Lair of the Lion

brushed off her skirts in a determined, businesslike manner, not once looking directly at the don.
    "He is unused to so many strangers in his territory," Don DeMarco answered gruffly.
    "Leave that mess, Sarina. Signorina Vernaducci is injured. We must see to her wounds." He was already moving swiftly through the room and out into the corridor, Sarina traveling in his wake.
    Shaking uncontrollably like a ninny, Isabella was mortified at her own behavior. It was beyond bearing. She was a Vernaducci, and Vernaduccis did not carry on when embattled.
    "I'm sorry," she whispered, appalled at her lack of control. She was crying in front of a servant, in front of Don DeMarco.
    "There, there, bambina, we will take the sting from those wounds," Sarina crooned to her as if she were a mere babe. "You were so brave, you saved me from terrible injury."
    They were rushing down the stairs, the don's body fluid and powerful, not jarring her in the least. The lacerations were painful, but Isabella was crying from relief, not pain. First the falcon and then the lion had been terrifying. She hoped the four-footed beasts didn't have freedom of the castle. Surely the one she saw had escaped from a cage somewhere on the grounds. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down.
    "I am sorry for my foolish weeping," she apologized again. "Really, I'm all right now.
    I'm quite capable of walking."
    "Do not apologize to me again," Don DeMarco said grimly. His golden eyes moved over her face in a dark, brooding perusal. There was an underlying harshness to his voice, a nameless emotion Isabella had no hope of identifying.
    She gazed up at him, and her heart stilled. His face was a mask of bitterness, his expression without hope. He looked as if his entire world had crumbled, every dream he had ever had smashed beyond repair. Isabella felt a curious wrenching in the region of her heart. She lifted a hand and touched his shadowed jaw with gentle fingertips. "Don DeMarco, you persist in thinking me a glass bauble that will shatter when dropped. I'm made of sterner stuff. In truth, I wasn't weeping from pain. The bird merely scratched me."
    She could feel the burning and throbbing now that her terror had receded, but reassuring the don seemed of paramount importance.
    The golden eyes blazed down at her, possessively, settling on her mouth as if he wished to crush her lips beneath his. He stole her breath with that look. Isabella stared up at him, mesmerized, unable to glance away.
    With exquisite gentleness he finally placed her on her bed, rolling her over so that she was lying on her stomach, the long lacerations exposed to his probing gaze. She felt his hands on her, pushing aside the material of her gown, ripping it down to her waist. It was shocking and more than unseemly to have Don DeMarco see her like this, and in her own bedchamber. Isabella squirmed with embarrassment, reaching instinctively for the coverlet.
    She could feel the cool air on her bare skin, and her back was painful, but she was humiliated that she had wept and nearly fainted and now her gown was down around her waist.
    The don caught her hand to prevent her from wrapping herself in the quilt, and he whispered something ugly under his breath. "These are no small scratches, Isabella." His voice was harsh, yet the way her name rolled off his tongue was a velvet caress.
    "I will take care of her." Sarina's tone bordered on shocked outrage as she bent over the younger woman to examine the wounds.
    "She is to be my bride, Sarina." There was a bite to the don's voice, a self-mocking note that brought a fresh flood of tears to Isabella's eyes. "You will see that she comes to no further harm."
    There seemed a hidden meaning in his words, and Isabella sensed an understanding passing between the two, but she couldn't catch the drift. Her back was throbbing and burning, and she just wanted them both to leave her alone. "Of course, Don DeMarco,"
    Sarina said softly, compassion in her voice. "I will watch over her. You must meet with those waiting. I will see to Signorina Vernaducci personally."
    Don DeMarco bent so that his mouth was next to Isabella's ear, so that the warmth of his breath stirred tendrils of her hair and whispered over her skin. "I will set in motion the plans to fulfill our bargain at once. Do not worry, cara mia. It will be done."
    Isabella closed her eyes, her fingers curling into two tight fists as Sarina began to work on the ragged wounds on her back. The