Borgia Fever
Автор
Michelle Kelly
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Chapter One
When Bella stepped into the ornate ballroom her breath was momentarily stolen by the splendour that greeted her. The walls and ceiling under the marble arches were adorned with frescoes featuring an intriguing mix of blessed saints and erotic pagan images, and a water feature specifically made for this event took pride of place in the centre of the room, the water cascading from the jug of a bare-breasted nymph over the chest of a stone Adonis. But as captivating as the scene was, her eyes were soon scanning the room for the one man she simultaneously longed to see, yet knew she dare not approach.
Marco Corelli. Le assassini birbante. The Rogue Assassin. When she had first set eyes on him two weeks ago, upon arriving in Rome, the sight of him had been a like a lightning bolt to her heart—and other, more secret places. With his dark, almost blue-black hair, deep grey eyes and the strong muscular build of a soldier poured into tight black leggings and tunic, he was quite simply the most desirable man she had ever seen. Not that that was particularly difficult, as she had spent the best part of her twenty-four years in Montagne, a little village outside Rome where her uncle once did a good trade as an apothecary, chemist and herbalist, before passing the business on to her. Such was his reputation, and subsequently hers, that she had ended up here. Marvelling at the splendour of the Borgia papal court and longing for a glimpse of the Rogue. So called because no one knew quite who he was or even what he was—assassin, spy or simply trusted manservant to the notorious Cesare Borgia, son of the Pope—and perhaps also because of his sensual yet thoroughly masculine looks.
Not that she had heard any rumours about his conduct with women, far from it. By all accounts the Rogue kept to himself, a secretive and dangerous man. Someone she should certainly keep away from. She was in enough danger simply by having come to the attention of the notorious Borgia family. Bella was no fool, and well aware that when she had accomplished the task she had been set, her life might very well be forfeit. Her time would be better spent planning her escape than swooning over a gorgeous yet inscrutable man like the Rogue.
Yet every time she had come across him she had hoped for a smile, a glance, some acknowledgment at least, but there had been nothing. Bella didn’t count vanity among her sins, but she knew that men found her desirable; she had spent the last fortnight fighting off the advances of nearly every man in the palace, who no doubt found her status as a single and independent woman both provocative and infuriating. But from him, nothing, not even a sideways glance. Then two days later, as she had been tending the herb garden, she had felt eyes upon her, and looked up to see him watching her from the shadows, blending in so perfectly that for a moment she wondered if she was seeing things. He had dropped his gaze and turned away, but not before she had seen the flash of heat in his eyes and the way they roamed her body, lingering for a second on the curve of her breasts where they swelled above her simple gown. Then he had been gone, his movements swift and lithe, like a hunter pursuing his prey, leaving her staring at the spot where he had stood.
Now her eyes found him again, leaning against a pillar, watching the festivities around him with a cool eye. Though the other revellers made much of the masquerade, the Pope himself currently dancing with a blushing—and very married—lady-in-waiting, the Rogue merely observed, his expression unreadable. Did he never relax? Bella wondered. Must he always be at his post, alert for any sign of danger or intrigue? She thought it must be a lonely way to live, always in the shadows, always apart from the crowd. For her own part she had had quite enough of the decadent and dangerous Borgia court as it was, and could only hope she would soon find the secrets she had been bidden to discover, as well as a way to ensure her safe return home. A chill went through her at the now familiar fear that she may never see her home again.
‘Are you well, my lady?’
With a shock she realised the Rogue was in front of her, an amused look on his face, his mouth curving in a cruel yet sensual half smile. Realising she had been standing staring into space, she flushed and dropped a curtsey. Now he will think I’m some simpleton, she cursed silently as she sank down, awkward in the fine new red dress she had bought for the occasion. But he reached out and took her hand, lifting her to her feet.
She met his eyes boldly, although her heart was racing. Standing so close to him, breathing in the scent of him, made her feel slightly dizzy. Still, she would not swoon like some of the idiot serving girls at the sight of him; or at least, she was determined not to let him see her do so.
‘I am indeed well, grazie. Just a little overwhelmed. The Pope has certainly put on a show for his daughter. It is truly a feast fit for royalty.’
His lips twisted in a contemptuous smile that Bella wasn’t sure was directed at her, the Pope, or his daughter, Lucrezia. It was the innocent-faced Lucrezia, rumoured to be a murderess and poisoner, who had sought Bella’s skills, and Bella had learned enough during her stay here to know that the rumours were no lie. This new path she had found herself on was a dangerous one to tread, so what difference could a flirtation with this man make? If her future was indeed in jeopardy, it occurred to Bella she should seize life with both hands while she still had the opportunity to do so. Her heart pounded, fit to burst through her chest as she looked at him boldly. She had no experience with being at court, with these games of wit and the sweet talk of seduction, and although Bella was sure her captivation with this man must be plain to see, she found herself unwilling—unable even—to drop her gaze from his. His eyes were like inky pools, drawing her in, until she fancied she could drown in their depths.
‘You’re not dancing,’ he said.
‘No.’ She smiled at his statement of the obvious. ‘And neither are you, sir.’
He shrugged, a graceful movement in spite of the raw power of his body. Truly, Bella thought, he was like a beautiful wild animal, one of the sleek big cats she had seen in pictures, perhaps, or a wolf. If she had any sense, she would make her excuses and leave him, retreat back to her place with the other women in Lucrezia’s household. But she was intrigued by him. She knew she was being a fool, yet also knew she would curse herself all night long if she left his presence now. If she left the court without ever feeling his hands on her body.
‘I have little time for dancing. But you, my lady, surely there are many men waiting for the pleasure?’
She felt ridiculously pleased at his words. He gave the compliment seriously, as if he truly meant it and wasn’t just trying to flatter. Indeed, she doubted the Rogue ever went out of his way to flatter.
Bella wondered how much he knew about her role here. More than she did, most likely; it was often said that nothing happened in the inner circles of Rome without it reaching the Rogue’s ears. The official story was that she was here to find a cure for Lucrezia’s frequent headaches, which no doctor had succeeded in doing, and the rumour went that Bella was a mistress of the art of poison, here to concoct a deadly new potion for an equally deadly benefactor. The truth lay, as with most things, somewhere between the two, but Bella had no idea how much the inscrutable Rogue knew. Still, his question was easily enough answered.
‘Maybe, but I don’t care to dance. I have no idea of the steps. Even the kitchen maids dance better than I.’
‘There are better things to do with such a fine body than dance,’ he said, and though his cool demeanour did not change, the eyes that met hers were full of heat. The desire of a man used to taking what he wanted. Bella felt her cheeks go hot and her mouth dry as his gaze roamed her slender form. Her gown pushed her breasts up to their best advantage, then fell away to settle becomingly over hips that flared out from her tiny waist, unmarked by childbirth.
Bella was not a virgin. She had been betrothed once, and the rumours and gossip that accompanied an overeducated woman with more knowledge of herbs and potions than was good for her had frightened him away, after he had taken her innocence, of course. She hadn’t made love since. Indeed, had felt little desire to. That first time, borne out of what she had taken for love, and a girlish curiosity about the act, had left her with little urge to take another lover. Until now. She swallowed, not sure how to respond to his words.
‘Dancing is out of the question then,’ she said at last, searching wildly for something to say. The Rogue raised an eyebrow at her.
‘Perhaps we should explore our other options?’ he said, stepping towards her slightly. Like a wolf who knew his prey was cornered.
Bella felt herself flush as scarlet as her dress, and the man laughed, a real laugh rather than that mocking smile. Even in her embarrassment she couldn’t fail to notice how handsome he was.
‘Forgive me,’ he said, bowing slightly, amusement still tugging at the corners of his deliciously full mouth, ‘I should not tease you. But I think that perhaps, like me, you find all this —’ he jerked his head at their surroundings ‘— tedious.’
Bella looked around. Tedious was hardly the word she would use to describe the party the Pope had thrown in celebration of his daughter’s new betrothal. The Palazzo Santa Maria was the most beautiful building she had ever seen, in Bella’s view eclipsing even the nearby Vatican, and she had never seen such a wealth of colour and luxury as were within its walls tonight. Still, she understood the Rogue’s complaint. Even after two weeks she was beginning to find the endless bowing and scraping and intricacies of court etiquette a burden, and was already longing to return to her simpler life, to her business and her herbs. She had to admit to herself that it was only the possibility of catching a glimpse of the Rogue that had stopped her from slipping away from the main hall to continue her work in the distillery. She turned back to him, and her next words came out of her mouth as if at someone else’s bidding.
‘Perhaps some fresh air then?’
He looked at her and nodded, as if he approved of her forthrightness. He held an arm out to her with an expression almost of challenge in his eyes, and she took it, feeling the tautness of his biceps. As he began to lead her across the floor she let out a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding.
He moved smoothly through the crowds, and she could hardly fail to be aware of the proximity of his body as he kept her close to his side, as though to prevent her running away. An impossibility, as her body seemed to have a mind of its own, more than happy to follow where he led. Bella half expected someone to stop them, or one of the women to come after her, but most of the revellers were far too busy having a good time to take any notice, although a few pairs of curious eyes followed them. No doubt surprised to see the solitary birbante leading a woman out onto one of the palace balconies.
Once outside, the humid air did little to cool her, and when he turned and looked at her, his eyes hot with desire, she felt as if her very skin caught flame. She stepped back, a moment’s clarity making her cautious. Was the decadence of the Borgia court seeping into her bones already? Had the Spanish wine and the sense of imminent danger gone to her head? They were a stone’s throw away from the others, but even so, she was a young woman, alone on a balcony with one of the most whispered about men in Rome.
Yet she didn’t feel afraid. Not of him. Whatever other tales were told about him, it was also whispered that he was a man of some honour, and had never been known to hurt or forcibly take a woman.
But she had no protection from her own desire. When he stepped towards her and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt her mouth to his, it wasn’t fear that made her shiver, but lust. When his lips descended on hers she hesitated for only a second before responding hungrily, crushing her mouth to his. The Rogue made a noise deep in his throat, and as one hand slid to the small of her back, the other buried itself in the looped coils of her hair, which had taken her maid, Susanna, hours to arrange.
He pushed Bella up against a stone wall, out of sight of the hall, and she felt the cold against her back in stark contrast to the heat of him in front of her. His hips pressed into the folds of her skirt and she could feel his hardness as his tongue explored her mouth. There was no coolness to him now; she could feel the need in his body, the way his hands gripped her, and she responded with a passion to match, a part of her hardly able to believe this was happening. His mouth moved away from hers only to leave a burning trail of kisses down her neck, over her collarbone and across the tops of her breasts where they swelled above the low neckline of her gown. She gasped as she felt her nipples stiffen under the thin material, wanting his mouth and hands around them. Need grew in the depths of her body, chasing away any thoughts of caution. She was not Bella any longer, spending her days poring over her books or making up tinctures or bartering with merchants; she was a woman at the court of the Borgia, where pleasure was as important as duty. Where, indeed, pleasure was a duty.
‘You’re wearing far too many clothes,’ he all but growled into her ear as he raised his lips to her neck again, the hand that had been at her back coming round to inch up her skirts. When his strong hands squeezed her thigh, she gasped, torn between the inclination to clamp her legs shut and the lust that made her want to open to his touch.
He must have sensed her hesitation, for he pulled away, his palm stilling on her leg. He gazed down at her, his eyes dark with desire and his breathing ragged. Even so, he was still undeniably in control, whereas Bella felt like a melting mess. He then pulled her against him again, slower this time, leaning down and taking her mouth with his in a way that made her body tremble and the liquid heat pool between her thighs. This time when his hand made its slow path up her thighs she made no attempt to stop him. He paused again as his palm neared her sex, a question in his eyes.
‘I’m not a maiden,’ she whispered, her voice hoarse, but still he hesitated, staring down at her with those dark eyes as if he would have her beg before he touched her. Finally she felt his fingers brush her most intimate, womanly place, and a soft moan escaped her lips. His eyes glittered with triumph as he captured her mouth again, his lips moving against hers as his hand moved in rhythm against, and then inside, her sex. Bella felt her body clench and then release, opening for him, and feeling his hardness straining against her, she reached a hand down to stroke him through the thin material of his breeches. She wanted him. For all she knew she could die here. Well, she could do naught to prevent that, but she would not do so without knowing this man in the most intimate of ways. As she reached for his laces, however, a loud crash and then raucous laughter came from close behind them in the hall. She paused, her eyes wide at the thought of being seen. Marco stepped back, his hands falling away from her, and the moment was lost.
‘I will not take you up against the wall like this,’ he murmured, his eyes drinking her in, ‘as much as I want to.’
She nodded, breathless, her body protesting and still eager for his touch.
He motioned his head towards the open doors, where the sounds of merriment continued to grow.
‘I must stay until my lord retires,’ he whispered, his voice thick with need, ‘but I doubt it will be long before some lady takes his fancy and he has no need for me. If you wish it, I could come to your room.’
Bella bit her lip. Did she wish it? There was no denying she wanted him, but it was one thing to be whisked away at a feast in the heat of the moment, and quite another to plan a tryst in her own room.
As she looked up at him, his face half—hidden in the shadows, his expression unreadable, she had a sudden longing to know the man underneath his demeanor. ‘Yes, come to me later,’ she whispered, throwing caution to the winds. ‘I have a small room in the ladies’ quarters, near...’
‘I know where you are, Signora Bella,’ he murmured.
She flushed. ‘I thought you hadn’t noticed me, at least not until the other morning in the garden.’
‘I notice everyone. Especially newcomers to the palace.’
‘Oh!’ she gasped, stung, ‘you have been spying on me then?’
‘Of course. And it was a pleasure,’ he said, his eyes hinting at pleasures still to come. She wasn’t sure whether to be pleased that he had indeed noticed her or disappointed that he had been watching her with suspicion as well as want. But it was to be expected. She was indeed a newcomer, and one rumoured to have knowledge of all sorts of poisons. Again she wondered how much he knew about her real purpose here.
He was stepping away from her now, bowing and kissing her hand with all the grace of a courtier, a mischievous look in her eye that made her giggle like any coquette, almost giddy from the strangeness of their encounter.
‘Until later,’ he whispered, and was gone. Bella stood for a minute, gulping in the night air and straightening her clothes before she reentered the hall, looking around her warily. But none of the revellers noticed her; they were engrossed with their own business. She crossed the floor quickly, looking to escape through the side doors and go to her room to process the night’s events—and those to come.
Sweaty hands grabbed at her from behind, a drunken voice slurring close to her ear as she turned to see one of the cardinals grinning lecherously at her, clearly more concerned with the pleasures of the flesh than the care of his soul. Bella twisted away from him, but he only gripped her harder, laughing as if the idea of her trying to get away from him was hilarious. She looked around wildly for help, then saw it in the shape of a dark figure suddenly coming up behind the cardinal, one hand resting lightly but noticeably on the hilt of his dagger.
‘I believe this woman is spoken for, Your Holiness,’ the Rogue said, his voice quiet and polite, yet somehow managing to drip with menace. The cardinal raised his hands in protest, and Bella quickly stepped out of his reach.
‘Of course, of course, only a jest,’ he slurred, slapping the Rogue on the back and then hurrying away remarkably fast for a drunken old man. A cardinal might well outrank a spy in status, but no man wanted to quarrel with the Rogue.
Bella looked at him gratefully and he winked at her, mouthed ‘Soon’ and was gone again, his movements lithe and feline. Bella hurried to the door, allowing herself one last glance back to see him now deep in conversation with some ambassador or another, and she pressed her fingers to her lips as if some trace of his kiss might still linger there, before disappearing into the corridor that led to the ladies’ quarters.
She had been given a simple and spare room, but at least it was her own, and she didn’t have to share with Lucrezia’s ladies or the maids. Bella tossed her mask onto the small pallet she had been given for a bed, bubbling with excitement at the thought that she may not be sleeping alone in it tonight, when a stirring of alarm froze the smile on her face.
Something was wrong. The finely honed intuition that she had inherited from her mother, but kept carefully guarded lest it raise accusations of witchcraft, now hit her in the gut like a fist. She scanned the room, finding nothing amiss, but knowing that someone had been there. Her eyes fell on the large wooden chest in the corner and she hurried over to it with her heart hammering.
It was still locked. Breathing a sigh of relief, Bella fumbled under the bed for the key and opened the chest, trying to calm her fears. Lifting the covering cloth out of the way, she examined the neatly stacked bottles, packets of herbs and notebooks. Everything seemed to be in place.
Except a small red vial that should have been at the bottom of the chest, in the farthest corner, was missing. The substance that was vital to her work here.
The small vial contained a sample of that mysterious concoction known as the ‘Borgia fever.’ A poison so deadly it could kill a grown man with just a drop. The secret weapon against the many enemies of the Borgia reign.
The vial had been entrusted to her care. And it was gone.
