Mine to Keep Read online

  Table of Contents

  Mine to Keep

  Copyright

  Praise for Jannine Corti-Petska

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Mine to Keep

  by

  Jannine Corti-Petska

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Mine to Keep

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Jannine Corti-Petska

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First English Tea Rose Edition, 2012

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-301-6

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Jannine Corti-Petska

  “Janine Corti-Petska paints incredible word pictures.”

  ~Long and Short Reviews

  ~*~

  “Ms. Corti-Petska has done it once again with a very lovely tale of strong women and the men who love them.”

  ~Romancing the Book Reviews

  Dedication

  To my wonderful editor, Nicole.

  Your insight has made me a better writer.

  Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  Chapter 1

  Padua, March 1405

  Lady Elizabella Godwin curved her gloved hand above her eyes to shield them from the sun. She gawked up at the modest castle. With the absence of guards from the gatehouse, passing through the raised portcullis and the outer ward was easy. Too easy. From the wide-open gate to the inner yard, she perused assorted buildings and various trees. A small church sat to the far right.

  She glanced down at the letter she held in her tight grip. “This is the castle I inherited? Have I the wrong one?”

  “My lady?”

  Eliza glanced at her maidservant, Leticia, a woman who saw life through a skeptic’s haze.

  “’It is the right one,” Elrich said.

  She arched her brows at her servant. How could he possibly know that? “Well, no use going on assumption. Shall we move onward?”

  Eliza pinched the fabric of her deep blush cotehardie between her fingers and lifted the hem well above the dirt. Behind her Leticia stepped into line, followed by Elrich and Giorgie, another male servant who had traveled with her. The men hefted her many bloated bags. Two other men, hired at the dock—one burly, the other slightly less muscled—grunted when they each grabbed the leather side straps on her trunk.

  At the tall double doors, she wrapped her knuckles firmly against the planked dark wood. When no one answered, she knocked once more. Where was the servant? Did no one live in the castle? Sweeping her gaze over the inner ward, she noticed an eerie calm. Where was everyone?

  She pulled a fine linen handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her brow. She hadn’t expected Padua to be so warm at this time of year. “Someone should be here. The letter directs me straight to the castle upon my arrival.”

  “What a fine mess we are in. I should say the person who sent that letter is up to no good,” Leticia said in her familiar disapproving tone.

  Eliza came around to stare at the woman’s piqued expression. “I think not, Letty. The seal belongs to Marchese Emmanuel Calendri. My brother said he knew of Lord Calendri, although he had met the man only once when he and Father attended a ball in London.”

  The door latch clicked. Eliza straightened her back and squared her shoulders. The door crept open, leaving her with a peculiar feeling. No rusted hinges creaked, and no one appeared. Was the servant trying to scare her? Did he expect her to turn around and flee?

  “This is absurd.” Eliza huffed then stepped forward. A man poked his head around the door’s edge at the same moment and gave her a fright. She wasn’t the only one who gasped. Everyone behind her sounded like a whirlwind of brittle leaves on a windy day. Eliza controlled her breathing to steady her heart’s hammering rhythm.

  “My lady?” His graveled voice tapered off, but what surprised her was his English. Though not perfect, thankfully, someone in Padua spoke her language.

  Eliza tipped her head back to look up at the gaunt and unusually tall man, and held up her letter. “I am Lady Elizabella Godwin. I have been summoned here from England to claim this castle.” The letter stated as much, though she started to become as wary as Letty.

  The old man squinted at the paper in her hand. His long, boney fingers trembled as they held the letter at arm’s length. “So it does.” He stepped back and opened the door wider. As Eliza and her entourage entered a cold, cavernous room, he kept an eagle eye on the lot of them.

  She plucked the letter from his hand and rolled the parchment, securing it in a protective place between her breasts. Eliza scanned the great room. She’d been in many English castles, but this one spoke of simplicity. A tapestry hung above an unimpressive hearth. A single table stood nearby, and many other tables leaned against the wall, as weary and used as the old man.

  Her heart sank. She’d been foolish to believe she had inherited wealth and land. Encompassing the room in one indiscriminate gaze, Eliza’s spirit set sail on a slow, sinking course. Picking herself up, she gave the servant a tremulous smile.

  “With whom shall I speak about my inheritance?”

  He cleared his throat, doing little to smooth out his voice. “My lord Calendri was not certain you would come. Before his passing, he appointed me to see to your needs, and to make certain his will is read. My name is Eduardo.”

  “I must say, this letter piques my curious nature.” She lifted her chin in a questioning manner. “Why did Lord Calendri choose me to inherit his castle?”

  “In due time, my lady, you will learn about his reasons and the conditions placed upon your inheritance.”

  Eliza rushed toward the man. “What conditions?” When he didn’t respond, she gripped her hips with her hands and stared pointedly into shocking blue eyes, their hue the color of an innocent child who knew naught of life’s experience.

  To her astonishment, he closed the door then shuffled off toward another room. His slow gait confused her. Truth be told, the man’s slowness made him older than he appeared, though he was without a doubt well past sixty years. Eliza easily caught up to him, but not before she heard Leticia complain, “The insolence of the Italian.”

  “Sir, must you be rude and secretive? Would not telling me posthaste about my inheritance make me less leery of this arrangement?”

  He kept walking, never once acknowledging her questions. She stomped her foot, a childish gesture to be sure, but she cared not. It was far better than raising her voice at the frustrating man.

  “I shall fetch food for you and your servants,” he said. “Sit at the table. I’ll not be long.” After a few more steps, he paused. “I am sorry, my lady. Where ar
e my manners?”

  “Manners indeed.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Not even a flicker of annoyance touched his features at her insolent tone. “You must be exhausted from your journey. By chance, might a nap be in order?”

  The nerve of the servant, scolding her with his sarcasm. He had implied she was a badly behaved child. He began walking again. Eliza glanced over her shoulder. All of her people looked weary, bedraggled, none hungry…except Giorgie. His appetite rivaled the heartiest of men. Then her stomach growled. She unfolded her arms. “We shall take our meal first.”

  Once out of sight, the servant spoke again. “Your food will be served subito. Oh, pardon me, my lady,” he said with a smirk in his voice. “I have forgotten you do not speak Italian. Your food will be served immediately.”

  Narrowing her eyes in the direction he’d gone, Eliza frowned. Forgotten? No, the man’s eyes had spoken of playfulness and a spry wit. Annoyed, she realized now she should have declined the inheritance. Only a fool traveled to another country to claim what might be a dangerous ruse. For now, she’d wait to learn where the letter would lead to. After all, she could leave at her own free will. Couldn’t she?

  Eliza swallowed hard.

  ****

  The solicitor read the letter through wire-rimmed glasses perched at the tip of his nose. After a moment, he scratched his head, disturbing the brown curls of his hair. Then he clicked his tongue.

  “This letter appears authentic. Lord Calendri’s official seal and signature are valid.”

  Leonardo stared hard at Signor Zamparini, who stood head and shoulders shorter than his own six-foot height. The letter trembled in the solicitor’s hand, and his gaze darted from Leo to the door. After taking a deep breath, Leo released it with a blustery sound, like air whooshing through bare tree branches.

  “There must be a mistake. I know naught of the marchese. Faith, a noble would not waste his time on a commoner like me.” He exchanged glances with Santo Ambrosini, his trusty and only friend.

  Signor Zamparini pushed his glasses back on his curved nose, but they slipped down again when he bent his head to take one more look at the letter. “Signore, I am certain this letter is meant for you. Not moments ago you swore before me and God that you are Leonardo Da Mitri.”

  He stiffened his spine. “I am. But noble blood does not exist in my veins.”

  “Mayhap your father—”

  “I do not have one.” His voice deepened with his reborn ire. He’d spoken the same response too often in the past, each time the feelings of abandonment and hatred growing stronger.

  Sighing, the solicitor handed the letter over. “You best follow this through. What harm could it do? At the very least, you will be tossed out on your—”

  Agitated, at his wit’s end, Leo spun on his boot heel and hurried out of the solicitor’s office.

  Santo grinned at Zamparini’s gaping expression. “I apologize for my rude friend. He is in an unpleasant mood. He lost his ale on himself this morn.” He leaned in and whispered, “It is not the first time. I am afraid Signor Da Mitri is prone to overimbibing.” He straightened away and headed for the door, chuckling. Outside, he came up against Leo’s fierce countenance.

  “Which excuse did you impart with this time?” Leo pressed his lips together as Santo brushed his hand in the air, trivializing the fabrication.

  “You overimbibed and lost your guts this morn.”

  Frowning, Leo mounted his chestnut courser horse. “At least I am not suffering from constipation or running away from an angry husband bent on severing my head. Or falling off my horse. Or walking into a wall from drinking too much.”

  Santo laughed then mounted his work horse, identical to Leo’s. “Alas, I must devise new excuses for your terrible manners.”

  “Be careful, amico. I may become tired of your lies and run you through.”

  Santo arched an eyebrow. “When last have you handled a sword?”

  Leonardo grumbled at his friend’s nagging.

  “My point. I fear not your threat. Remember you this, I know you as well as you know yourself. Mayhap even better.”

  ****

  The staircase leading down to the castle’s great room seemed never-ending. The stone steps worried Eliza. They were jagged in places, not at all smooth. One could easily catch her toe and tumble down to the inflexible stone floor. Couldn’t she have inherited a manor house? What was she going to do with a castle far away from England? For certain she wouldn’t live in it. The stone walls were an ugly gray and failed to keep the cold weather from seeping in. She shivered and rubbed her arms vigorously to warm her body, but her actions were too vigorous, and she slipped near the bottom of the staircase, thumping down the last few steps on her bottom.

  “A dangerous entrance, my lady.”

  Eliza rolled to her knees, groaning. Rubbing her backside, she turned to the servant who had greeted her the day before. “It was not intentional, I assure you.” She’d end up with a bruise as big as a full moon. Thank the Lord no one other than Leticia would see it.

  As she lifted to her feet, she adjusted her twisted gown. Behind the servant, two others gawked. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks. They had witnessed her unladylike entrance.

  She collected her composure. “Have my servants come down?”

  “They have, my lady.”

  “Where are they?”

  “The woman is in the kitchen, muddling in the cook’s business. The tall gentleman is acquainting himself with the castle. And the young man is… I cannot be sure what he is about at the moment.”

  One corner of her mouth curved downward in an uneven frown. Pray God Leticia was not left to do the cooking. The woman knew naught about a kitchen or how to prepare food. A host of cooks worked in the manor’s kitchen. Leticia’s only responsibility was to look after her charge.

  “Inform the cook that I am awake and famished. I shall await my food at the table.” Her gaze kept straying to the blessed fire in the hearth. Dismissing the servant, she walked toward the hearth, grimacing with each step. She rubbed her tender backside again, begrudging the clumsiness she’d never suffered from before now.

  The heat felt heavenly, ridding her of the cold straightaway. She stuck her face out, absorbing every bit of warmth the fire gave off. Just the day before, she had endured the sun’s hot rays. Perhaps the region didn’t know whether to hold onto winter or give way to warmer days. Loud pounding reverberated off the walls, startling her. She caught herself on a stool, her heart beating painfully. She could have fallen into the fire and burned alive!

  A man’s impatient tone followed. “Is there no one who will let me in?”

  Eliza thought about lifting the door’s latch but then the pounding turned vicious and she balked. She feared a lunatic or a murderer was on the other side.

  The servant made his way to the door, moving as slow as a cart laden with grain sacks. Eliza craned her neck to see who had been demanding and ill-mannered. When she glimpsed the stranger’s angry features, she stepped backward, knocking over the stool. Her bottom hit the stone hard. Her feminine cry of shock and pain floated across the large hall.

  “My lady, are you hurt?” Concern mottled the servant’s face and lilted his voice.

  Wincing with every little movement, she lifted herself from the floor, trying to appear lady-like while she salvaged her composure. One look at the servant told her she failed. Oddly, he nodded at her not once but thrice. Eliza drew in a deep breath. That was when she felt the field of gooseflesh marching along her chest. She glanced down and gasped at the sight of her breasts all but spilling over the gown’s low bodice. Only her nipples were hidden, but they tried to escape as well.

  Eliza whirled around, stuffing her breasts into the gown. Her body burned hotter than the flames she faced. Dare she confront the servant and the stranger? A quick peek over her shoulder revealed a third man. How in God’s name was she supposed to greet them with her dignity intact? Thankfully, the servan
t pulled their attention away from her.

  “May I help you, sirs?” He spoke in English, prompting the stranger to speak so, too.

  “I have come to inquire about a letter I received.”

  Eliza came around slowly as the man extracted a folded parchment from his doublet. His dark hair was tousled, no doubt from his ride to the castle. Her gaze wandered down to his breeches and over-the-knee boots, his hose exposed between the two. She found naught distasteful about his thighs. She cocked her head then realized it had gone silent. A soft gasp died on her lips when she saw the same man staring at her breasts. She felt more exposed than his hose. Tugging her impolite scrutiny away, she prayed no one thought her wanton.

  The servant perused the letter without changing his stance. He didn’t seem troubled by its contents, but neither was he overjoyed. “Sì, signore…if you are Signor Da Mitri.”

  “Then it was sent from someone in this castle?”

  “It was handed over to the solicitor upon the death of Marchese Calendri. His office sought you.”

  Leo scowled. The little man in town already knew about the letter and inheritance. Why didn’t he admit it? “What now? Do I take possession of the castle? Am I the lord and master of all that belonged to the marchese?”

  The girl at the hearth rushed forward, venom dripping from her eyes and giving Leo reason to believe she’d attack him.

  “That is not possible.” She spoke with force, her conviction genuine.

  Upon closer scrutiny, she was not a mere girl, which set Leo’s desire on notice. He had trouble keeping his gaze from straying to her breasts, which moments ago were almost exposed. What a glorious sight they would have been.

  “Why is it not possible?” he asked.

  “I have a letter stating that I have inherited this castle.”

  Her blue eyes intrigued him. Never before had he seen that color, which seemed to have every hue of blue mixed together. “I would see your letter, posthaste.”

  She jutted her chin high and angled her head. “I would see yours first.”

  The beginning of a smile touched his lips. “Gladly, signorina.”