The Shades of Time (11 page)

Laughter and
the scuffle of chairs and tables being re-arranged for more evening
entertainments wafted from the salon below, the sound soon lost to
a background buzz as he extended his senses, trying to pinpoint
Veluria's location. What had seemed like two wells of energy
evaporated to a single powerful source, then everything
extinguished to flutter like weak embers.

The cat-and-mouse game grew tiresome. He was hungry, thirsty
and tired, his nerves raw and his head pounding so hard he could
barely hear. The more he tried to avoid thinking about Veluria, the
more he became obsessed with how she'd felt when he kissed her, how
she
could
feel in
his arms.

Antonio wished
for his brother, Nico's, presence to help him sort out the barrage
of conflicting signals and the strange effect it had on his ability
to concentrate. He allowed the familiar flood of cleansing anger to
wash over him, nervously fingering the hilt of his cinquedea as his
system prepared for a conflict that never seemed to materialize. He
yearned for a physical opponent, someone he could pound to a bloody
pulp.

Shutting his
eyes against the pain hammering his temples, he tried to fight the
whirls of confusing thoughts and sensations assaulting him: Stefano
in her arms, awash in passion, lost to her exquisite heat, his cock
commanding her pleasure, then twisting in pain, blood dripping,
pleading … Antonio staggered against the brocaded corridor, his
back pressed against the wainscoting, the harsh wood a comfort, a
piece of reality in a world gone topsy-turvy. He desperately needed
something he could use to focus.

He whispered, "
Mio
Dio
, what is happening to me?"

He had to get
control of himself for he knew with certainty that the woman owned
his thoughts, if only for a brief moment, yet a moment too long,
for it released his own lust and intense shame. He could not allow
this thing, this creature of power, to tread like an advancing army
through his being. If he could not control her, her power, he could
lose his besotted, beloved younger brother. If it wasn't too late
already. That 'thing' he'd felt, for a fleeting instant, held the
sulfurous essence of evil and corruption.

Antonio straightened to his full height, nearly brushing the
ceiling, and slid the dagger into its sheath. The weapons he must
bring to bear would require a different form of steel. This
thing
he faced would
require cunning for he must harness its power. Only then could he
protect his people, his family, and himself. He unlatched the
bedroom door to swing inward, the dim yellow light from candles
scattered about the room revealing a tiny figure, waiting patiently
with hands folded demurely. Antonio ducked as he entered the
cluttered sleeping chambers, eyes sweeping the space to assure
himself they were alone.

She—Veluria—looked serene and in control. He had expected a doe,
startled and in blind terror of her pursuer, but this petite visage
kept her counsel wrapped in quiet, regal assurance. She was not the
typical beauty of the French Court, bejeweled and powdered and
stayed within an inch of her life. Instead, she had an easy grace,
poised, almost battle-ready. Despite her tiny frame, she displayed
a handsomeness of spirit that commanded his attention. Truly, this
woman was a force to be reckoned with.

"
Madame, je vois que vous souvenez de
moi
." Antonio stumbled over the phrasing,
French never being his strong suit. Of course she'd remember
him.

With a small
uptick to her mouth, she said, "I make a point to remember my
kidnappers so that I may later report them to the authorities."

Her voice still
had that odd timber, vaguely accented in an unfamiliar way he could
not pin down.

She must have
interpreted his expression correctly for she said wryly, "And to
save you asking the question, no, I am not French, although Charles
is my cousin by marriage." He'd already figured that out but it
still begged the question—where was she from?

Since the woman
seemed uninclined to share any additional information, Tonio
lounged against the doorframe, blocking her exit with his sheer
bulk and using the silence to study his brother's paramour with
undisguised interest. Stefano indeed had exquisite taste. The blue
silk of her voluminous gown accented skin so pale it appeared
translucent, her face heart-shaped with a pointed chin, lashes
thick and dark, shadowing intense eyes mirroring the color of the
Aegean when storms threatened, flashing silver-black like a
breaking sea.

By some miracle
the blue-black braids remained relatively intact after the frenetic
activity of the day and evening. However, more tendrils now curled
about her face and down the back of her swan-like neck—he found the
effect oddly pleasing and wondered, not for the first time, how
long her hair would be once he freed the strands from their tight
bonds. The thought of running his fingers through the silken
strands left him dry-mouthed and his throat constricting.

Instead of
lowering her eyes away from his bold stare and concentrating on her
hands, she held his with a steady gaze and simply denied him access
to her thoughts.

Damn.

He could leave
the finer points of divining the woman's capabilities to Cosimo or
he could assess the mettle of the adversary facing him. What he
needed and what he wanted seemed strangely at odds.

Of course, she
could say no in as many ways as she pleased—he did not need to ask
permission—yet he hesitated, acutely aware that the answers he
sought might not be to his liking. Yet he had no choice. And why he
needed to talk himself into what came naturally, aggressively so,
perplexed and annoyed him.

With an effort
he attempted a neutral stare, but felt his features forming around
the more natural glower that caused strong men to grow weak in the
knees, or so he was told.

It made no
difference—she held firm, sufficiently content to allow the silence
between them to waver like a brocaded curtain, sold and tangible
with implications neither would acknowledge.

Finally growing claustrophobic in the confined space, Antonio
dislodged himself, speaking dismissively, "My brother hardly
qualifies as a kidnapper, Madame. He and I have only your best
interests, and your honor to defend. Forgive us, forgive
me
, if we seemed to behave
in an unseemly fashion."

That clumsy
little speech would have left Nico rolling on the floor.

The woman
brushed a stray tendril that had fallen out of place behind her
ear, an unconscious gesture, perhaps indicative of some level of
anxiety? Small movements like that often spoke volumes about a
person's inner turmoil. Or it was clever misdirection.

He doubted she
knew he could sense the energy enveloping her like a living
breathing organism. Her posture spoke to careful control, the
energy contained, her defenses in place. He had her at a
disadvantage, yet she yielded no quarter—an ability he demanded in
himself and admired in others.

Yes, Stefano
had chosen well. But why she should chose 'him' was another matter
altogether. He was a mere boy compared to her worldliness. Though
he could not pinpoint her age, she was not as young as she
seemed.

"If you have
seen quite enough, signore, perhaps we could retire to the drawing
room and discuss how you will compensate me for my …
inconvenience."

Compensate?
What the fu—?

Veluria moved
past Antonio, pausing slightly to allow him to bend away from her
so that she could maneuver her unwieldy skirts through the
entryway. She lifted her chin and shifted a shoulder coquettishly
to draw attention to her bosom and the soft, rosy flesh straining
against the silken material. She smiled at the ever-so-slight
intake of breath.

So, I have you
guessing now, my Demon?

Satisfied the
balance had shifted back in her favor, she swept down the hall to
the left, following the darkening corridor to the rear of the
building. Most of the houses in this section of the city had the
same basic layout. Since she hadn't the time to investigate, given
the haste with which Marie had been forced to dress her and arrange
the few weapons at her disposal, she relied on guesswork and luck
find an excuse to move out of the bedroom and away from his smoking
hot stare that had undressed her in more ways than she could
catalog.

At the end of
the corridor she turned left again, this time into an arched
doorway that led to a long, narrow space overlooking the canal two
floors below. Several tall windows, some with fanciful stained
glass, allowed ambient light from a pre-dawn sky to filter through,
laying down intricate patterns on the mosaic flooring. Several
portraits and a moderately-sized religious landscape dominated the
plain paneled wall.

Veluria waved
to a divan barely discernible in the dim light. Antonio shook his
head no and strolled to the large painting, feigning curiosity
about its unusual treatment of the Madonna.

"Bellini," she
murmured.

"That is not
Jacopo's style." Tonio frowned and waved his right hand over the
muted grays and browns of the background that gave the figures such
monumental proportions and sense of place.

Well, that was
unexpected. The man continued to surprise her. Prevaricating, she
asked, "His brother?" in hopes of allowing herself some time before
the real test of wills began.

"Ah, Giovanni.
Well, then…" Tonio let the words trail off as he continued to stare
at the painting, his back to her, not yet ready to engage.

Veluria
arranged the skirts ballooning about her, almost consuming her
petite frame in a cloud of blue fabric. Annoyed she tamped the
offending material down as best she could, utilizing time honored
delaying tactics to avoid the coming confrontation.

By some common
consent or acknowledgment of the inevitable, they seemed to come to
an unvoiced agreement. He turned toward her, allowing her the
luxury of finally taking the measure of the man standing with
careless disregard before her.

The
strengthening dawn cast shadows over his huge frame, not just tall
but massively built, his shoulders broad and muscular under the
dark leather doublet and stained white shirt with billowing
sleeves, worn but serviceable. He had well-shaped legs with
muscular thighs bulging through the nondescript brownish wool hose.
Leather boots in desperate need of oiling came to mid-calf. When he
turned toward her, she glanced surreptitiously at the codpiece and
wondered with a sneer if it were padded.

No one would
call this man handsome. Imposing, yes. Terrifying, definitely.
Faint scars jigsawed across the dark stubble that accentuated a
strong jaw and an unforgiving set to his mouth. Full lips offset
the fierce demeanor, giving him a compellingly sensuous aura. She
knew what those lips, that tongue, could do…

Except for the
eyes, he and Stefano looked nothing alike, though with Tonio they
achieved unfathomable depths and a glint of cruelty. If she hadn't
experienced the tenderness, sensed the guilt and pain, seen for
herself the unyielding devotion to his brother, she might have
bought into the soul-less devil persona. But the chink in his armor
was there, though he might not be aware of it.

Stay on target,
Veluria. If the man wants to stay a sociopath, leave him to it. His
inner demons have nothing to do with you.

Thank you,
Mother Superior. She resisted the urge to brush at her shoulder,
shooing her imaginary spirit guide away.

"If you have
had your fill, Madame?" he mimicked her former tone and faced her
squarely, this time with menace and a clear intent to arrive at
answers satisfactory only to him.

On the low
divan, with her eyes drawn first to his sheathed weapon, then to
the object of her curiosity, she realized with a start that the
codpiece indeed was not padded, a fact becoming more evident the
longer the giant glared at her. She found it interesting as she had
carefully tamped back her energies so he was reacting to her, as a
woman, not as a 'device' as the Reverend Mother was so found of
calling her flock's special abilities.

Harshly he spat
at her, "What are your intentions?"

"
Signore
, I
have no idea what you mean. You have no right…"

"I have every
right, Madame. He is my brother and it is my duty to protect him
from the wiles of such as yourself."

Veluria
bristled. The beast might as well have called her a whore. Clearly
he baited her. Why, she was not sure. She would need to think
carefully on his train of thought for it might reveal much about
the man, and hopefully the secret she must prise out of him.

"Hmm, Stefano
is your brother? Then you must be…?" She entered into the pretty
phrasing and accepted forms. Each knew the other—and all
relationships, tangential or otherwise. The well-rehearsed steps
would allow for certain variations later on.

He looked ready
to strangle her as he spit out, "Antonio de' Medici."

Tonio crouched,
bringing himself eye-level with her. They had done this dance
before and she was well-aware of who he was. His face flushed with
his growing fury and frustration. He might not mean to harm her but
she wouldn't place any bets on that when he teetered on the brink
of giving in to well-schooled violent behaviors.

She steered the interrogation in a less dangerous direction.
"Well,
signore
, I
still do not understand why you chose to abduct me." The lilt at
the end of the sentence held the hint of a question … and perhaps
mirth.