Lair of the Lion

could breathe again. His fingers curled around the nape of her neck, then drifted to her shoulder and down her back, a gesture meant to thank her where he had no words.
    "It is a pleasure seeing you both," he said softly to the two ladies, "but I must ask to be excused, as I have many duties to attend."
    The wives of his captains stared resolutely at the floor, once again setting Isabella's teeth on edge. Nicolai's hand swept down Isabella's hair in a light caress. "Be happy, cara mia. I will see you later."
    She caught his wrist boldly. "You don't have time for a cup of tea?"
    There was a collective gasp of shock. Even the two captains stiffened. Isabella felt the color rise in her neck and face. The simple question was treated as if she had made a terrible breach of etiquette.
    Nicolai ignored the others, his vision, his world, narrowing until there were only the two of them. His large hands framed her face, and his gaze drifted hungrily over her. "Grazie, piccola. I wish I had the time. For you, anything." His sensual voice was filled with regret.
    "But I have kept several emissaries waiting far too long as it is." He bent his head and brushed a kiss against her temple, his fingers lingering a moment on her soft skin. Abruptly he turned and in his silent, deadly fashion walked away.
    Isabella turned to find the couples watching her. She lifted her chin and determinedly pasted a confident smile on her face. "It looks as if Cook has prepared a feast for us. I hope you're hungry. Grazie, Captains, for bringing me company."
    "We'll return shortly," Rolando assured his wife. "We, too, have our duties to attend to."
    He patted his wife's hand in reassurance before walking away.
    Theresa watched him go. She was visibly trembling, her eyes darting around the room anxiously as if she expected a ghost to come flying out of the walls.
    Violante looked toward her husband, her gaze hopeful. When he merely walked away without glancing back, her shoulders sagged. Almost at once she recovered and seated herself gracefully. "Sergio tells me the wedding is to be within the moon's cycle." Her eyes slid speculatively over Isabella's curvy figure. "You must be…" She paused long enough to be bordering on rudeness… "nervous."
    Theresa pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp of shock.
    Isabella smiled coolly. "On the contrary, Signora Drannacia, I'm very excited. Nicolai is most charming and attentive. I cannot wait to be his wife."
    Sarina poured the tea, a mixture of herbs and hot water, into the cups. She kept her gaze resolutely on her work, but Isabella noticed the tightening of her lips.
    "Aren't you frightened?" Theresa ventured.
    "Why ever would I be afraid? Everyone has been wonderful to me," Isabella said, easily portraying a wide-eyed innocent. "They've made me feel very much at home. I know I'll be happy here."
    Sarina flashed at her a covert grin as she placed a platter of biscuits on the table. The housekeeper faded discreetly into the background, leaving Isabella to fend for herself.
    Despite her youth, Isabella had been in similar situations before. Violante Drannacia was a woman feeling threatened. She was determined to maintain her position, real or imagined, wanting the upper hand with all the other females in the palazzo. She was also uncertain of her husband and felt compelled to warn off any competition. Isabella knew the signs well.
    Violante patted her hair, looking superior and knowledgeable. It was obvious she easily intimidated Theresa. She leaned closer to Isabella and looked cautiously around the room.
    "You haven't heard the legend?"
    "A fascinating tale. I can't wait to tell my children on a dark and stormy night," Isabella improvised. Which legend? she wondered.
    "How can you stand to look at him?" Violante asked, her gaze challenging.
    The smile faded from Isabella's dark eyes. She drew herself up, her young face haughty.
    "Don't make the mistake of forgetting yourself, Signora Drannacia. I may not be mistress here yet, but I will be. I won't have Nicolai maligned in any way. I find him handsome and charming. If you can't bear to look at the scars on his face, scars from a horrifying attack, I would ask you not to visit our home."
    Violante paled. She pressed a hand to her chest as if her heart had fluttered at the attack.
    "Signorina, you misunderstand me completely. It is impossible to notice scars when we've been taught not to look upon him. You're not from this valley." She took a sip of