Lair of the Lion

her wrist, the warmth of his palm lingering on her skin. Isabella twisted her fingers into the folds of her skirt to prevent herself from rubbing at the marks on her wrist. Her pulse throbbed in a rhythm of fear and excitement. It was silly the way her wild imagination persisted in seeing him as the strange, leonine carvings in his home. And it was equally silly that the outside world thought him a demonic beast because of a few scars.
    Isabella was no frightened child to faint away because he bore evidence of surviving a vicious attack. Deliberately she took a sip of tea. "You do not disappoint me, signore, or frighten me, if that is your intention. Do you think me so weak or young? I am no child to have fear of a man." Although he was much more intimidating than she wanted to admit.
    And he clearly had enormous strength. He could crush her easily should he make the effort.
    It was impossible to judge his age. He was no boy but a full-grown man, bearing the weight of his title and the burden of ensuring his people's welfare on his broad shoulders. And now that of her brother. She had brought him yet another encumbrance, and the thought made her feel guilty. "Please do have some tea. I would hope to become better acquainted with you."
    "Tell me what you see when you look at me." His voice was quiet, a mere thread of sound, a whisper of velvet and heat. Yet it was a command from a powerful being.
    To steady her nerves, Isabella took another sip of the hot, sweet tea. It was laced with honey and fortified her. "I see a man with many burdens to bear. And I have brought him another. I'm sorry for that, but I cannot allow mio fratello to die. You were my only hope. I didn't wish to complicate your life further." Her words were sincere.
    Don DeMarco hesitated as if uncertain what to do. He finally seated himself in the chair opposite her. Isabella smiled warily at him, offering a tentative olive branch. "I fear you have made a poor bargain, signore. Mio padre spent a good portion of his life frowning and shaking his head in disapproval of my behavior."
    "I can well imagine the truth of that." Irony laced his voice, and she could feel the weight of his relentless stare.
    Isabella felt the brush of butterfly wings in her stomach, and heat curled slowly through her bloodstream. She knew little of the relations between a man and woman. She didn't even know if he would want her in that way. But she couldn't seem to look at him without her entire body clenching with a heat and fire she'd never felt before. It was uncomfortable and frightening. And she didn't want anyone dictating to her, curtailing her activities. She was accustomed to doing as she pleased with few restrictions.
    She tilted her chin. "I do not obey the dictates of others very well."
    His low, amused, caressing laughter startled her. It slipped inside her and wrapped around her heart. "Is that a warning or a confession?" he asked.
    Her gaze touched his, then slid away shyly. She had the feeling he rarely laughed. "I think it was more of a warning. I've never been able to understand the meaning of the word obey." She took another sip of tea and regarded him over the rim of the cup "Mio padre said I should have been born a boy." The hand hidden in the folds of her skirts twisted the material tightly. She was terribly nervous, far more so than she had even been. Don DeMarco was not at all what she had expected. She could have dealt with a stuffy old man, even one with greedy, lust-filled eyes. Don DeMarco was incredibly handsome, more than handsome, and she had no idea how to deal with him.
    "It has been long since I sat and talked with another like this," he admitted softly, some of the tension easing out of him. "My meetings are not social, and I never take dinner with members of the household." He sat back in his chair, stretching his long legs toward the fire. He should have looked relaxed, but he still looked a wild animal, restless in its cage.
    "Why not? Dinner was always my favorite time of the day. Mio fratello would tell me such wonderful stories. It was difficult for me when mio padre decided I needed to learn certain feminine accomplishments and locked me indoors. Lucca would tell me as many wild tales over dinner as he could think of to make me laugh."
    "Were you often locked in?" His voice was mild enough, but something in his tone made her shiver. Clearly he didn't like the idea of her father locking her in, but it was perfectly fine that he had done