The Brides of Bella Rosa: Beauty and the Reclusive Prince. Rebecca Winters
Maximilliano Di Rossi looked down at the woman who was clinging to him and frowned. He was surprised that she’d turned to him for protection the way she had, but he was also surprised at his own reaction to her move. His first impulse was to pull away, to reject all contact. That was his way, the style he’d been living with for the last ten years. The only people he allowed near him were those who had always been closest to him, a few people who had known him since childhood—since before the accident. He never had other visitors. He’d been stepping out of character even to bring her here.
But something in the easy, open way she’d clung to him had stirred old memories. She was shivering and turning toward him as a lover would. Something deep inside him hungered for this. It had been so long since he’d held a woman in his arms, since he’d felt that warmth, that contrast between his own hard body and the soft, rounded responsiveness of a woman. He’d thought he might never feel it again. And yet, here it was, like a gift out of the blue.
But not for long. He knew she’d been trying to see his face and he’d been keeping it averted. Once she really saw him in full light, any instincts for touching him in any way would dry up like summer rain on a hot pavement.
With a cynical twist of his wide mouth, he turned and led her into the palazzo through the tall, heavy wood door. Their footsteps echoed down the long empty hallways. Someone coughed. He looked up. There stood his man, Renzo, in his nightclothes and dressing gown, and wearing what appeared to be a pair of aging woodchucks on his feet. He looked sleepy and ridiculous, but definitely alarmed at the same time.
“Nice slippers,” he commented wryly, cocking an eyebrow.
“Thank you, sir,” Renzo responded, shuffling his feet and looking slightly abashed.
Max paused for a moment. He knew he could very easily hand over this piece of womanly baggage to the individual who had been his combination valet, butler, and personal assistant most of his life. Hand her over and turn his back and walk away and never give her another thought. He knew very well that Renzo would take care of everything discreetly and efficiently. Doing just that would fit the pattern of his life, the way things were done around here. He made a move as though to do it. He could see that Renzo expected it. How easy it would be to follow through.
And then he glanced down at the woman. She was still turning to him for refuge. She’d reached for him, given herself into the comfort of his arm, pressed her beautiful young body against his as though she was trusting that he would keep her safe. Something moved inside him—and that was dangerous. Just looking down into her gorgeous thick, tangled hair, he could feel his emotions stirring in a way he didn’t need.
And still, he didn’t leave.
Later he told himself it was nothing more than a typical impulse of the male role of guardian, the same he might have had for a puppy or a kitten that needed his attention. Despite his background, despite his guilty past, the urge to safeguard those smaller and more vulnerable rose in him and he’d followed his instincts.
But for once, he wasn’t convinced. No, there was something about this woman—something threatening. He knew he should walk away and leave her to Renzo to deal with.
But he didn’t do that.
Looking up, he shook his head at his man. “I’ll handle this,” he said, shedding his long black cloak and dropping it on a chair along the side of the room. He was going to see to her himself.
At the same time he realized what this meant. He was going to be forced to go against habit and his recent tradition. He was going to have to do something he almost never did these days. He was going to have to turn and let her see his face.
Renzo looked alarmed. “But, sir—” he began.
The prince cut him off. “Notify Marcello that I would like him to join us in the Blue Room,” he said.
Renzo blinked. “Excuse me, sir, but I think the doctor is asleep…”
“Then wake him,” Max said crisply. “I want him to take a look at this young lady. She’s had a fall.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Renzo said faintly, but he didn’t leave the room. Instead, he cleared his throat as though to say more, but Max wasn’t listening. He was steeling himself for the moment that was about to come.
He knew his hesitation would seem strange to others. Most would let anyone see their face at any time. After all, it was the side they showed to the world, the representation of just who they were.
But he wasn’t like everyone else. His face was scarred, horribly damaged and ugly to see. It couldn’t represent him, because he wasn’t like that inside. But it was all he had, and therefore it was something he avoided showing to strangers.
To turn and let her see his face would be a serious step for him. Still, he was going to do it. He was impatient with himself for even wavering. It was time he got over this weakness. He would turn and let her see just what she was dealing with. And he would hold his gaze steady so that he would be forced to take in every ounce of the shock and horror in her eyes. It was best to stay real.
“Come this way,” he told her brusquely, turning to stride down the hall. She almost ran to keep up, holding onto his hand as though she would be lost if she let go. The huge portraits that lined their path were a blur, as were the long, aging tapestries that hung from the walls. He swept her into a room lined with heavy blue velvet drapes. The embers of a dying fire were smoldering in the large stone fireplace.
“Sit down,” he said, gesturing toward an antique Grecian couch. “My cousin Marcello is a physician. I want him to take a look at you.”
“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head and looking down at herself. Everything about her seemed to be dripping. “I’m filthy and muddy and wet. I’ll ruin the upholstery.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he said shortly.
She raised her dark gaze and cocked her head to the side, trying to see more than the left half of his face. Was he joking? This was one of the most sumptuously embellished rooms she’d ever been in. Not what she was used to, but most people she knew didn’t do much decorating in velvet and gold leaf.
“Of course it matters,” she responded, beginning to feel some of her usual fire returning. “I may not look like much right now, but I’ve got manners. I know how to act in polite company.”
“Polite company?” He gave a little grunt, not even sure himself if it were partly a laugh or not. “Is that what you’re expecting? We’ll have to see if we can muster some up for you.”
He was pacing about the room in a restless way and she turned to keep him in her line of vision. She was pretty sure she knew who he was by now. After all, she’d seen him all those years ago at the hot springs. If only she could get a full view of his face she would know for sure, but he seemed to have a talent for keeping in the shadows.
“You’re making me dizzy,” she said, reaching out to steady herself with a hand on the back of an overstuffed chair.
He grunted again, but he didn’t stop moving. She watched nervously, wondering what he was planning to do with her. Luckily, he didn’t seem inclined to lock her in a cell, so Susa was wrong there, but she supposed he could call the police and have her arrested if he wanted to. This was his castle and she didn’t belong here.
She watched and waited. She liked the way he moved. There was a controlled, animal strength to him, and every action, every turn, presented with a certain masculine grace. And yet there was the sense of something more to him, something hidden, something leashed and waiting. He was new to her, unpredictable. Once again she realized that she was in a presence she didn’t know how to handle. That made her heart thump.
Stopping to look out into the hall, he muttered something she couldn’t quite make out, but it sounded slightly obscene.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, tensing as though to be ready to run for it.
He started to turn toward her, then