The Scarletti Curse by Christine Feehan Read Free Book Online Page A

escort me to my room."
    Vincente obligingly took the woman's hand and tucked it into the crook of
his arm.
"Grazie,
for the life of my
bambina"
he said
sincerely, bowing to Nicoletta in a courtly manner.
    "I am grateful at least one of you knows to whom we owe a debt of
thanks," Don Scarletti said softly. His voice fairly purred with menace, a
velvet lash masking an iron will. Nicoletta found herself trembling for no
reason at all. She suddenly didn't want the others to leave the room. Worse,
she knew by Maria Pia's breathing that she wasn't faking but was still truly
asleep. Nicoletta would find no savior there if Don Scarletti turned the full
power of his soul-piercing eyes on her once again.
    Portia now remained silent against the don's accusation, and that told
Nicoletta much about the household. Its members feared him nearly as much as
she did. There was something cold and aloof about the don. Something in him
held away from the others, seemingly relaxed yet coiled and ready to strike
like a snake. His family treated him with tremendous deference, as if they,
too, sensed he was dangerous.
    Nicoletta allowed her long lashes to drift down as Vincente took Portia
Scarletti from the room. She held herself very still, not daring to move a
muscle. Silence stretched out so long, she wanted to scream. There wasn't a
sound, not the rustling of clothes or a hint of movement. Not knowing what the
don was doing was worse than facing him. She lay there with her heart pounding,
hardly breathing. Waiting. Listening. There was no sound.
    Nicoletta began to relax. No one could be that quiet. She sighed with
relief. He must have followed the others out of the room. Snuggling deeper into
the coverlet, she took a chance and peeked. He was standing over her, as still
as the mountains, waiting, his dark eyes fixed on her face. He had known all
along that she wasn't asleep and that she would eventually look. For a moment
she couldn't breathe, trapped in the intensity of his black gaze. The flames
from the hearth seemed to be reflected there, or perhaps it was the volcano
seething inside him, deep, hot, and dangerous.
    "I am not fooled so easily as you and the old woman might think."
He said it quietly, a soft, ominous statement of fact. Indeed, the words were
so soft, she wasn't certain he had actually murmured them. He turned with his
peculiar flowing grace and left the room, closing the door behind him with finality.

 
Chapter Three
    "Nicoletta! You left your shoes by the stream again." The childish
voice was giggling, bubbling over with laughter. "Maria Pia said to watch
you. You left your real sandals at the palazzo. She said—"
    "You are never going to let me forget that, are you, Ketsia,"
Nicoletta interrupted, laughing. She placed a garland of flowers on the little
girl's head. "I cannot believe she told everyone. That was so mean!"
But her dark eyes were dancing with shared merriment.
    Ketsia giggled again. "You are so funny, Nicoletta." The little
girl danced around, spinning in circles, her arms held out wide to embrace the
crisp mountain air. Wild flowers exploded in a riot of color, and overhead,
birds sang out, each attempting to outdo the other with trilling melodies.
    Nicoletta whirled and swayed beside Ketsia, her wide skirts flaring, her
long hair flying in all directions, her bare feet tapping out a rhythm in the
grasses. She began to sing softly, her voice melodious as she danced, limping
just a little. Her leg was still sore, but the swelling had gone down. She
bathed it daily in the cold stream, applying poultices to speed the healing.
    It had been several days since she had been called to the palazzo. The
memory of the don hadn't faded at all. Instead, she found herself uneasy, often
thinking of him. At night she dreamed of him. A tall, solitary man with dark,
hypnotic eyes. He whispered to her, called to her, his soft voice insistent,
aching. She dreamed erotic dreams, things she knew nothing about; she dreamed
of love