The room deep beneath the palazzo was filled with steam. Isabella was grateful for the humidity and the vapor rising from the surface of the heated bath. At the last moment, just before entering her bedchamber, she had looked down at her hands and was appalled at the soot and grime. Tremors had nearly driven her to her knees. All at once it was the most important thing in the world to remove every trace of the incident. Sarina hadn’t argued when she pleaded to be brought to the beautifully tiled bath.
Isabella left her ruined gown in a heap on the polished marble and slowly went down the steps, letting the water lap at her body. Her skin stung in places, but the water was deliciously soothing. Giving in to the terrible trembling, Isabella sank into the bath. At once Sarina began to pull the intricate braids from her hair.
The door flew open, and Don DeMarco stalked in. He looked powerful, angry, filled with turbulent emotions. He said nothing at first. Instead, he paced up and down the length of the room, his long strides betraying his agitation, a low, threatening growl emerging from his throat.
Intimidated by the don’s barely leashed temper, Isabella glanced at Sarina for courage, but the housekeeper seemed more frightened than she. Isabella could tell by Sarina’s downcast eyes that she was unable to see Nicolai in his true form.
Nicolai stopped pacing and turned the full force of his amber eyes on Isabella. “Leave us, Sarina.” It was an order, and his tone brooked no argument.
The housekeeper squeezed Isabella’s shoulder in silent camaraderie and allowed her young charge’s hair to fall loose, hoping, no doubt, that the long tresses would act as some sort of covering. She retreated without a word. Nicolai stalked behind her, locking the heavy door, sealing Isabella in the room alone with him.
Isabella counted her own heartbeats, then, unable to stand the suspense, slipped beneath the surface to scrub the grime from her face and rinse the smell of smoke from her hair. She wanted to escape, simply to disappear. When she came up for air, Nicolai was standing at the top of the steps, looking wild, untamed, and very powerful. He took her breath away.
He padded across the tiles, his face shadowed, dark with his dangerous thoughts and inner turmoil. He was as silent as any lion as he stalked to the water’s edge, to her ruined gown. He glanced at her once, then hunkered down beside the dress and lifted it with two fingers, staring at the black smudges and gaping holes. Nicolai straightened, a quick, fluid motion, naturally graceful. Animalistic. Swallowing visibly, he dropped the blackened gown upon the tiles and turned his glittering amber gaze to her face.
“Come here to me.”
She blinked. It was the last thing she expected him to say. A shiver went down her spine despite the heat of the water. Her heart accelerated, and in spite of everything that had happened since she came to the palazzo, she tasted desire in her mouth. It blossomed low and pooled, a heated ache so intense she trembled. Isabella wrapped her arms around her breasts and looked up at him. “I have no clothes on, Nicolai.” She meant to sound defiant. Or appeasing. Or anything but what she did, which was weary, with a huskiness that made her voice a soft, seductive temptation.
A muscle jerked in his jaw. His eyes grew hotter, more alive. “It was not a request, Isabella. I want to see every inch of you. I need to see every inch of you. Come here to me now.”
She studied his face. She was infinitely tired of being afraid. Of coping with unfamiliar situations. “And if I do not obey?” she asked softly, uncaring what he might think, uncaring that he was one of the most powerful dons in the country, uncaring that he was soon to be her husband. “Go away, Don DeMarco. I can’t do this right now.” Her eyes were burning, and she would not, would not, cry again.
“Isabella.” He breathed her name. That was all. Just her name. It came out an ache. Terrible. Hungry. Edgy with need, with fear for her.
Her heart contracted, and her body tightened. Everything feminine in her reached for him. “Don’t do this to me, Nicolai,” she whispered, a plea for sanity, for mercy. “I just want to go home.” She had no home. She had no lands. Her life as she had known it was gone. She had nothing left but an all-consuming love that would eventually destroy her.
His gaze burned over her. Hot. Possessive. The merciless eyes of a predator. The hard line of his mouth softened, and his expression changed to one of concern, of comfort. “You are home, bellezza.”
The brush of her gaze was nearly as potent as the touch of her fingers. If it was possible, his body hardened even more. “Are you afraid to come to me?” he asked softly, gently, a hint of vulnerability in his tone. What did propriety matter when there was such deep sorrow in her eyes? When she drooped with weariness? When she looked so sexy his body was going up in flames?
It was that slight break, that mere touch of an unguarded note in his voice, that changed everything for Isabella. He stood tall and enormously strong with nearly limitless power, yet he feared she might not want him with his terrible legacy. What sane woman would? He was seducing her with his voice. With his burning eyes. With the dark intensity of his emotions, with his loneliness and his incredible courage in the face of his heavy responsibilities. Who would love him if not she? Who would ease the pain in the depths of his eyes if not she? Isabella’s gaze deliberately drifted over his body, settling for a moment on the thick evidence of his arousal beneath his breeches. Who would relieve the suffering of his body when no other woman could find the courage to look upon him and see beyond the ravages of an age-old curse?
Isabella lifted her chin, her eyes steady on his. She could spend a lifetime staring into his eyes. She allowed herself to be mesmerized, captivated. “Not at all, signore. Why would I be afraid of you? A Vernaducci is stronger than any curse.”
She straightened, then tipped her head to one side to capture her long hair in her hands. It took a few moments to squeeze the moisture from the thick mass. She kept her gaze locked with his, needing his strength, needing his reaction. Isabella walked slowly toward the steps, the water caressing her every inch of the way. It slid over her skin, silky and wet, touching her breasts and her belly until she ached with need. Deliberately, provocatively, she dragged her feet and emerged slowly, coming to him through the steam and swirling water.
Nicolai knew he had made a terrible mistake the moment she took her first step toward him. The sight of her made his knees weak and his heart pound. His erection was a thick, pulsing ache. He was heavy with need, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered until he examined every inch of her skin to make certain no harm had come to her.
His heart had stopped when they informed him of the accident. His throat had closed, and for one terrible moment he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The beast had risen unexpectedly so that he wanted to kill. To maim and tear and destroy everything. Everybody. The sheer intensity of his emotions had terrified him.
He pulled her to him, crushed her against his body, buried his face in the wet mass of her hair. She soaked his clothing, but he didn’t care. He held her tightly, trying to calm his wild heart, trying to breathe again. When the trembling stopped and he felt steadier, Nicolai held her at arm’s length and began a slow inspection of her body. Very gently her turned her around and pushed the long rope of hair over her shoulder to expose her back to him. The talon marks were beginning to heal. His hands moved over her reverently, needing to feel her soft skin. He held her shoulders still as he bent to taste her. His tongue found the angry, raw marks of courage and lapped at the beads of water.
Isabella bit her lower lip and closed her eyes against the sensations his mouth was creating as he leisurely followed the contours of her back to her buttocks. His hands cupped her bottom, kneaded her flesh, then curved over her hips to slide up to her narrow rib cage. He pulled her back against him. She could feel his thick erection pressed hard against her bare skin, only his breeches separating them.
“Isabella.” He breathed her name softly into the hollow of her shoulder. His teeth teased her neck gently as his hands took the weight of her breasts, his thumbs caressing her nipples. “I’m going to make you mine. I can’t stop this time.” He kissed the scratch on her temple. His tongue swirled over the puncture wounds on her shoulders, leaving behind a sweet ache. “I have to have you.”
“I’m already yours,” she whispered, knowing it was true. She belonged with Nicolai DeMarco.
He turned her face to him, wanting to see her expression. His hands framed her face, and he bent his head to hers. Her mouth was soft and pliant, opening to him so that his tongue could stroke hers. Fire swept through him, hot and fast, and he found he was ravaging her mouth when he wanted to go slowly. He forced himself to gentle his kiss, to keep from devouring her. When he lifted his head, she was looking up at him, bemused, so trustingly he fell to his knees with a groan, his arms wrapping around her waist, resting his scarred face against her belly. There where their child would grow.
The thought brought another wave of love, overwhelming, intense. His mind was roaring with hunger for her, with the need to bury his body deeply in hers and merge them together. He wanted her so badly he trembled with his need. His hands slid up the curves of her calves, her knees, found her thighs.
A sound escaped her. She was shaking. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“I have to have more,” he whispered to her, and he slipped one hand between her thighs, caressing and stroking. Her soft moan tightened his entire body. He pushed his palm tightly against the hot core of her, felt it dampening, and smiled, pleased at the evidence of her arousal. He leaned into her and tasted her, his tongue stroking where his hands had been, determined that she would want him, would accept him, would feel nothing but pleasure.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, her hands fisting in his hair. She was afraid her legs would give out, but she didn’t want him to stop. Ever.
His tongue stroked again. “You taste like hot honey,” he murmured as he indulged himself, holding her to him while he fed, loving the way she clutched at him and her body tightened and trembled. “I could spend a lifetime tasting you,” he whispered, rubbing his mouth on her stomach before standing up. “I’m taking you to my rooms.” He lifted her high into his arms so her breasts nuzzled his chest.
Isabella wrapped her arms around his neck. “My room, please, Nicolai. We’ll be safe there. I won’t be afraid.” She could hardly breathe with wanting him, and when he bent his head to flick her nipple with his tongue, she felt another wave of warm moisture seeping in invitation from between her legs.
He wasn’t altogether certain he could walk, but he was not going to take Isabella’s innocence on the tiles like a heated, uncaring youth. As he made his way through the hidden passage, he stopped to kiss her several times. Once, just outside her bedchamber, he allowed her feet to touch the floor while he pressed her against a wall and took her mouth with his, his hands wandering over her body.
Isabella found his mouth a wonderful mystery, a place of erotic beauty. He swept her into another time and place, where her body burned deliciously and she craved him, craved the feel and taste of him. She would never get enough of his kisses, never get enough of his body. Boldly she slipped her hands beneath his tunic to find the muscles of his chest. His skin was hot. She couldn’t resist rubbing her hand over the large bulge in his breeches.
Nicolai nearly exploded. He came to his senses with his mouth at her breast and his fingers deep within her body. He was attempting to tear his breeches away, and the frustration brought him back to reality. He took a breath, breathed her in, and once more cradled her to him. She was offering herself to him without reservation, a gift he was determined to treasure.
Nicolai carried her into her chamber and laid her on the bed. Unable to take his eyes from hers, he pulled off his tunic and dropped it on the floor. She was beautiful, lying there completely naked, her gaze following his every move. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots and couldn’t resist the temptation of the breast closest to him. He bent to suckle, his tongue teasing her nipple, his teeth scraping gently until she shuddered with pleasure and her legs moved restlessly.
Her belly was soft yet firm, and she jerked as his hand slipped lower. “Trust me, Isabella,” he pleaded. “Just let me take care of you.”
“Undress then,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “I want to look at you the way you look at me.” It was broad daylight, and she should have been ashamed, but he filled every one of her senses until there was only Nicolai. Everything he did, everywhere he touched or tasted, brought her pleasure and need. Her body no longer felt like her own but was heavy and aching and desperate for release. She was hot, feverishly so, and she needed something. Needed his body.
He tossed his boots carelessly aside and stood to rid himself of his breeches. She found herself staring in apprehension at the hard, thick erection springing from between his legs. Nicolai smiled as she frowned at him.
“I think you may be too big for me,” she said softly.
“That’s not possible. You were made for me.” He wouldn’t let her be afraid of making love with him. There were many legitimate reasons for her to fear him, but his size wasn’t one of them. “I’ll make certain your body is ready for mine. Trust me, Isabella.”
She reached out to wrap her fingers around his thickness. When she felt his shudder of pleasure, she slid the pad of her thumb over the soft tip to watch his reaction. Her stomach clenched hotly deep inside, every muscle contracting with anticipation.
“Later, cara, I swear, I’ll show you many ways we can pleasure each other, but right now, I want you very much. I need to make certain you’re ready for me.”
“I feel ready for you,” she said as he knelt between her legs, nudging her thighs wider. She felt ready to explode.
“We both thought you were ready for me before, cara mia, but I rushed you.” He pushed his finger slowly into her tight sheath. Isabella gasped and nearly came off the bed. “This is what it’s like, cara, only more, remember? There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He bent to kiss her belly as he withdrew his finger. “Now I’m going to stretch you a little, but it should bring pleasure, not pain.” He pushed two fingers in very slowly, watching her face for signs of discomfort.
Her muscles clenched and tightened around his fingers, and he began to push deeper, a longer stroke that had her crying out. When he withdrew his hand, Isabella protested. “Nicolai.” A soft reprimand that made him smile and shake his head.
“Not yet, cara. One more. I want to be sure you feel nothing but pleasure with me this time.” Deliberately he inserted three fingers, more slowly, more carefully. Again he deepened the stroke and was pleased when she lifted her hips to meet his hand. “Ah, that’s it, that’s what I want.” He leaned down to kiss her again as he settled between her thighs. “When I begin to move inside you, that’s how you move to deepen the pleasure.”
Isabella felt him pressed at her entrance and waited breathlessly as he began to push into her. He went slowly, his amber gaze holding hers. The feel of him stretching her, binding them together, her muscles tight and clenching around him, was almost more pleasure than she could bear.
His body shuddered in reaction to the exquisite torment. She was hot and tight and more than ready for him. He stopped when he encountered her barrier. Nicolai took her hands, stretched them above her head, and bent to suck on her nipple. He kissed her throat. “Ti amo, Isabella,” he whispered. “I love you.” And he surged forward.
She winced, and her fingers tightened around his. They looked at one another a long time, and then both smiled.
“It is done, bellezza.” He kissed her again. “Take all of me now. Every bit of me.” He pushed deeper into her. “That’s it, take more.” Nicolai pushed deeper still, another inch, and Isabella cried out, the sound muffled against his neck. He felt like shouting himself. She was a fiery sheath that gripped and teased and drove him mad. “We’re almost there, just a little bit more, all of me, where I belong,” he coaxed. He let go of her hands and caught her hips.
Isabella shuddered with pleasure as he withdrew and surged forward, gliding into her, out of her, slowly at first, then fast, faster still, deep, hard strokes that took her breath away and set her nerves screaming for more, always more. She could feel his rhythm now and began to meet his body with her own so that he clenched his teeth against the building pressure.
Nicolai wanted it to last forever, an ecstasy for both of them. It was building in him, wild and primitive. His woman. His mate. The roaring in his head increased. He gripped her hips harder, pulling her to him as he thrust forward with long hard strokes, so deep he wanted to find her soul. No other would know her, no other would have her, no other would give her a child. It ripped through him, a firestorm burning hotter than anything he had ever known. His body shuddered, tightened, hardened to a single purpose.
Isabella was watching him closely as his body began to pound hers in a near frenzy. At once the ripples began, spreading, encompassing her, taking her over so that she cried out with pleasure. It didn’t stop. He kept going, taking her over and over so that her release seemed endless. She hadn’t known what to expect, and she could only grip his arms for sanity as her body took on a life of its own.
He threw back his head, the wild mane of hair a halo around his head. As his seed poured into her, hot and fast, his hips pumping to send it deep, the roar deepened in his head and ripped from his throat.
Isabella’s eyes stared directly into his. The amber was fiery orange-red, as if his body had truly started a fire and the flames were burning brightly in his gaze. His hands tightened around her hips, his fingers digging into her.
“Isabella.” It was a soft, husky groan of defeat, of fear. “Run. Get out of here while you can.” There was despair in his voice, but he didn’t let her go, his body trapping hers beneath it. His hips were still surging forward as her muscles rippled and clenched around him. She felt a stab of pain in her hip, a needle puncture.
She stared directly into his eyes, holding him to her. “Nicolai,” she said softly, “I love you. For yourself. Not as the don. Not as the powerful being who saved mio fratello. I love you for you. Kiss me. I need you to kiss me.” She dared not look away from his eyes, dared not take the chance of the illusion taking hold, not now. Not in the midst of their lovemaking.
There was a silence as he stared down at her. Isabella remained calm, waiting. Watching. Her hands rubbed up and down his arms. She could feel his strong, hard muscles beneath his skin. Skin, not fur. The flames receded, and the needle slowly retracted from her hip. Her body still gripped his, her muscles clenching and unclenching as little aftershocks rocked her.
He bent his head and found her mouth, his kiss tender. “Did I hurt you?” He was afraid to look at her, afraid she would see tears swimming in his eyes. How could he ever trust himself with her again? He knew he would want her again and again, and each time he took her would become an experience in painful self-control. Sooner or later he would lose the battle, and it would be Isabella who paid the price.
“You know you didn’t.” She nibbled her way up his chin to the corner of his mouth. “Is it always like that?” His hair was brushing her sensitive skin, and deep inside, her muscles reacted by contracting again, sending another burst of pleasure rushing through her. Relief washed over her. She was certain they could find a way to be stronger than the curse. Of course, it was ingrained in Nicolai to believe in the curse, to believe he would one day kill the woman he loved, and she was afraid he was defeated before they even tried.
“You saw it, didn’t you?” His hand moved over her hip and came back with a small smear of blood on it. “You saw me as the lion.”
“No, Nicolai, I didn’t see it. I saw you, only you.” She held him close to her, their hearts beating frantically together. Needing comfort, he laid his head on her breasts while her fingers twisted in his hair.
“But you felt the lion, Isabella,” he said sadly. “I know you did. I know you heard him.” Her nipple was too much of a temptation, and he took it into his mouth, his tongue teasing and stroking. Again he was rewarded when her body shuddered with pleasure, squeezing and tightening around him. He kissed her breast and lay quietly, letting her peace, her tranquility, seep into his mind so he could think clearly.
“None of that matters, only what we are together,” she answered softly.
Nicolai lifted his head and stared down into her face. “I’m not going to marry you.” His eyes gleamed at her, and his hair fell across her sensitized breasts, teasing her nipples to hard peaks.
She stiffened beneath him. He lay over her naked body, his naked body blanketing hers, entwined with hers, his arms holding her. They had just lain together in the way of husband and wife, yet he chose that moment to announce he had once again changed his mind. Isabella tried not to think it was due to her inexperience, due to the fact that she had given up her innocence without marriage.
“Please get off me,” she said politely when she wanted to slap his handsome face. That she could still find him handsome frayed her temper even more.
“I’m sorry. Am I too heavy?” He shifted his weight immediately, one arm still around her waist, one leg thrown casually over her thighs. His breath was warm against her breast. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”
“You did think of it before,” Isabella pointed out dryly, and she shoved at him. “I must get up. Sarina will be wondering where I am. I trust your inspection of my body met with your approval.”
“Isabella.” He sat up. “What’s wrong?” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, confused by her reaction. “You’ll be my mistress,” he reassured her. “I would never give you up. I’ll send for another bride if I must, but you’ll stay here and live with me.”
Her chin rose a fraction. She rolled away from him, sat on the other side of the bed, and inspected the stained sheets, evidence of her lost innocence, her temper rising so that she struggled for control. “I suppose I deserve that, Signor DeMarco, and, of course, your will is my command. Will you have the decency to leave me now please?” He would send for another bride. He dared to say that to her while her body was still throbbing from the invasion of his.
“Isabella, it’s the only way to get around the curse. Don’t you see?” He reached for her, but she slipped off the bed and dragged on her robe, her dark eyes stormy.
“Don DeMarco, I’m asking you to leave my room. I have agreed to serve you in whatever capacity you require in exchange for Lucca’s life. If you wish me to be your mistress, than I will do so. But I’m asking you to leave my room before I forget myself and throw something quite large at your head.” She was proud that she managed to keep her voice pleasant.
“You’re angry with me.”
“How perfectly clever of you to guess. Get out!” She enunciated the words carefully on the chance he was impaired in some way. Perhaps that was what happened to a man after he lay with a woman. Perhaps they lost their senses and became perfect dolts.
“I’m protecting you, Isabella,” he pointed out reasonably as he pulled his clothes toward him. “You must see that. We have no other choice.”
“I have politely asked you to leave my bedchamber.” Isabella assumed her haughtiest tone. “Unless I have no rights in our ever-changing relationship, I believe privacy is a small thing to ask.”
“You have to see that I’m right in this,” Nicolai said, exasperated with her. “Dio, Isabella, I might have killed you. And if you became my wife, one day I would.”
“Ah, yes, that excuse again. A mere pinprick is much like the stab of a dagger. I think the stabbing has been done to my heart.”
He took a deep breath and shook his head. “We were lucky this time. I felt it taking me. I nearly couldn’t control the beast, with my emotions so intense. I won’t risk marrying you and letting the beast take you, not even to appease your injured feelings. Propriety means nothing against the chance of losing you.”
“Propriety may mean much to mio fratello, signore, and to my good name. I am a Vernaducci, and we, at least, do not go back on our word.” She looked down her nose at him, every bit her father’s daughter. She walked to the door and yanked it open, ignoring the fact that he was undressed. “Leave my room at once.”
“Isabella!” Shocked, he snagged his clothes with one hand, his boots with the other, and hurried to the entrance of the secret passage.
Ignoring him, Isabella calmly yanked on the bell pull to summon a servant. She steadfastly refused to look back at Nicolai as he escaped into the passage. She stared resolutely out the door of her bedchamber, waiting for her call to be answered.
Alberita arrived, breathless. She curtseyed three times. “Signorina?”
“Please tell Sarina I need her immediately. And, Alberita, there is no more need for bowing.”
“Yes, signorina,” the maid said, curtseying repeatedly. She whirled around and raced down the hallway at breakneck speed.
Isabella didn’t move, standing beside the door waiting, her bare foot tapping out a rhythm of impatience, of temper, of mortification. Sarina hurried toward her, and Isabella caught her by the hand and dragged her into the bedchamber. She shut the door firmly and leaned against it. Tremors were starting from deep inside, spreading throughout her body.
Sarina looked from her pale face to the disheveled bed, the stained sheets. She looked back at Isabella. “I must get rid of the evidence immediately.”
“There’s no need.” Isabella waved a hand and worked to keep her voice even, but it wobbled alarmingly. “I’m no longer his betrothed. He’s informed me I am to be his mistress, and he will send for another bride.” To her horror, her voice broke completely, and a sob escaped.
Sarina was astounded. “That can’t be. You’re the one. The lions know. They always know. Isabella…” she began, her gaze straying back to the stained sheets.
Isabella covered her face, ashamed to be weeping in the presence of a servant, but nothing would stop the flood of tears. She comforted herself with the knowledge that the DeMarco holding was different, the senior servants treated as family.
Sarina went to her immediately, swallowing every lecture and putting her arms around the younger woman, her expression compassionate. Isabella put her head on Sarina’s shoulder, clinging to her. Sarina made little clucking noises, patting Isabella’s back in an attempt to calm the storm of tears. “He couldn’t have meant it. He wasn’t thinking properly.”
“I should have listened to you.”
“If Nicolai thinks he’s protecting you, it wouldn’t have made any difference. Would you have told him no if he had wanted you as his mistress before he offered marriage?”
Isabella shook her head. “No.” She had to be honest with herself and Sarina. She would have become his mistress if those had been the terms of their agreement, but she never would have allowed herself to be so drawn to him. At least she hoped she wouldn’t have. A wife could eventually find a way to dispose of a mistress. “I would have done anything he asked to save Lucca. I still will, but it’s different now, Sarina.” She shook her head again and left the comfort of the housekeeper’s arms to sit on the edge of the bed and survey the reminders of her sins. “Everything has changed.”
“Because you love him.” Sarina made it a statement.
Isabella nodded sadly. “And he would lessen what we have together. I have no choice but to accept what he decrees, but it will take some time to begin to forgive him. And I don’t know what I’ll do when he sends for a bride.” She rubbed absently at her throbbing temples. “Why didn’t he just choose one from this valley?”
“No DeMarco chooses a bride from within the valley.” Sarina sounded faintly shocked. “It isn’t done. And what famiglia would risk such a thing?”
“Of course not, not when they believe the bridegroom might eat the bride.” She made a small attempt at humor, but it came out bitter. “Better to bring in a girl from a holding who knows no such tale, who can’t escape and is sold by her famiglia for profit.” She squared her shoulders. “At least I choose my own fate, Sarina. I came here willingly, and he’s told me what to expect.”
She looked sadly around the room with its plethora of winged guardians and crosses. “I was supposed to be safe here. I thought that somehow she would protect me if I was in this room.”
“I am certain the Madonna is watching over you, Isabella,” Sarina assured her.
“She must be,” Isabella agreed, “as I’m still alive in spite of the curse. But I was thinking of Sophia. This was her room. I feel her presence sometimes. It must be terrible for her to see what her words have wrought. I wish I could help her in some way. I think she must have suffered greatly.”
“You are an unusual woman,” Sarina said sincerely. “If Don DeMarco is so foolish as to allow you to slip through his fingers, then he doesn’t deserve you.”
A small, humorless smile touched Isabella’s mouth. “I don’t think it’s in his mind to allow me to go anywhere, just not to marry me. I will live as his mistress while he chooses another bride.”
“The curse is on Nicolai as the DeMarco heir, not on his bride. You are the one the lions have accepted. It won’t matter how many other brides he chooses, nor how often he professes not to love you, he can’t cheat his destiny,” Sarina said sagely.
Isabella suddenly leaned into her and circled Sarina’s neck with her arms, burying her face on the housekeeper’s shoulder. Sarina couldn’t resist the silent plea and held her tightly. “I think you’re right,” Isabella said. “I feel you’re right. Nicolai can’t defeat the curse by tricking it.” She sighed softly. “But there was no talking to him. He thinks to protect me. In truth, he will make it more difficult for me.” Isabella allowed herself a few minutes of comfort before determinedly getting up. “I would appreciate your aid, Sarina. My hair is a mess. Would you mind helping me again?”
Sarina was all business, choosing another gown for Isabella, carefully brushing out her hair in front of the fire to dry it before once more dressing it. Isabella lifted her chin and turned around to allow Sarina to look at her. “What do you think?”
“I think you’ll do,” Sarina said softly.