Borgia Fever by Michelle Kelly Page B

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.
    â€˜Dancing is out of the question then,’ she said at last,
searching wildly for something to say. The Rogue raised an eyebrow at her.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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