Maggie Cox – One Summer at The Villa: The Prince's Royal Concubine / Her Italian Soldier / A Devilishly Dark Deal (страница 13)

Cristiano bowed his head and concentrated on breathing evenly. He should not have spoken of Julianne’s death to her. But he’d felt the darkness settling over him when she’d accused Monterosso of prolonging the hostilities, and he’d been unable to keep it at bay. He’d wanted to wound, just like he’d been wounded by the guilt of causing an innocent woman to die. A woman whose only crime had been to marry him.

He had to go after Antonella. He couldn’t let her wander through the house with the storm intensifying. A tree could crash down on them. Windows could shatter. He could be wrong about the depth of the ocean and a storm surge could sweep into the house and drag her away.

Death lay over the structure like a coiled serpent, simply waiting for an opportunity to strike.

And he couldn’t let that happen. He needed her if he wanted to put an end to the violence.

No.

He tilted his head back on the headboard and sighed. It was more than that. She was a person, and though he might not trust her or like her very much, she didn’t deserve anything less than his best care for her safety while they endured this storm.

It had gotten out of control so fast.

He’d only meant to find out a bit more about her, but he should have known the conversation would head down a road he did not want to go. Could a Monteverdian and a Monterossan truly spend time together and not fight about the problems between their countries? If it were possible, perhaps there would be peace already.

Still, he was here to make sure it happened. He had to control his emotions and he had to deal with Antonella like a rational man, not a wounded lion.

He pushed away from the bed, grabbing the flashlight, and headed through the door. Outside, the wind howled and moaned. Tree branches scraped across the terracotta roof with an eerie sound like fingernails against a chalkboard. The walls groaned and creaked.

“Antonella!”

She didn’t answer, so he passed through the hall and into the living room. She wasn’t there. Next, he went into the kitchen. The temperature in the house was starting to climb now that the power had gone out. He would have to open a window soon, though he did not want to for fear of the wind being so strong. But they would need fresh air. Sweat beaded on his skin as he moved through the structure.

“Antonella!” She couldn’t have gone far, but she probably couldn’t hear him over the wind. He went into the first bedroom, shone the light. Nothing. The second also yielded nothing.

The third time, as the beam swept across the room, he hit the jackpot. She lay on the bed, curled into a ball, a pillow hugged tight to her body. The sight shafted an arrow of regret straight through his chest.

She looked like a child, vulnerable and helpless, and his protective instincts were kicking into gear. Dio, he had to remember who she was. What she was. They’d been here a handful of hours and he was already going soft.

“Antonella,” he said over the wind and rain pelting the roof.

“Go away.”

“It’s not safe in here. We have to return to the master bedroom.”

She bolted into an upright position, her hair wild as she shoved it out of her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed. “It’s not safe in there either,” she shot back. “I’ll take my chances here.”

“Don’t be stupid. We’re going back.”

He started forward and she scrambled against the headboard, folding her knees against her body as if to ward him off.

“It won’t work, Principessa,” he said, exasperation and fury surging through him in twin waves. His instincts were sounding an alarm inside his head, telling him to get her and get out, no matter how hard she fought. The skin at the back of his neck prickled as the wind surged against the house, banging the shutters. He’d closed them, but they were old and somewhat loose in places. “I’m bigger and stronger; I will win.”

Her eyes widened as he reached for her. She looked a little scared at his intensity, but he had no time to play nice. He had to get them back to safety. As if to punctuate the point, there was a loud snap outside. The wind howled even louder.

He grabbed her foot and yanked her toward him. She screamed.

But he ignored her feminine hysterics and dragged her up into his grasp. She twisted like a cat. “No!”

Cristiano gripped her shoulders hard and shook her. “Stop fighting me,” he ordered. “We have to go.”

But she didn’t seem to be listening. She twisted again, fell to the bed as he lost his hold on her. He lunged for her, furious—and more than a little concerned at the crackling sound coming from above their heads.

“We have to go,” he repeated. “Now.”

Instead of cooperating, she flinched and covered her head as if he were about to strike her. The sight gave him pause. He’d never hit a woman in his life. Never had a woman cower from him as if he were about to do so. Did she really think…?

Why?

Why?

Another sharp crack outside dragged his attention up. A moment later, the roof split open. Terracotta and splintered wood crumbled through the opening, showering down around them.

No time left.

Acting on a surge of adrenaline and pure instinct, Cristiano grabbed Antonella and hauled her from the bed. There was just enough time to roll her beneath him before the wall opened under the weight of the tree like a zipper dragging downward.

Chapter Six

WHEN Antonella came to, the first thing she noticed was the heavy weight pressing down on her. She could barely breathe. The second was the sharp smell of rain and the dark odor of wet wood. Wind whipped in gusts against her body, chilling where her dress was soaked through. She tried to push the weight off, but it shifted. Suddenly, she was looking up into Cristiano’s dark face.

Her heart turned over at the sight of blood trickling down his cheek.

“You are not hurt?” he said before she could manage to speak.

“I-I don’t think so. But I can’t breathe,” she rasped.

He shifted to the side and Antonella drew in a deep breath, nearly coughing with the relief of feeling her lungs expand. “What happened?”

Cristiano glanced up. Her gaze followed his and she gasped as she realized what she was seeing. A jagged piece of the roof was gone. And the wall. But that wasn’t the most amazing thing. No, it was staring up at the rain-lashed sky through the branches of a tree that caused her insides to liquefy. The bulk of the tree had hit the bed, the branches splaying out crookedly in all directions.

Oh, God.

If he hadn’t pulled her off there in time…

Only the mattress prevented the tree from falling to the floor and crushing them beneath the weight of the branches. As it was, they would have to crawl out from under the limbs that spread over them.

Antonella touched his face, flinching at the same time he did—and trying very hard to ignore the sizzle arcing through her at such simple skin on skin contact. “You are bleeding.”

He swiped his fingers over his face, then probed upward, stopping just beneath his hairline. “It’s not serious, just a scratch.”

“It’s a lot of blood.”

“It’s fine.”

Antonella bit down on her lip to stop it trembling. Surely he would know if he were badly hurt. He’d said he’d served in the army, so he must have experience with this kind of thing. She had no choice but to trust that he did.

He lifted his shirt and wiped it across his face. “We’ll have to crawl out of here. Can you manage it?”

“Yes.”

He nodded once. “The going will be rough, but stay close.”

Though Cristiano picked his way carefully, Antonella scraped her arms and legs more times than she could count. Shards of wood had splintered off from the main tree, and crumbled terracotta and stucco littered the area, making the process slow and painful.

She suppressed her cries of pain. It would do no good and she was determined to get out from under this tree before the storm did something worse. The wind swirled through the collapsed wall, whipping her wet hair into her face and making it hard to see anything in front of her. Rain pelted her, chilling her heated skin.

Fortunately, it was still light outside, because if it’d been dark, she didn’t see how they could have made it. How would they know where to go? She’d stupidly left the master bedroom without a flashlight or a candle. She’d made her way to this bedroom in the meager light coming from the kitchen, the only room without shutters. Cristiano had a flashlight when he’d arrived, but he’d lost it, probably during the struggle with her.

It was all her fault.

They’d nearly died because of her, because of her wild emotions and stupid phobias.

Around her, the wood creaked ominously. Leaves rustled and the branches bit and scratched her tender skin. After what seemed like an hour, Cristiano turned back to look at her and she realized he’d made it through and was now holding the last of the branches up for her.

Antonella slipped beneath them and resisted the urge to collapse on the floor. Cristiano didn’t give her the chance anyway. He stood and offered her a hand. When she took it, he pulled her to her feet. Pain shot through muscles cramped from crawling across the hard floor, but still she didn’t cry out. She’d learned long ago not to show pain.