“Marco, what is happening?”
“Bella donna, I will not lie to you. The people are to vote on your punishment.”
“Punishment? For escaping?”
He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “Yes. “
She swallowed. “What do they want?”
He hesitated and she wished she could see his face. When he spoke she heard the pain in his voice. “Usually it means a few strokes with a cane.”
“What is a few?”
“Usually no more than ten.”
She sat back on her heels, trying to absorb what he said. She had been caned once by a governess. She remembered the indignity of her skirts hoisted to her waist, of bending over a chair, then the sting of the strokes even through her underclothes. When her father had heard about it, the woman had packed her bags and left without a reference. She closed her eyes. Daddy couldn’t save her this time. “Who will do it?”
“The rule says the capo, the leader, must do it.”
She gripped his fingers tighter. “You have to beat me?”
“Unless I can persuade them otherwise.”
Her legs turned to water, and she sagged against the door. She was glad she was kneeling. It could only have been for a moment that her breath froze, absorbing the shock, but even after she exhaled and drew air into her lungs, she still couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen.
Fighting for control, she swallowed hard. “Come inside. You owe me that.”
For a long moment he hesitated, then let go her hand. A second or two later she heard the rasp of the key turning in the lock, and she scrambled to her feet as the door swung open to admit him.
He ducked his head to avoid the lintel and stood silent before her, the key in one hand. She stepped backwards, her eyes on him, and felt blindly for the bench. He looked away from her for a brief moment to lock the door from the inside.
In the half-light of the cell, no more than three paces away, he loomed large, seeming to fill the small space. It was as if his body radiated a magnetism, a force field that drew her inexorably to him. She was conscious of the closeness of the walls of the cell. She drew in what air she could and sank down, clasping her arms to her body to hide the trembling.
She had never been one to back down in the face of a challenge. As usual the tension in the air brought out her defiance, her determination to face whatever might happen with dry eyes and a firm chin.
“You had better bloody well tell me what this is all about. It had better be worth letting my father think I’m gone forever and me suffering a beating!”
She could not see his face clearly enough to read his expression. In three steps he was close enough to take her hand.
He took a seat beside her and slipped his other arm around her shoulders. Although she stiffened at first in resistance, he insisted, pulling her against his side so her cheek rested on his shoulder. Despite her fear and anger, the weight of his arm around her back was strangely comforting.
The nearness of his body once again began to drive logical thought from her head. His thigh was warm against her leg, even through the rough fabric of their clothing. She felt the involuntary clenching of the spot deep in her abdomen, then the tiny, insistent ache.
For a final fleeting moment she was able to consider objectively what was happening to her, the power he had over her. Until now she had found it easy to move on after an affair. No hard feelings, no strings attached, and no one got hurt. She had always been honest and told the fellow she had no intention of getting involved. Those were the words that should be coming out of her mouth right now.
The brief flash of lucidity came and went in a twinkling. She felt his chest move as he sucked in a deep breath and her nipples puckered and hardened in response.
He spoke, making the wisps of her hair flutter in his exhalation. “I don’t even really know who you are.”
It wasn’t what she expected. For a moment, she was at a loss for an answer, then understood the deeper meaning beneath his words. Their relationship had progressed to the point where total honesty was the only thing that could save them.
“You call me Emma,” she whispered at last. “That is my name.”
“They say Emma is dead.” His arm tightened around her.
She shook her head and felt the roughness of his jaw against her skin. “No. Catherine and I played a prank, a silly game we had played before. It cost her life.”
She turned in the circle of his arm and found a mere fraction of space separating his mouth from hers. “I am Emma Houndsdale, daughter of a British earl. A foolish girl who has spent too much time indulging herself. The woman who died was my maid,” she whispered against his lips. “I will not lie to you. Will you also tell me all the truth?”
She saw him close his eyes. The fold beside his mouth deepened as he tensed his jaw, struggling with his decision.
She had vowed to be honest. “As far as the world knows, I am lost at sea,” she continued in the same low voice. “You could keep me here, your people could kill me.” She swallowed against the surge of fear. “No one in my home would know. I would disappear without a trace. But you would know.” She paused and he opened his eyes. They were a deep, dark brown and she could see golden flecks in their depths. “And you are an honorable man.”
She raised a hand to stroke his face. He turned his head to plant a kiss on her fingers. She felt the burn of the sparks that snaked through her veins directly to her heart. Her blood pounded in her ears and pooled deep in her belly.
“So tell me why I am here,” she said, fighting the compulsion to melt against him, to lose herself in the warm strength of his body. “Why it is so important to keep me from my father, who has no other children and who has spoiled me all my life?” She gave a tiny smile and brushed the side of his mouth with her lips. “And why do Giovanni and these people want you to give me ten strokes with a cane? Don’t I deserve an explanation before I suffer a beating?”
In response he gave a groan, seized her hips and swung her onto his lap, so she straddled him. He buried his face against her shoulder, squeezing her in his arms, pressing her breasts hard against the wall of his chest.
She looped her arms around his neck and held him, waiting.
He spoke close to her ear. “If I tell you, it will place a great burden on us both. On you, to obey my orders and to become a fugitive as we are, to never fall into the hands of the Blackshirts. On me, to keep you safe, because I cannot risk you giving us away. My people-” he hesitated.
“What?” she whispered, but she had half guessed what he would say.
“-my people have all sworn an oath to die rather than be taken.” The words came in one breath and he fell silent for a moment, allowing them to hang in the air. “Bella donna, my beautiful Emma, I cannot allow that for you. God forgive me, I want you to live more than I want my people to live. I cannot ask you to die for us.”
On the last word he turned his head and kissed her. His kiss was hard, carnal, demanding and her answering arousal was swift and powerful. Desire clouded her mind and shortened her breath. She reached for him, aching with a hunger partially sated during the darkness and which had built afresh in the past hours.
His lips that had spoken of death were warm and alive. The erotic touch of his tongue against hers sent a shudder through her. She felt his arousal through the skirt that covered her spread thighs, his erection pushing hard against the wetness between her legs.
Her muscles ached deep inside her. He released her mouth and caught her hand, holding it against his chest so that she could feel the thud of his heartbeat against her fingertips. He looked down at her, his eyes dark and turbulent. “It’s more than twenty-four hours since you’ve slept properly.”