by Renee Rose
But Lucia was so different from Isabella. It was not difficult to make her smile, and she had some sense of independence from him, which he had been steadfastly trying to encourage over the past few weeks of their marriage. He made it a point to disappear often, leaving her to her own devices so she should not rely on him for her happiness.
So far, it had seemed to work. From what he could tell, she spent time her time alone outside, tending to her vine starts, examining his vines and generally getting acquainted with his property. At the moment, she seemed to be exploring the inside of the villa. He heard her now, asking questions of the servants from within one of the empty chambers.
"Has the count given you permission for this, my lady?" he heard the servant ask her. He frowned. That wasn't right. He'd had a sense the servants had not really welcomed her and given her proper respect, and this seemed to confirm it. He stepped into the room.
"It is the lady's obligation to ask my permission. It is yours to heed her orders."
The servant snapped to attention and curtsied. "But of course, my lord. It is just that—"
He cut her off by holding up his hand and closing his eyes. "Leave us."
She curtsied again and scurried out of the room.
Lucia regarded him with big eyes and twisted the emerald necklace he'd given her as a wedding present. She thought she was in trouble. He should alleviate her worries, but he was in no rush—he found this look adorable on her. She was always so composed with the servants, yet before him she dropped her pride completely, showing only a desire to please him. And it did.
"What is this about?"
She took a breath. "Forgive me, my lord—I should have asked your permission first. I'm sorry." She looked truly remorseful.
"Permission for what?"
"Oh. I wondered about moving some of these tapestries into my chamber—changing them about. I just—"
"Yes," he interrupted her explanation. "You may decorate as you please. I will certainly defer to your taste in these matters."
The worry drained from her features, and a smile bloomed in its place. "In truth? Thank you!"
He shrugged. "I will tell you if I dislike any changes. Otherwise, you are free to decorate as you wish."
She beamed that dimpled smile at him, which made him feel so gallant that he swept her into his arms to nibble at her earlobe. She squealed when he licked into her delicate ear, and he laughed, squeezing her shapely bottom.
"My lord?" she said coquettishly. She wanted something more from him.
"My lady?"
"Are there any neighbors who might be invited for a visit? Or do you have acquaintances that might come to stay?"
He rubbed her ear between his thumb and forefinger. "You are bored, aren't you, piccola?"
"No, my lord. Not bored. Just eager to meet your friends. Or family?"
He shook his head. "I'm afraid I've led a rather solitary life, cara mia. But I am going to Venice soon, perhaps I can entice some friends to return with me."
"To Venice?" She hesitated for a beat, as if working up the nerve, then asked the question he'd feared was coming. "May I come along?"
"No, little Lucia. Not this time. Not to Venice. Perhaps when I go to Florence in the winter. Your sister is there, is she not?"
Disappointment and hope flickered around on her face, and hope won out. She was a positive creature by nature. "Yes. I would love that."
"Good. In the meantime, you shall have to content yourself with redecorating the villa in case I can find some guests to bring home with me."
She gave a tiny sigh, but found a smile for him. "Thank you. I shall."
After supper, he asked Pedro to call together all the servants of the manse. They gathered in the center courtyard, where he led Lucia, without explanation. "I apologize to my lady for not calling this meeting earlier." He raised his voice so they all could hear him. Lucia appeared ever composed at his side, but he felt her shift nervously from one foot to the other.
"Though you all have met her, I wish to formally introduce you to your new mistress, the countess. My expectation is you will serve her as you serve me. Her word is as good as mine, and you will work to please her as you please me. If her orders seem to be in conflict with mine, it is not for you to question." He gave a hard look to the servant from earlier, who flushed a deep red. "She will answer to me. You will answer to her. Is that perfectly clear?"
A chorus of "Yes, my lord" satisfied him.
"Thank you. You are dismissed."
The servants filtered out, and Pedro came over, bowing to Lucia. "My lady," he said anxiously, "I hope you have not been displeased by any service you have received here."
She rewarded him with one of her beautiful smiles. "Be of ease, Pedro. I am quite content. I thank you."
He bowed again and left. Arturo sauntered over and took Lucia's hand, bowing over it with a kiss. "My congratulations on such a lovely bride," he said in what he supposed was an attempt at charm. Of course, Arturo had already congratulated him, so this was for Lucia's benefit alone. "I have already had the pleasure of carrying out your wife's orders."
He detected a note of resentment there. When he had informed Arturo of Lucia's recommendations, the man had argued with nearly all of them as much as he could get away with without giving offense. In the end, he had shrugged and bowed, seeming to disagree, but unable to disobey direct instructions.
Lucia disengaged her hand and murmured, "If you will excuse me?" Then to him directly, she said, "I'll be upstairs," with a glint in her eye that made him want to run upstairs right after her. He smiled to himself.
Turning back to Arturo, he said, "Speaking of those orders, has the yellow on the leaves improved since you cut back on watering?"
Arturo shrugged. "Perhaps. It's too soon to tell, I think." Looking after Lucia, he said, "She really is a beautiful woman. If she were my wife, I would keep a close eye on that one."
He looked at him sharply, and Arturo gave him a wise nod.
As he went upstairs, he tried to unclench his fists. Because he really wanted to punch the man in the nose at the moment.
* * *
"Hello, Angelina," Lucia greeted the cook as she entered the hot kitchen. Angelina looked over her shoulder at Lucia without acknowledging her. She was of a similar age as Lucia and hadn't taken particularly well to Lucia's interest in overseeing the kitchens. Actually, none of the servants had. Clearly, it was a domain that had been unsupervised in the ten years since the death of the first countess, and none of them were taking kindly to her new interference in their work. She did her best to tread lightly.
"What are you planning for dinner today?"
Angelina sighed, as if it were a hassle to report to her. "White bean soup, my lady."
She frowned. "White bean soup again? The count hates that. Is there any meat you could cook up for him to eat instead?"
Angelina turned and put her hands on her hips. "The count hates it? I think not. I was born and raised in this villa, and we've always had white bean soup."
Lucia debated how to best answer.
"Are you arguing with your mistress, Angelina?" Marco spoke from behind them, his tone cold and dangerously quiet.
They both whirled around to face him. Angelina looked wary—as if unsure whether he would vindicate her or give her a scolding. Lucia felt something similar as a blush crept up her face. He'd never said he didn't like the white bean soup—it was just she'd noticed he always picked at it. Mayhap she was wrong about it.
Marco was still looking at Angelina, waiting for an answer. "No, my lord," she mumbled, turning back to the pot on the fire.
"Look at me."
She turned back around.
"Do you remember my instructions? I said the countess's word is my word, and you should work to please her as you please me. Are you pleasing her now?"
Lucia shifted uncomfortably. Marco was not going to improve Angelina's opinion of her this way.
But Angelina bobbed a curtsey. "No, my lo
rd."
"No. You will try harder." He gave her a hard look, one that had Lucia squirming, even though she wasn't the recipient. With that, he took Lucia's elbow and led her out of kitchens. Servants who had gathered in the doorway at the spectacle disappeared as quickly as they could scamper. Lucia tried to calm her beating heart.
"You know, you're right," Marco said with a surprised tone. "I do hate white bean soup. I should have said something long ago." He stopped in the corridor and pulled her into him, cupping her face in his hands. "Thank you for noticing, mi tesoro."
She blinked with pleasure.
He leaned down and kissed her, his lips caressing hers with a tenderness she hadn't felt before, his tongue dancing sweetly between her lips, just teasing, not insisting. She threw her arms around his neck, suddenly filled with passion, and kissed him back urgently. He laughed, a muffled sound between their lips, and he pulled her into the nearest room, which happened to be the armory. As their kisses grew more urgent, he lifted her skirts, his fingers curling into the slit between her legs, and she gasped and arched, pulling herself closer to him with her arms wound around his neck. Her breasts had lifted when she arched, and he used one hand to pull her bodice down, exposing a breast. He bent his head so that he could suck at it. The twin pleasures of his fingers between her legs and his mouth at her nipple caused her to moan.
There was nowhere to sit or lie down in the armory, but he backed her against a wall and then freed himself from his trousers. Scooping under her hips with one arm so she straddled him, he used his other hand to guide himself into her.
She gasped as he stretched her wide and then drove into her, using the wall for leverage, her thighs held easily by his big, powerful hands. In and out he slid, filling her and retreating, stroking her sex with his.
It was the kind of pleasure she didn't want to ever end, a rhythm she could ride for a while without going over the edge, but that was not true for him. Marco started to climax and pulled out from her abruptly, spilling his seed onto the floor and leaving her disappointed and wanting more.
Maybe it was the heightened state of excitement and frustration that made her willing to speak boldly.
"I can solve my own problems with the servants, you know."
Marco leveled a gaze at her. He rested a foot up on a crate of swords and pulled her toward him, bending her over his knee and flipping up her skirt. His hand cracked down on her before she could even speak, although she didn't know what she could have said to stop him, anyway.
He spanked hard—as hard as he had the first time when she'd really deserved it. His hand fell low and in the center every time, so it covered both sides, spanning the flesh around her sex, catching that aroused part of her with the center of his palm. She cried out and tried to wriggle away, but his other hand held her firmly in place. Each spank stung but also somehow aroused her and as the spanking continued and the pain intensified, so did her confusion.
"Marco, Marco, please. I'm sorry!" Tears burned her eyes, and her composure crumbled.
"Shh. I'm not finished yet." His voice sounded gentle, though the flat of his palm was as punishing as ever.
Over and over again, he struck in the same spot until a wave of electricity flooded through her, and she climaxed with a cry that made it altogether clear to her husband what had happened. He stopped spanking and thrust his fingers inside her, pumping them as her muscles contracted over and over again. When her release had passed, he eased his fingers out and rubbed her flaming cheeks. "Ahh. That was a surprise."
She threw herself against him when he lifted her up, burying her face against his strong chest, embarrassed and confused.
He stroked and soothed her, murmuring terms of endearment. "That's right, cara mia. You're all right."
"I'm sorry," she choked into his chest.
He stroked her hair. "I'm sure you are, mi tesoro. I'm sure you are."
After a while, she lifted her head from his chest. "I didn't mean to question your authority. I just feel like—" She stopped when she saw him shake his head.
"I wasn't angry with you, cara. I just wanted to spank you, that's all."
"What?"
He smiled lovingly at her and shrugged. "You're my wife. Sometimes I just want to bend you over my knee and spank you."
She was shocked. And terrified. And strangely thrilled by that. Her sex clenched despite her recent release. But it was a genuine relief to discover he was not angry with her. She laughed uncertainly. "Marco...your spankings hurt."
He chuckled and patted her raw bottom. "I think part of you liked it, no?"
She flushed. "But you didn't expect me to like it, did you?"
He laughed again. "No, it was more for my benefit. But I'm happy you found a benefit as well."
She rested her forehead against his broad chest. She couldn't deny the languorous bliss she was feeling. Her whole body felt warm and sated, and oddly, she also felt loved and protected, though that made no sense to her. It was confusing that he'd spanked her for no reason other than that he wanted to. And why would he want to do that?
Chapter Three
For a man who hadn't wanted a wife, Marco had to admit he was quite satisfied with his new situation. Lucia was charming, easy to live with, and most interestingly, an avid learner in bed. Despite his resolve to maintain his own previous lifestyle, two and a half months went by without his even considering employing one of the village whores who normally frequented his bed. He simply had no thought for them.
But they must have missed the income, because one of them grew bold and came calling upon him.
"My lord," his manservant Pedro said, clearing his throat politely. He was on the terrace, enjoying a drink before bed. Lucia had just excused herself for the night, and the thoughtful servant must have been waiting for the right moment. "Ana Maria is here, the village girl? She wishes to know if you have need of her services."
His first instinct was to say no, but he hesitated. Lucia happened to be indisposed with her monthly courses at the moment, and maybe this would be a good opportunity to exercise his freedom a bit. He stood up.
"Very well. Send her to my chamber."
He had made a point of not sleeping with Lucia when she was indisposed, in order to maintain a distance, so she would not come to expect too much. As he made his way up the stairs to his chamber, he was ambivalent about the wisdom of employing the girl in his own chambers, where Lucia might hear. On one hand, her overhearing would allow him to use this event to set the stage for the future. He would establish his expectations for the freedom he expected her to allow him. In return for that freedom, he would be sure she was always treated with honor and grace, as the countess of his villa should be.
On the other hand, things would be much simpler if she didn't know.
Still not sure by the time he reached his chamber, he shook himself. Don't be a ninny. Go in and act like a man.
The girl laid back on his bed, undressed. The sight of her did not arouse him in the least. In the past, he had enjoyed her wide hips, expansive arse and big bosom. She had a wide, luscious mouth to match them and a tongue that was clever, as well. At the moment, however, she struck him as exceedingly dull, dim-witted and base.
He undressed without looking at her and then sat in a chair, lifting his eyebrows at her. She scrambled off the bed and came to kneel at his feet, taking him into her mouth. His balls tightened. She was good—very good—at what she did. He closed his eyes and tried to forget it was her, thinking instead about Lucia's first sweet attempt at this act. But that thought nearly made him lose his erection. He suddenly felt sure he did not want her to know what he was doing in here with this girl.
He thought of nothing at all, or tried to. He thought of childhood trips to the beach, of his grapes—no—of his last trip to Florence. He remembered the talented sculptor he'd met there, Michelangelo. It took a very long time. The girl certainly was working for her coins that evening.
When at last he came, she swallowe
d it with a dirty smile that disgusted him. He stood up abruptly and fished coins out of his purse to pay her. With a loud giggle, she played an insipid game in which she attempted to catch the coins between her two breasts.
"Shush!" he snapped, catching up the coins before she tried it again. Dear God, Lucia certainly couldn't have missed or mistaken that sound. He held the coins out of reach, meaning to speak sternly to the girl, but she took it as a game, jumping to catch his closed hand, giggling again. He slapped her backside, hard. He wanted to spank the girl soundly, but he feared it would make far too much noise. Spying his razor strap on the dresser, he picked it up and with one hand clapped over her mouth to keep her cries muffled, applied it smartly several times across her buttocks.
"Surely you have heard I have taken a wife?" he asked the girl, who was now frightened into submission. He didn't remove his hand from her mouth. She nodded with wide eyes. "Then you shall understand when I ask you to keep quiet." She nodded again, quickly. He removed his hand slowly from her mouth, and she looked at him, wide eyed, lips trembling. "Do not come again unless I bid you, do you understand?"
She nodded quickly.
"Be gone with you."
The girl scrambled to pick up and don her clothing, leaving his chamber in a disheveled mess. He laid on his back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to sort out his feelings. Damn the little whore, anyway. Surely he wasn't the sort of man who would want to stay faithful to his wife? He was neither pious, nor hen-pecked, like his father had been. He was a strong-willed, dominant man who could do as he pleased.
So why did he feel so wrong? He closed his eyes and waited for the relief of sleep.
* * *
At breakfast the next morning, Lucia arrived with red, puffy eyes. Even the skin above the eyes was swollen, and her nose was red and chafed-looking as well. She did not meet his gaze. His heart plummeted in his chest. So she had heard. Of course she had. He had wanted her to, hadn't he?
"Buon giorno."
She mumbled an unintelligible reply, without looking up.
