The Shadowed Heart. Nina Beaumont

but some bread and cheese the man on the burchiello, the barge that had brought her to Venice, had given her and an apple she had stolen that afternoon from a street vendor’s basket

      Because the enormity of her hunger was like a beast within her, she sat down and took a deep breath before she reached for a piece of bread. She began to eat, forcing herself to break off small pieces of the bread.

      Luca watched her eat with a steadiness that indicated both extreme hunger and extreme control.

      “Here.” He stopped behind her and slid the coverlet around her shoulders. This time he allowed his hands to linger for a moment. “It’s still chilly in here. This room hasn’t been used for a long time.”

      Chiara pulled it around her closely and tied it in a loose, large knot.

      “You mean, you don’t bring women here every night?” She glanced at him over her shoulder.

      “No.” He sat down and, in an attempt to keep his hands to himself, picked up a slice of cheese. “But if you truly had the sight, you would not need to ask that.”

      Her hand paused an inch from her mouth. “I do not waste my sight on what has no importance.”

      “I see.” He leaned back with a mocking smile. “And I suppose it was important for you to use your sight to peer into the lives of a few indolent patricians?”

      “I needed the money,” she said simply.

      “What for?”

      For my sister. For Donata, whom you raped and turned into a lunatic. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them and merely shrugged.

      “So tell me,” he drawled. “What else do you do for money?”

      Chiara heard the mocking insinuation in his voice and her fingers tightened on her fork. Resolutely she kept her eyes on her plate, knowing that if she looked at him now, she would not be able to control herself.

      “I do what I must,” she said quietly. “But I have never lain with a man for money.”

      “There’s always the first time.”

      She raised her eyes now and met his. “But that time is not going to be with you.”

      The moment the words were said, she stilled, remembering that snatch of a vision she had had when he had kissed her. If the vision was true, she thought with horror, it would not be for money that she lay with him. Nor for revenge.

      Fighting against the memory of the vision and her own words, she sent him a cool look and returned to her food.

      Damn her, Luca thought. Damn her pride and the way she cleverly mimicked aloofness when he knew she was anything but indifferent to him. He had felt her respond to him, damn it. He had felt it.

      He splashed wine into two goblets of indigo-colored glass, lifted one, emptied it and filled it again.

      “I will have you, money or no. And you will be willing,” he said, his voice soft and urgent. “Here.” He pushed a goblet toward her. “Let us drink to that.”

      “No, thank you.”

      “Drink.”

      His voice had hardened and Chiara looked up at him. Traces of the fury she had seen earlier were in his eyes. Even as she took stock of it, she sensed the struggle within him. Sensed how he fought to harness the wildness within himself that was flaring like fire in a forest of dry pines.

      Slowly she picked up the goblet. Not because he had ordered her to do so, but because she needed the time to come to terms with what she had sensed.

      She took a stingy sip and then another one before she set down the goblet.

      “Is the wine not to your taste?”

      “It’s fine.”

      “Then why do you not drink as much as you would like?” he demanded. “Are you trying to keep your head clear?” As if in defiance, he lifted his goblet to his lips and drank deeply.

      “Yes,” she said cautiously, and edged her chair back. “Yes, I am.”

      “Why?” He leaned a little closer and picked up the ends of the coverlet around her shoulders to toy with the silk fringe. “Do you think you can escape?”

      She would not even try to escape, she thought. Fate had put her here. And fate would give her her revenge. And the price? What will be the price of revenge? a voice within her whispered. But she knew that whatever the price, she would pay it.

      “No, I know I cannot escape.” she said.

      “That’s very wise of you.” He wound a length of blue silk around his hand. “Then why do you want to keep a clear head?” He gave the coverlet a tug, bringing her to the edge of her chair. “Are you afraid the wine will make you willing?”

      “Wine can make me weak, but it can never make me willing.” She closed her hands over the soft linen of her nightgown. “Nothing can make me willing.”

      “You’re wrong. I can make you willing and we both know it.”

      He had leaned close enough so that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. Already she could feel her body softening. He could do it, she thought desperately. He could make her body willing. But surely never her spirit. Never her mind. Never her soul.

      As if he could read her mind, he smiled. “And you do feel. No matter how you lie about it, I make you feel.” Rising, he twisted yet another length of silk around his hand, pulling her onto her feet so that she stood flush against him.

      As her body made contact with his, Chiara felt a jolt of fear so strong that for a moment she lost all awareness, as if she had slipped into a faint or a trance. But as the fear faded, she felt the waves of Luca’s emotions breaking against her like waves break upon the beach.

      It did not occur to her that she had thought of him by name for the first time.

      The violence she had felt earlier was still there, but it only hovered at the edge like a banished spectator. Desire was there, strong and hot, and need, deep and powerful. The need of a man for a woman. The need of one human being for another.

      Confused, she shook her head. How could he hide his evil so smoothly? She had no doubt that he could feel desire, but how could there be such true, deep need within a man such as this?

      Against the back of his hand, Luca felt the soft give of her breasts, the pounding of her heart. He saw how fear flashed into her eyes, but only for a moment. Then he saw confusion there and surprise. And something softer that was gone before he could identify it.

      Dio, he wanted her. Desire swept through him. Had he ever wanted, had he ever needed a woman so badly? Unable to resist, he lowered his mouth to hers.

      He was holding her so close, so tightly that she could not move away. Unable to do more, Chiara turned her head aside so that his mouth missed her lips and brushed her cheek instead. She felt his fingers cup her chin and she tensed.

      But his fingers did not tighten. Nor did he try to turn her mouth back to his. Instead, his thumb stroked her skin while his lips drifted to her ear. Nudging her still-damp hair aside, he kissed his way along the contours of her ear. Chiara heard herself sigh.

      Again he traced the contours of her ear, this time with his tongue. When Chiara heard herself make a sound like a hungry kitten, she remembered where she was. And just who it was that was touching her.

      How could she respond to him like this? She knew what brutality, what cruelty he was capable of committing. She had heard his mocking laughter as Donata had screamed m terror. She had seen the gleam of evil in his eyes. No matter how well he hid it now behind a mask of gentleness, she knew what manner of man he was.

      “Let me go.”

      He let her go so swiftly that her legs gave way. Biting back a cry, she managed to grasp the edge of the table for support.