Lair of the Lion

fratello, Lucca, taught me to render a man incapable of harming me. While it is true I would not want you writhing on the ground in pain, I would certainly defend my honor earnestly."
    There was a silence while her heart beat out a rapid rhythm. Then a soft, muffled sound began to build in volume. Laughter. Warm, contagious, real. Nicolai shook his head, rather startled at the sound of his own laughter. He couldn't remember a time, even in his youth, when he had laughed. She didn't understand. Thank the Madonna she didn't understand. She stood there in front of him, her young, beautiful face innocent and without guile. Her eyes were wide and staring at him with trust, with the beginnings of affection, with everything he could ever want. She was offering him the world and the joys of paradise. He was offering her death and the fires of hell.
    His laughter died away, and he blinked back something wet that was obscuring his vision. "Your brother taught you a manner of rendering a man harmless?" He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, unobtrusively swiping his eyes to clear them of moisture. "I have not heard of this, a small creature such as yourself able to manage such a great feat. I would like this procedure explained to me in great detail."
    Isabella was mesmerized by him, totally charmed. His laughter found its way deep into her heart, lodged there, and made a home. Faint color stole up her neck and tinged her face.
    "I am certain you know what I mean, signore."

    "I think it is time you call me Nicolai. If you are considering reducing me to a writhing, painful heap on the floor, it's best that we're friends. I was merely hoping for a demonstration of this procedure. I wish you to teach my entire holding such a useful thing, so that all young women travel with protection and alleviate the worries of their fathers."
    Her lashes fluttered, and Isabella twisted her fingers together. "You are jesting with me, Don DeMarco."
    "Certainly not, cara. I am quite excited about this new form of protection that will allow a small woman such as yourself to cause a man of my size and strength to fall helplessly to the floor. Your brother, Lucca, taught you such a useful and invaluable trick? Tell me, Isabella, did he learn such a thing from a master swordsman?"
    "You are impossible. I implore you to behave before I'm forced to call Sarina and have her deliver you a good clout on the ear." She tried to sound stern, but her eyes were dancing, and her lips curved enticingly.
    He folded his arms across his chest, his gaze fixed on the temptation of her soft mouth.
    "Sarina believes you safely locked in your room, a well-bred young lady betrothed to her don."
    Isabella managed a haughty glare when she really wanted to laugh. "You can just fix those horrible gashes in your side all by yourself. I'm going to my bedchamber and will do my utmost to forget this discourse."
    "I have been accused of being a gentleman, Isabella, and I must insist on escorting you back to your bedchamber." He leaned close so that his breath was warm against her ear. "I cannot have you skulking about looking for hidden treasures."
    Isabella thought herself a safe distance from him, yet in no time he had managed to glide quite close. He was so silent it was frightening at times. Without looking at him, she carefully replaced the tome on the shelf where she had found it. "If you're too frightened to wander the halls alone, I will consent to accompany you." She was proud of that haughty note. She felt it justifiable under the circumstances. His teasing was too appealing. She couldn't look at him without melting. She was in danger of fast becoming one of the very women she despised, clinging to a man and gazing at him in abject adoration. It was too humiliating to be borne.
    Nicolai placed one hand on the small of her back as they walked together, side by side, out of the room. She was acutely aware of the heat of his hand so close to her skin. The rippling of his muscles beneath his shirt. The silence of his footfall. His height and the width of his shoulders. Mostly she was aware of his palm burning its way through her dressing robe, branding her.
    She could feel the weight of his stare, and she kept her head bent, a small mutiny when he seemed to be taking over her life so quickly.

    "I sent word that your brother must be released into my care," he said suddenly.
    Isabella's head went up, and her gaze met his immediately. "You did? Thank the good Madonna. I have been so