Byron whistled softly between his teeth. “George Handel. I had forgotten he stayed in Italy. It was only a short while. He left in 1710 for Hanover, as I recall, but left nearly immediately for London. His opera Rinaldo was produced the following year.”
“You studied Handel?” She was shocked.
Byron looked down at his hands, surprised he had made such a slip. “I liked his work,” he said carefully.
“So do I. He returned years later, when he was looking for artists and performers. Did you know in his later days he was blind?” She arched her back, tried to relieve some of the pressure building inside of her.
“I had heard, yes.”
His voice wrapped her up in silk and satin. Antonietta shook her head. “I need to put the score somewhere safe. I’ll talk to
Nonno
tomorrow. He’s long gone to bed. I seem to be sleeping later and later every day and miss the activities.” She took the package from him, avoided his touch as she did so. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to put this in the vault in the passageway. I doubt Marita will find it there.”
“Paul might.” Byron rose, a lazy, fluid movement. He sounded like a great jungle cat rousing itself from a warm fire. And it irritated the hell out of her. “I am coming with you.”
She was already at the door to the passageway. The last thing she wanted was to be with Byron in such close quarters. “Just relax for a few minutes.” She did her best to sound calm. “It won’t take long.”
“I do not mind. I wanted to get another look at the wall with all the carvings.” His body pressed close to hers. She could feel his body heat.
Antonietta hurried forward, entering the labyrinth of tunnels without hesitation. Byron moved in his usual silent way, but she was all too aware of him. She could almost feel his muscles beneath her itching fingers. Erotic images danced in her head. She wanted him with every breath in her body. And he seemed so… unaware… uninterested.
She wanted to shred the package in her hand, rip at something with her nails. Her shoes made noise on the ancient marble tiles. Her breath seemed overly loud. Her heart was pounding, and her mouth was dry. Antonietta counted silently to herself, making each twist and turn sharply.
“Our history is very colorful.” She made every attempt to carry on a conversation if that was what he desired. A history conversation.
Byron continued to prowl silently behind her. Breathing on the nape of her neck. Smelling good. Making his presence known by resting his hand in the small of her back. Burning right through her clothing. Branding her. Claiming her.
“I know you studied the carvings in the wall. Did you decipher the very first entry? I would think the earlier entries would be fascinating.” Byron sensed her growing agitation. When he touched her mind, it was chaotic. There was no one thought. She was confused and angry. Brooding. Moody. Edgy. The gathering of a great storm. She was his lifemate, and whatever she needed he would provide. He was well aware she found the history of her family intriguing. He hoped to distract her for a time.
Antonietta clutched the package tighter to her. “I spent some time studying the first bride’s entry. She wasn’t alone. Her husband did his share of carving also. I think it was his idea. I think he wanted his family to know the gifts he secured for them. He was very intrigued with the idea of shape-shifting. The earlier carvings are nearly all of shape-shifters. Women and even a few men changing to the jaguar. The earlier etchings are crude, of course, but they are detailed. I think they reveal more of the secrets than the later carvings.” She made herself breathe in the oppressive heat of the passageway. If only his breath didn’t tease the hair on the back of her neck, she might be able to think straight.
“In the later, more modern days, was there any evidence of shape-shifting?”
She rubbed at her itching skin and stopped directly in front of what appeared to be a solid wall. Byron reached past her to run his palm over the smooth surface. Her fingers brushed his, caught, and instinctively guided his to the three shallow depressions guarding secrets. It was an admission of trust, and he knew it even before she did.
The wall slid noiselessly away to reveal the air-sealed vault. Obviously she knew the sequence of numbers on the keypad. She punched several buttons carefully. The door to the vault opened. There was no light. The passageway was pitch black, but Antonietta didn’t need light. She was at home in a world of darkness. Byron was impressed with her uncanny ability to know exactly where she was in her environment.
“I didn’t see any. I think the blood is too diluted.”
“Could one of your cousins be capable of shifting?” Byron posed the question without inflection.
Antonietta went still, her hands hovering just inside the vault. “One of my cousins?” she echoed, the idea unsettling. “I can’t think that, Byron. That one of them would be this creature tearing the throats out of innocent people. It sickens me to even imagine such a possibility.”
“The smell of the cat was inside the palazzo. It permeated your grandfather’s rooms. You say the sheets of music were kept in Don Giovanni’s private safe. If a shifter was looking for them…”
She thrust the precious music into the vault and slammed it closed. “I don’t want to think a member of my family is capable of such cold-blooded murder.”
“In the body of a wild predator, it can be very difficult to control the urges. It is said that some shifters do not even recognize their human side. And some animals are much more difficult to control than others.”
Antonietta bent forward to lean her forehead against the vault in guilt. “I wanted to play the music.” The confession came out in a little rush. “If I hear music, no matter how difficult or intricate, I can play it, but I can’t see it. I had to ask Justine to read it to me. You can imagine how difficult it was for us to decipher the entire score between us, how long it took us. Don Giovanni knew, of course; he gave it to me, but I was to guard it so carefully. Each night I returned it to his room, but anyone could have seen Justine and me working together on it.”
The action of bending forward brought her buttocks in direct contact with Byron’s body. He pressed against her, hard and thick and very male. Antonietta could have cried in frustration. Her skin crawled with need. Her body felt tight and alien to her. She straightened immediately to break the contact, pushing away from him to begin the walk down to the history room. She was aware of her own body. The swaying of her hips, the ache in her breasts. It was insanity that she lacked control.
“Antonietta, when I touch your mind, you are confused and distraught. I would help you, if you allow me access.” Byron was going to push past that barrier if she didn’t enlighten him soon. He couldn’t take her being so upset. They had already exchanged blood twice. The Carpathian blood was definitely enhancing her senses, changing her, but he had no idea with her differences, what other changes the blood might cause.
“I prefer to work out my own problems,” she said. “I’m sorry if I sound abrupt; everything feels like it’s crashing down on me.”
“In a partnership,
cara
, one shares troubles.”
“I’m not used to a partnership yet.” Antonietta softened her voice, not wanting to hurt him. “I’m trying, Byron. I really am. I’ve never had these feelings, and I’ve never felt so intense about everything. It’s unsettling.” And I have never been so aware of a man before.