The Devil to Pay Read online

  He’s a murderer. A killer for hire. Absolutely not the kind of man to be attracted to.

  And yet a strange heat uncurled in the pit of her stomach, a reaction she always associated with him; fear laced with . . . anticipation?

  She forced herself to take another step forward, glad of the blade in the folds of her cloak, and kept her eyes downcast rather than look him full in the face. She took a steadying breath—and immediately regretted it when she inhaled his scent; a disturbingly appealing combination of leather, wood-smoke and man.

  Do not get distracted.

  He caught her hip with his big hand and tugged her the last remaining inches into his chest. Cara forced herself to remain passive, fought the urge to pull back from the searing, intimate contact. Her skin felt too hot, too tight. He bent his head, obscuring the light, and pushed back the hood from her hair.

  She ducked her chin, hiding her face against his shirt as he pressed his face into her hair then stroked the side of her neck. His breath warmed the sensitive skin behind her ear. Cara swayed, her senses reeling as she fought a fresh wave of dizziness.

  Enough.

  She slid her hand up his ribcage, feigning a caress, and her blade found the spot under his armpit where the artery throbbed close beneath his loose white shirt. She leaned into him, trying to ignore the press of her breasts against his rock-hard chest, and increased the pressure. Sharpened steel pricked flesh.

  Il Diavolo froze.

  And then, to her astonishment, she felt him smile; the faintest curve of his lips tightening against her throat.

  “Put that away, sweeting. It’s a little late to defend your virtue.”

  “I’m not here to defend my virtue.”

  His chuckle was soft against her skin. “Good thing, too. We both know it’s a distant memory.”

  Cara pursed her lips. “You mistake my meaning. It’s your attention I want, not your kisses.”

  “Believe me, my lady, you have my undivided attention.” There was mockery in his tone, but whether it was aimed at her, or himself, she couldn’t tell.

  Cara pulled back, just a fraction, curiosity warring with pique. “Aren’t you afraid I might kill you?”

  He pushed aside her cloak and dropped a leisurely kiss onto her collarbone, still not looking at her face. “Plenty have tried, but none have succeeded. Give it your best, though. If you prevail, at least I’ll die happy.”

  Chapter 4

  Cara barely saw him move. One minute her knife was pressed against his ribs, the next he’d shoved her face-first against the wall. Hard.

  The cloak whirled around her legs and her hair went flying out around her shoulders. Pain lanced along her side as her ribs cracked against the stone—and her blade went spinning beneath the vast bed that dominated the centre of the room.

  Il Diavolo pinned her to the wall with ridiculous ease. He pressed himself full-length against her, using his weight to keep her there, effortlessly emphasizing his superior strength. One hand held her wrists together behind her back, trapped between their bodies. The other covered her mouth and nose.

  Cara opened her mouth to protest and her lips moved against his palm. She tried to bite him. He chuckled. His warm breath fanned across the back of her neck. She bucked furiously, arching her body away from his and trying not to notice how they fitted together in the most interesting places. He was bigger in every possible way. Taller, wider, stronger. His thighs were rock-hard against her backside.

  She felt very small, and suddenly very afraid. Despite his past loyalty to her father, this man was practically a stranger. She tried to scream but only managed a muffled murmur.

  “Shhhh, sweeting.” He eased his hand from her mouth.

  “Let me go!”

  “Now, now. Where are your manners? It’s rude to pull knives on people you’ve just met. We haven’t even been introduced. I’m Alessandro. And you are?”

  She bucked against him again and he smiled at her rebellion. “Come on. You’ve just tried to kill me. That means we’re acquainted well enough to use first names.”

  “Release me!”

  “Tsk. Didn’t your father teach you any manners?”

  “My father’s dead.”

  “You sound as if it’s my fault. Did I kill him?”

  “No. My father was Ercolo Montessori.”

  That got his attention. Every muscle in his body went taut. There was a pregnant silence, as if he weighed the truth of her words, and then he released her wrists, allowing her just enough room to turn within the confines of his arms. He caught her chin and angled her face toward the firelight. Coal-black eyes studied her features with a painful intensity.

  Cara raised her eyebrows in what she hoped was a haughty manner.

  “Cara di Montessori.” His tone held more accusation than welcome. “Well, well. I didn’t recognize you without the scowl. How long has it been? Four years? Five?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Six years, three months, two days. Not that she’d been counting.

  His lips quirked. “The last time we met, I knocked you on your arse.”

  And kissed me like the world was ending. Don’t forget that, you beast.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth as if he recalled it, too. Cara flushed and lifted her chin. Let him look. At twenty-two she’d come to accept she wasn’t the kind of woman to ignite a man’s lusts.

  His grip tightened.“You say Ercolo’s dead? When? How?”

  “My ‘uncle’, Lorenzo, murdered him three days ago.”

  He frowned down at her. “Your father never mentioned having a brother.”

  “Lorenzo is a half-brother, my grandfather’s son by one of the maids. He arrived at the keep last week claiming kingship, and Father welcomed him. Three days ago we went hunting, and Lorenzo’s men ambushed us.”

  Cara swallowed, reluctant to relive those awful memories. There was nothing she could do to bring him back; she had to focus on her current problem instead. “Lorenzo has seized control of my home. I’m Castelleon’s rightful heir.”

  Del Sarto lifted his brows. “Your father intended for you to rule alone?”

  She felt her cheeks heat. Actually, father had expected to have her married off long before she inherited, but that wasn’t something she intended sharing with this arrogant brute. “Of course. My entire adult life has been spent managing that keep. I ran it single-handed while the two of you were off terrorizing Europe the past few years.”

  He narrowed his eyes, ignoring the jibe. “Why aren’t you dead, too?”

  Bile rose in her throat at the images that bombarded her brain but she forced herself to continue. “Father and his men gave their lives, fighting so I could escape. And Lorenzo only sent a couple of men after me. He thought I’d be easy to catch.”

  Del Sarto’s lips twitched. “He obviously doesn’t know you.”

  “They’ve been following me for three days.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Why did you come here?”

  Because father sent me to you.

  His last words had been shouted as he drew his sword and slapped her horse’s rump. Il Diavolo, Cara! Go!

  Cara took a deep breath. “I can’t challenge Lorenzo on my own. His mercenaries outnumber the troops loyal to me. Castelleon might be small, but its location and harbor make it tactically important. It’s in your best interest to help me get it back.”

  Del Sarto stayed silent, so she forged ahead. “I have a proposition.”

  He raised one black eyebrow. “Ah. Now you’re beginning to interest me.”

  “You’re a mercenary. That means you take orders for money, doesn’t it?”

  “Depends on what the orders are.” His voice held a trace of laughter.

  She ignored that. “I’ll pay you to escort me back to Castelleon and expel my uncle. I assume all we need to do now is negotiate a price?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t negotiate. I demand a fee. The other person pays it. Or not.”

  Ca
ra restrained the urge to stamp her foot. She crossed her arms instead. “Name your terms.”

  The subsequent silence jangled her nerves and she held her breath, wishing she knew what the fiend was thinking.

  “Hmm. It’s a thorny problem. What price your life, eh? Eleanor of Aquitaine had to pay a hundred and fifty thousand marks to ransom her son Richard a few years ago.” His voice was pure devilry. “How are you going to pay me? You don’t exactly look weighted down with coin.”

  She didn’t have anything with her. She’d barely escaped with her life. All her money was hidden back at Castelleon—which was under her uncle’s control. The sum should have been her dowry, but she had no intention getting married any time soon. If ever. She didn’t need a husband to rule Castelleon. She wasn’t going to accept some miserable dynastic marriage just because it was expected of her. She would have what her parents had shared; a union of mutual love and respect, or nothing at all.

  She attempted a nonchalant shrug. “I have enough to pay a blackguard like you.”

  “I doubt it. Professional blackguards don’t come cheap. Not with my level of expertise.”

  The way he said it, laden with innuendo, made her shiver. He paused, as if considering, then named a price so outrageous it made her gasp.

  “Believe me, I’m worth every florin.”

  Her stomach dropped. It was more than she had in the world. And he knew it, the beast.

  His deep voice was honeyed with amusement. “You can’t afford me. Besides, I’ve already got more money than I know what to do with.”

  “You can’t refuse! You’re a mercenary. Everyone has a price.”

  “Interesting you should say that. I made the same point to my captain earlier this evening. But I’m taking a break from fighting at the moment. Sorry.”

  He didn’t sound sorry. And she didn’t have any other options. Like it or not, she needed him. “For my father’s sake, then,” Cara said desperately. “You fought by his side for years. You were friends. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  Il Diavolo shrugged. “Your father’s dead. I can’t help him. And I make it a rule never to support lost causes, which is what you are. Forget about your home and move on. Go and throw yourself on the mercy of a kindly relative.”

  “I can’t do that! My people need me. I can’t abandon them. Besides, the only relative I have is trying to kill me. Have you no honor?”

  “Mercenary, remember? The two are mutually exclusive.”

  “A mercenary’s what I need.”

  “No, you want an assassin.”

  “There’s a difference?” she sneered, thoroughly annoyed. She tried to pull away from the disturbing closeness of his body but he stopped her with an impatient move that only pressed him closer.

  “Of course. An assassin only kills one or two people at once—”

  “—whereas you kill hundreds in one fell swoop,” she finished bitterly. “I see. But a murderer’s a murderer, surely?”

  His eyes flashed. “Killing a man in the heat of battle’s very different from dispatching someone in cold blood. And might I remind you that it’s unwise to insult me when my murderous ways are exactly the reason you’re here.”

  She flushed. “I don’t want Lorenzo dead. Just gone.”

  He shook his head. “You want him dead. Whatever action you take has to be final.” He studied her closely. “You know, paying to have someone killed is almost as bad as wielding the blade yourself.”

  “No it’s not.”

  “Ah. So it’s all right if my eternal soul’s damned, but you’re loath to jeopardize your own, is that it?”

  “I doubt the state of your soul is something that keeps you awake at night,” Cara snapped, goaded beyond endurance.

  His lips quivered. “Quite true. I have far more interesting things to keep me awake at night.”

  Her face heated at the suggestion in his tone. He chuckled and flicked his finger across her cheek in a casual, devastating caress. “You should blush more. It suits you. You’re too pale.”

  She wasn’t too pale now—her cheeks were burning. She suddenly remembered why he thought she’d come to his room; he’d been expecting a courtesan. “If you won’t help me, I won’t keep you from your . . . evening activities any longer. Let go of me!”

  He clicked his tongue. “You shouldn’t give up so easily. As you said, every man has his price. Including me. Make me another offer. One I might be more inclined to accept.”

  Renewed hope and anger clenched her stomach. What game was he playing now? “You just said you never negotiate.”

  He gave a shrug of his muscled shoulders. “There’s always a first time.”

  “Fine. What else do you want?”

  “Something money can’t buy, of course.” His lower body still kept her pinned against the wall. The raw heat emanating from him contrasted sharply with the chill of the night air.

  Cara gave an impatient sigh, feigning boredom, but her whole body tingled. “Get on with it, del Sarto.”

  “It’s been ages since I had a woman.”

  She snorted. “Money can buy you that kind of favor, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

  “That’s not the sort of woman I want.”

  She began running through all the impossibly hard-to-come-by criteria he could ask for. He’d probably demand a Nubian princess, or an Oriental concubine. Or a whole harem of them. “What, then?”

  He dipped his head, and for a heart-stopping second she thought he was going to kiss her, but he paused a hairs-breadth away. Those gorgeous lips framed just one word.

  “You.”

  Chapter 5

  Cara blinked. “What?”

  His lips curled upwards. “My fee is a fortnight of your life. Plus the money, of course. It’s a fair exchange. You can’t pay me in coin unless I complete the task and I don’t work for free. All you have to do is live here and act as my hostess for two short weeks.”

  “You’ve got hundreds of servants, paid to do your bidding.”

  “I need someone well-bred and educated. You’re the answer to my prayers.”

  “I doubt that very much.”

  “Some of the most important families in Italy are coming here in a few days to discuss an alliance against France. I need a chatelaine. Someone to perform all the functions of a wife. You can grace my hall and attend to my guests. It makes perfect sense.”

  Cara narrowed her eyes, sensing a catch. “Exactly how far would these wifely duties stretch?”

  His gaze never left her face. “I said ‘all the functions of a wife,’ did I not? That includes sharing my bed. You asked my price—that’s it.”

  Her brain froze before pounding back into life. “Why me?”

  “You’re here, you’re suitable, and you’re desperate.”

  Well, that was hardly the most flattering declaration! “You hardly know me.”

  “Now that’s not true. I know you’ve survived an assassination attempt, ridden a hundred miles without getting yourself killed, pulled a knife on me, and want your uncle’s blood in revenge. In fact, you’re probably my perfect woman,” he mocked gently.

  She stared up at his shadowed features in dismay. “You’re no better than an animal. I’d rather die.”

  He chuckled, a rich, dark sound, and placed an index finger over her parted lips. “That’s a bit dramatic isn’t it? What’s two weeks with me when weighed against a lifetime of freedom?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I guarantee you’ll enjoy it.”

  Cara fought the urge to bang her head against the wall. Or—even worse—rest it against the broad chest in front of her. His scandalous offer went round and round in her head like some bizarre dream. He was a devil for even making her consider it. “You’re asking me to whore myself out in order to save my people.”

  “If you want to cast yourself as a martyr, go ahead.” He angled her face towards the firelight and studied her, his own features impassive. “Although I have to say, you don’t have the lo
ok of a martyr.”

  His touch sent firebrands arcing across her skin.

  “No,” he murmured, repositioning her face at another angle. “You’re no Joan of Arc. Looks like yours have started wars.”

  He compared her to Helen of Troy? Her temper rose. “Don’t mock me. I know I’m no beauty. ”

  His dark eyebrows shot up. “You think not?” He turned her towards a mirror suspended by the fire and positioned himself behind her.

  Cara barely recognized herself. The flames gave her face a flattering, peachy glow. Her skin was flushed and her eyes looked luminous. He trailed his fingers along her jaw in a leisurely caress she felt all the way down to her toes. Alarmed, she pulled from his grasp and stepped away, creating a cool gap between them, but her body still burned from the contact. She whirled around to face him. “You won’t go to war for me, though, will you?”

  His lips gave a bitter quirk. “Not for any woman. At least, not without payment.”

  “Money,” she said hollowly, “and sex.”

  “Both excellent motivations.”

  Cara’s mind whirled. She had no other options; she needed his protection. “All right. I accept your terms.”

  She had the gratifying sense that she’d surprised him, though his expression didn’t change.

  “You give me your word?” Disbelief fairly dripped from his tone.

  “You’d trust the word of a mere woman?” she countered.

  “Not usually. But yours? Yes, if you gave it. Your father was the most honorable man I’ve ever known. He’d have taught you to keep your vows.”

  His words, surprisingly serious, made her wince. She certainly didn’t intend to keep her promise to sleep with him, even though it meant breaking her own moral code. But a promise to a liar like him didn’t mean anything. He wouldn’t hesitate to renege on a bargain. She crossed her fingers behind her back and promised an extra fifteen minutes of prayers at bedtime for a whole year for what she was about to do. “Fine. I give you my word.”

  He chuckled and flicked her cheek. “Oh, sweeting, you’re a terrible liar. I can practically hear the cogs turning in your brain as you try to think of a way out. Don’t bother. I’ll hold you to your word.” He held his arms out to the sides. “So, I’m all yours. Let’s seal our bargain, shall we?”