every chance that, in time, her natural, passionate nature would emerge, and she would be a perfectly adequate wife.
He imagined making love to her in the future when her back was better, her
bruises faded and when she was no longer sore. She'd done well all things considered, and it would be better the next time. A slow smile spread across his
face.
A knock sounded at the door; actually, a loud hammering.
Christopher hurried over, not wanting Katerina's rest to be disturbed. Easing
the door open a crack, he found himself face to face with a thickset, olive-skinned man whose silver-streaked black hair had been slicked into submission
with copious pomade.
“Can I help you, sir?” Christopher asked coldly.
“Where is she?” The breath issuing from the interloper smelled strongly of liquor.
Christopher made a face at the unpleasant aroma and drawled rudely,
“Whom do you seek?”
“Don't pretend you don't know,” the stranger snarled, the sounds of Italy heavy in his voice. “You have my daughter. I want her back.”
Christopher's jaw clenched with icy rage. He leaned insouciantly against the
door frame and challenged the other man with a sneer. “No.”
Signore Valentino's face turned red. “I'll have the law on you.”
“Go ahead,” Christopher offered, examining his fingernails. “You no longer
have any legal right to her.”
“What?” The dark face contorted in rage.
“We're married, Katerina and I. She's safe from you.” Christopher met the dark angry eyes with a bit of his own ill will.
The other man's eyes shifted nervously. “Safe? What do you mean?”
“I saw what you did to her,” Christopher said, letting more of his anger show,
“but you'll never hurt her again.”
A vein in Valentino's temple began to throb. “Did that lying little whore say I
did something to her?”
Christopher wanted to hit him. His fingers itched with the urge, but he forced
himself to hold back. “To the best of my knowledge she's never lied; someone did something terrible to her. And as for her being a whore, not likely. She gave
me her first kiss. Her virgin blood is staining my sheets as we speak. So, you see,
Signore, Katerina Valentino no longer exists, only a very satisfied Mrs. Bennett.
Good day to you.”
This provoked an extended round of Italian curses, which Christopher found
utterly unimpressive. He began to close the door.
A heavy fist clamped onto the wood. “You'll never be free of me, Bennett. I
keep what's mine.”
“Then you should have treated her better. She's not yours anymore. She’s
mine in the eyes of God and the law. Now release the damned door or I'll close it
on your hand.”
The fingers disappeared, and Christopher slammed the door shut and locked
it.
A soft sound emerged from the bedroom, and he followed it. He found
