The Vision of a Viscountess (The Widowers of the Aristocracy Book 2)

by Linda Rae Sande

  “If you’re going to be out here, you need to wear them,” he countered, his impatience with her apparent.

  Struggling to open the gathers at the top of her reticule, Marianne gave a start when her book slid to the ground, creating a puff of dust when it landed in a heap.

  “Oh!” she let out, one of her gloved hands going to her mouth.

  Jasper bent down and retrieved the book, wiping it against his trousers. When Marianne reached for it, he shook his head. “Not until your spectacles are on your face,” he said sternly.

  Marianne’s brows furrowed, and her entire body seemed to rock in place. “Please, don’t make me—”

  “We talked about this yesterday. I thought I made it clear—”

  “You did,” she replied as her rocking became more pronounced. “I’ll just go back up to the villa—”

  “Not by yourself, you won’t,” Jasper countered, his ire increasing.

  Marianne lifted her gaze to meet his, tears falling freely from her eyes.

  Oh, Christ! Tears! he thought as he chided himself for having upset her so. “There’s no reason to cry...” he started to say. “Marianne—”

  “Please, don’t make me,” she said as she held the spectacles by their hinged bows.

  Hands going to his hips, Jasper allowed a sigh of exasperation. “What are you so afraid of?” Jasper asked, his face taking on a look of confusion.

  Or was that anger?

  Marianne realized just then that until the day before, he had never before displayed anger—or even dismay—during their brief marriage.

  She allowed a quick glance to where the ground on which he stood seemed to stop and water started, ending only where it met the sky. From her perspective and without her eyeglasses, she couldn’t see anything below the cliff—not even the beach.

  “I’m afraid you’ll find my appearance so abhorrent, you won’t be able to be in the same room with me. That every time you look at me, you’ll see...” she waved her hand over her face after she put the spectacles into place...“This, even when I’m not wearing them. That you’ll take a mistress because you didn’t say a vow of fidelity during our wedding. That you’ll fall in love with an Italian beauty and get a child on her.

  “And it seems I’m terribly afraid of heights.”

  Jasper blinked three time as he stared at his wife, stunned at hearing her list of fears. He knew full well tears would be collecting behind her spectacles if they weren’t already. He also knew she was shaking so hard, her knees were about to give out and she would land in a heap at his feet. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her hard against the front of his body. He dropped his lips to the top of her bonnet and took two breaths before he remembered exactly what she’d said.

  “I do not find your appearance abhorrent,” he stated firmly. “Ever.” He felt her sob and wondered how he was going to make her understand her beliefs were unfounded. “In fact, I find I look forward to the sight of you so much, I like to wake up and watch you whilst you sleep,” he added, rather gratified when she suddenly stilled in his hold.

  What else had she said? Something about the wedding vows.

  “Since I recall being rather nervous when I was repeating the wedding vows, I cannot remember if I said anything about forsaking all others or not. If I did not, it was entirely the fault of the vicar, because I am, and I do, and I shall for the rest of my days forsake all others, which means I won’t be getting a child on... on an Italian beauty, and...” He paused to stare down at her. “Where does that idea even come from?” he asked suddenly.

  Marianne sniffled in his hold, rather comforted at how he held her so close. At how his arms had wrapped around her shoulders and her waist. At how his chin rested atop her head. “It happened to Chiara,” she managed to get out between sobs.

  Jasper frowned. “What?”

  For a moment, Marianne forgot about the promise she had made to Chiara. That she wouldn’t say anything. “An archaeologist fell in love with her. Got a child on her, and then left to go back to England. To his wife!”

  Tightening his hold on Marianne, Jasper wondered who would have done such a thing. “I swear to you, Marianne, I never did that,” he said, thinking she was accusing him of being the archaeologist guilty of such an act. He was far too young to have gotten a child on Chiara! She was probably in her forties.

  He suddenly straightened.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he breathed, just then sorting who was old enough to have done such a thing.

  Who had been in Rome twenty years ago.

  Who had highly recommended he consider Chiara’s guest villa for his stay on the island.

  Jasper loosened his hold on Marianne and stepped back. “Darius?” he whispered. He allowed his mind’s eye to remember the moment the older archaeologist had spied Chiara as she strolled with Marianne near the edge of the dig site.

  The moment they had been introduced the night before that, in front of their villa.

  There was recognition there, to be sure, but then he would have expected it. Darius had been the one to recommend the woman’s guest villa.

  Did Darius know he had left the woman with child though? Darius had never mentioned having another son. Never mentioned having left a lover behind. And given the political situation in Sicily for the past two decades, Jasper knew Darius wouldn’t have been able to come back to the Mediterranean’s largest island to excavate the site on which they stood.

  Jasper realized Marianne was regarding him through teary eyes. Teary but filled with relief. Even behind the spectacles, he could see she had heard his claims and comprehended their meaning. “I promise to forsake all others,” he whispered, his eyes darkening as he leaned down. “And if I haven’t already, I will get a child on you. Perhaps when we’re in Palermo. We’re going there tomorrow.”

  His lips were suddenly on hers, the kiss hungry and hard. Stunned, Marianne finally returned the kiss, well aware of how quickly his manhood hardened, the bulge pressing into her belly.

  A frisson shot through Marianne as he deepened the kiss. If they hadn’t been out in the open, she was sure he would have lifted her skirts right then and there and driven himself into her. The thought had her aware of the dampness at the top of her thighs, of how her breasts felt heavy despite how they were crushed against his chest, of how much she wanted him to be inside her.

  Her feet suddenly left the ground as Jasper changed his hold on her, one of his arms behind her knees as he carried her to the nearest foundation block between two broken marble columns.

  “What are you doing?” she asked when he lowered her feet to the ground.

  He sat on the marble block, unbuttoning his breeches as he did so. “Proving myself,” he murmured as he pressed his back against the cool stone of a column. He pulled her atop him so she straddled him, her skirts and petticoats rucked up between their bodies. His hands splayed over the globes of her bare bottom as he guided her over his turgid manhood.

  Marianne gasped as he impaled her and gasped again when his hands lifted her from his body until he was almost out of her. She gripped his shoulders, well aware he was about to drop her so his cock would drive deeper into her. When he did, she whimpered, stunned when his lips suddenly covered hers. Once she realized her feet touched the ground on either side of the marble block, she found she could leverage her movements. Jasper held her hips down for a moment though, at the same time his own hips thrust up so his crisp curls ground into her quim. One of his hands moved to a breast, cupping as much of the fabric-covered orb as he could manage.

  The move was so unexpected, Marianne nearly cried out. Through the lenses of her spectacles, she could clearly see how the cords of his neck strained as his body stiffened. She did cry out when his hand slid from her bottom and his thumb was suddenly where their bodies met. He pressed it against her swollen womanhood. Pressed it and rubbed until she screamed his name. Although he paused his movements for just a moment, he continued them until sh
e once again reacted. Even before she cried out again, he was aware of her orgasm when his manhood was suddenly gripped and drawn deeper into her.

  Although Jasper had intended to bring her to ecstasy at least one more time, he found his body had other ideas.

  Caught in his own spasm of pleasure, Jasper could only watch as Marianne’s body stiffened and arched. He moved his other hand behind her back and pulled her hard against the front of his body, needing to hold onto something. He knew when the wash of warmth filled her lower body, for Marianne whimpered and finally relaxed into his hold. Her head fell to his shoulder as her body continued to quake and shiver for another moment.

  Drowsy and thoroughly sated, Jasper gazed out toward the sea before rolling his head around to the other side. The dig site was abandoned, almond and olive trees hiding them from most vantages. He lifted his head to ensure no one else was about when he realized his wife’s lower legs were on display.

  What the hell did I just do? he suddenly wondered. He had treated his wife no better than a whore, having his way with her right out in the open, where anyone might have seen them.

  The scene from the mosaic he had uncovered the day before came to mind, though, and he grinned.

  “What is it?” Marianne asked in a whisper, one of her fingers reaching up to caress his jawline.

  Sure he wasn’t yet ready to move, Jasper redirected his gaze to her, rather surprised to find she still wore her spectacles. “I wonder how it is I can simply have my way with you out where anyone can see us, and I’m reminded of what I uncovered yesterday.”

  Marianne straightened, although she didn’t pull her body from his. “The one of the couple in a garden?” Although the tiles were somewhat faded and the overall image was missing an entire corner, the design was intact enough to identify what it depicted.

  Jasper nodded. “I wonder if they might have been making love here,” he murmured. Just beyond the marble foundation of the structure, the yellow, pink and bright white blooms of oleanders would have covered the grounds to the edge of the cliff during the spring. The air would have been scented with orange blossoms. Now the purples and scarlets of bougainvillea and hibiscus decorated the surrounding grounds. “And then been caught,” he added with a quirked lip.

  A dimple appeared in one of Marianne’s cheeks, and she suddenly blushed. “And forced to marry.”

  Jasper frowned and shook his head. “Allowed to marry because that’s what they wanted.”

  Marianne’s head returned to rest on his shoulder. “I wonder how long they had to remain in that position,” she murmured. At his furrowed brow, she added, “To model for the artist who made the mosaic.”

  Chuckling, Jasper returned his gaze to his wife. Despite the dark rings of her spectacle frames, she was a lovely woman. “I’m quite sure they didn’t mind a bit,” he whispered. He kissed her then, rather impressed she hadn’t yet remembered she wore her eyeglasses. He was sure she would have torn them from her face if she did.

  After he ended the kiss, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, stunned when he smelled the floral scent he had just been imagining. “Come. Let’s get back to the villa and have some dinner,” he said as he lifted her body from his and buttoned up his breeches.

  Marianne shook out her skirts and straightened, her gaze sweeping the horizon before it settled back on Jasper. Then she blinked and removed the spectacles. “I cannot believe you... allowed me to wear these... all that time,” she stammered.

  Grinning, Jasper took the spectacles from her and put them back on her face. “I wanted you to be able to see me. To see everything around us,” he said in a whisper. He leaned over and kissed her nose. “Especially if we got caught.”

  Chapter 33

  A Visit to Palermo

  The following day

  Marianne wasn’t sure what to expect by way of transportation for their trip to Palermo, so she was rather impressed when a glossy black traveling coach pulled by four black mules appeared outside the villa gates just after six o’clock in the morning. Despite the early hour, the sky had already begun to lighten with a red glow in the east. “Who do you suppose it belongs to?” she asked in wonder.

  Jasper pulled her hand onto his arm. “Signora Romano, of course,” he said in a whisper. “I’m beginning to believe her husband was quite well-to-do.”

  David was already seeing to their valises and a small trunk. Seeing as how they planned to be away for less than a week, Marianne assured Chiara she wouldn’t require Angela’s services. She did so only after being assured by Jasper that he would see to her buttons and baths.

  Pietro had agreed to man the ribbons for the trip, and he greeted them from where he was perched on the driver’s seat. Once David had their luggage loaded, as well as the preserved mosaics from Jasper’s first dig site, Marianne, Jasper, and James stepped into the coach and made themselves comfortable in the light velvet squabs. David climbed up to sit with Pietro on the box. Although he had been invited, Lord Darius had deferred with the excuse that a trip through the mountains would leave him a cripple.

  “Will we be stopping anywhere?” Marianne asked in a whisper.

  “At least a few times, I should think,” Jasper replied. “Palermo is a good eighty miles away.” After a pause, he asked, “You did bring your spectacles, I hope?” At Marianne’s motion of lifting her reticule, he had his answer.

  Her eyes widened. “Will we get there today?”

  Across from her, James straightened in the squabs. “Our valet says it can be a slow trip due to the mountains. I am told we’ll be spending the night in a coaching inn.”

  Although the trip was slow going—the road was barely passable in spots, torrents of rainwater having carved out deep channels in the soil. When James leaned his head out of the coach to determine just how deep one such trench was, he allowed a low whistle and claimed it was at least twenty feet to the bottom.

  The coach was forced to move to the side of the road several times to allow leticas to pass, the conveyances reminding Jasper of sedan chairs, but these were supported on the sides by two mules. Their occupants would wave and call out greetings, which delighted Marianne since she had begun the trip with a fear they might encounter highwaymen.

  Indian figs—the prickly pear Marianne had asked about during their first day on the island—grew in huge hedgerows, making it impossible to see beyond the road in some spots.

  “It’s a good thing they’re edible, or they would probably overrun the entire island,” James commented when Marianne actually put on her spectacles to better see the vegetation. Instead of removing them, she left them on and admired the view from her side of the coach.

  “What do you think of it?” Jasper asked as he leaned his head over her shoulder and followed her line of sight. He spent most of the trip with his face at the other window in an attempt to quell his panic at being in such close confines. The open windows helped a bit in that regard. Still, there were several times he almost requested to trade places with David.

  “It’s rather romantic, in a... a savage sort of way,” she murmured. Fields of grain stretched out to the horizon in some spots, but it was apparent they suffered from poor farming techniques.

  “It’s no wonder painters come here from all over the world to practice their art,” James commented. “A rather beautiful setting.” As the sun rose higher, the light colored the grain in different shades of gold until it was nearly white.

  The village in which they stayed the night seemed to exist for the sole purpose of housing travelers. The inn, at one time purported to be a “miserable lodging” had apparently been modernized since Pietro’s last encounter, for Marianne claimed the bed was acceptable—and not just because Jasper was in it—and the macaronis and salads were more than edible. Jasper was relieved there were rooms available for the night. He was about to claim he could have slept outdoors if circumstances had required it—he had done it before while on expeditions—but the thought of sleeping without Marianne i
n his arms kept him quiet.

  The following day, the coach made it to the great road to Palermo, and the scenery changed to prosperous vineyards surrounded by Indian fig hedges. Peasants returning from market made their way to small houses that dotted the countryside. In the area between the mountains and the sea, the domes of several buildings appeared where several valleys joined together.

  “There’s the capital,” Jasper said as he pointed toward the domes.

  “This is all so charming. The boats on the water, the vineyards,” Marianne enthused. “Why, if I could paint landscapes, I should want to do it from here.”

  Once they were in Palermo, her expression changed from adoration to worry. Although the architecture of churches and palaces was rather grand, there were equal numbers of ugly buildings that marred the scenery. In the Via Toledo, a street whose tradesmen seemed dedicated to the fashion trades, the first floors of the palaces belonging to nobles had been converted to coffee houses and shops. Those who practiced trades did so out in the open, including shoemakers and even tailors. Nearly ever corner of every street featured a vendor cart overflowing with Indian figs.

  From the crowds of people they passed, it was evident most who lived in Palermo did so in poverty. Occupation by the French and Bourbons had done them no favors.

  “What is that building?” Marianne asked, indicating what appeared to be the finest in all of the city. The steps leading up to it were solid blocks of marble.

  “The College of the Jesuits,” James replied. He knew only because David had told him the night before, the younger man’s descriptions of Palermo’s architecture vivid in detail. It is my field of study, he had reminded James.

  “Where will we be staying?” Marianne asked, her worry evident. Given the crowds of people, she couldn’t imagine there were enough houses and apartments for all those they had passed as they made their way.