Feehan, Christine - The Scarletti Curse by The Scarletti Curse (v1.5) Read Free Book Online

nobility, but the similarities ended
there. Where Don Giovanni Scarletti had a palpable aura of power and danger and
authority about him, this man seemed ravaged by sorrow, almost as if he
couldn't stand straight beneath the weight of his burden. His young wife, Nicoletta
seemed to recall, was one of the casualties of the Scarletti curse, leaving him
a widower with no mother for his child.
    Immediately Nicoletta's heart went out to him, her compassionate nature
sharing his sorrow. Normally she would never speak directly to a member of the
Scarletti family—it was as natural to her as breathing to avoid contact with
nobility and outsiders—but she couldn't help responding to him. "There is
no need to worry, signore, the
bambino
will live. The soup she shared
with Don Scarletti was tainted. She was given medicine to aid in her
healing." Her voice was soft and soothing, unconsciously reaching out to
"heal" him, too, as she so often did with her people.
    He bowed, a courtly gesture of respect. "I am Vincente Scarletti. The
bambino
is all I have left in this world. When I saw the bedchamber below empty,
I…" He trailed off. "I do not know how I thought to check the
nursery. I was numb and walked here blankly, without thought."
    No wonder sorrow was etched so deeply into his face. Nicoletta reassured
him. "A small
incidente,
no more, Signore Scarletti."
    "I thank you for saving the don and my daughter. I do not know what our
famiglia
would do without
mio fratello,
the don. And the
bambina
is everything to me."
    "Maria Pia Sigmora is a healer without equal," Nicoletta lied,
straight-faced. She was grateful for the shadows in the room that prevented the
man from examining her too closely. His brother's scrutiny had been enough
adventure for one night.
    "Vincente! What is going on? Has Sophie taken a turn for the
worse?" The woman, Portia Scarletti, who had been weeping earlier in the
hallway, poked her head into the room, wrapping her hand familiarly around
Vincente's arm. Her face mirrored her deep concern.
    Nicoletta studied her closely. Portia looked far younger than what must be
her thirty or so years. Margerita, her daughter, appeared to be at least
fifteen. Portia wore a long, form-fitting gown that revealed more than it
covered, and even in the middle of the night, her hair was dressed perfectly.
    Portia took in the women and child in the room with one swift glance.
"Ah"—she crossed herself devoutly—"thank the Madonna, the
bambina
is well. Come, Vincente, you have suffered much. You must rest."
    "Have you both gone mad?" The voice from the doorway was low but
carried a whiplash in it, a hard authority no one would dare to defy.
"Sophie nearly died tonight, these women are exhausted with the work they
have done, and you do not give them even the courtesy of allowing them to sleep
undisturbed?" Don Scarletti moved into the room, his presence immediately
dominating the nursery and those who occupied it. "Portia, you and
Margerita were too afraid to see to the needs of the
bambina
when she
needed you, yet now, in the middle of the night, you enter the room to awaken
her caretakers?"
    The woman winced under the reprimand. "How can you accuse me of such a
thing? I was seeing first to Margerita's safety, as a mother should. The
servants were to see to the
bambina.
I ordered them to do so, but they refused,
thinking they might encounter the plague. I cannot control the superstitious
beliefs of those from the
villaggi.
They do not listen when they fear
the unknown. Surely you do not blame
me
for their incompetence!"
    "I found the poor
piccola
abandoned, with waste and vomit all
over her." The obsidian eyes were lethal. He didn't raise his voice, but
he was cutting the woman to pieces, and Nicoletta almost felt sorry for her.
    "I gave the orders to the servants." Portia lifted her chin.
"How dare you chastise me in front of ones such as these?" She waved
a hand to encompass Nicoletta and the sleeping Maria Pia. "Vincente,
please,