Christine Feehan 5 CARPATHIAN NOVELS

by Christine Feehan

  It matters to me. She was clearly distracted and not paying attention to him.

  Byron slid his hand down her arm until their fingers tangled, intertwined.

  “Signorina…” Helena shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other. “The Irish lace has gone missing. Earlier I told the maids to put the cloth on the formal dining table, and they reported it is gone. The Medici lace is quite beautiful.”

  “Gone? What is wrong with everyone? How could the Irish lace be gone? It was my mother’s.”

  Byron tugged until she was beneath his shoulder. She was acting out of character, fussing at her staff because she was nervous about meeting his family. And he saw immediately the importance of the tablecloth to her.

  “I’m sorry, signorina, I understand, and I’ll try to have it found, but if we can’t, there must be something else.” Helena sounded a bit desperate.

  “I want everything to be perfect, Helena. I can’t have Byron’s family show up for dinner and not have the Irish lace tablecloth.”

  “I’m sorry, Signorina Antonietta, I’ll check the laundry at once.” The housekeeper signaled to the chef and his assistant frantically.

  “This family, your special guests,” Esteben said suddenly, “are they business associates or friends? Perhaps both?”

  Alfredo broke into a torrent of rage, waving his arms and clipping Esteben sharply about the ears. “You never ask such a thing from the signorina.”

  Antonietta heard the dull thud of his fist making contact, and she winced. “Alfredo!” she reprimanded sharply. “I don’t believe in striking another person. Please keep your hands to yourself in my home. Surely you know I don’t allow my people to be treated in such a manner.”

  “I thought it would make a difference in the menu, Alfredo,” Esteben apologized. Forgive me, signorina.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, Esteben.” Antonietta put her hands on her hips. “Can you pull this dinner together for me, Alfredo? Yes or no?”

  There was a distinct challenge in her voice. Byron also heard a hint of desperation. The dinner didn’t matter at all to his family, but it did to Antonietta. He narrowed and focused his gaze on the chef. For a brief moment, the flames of the demon flickered in his eyes.

  Alfredo looked from Antonietta to Byron. His face cleared. He spread his hands out in a passive gesture. “Of course, signorina, if you wish to change the menu, I’ll be most happy to oblige.”

  “Good. Grazie, Alfredo. You have no idea how important this is to me. I’ll get out of your way.” She turned with a swish of her long skirt, catching Byron’s hand. “I’m so glad that’s settled. I’m so nervous.”

  Byron brought her hand to his mouth and nibbled on her knuckles. “There is no need. Eleanor will love you immediately. How could she not? Vlad is a very calm, even-tempered man. He adores Eleanor and gives her most anything she wants.”

  “Is he a jeweler, such as yourself? An artisan?”

  “In his way. I have a special knack for finding gems, for calling them to me. The perfect gem for the piece I envisage. Vlad does not like to design jewelry. He enjoys sculpting. His work is highly prized. Eleanor was so pleased he was in the crafts. She could never have been happy with a hunter.”

  “Hunter? What do they hunt?”

  He should have known she would catch that mistake. He was growing too comfortable with her. Antonietta was so connected to him, he hardly knew where he began and she left off. He was beginning to realize just how close lifemates were. “I should have used the term enforcer. Much like Captain Diego. I’ll explain it when we have more time.”

  Antonietta lifted both hands to his face, her sensitive fingertips mapping his expression, feature by feature. “Yes, I think you will have to explain this to me, Byron. Not only are you frowning, but I feel your reluctance in my mind. We have a lot to talk about, don’t we? Things like boundaries.”

  He winced. “I was looking out for your safety.”

  “That’s not what I want to hear.”

  “Our mind link is becoming a nuisance.”

  “Only when you try to hide things from me. I can’t wait to meet your family,” Antonietta said. “Especially your sister. She can tell me wonderful stories of your childhood. She can tell me whether you will ever understand the term boundary or not.”

  He groaned. “Eleanor is prone to making things up.”

  Antonietta laughed. “You’re lying to me. She probably doesn’t need to make things up. I can’t wait to find out what you were like as a child.”

  “Antonietta, I would hate to have to throw you over my shoulder in front of our two families and carry you upstairs. One mention of my childhood, and that is bound to happen.”

  Joy swirled in her. How had she ever managed without the excitement of sharing? Without the sheer fun of Byron in her life? “You wouldn’t dare. I happen to be a famous concert pianist. I’m very respectable, and things like that aren’t done.”

  “You happen to be a world-famous concert pianist, and that is exactly what will happen to you if you dare to embarrass me.”

  “If you’re going to be a baby about it, I’ll just wait until your sister and I are alone to ask her all the little humiliating details of your childhood. I’m also going to tell her your penchant for being bossy and demanding your way. Perhaps she will give me tips on how best to control that little flaw you have.”

  Byron took her hand again. He had no intentions of allowing Eleanor ever to be alone with Antonietta. “Have I told you I love the way you look in that skirt?”

  “No, but you can if you’d like to. I wanted to look nice for your family.”

  “You look beautiful. Tempting. I could carry you off right now,” he said hopefully. Deliberately, he conjured up a picture in his head, paying great care to detail: Antonietta stretched out naked on the bed, her hair a silken cloud over the pillow. His head pressed between her thighs while she writhed with passion.

  Color swept under her skin. Antonietta fanned herself. “Stop that right this minute. Your family is coming, and I have work to do.”

  “I thought your work was taking care of me.” Under cover of the nearest piece of furniture, Byron pressed her open hand to the front of his slacks. He was already as hard as a rock.

  Antonietta rubbed her palm over the thick bulge. “Poor bambino, so neglected. If you didn’t keep running off to leave me to sleep alone, I might have more sympathy for you.” Her fingers danced over the rigid length of him, a tantalizing promise. Her teeth nibbled on his chin. “As it is, I have…none.” She hurried away, laughing, her skirts swirling around her ankles. “Where’s Helena gone to? She has to check that each room has been thoroughly cleaned. What if your family would like a tour of the palazzo?”

  Byron found walking could be painful. “You are not getting away with torturing me, Antonietta.” Her laughter was soft and so contagious, he found himself smiling. “Stop worrying. My family is coming to meet you, Antonietta, not tour the palazzo. It will not matter what you prepare for dinner. You will charm them. Trust me. I have been looking for you for a very long time, and they are thrilled I finally found you. Helena raced off to find the missing tablecloth.”

  He slowed the pace, walking with her through the wide hall. As they passed the music room, an object crashed on the marble tile. They could hear pieces breaking and scattering across the floor.

  Antonietta turned her head toward the sound in alarm. “What is that? Surely not another crisis? Your family will be here any minute.”

  “No one should be in your music room. I thought that was your private domain.” His voice was soft. A whisper, no more.

  Antonietta stiffened. Her mind was so caught up in meeting his family, she hadn’t considered that someone might be rummaging through her work. “Probably Vincente. He’s so bored without little Margurite to play with.” Vincente had never gone in her private music room. The room, with its perfect acoustics, was considered strictly off limits to everyone in the house while
Antonietta was composing, which was nearly all the time.

  “I doubt it is the boy. Stay here with Celt.” Byron scanned the music room. He knew exactly who was frantically searching through the musical scores.

  Antonietta gasped. “Marita.” She picked the image right out of Byron’s mind. “She must be looking for the Handel piece. I’m not staying here while you confront my sister-in-law. If she’s betraying my family, I want to know about it.”

  Byron was astonished. Antonietta was moving in and out of his mind with the touch of an expert. Telepathy was natural to her. She wasn’t afraid of it at all. “It sounds as if there is glass on the floor. I do not want you to be injured.”

  “I’m wearing shoes.”

  He glanced down at the smooth Italian leather. “Open-toed sandals. That does not count as shoes.”

  She made a small sound of annoyance. She had dressed with care, wanting to look her best for his family. Everything seemed to be going wrong. And now Marita was rummaging around in the music room.

  Byron moved silently, masking their presence from Marita. He watched as the woman opened cupboard after cupboard and rifled through the contents.

  What is she doing?

  Searching for something. Byron reached for Marita’s mind, scanning to see her intentions, merging with Antonietta at the same time.

  Marita was crying softly, murmuring prayers as she rummaged through papers and musical scores.

  “I have the Handel safe,” Antonietta announced.

  Byron hastily uncloaked their presence as Marita whirled around. She emitted a high-pitched squeak and covered her face.

  “Do not cry.” He ordered it, biting out the words in sheer self-preservation.

  “Why would you do this, Marita? You are a Scarletti. If you and Franco needed money, why wouldn’t you come to me?” Antonietta’s heart was aching. “I don’t understand.”

  “Franco knows nothing of this. He cannot know. Please, Toni, don’t say anything to him of this.”

  The great knocker at the main entrance resonated throughout the palazzo. Antonietta clutched at Byron’s arm. “They’re here. We need a maid in here to clean up the glass immediately.”

  “What are you going to do, Toni?” Marita demanded. “If you tell Franco what I’ve done, you will destroy my marriage. He will send me away. You know he will.”

  “I can’t help what Franco will do, Marita. You attempted to steal a great treasure from our family. Who were you taking it to?”

  “I can’t say.”

  The image shimmered in her mind. Loathing surrounded the image. Loathing and fear. Merged as she was with Byron, Antonietta caught the image from Marita’s mind. “Don Demonesini? You were delivering a Scarletti treasure into the hands of that horrible man?”

  “How could you know? I didn’t say. I would never utter his name aloud, the name of the devil himself.” Marita crossed herself several times.

  Waves of distress and fear swamped them from all directions. Running footsteps clattered down the marble hall. “Signorina Antonietta, may the good Dio save us all.” Helena ran into the room, her bosom heaving, her hands fluttering in the air wildly. “We’ve found him. We’ve found Enrico. He’s in the laundry chute, wrapped in your good Irish lace tablecloth.”

  Behind Helena a young maid appeared. “I’ve shown Vlad and Eleanor Belandrake and their son, Josef, into the conservatory, Signorina Antonietta.”

  14

  The silence was deafening. Byron wrapped a comforting arm around Antonietta. “I take it Enrico is no longer alive.” He had a sudden urge to laugh at the ridiculous situation but was certain Antonietta wouldn’t appreciate his sense of humor.

  “Dead as can be,” Helena admitted, pressing a hand to her mouth. “The maids went looking for the missing tablecloth, and the smell was so bad—”

  Antonietta held up her hand. “Spare us, please, Helena. This can’t be happening, Byron. I can’t have your family for dinner with a dead body in the laundry chute. What am I going to do? Poor Enrico. He’s very large. I can’t imagine how he got in there.”

  “He’s stuck,” Helena reported. “I have no idea how we’re going to get him out.”

  “I will speak to my sister and her husband, Antonietta. I am certain they will understand. Call Captain Diego and inform him we have found the missing chef.” We will discuss Marita later, when things have settled down. I’m sorry about your chef, and your mother’s tablecloth.

  “We can’t possibly uninvite your family for dinner,” Antonietta was horrified. Poor Enrico. He kept to himself, but he was a fixture here.

  Marita gasped aloud when Franco walked in, dressed in a charcoal gray suit. “Gossip travels fast here in the palazzo. Tasha is informing the authorities and asking them to be discreet and use the servant’s entrance. Nonno is entertaining your guests in the conservatory, and you know he can be very charming.” Franco squeezed his cousin’s shoulder in sympathy. “We can pull this off, Toni. Don’t panic. Marita, I’m allowing Vincente and Margurite a movie while we’re dining. Please go quickly and get dressed. This dinner means a great deal to Toni, and we won’t fail her.”

  “We can’t possibly sit down to dinner with a dead body in the laundry chute,” Marita said.

  “Don Giovanni is explaining right at this moment that we’ve had a death in the palazzo. Enrico lived here practically his entire life. He’s one of ours, and he’ll be taken care of. Toni, you look beautiful. Go with Byron and meet his family. I understand there is some hysteria in the kitchen. I’ll go down and see that the new chef, what’s his name?”

  “Alfredo,” Antonietta supplied.

  “I’ll make certain Alfredo calms down and doesn’t disgrace us. I’ll take care of this, Toni. I know what this means to you. Marita, do as I say.” He glanced around the room, noted the broken glass on the floor and the papers clutched in Marita’s hands.

  She looked desperately at Antonietta and Byron as if they might save her, then she turned and ran from the room.

  “Helena, calm the maids and make certain this room is cleaned,” Franco ordered.

  “Yes, Signor Scarletti.”

  Franco took Antonietta’s hand. “It will be all right, Toni. We’ll get through this together, the way our family always does. Byron’s relatives will be charmed by you.”

  “In spite of the dead body in the laundry chute, wrapped in my mother’s Irish lace tablecloth,” Antonietta said wryly. “I just don’t believe this is happening. Poor Enrico. Who would want to hurt him?”

  Byron hugged her close. “We will find out, Antonietta. I promise you. There is not much we can do for him at the moment. Come meet my family. It will not matter in the least to them if there is no dinner. They came to meet you, not to eat.” Bella, do not be so distressed. I know you held affection for Enrico, I feel it in your heart. Marita’s behavior is not what it seems. I read her mind, and she does not want money. She detests and fears this man. I could not tell why. She is very emotional, and it was difficult to see past the intensity to the real reason she took the Handel score. When I have time, I will examine her memories and find out what is going on.

  Antonietta leaned her head against his chest. “I feel as if my entire life has been turned upside down. Franco, did you see Tasha’s face? You’ve known Christopher since he was a child. Did you know he was capable of such a thing?”

  Franco shook his head. “I plan on calling on him tomorrow.”

  “There is no need, Franco.” Byron spoke low, but his voice carried power. “I will have a talk with Christopher Demonesini about how one treats a woman. You have too much to risk, while I do not have a reputation to protect.”

  “Neither one of you needs to be talking to Christopher about anything,” Antonietta said firmly. “I think the captain should have a talk with him.”

  The two men looked at one another over the top of her head. Byron took her arm and strolled casually from the music room, Franco pacing beside them, just as a maid came rushing in t
o clean up the glass. “You know as well as I do that he has too much money for anything to happen to him, even if it was Tasha he struck,” Byron said.

  “Then we ruin him socially and financially,” Antonietta said seriously. “Their business is already in trouble. It wouldn’t take that much to tip them over the edge. No one hurts my family.”

  “That is a true Scarletti speaking, Byron,” Franco said. “Let that be a warning to you. We seek revenge.”

  “Retribution,” Antonietta corrected. “Justice. It isn’t quite the same thing as revenge. Ask Nonno. I’m certain he’ll agree.” I mean it, Byron, I feel strongly about this. How dare that horrible man hit and kick my cousin and think his life can continue without a single consequence.

  I said nothing, bella.

  I just want you to know what I’m capable of. Perhaps you won’t find me so appealing. She sounded very much as if she were issuing a challenge.

  Byron leaned down to brush the corner of her mouth with his. On the contrary, I think you will fit right in with my people. There was a trace of amusement in his voice.

  Franco cleared his throat. “Surprisingly, little cousin, I agree with you about retribution, too. I’m off to the kitchen to tackle Alfredo. I’ll wait for the captain to show so I can talk to him without causing a scene.”

  “Grazie, Franco, I really appreciate your help.” Antonietta reached her hand out, and her cousin caught it in a show of solidarity.

  “Go enjoy yourself. Byron, see that she does.”

  “It will be my pleasure.” Byron tucked Antonietta’s fingers into the crook of his arm and walked her through the open rooms of the palazzo. “I am really very sorry about the tablecloth. When a loved one dies, we cling to the things they treasured.”

  “I know it’s silly to feel so upset over it, with poor Enrico dead in our home.” Antonietta sighed. “I feel ridiculous to even think of the tablecloth.”

  “I have a medallion I made for my mother. I was a boy, and I certainly would not consider it good work at all, but she treasured it. She wore it always. Even later when my skills improved, and I gave her other, much more valuable pieces, she still wore the medallion.” Byron could hear his sister laughing, her voice low as she spoke with Don Giovanni. It gave him a wrenching sense of homesickness.