The Shadowed Heart

Taking his cue, Manelli hurried forward. “Thank you, signora, signore.” He grabbed Chiara’s arm so violently that a seam tore, leaving one sleeve of her linen blouse barely hanging on by a few threads. “Come, now. Come.”

“Let me go.” She tried to escape his grip, but his meaty fingers dug into her flesh unmercifully.

As she twisted from side to side to escape Manelli, her gaze met the night eyes. She hated Luca. Someday she would kill him. But he had been kind to her a few moments ago. He had touched her briefly with gentleness. All these thoughts came together in a twisted kind of logic. And her eyes asked for his help.

“Didn’t you hear what she said, Manelli? Let her go.”

Manelli’s fleshy mouth fell open as he stared at Luca. “But, signore, she belongs to me.”

“Are you saying she is your slave?”

“No!” Chiara cried, horrified at the word. “I am no man’s slave.”

Manalli’s eyes darted to Signora Giulietta and he saw her almost imperceptible nod. “Yes, signore, my slave.”

Chiara struggled against Manelli’s hands. This couldn’t be happening to her, she thought. Surely she would wake up and discover it was all a bad dream.

“Good,” Luca said. “Then I will buy her from you.”

Chiara spun her head to look at him. Going still with shock and disbelief, she watched him dip his hand into a pocket of his brocade waistcoat.

“That would appear to be too little for a good female slave,” he said matter-of-factly, looking at the coins in his palm. “You will not deny me a loan, my dear, will you?”

“Wh-what?” Giulietta sputtered as he turned toward her.

As if she had graciously consented, he reached out and undid the clasp of her necklace of large squarecut amethysts surrounded by small pearls. He jiggled the necklace in his hand as if testing its weight and then, without warning, tossed it in Manelli’s direction.

Manelli let Chiara go and grabbed the necklace in both hands. Terror warred with greed in his eyes as his gaze swept around the room. Then, like a rat scurrying for cover when faced by two dangerous cats, he ran out of the room.

For a long moment, all three remained perfectly still, as if they were part of a tableau vivant, a living portrayal of a painting. Then, while Luca remained still, the women moved, Giulietta sweeping forward, all unsheathed claws and fury, Chiara stepping back.

“How dare you insult me like that.” Giulietta’s voice was high and ill-tempered. “Just what are you doing?”

“I will never be your slave. Never.”

The Gypsy’s voice was low and throaty. Luca found it as arousing as a caress, but he ignored her as if she hadn’t spoken, and continued to look at his mistress.

“You have eyes and ears, my dear. I would think it was perfectly obvious what I am doing.” His mouth curved in the glib smile of a man well skilled in pacifying troublesome women. “I’ve just bought myself a slave.”

“Do what you wish in private, but how can you do this to my face?” Giulietta demanded.

“I have done nothing but purchase a slave.” He emphasized his shrug by raising his hands slightly palm upward. “Do moderate your histrionics, my dear.”

“Don’t tell me you do not intend to take her to your bed.” Her lips trembled. “You’re my lover. How can you betray me thus?”

“Your lover, perhaps, but not your cavaliere servente, sworn to serve you in all ways.” Luca expelled a sharp breath, no longer trying to hide his irritation. “You were eager enough to welcome me to your bed without any promises. And, I would remind you, I have never made you any.”

Giulietta’s mouth thinned as she fought for composure. “We will speak later. I must see to my guests now.”

“We will speak another time, my dear.” It was definitely time to send Giulietta on her way, Luca thought. He would send her the rubies tomorrow. “I find that I am not in the mood for more talk tonight.”

Giulietta looked from Luca to the Gypsy, then back to her lover. “I see.” Fisting her hands in the folds of her skirt, she managed to keep her tone light. “Amuse yourself well, caro. Just make sure you wash off her smell before you come to my bed again.”

Sending a glance that was both contemptuous and furious in Chiara’s direction, she flounced out of the room.

The room was so silent that all Chiara heard was her own breathing. He stood perfectly still, looking at her, his eyes intent.

She concentrated, trying to see what was inside his mind. She knew there was evil within him. Why could she not see it? Why could she not even feel its presence? Yes, there was a darkness within him, but it was like the darkness of a shadow where there is much light.

“Come closer.”

“No.” She threw up her chin. “I am not your slave.”

“Come closer, I said.” A fine edge of steel crept into his mild voice. “If you knew me better, you would know that I am not known for my patience.”

She could not feel his evil, but she felt his power And still she defied him. It was her only chance.

“I am a free woman and I have no wish to know you better.”

His face changed, so subtly that she could not have described it. It was Lucifer, she thought again, and he was displeased with what he saw in his kingdom. Fear rose so suddenly that she had no time to control it before her breath seemed to congeal in her throat.

“I’m free,” she repeated. “You cannot force me to do anything.” Her voice sounded winded and she took a moment to draw a deep breath. “Except by your superior strength.”

“But you’re wrong. I bought you from Manelli.” Tucking the tips of his fingers into the pockets of his waistcoat, he spoke as lightly as if it were a matter of a basket of fruit. “And slavery is still quite legal in Venice, you know.”

“I do not believe that it is legal to sell what you do not own.” The brave words could not mask the sick feeling in her stomach. “Manelli did not own me.”

“No? Why should I believe you?” Even as he spoke the words, Luca asked himself if he had gone mad. Why was he tormenting her when it had been his intention to purchase her freedom and let her go? By all the saints, he had never owned a slave in his life. The thought alone was repugnant to him. Yet, within moments, the need to keep her had become an obsession.

“I do not lie.” She straightened.

She was afraid. He could see the wild pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. But she stood there, defying him with a courage that few men would muster. He felt a flash of respect, but it was obscured by yet another flicker of arousal, stronger this time. More urgent.

“No? Are you not a woman?”

“A woman, yes. But you will hear no lies from my lips.”

He began to move slowly toward her, the high heels of his buckled shoes clicking on the terrazzo floor.

The closer he came, the harder her heart began to beat. Chiara took a step back and found herself against the wall. Because she had no place to run, she met his eyes fully.

She was beautiful in an untamed, earthy way, Luca thought as he walked toward her. But there was more there besides her entrancing face, her seductive body. There was something about her—something heady and powerful. He felt a pull and, had he been honest with himself, he might have correctly identified it as need.

He stopped an arm’s reach away from her, not because he did not want to frighten her further, but because he found himself wanting to touch her. And he knew just how dangerous it was to want anything so badly.

Crossing his arms across his chest, he leaned against the marble mantelpiece. “So,” he said, helpless to stop himself from continuing this game of cat and mouse, “you are a woman without lies.”

Chiara gave a choppy nod.