Lair of the Lion

afraid for him. Don Rivellio would like nothing more than to see him dead. Grazie, Signor DeMarco, grazie."
    "Nicolai," he corrected softly. "Say my name, Isabella."
    She certainly owed him that much. Her eyes were shining at him—she couldn't help it.
    She wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him again. "Nicolai, grazie. For mio fratello's life."
    "You do not owe me anything, cara," he replied gruffly, but he couldn't drag his gaze from the fascination of her perfect mouth. "Rivellio is a powerful enemy and always greedy for more property. I'm surprised he didn't try to secure your lands by offering marriage to you."
    Isabella looked straight ahead at the vaulted archways faintly lit by one or two tapers in sconces on the wall. "He did offer," she admitted, and once more she began walking in the direction of her room. "More than once. I refused him immediately. He was very angry. He didn't show it, but I could see it."
    "Isabella." He said her name into the night. Whispered it. His voice was gentle, even tender. "You are not responsible for what happened to your brother. Lucca chose to join a secret rebellion, and he was foolish enough to get caught. Rivellio used every means possible to attain the lands he wanted. He wouldn't have been satisfied with your dowry—
    he would have had Lucca murdered for the entire holding."
    Isabella let her breath out slowly. "I didn't think of that. Of course he would have. He probably would have had me murdered, too, so he could wed another who would bring him more wealth."
    "I suspect you are correct. He would allow a decent length of time to go by first, of course. Either that or he would have locked you up for his convenience and told the world you had died. It isn't unheard of."
    The idea chilled her. The casual, matter-of-fact way he said it chilled her. Isabella had always had the protection of her status, her birthright, name, and property. Her family watched over her protectively. She had heard of the brutality a woman could suffer at the hands of an unprincipled man, but she had never thought overmuch about it.
    When they arrived at her bedchamber, the room was warm with the glowing embers of the fire. Isabella was all business as she located the salve, but her stomach was churning at Nicolai's words. She knew nothing of the don. He was younger than she had thought and much more handsome than she ever could have imagined. He possessed a charisma and charm she found enthralling. His voice and eyes mesmerized her. His sexual magnetism was almost more than she could resist.
    "I frightened you, cara, with my thoughtless words. I can assure you, I do not intend to lock you in a dungeon while I marry other unsuspecting women for their fortunes. One wife is enough for me. Especially when she is unpredictable and skulks around my palazzo, hunting for my treasures."
    "It is said you meet with many men, yet they do not see you."
    He caught her arm, pulling her close to him. "Who told you such a thing?" Golden eyes blazed at her, tiny flames burning brightly in warning.
    Isabella rolled her eyes expressively, not in the least intimidated. "It is common knowledge. Many gossip absurdly both in and outside this valley. But when I had an audience with you, you stayed mostly in the shadows." She laughed softly. "Skulking. I believe you were skulking in the shadows."
    His harsh expression softened, and his eyes laughed at her teasing. Their voices were soft in the night. As if by mutual agreement neither wanted to awaken something from slumber that was better left alone. As it was, they were in their own world, locked together by the darkness and something intangible they shared. "I may have been skulking, for want of a better word. I love the night. Even as a child I felt I owned it." His eyes burned over her, amber flames gleaming brightly. "The night belongs to me, cara. I see what others do not. It holds a beauty and a fascination and, most importantly, a freedom I cannot have in daylight hours. I am most comfortable at night."
    He was telling her something important, yet she was unable to grasp the meaning behind his words. Fleetingly remembering Sarina's calling him nocturnal, Isabella looked up at the perfection of his masculine features. "You are unnaturally handsome," she observed critically, without guile, "yet you seem not to know it. Why do you keep so much to yourself? Is it merely the way of your castello?" She enjoyed his company immensely and hoped he would