The Brides of Bella Rosa: Beauty and the Reclusive Prince

“What?” Isabella had laughed aloud at that one. “Susa, that’s crazy!”

“He was the grandfather of this one.” The older woman had shrugged. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

Isabella had laughed all the way to her car, but she wasn’t laughing now. It wasn’t just what Susa had said in warning. There were plenty of other old stories swirling in her head. Her childhood had been full of them—tales told in the dark at girlfriend sleepovers, stories of blackbeards who captured women and held them within the castle walls—vampires who roamed the night looking for beautiful victims with virgin throats—seducers with dark, glittering eyes, who lured innocent girls into their sumptuous bedrooms. Suddenly they all seemed too plausible. She was half regretting that she’d come to this frightening place at all, and half angry with herself for being such a wimp.

“Come on,” she muttered to herself encouragingly. “Just a bit further and we’ll get this done.”

After all, how bad could it be? Even if she did run into the prince, he couldn’t possibly be as wicked as Susa had painted him. In fact, she remembered seeing him once, years ago, when she was a teenager. She’d been visiting a hot springs resort area a few hours from the village and someone had pointed him out. She’d thought him incredibly handsome at the time—and incredibly arrogant-looking.

“The old royalty are all like that,” her friend had said. “They think they’re better than the rest of us. It’s best to stay out of their way.”

And she had, all these years. Now she was rambling around on royal grounds. The quicker she got this over with, the better.

Just a little further and she would find the hillside where the special basil grew, pick enough to fill the canvas bag she’d brought along, and head for home. Of course, it would help if she could see more than three feet in front of her with this stupid flashlight that kept blinking off.

“Oh!”

Her foot slipped and she almost tumbled down the hill. At least the problem with the flashlight was solved. It did tumble down the hill, and over a ledge, and into the river. Even above the noise of the wind, she could hear the splash.

Isabella wasn’t one to swear, but she was working up to it tonight. What a disaster. What had she been thinking when she’d decided to come here all alone in the middle of the night? She’d known she was just asking for trouble.

“I just wasn’t made for this cloak-and-dagger stuff,” she muttered to herself as she tried to climb higher on the hill. All she wanted was to find the herbs and get out of here. She hated doing this. She dreaded getting caught by guards…or the prince. Or attacked by vampires—whichever came first.

The wind slashed through the tops of the trees, howling like a banshee. Lightning flashed, and in that same moment she looked up and saw a figure all in black atop a huge horse, racing down on her.

Time stopped. Fear clutched at her heart like a vise. This was too much. The dark, the wind, the sight of danger crashing toward her—had she taken a wrong turn somewhere? Suddenly, everything was upside down and she was terrified. Without a pause, she screamed at the top of her lungs. The sounds echoed through the valley, louder and louder, as lightning cracked and thunder rolled.

That lifetime of scary stories had set her up to think the worst. Every story flashed through her soul in an instant. She was shaking now, panic taking over, and she turned to run.

She heard him shout. Her heart was in her throat. She was dashing off blindly, startled as a cornered deer, and she heard him coming up behind her. The hoofbeats sounded like thunder striking stone, and his shout was angry.

She was in big trouble. He was going to catch her. She couldn’t let that happen! She had to run faster…faster…

She couldn’t run fast enough and she couldn’t get her breath. Her foot slipped, wrenching her balance out from under her. She started to slide down the steep hill. Crying out, she reached to catch herself on a bush, but it pulled right out of the ground. Suddenly, she was tumbling toward the river.

She hit the water with a splash that sent a spray in all directions. She gasped as the icy water took her in. Now she was going to drown!

But she barely had time to reach for the surface before the strong arms of the man in black had caught hold of her and she was pulled instantly from the racing water.

He had her. Stunned by the cold, shocked by what was happening, she couldn’t find her bearings. Disoriented in the moment, she realized dimly that she was being carried toward the horse, but she was a bystander, watching helplessly, as though from afar. For now, it seemed there was nothing she could do to resist.

Later, she was mortified as she remembered this scene. How could she have succumbed so quickly to the overwhelming sense of his strength like that? She’d just suffered a shock, of course, and that had pretty much knocked her silly, but still…As she remembered just how much the feel of his strong, muscular arms seemed to paralyze her reactions, she could do nothing but groan aloud in frustration. How could she have been such a ninny?

But in the moment, she was spellbound. The moon came out from behind the clouds, turning the landscape silver. Trying to look up at his face, all she could see was his strong chin, and the smooth, tight cords of his sculptured neck. And still, she couldn’t seem to make a move.

This was crazy. He was just a man. Nothing supernatural at all. Just a man. A man who had no right to carry her this way. She had to assert herself, had to let him know what he was dealing with. But before she could get a word out, she found herself thrown up onto the horse and the creature who’d captured her was rising to mount behind her.

And finally, with a lot of effort, she found her voice.

“Hey, wait a minute!” she cried. “You can’t do this. Let me go!”

Maybe he didn’t hear her. The wind was making a riot in the tops of the trees. At any rate, he didn’t answer, and in seconds the horse was galloping toward the ancient, forbidding structure looming at the top of the hill, and she was going along for the ride. She hung on for dear life. She could hardly breathe. She heard the hoofs clattering on the cobblestones as they neared the entrance. Huge lanterns lit the entryway. And then they came to a halt and he had dismounted and pulled her down as well.

She swayed. For a moment, she was confused and couldn’t find her footing. His hands gripped her shoulders from behind, holding her steady. She turned, wanting to see his face, but he kept it from her.

“This way,” he said, taking her by the hand and leading her up to the huge wooden door.

“No,” she said, but her voice was weak and she found herself following along where he led, even though her soggy running suit was sticking to her legs, the heavy jacket flapping against her torso, the running shoes sloshing with every step. She was a mess. She hated to think what her hair looked like.

Somewhere on the grounds, a pair of dogs began to howl. Or was it wolves? Her heart was thumping so hard she could hardly tell. The roll of distant thunder added to the menace in the air. The lanterns made eerie shadows and her gaze rose to take in the sinister spikes at the top of the castle wall.

She shuddered. Was she dreaming? Or had she ventured by mistake into one of this area’s old-fashioned legends? Was she on her way to the dungeon, as Susa had warned? And if this was a story, was this man who’d scared her and then saved her the hero or the villain?

“Both,” said a little voice inside her.

She shook her head. It didn’t matter right now. She needed him. She had no one else to turn to.

The front door creaked open as they approached. She caught a glimpse of a man as old and craggy as the walls, his features exaggerated by the lighting. A wizard? She shrank back against her companion, automatically turning to him for protection despite everything. He hesitated for a moment, then put his arm around her shoulders and let her curl herself up against him. After a second or two, his arm actually tightened around her.

Isabella was still too dazed to know what was really going on. She was wet, she was cold, she was in the courtyard of a forbidden palazzo, and a man she had momentarily thought might be a vampire—well, just for a second or two—now had his arm around her. What was more, his arm felt darn good, as did the rest of him. In fact, she didn’t think she’d seen a man in a long time that appealed to her senses quite as much as this scary and yet comforting man did right now.

She’d pretty much decided men and romance and things of that nature weren’t going to be a part of her life. Too much trouble, not worth the effort. And here she was, responding to this scary man like a cat to cream. Maybe she was just an adrenaline junky after all.

“We’re almost there,” he told her helpfully.

That surprised her. Were vampires usually this considerate? She didn’t think so. But maybe he was just calming her fears to make her more amenable to manipulation. Or maybe she’d seen too many horror movies in her time.

She sighed and closed her eyes, wishing she could get orientated. She wasn’t used to feeling so helpless, as though her muscles couldn’t really respond. But maybe that was because her mind didn’t seem to be working at all. She was so tired. Maybe when she opened her eyes, this would all fade away and she would be home in her own bed….

Prince Maximilliano Di Rossi looked down at the woman who was clinging to him and frowned. He was surprised that she’d turned to him for protection the way she had, but he was also surprised at his own reaction to her move. His first impulse was to pull away, to reject all contact. That was his way, the style he’d been living with for the last ten years. The only people he allowed near him were those who had always been closest to him, a few people who had known him since childhood—since before the accident. He never had other visitors. He’d been stepping out of character even to bring her here.

But something in the easy, open way she’d clung to him had stirred old memories. She was shivering and turning toward him as a lover would. Something deep inside him hungered for this. It had been so long since he’d held a woman in his arms, since he’d felt that warmth, that contrast between his own hard body and the soft, rounded responsiveness of a woman. He’d thought he might never feel it again. And yet, here it was, like a gift out of the blue.

But not for long. He knew she’d been trying to see his face and he’d been keeping it averted. Once she really saw him in full light, any instincts for touching him in any way would dry up like summer rain on a hot pavement.

With a cynical twist of his wide mouth, he turned and led her into the palazzo through the tall, heavy wood door. Their footsteps echoed down the long empty hallways. Someone coughed. He looked up. There stood his man, Renzo, in his nightclothes and dressing gown, and wearing what appeared to be a pair of aging woodchucks on his feet. He looked sleepy and ridiculous, but definitely alarmed at the same time.

“Nice slippers,” he commented wryly, cocking an eyebrow.

“Thank you, sir,” Renzo responded, shuffling his feet and looking slightly abashed.

Max paused for a moment. He knew he could very easily hand over this piece of womanly baggage to the individual who had been his combination valet, butler, and personal assistant most of his life. Hand her over and turn his back and walk away and never give her another thought. He knew very well that Renzo would take care of everything discreetly and efficiently. Doing just that would fit the pattern of his life, the way things were done around here. He made a move as though to do it. He could see that Renzo expected it. How easy it would be to follow through.

And then he glanced down at the woman. She was still turning to him for refuge. She’d reached for him, given herself into the comfort of his arm, pressed her beautiful young body against his as though she was trusting that he would keep her safe. Something moved inside him—and that was dangerous. Just looking down into her gorgeous thick, tangled hair, he could feel his emotions stirring in a way he didn’t need.

And still, he didn’t leave.

Later he told himself it was nothing more than a typical impulse of the male role of guardian, the same he might have had for a puppy or a kitten that needed his attention. Despite his background, despite his guilty past, the urge to safeguard those smaller and more vulnerable rose in him and he’d followed his instincts.