Why not? Ian asked himself. It was, after all, his privilege as the betrothed. And it was probably the best way to stop having those disturbing dreams about her. He knew from experience that once he had lain with a woman he no longer found her as fascinating. At times this frustrated him, forcing him into a constant search for satisfaction that often took him far from Venice. But at other times, as with that succulent Spanish courtesan the previous year, or with the dangerous but irresistible woman in front of him, it could be handy. He remembered thinking that making love to her would be dangerous, but now it seemed more dangerous not to give in to the pull of her charms. Yes, that was the answer, he realized, surprised that he had not thought of it earlier, the way to restore order to his life and his dreams: he must make love to her. And, if his body had any say in the matter, the sooner the better.
“Come.” Ian took Bianca by the arm and led her from the icy room, closing the door behind them.
Bianca was too puzzled to speak, so they walked the long hallway and descended two flights of stairs in silence. She was surprised when, instead of stopping on the floor that contained her apartments, they turned to continue their descent. Could he be making good on his promise to take her to his dungeons? she thought with alarm. She had been a bit impetuous, she admitted to herself, and had sorely tried his patience. Perhaps if she apologized he would give her another chance.
“My lord,” she began tentatively, but Ian cut her off, laying a finger on his lips in a sign of silence. Bianca closed her mouth and followed behind him docilely, hoping that by acquiescing now she would minimize whatever tortures awaited her. The black sable cape swung gracefully with every step Ian took, giving her tantalizing glimpses of his sculpted anatomy. If she reached out to touch him, would his body feel more like stone or more like flesh? She felt her foreboding giving way to a growing sense of excitement as they walked down another set of stairs. At last they stopped before an ornately carved mahogany door twice as big as the door leading to her apartments, through which Ian preceded her.
Moonlight streamed in through four tall windows, illuminating a vast sleeping chamber with a russet-silk bed. Without speaking, Ian gestured Bianca into the middle of the room and turned to light the fire. Although he was making love to this woman out of duty and necessity, there was no reason he had to be so cold he could not enjoy it, Ian reasoned to himself. Besides, he found the way that flames lit up her hair particularly appealing.
When the fire was well lit, Ian reclined on a velvet divan before it, carelessly letting the cape slip to the floor. The fire accentuated the planes of his face, his high cheekbones and strong, firm chin, turning him from a man to the very image of a golden-haired god. He stretched himself to his full length, concealing nothing of his meticulously carved body, and spoke for the first time
“Come here.” His voice was husky with arousal and expectation. Bianca stood before him willing herself not to tremble. He motioned her closer, leaning forward only long enough to tug on her tight black jacket and command, “Take this off.”
Bianca hesitated for a minute and then began to unlace the jacket with unsteady fingers. She slipped out of it slowly, all the time aware of the moist heat collecting between her legs and of Ian’s hooded gray eyes on her. She had never undressed in front of a man before and she found the process surprisingly arousing. Despite the fire, her nipples were visibly erect, two taut nubs pressed against the fine white cambric of her blouse. It was all Ian could do to keep himself from reaching out and taking one between his thumb and forefinger and massaging it slowly through the thin fabric, but he forced himself to wait. He would do this slowly, making her body yield up all its secrets, so it would no longer hold anything to allure him. Instead, he contented himself with picking up the black jacket and throwing it on the fire.
“But, but, that is mine,” Bianca spluttered in disbelief as she watched the flames crackle around the garment.
“It is inappropriate for you to wear such things and I suspect the only way to keep you from doing so is to make sure you do not have access to them.” Ian tersely dispelled her complaint, much more interested in seeing her without her clothes on. “Now take off your hose.”
“As inappropriate as it is for me to wear these clothes,” Bianca said, assuming a defiant stance, “certainly it is less appropriate for me to be wandering around your house at night nude. Not to mention how indecorous it would be for me to present myself naked before you, my lord.”
“Your concern for propriety is really quite touching, carissima,” Ian said sarcastically in the impatience of his growing arousal, “but, as usual, sadly misplaced. That doorway,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder, “leads to a staircase which links my apartments to yours, so you need not worry about running into anyone, no matter what your state of undress. And I scarcely see how it could be inappropriate for you to bare yourself to me, seeing as you are my betrothed.”
For a few moments they were both silent, the only sound in the chamber coming from the fire as it consumed the last scraps of the black jacket. “Are you,” Bianca asked finally, her voice quivering, her heart beating so hard she thought it might burst from her breast, “are you going to make love to me?”
The simplistic naiveté of her question, her tone of fear mingled with longing, stirred something unnameable within him. For the second time that night, Ian doubted her guilt. Could she indeed be innocent, not only of murder, but also of this? Was she really the mere slip of a girl that she appeared, young and alone in the world? Ian studied her form caressed by the firelight behind her, looking for answers in her lean curves and smooth skin, until his body, more aroused with each passing minute, demanded his attention and pushed such unsettling thoughts from his mind. “I believe I asked you to remove your hose,” he reminded her finally in a low voice.
As she struggled with the elaborate laces of her leggings, Ian imagined cupping her behind, smooth and warm from its proximity to the fire, in his large hands as he pushed himself into her. He found his breathing almost as uneven as hers, his own heart beating almost as expectantly. Once free of the lacings, Bianca slipped the hose down over her thighs and stepped out of them. When Ian bent to push them into the fire, he caught the first delicious scent of her arousal and he knew his restraint was nearing the breaking point.
Ian’s arm brushed her thigh as he sat back, sending a wave of the most delicious sensations through Bianca’s body. The thin, almost transparent shirt she wore just covered the mass of golden-brown curls below her stomach. Without waiting for Ian’s order, she pulled it over her head, threw it on the fire, and stood completely naked in front of him.
Ian found himself awed by the beauty of the woman before him, more alluring than anything he had dreamt of. He could never have thought up the small clover-shaped birthmark on her stomach, a hand’s width above her left thigh, or the tender curve between her small breasts, just large enough to rest his head in. The light from the fire turned her hair to molten gold as it fell in waves over her breasts, making her glow with an inner radiance like some alchemist’s healing elixir.
Bianca stood silently, not moving, as his eyes caressed her body, scarcely able to breathe much less to speak. Her dream was about to come true, the moment she had been waiting for was about to take place. She was about to be initiated into the mysteries of lovemaking. She had expected to feel scared and a little excited, but nothing could have prepared her for the entire loss of her senses that she seemed to be experiencing. The thought of pressing her cheek against the downy hair on his chest, of his muscled thighs wrapped around her, of those hands skimming her body, overwhelmed her. Her skin was tingling, her throat dry, her heart beating so hard she was sure Ian could hear it. But most surprising and wonderful of all was the novel heat that spiraled out from between her legs through every inch of her body.
Ian reached out, finally, and pulled her onto his lap. She caught her breath as her t
high brushed against his aroused shaft, and again when his hand gently rubbed the underside of her breast. She lifted her face to his, and their eyes met and locked. What she read there during that split second filled Bianca with the longing to take Ian not only into her body, but into her soul. Then he pulled her head down, covering his lips with hers.
As their mouths touched Ian felt a spark leap inside of him, and her kiss seared through him in a way he had never before experienced. This was something more than mere passion, this burning sensation that threatened to take over his body. In a flash he knew that this woman of molten gold emanated a heat that could melt every reserve, every barrier, every layer of self-protection he had spent the past two years creating. She had already begun to turn his world topsy-turvy, why not let her continue? All he had to do was to drink her in, open himself to her, let her work her medicinal magic on him. He would feel again, laugh again, love again…and hurt again.
In a single abrupt motion Ian pulled his mouth away from hers and pushed her off of him onto the floor. “Go! Now.” He spoke with his head turned from her and his voice shaking with emotions he could not recognize. Stunned, less from the impact of her fall than from his horrible rejection of her, it took a moment for Bianca to react. “Go, leave me. Get out!” he repeated, more stridently this time, as he felt her reluctance to leave. He sensed she was about to speak, but he cut her off. “If you do not leave now, without a word, I shall have you arrested tomorrow.”
Trembling with embarrassment and rage, Bianca ran toward the door Ian had pointed out earlier. She paused with her hand on the doorknob and looked back at the figure reclined before the fire, his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw squared. Caught in the web of her own tortured feelings, she was oblivious to the pain emanating from him as she glared in his direction. “I hate you,” she said under her breath, just loud enough for Ian to hear, as she pulled the door closed.
He remained motionless for a moment after the lock clicked into place, then spoke aloud to the empty room. “You are not the only one.”
Chapter Eight
Bianca lay on her back in the middle of the deep-blue-velvet bed, glaring at the ceiling above her. More accurately, she was glaring through the ceiling, aiming her anger at the degrading man who had so cruelly rejected her a short while before. The bump on her head was still tender and painful, but it was nothing compared to the ache inside of her. She hugged her knees close to her chest, trying to erase the feel of his body from her breast, her thigh, her lips. A wave of embarrassed nausea washed over her as she remembered the way she had exposed herself to him, asking him to make love to her. She had been a fool to think she was anything but repulsive to him, and he had made sure she realized it. Embarrassment gave way to anger as, recalling the obvious signs of his excitement, she reasoned that he was aroused by manipulating her. He had never had any intention of making love to her; he simply wanted to toy with her, to mock her in her inexperience.
Only the intermittent chiming of the clocks and the feeble rays of light filtering in through the heavy curtains of the chamber alerted her to the passage of time. She sighed and uncoiled her body, realizing she should probably rise and dress, but found herself completely without energy to do anything. Perhaps if she stayed in bed, hid herself all day or all month or all year, perhaps the horrible emptiness and loneliness that had wrapped itself around her emotions would recede. She could leave this place, run away and live on her own forever.
But there was no running away, she reminded herself. Her leaving, if she could leave, would only be taken as a sure sign of her guilt by Ian. She refused to give him the pleasure of thinking he was right. She had to stay and vindicate herself. Then, when it was all over and Isabella’s killer had been punished, then she could run away. But for now she had a crime to solve.
She tried to focus her mind on the findings, or rather lack of findings, from her previous night’s investigations. Isabella’s apartment had been completely devoid of clues, curiously so, unless someone else had gone through it before her. She had been convinced that the murderer must have left some scrap of evidence behind, but she had found absolutely nothing. Even more than that, she had sensed that something was missing from the room, something that she half remembered from the day she found the body, but she could not recall what it was.
With her eyes closed, Bianca pictured the room as it had been when she first walked in. The far wall was taken up by a row of gothic windows, under which was a carved oak marriage chest. The bed with its elaborate hangings protruded from the right-hand wall, facing a bureau with a mirror over it. Bianca recalled that the mirror was curiously angled and wondered how anyone at the bureau could see into it, until it occurred to her that it was positioned to be seen from the bed. The thought made her blush and think of how wonderful it would be to both feel and see Ian’s sleek body on top of her at the same time.
“Santa Flora’s canine tooth, I have taken leave of my senses! This man is driving me mad.”
“It is funny, my dear Signorina Salva, but it seems you have the same effect on him.” The kindly voice from the doorway was unexpected but not unfamiliar. As Francesco and Roberto entered the room, Bianca sat up, glad that she had remembered to don a bed-gown the night before.
“Ian is in one of his moods again this morning, storming around the house ordering that the staff be beheaded one minute, staring quietly at a mote of dust the next. I haven’t seen him like this for years…” Francesco’s voice trailed off.
“Two years,” added Roberto quietly.
“Did he send you to make sure I hadn’t escaped or did you need something from me?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them, especially their tone. Francesco and Roberto had been all kindness to her and certainly deserved better than her petulant whining. “I mean, is there some service I might perform for you?” she rephrased, hoping she sounded more genteel.
“Yes and no. We were trying to perform a service for you, but we found ourselves in disagreement about how to please you. Yesterday you asked for a ‘nimble young boy’—those were the words, were they not, Roberto?” Francesco paused just long enough for Roberto, busy opening the window curtains, to turn and nod in agreement. “Roberto was convinced that you wanted this creature to run errands for you and the like, but Ian has teams of people on hand to do that, so I assumed you wanted someone for other, let us say, more companionable purposes. Certainly understandable, given the way Ian behaves.”
Bianca’s eyes grew wide as her confusion gave way to comprehension and she grasped the meaning of Francesco’s words. Before she could offer an explanation, Roberto intervened.
“Not being in a position to decide, we brought you one of each.” As he spoke he opened a small door at the far end of the room that Bianca had yet to notice. How many secrets did this massive house have? she asked herself, as two young men entered her room.
They were about as unlike as any two beings could be. One was probably near Bianca’s age, tall, muscular, and very handsome. Bianca’s eyes traveled up the length of his taut body, trying to decide whether his clothes would be a viable substitute for those she had lost the night before. His swagger as he strode toward her and the leering glance he shot in her direction when he bowed suggested that he had mistaken Bianca’s appraisal of his clothes for interest in what lay beneath them. “Madam, I wait upon your pleasure,” he said, laying extreme emphasis on the final word.
In the wake of his openly seductive invitation, there was no good way to ask him to shed his clothes, Bianca realized. It was a pity because she was quite intrigued by his hose, of a design she had never seen before, using small clasps rather than laces at the waist. She allowed her eye to linger wistfully on them for a few moments and was only brought back to herself when Francesco cleared his throat directly in her ear.
“You appear, ahem, well satisfied with this youth. Shall I send the other candidate away?”
Bianca suddenly realized how her sartorial examination must have appeared, and blushed furiously. “No, actually I have no interest in this fellow, he is too mature for my pleasure.” Francesco’s eyebrows rose, and Bianca blushed even more heatedly at her poor choice of words. “Lucia’s eyes, what I mean to say is, I was in fact looking for an errand boy, not a…”
Her voice trailed off as she turned to focus on the second candidate. He could have been no more than thirteen, with a mop of curly brown hair hanging over two serious hazel eyes. While Francesco ushered the first young man from the room, the young boy stood apart studying Bianca intently. A flash of recognition crossed his face, and he moved swiftly toward the bed talking as quickly as he walked.
“I know who you are. You’re the doctor lady who fixed my aunt Marina. She was sick and everyone said she would die and that it was God’s judgment and then you came and made her better. ‘By Santa Agata’s breast,’ you said when you first saw her.”
It certainly sounded like something she would say, but beyond that his words stirred nothing in her memory. Bianca scowled at the child, trying to remember even the vaguest hint of the episode he described so vividly. Seeing her confusion, he added, “It was when Sebastiano Venier was still ruling Venice as the Doge. I would have recognized you sooner, but you were not so old then.”
“Neither were you,” Bianca retaliated warmly, before reminding herself that if she had to look older, she should also act it. She was trying again to place the boy, searching her memory for the dates of Venier’s dogeship, when the thought struck her. “Sebastiano Venier has been dead for more than six years! How can you possibly remember that far back?”
The Stargazer: The Arboretti Family Saga - Book One Page 7
