Borgia Fever by Michelle Kelly Page A

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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜You’re not dancing,’ he said.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Maybe, but I don’t care to dance. I have no idea of the steps.
Even the kitchen maids dance better than I.’
    â€˜There are better things to do with such a fine body than
dance,’ he said,