The Shadowed Heart. Nina Beaumont

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      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.

      “What is your name?”

      “Chiara.”

      Luca’s tawny eyebrows rose. “How convenient.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “You claim to have the sight, to be a clairvoyant. and your name signifies ‘clear.’” He chuckled. “It’s just too perfect.”

      “I cannot help the truth. And I cannot invent lies to please you.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “That is the name my mother gave me.”

      “So, Chiara.” He drew the name out so that it rolled off his tongue like a caress. “What do I do with you now?” Unable to resist, he stepped away from the mantel and reached out to touch her.

      “Don’t touch me.” She pressed herself against the wall, as if she could make herself disappear into it. Just the thought of his hands on her filled her with panic so vast and absolute that it left no place for anything else. Her mind went blank but for the terror of being touched by this man.

      Luca stilled, his hand hovering a palm’s breadth away from her face.

      “I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was gentle.

      Chiara fought back the terror that was rising within her like black, noxious smoke, but still it came. And came. Until she was choking with it.

      Wanting to soothe the unreasonable fear in her eyes, Luca cupped her cheek.

      She cried out and spun away from his touch.

      Something snapped within him at her strangled cry. At the new wave of abject terror in her eyes. At the way she recoiled from him as she might have recoiled from a man repulsive with the French pox. The dark violence that he had worked so hard to control all his life burst forth as blood spurts from a deep wound.

      Forgetting that he did not want to hurt or frighten her, forgetting everything but that he wanted her, a low sound of fury built in his throat.

      Moving forward, he slapped his hands against the wall on either side of her head, effectively imprisoning her.

      Chapter Three

      

      

      Chiara shuddered as she heard the hideous slap of his palms against the wall on either side of her head.

      For a moment she almost gave in to the terror. Almost gave in to the desire to close her eyes, slide down the wall and curl up like an animal playing dead. God, she prayed, don’t let him touch me. Please don’t let him touch me.

      A breath away from surrender, hatred and pride, those old twin friends that had been with her for so long, came to her aid, slowly pushing back the terror. She turned her head and met his eyes.

      The soothing darkness of a star-studded night, which she had seen there before, had disappeared. Instead, the opaque blackness of a sky roiling with storm clouds stared back at her. But the very violence in his eyes gave her something to focus on and she felt the fear recede further.

      Luca saw that fear was still lurking in the depths of her eyes, but the hatred that he had seen there before was back in full force now. Hatred that, had it been a knife, would have been sharp enough to kill. Strangely enough it was that hatred, so real and basic, that soothed the wild СКАЧАТЬ