Lair of the Lion

her rescuer.
    "Are you injured?" Captain Bartolmei's voice bordered on desperation. "Answer me!"
    This time he used his authority, commanding compliance. His hand was inches from hers as he leaned down to her. "You can do it. Take my hand."
    Isabella took a deep breath and let it out. Very slowly she worked at loosening her grip, one finger at a time. Taking a leap of faith, she reached for him. Rolando caught her wrist and dragged her up and over the railing. She collapsed against him, both of them sprawling on the snow-covered balcony.
    For a moment he held her tightly, his hands patting her back in a clumsy attempt to comfort her. "Are you injured in any way?" He sat her up with gentle hands.
    Isabella was shaking so hard her teeth chattered, but she shook her head firmly. Her skin felt like ice. Rolando removed his jacket and settled it around her shoulders. "Can you walk?"
    She nodded. If it got her to her bedchamber, a warm fire, a cup of hot tea, and her bed, she would crawl if need be.
    "What happened? How did you come to be in this place?" He helped her to her feet and guided her out of the wind, back into the servants' corridors.
    "Grazie, Signor Bartolmei. You saved my life. I don't think I could have held on much longer. I thought I heard someone I know calling to me. The door closed behind me, and I was trapped." Subdued, Isabella followed his lead through the network of stairs and hallways until they were once again in the main section of the palazzo. "Please send Sarina to me," she said as they stopped in front of her door. Her feet were so numb she couldn't feel them. "I would prefer that you not say anything. I shouldn't have been exploring."
    Before he could protest, Isabella ducked into her room, murmuring her thanks once again.
    She closed the door quickly before she humiliated herself by bursting into tears. Isabella flung herself facedown on the bed. The fire was already roaring in the fireplace, but Isabella didn't think she would ever be warm again. She wrapped her hands in the coverlet and shook helplessly, uncertain if it was from sheer terror or from the bitter, piercing cold.
    Sarina found Isabella shaking uncontrollably, her hair wet and tangled, her gown soaked and streaked with dirt. Most alarming was the fact that Captain Bartolmei's jacket covered her.
    "My hands and feet are burning now," Isabella said, struggling not to weep.
    The housekeeper took charge immediately, drying her young charge, dressing her hair, and tucking her beneath the quilts after a cup of soothing tea. "Captain Bartolmei's coat shouldn't be in your room. Did the servants see you wearing it? Did you run into any of them as you came through the palazzo?"
    "Don't you want to know what happened?" Isabella turned her face away, sickened that she had been so close to death, yet all the housekeeper seemed worried about was propriety.
    "I'm certain someone saw us. We weren't trying to hide."
    Sarina patted her gently. "It is necessary to be cautious, given your status, Isabella."
    Isabella flinched, having heard the words many times from her father. "I'll try to arrange it so that the next time I'm nearly killed, it won't be food for gossip."

    Sarina looked horrified. "I didn't mean—"
    Nicolai DeMarco stalked in without warning, interrupting whatever the housekeeper had to say. His amber eyes blazed with heat. "Is she injured?"
    Sarina kept her gaze fixed on Isabella, who turned her head toward the sound of the don's voice. "No, signore, just very cold."
    "I wish to speak with her alone." Nicolai made it a decree, circumventing any protest Sarina might make.
    He waited until his housekeeper had closed the door before taking the chair she had vacated. His palm cradled the back of Isabella's head. "Captain Bartolmei tells me you nearly fell to your death. What were you doing up there, piccola?"
    "Certainly not leaping to my death, if that's what you think," Isabella retorted without her usual spirit. "I was lost." Her lashes drifted down. "I followed the voice. The door locked. It was cold." Her words were low, her sentences disjointed, and made no real sense to him.
    "Aren't you going to ask why Captain Bartolmei's jacket is in my bedchamber? Sarina seemed overly concerned with it." There was distress, hurt in her tone, despite the fact that she tried valiantly to hide it. "I've already had the lecture on being more discreet when I'm falling to my death, so if you don't mind too much, I'll pass on another one."
    "Go