just below the knee. Most of the blood had been soaked up by her running pants, but there was still some seeping out. Other than a few places that felt a bit achy, that seemed to be it.
Turning, she looked at the clothes Angela had set out for her—a lacy cream-colored sweater and tan stretch pants. They were very close to things she might have picked for herself, so she put them on without hesitation, covering her still bleeding wound with a wad of tissue.
“Are you decent?” Angela called as she was combing and fluffing her hair. She came in after Isabella invited her, handing her a bag with her wet clothes.
“Here you go. Marcello ought to be with Max by now. They’ll be waiting in the Blue Room.” She yawned. “I’m going back to bed. Goodnight, my dear.”
“Wait.” Isabella turned and hesitated, then went ahead and asked, “What happened to his face?”
Angela stared at her for a long moment before answering.
“There was a terrible car accident. It was almost ten years ago, the same night that…” She stopped herself and shook her head. “It was a very bad accident. For days, we were sure that he would die.”
Isabella frowned, taking that in. She had a feeling there was more to it than that. There was a weird, moody undercurrent to everything that went on here. She wanted to know more, but she could hardly ask many questions now.
“But he survived.”
“Obviously. But his face…” Throwing out her hands, she turned away. “He was quite handsome, you know,” she said softly.
Isabella shrugged. “He still is.”
She turned to stare at Isabella. “You think so, do you?”
“Oh, yes.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Well…” she said significantly. But she made a face and turned away. “Goodnight again, Isabella,” she said, beginning to bustle out again. “I’m sure Max will make sure you get taken home safely once Marcello has given you his stamp of approval.”
That sense of rebellion rose in her again, but Isabella thanked Angela as she left the room, then finished up making herself presentable. And all the while she was wondering how she could get out of this ancient stone building without running the gauntlet of the prince and his cousin. She was fine. She didn’t need the attention of a doctor. And she especially didn’t need to run into the prince again.
What she did need was the delicate and very special herb she’d come for. But she had to be realistic. Tonight was not her night. She would have to come back another time. Still, was that going to be possible? Now that she knew about the dogs…
Never mind. She would think about that later. Right now, she just needed to get out of here without seeing the prince again. She took one last look in the mirror. Her black eye was getting worse by the minute. In fact, half her face was now somewhat red and a bit swollen. She groaned. How was she going to hide this from the world?
And then it came to her—she was getting a small hint of what it must be like to be the prince with his vivid scar. She sighed softly as she thought of it. At least she knew that she would be healing soon.
Staring at her own face, she thought of how she’d touched him, and she gasped at her own reckless audacity. What on earth had possessed her to do a thing like that? And why had he stood for it? She must have still been groggy from the effects of the dunking she’d taken and the wild ride through the night on horseback. It really wasn’t her habit to go poking at people’s faces like that.
What had Susa said about him? That his wife had died, that he’d been something of a recluse ever since. Maybe that explained his cool, brooding manner. She shook her head and turned away. This was certainly a strange night and she was finding herself doing all sorts of strange things she’d never done before. It was time she got out of here.
Grabbing the bag with her clothes, she made her way quietly into the hall. She knew which way to turn for the Blue Room, so she took the other path, moving quickly to get away from where she might be seen.
Another sharp turn down a darker hallway and she found herself in the huge, cavernous kitchen. A night-light glowed at the end of the room, giving her just enough light to find her way. She stopped a moment, turning and admiring all the pans and cooking equipment hanging from hooks along the walls. Just the sheer size of the place was impressive. It was three or four times as big as her kitchen at the restaurant. What she could do with a situation like this!
But she didn’t have time for dallying, so she took it all in with one sweeping glance, then picked a door that looked as if it might head outside. She pulled it open quickly, stepped through and suddenly she was falling again—right into the arms of the prince.
CHAPTER THREE
ISABELLA screamed. Screaming was getting to be a habit, it seemed. She didn’t think she’d screamed this much at any time in her life before. But she couldn’t help it. Running into this strong, scary man in the dark just sent her over the top every time.
He held her for barely a second before she jumped back away from him. Still, at the same time she was recoiling and cursing her own continuing bad luck a traitorous part of her was entertaining the temptation to let herself relax in his arms again, to press her cheek against his chest and listen for his heartbeat. The moon was out again, sending beams in through a window just over their heads. What could be more romantic than to wrap herself in his arms and…?
Fanciful nonsense, of course. None of that could happen or would happen. She hadn’t had such silly daydreams since she’d been a preteen and had been mooning after a boy named Romano Puccini. Bad things usually followed when you let your emotions run away with you. At least, that had been the lesson she had learned that long-ago summer.
“That’s the second time tonight you scared me out of my wits,” she told him accusingly.
“And that’s the second time tonight I found you sneaking around where you shouldn’t be,” he shot back at her.
She tossed her hair, hooking the mop of it behind her ear with one quick swipe of her hand. “That’s only true if you are the one who gets to set the rules of where I may or may not go.”
He moved closer. Even in the dark, she could see the outline of his scar clearly. It was a slash of silver across his moonlit face. Eerie…otherworldly…and somehow alluring.
“And why wouldn’t I set the rules?” he said firmly. “It’s my house, remember?”
She looked up into his eyes. They seemed to glow in the dim light. “But you forget—I’m only passing through.”
“Trespassing through, you mean.”
Well, she had to give him that one. Suddenly she was so very tired.
“You know, I…I just want to go home.” There was a quaver in her voice that she regretted, but, still, it was only the truth.
He took her hand, still looking down into what he could see of her face. “We all want things we can’t have.”
The hint of desolation in his voice hit her hard and stopped her from taking offense. An unexpected wave of sadness swept over her. She wanted
