wanted to turn and run from the room.
"You are Isabella Vernaducci," he said from the dark alcove. "Please be seated. Sarina has brought tea to steady your nerves."
His voice was pleasant enough, but his words immediately pricked her pride.
She swept across the room regally, a woman of stature, of importance, her head held high. "I do not recall having unsteady nerves, Signor DeMarco. However, if you feel nervous, I shall be happy to pour a cup for you. I trust the tea is free of any herbs that might cause you to become...drowsy." Isabella sat in a high-backed chair, taking time to arrange the long skirt primly over her legs and ankles. She cursed herself silently. Her pride might lose her her hard-won audience with the don. What was wrong with her that she bristled in his company? What did it matter what he said, what he thought of her? Let him think her nervous and weak if that was what he wanted. As long as she got her way.
Don DeMarco allowed the silence between them to lengthen. She could feel the weight of his disapproval, the weight of his stare from the shadows.
Trying to salvage the situation, Isabella looked down at her hands. "Thank you for the garments. I had very little in the way of proper clothing with me. The room you offered me is beautiful and the bed comfortable. I could not have asked for better care. Signora Sincini took excellent care of me."
"I am happy to see that the gowns fit you. Are you rested from your journey?"
"Yes, grazie," she said demurely.
"It was foolish of you to venture into danger, and if your padre was alive, I'm certain he would see to it that you were punished for such folly. I am inclined to take on the responsibility myself." His voice was velvet soft, playing along her nerve endings like the brush of fingertips, warming her skin, and she was thankful for the heat of the fire to explain the blush stealing into her face. He was chastising her, yet his voice was nearly a physical caress, and for some reason, Isabella found herself extremely susceptible to it.
"You were warned repeatedly not to come to this place. What kind of woman are you that you would risk your reputation, your life, making such a journey?"
Her fingers curled into two tight fists, and her fingernails dug deeply into her palms. She had the feeling he was watching her closely from the shadows, that his eyes caught that tiny telltale rebellion. Surreptitiously she pushed her hands out of sight beneath the skirts of her dress.
"I am a desperate woman," she admitted, trying unsuccessfully to peer into the darkness. He looked a large, powerful being, not quite human. The bird of prey perched on his arm, staring at her with round, beady eyes, added to her nervousness. "I had to see you. To plead for mio fratello's life. I sent messengers, but they were unable to reach you. I know you can help him."
She swallowed the unexpected sob threatening to choke her. "He is in the dungeons of Don Rivellio. He has been sentenced to death. Mio fratello, Lucca Vernaducci, has been imprisoned for nearly two years, and the conditions are appalling. I have heard that he is ill, and I came here to plead with you to save his life. I know you have the power to have him pardoned. One word from you, and Don Rivellio would release him. If you do not wish to openly ask for such a favor, e possibile you could arrange for his escape."
She blurted the words out desperately, unable to hold them back a moment longer, and she leaned forward toward the dark corner. "Please do this, Don DeMarco. Mio fratello is a good man. Do not allow him to die."
There was a long silence. Nothing moved in the room, not even the falcon. Don DeMarco sighed softly. "What is he charged with?"
She hesitated, her stomach a tight knot. She should have known he would ask. How could he not? "Treason. It is said he
conspired against the king." It was only fair to answer him truthfully.
"Is he guilty? Did he conspire against the king?" he asked, the softest of growls emerging from his throat.
Her heart jumped wildly. Her teeth tugged at her lower lip. "Yes." Her voice was low. "Lucca believed we should overthrow all the other countries seeking to rule us, that no foreign government would care about our people. But what harm can he do now? He is ill. Our lands, our properties--everything we have--has been confiscated and given to Don Rivellio. The don wishes Lucca dead so that there be no question that he retain our properties. In truth Don Rivellio had Lucca arrested for reasons of his own, and he has profited greatly. It is to his advantage to dishonor our name and dispose of mio fratello."
"At least you have it in you to tell the truth of your brother's crime."
She lifted her chin haughtily. "Our name is an honored one."
"It was until tuo fratello became too loud in his professions of a secret society. Such a thing is not to be talked of to everyone in a tavern."
Isabella hung her head, twisting her fingers together. Her father and brother had been adamant that the society was gaining ground, small pockets of men amassing the power to defeat outsiders. They refused to bow down to any government, distrusting the motives of foreigners pledging alliances. They swore omerta--an oath to the death.
"There was no proof!" she said. "Don Rivellio paid those men to say what they did. Lucca never talked. Don Rivellio wanted others to believe he had so that those in the secret circle might well assassinate him. He was charged with treason and sentenced to death." Her gaze was hot with suppressed fury against the don. "Lucca was tortured, but he gave no names, incriminated no others. He never talked."
"Has it occurred to you that by coming here you might have placed yourself in the same untenable position as tuo fratello? I might be allied with Don Rivellio. What is there to prevent me from turning you over to him and repeating your treasonous words? It certainly would be far easier than what you propose, and it would gain me not only the don's gratitude, but he would also owe me a favor. The world of power operates on intrigue and favors." His voice had dropped another octave, and she shivered despite the warmth of the fire. Surely no one had ever conveyed such menace in such a soft voice.
She lifted her chin defiantly. "I am well aware of the risk I'm taking."
"Are you?" The two words were low, almost a whisper of sound. Ominous. Threatening. "In truth I do not think you have any idea." The silence stretched between them until Isabella wanted to scream. The falcon on the don's arm stared at her with merciless eyes. "What kind of man would send his sister to plead for his life? He must have known you were risking your own by coming here."
Her teeth tugged at her lower lip. "In truth he would be angry with me if he knew. But I felt I had no choice."
"Did you plead so eloquently with Don Rivellio?" This time his voice conveyed something else, something nameless, but it stirred a terrible dread in her heart. She saw his white teeth flash, as if he snapped them at the mere thought of such a thing.
She wanted to give him whatever answer he needed to hear to encourage him to help her, but she had no idea what he would prefer, so she settled on the truth. "No, I could not force myself to do such a thing. Are you going to help me?" She couldn't stem the impatience in her voice.
"What are your intentions if I do not?"
At least he hadn't dismissed her immediately. "I shall attempt a rescue myself."
He did stir then, white teeth gleaming at her from the darkness. Mocking amusement. "I see. And if I do agree to aid you in this plan to free your guilty fratello, what is in it for me? You have no land to give me. You have no money. Your loyalty toward tuo fratello is commendable, but I doubt I would elicit the same from you. How did you plan to repay me? Or did you expect me to risk my life and the lives of my soldiers for nothing?"
"Of course not." She was shocked that he would think such a thing of her. "I'm a Vernaducci. We pay our debts. I have mia madre's jewelry. It is worth a small fortune. And my mount. She is well bred. And I myself am a hard worker. You may not believe I'll give you the same loyalty, but in exchange for mio fratello's life, I'll work hard for you. I ran our home, so I'll have no trouble becoming a domestica, as I know what is expected." She stared steadily into the shadows of the alcove, digging her nails even deeper into her palms while her heart beat out a wild rhythm.
"I do not wear jewelry, and I have many horses. I also have many domestici, all quite loyal and very capable of doing their jobs."
Her shoulders sagged. She hunched in the chair, struggling desperately not to cry. But she continued to stare into the darkened alcove, not wanting to break contact with her only hope.
"What else are you willing to do in exchange for the life of tuo fratello?" The words were soft. "Will you trade your life for his?"
At once her mouth went dry, and her heart nearly stopped. She thought of the unearthly scream of agony she had heard in the middle of the night. The terrible roar of the beasts. Did he sacrifice women to the lions for some pagan god? Did he watch humans being torn to pieces simply for his own perverted pleasure? She knew there were many in power who committed terrible atrocities. "I think you know I would do anything to save him," she answered, suddenly very afraid.
"Once you give me your agreement, there will be no going back on your word," he cautioned.
"You will have him pardoned?" She tilted her chin, putting on a show of bravery.
"You will trade your life for that of tuo fratello? I have your word of honor?"
She stood up quickly; she could not stay still. "Gladly," she said defiantly, proudly, every inch a Vernaducci. Even her father would have been proud of her in that moment.
"And I can trust the word of a woman?" His voice was soft, almost caressing, even as he insulted her with his question.
Her eyes flashed at him in a small flare of temper. "My word is not given lightly, signore. I assure you, it is every bit as good as yours."
"Then it is done. You will remain here, in my palazzo, and the moment we are wed, I shall secure your brother's release." There was a grim finality to his words.
She gasped aloud, a soft protest. It was the last thing she had expected. Her eyes widened as she tried to peer into the darkened alcove. To see him, to see his face. She had to see him. "I don't think it is necessary to wed. I'm quite happy to remain a domestica in your palazzo." She curtsied deliberately. "I assure you, signore, I am very hardworking."
"I have no need of another domestica. I have need of a wife. You will wed me. You have given me your word, and I will not release you." That strange, low growl rumbled from deep within his throat, and the bird on his arm shook its wings restlessly, as if suddenly nervous or about to attack. Its beady eyes stared at Isabella as relentlessly as did the eyes in the shadows.
Isabella's heart stuttered, and she gripped the back of the chair to steady herself, but she gazed intently into the alcove, refusing to be intimidated. "I did not ask to be released, Don DeMarco. I merely attempted to point out I was not expecting you to marry me. I have no dowry, no land, nothing to bring to the match." She should have been sagging with relief that he wasn't feeding her to his lions, but instead she was more frightened than ever. "Mio fratello is ill. He will need care. He must be brought here immediately so that I can nurse him back to health."
"I will not tolerate interference from your brother. He would not want you to trade your life for his. He must believe our match is one of mutual affection."
After all she had been through, her relief was so tremendous that Isabella feared she might collapse. She could feel tears clogging her throat and swimming in her eyes, and she turned away from the don to stare into the fireplace, hoping he wouldn't notice her weakness. She waited until she was certain she could control her voice.
"If you save mio fratello, I will not have to feign affection for you, Don DeMarco. It will be so. I have given you my word. Please make the arr
angements. Every moment counts, as Lucca's health is failing, and Don Rivellio has ordered his death at the end of this moon's cycle." She sank back into the chair to keep from collapsing into a pitiful heap on the floor.
"I would not make promises you cannot keep, Signorina Vernaducci. You have not yet seen your bridegroom." There was a grimness to his voice, a hard, implacable warning.
He moved forward then--she felt him moving rather than heard him--but she didn't turn her gaze away from the fire. Suddenly she didn't want to see him. She wanted to be alone to give herself time to regain her strength and courage. But her legs were far too shaky to carry her from his quarters. He strode into the edge of her vision, tall and muscular, a powerful, fit male, reaching upward to allow the falcon to settle onto a perch built into an alcove far from the fire. And then he was walking toward her. As he approached she became aware of how silently, how quickly, how fluidly, he moved.
He reached for the small teapot on the table between the two chairs. For one horrible moment Isabella saw a lion's huge paw with dangerous claws. She blinked, and the paw, only an illusion of her terrified imagination, became his hand. She watched as he poured the liquid into two cups and handed her one.
"Drink this. You will feel better." His voice was gruff, almost as if he regretted the small kindness.
Gratefully closing her hands around the hot cup, she accidentally brushed his skin with her fingertips. At the slight contact a whip of lightning leapt into her bloodstream, arcing and crackling, sizzling hot. Shocked, she nearly jumped away from him, her startled gaze flying upward to lock with his.
Chapter Three
Isabella found herself staring into strange, liquid amber eyes. They were mesmerizing. A cat's eyes. Wild. Mysterious. Hypnotizing. Blazing with some emotion she couldn't fathom. His pupils were intensely pale and unusually elliptical in shape. Still, she felt she had seen those eyes somewhere before. They weren't altogether unfamiliar to her, and she relaxed, a small smile curving her mouth.
His hand suddenly cupped her chin, forcing her to continue to meet his fierce gaze. "See me, bride. See your bridegroom. Take a good look at the bargain you have made." His voice had a deep, rumbling note to it, that undertone of growling she had noticed before.