Читать книгу Dominic - Elizabeth Amber - Страница 8

Satyr Estate in Tuscany, Italy

Earth World, 1837

“Damned beasts.”

It was Carlo.

Emma had been listening for his arrival. She’d monitored his forward progress by the staccato sound of his sneezes. He was allergic to Lyon’s panthers.

They’d never warmed to him either. Not in the entire year and a half since Nicholas had found and brought Carlo to the estate. Even now, the sleek black animals paced just behind her husband at the edge of the tree line, grumbling as if to warn her of his approach.

“Liber. Ceres. Away,” she ordered softly. At the sound of her voice, Carlo’s head lifted. His eyes narrowed on her where she stood in the doorway of their home.

The hopeful thrill that had always zinged through her when she caught sight of him was missing this time. Yet she’d waited for him tonight as anxiously as always, half fearing he wouldn’t come. Her relief now that he had shown himself was tinged with dread. It was a curious reaction, and one for which only she and he knew the reason.

Carlo stepped out of the late afternoon shadows and next to her beneath the portico of the carriage house. Adjacent to that of her sister’s lavish castello, it had been converted into their home upon their wedding. But though Emma resided here, her husband had visited only twelve times during the entire year of their marriage. Once a month, like clockwork, he’d returned to bed her. As he would do tonight.

Their eyes met—hers a wary ash brown, his a boyish, confident blue. His smile was warm, false, familiar. Frightening.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, reaching for her.

So he thought they would both pretend.

She pulled away. “Don’t touch me,” she warned coolly. “Except as necessary. Later.”

He feigned astonishment. “What’s this? Where’s my usual affectionate welcome? Do you wish me gone again? Shall I leave?” He turned on his heel as though to depart.

“No!” She took a hasty step forward and put a staying hand on his sleeve.

He smirked. “I thought not.” Dropping his bag on the porch, he snaked an arm around her, drawing her so close that she felt the hard weapon he wore at his hip.

Cupping the back of her head, he pressed her soft cheek to the coarse wool of his uniform. She inhaled the peculiar scent of that other world in which he dwelled. That world into which she could not trespass. That world she used to despise because it kept him away from her.

Now she could hardly wait for morning, when he would return there.

“Don’t.” She wedged her elbows between them, trying to nudge him away.

His grip on her tightened, and she winced as the beading along the back of her gown punished her skin.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Emma,” he murmured, refusing to release her. His breath was cool against her neck. “Can’t you let it go?”

At his words, hope tried to flicker to life within her. Had his ill treatment of her last month been an aberration? Would this sojourn from the war in Else World signal a new beginning for their marriage? Hope—foolish hope—brightened her heart, just a little. She squashed it.

Carlo drew back, and his satisfied gaze fell to her swollen waistline.

“You’ve grown fat in the past month,” he teased.

“And whose fault is that?” she told him, forcing herself to match his light tone.

An odd expression shifted in his face, gone before she could decipher it.

“Mine, I suppose. But motherhood agrees with you.” He found his usual smile once more. The one that made him so deceptively attractive and which had lured her into wedding him.

“Did you tell your sister?” he asked.

“No, Jane noticed my condition without my having to do so.”

In a gesture that had become habitual over the last four weeks, she smoothed a hand over her rounded abdomen. It had grown to this size within a single month, the entirety of the period necessary for the gestation of a child of Satyr heritage. The bulge was only half the size of her sister’s or of her two aunts’ by the time they’d given birth.

“She predicts our first child will be a small one.”

“You misunderstand,” said Carlo. “I meant to inquire regarding whether or not you told her what happened between us.”

Emma arched a brow. “Do you refer to my reluctance to conceive and your insistence?” she asked. She refused to pretend it had been something else. “If so, no. I saw little point. However, you should be aware I’ll not tolerate a repeat of your brutality.”

“Brutality? Come now, you overstate the case. You know how my blood stirs under a full moon.” He pulled her close again and bumped his forehead to hers, his pretty eyes willing her plain ones to offer forgiveness.

She simply stared at him, stunned anew at his refusal to concede that there could be no excuses for what he’d done.

“It’s unnatural for a woman to thwart her husband’s efforts to beget heirs on her. Why did you do it, Emma? Why didn’t you want my child?”

Because this child shackles me to you forever. Makes it more difficult to leave you. Unaccustomed anger surged in her, but she tamped it down. Just get through tonight, she reminded herself. Tomorrow will be time enough for frank words.

A squeal of delight had them both turning. Emma’s older half sister Jane had peeked into the hall and seen them.

Carlo straightened, drawing Emma into the curve of his arm. Making a pretense that all was well.

“You’ve returned at last, Carlo. How wonderful!” Jane said. “I’ll summon the others.”

“Do! I’ve brought news of matters on the other side.” Carlo glanced behind himself, through the open front door. The air shifted as her sister departed in a swirl of skirts, and candlelight from the hall sconces rose for a moment, flaring across his throat. Angry scratches striped the flesh there and on his collarbone, spidering even lower within the concealment of his uniform.

“You’re hurt!” Emma said, impulsively reaching to inspect his injuries.

“Shhh!” Carlo grabbed her wrist, rejecting her touch. His mood had altered like lightning, transforming him into the monster she’d glimpsed only once before. A month ago.

“He’s here!” Oblivious to any undercurrents, Jane had already departed. Her footsteps and voice receded down the corridor toward the dining room.

Emma tugged at her arm, but Carlo held her fast in an intentional show of strength. With his free hand, he fastened his collar over his injuries, firmly shutting her out.

The distant scrape of chair legs against wooden parquet indicated that the rest of the Satyr clan would soon come rushing out to join them. Her time alone with her husband was at an end. At least until they retired together upstairs.

His grip relaxed, and she pulled her wrist from his hold and stepped away, rubbing it and surveying him through downcast lashes. Panic beat its delicate wings in her chest.

Should she speak to Jane? Or to one of the others? Tell them what he’d done to her last month? No. She wouldn’t tell them, for the same reasons she hadn’t told them before now. Carlo had gone to great lengths to obtain what he wanted of her—a child. It was unlikely he would chance harming it when they were alone.

And, regardless, the rest of the family would soon be incapable of protecting her. When the full moon came, all on the estate would fall under its spell.

“Say nothing of this. There’s no need to alarm the family,” Carlo instructed. She shot him a sharp glance, wondering if he’d read her mind. But he only touched his throat, indicating his injuries. “We’ll speak more of my wounds privately. Later.”

He brushed past her, his boot heels tapping across polished Italian travertine.

Jane returned and dashed forward on silent slippers, taking him by surprise and enfolding him in a sisterly hug. He was too well mannered not to allow it. But Emma read the tension in him as he endured the affectionate clasp.

The hall was narrow, and their presence temporarily trapped Emma just inside the front door. Watching them, she fidgeted, smoothing her long, rustling skirts. Jane had insisted that she begin preparations for this momentous homecoming weeks ago, helping her in the selection of this extravagant gown as well as new nightclothes.

They’d spent today together, making sure she would look her best to greet her husband on the night they would become new parents. Emma hadn’t had the heart to protest to her sister that she was attempting to make a silk purse from a sow’s ear. While Jane was beautiful and skilled at enhancing her beauty, Emma was plain and devoted little care to her appearance.

The splendid taffeta gown she wore was adorned with intricate tatting at its hem and delicate Venetian glass beading at its neckline. It had been designed and delivered earlier that week by the most skilled dressmaker in all of Florence. Her hair had been brushed and styled, with fluted ribbon woven through her brown curls.

All in preparation for her husband’s homecoming. All for a man who had no love for her, except as a means by which he could produce his progeny.

“Welcome, Carlo!” The deep, masculine voice belonged to Jane’s husband, Nicholas, who’d joined them. He was followed by his younger brothers, Raine and Lyon, and their respective wives, Jordan and Juliette. The entire family had gathered here tonight to wish them well on the night their first child would be born. The other three couples resided in the original castellos on the ancestral estate, which made visiting convenient.

As they all crowded into the hallway, Emma allowed herself to be shunted aside. It was natural for everyone to be excited, for they rarely saw Carlo. He had been at war for so long, returning intermittently, only to bed her with a regularity dictated by the carnal stirrings of his Satyr blood.

The last time they’d coupled had been exactly one month ago. It had been a Calling time. The moon had been heavy and ripe, bursting with light. As it would be again tonight.

He’d been tardy in coming to her bed that awful time four weeks ago, waking her sometime around midnight. The moon had risen hours earlier, and she’d long since cried herself to sleep, assuming he’d found another outlet for his passions and would not come. For once dusk fell on a Calling night, rituals commenced that engaged a Satyr male’s mind and body beyond all thought and reason.

Because she had given up expecting him, she hadn’t been prepared, and he’d—

No, she wouldn’t think of that. Not now.

When she’d awoken the next morning, bruised by his cruelty only in places her family wouldn’t see, he’d already departed for Else World.

But she hadn’t been alone. He’d left her with child. It would be their first, and it would be born at dawn.

Emma moved to shut the door but left it ajar when she saw that Carlo’s bag still sat on the porch where he’d dropped it. Her child chose that moment to shift inside her, causing the strange flip-flopping sensation that had become so familiar in the past few days. Her hand found her belly, cupping it in a protective gesture.

The late afternoon shadows stirred unnaturally beyond the steps, pulling her gaze.

A man stood outside, watching her.