“And then you have Justine Travis. She is your eyes and ears and seemingly completely loyal to you.”
“Justine is a treasure,” Antonietta agreed. “I went through hundreds of applicants for an assistant, and I’m so grateful that I waited to hire the perfect person.” She tilted her head, frowning as a sudden chill went down her spine. The air in the bedroom stilled. The palazzo held its breath. “What do you mean, seemingly loyal? There is no question about it. I pay Justine an enormous salary, and that aside, she’s my friend and confidante, has been for years, and I trust her implicitly.”
“Is she? Does she confide in you? Does she tell you her personal life?”
She could hear the wind rise, rattle the great stained glass windows. An ominous sound in light of the conversation. “Justine is a very private person, as am I. We don’t share every detail.”
“Were you aware she is in a relationship with Paul?” He asked it quietly, watching her face, knowing he was hurting her but having no other way to make her see she was surrounded by people she loved who had reasons to betray her. Even he had a hidden agenda, one she would not like but he knew was necessary.
Antonietta felt the twist of pain in the region of her heart, but she kept her chin up. She could feel the weight of his stare, knew he registered every small nuance of her expression. She didn’t want him to know he’d scored a hit. She had an acute sense of smell. More than once she had been certain Paul was in the room when he hadn’t been. She realized his scent must have been on Justine. “My assistant is entitled to any relationship she chooses to have. And that includes Paul.”
“Even if that divides her loyalty?”
“I trust Justine. She’s been with me for years. I might point out I have known you only a short while.”
Again he laughed softly, his response unexpected. He didn’t seem to take offense but was amused by her reaction. “I think you have a built-in radar for people who are allies, which is one of the reasons your grandfather prefers to have you in on every major deal.”
“If you think that, Byron, then it is unnecessary to tell me things about my family and the people I regard as family.” In spite of her intention to keep her tone neutral, she sounded faintly haughty, even to her own ears.
“Oh, but your family is an entirely different matter. You refuse to listen to your warning system.”
“I have a warning system?”
“Absolutely you do. I suspect you have other gifts as well that are an asset to you.” His hand on her shoulder still held her in place, preventing her from rising as his intention was to examine her body for the aftereffects of drugs and to see if she had the same poison in her body as her grandfather.
It was a measure of how Byron managed to mesmerize everyone and everything that she didn’t protest his pinning her to the bed. She would never allow anyone else to dictate her movements, yet she couldn’t manage to voice a protest. And how could he know such things? “Who are you, Byron?”
There was a small silence. The room seemed filled with the fragrance of flowers. She inhaled the scent, took it deep into her lungs. Several candles were burning, she could tell by the faint odor of the wick along with an unfamiliar aroma.
“Right at this moment,
cara
, I am your healer.”
Antonietta lay all the way back against the pillows at his urging. She couldn’t help but put her hand over her eyes.
“Why do you do that?” Byron gently removed her hand and stroked her eyelids, stroked around her eyes.
For one heart-stopping moment she was certain he was tracing the lines of her scars. She didn’t dare breathe. The earth stopped spinning in just the way it had when he kissed her. She reached up to catch his wrist. “I don’t like people to stare at my scars.”
“Scars? You mean these small, thin lines one needs a microscope to see?” Byron shifted closer to her, leaning down so that his breath was warm on her face. She knew he was peering at her eyes, but all she could think about was how close his mouth was to her skin. “I have scars much worse than those. Do physical imperfections bother you?”
There was silence. His lips, velvet soft, brushed her eyes. Brushed the corners with exquisite tenderness. For a moment she couldn’t find her voice. She forced air through her lungs. “No, of course not, how could any physical imperfection possibly bother me? I can’t see, Byron.” She hated that he might think she would be so shallow as to care about someone else’s scars. “I know my face is a mess from the accident.” She shrugged, trying to look casual. “It happened a long time ago, and I’ve learned to live with it.”
Byron settled his weight on the bed beside her. He was beginning to understand. “Someone told you that you had scars.” He didn’t want to think how difficult it would be for a little girl to lose her parents and her eyesight and be told she had terrible scars.
“I wanted to know.” She excused her cousin.
“She lied to you. You do not have to tell me who told you such a lie. I know who it was. Tasha has a malicious mouth on her when she thinks another woman is getting too much attention. I can see that she would have a difficult time with you. You are beautiful and talented and unafraid of hard work.” His fingertip brushed along her skin again. “You have several very thin white lines along the outside edge of your right eye. The lines are not at all noticeable unless you are looking for them. Around your left eye, you have several small white lines, again barely visible. There is one larger scar running from your temple to the corner of your eye. It is not unsightly, but it is wider than the other scars.” Byron deliberately kept his tone clinical. He had a sudden urge to go to Tasha’s room and bare his fangs, allow her to see what could make an unattractive scar. He traced the longer line, showing Antonietta the slight curve. “In some countries, when an item is made for a home, a small flaw is added because it is believed that if something is too perfect, evil will be drawn to the maker.”
Antonietta smiled. “I’m hardly flawless, Byron.”
“Perhaps others do not share your opinion.”
She wasn’t touching that. “What do my eyes look like?” She didn’t know whether to believe him or not about the scars. He had such a way of speaking, it was nearly impossible to think he could lie, even to make her feel better. But would Tasha keep up a lie for years? Antonietta never asked her grandfather about her face after Tasha had screamed in alarm, crying out that the scars were hideous. “I was told the plastic surgeon hadn’t fixed the damage to my face.” A lump formed in her throat at the painful memory of that outburst.
“You have large, very black eyes. Your eyelashes are an extraordinary length. I am particularly fond of your eyelashes.” Byron studied her enormous eyes, trying, without success, to be clinical. “You have high cheekbones and a beautiful mouth. I have had my share of fantasies about your mouth.”
Antonietta’s entire body blushed. She grew hot with the thought of him fantasizing over her mouth. “Why are you suddenly telling me these things?”
Byron shrugged, uncaring that she couldn’t see. “Maybe because you scared me tonight. Maybe because there should be honesty between us, and my silence could be construed as a form of deception. In any case, I cannot be with you during the days. I would very much like you to consider hiring a personal bodyguard.”
Antonietta stiffened. Byron’s hand moved from her silky hair to her shoulder with exquisite gentleness. “Before you protest, hear me out. You are capable of doing research and finding a bodyguard yourself. If you do not want to go to the trouble, allow me. I have a few connections. I am willing to spend my evenings and nights here with you, watching over you, but I cannot possibly be here all the time. If you do this, it will go a long way toward alleviating my worry.”
Antonietta knew instinctively he was not telling her everything. There was a warning note in his voice. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She was a Scarletti, and Scarlettis had a way of seeing things others did not. Byron was delivering an ultimatum. He didn’t like doing it, but he was resolved on some path she couldn’t fathom. And one she was certain she wouldn’t agree with.