Читать книгу The Shadowed Heart - Nina Beaumont - Страница 10

Chapter Two

“Are you insane?” Manelli shouted. “How can you speak of such things as alchemy?”

Luca stepped into the room and closed the door behind him so softly that neither Manelli nor the girl heard him.

“I know nothing of al-alchemy.” Chiara stumbled over the unfamiliar word. “I only said what I saw. And I saw the man putting a black stone in a bowl of liquid and waiting for it to turn into gold.”

“Dio, stop it.” He pressed his hands to his ears. “Just listening to you would make me guilty in the eyes of the Inquisitors.”

“Why did you bring me here, if you did not wish me to speak the truth?” Chiara demanded. She wanted to run, but something kept her standing there, as if her feet had been planted in the ground. “Now I want the coins you promised me.” She held out her hand.

“Sei pazza! You’re crazy!” Manelli tapped his hand against his forehead. “You may have called down the Inquisitors upon my head.” He began to pace. “The bravest man trembles at the mere thought of the dungeons in the Doge’s palace. And now you—” he pointed a meaty finger at her “—you dare to ask for money?”

“You promised you would pay me to use the sight.” There was no petulance, no whining in her voice, only a resolute tenaciousness.

“Listen to me!” He stopped in front of her. “Be grateful if all I do is not pay you.”

Chiara stared up at him. Rage had lived within her since she was a child, watching her father treat her mother worse than he would treat a servant. Now it sprang to life, just as a smoldering fire springs into flame at a breath of air. Her arm brushed against the dagger at her waist, but it did not even occur to her to reach for it. She had a better weapon for this toad of a man.

“It would not go well for you to cheat me.” Her voice lowering, she shifted closer to him. “Do you know what Gypsies do to those who cheat them?”

Paling, Manelli retreated from her, making the sign against il malocchio, the evil eye, with forefinger and little finger of his right hand. “I—if you promise to do what you are told, I will pay you.” His gaze shifted away from her face.

Chiara’s eyes narrowed. If he thought to cheat her, she thought, she would—

“Leave us, Manelli. I wish to speak to the girl.”

Like matching puppets, both whirled to face Luca.

“B-but, signore, Signora Giulietta—”

“Leave Signora Giulietta to me.” Although he was not aware of it, Luca’s chiseled features grew as cold as if they were carved from ice at the unaccustomed contradiction. “Out.” He tipped his head toward the door.

Manelli felt sweat begin to dribble down his back at the icy anger in Signor Luca Zeani’s black eyes. But still he hesitated to obey, for he knew well what cruelties Signora Giulietta was capable of.

Luca heard the door behind him open and turned to see Giulietta with Savini in tow.

“What are you doing here, Luca?” Giulietta demanded.

“I could ask you the same question, cara.” Even as he addressed her, his eyes skimmed over Savini. The man was staring at the Gypsy girl with undisguised lecherousness and Luca’s eyes narrowed as he returned his gaze to his mistress. “Or have you brought Savini here to take his pound of flesh from the girl for telling the truth?”

Chiara’s eyes widened as the terrible understanding of what was happening penetrated her mind, why she had been brought to this room. She understood that this scarecrow of a man with his protuberant eyes intended to take her body. And all these people standing around her intended to let him.

She suppressed the cry of protest and fear that rose in her throat. Like a wild animal circled by hunters, she remained perfectly still for one moment, her eyes darting from one to the other. Then she ran.

Luca had his back to the girl, but by some instinct he was aware of her intention before she ever moved. Spinning on his heel to face her, he blocked her way so that she slammed fully into his body. Capturing her in his arms, he held her relentlessly as she began to fight like a wild thing, twisting and turning within his harsh embrace.

Confident of his muscular body, toughened from years of seafaring life, Luca curbed his strength, not wishing to hurt her.

Grimly determined, Chiara fought on. He was a soft fop, she assured herself, with his silks and brocades and lace. He was evil and brutal, but he was a coward. He had run from her once before, after all.

Twisting her body around its axis, she raised her bent arm as high as she could and then drove it back, plowing her elbow into his middle.

Luca swore as the girl’s elbow struck his midriff, but he only tightened his grip. Still she fought him. Suddenly she bent like a poplar sapling in the wind and, before he realized what she intended, she had sunk her teeth into his wrist.

Dropping all pretense of civility, he grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head back. “Be still, damn it,” he growled into her ear. “I mean you no harm.”

“No!” Her voice rose. The memory of how his eyes had glittered so demonically that night almost two years ago enabled her to fight on even though her strength was flagging. “Let me go!” She managed to free one hand and, forming her fingers into claws, gouged deep scratches into his cheek before he captured her hand again.

His patience snapped and, unleashing his full power, Luca manacled her hands with his and twisted them behind her back, ignoring her cry of pain. Holding her wrists with one hand, he pressed his other arm against her throat, drawing her flush against him.

As he pinned her against him, Chiara stilled, the strength flowing out of her abruptly, as if he had severed some lifeline by pressing her against his body. The light surrounded her again. And warmth. She shook her head in disbelief, as she looked for the dark apparition, but this time it eluded her.

As she surfaced, she found herself staring directly into his eyes. They were the color of the night sky at its darkest hour, but there were tiny specks of gold strewn throughout the blackness, like points of light. She waited for the malevolent glitter, but it did not come. Then she realized that the eyes were smiling at her.

“Well?” he asked, his smile coloring his voice. “Have you decided to surrender?”

Because her life had taught her that it was sometimes wise to give up to be able to fight another time, she lowered her eyes in a gesture that could be taken for assent.

“I do not surrender,” she said softly. “But I cannot fight against your strength.”

“A wise decision. Now if I release you, will you remain still and not try to maim me?”

She gave a jerky nod.

“Look at me.”

Hesitating for a long moment, Chiara felt him push her chin upward with his arm. Reluctantly she lifted her lids. As their eyes met and held, she felt the hatred within her pall. Panicking, she tried to hold it, but all she could see was the light that rose from the recesses of her mind to surround the man who held her, until he seemed enclosed in a bubble of light.

Luca saw the panic in her eyes and felt something within himself soften.

“I won’t hurt you.” He lowered his arm slightly so that it lay just above her breasts. Cautiously he loosened the fingers that shackled her wrists.

When Chiara immediately tried to move away from him, his hands tightened again.

“Stay close until I’m sure that you’re not going to run.” His tone was mild, but the command there was unmistakable.

“You said you would release me.” Her voice was low, furious.

“And so I will.” He smiled. “Just humor me for a bit and stay close.” He lowered his arm. It brushed her breasts and he felt his body stir. He curved his hand over her hip, to make certain that she did not run and because it pleased him to touch her.

“What a touching scene.” Giulietta raised her hands and tapped her fingers against one another in a parody of applause. “If I had known you had a taste for violence, caro, I would have obliged you earlier. Now—” she struck her closed fan sharply against her palm “—I suggest that we return to business.”

“And I suggest that it is time for Signor Savini to retire,” Luca said smoothly. “I am told that the Great Council meets early in the morning.”

“But you promised—” Savini began, his voice rising to a whine.

“I’m sure you misunderstood.” Luca’s mouth curved in a smile that would not have looked out of place on a wolf. “Signora Giulietta only meant she shall endeavor that nothing that transpired here tonight shall become common knowledge.”

“The damage has been done and people will talk. You know that. Gossip is the favorite pastime in Venice.” Savini’s voice rose. “The least you can do is to—”

Luca felt the girl stiffen and he gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Buona notte, signore.”

Savini opened his mouth to speak, but then he closed it with a snap. With a glare in Luca’s direction, he whirled to leave. Giulietta reached out to stop him, but he shook off her hand and swept out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Now look at what you’ve done.” Giulietta turned on Luca, her dark eyes snapping with displeasure. “What kind of game are you playing?”

“I dislike seeing those who cannot defend themselves coerced.” Suddenly conscious of the warmth of the girl’s body beneath his hand, the irony of his words occurred to him and he released her.

Chiara looked up sharply at him. What unspeakable gall, she thought, to speak like that when he was so good at coercion himself. She remembered only too well how she had come upon him holding her sister’s hands pinned above her head much as he had held her own behind her back. And she remembered Donata’s terrified eyes. The memory brought a comforting return of the hatred just as she felt his hand lift away from her hip, the tips of his fingers lingering for a moment before he released her completely.

“You’ve been reading too many philosophical treatises from France, caro. You seem to have begun to believe all that tripe about the purity of the savage and the rights of humanity.” The melodiousness of Giulietta’s voice could not hide the vibration of anger. “Now I suggest we let Manelli take her back to wherever it was he found her.”

Taking his cue, Manelli hurried forward. “Thank you, signora, signore.” He grabbed Chiara’s arm so violently that a seam tore, leaving one sleeve of her linen blouse barely hanging on by a few threads. “Come, now. Come.”

“Let me go.” She tried to escape his grip, but his meaty fingers dug into her flesh unmercifully.

As she twisted from side to side to escape Manelli, her gaze met the night eyes. She hated Luca. Someday she would kill him. But he had been kind to her a few moments ago. He had touched her briefly with gentleness. All these thoughts came together in a twisted kind of logic. And her eyes asked for his help.

“Didn’t you hear what she said, Manelli? Let her go.”

Manelli’s fleshy mouth fell open as he stared at Luca. “But, signore, she belongs to me.”

“Are you saying she is your slave?”

“No!” Chiara cried, horrified at the word. “I am no man’s slave.”

Manalli’s eyes darted to Signora Giulietta and he saw her almost imperceptible nod. “Yes, signore, my slave.”

Chiara struggled against Manelli’s hands. This couldn’t be happening to her, she thought. Surely she would wake up and discover it was all a bad dream.

“Good,” Luca said. “Then I will buy her from you.”

Chiara spun her head to look at him. Going still with shock and disbelief, she watched him dip his hand into a pocket of his brocade waistcoat.

“That would appear to be too little for a good female slave,” he said matter-of-factly, looking at the coins in his palm. “You will not deny me a loan, my dear, will you?”

“Wh-what?” Giulietta sputtered as he turned toward her.

As if she had graciously consented, he reached out and undid the clasp of her necklace of large squarecut amethysts surrounded by small pearls. He jiggled the necklace in his hand as if testing its weight and then, without warning, tossed it in Manelli’s direction.

Manelli let Chiara go and grabbed the necklace in both hands. Terror warred with greed in his eyes as his gaze swept around the room. Then, like a rat scurrying for cover when faced by two dangerous cats, he ran out of the room.

For a long moment, all three remained perfectly still, as if they were part of a tableau vivant, a living portrayal of a painting. Then, while Luca remained still, the women moved, Giulietta sweeping forward, all unsheathed claws and fury, Chiara stepping back.

“How dare you insult me like that.” Giulietta’s voice was high and ill-tempered. “Just what are you doing?”

“I will never be your slave. Never.”

The Gypsy’s voice was low and throaty. Luca found it as arousing as a caress, but he ignored her as if she hadn’t spoken, and continued to look at his mistress.

“You have eyes and ears, my dear. I would think it was perfectly obvious what I am doing.” His mouth curved in the glib smile of a man well skilled in pacifying troublesome women. “I’ve just bought myself a slave.”

“Do what you wish in private, but how can you do this to my face?” Giulietta demanded.

“I have done nothing but purchase a slave.” He emphasized his shrug by raising his hands slightly palm upward. “Do moderate your histrionics, my dear.”

“Don’t tell me you do not intend to take her to your bed.” Her lips trembled. “You’re my lover. How can you betray me thus?”

“Your lover, perhaps, but not your cavaliere servente, sworn to serve you in all ways.” Luca expelled a sharp breath, no longer trying to hide his irritation. “You were eager enough to welcome me to your bed without any promises. And, I would remind you, I have never made you any.”

Giulietta’s mouth thinned as she fought for composure. “We will speak later. I must see to my guests now.”

“We will speak another time, my dear.” It was definitely time to send Giulietta on her way, Luca thought. He would send her the rubies tomorrow. “I find that I am not in the mood for more talk tonight.”

Giulietta looked from Luca to the Gypsy, then back to her lover. “I see.” Fisting her hands in the folds of her skirt, she managed to keep her tone light. “Amuse yourself well, caro. Just make sure you wash off her smell before you come to my bed again.”

Sending a glance that was both contemptuous and furious in Chiara’s direction, she flounced out of the room.

The room was so silent that all Chiara heard was her own breathing. He stood perfectly still, looking at her, his eyes intent.

She concentrated, trying to see what was inside his mind. She knew there was evil within him. Why could she not see it? Why could she not even feel its presence? Yes, there was a darkness within him, but it was like the darkness of a shadow where there is much light.

“Come closer.”

“No.” She threw up her chin. “I am not your slave.”

“Come closer, I said.” A fine edge of steel crept into his mild voice. “If you knew me better, you would know that I am not known for my patience.”

She could not feel his evil, but she felt his power And still she defied him. It was her only chance.

“I am a free woman and I have no wish to know you better.”

His face changed, so subtly that she could not have described it. It was Lucifer, she thought again, and he was displeased with what he saw in his kingdom. Fear rose so suddenly that she had no time to control it before her breath seemed to congeal in her throat.

“I’m free,” she repeated. “You cannot force me to do anything.” Her voice sounded winded and she took a moment to draw a deep breath. “Except by your superior strength.”

“But you’re wrong. I bought you from Manelli.” Tucking the tips of his fingers into the pockets of his waistcoat, he spoke as lightly as if it were a matter of a basket of fruit. “And slavery is still quite legal in Venice, you know.”

“I do not believe that it is legal to sell what you do not own.” The brave words could not mask the sick feeling in her stomach. “Manelli did not own me.”

“No? Why should I believe you?” Even as he spoke the words, Luca asked himself if he had gone mad. Why was he tormenting her when it had been his intention to purchase her freedom and let her go? By all the saints, he had never owned a slave in his life. The thought alone was repugnant to him. Yet, within moments, the need to keep her had become an obsession.

“I do not lie.” She straightened.

She was afraid. He could see the wild pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. But she stood there, defying him with a courage that few men would muster. He felt a flash of respect, but it was obscured by yet another flicker of arousal, stronger this time. More urgent.

“No? Are you not a woman?”

“A woman, yes. But you will hear no lies from my lips.”

He began to move slowly toward her, the high heels of his buckled shoes clicking on the terrazzo floor.

The closer he came, the harder her heart began to beat. Chiara took a step back and found herself against the wall. Because she had no place to run, she met his eyes fully.

She was beautiful in an untamed, earthy way, Luca thought as he walked toward her. But there was more there besides her entrancing face, her seductive body. There was something about her—something heady and powerful. He felt a pull and, had he been honest with himself, he might have correctly identified it as need.

He stopped an arm’s reach away from her, not because he did not want to frighten her further, but because he found himself wanting to touch her. And he knew just how dangerous it was to want anything so badly.

Crossing his arms across his chest, he leaned against the marble mantelpiece. “So,” he said, helpless to stop himself from continuing this game of cat and mouse, “you are a woman without lies.”

Chiara gave a choppy nod.

“What is your name?”

“Chiara.”

Luca’s tawny eyebrows rose. “How convenient.”

“What do you mean?”

“You claim to have the sight, to be a clairvoyant. and your name signifies ‘clear.’” He chuckled. “It’s just too perfect.”

“I cannot help the truth. And I cannot invent lies to please you.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “That is the name my mother gave me.”

“So, Chiara.” He drew the name out so that it rolled off his tongue like a caress. “What do I do with you now?” Unable to resist, he stepped away from the mantel and reached out to touch her.

“Don’t touch me.” She pressed herself against the wall, as if she could make herself disappear into it. Just the thought of his hands on her filled her with panic so vast and absolute that it left no place for anything else. Her mind went blank but for the terror of being touched by this man.

Luca stilled, his hand hovering a palm’s breadth away from her face.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was gentle.

Chiara fought back the terror that was rising within her like black, noxious smoke, but still it came. And came. Until she was choking with it.

Wanting to soothe the unreasonable fear in her eyes, Luca cupped her cheek.

She cried out and spun away from his touch.

Something snapped within him at her strangled cry. At the new wave of abject terror in her eyes. At the way she recoiled from him as she might have recoiled from a man repulsive with the French pox. The dark violence that he had worked so hard to control all his life burst forth as blood spurts from a deep wound.

Forgetting that he did not want to hurt or frighten her, forgetting everything but that he wanted her, a low sound of fury built in his throat.

Moving forward, he slapped his hands against the wall on either side of her head, effectively imprisoning her.