Dominic removed the weapon that hung at his side and positioned it on the mantel with the same care Emma had once seen a concert violinist employ in the handling of his instrument. Would he take such care with a woman? she wondered.
The wayward thought shocked her into speech.
“As you say, it grows late, signore. Why do you linger here?” she demanded, wary now not only of him but of her reaction to him.
His voice when it came was softness threaded with iron. “It is for your husband to explain.”
Those long fingers of his found the top button on his uniform and purposefully unfastened it. She took a faltering backward step, her wide eyes riveted to that large, capable hand working at his open collar.
Her incredulous gaze shot up to tangle with his, and what she read there confirmed her shocking deduction. Finally Carlo’s full intentions in bringing him here to her sank in.
“Carlo?” she gasped weakly, still unable to believe it could be true.
“Take off that damned robe and gown and let’s get on with this.” Carlo sighed. Though his tone was weary, the resolve in it shook her.
“No!” She folded the edges of her robe one atop the other, sealing the fabric so tightly at her throat she was nearly choked. Her eyes went to the door, but Dominic was watching her too keenly, and she knew he would prevent her from dashing through it, were she to try.
“Have you listened to nothing I’ve said?” Carlo asked, his voice full of misery. “I can’t fuck you tonight. He can.”
Going to him, she latched urgently on to his arm, giving it a hard shake. “No!”
“Yes, darling wife. My illustrious comrade here has graciously agreed to service you tonight in my stead. You shouldn’t find him too onerous. His partners in Else World are said to enjoy him.”
She darted a mortified glance at Dominic. By now, all nine buttons had been released from their moorings. The vertical split in his tunic hung open to reveal a heavily muscled chest, its sculpted velvet skin crisscrossed with the long-healed scars of vicious wounds.
“Remove your nightclothes, Emma, or I’ll do it for you,” Carlo threatened. But she didn’t hear. Her attention remained fixated on that shadowy, masculine chest. On its well-defined ridges, planes, and valleys. Her skin tingled with awareness of him, a stranger standing half a room away. Her fingernails dug half moons into her husband’s skin.
When she didn’t immediately comply with his wishes, Carlo turned angry. Ripping her hands away, he raised his arm as if to backhand her.
With a curt shriek, she ducked her head.
For a giant, Dominic moved quickly. Before the blow could fall, he’d blocked it.
Clasping a trembling hand over her lips, Emma eyed the door. Her view of it was framed in the gap between the two men who stood before her, and she watched for an opportunity to bolt past them. She’d never seen her husband so out of control, not even last month.
Carlo hesitated, searching Dominic’s expression. Something he read there had him lowering his arm and coming to comfort her.
Taking both of her hands in his, he spoke earnestly. “We must take care to ensure that our child arrives into this world in good health, for I cannot sire another in you, Emma.” His face contorted with emotion. “Give me this one gift, cara. I beg you. And make it a son.”
“Have you sought medical aid outside of the military hospital?” she argued, gripping his sleeve. “Is there truly no source of help for you?”
He shook his head, hopeless. When he spoke again, his tone was leaden. “There’s nothing to be done. Enjoy Dominic’s fucking of you. It will be the last you’ll have for the rest of your days.”
For the briefest and longest of moments she stood motionless, quietly panicking as she read the immutable truth of this in his eyes. Instinct pulled her toward escape. She slid her hands from his and sidled along the foot of the bed, this time heading in the direction of the door that adjoined her room, instead of toward the one that led to the hall.
The sudden heat of Dominic’s body at her back stopped her. Realizing her mistake, she tried to evade him. But fingers of iron grasped her upper arms, imprisoning her.
Though he still wore his tunic, it hung open now. Locked close, his sleek torso scorched her spine through her nightclothes.
She reached across herself, crumpling the cuff of his sleeve with imploring fingers. “Signore. Dominic. You must help us—”
“That’s precisely why he’s here,” her husband jeered.
“On your knees, Carlo.” She felt the words rumble in the chest behind her. Heard them expelled from lips bent close to her ear. “Prepare her with your mouth. Bring her to the edge of pleasure, that she might better accept me.”
But for once, Carlo didn’t leap to obey his idol. He only watched as, despite her opposition, Dominic easily drew lace and silk over her head and tossed her clothing to the floor.
Emma yelped in alarm and slapped a palm to cover the apex of her thighs. Wrapping a concealing forearm across her breasts, she punished Dominic’s midriff with her elbow to try to force him away.
Heedless of her efforts, he snaked a viselike arm around her, securing it just below her own at her breasts. Though he manacled her to him, his embrace was that of elegant strength rather than the crude force her husband had employed.
Jerking his head to indicate the waning light at the window, Dominic again remonstrated with Carlo. “Daylight slips away! Ready your wife for me before it’s too late!”
Carlo visibly shook himself from a torpor and then obediently bent to go down on one knee.
“And bring the cream.”
At Dominic’s low-voiced command, Carlo’s face drained of color. His and Emma’s eyes flew in tandem to the jar on the night table at the far side of the bed, both gazing at it in mesmerized horror. She had earlier placed it there herself, intending it for Carlo’s use. But now it seemed another man would employ it.
A wounded snarl sprang from Emma’s throat, and she renewed her struggles. Dominic grunted whenever a sharp elbow dented his stomach, but otherwise he ignored her. She felt him shrug the tunic from his shoulders and then rip it off with his free hand.
Her mind raced down one avenue and then another, anxiously seeking a more palatable solution to their situation. But no other viable option presented itself. She needed more time to think.
Without a word, Carlo secured the jar of cream, opened it, and set it upon a side table, which he brought within Dominic’s reach. Knowing exactly what would be required once they began, her husband moved the dish of oil and one of the basins closer as well. Then he came to stand before her at the foot of the bed.
Emma twisted her fingers in the collar of Carlo’s tunic, and her frantic eyes tried to catch his. “Summon Jane. And your brothers,” she begged. “Ask them for help. Ask them if there’s another way.”
Averting his gaze, Carlo carefully detached himself from her grip. “No.”
“They won’t think less of you because you can’t perform,” she argued, accurately gauging the basis for his refusal. “Your injuries aren’t your fault. Nor are they any cause for shame.”
Dominic’s warm breath stirred the hair at her nape as he spoke. “Do you really think the members of your family will welcome an interruption? Now? Have you forgotten they will be engaged in the same Moonful rituals as we are soon to be?”
He was right. She knew he was, yet—
The wool of his trousers rasped as his thigh split her softer ones, sending a rush of vulnerability through her. Boldly it moved ever higher between hers until her naked, gaping flesh rode the seductive rub of its long–muscled strength. She moaned, helpless under