by Renee Rose
She rolled out of bed.
"Where are you going?"
"To use the privy," she said, trying to get over the embarrassment of him hearing her pee in the same room. When she was finished, she brought the candle back to the bed and pulled back the covers.
"What are you doing?"
"Making sure there's evidence of my virtue."
The count took the candle and blew it out, pulling her back into the bed. "Lucia, I just felt your proof, I don't need to see it. And the slap across my face was enough for me to believe you."
She was glad for the dark, because she knew she was flushing at the reminder of what she'd done.
"Actually, let me restate that. Your anger would have been enough. The slap was uncalled for."
If she could have crawled into her own skin to hide, she would have. "I apologize," she said stiffly.
He chuckled and drew her into his arms, stroking her hair. "It's already forgiven. I didn't mean to scold you a second time. I just wanted to be sure you understood it was the slap, not the anger for which I punished."
She hadn't known, exactly, and she was happy for the distinction.
"I don't wish you to hide your true feelings from me, just to be respectful. I am your lord and husband now."
"Yes, my lord."
"Don't worry, my lady, it may not seem so tonight, but I think we're going to get along just fine."
Lucia snuggled in against his warmth and reassurances. She felt raw and vulnerable, emotionally and physically. She would accept what comfort he would offer—in a few days, this man would be the only person she knew in her new life as a countess.
* * *
In the light of the morning, his beautiful bride surveyed the blood on the sheets with satisfaction.
"Do you still think I doubt you?" he asked with amusement.
She flushed prettily. "No, my lord. But the servants will be looking for it, won't they?"
He rolled his eyes. "Servants be damned. And speaking of them, I think your father should punish those serving wenches of yours for the trick they played on you."
She shook her head, her big brown eyes pleading. "My lord?"
"Marco."
"Marco," she said softly. "Please, I beg you not to tell my father about..." she trailed off, clearly unable to complete the sentence without further embarrassment. "I mean, I am extremely grateful to you for taking it so well, but my father—he would not. It would destroy him to think I had behaved so disgracefully."
Something about this girl made him want to soothe her. He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. "It was not disgraceful, it was merely perplexing to me, that's all. Once you'd solved the mystery, I found it to be quite sweet. But I will not say a word to your father."
She flushed, but met his eye.
"I do hope you'll do it again? I promise you, I shall not stop you the next time."
Lucia looked at him as if to gauge whether or not he was teasing her. He placed his hand over his heart as a vow and cocked an eyebrow at her. She laughed, her natural verve starting to return. He was glad—it was a shame to see her diminished, and he regretted his part in it.
The events of the night before had endeared her to him, despite his intentions of staying as uninvolved with his new wife as possible. To his surprise, he'd enjoyed spanking her, though he regretted it had nearly ruined their wedding night. It was not that he liked hurting women. But she was so lovely with her clothes off, laid prostrate over his lap. The feel of her squirming, the allure of her perfect twin orbs—pale as porcelain, turning crimson under the onslaught of his hand, had been powerfully arousing.
Though he hadn't wanted a wife, he couldn't deny the rush of pleasure he'd had when he'd realized she belonged to him and him alone. She was his to discipline as he liked—he could turn her over his knee that way anytime he wished.
He had spanked hard, and she'd remained stoic far longer than he'd expected, and she hadn't pouted afterward. He doubted she was the sulky type. He father was right—she took correction well.
Not that he was planning to spend his time breaking in a new wife, he firmly reminded himself. He would install her in her own separate chamber at his villa, and she could do as she pleased, as long as it didn't interfere with his own pursuits.
That afternoon at the wedding banquet, Lucia looked even more beautiful than she had the day before. She wore a green silk gown, the wide square bodice framing her bust so spectacularly, nearly every man drooled over her. Pearls hung around her neck and were sewn into the gown, and a wreath of pearls crowned her hair, which hung in long curls down her back. He was happy to see she had caught her stride again.
"Thank you, Don Fernando, we are so pleased you could come," she was saying to an elderly gentlemen, who was holding her hand as if he did not wish to let it go. The man ogled the milky white flesh that showed above her bodice. To her credit, Lucia did not blush or frown, she simply redirected with aplomb. "Is that the Lady Adela over there by Don Giovanni?" She indicated with her chin. "Why, yes, it is. Are you acquainted with her? Let me introduce you..." She led the man to the lady in question and deposited him easily.
He caught her eye and winked when she turned back, which brought forth her dazzling smile. He wondered, briefly, if her twin equaled her in beauty.
Throughout the whole affair, she was as poised as ever, greeting every guest, smiling, curtsying and generally managing the banquet as the lady of the house. Which, he supposed she had been, given their mother was long dead. It was a load off his chest to know she had the confidence and experience to handle her role as the Countess of Parma. He would not have to suffer her tiptoeing around like a little mouse, looking frightened and unsure.
He was starting to feel downright cheerful about his new situation—he had the capital now to invest in making his vineyards turn a profit. He had a new wife, which admittedly he hadn't wanted, but she certainly seemed to be an improvement over his last, and she came with the wine-making knowledge he truly needed. And she was beautiful—long legs, firm, apple-sized breasts, and a willingness in bed that rivaled the working ladies. He smiled to himself at the memory and made it his goal to convince her to give it another try that evening.
After people had been fed, the dancing began. He'd always found court dancing to be nothing more than a chore, but like every noble, had been taught by the age of twelve to dance all the important dances like the Brando, Pavan, and the virtuoso Galliard. The only one he rather enjoyed was the Moresque, or sword dance. He went through the motions, indulging his eye by watching his lovely bride swish around in her beautiful green silk skirts. When he saw her head down the corridor toward the kitchens, he followed, curious to see how she would handle her offending serving wenches.
"More wine is needed in the hall, and it's time to bring out the pastries, please." Lucia struck the perfect tone of authority without the haughtiness that the aristocracy sometimes employed.
"Yes, my lady. If I may ask, how was your wedding night?" the chit of a serving girl had the gall to ask, not noticing his approach.
"Oh, it was perfection. Thank you so much for your advice, the count was delighted," Lucia said breezily, without the slightest hesitation.
He smiled to himself and slid his arm around her waist.
She jumped and turned in surprise. "Indeed." He nibbled at her ear. "Your advice was most appreciated."
Lucia tilted her head back to smile her thanks at him.
"I do wonder, though," he drawled. "Does your master know about your special knowledge in this matter?"
The girl paled considerably, and he leveled her with a look intended to put the fear of God into her.
"Does he?"
"I-I'm not sure, my lord," she mumbled.
He made her suffer his stern look for another long beat, before he pulled gently at Lucia, saying, "Shall we, my lady?"
The girl bobbed a curtsy and scrambled off faster than a mouse. Lucia rewarded him with one of her dimp
led smiles and he chuckled, leading her back to the courtyard. As they walked, he said in a low voice, "How soon do you think we can sneak away and try out your wench's specialty?"
The poor girl looked so genuinely torn between wanting to please him and wanting to stay at her party that he laughed lightly and waved his hand.
"I'm just jesting. This is your last night to see all your friends—you may stay up as late as you like."
She beamed at him again, and he couldn't help but lean over and kiss her—she looked so delectable. All right, so mayhap he wasn't exactly setting in motion his plan of setting up a marriage in name only, but there was no reason he shouldn't enjoy what was his, at least in the beginning.
It was her last night to see her friends and family, but as she dallied later and later into the night, she had to admit part of her was afraid to be alone with her husband again. Everything about the night before had been embarrassing—particularly the spanking. Knowing he was going to take a firm hand with her was a bit daunting, but she was sure she could stay out of trouble and find ways to please him. He certainly had a charming side as well, as she had just witnessed.
When at last she saw him throw her a look bordering on impatience, she quickly said her buona nottes and went to him, taking his arm to go upstairs to her chamber. She had consumed a lot of her father's wine during the festivities and found it was helping take the edge off her nerves.
When they'd shut the door, she turned to him and sucked the first knuckle of one finger, batting her eyelashes. "Now...what was it you had in mind for me this evening?"
He let out a low laugh and pulled her close. "You know perfectly well what I have in mind." He untied her bodice and let it fall away from her body.
She pulled off her own skirt. "Well, I might be willing...but only if you'll promise not to call me a whore or spank me again."
With that, she was suddenly lifted into the air and tossed easily onto the bed. A little shriek escaped her lips. The count laughed, climbing over her and pulling off her chemise. He twisted her hips so her bottom angled up and started spanking her—several hard smacks that had her yelping and jumping to dodge his hand. She reached down and covered her offended cheeks with her hand.
"You would do well to remember who is in charge here, my lady," he said with mock sternness.
She rubbed at her smarted flesh and smiled, her mood not dampened. "My lord, you have a heavy hand."
"Yes. And you'd best learn not to provoke it."
Her smile faltered for a moment as she tried to determine if he were serious or not.
He seemed to note it, because he leaned down and kissed her. A generous, reassuring kiss.
Knowing the count desired a repeat performance of her mouth on his manhood, she went right to work on that endeavor, rising to her hands and knees and unfastening his trousers. Emboldened by the wine, she found it easier this time. She gripped the base of his cock and flicked her tongue under the rim of the head.
The count groaned.
Encouraged, she took his length into her mouth, sucking.
"That's it, amore."
She picked up speed, moving her mouth forward and back along his cock, enjoying herself and the power to pleasure her new husband.
He urged her to move faster with his hand at the back of her head and while it frightened her to have him take control this way, she didn't resist.
She was totally unprepared for his climax, however. The warm salty stream that came pouring out caused her to yank back in shock, gagging as she spun around with her back to him.
"Spit it out," he said laughing. He was still chuckling when she turned back around—a silent shaking of his shoulders, as if he were trying to contain himself but just couldn't keep it in.
She giggled, too. He opened his arms, and she tumbled into them, happy she'd done something right.
They climbed into bed, and she fell asleep to the feeling of his fingers gently stroking her sex without demand. She woke to the same movements, along with the sensation of Marco's hardened sex pressing against her backside. He spooned her, his larger body curled around and framing hers. She liked the feel of him lying with her like that—so different from sharing a bed with her sister.
It didn't take him long to show her a new position for making love as he took her from behind while she lay on her side. One which started out with him fondling her nipple and ended with his strong hands holding her shoulders in place so he could thrust deeply into her. Though she felt like he would tear her in two, the pleasure filtered through the pain, as it had the night before, and she cried out at the same time he did, her sex tightening with satisfaction as he spilled his seed on the bed again.
Marco rolled her onto her back and leaned on his elbows over her. "My lady. We need to have a little talk."
Her belly involuntarily clenched. "Yes, my lord?"
"Are all those trunks in the corner there really meant to come with us to Parma?"
She laughed, relieved it was nothing serious. "Is it too much to bring?"
"I'm afraid it is, cara. You may bring three trunks. No more. So I suggest you get busy re-prioritizing. We will leave after breaking fast." He gave her bottom a slap as she rolled out of bed to obey him.
* * *
Marco watched as Lucia bid the household farewell. The servants all gathered outside, along with her father to see them off. She kissed both cheeks of a good-looking young man whom he hadn't met and squeezed his hands, murmuring something.
His lip curled of its own accord. Odd. He hadn't ever been a jealous man. He purposefully strode over to make the acquaintance.
"My lord, have you met Tomasso, my father's steward?"
He put a possessive arm around his wife's slender waist. "No, I haven't."
Tomasso bowed. "Congratulations on your marriage, my lord."
He inclined his head and forced himself to thank the young man before leading Lucia to the carriage. Her father gave her one last embrace and offered his hand to help her up, but Marco stepped in and grasped Lucia's waist, lifting her up. He liked the feel of her lush form under his hands, the way she blushed every time he touched her. He wondered how long that would last.
He was torn between sitting beside her, where he could feel the warmth and soft curves of her body against his, or across from her, where he could study her lovely face. Since it was a long carriage ride, and he could do both, he started across from her.
Her long red hair fell in loose waves across her shoulders, framing the angelic face. She smiled and waved as the carriage driver started off, then settled her hands in her lap and looked everywhere but at him.
"No tears, amore?"
Her mouth curved into a wistful smile. "No, my lord. I'm only sorry that I could not bid farewell to Celia, my sister. But perhaps she will be able to visit us in Parma?" She ended the sentence with a question and hopeful look.
He waved his hand. "Of course she may." In fact, he hoped his wife found her own entertainment and social life in Parma, as he preferred his independence.
Lucia stole nervous glances at him from under her long lashes. If he were a better man, he would put her at ease. But he wasn't that husband. He rather enjoyed the deference she showed him and wanted to keep it intact. He'd chosen his first wife because he thought she'd be different from his domineering mother, who had hen-pecked his father to no end. His bride had been meek in nature, but alas, it did not come with an eagerness to please. Rather, she seethed anger and resentment, skulking in corners and darkening his villa with her very presence. It had not been a happy marriage in the least, God rest her soul.
This one, he hoped to start off on the right foot.
Chapter Two
Marco opened the door to an elegantly decorated room. "This will be your chamber."
They'd arrived that afternoon after three long days of travel, and Marco had led her straight to this room so she could get refreshed. There were tapestries of unicorns and beautiful garden scenes on the walls and a feath
er mattress on the bed. A vase of fresh flowers had been placed on the armoire.
"Is this your chamber?" Lucia was confused.
"No, mine is the one next door. You see, we have a door that adjoins the two rooms."
"Oh," she said, though she didn't see at all. She had expected to share his chamber. "Where does that door lead?" she asked, pointing to one on the opposite side of the room.
"That's an empty chamber."
"Will I sleep here?" She knew she sounded like an idiot. She just was not sure how it all was supposed to work.
The count did not seem inclined to explain it to her, either. He waved his hand, as if dismissing her questions. "You'll sleep here unless I call you to my bed."
Ah. She tried to hide her disappointment with these arrangements. Marco bowed to her and opened the door to his own chamber, leaving her standing alone in the room until the servants brought in her trunks, lining them along the walls.
"This one should go back outside," she instructed. "Is there a potting shed, or some such area?"
"Yes, my lady," the servant said, giving her a perplexed look.
"Please bring this trunk there, it contains grapevine cuttings."
The servant bowed and took the trunk back out. Without her father's knowledge, she had instructed one of her servants at home to take cuttings of every different variety of grape her father had. His vines were old—some of them over 100 years—and if she were to help the count with his winery, they might prove useful.
A maid appeared, curtsied and introduced herself as Ana. "Would my lady like a bath?"
"Oh yes, that would be lovely."
The maid led her down to the courtyard to the baths designated for the females of the villa. As she helped her out of her clothing, Lucia endeavored to glean some understanding of the count from her.
