Lair of the Lion

my husband. With my Rolando!" The allegation burst from Theresa. For a moment her eyes flashed with anger—then, humiliated and ashamed, she resumed looking at the floor.
    "You have proof of this." Again it was a statement.
    Theresa shivered. She nodded, her gaze once more sliding to her husband, then quickly away.
    The room was silent, the hush of expectancy. Isabella stood in the center of the room, looking as serene as she could manage, grateful for her father's training. All eyes were focused on her. She didn't flinch, but rather faced her accuser calmly.
    "Let me see the proof of my betrothed's infidelity," Nicolai said softly. "The proof of my captain's betrayal." His voice was a low purr of menace. His tone brought the tension in the room up another notch. He held out a hand.
    Isabella blinked rapidly, mesmerized by the sight of Nicolai's large hand. It was a giant paw, covered in fur, razor-sharp claws glinting like stilettos. She heard a collective gasp go around the room. She lifted her gaze to meet his, but he was focused fully on Theresa, watching her with the unblinking stare of a predator.
    Theresa stepped toward the don, her outstretched hand holding the evidence of Isabella's treachery. She stopped short, her face pale, her hand shaking. No matter how hard she tried to force herself forward, she couldn't take the step to put the damning proof in that huge paw. Nicolai refused to move forward to take the scrap of parchment. He continued to stare at Rolando Bartolmei's wife, orange-red flames burning in his eyes, daring her to place the damning proof in the huge paw.
    It was Isabella who broke the impasse, taking the missive from Theresa and putting it in Nicolai's open palm. She watched Nicolai's face as he read the words aloud " 'I miss you so much. Please hurry and join me. I wish I had told you the last time I saw you how very much I love you.' It is signed, 'Isabella.' " He lifted his gaze from the parchment and looked directly at her. "Did you write this, Isabella?"
    "Yes, of course I did," she answered easily, quickly, into the expectant silence.
    The silence stretched nerves to a screaming point. Theresa attempted to look triumphant.
    Rolando looked stunned. Isabella only had eyes for Nicolai. She watched his face for any fleeting expression, anything to give her a clue to his thoughts. He said nothing, simply waited in the vacuum of silence.
    A sob escaped Theresa's throat. She jammed a fist to her mouth and averted her face from her husband. Rolando shook his head again.
    "Where did you find my letter, Signora Bartolmei?" Isabella asked without rancor. Her voice was gentle, soft, non-threatening.
    Behind her hand, Theresa's voice was muffled. "In the pocket of my husband's coat."
    Another sob escaped.
    Isabella's eyebrows went up. "Really." She said the word thoughtfully and turned her head to search the room for a face. Her gaze settled on Violante. She remained silent, just watching the other woman.
    Nicolai kept his attention centered on Isabella. There was no other in the room who could command his attention… and his control. He could feel his fury building, not white hot but ice cold, the beast raging to be released. Isabella was covered in bruises, in lacerations, subjected to this humiliation, this speculation, before the court. Anger and jealousy mixed with his icy rage until he shook with the need to explode.
    Violante turned a bright crimson, glanced at her husband, then at the floor. Sergio Drannacia looked at his wife, inhaled sharply, and reached for her hand. As she looked up at him, an understanding seemed to pass from one to the other.
    Violante squared her shoulders. "I don't know what made me do it. I took the letter from the library when you picked up the book," she said to Isabella. "I just wanted to have it, to look at my name. I thought I might trace over the marks you made until I learned them."
    She forced herself to look at Don DeMarco's motionless figure. He was so still he could have been carved from stone. "She wrote my name on the top, a short missive to her brother, and her name at the bottom. She was showing me how to write. I tore my name from it to keep it. I still have it in a box at my home."
    Tears shimmered in her eyes as she looked at Theresa. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I don't know why I said those things about your husband and Isabella. I kept trying to stop myself, but I couldn't. I remember putting the missive in the coat when I