What had she done? She’d started with strong ideas of resistance but had finished by giving in to this man in every way. She’d let him tie her up, bring her to this godforsaken spot, subject her to hostile stares and threats and what was his reward? A couple of the best fucks of his life. And of hers, if the truth were told.
That wasn’t the point. She was tired and dirty and her feet hurt. Her hair, what was left of it, was stiff with sweat and probably harbored flies and bugs trapped during the journey. She looked at her once beautiful nails now torn, the polish half gone. Her thighs ached, and not only from the hard climb. Once again, she forced her thoughts away from the memory of Marco’s body, of the masculine scent of rope and horse and leather.
She needed to gather her courage for what was in store, not revel in the sensual feel of his hands on her, of the wetness between her legs-
She whirled at the sound of the door opening.
They had come for her.
Her heart pounded in her throat. How would they do it? Tie her? Strip her? She swallowed the tiny amount of saliva in her dry mouth, lifting her chin and saying a silent prayer that she would acquit herself well.
To her surprise, instead of Marco or Giovanni, Irena and another young woman came into the room. Their arms were full of cloths of different hues. Irena bobbed a little curtsey and said something in Italian. The other girl spoke immediately in English.
“Signora, the
“You speak English,” Emma said foolishly in her confusion. Her heart was still beating painfully in her chest. “Where are you taking me?”
The girl answered the first question. “Before we came to the caves, I was a student in the university in Naples. I learned English. Someday I hope to resume my studies. Come, signora, Signor Marco wishes to make you more comfortable.”
Comfortable? He was going to beat her in front of all these people. How could he make her more comfortable? Still, it looked as if these girls had brought clean garments and Lord knew she could use a change-
She had nothing to lose by going along with them, and might gain a fresh set of clothing.
She took a step toward them, but still hesitated. “Where?” Maybe this was a trick to get her out of her cell quietly. Maybe they thought she was going to resist, to kick and scream while they dragged her to the whipping post…
The girl who spoke English gave her a reassuring smile and placed a hand on her arm “Outside, signora. There is a place you can bathe in privacy. The
Marco was responding to her compliance about the beating, sending her a message of confidence. She was to be allowed out of the cell, trusted not to run. For some reason, this was a crucial time for him. She had understood that, and Marco knew she wouldn’t go back on her word.
Plus there was an offer of clean clothes and a bath. This was too good to refuse. Though how they could get a bathtub up here, she couldn’t imagine. While these thoughts raced through her head, she followed Irena and her companion out of the cell. Two guards, armed with long rifles, stood at the entrance to the caves, and one fell into step behind them as the three women left the shelter. Irena turned left and took a path Emma hadn’t noticed before. It climbed gently away from the caves and soon led to a deep cleft between two large outcrops of rock. Emma turned to look behind her. The guard halted a few paces back, his rifle held at the ready. Emma saw the tension in his fingers on the stock. He probably thought he would be duty-bound to shoot her dead if she took a step away from the path.
Mountains ringed the spot, shutting out any view of what lay in the distance. She knew the way back to the coast ran due west, but there was no sign of the track, or of the shimmering sea she had glimpsed on the way up. The silence was broken only by the sound of their steps on the stony path until a bird started from the underbrush almost beneath their feet. It took off with a clatter of wings and a protesting squawk.
Back in the moment, Emma turned back to the two girls. “What is your name?” she asked Irena’s friend.
“Teresa,” she replied. “I’m Marco’s sister-in-law.”
Sister-in-law! It hit her like a blow to the solar plexus. His wife’s sister? In reflex she stopped walking. Her lips felt numb, but she gathered her courage to summon up the words, asking for an explanation. Of course, Teresa could be the wife of Marco’s brother, not the sister of his wife. If he had a brother. Was this girl married? Did she dare to ask? Suppose the answer was that Marco had a pretty little wife waiting for him somewhere?
Before she could force out the question, Teresa moved ahead, seemingly unaware of the effect of her announcement, and continued to chat cheerfully. “I am so happy to practice my English. The last book I read was
Emma’s head spun at the change of subject. Her reading interests had centered mainly on
Irena stopped a few paces ahead of them before Teresa could delve any farther into Emma’s abysmal ignorance of English literature or Emma could ask the question burning in her brain.
The question she had to ask, but the answer to which she dreaded.
Emma and Teresa drew level with Irena and found themselves at the edge of a pool. Steam rose lazily into the air and the water shone a deep green.
“
“ Hot springs,” Teresa explained. “The Romans had baths all over the country because the land has many volcanoes and streams that come warm from the earth. They never built baths up here, but this water is as good as anything in Rome.”
Emma nodded. Maybe after the bath, when her emotions had settled down, she could ask if Marco had a wife. Getting the bad news now or in a half hour wouldn’t make any difference.
Emma looked at the two young women. Teresa’s face wore a sympathetic smile, but Irena looked away, shifting her feet uncomfortably. How thrilled were they at ministering to a woman who had apparently endangered them all by her flight? However nice they were, it wouldn’t change anything about the beating that awaited her.
Teresa took Emma’s arm. “Come, signora. You will bathe and change clothes and then we will give you something to eat at the caves. I am sure you are hungry.”
Emma sighed. She knew she should have felt the pangs of hunger. She couldn’t remember when she last ate. Was it down in Enrico’s hovel? She had a flash of memory of Marco slicing juicy ham and feeding it to her. The suggestion of food now sounded too much like the condemned woman’s last meal. Her stomach churned at the thought.
Teresa shook out a sheet and held it to make a screen from the guard. Emma followed the movement of the girl’s fingers. She wore no rings. How usual was it for married women to go without a wedding band? Not often, in this very Catholic country.
Irena tugged at Emma’s tunic, muttering something, a frown still on her pretty face.
No point in looking a gift horse in the mouth, Emma told herself. Let’s take one thing at a time. Refusing to bathe and change her clothes would not alter a single thing about the beating Marco had promised her, or about the fact he could well be married. With a sigh, she nodded to Irena, pulled the tunic over her head and then loosened the drawstring of her skirt.
Someone had placed rocks to form steps down into the warm depths. The mineral-laden water felt smooth on her skin. It was no more than waist deep, and she found a low ledge on which to sit, so the water lapped her breasts. She settled back, luxuriating in the soothing pool, allowing her tense muscles to relax. The heated water laved her thighs, and caressed her between her legs, freshening the tender flesh. She dipped her head back, letting the water run through her hair.
Too soon, the nagging thoughts crowded in.
Before she’d reformed her life, before the German spies had frightened her half to death in England and had inadvertently brought Johnny and Gillian together, any good-looking, amusing young man had been fair game. Except the married ones. Even during the Game she had always been careful never to sleep with a man still living with his wife. Even Lady Ellersby had known that, and only invited her to the sessions with no married men. She had nothing but contempt for those who cheated on their wives. Her cousin’s husband had stepped out of line with
