The Scarletti Curse Read Online Free PDF Page B

Giovanni Scarletti. That was dangerous
and foolhardy. Nervously she swept a hand through her thick, hair, horrified to
discover her head scarf had slipped off. It was too far away for her to grab it
and cover her abundance of hair, but at least the strands were still drawn back
in a severe knot.
    "You can talk—I have heard you," Don Scarletti pointed out.
"What was the melody you sang to Sophie? It was somehow familiar to
me." He asked it casually, idly, as if it didn't matter at all and he was
simply making conversation. But Nicoletta wasn't fooled. His black eyes were on
her face, sharp like a hawk's.
    She felt the breath explode out of her as if he had hit her with his fist.
Unexpectedly she was struggling not to cry. Sorrow welled up out of nowhere, so
deep that her throat closed, and tears burned behind her eyes. It had been her
mother's favorite song. Nicoletta still held those precious memories, of her
mother's soft, beautiful voice, the warmth of her arms. Her mother had worked
at the palazzo, and twelve years earlier they had brought her body home from
this place of death. Involuntarily Nicoletta averted her face, once again
attempting to draw her leg away from the don.
    His fingers tightened like a shackle around her ankle. "Be still."
    Nicoletta was feeling desperate. She did her best to look doltish. Under the
circumstances, it wasn't that difficult. She was feeling entirely off balance.
She mumbled something unintelligible, knowing instinctively he would have no
patience for evasion, and covered her face as best she could. Alas, the don had
sharp eyes and likely had missed nothing at all. Something in his voice,
something nameless, something undefined, gave Nicoletta the uneasy impression
that he no longer regarded her as an ageless, nameless, nondescript servant. He
spoke as if he were talking to a young maiden or frightened child. He had even
called her
piccola
—little one.
    "Send for the servants," he ordered Maria Pia, confirming
Nicoletta's suspicions that he no longer thought of
her
as a servant.
The older woman had returned silently, but he was aware of her presence
immediately. "Your apprentice cannot remain in this room this night."
    Sophie was struggling to gain her freedom, wrenching her hand free of Maria
Pia to run to Nicoletta and crawl into her lap. Nicoletta gratefully wrapped
her arms around the child, unashamedly hiding behind the little girl.
    Maria Pia hastily tugged the bell pull and hovered anxiously close to Nicoletta.
"She is invaluable to me, don." Love and concern etched deep lines
into her face, naked, transparent, and easy for someone as sharp as Don
Scarletti to read.
    "The wound is deep, but I have cleansed and bandaged it. Where are her
shoes?" He stood abruptly, easily, flowing power and coordination
combined, lifting Nicoletta and Sophie into his arms in one smooth motion.
"I do not want further injuries caused by bare feet on the debris. Gather
her things, and we will go to the nursery."
    Where the child should have been all along! Why had Sophie been in that
monstrous room?
Nicoletta bit back the questions clamoring inside her. It
seemed that no one paid much attention to Sophie. If anything, the child
appeared to be in the way. Had the soup been intentionally poisoned? Or had it,
perhaps, been intended for the don?
Pud darsi.
He had numerous enemies.
Although his people were loyal to him—they were well fed, protected, and cared
for—they also feared him, and fear was often a dangerous emotion. It was known,
too, that the King of Spain had made an uneasy treaty with the don. The king
had conquered other cities and states but had been unsuccessful in taking over
Don Scarletti's lands. Could there be a traitor at the palazzo? Few would dare
challenge the don outright, but perhaps they sought other ways to defeat him.
    She couldn't believe the selfsame don was holding her so close to him,
almost protectively, cradling her in his arms, against his wide chest. Much
like a