Beauty and the Reclusive Prince (3 page)

“Why don’t I just go?” she began, turning toward the door again.

“You have no choice in the matter,” the prince said calmly. “For the good of all, you need to be clean and dry.”

“But—”

“Go with my sister,” the prince said. His voice was low and composed, but something in it made Isabella look up, surprised at how coolly he could give an order that made you want to do exactly what he said. “You fell on our land,
into our river. We are responsible for your condition. It’s only right that we make you whole again.”

That didn’t make any sense at all. She’d been trespassing, not visiting. But somehow she found herself following Angela down the hall. She looked back. The prince was watching her go, half leaning against the couch, his head lowered. For some crazy reason, that made her heart lurch in her chest. She turned away quickly and followed where Angela led, but the shivers his look had given her lingered on.

Max stayed where he was, listening as their footsteps faded down the hall, staring into the darkness where she’d just been. He was drawn to her and he hadn’t been attracted to a woman for a long, long time. A picture of his beautiful wife, Laura, swam into his head and he closed his eyes as though to capture it there. Instead, it melted away and another face drifted into its place.

His eyes snapped open and he swore softly. This girl, this Isabella, was nothing like Laura. Why would he see her in his mind’s eye? It was ridiculous to even begin comparing them. She was just a girl from the village. She meant nothing to him and never could.

Slowly, his hand rose until he touched the scar on his face. He wanted to feel what she had felt with her fingertips. What an odd young woman. Oddly compelling. Her reaction had been different from that of anyone he’d ever met and it still puzzled and intrigued him. Had she seen something no one else had? What had she found that had interested her that way? Had anything changed while he hadn’t been paying attention?

No. Same old face. Same old scars. Cursing softly, he jerked his hand away and turned toward the fire. For a moment, he almost hated her.

And why not? She represented the world he’d given up almost ten years ago, the world he had to deny himself. He’d done a damn good job of keeping that world at bay. Now it seemed to have come looking for him. For his own sanity, he knew he had to resist its temptations. This dark, gloomy palazzo was his reality. There was no other way.

Isabella looked around her as she emerged from the steamy shower. It was an antiquated room with antiquated plumbing, but luxurious in an old-fashioned way, with high ceilings and a huge claw-footed tub in the middle of the room. She dried quickly and then stepped before a full-length mirror to check herself for damage.

What she saw made her gasp, then laugh softly. The area around her right eye was looking as if she’d smudged it with soot. A black eye! How was she going to explain that to her customers? She groaned, then began to check out the rest of her body. There was a large painful bruise on her hip and a rather deep cut on her right leg, just below the knee. Most of the blood had been soaked up by her running pants, but there was still some seeping out. Other than a few places that felt a bit achy, that seemed to be it.

Turning, she looked at the clothes Angela had set out for her—a lacy cream-colored sweater and tan stretch pants. They were very close to things she might have picked for herself, so she put them on without hesitation, covering her still bleeding wound with a wad of tissue.

“Are you decent?” Angela called as she was combing and fluffing her hair. She came in after Isabella invited her, handing her a bag with her wet clothes.

“Here you go. Marcello ought to be with Max by now. They’ll be waiting in the Blue Room.” She yawned. “I’m going back to bed. Goodnight, my dear.”

“Wait.” Isabella turned and hesitated, then went ahead and asked, “What happened to his face?”

Angela stared at her for a long moment before answering.

“There was a terrible car accident. It was almost ten years ago, the same night that…” She stopped herself and shook her head. “It was a very bad accident. For days, we were sure that he would die.”

Isabella frowned, taking that in. She had a feeling there was more to it than that. There was a weird, moody undercurrent to everything that went on here. She wanted to know more, but she could hardly ask many questions now.

“But he survived.”

“Obviously. But his face…” Throwing out her hands, she turned away. “He was quite handsome, you know,” she said softly.

Isabella shrugged. “He still is.”

She turned to stare at Isabella. “You think so, do you?”

“Oh, yes.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Well…” she said significantly. But she made a face and turned away. “Goodnight again, Isabella,” she said, beginning to bustle out again. “I’m sure Max will make sure you get taken home safely once Marcello has given you his stamp of approval.”

That sense of rebellion rose in her again, but Isabella thanked Angela as she left the room, then finished up making herself presentable. And all the while she was wondering how she could get out of this ancient stone building without running the gauntlet of the prince and his cousin. She was fine. She didn’t need the attention of a doctor. And she especially didn’t need to run into the prince again.

What she did need was the delicate and very special herb she’d come for. But she had to be realistic. Tonight was not her night. She would have to come back another
time. Still, was that going to be possible? Now that she knew about the dogs…

Never mind. She would think about that later. Right now, she just needed to get out of here without seeing the prince again. She took one last look in the mirror. Her black eye was getting worse by the minute. In fact, half her face was now somewhat red and a bit swollen. She groaned. How was she going to hide this from the world?

And then it came to her—she was getting a small hint of what it must be like to be the prince with his vivid scar. She sighed softly as she thought of it. At least she knew that she would be healing soon.

Staring at her own face, she thought of how she’d touched him, and she gasped at her own reckless audacity. What on earth had possessed her to do a thing like that? And why had he stood for it? She must have still been groggy from the effects of the dunking she’d taken and the wild ride through the night on horseback. It really wasn’t her habit to go poking at people’s faces like that.

What had Susa said about him? That his wife had died, that he’d been something of a recluse ever since. Maybe that explained his cool, brooding manner. She shook her head and turned away. This was certainly a strange night and she was finding herself doing all sorts of strange things she’d never done before. It was time she got out of here.

Grabbing the bag with her clothes, she made her way quietly into the hall. She knew which way to turn for the Blue Room, so she took the other path, moving quickly to get away from where she might be seen.

Another sharp turn down a darker hallway and she found herself in the huge, cavernous kitchen. A night-light glowed at the end of the room, giving her just enough light to find her way. She stopped a moment, turning and admiring all
the pans and cooking equipment hanging from hooks along the walls. Just the sheer size of the place was impressive. It was three or four times as big as her kitchen at the restaurant. What she could do with a situation like this!

But she didn’t have time for dallying, so she took it all in with one sweeping glance, then picked a door that looked as if it might head outside. She pulled it open quickly, stepped through and suddenly she was falling again—right into the arms of the prince.

I
SABELLA
screamed. Screaming was getting to be a habit, it seemed. She didn’t think she’d screamed this much at any time in her life before. But she couldn’t help it. Running into this strong, scary man in the dark just sent her over the top every time.

He held her for barely a second before she jumped back away from him. Still, at the same time she was recoiling and cursing her own continuing bad luck a traitorous part of her was entertaining the temptation to let herself relax in his arms again, to press her cheek against his chest and listen for his heartbeat. The moon was out again, sending beams in through a window just over their heads. What could be more romantic than to wrap herself in his arms and…?

Fanciful nonsense, of course. None of that could happen or would happen. She hadn’t had such silly daydreams since she’d been a preteen and had been mooning after a boy named Romano Puccini. Bad things usually followed when you let your emotions run away with you. At least, that had been the lesson she had learned that long-ago summer.

“That’s the second time tonight you scared me out of my wits,” she told him accusingly.

“And that’s the second time tonight I found you sneaking around where you shouldn’t be,” he shot back at her.

She tossed her hair, hooking the mop of it behind her ear with one quick swipe of her hand. “That’s only true if you are the one who gets to set the rules of where I may or may not go.”

He moved closer. Even in the dark, she could see the outline of his scar clearly. It was a slash of silver across his moonlit face. Eerie…otherworldly…and somehow alluring.

“And why wouldn’t I set the rules?” he said firmly. “It’s my house, remember?”

She looked up into his eyes. They seemed to glow in the dim light. “But you forget—I’m only passing through.”

“Trespassing through, you mean.”

Well, she had to give him that one. Suddenly she was so very tired.

“You know, I…I just want to go home.” There was a quaver in her voice that she regretted, but, still, it was only the truth.

He took her hand, still looking down into what he could see of her face. “We all want things we can’t have.”

The hint of desolation in his voice hit her hard and stopped her from taking offense. An unexpected wave of sadness swept over her. She wanted to reach for him, to help him somehow. But then she remembered—he was the prince. What in the world could she do to comfort a man like this?

“Come back to the Blue Room and let Marcello take a look at you,” he ordered, beginning to lead her that way. “After all this, we might as well go through with it.” He glanced down at her as she walked beside him. “Then I’ll have someone drive you home.”

She sighed. She hated to admit how tempting it seemed to just follow wherever he led. She was going to have to
work on that. A little strength of character—a little more confidence in her own strength—that was what she needed.

“My car is…is down by the south wall.” She flushed as she said the words. Oh, how guilty she sounded.

When he replied, he sounded bemused, but satirical. “So you drove yourself out from the village, parked along the wall, and then what? Did you vault over?”

“Not quite.” She hesitated, but she didn’t want to tell him that she’d sneaked in exactly where her father had been sneaking in for years. Only her father had the good sense to do it in daylight, and he’d never been caught.

“Not going to say, are you?” he said, sounding cynical again, as though he really did consider her an outlaw in his world. “You’re going to keep it a secret. That way you can keep your options open for sneaking in again.” He tugged on her hand, leading her around a sharp corner. “But I would advise against that, Isabella Casali. I think we’ll have to let the dogs patrol twenty-four hours a day from now on.” He glanced back at her. “I don’t want you anywhere near that river.”

That surprised her. She would have expected him to say he didn’t want to risk any more interruptions to his own life and peaceful existence, not to her welfare. But maybe she was taking his words too kindly. Of course, that was exactly what he meant. After all, if she got hurt, he would have to deal with it. Still, there was something in his tone when he mentioned the river that gave her pause.

He stopped just outside the door to the Blue Room and stared down at her. For the first time the light was good enough for him to see what had happened to her face.

“My God!
Maledizione!
” His hands cupped her face, tilting it up so that he could see it fully. “You seemed a little bruised before, but this…”

“It’s okay,” she said, gazing up at him in wonder. He was so close. The sense of his male presence overwhelmed her. For a few seconds, she felt a wave of emotion sweeping away her common sense, and suddenly she wanted his kiss more than she’d ever wanted anything else in her life.

And that in itself was like a splash of cold water on her face. What was she thinking? She wanted to turn away so that he wouldn’t read her guilty secret in her eyes, but he was staring so hard, from so close.

“I…I’m okay.”

“It’s hard to see something so fresh and lovely marred this way,” he said as though it really did pain him. His voice was cool and it was evident that this was a philosophical problem and nothing to do with him personally. But at the same time his gaze ranged over her face as though he were memorizing every line, every dimple. “You’re just so…so…” His voice faded without saying the word, whatever it was meant to be.

And then he kissed her. Like a moth to the flame, he couldn’t stay away. It was a light kiss, barely a touching of his lips to her forehead, right above her blackened eye. She gasped as she felt him, but at the same time she knew he’d done it in a strange way as though to erase the damage, make it go away. He seemed to have an obsession with avoiding harm. That had to be it. It didn’t feel personal. His gaze still looked as hard and cold, his bearing was still just as arrogant.

But still—he kissed her.

“Is this going to take much longer?” said the deep, masculine voice of a tall man standing in the doorway, cutting into the magic of the moment. “Because I could go back to my room and get a few winks in and you could call me down later.”

Isabella gulped in dismay, but the prince only straightened, giving his cousin a brief look of outraged dignity. It was obvious their relationship was maintained with a closeness that was disguised by a lot of good-natured mockery.

“Isabella, this is Marcello Martelli, my cousin.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Isabella,” Marcello said, shaking her hand briskly. “This shouldn’t take too long, nor be too painful.”

Marcello was young and very handsome. In fact he looked very much like what she assumed Max would look like without the scar. She couldn’t help but give him a big smile in answer to his friendly greeting. Here he was, barefoot and in jeans and a T-shirt—looking for all the world like any of the young men she knew in the village would look if you knocked on their door after midnight. He had the ruffled hair and the sleepy eyes as well.

“You fell into the river, I hear,” he said, leading her in to sit on the antique couch. His gaze flickered back and forth between her and Max as though he didn’t completely buy it.

“Yes,” she told him earnestly.

“But luckily Max came along in time to…to rescue you.”

She turned and looked at where the prince was standing back in the shadows just in time to see him turn away as though angry at what his cousin had just said. She frowned. Why would he do that? Did he realize what a part he’d played in creating her unfortunate incident? Maybe he needed a reminder.

“Is that the way he tells the story?”

Marcello grinned at her. “How do you tell it?”

She gave Max an arch look sideways. “Here’s how I remember it. I was strolling along on the hillside when suddenly something that looked like a dark avenging angel
came galloping down on me and I ran for my life. My foot slipped. I tumbled into the river.” She shrugged. “A simple tale, really,” she said.

“And all Max’s fault,” Marcello said with a knowing look.

Her eyes widened in mock innocence. “Of course.” She glanced back at where Max was pacing, but she couldn’t see his face.

“Here’s what I don’t quite get,” Marcello was saying as he looked through his black bag for supplies. “What was it about Max that terrified you enough to start running?” He looked up at her. “Instead of just holding your ground and stating your case, I mean.” He gave his cousin a mocking look. “He doesn’t seem all that scary to me.”

Yes, that was the slightly embarrassing element in all this, she had to admit. Should she tell him the truth? Would he laugh? Or think her a little looney? She glanced at Max again and his haughty reserve gave her the spark she needed to go on.

“I’m sure you know about the legends attached to this castle,” she said. “I’ve heard them all my life.”

Max stopped, though still in shadows. “What sort of legends?” he asked gruffly.

She hesitated, knowing he was going to scoff. “Well, the usual,” she began, starting to wish she hadn’t brought it up.

“I know what she’s talking about,” Marcello offered. “Village people love to think of their local prince as a modern day Casanova, seducing women and humiliating men.” He gave his cousin a quick grin. “And you’ve got to admit we’ve got a few rakes and degenerates in the older branches of our family tree.”

Max shrugged and turned away, and Isabella bit her lip, then added something in a very soft voice.

“Vampires,” she said.

They both turned back to her. “What?”

Her chin came up and her eyes sparked. “Vampires,” she said more forcefully.

They gaped at her and she went on quickly, before they could begin to laugh.

“There are plenty of rumors that your family has included vampires. I know it’s crazy. I’m just saying…”

Max turned away again, shaking his head.

“It was partly the way you came crashing at me in the middle of a storm,” she continued, raising her voice so that he couldn’t ignore her. “Like something dropped from a thundercloud. And on horseback!” She shook her head. “I thought…I thought…” She bit her lip and wondered if she really should tell them this.

“Yes?” Marcello leaned forward, unmistakably interested. “What was it you thought?”

She narrowed her gaze and put steel in her spine. “I…I thought Max was a vampire. Just for a second or two.”

There. She’d said it. She looked up at where Max was standing and wished she could see what his eyes were revealing at this very moment. It was difficult to tell his reactions and that was driving her crazy.

“Are you serious?” Marcello was another matter. His response was no mystery. “A vampire?”

She tossed her hair back and tried to explain, addressing Max directly, even if he wouldn’t do the same to her.

“Well, it was a logical conclusion to draw. After all, you came galloping out of the forest, dressed all in black with that cape and everything. The setting was perfect for it with the moon hidden behind clouds over your shoulder. From where I was standing, it was like something right out of a vampire movie.”

Max didn’t move.

Marcello’s mouth was holding steady but his gaze was rife with amusement.

“Isabella, I think you’ve got it wrong,” he said carefully, as though teaching a lesson. “This is the Italian countryside, you know. As I understand it, vampires live in Transylvania. Am I right?”

Of course he was right, but she wasn’t going to admit it so easily. “Oh, so you think an Italian can’t be a vampire?” she demanded.

He shrugged grandly and almost rolled his eyes. “What do you think, Max? I’d say chances are slim.”

Max didn’t answer, but she wasn’t giving up. She shook her head and threw out her arms. “They say there are vampires everywhere.”

“I see.” Marcello was laughing at her again. “How many have you met yourself?”

She gave him a quick, sideways look. “Well…not many, I will admit.”

He nodded wisely. “Interesting.”

His attitude was really beginning to annoy her, but even worse was the way the prince stayed silent through it all. She wanted some reply, some indication as to how he felt about the things she was saying, and she was getting nothing at all.

“So you actually haven’t had a lot of experience with vampires.”

“Max is the only one so far,” she said tartly.

And that got the reaction she was after. Max swung around and came in front of her very much like the man who had swooped down upon her on horseback, bringing with him all the sense of power he seemed to carry with him, very much like that cape he’d worn.

“Miss Casali,” he said icily, staring down at her, his full
scars exposed. “I may be many things, but I am not now, nor have I ever been, a vampire. If I start feeling a sudden craving for human blood, you’ll be the first to know. Until then, drop this nonsense.”

She swallowed hard, looking up at him. “Okay,” she said in a small, soft voice. His gaze held hers for only seconds, but it made its mark. She felt as though she’d just had a wild ride on a roller coaster and her insides were still in flight.

“Marcello?” he said pointedly, then turned back to pace the shadows.

His cousin moved in to start his examination of the patient and, for now, all bantering ceased. He started with a look at her black eye, and what he saw had him shaking his head in dismay. “Ice will help the swelling,” he told her after he’d checked to make sure there were no cuts or outright abrasions involved. “But the bruising will seem to go on forever. And there’s really not much you can do about that.”

There wasn’t much he could do about her bruised hip, either. He tested her reactions and pronounced nothing broken. But the cut on her leg was deep and he decided a few stitches were in order.

She sat back obediently and didn’t talk back. Her mind was swirling with emotions and reactions to the prince and to his fascinating life and home. What was she doing here? It was more than obvious she didn’t belong. But she wouldn’t have given up this chance at a taste of another sort of world for anything.