by Renee Rose
Marco lay down between them and put an arm around each of them, drawing their heads in to rest on his strong shoulders. She peeked at Celia's contented face over Marco's chest and knew her expression must be similar. Marco looked from one to the other of them, planting a kiss on each of their heads.
"I never in a million years would have guessed we would do that." Marco broke the contented silence at last.
"Mmm." She felt too contented to speak.
"Was that...a one-time occurrence?"
She moved as if to sit up, but Marco pulled her back closely against him.
"I don't mean to say I expect it to happen again." He sounded very cautious and respectful, and it seemed almost a reversal of their usual roles. It told her the magnitude of their gift to him, she supposed.
"I hope it will happen again," she said softly.
"So do I," Celia agreed.
He squeezed them both again. "I am the luckiest man in all of Italy."
She snuggled in, happy she had pleased him so well.
"I think this requires some caution, though." His voice took on a practical tone. She tried to sit up, but once again, Marco pulled her close. "Rules, perhaps. For example, I should never, ever, have sex with Celia. To risk another pregnancy is unthinkable."
She and Celia both murmured their agreement.
"What else? Can you two think of constraints we should follow? I think it's important we really discuss things before they get emotional."
"I can't think of anything else," Celia said doubtfully.
"Nor I," she said.
"Well, here's what I think. Lucia, you are in charge of this...arrangement, shall we call it? It happens only when and if you want it to. You are my wife, and I am not going to weaken our marriage over this. So you will be in charge, and I will obey your wishes." He looked at her with a teasing grin, "Lord knows, I don't want another plate of vermicelli thrown at my head!"
At that, Celia met her eye knowingly, as she'd already heard the story, and Lucia pinched her husband's nipple in retaliation.
He chuckled. "Celia, will you agree to obey Lucia's wishes?"
"Absolutely." Celia nodded in vigorous agreement.
* * *
Lying with Lucia and her husband was wickedly delightful. Between the two of them, Celia's sexual education advanced much further than the Duke of Tuscany's quick initiation had provided. Because of the count's words, she kept a careful sensitivity to Lucia's feelings around it, never expecting to be included unless her sister specifically invited her. Lucia invited her at least once or twice a week and never expressed any jealousy toward her.
Still, there was something that bothered her about their relationship. There was a certain distance between them that wasn't caused by her presence in their bed, but maybe explained why she was welcomed there. She had yet to hear the count say he loved her sister, and she'd heard about his taste for whores. It could be Lucia was using her twin, with whom she felt safe, to share her husband, to keep things exciting for him so he wouldn't stray that way again.
And he always pulled out before he climaxed. She'd come to feel the same pain she saw flitting across her sister's face every time it happened. Lucia seemed reluctant to discuss it with him, and she'd forbidden Celia to make inquiries on her behalf. She said he'd told her he wanted to enjoy just her for a while. Yet it seemed like one of the ways he held her at arm's length, never fully accepting her as his mate.
Celia came to love the count in her own way, too—not as a mate, nor as a husband. Obviously not as a brother, exactly either. But in some indefinable way. There was a fondness and understanding between them that made her newly ruined status more than bearable. She was happy there with them. The sex was amazing. And working together, the three of them, on the vineyards and winery was an immense pleasure as well.
So they continued, the flurry of harvesting followed by the crushing of the grapes. She and Lucia and the count spent all their days outside, supervising. The new steward, Enzo, did follow their instructions, as the count had promised, and things went as smoothly as any harvest she had seen.
They sat down to celebrate when it was all through.
"To my lovely ladies, who made this the best harvest, ever," the count said fondly, holding up his glass of wine. She and Lucia raised theirs as well. "Would you two like to accompany me to Florence for the annual meetings?"
"Yes!" Lucia exclaimed immediately.
Celia couldn't speak at first. "You—you would bring me?"
The count looked at her evenly. "I told you I don't care about your father. I see no reason to hide you here at my villa when I could have a woman on each arm, rather than just one." As always, he directed a look of apology to Lucia, to be sure she understood he was only jesting. He was careful with her sister's feelings that way, and Celia loved him for it.
"Your reputation may still be perfectly intact in Florence. There's no telling—your father may have contained the damage to his own villa. And even if word has spread, hiding won't repair your honor, it will only make it worse."
She was thrilled at the idea of traveling to Florence again. But then she remembered. "The Duke of Tuscany will be there," she said shakily. The idea made her blush with embarrassment over what she'd done.
"What does he mean to you, Celia?" The count gave her a shrewd look.
She shrugged. "I don't know." She truly didn't. She'd been angry with him when she received no reply to her letter that informed him of her pregnancy. Furious. But really, what had she expected? She knew he was a married man when she acted like a fool and let him charm his way under her skirts.
"He never replied to my letter. He could have helped me. I didn't expect him to leave his wife for me or anything, but he might have offered assistance in some way." Her eyes welled up with the tears she hadn't let herself cry at the time.
"You cared about him," Lucia said softly.
She shook her head impatiently. "I was a fool! I thought I meant something to him—I thought he might be a man of some honor. But I was wrong. I was just like every other silly girl whose virtue is ruined by a handsome man."
The count tapped his fingers on the table. "I can demand satisfaction from him."
"No," she and Lucia exclaimed at the same time.
"I could exact a payment. Does the Duchess know of his proclivities toward other women?"
She shook her head. "No. And believe me, I've fantasized about telling her just to get even." Bitterness hardened her voice.
"Well, it makes an excellent leverage point. He can make financial reparations to me on your behalf, or I will inform the Duchess, who happens to be a cousin of mine. Of course, in this instance, the fact you miscarried is a detriment to the cause. If you'd had a child and it looked like him, we'd not only have proof, but the amount I might demand would be far greater."
She shuddered. "Still, I thank God it didn't happen that way."
The count nodded soberly. "So do I."
Chapter Six
The carriage rolled over the newly broadened streets of Florence. Lucia watched lords and ladies dressed in silks and adorned with finery rumble by in carriages. Florence was the wealthiest city, thanks to the ingenuity of the Medici bankers, who had made it a center of trade. And now, with all the wealth available for commissions, the arts were flourishing. Marco had promised to introduce them to some of the up and coming artists if there was time when business was concluded.
Carlo, the carriage driver, stopped in front of a building with a stone archway and little courtyard. Marco helped them both out of the carriage. "This will be our apartment while we're in Venice." Two servants, a husband and wife, came out to meet them. Carlo would stay in the servants' quarters, as well, and handle errands and simple business arrangements for Marco.
They entered the small, but nicely appointed quarters. There were two chambers in the living quarters of the apartment. "This one is ours," Marco explained, his hand at Lucia's low back. "And Celia will stay in this one."
It shouldn't matter so much to her, but she was secretly thrilled to be officially sharing a room with her husband for a change. She'd been afraid he would say one room was for him and the other was for her to share with Celia.
The servants brought their trunks up to their chambers, and Marco rooted through his for fresh clothing. "Lucia, what is this?" He waved a small wooden spoon, which he'd pulled out of the trunk.
She giggled. She had swapped the odious large one with this smaller one. He had packed it as a jest—well, she hoped it was a jest, anyway, saying he'd best bring it to ensure she and Celia behaved in Florence.
"Well, how did that get in there? I thought you'd packed the large one!" she said with exaggerated shock.
Marco snatched her up into his arms and tossed her on the bed. She shrieked, laughing and trying to scramble away. He threw up her skirts, and she wriggled harder. "No, no, bambina. You've got a spanking coming now, and there's nothing you can do to prevent it," he chided.
She giggled, still wriggling madly. Despite her struggles, he mastered her easily, rolling her to her belly and pinning her down with a hand at her lower back. He applied the spoon to her backside.
"Oh no...no, no," she shrieked, still laughing. "Ouch! Please!" She reached back, trying to cover her bottom with her hand, but Marco twisted her arm behind her back and continued to spank her. "Please, I'm sorry. Sorry—Marco, please!"
He rolled her onto her back and lowered himself over her, pinning her wrists beside her head and kissing her deeply. "I wonder if I could turn your bottom the color of your hair," he mused.
She shook her head quickly, back and forth. "Let's not find out."
He kissed her again. "You know you like it."
"No-o."
"Yes you do. Else you wouldn't have asked for it like that." He smirked at her.
She laughed then. It was true, she certainly had invited it. She did like the way he handled her so easily, the same way he handled everything in life. And although she didn't like to be punished, if she looked back, those were the moments they had bonded most in their marriage. It was when they were most honest with each other. There was an intimacy to it that went beyond sex, even. And then there was that time he had spanked her simply for his own pleasure, and she had climaxed. She couldn't explain any part of that. But liking it was something different. She shook her head again.
"It's you who favors it," she accused.
He shrugged. "I might. Do you want to test me?"
She shook her head, very quickly. "No, no, no. I'll be good."
He stroked between her legs and she bit her lip and arched. "I want you naked," he murmured.
She unlaced the bodice of her dress obediently.
He helped her pull it off and then started slowly, drawing one of her nipples into his mouth, watching her with his dark-lashed eyes as he brought it to a stiff tip.
She squirmed as she felt the answering tug between her legs.
He moved to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. Lifting his head, he covered her mouth with his, exploring her lips with his tongue.
She thrust her hips up against his, seeking the heat and hardness of the bulge pressing from beneath his trousers. He reached down and freed his length, entering her with a groan.
She gripped his shoulders, rocking her hips each time he thrust deeply, creating additional friction on her little bud of pleasure. They gathered intensity and speed until she cried out, her muscles fluttering and clenching with glorious release. Marco gave his own cry and pulled out, spilling his seed onto her navel with a wicked smile.
* * *
Celia drew a deep breath and forced her icy fingers to unclench as she accompanied Lucia and Marco into the grand hall her father rented every year for the grape harvester's gala. The annual meetings brought scores of attendees, both those in the business and wealthy wine aficionados for tastings and social events. Wine makers held business meetings with all potential vendors as the contract negotiations for the coming year's harvest began. Celia's father hosted the opening event—a grand affair with wine, food and dancing. She and Lucia had gone every year since their debut, and the past year she had stayed in Florence after the event with her aunt.
The thought of seeing her father again had her wound up. Lucia, ever observant, had poured her two glasses of wine before they even left the apartment. She hadn't forgiven him for whipping her and throwing her out of his villa in servant's dress without a coin to her name. She had been raped trying to get to her sister's safely, and she quite easily might have been killed, instead.
Nor would she guess that he had forgiven her for giving up her virtue before she wed. So the thought of seeing him in person again made her want to stay and hide in the apartment. But the count wouldn't hear of it. He said it was better to get it over with now, and know where things stood.
They had delayed their arrival, so the hall was already packed with people—mostly men, but many had brought their wives along, too. A small orchestra was playing music. Her father was standing near the entryway to receive his guests. He brightened when he saw them, but then stiffened as he realized not one, but both his daughters were with the count. His smile froze on his face. Tomi, his steward and right-hand man, was with him and she saw by the surprise he quickly mastered, that he knew everything.
Marco extended his hand to her father. "Don Eduardo. Well met."
"Indeed. Welcome," her father said tightly.
"Papa," Lucia said, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
Celia's breath stalled in her throat when she realized he wasn't going to acknowledge her.
Lucia covered the awkward moment by extending her hand to Tomi. "Tomi, it's a pleasure to see you again."
Tomi took Lucia's hand with more formality and animation than he might normally use, also trying to make up for the awkwardness. "Countess." He bowed over her hand.
"Lady Celia." He reached for her hand and made a show of bowing over it as well.
She flashed him a grateful smile. She and Lucia had always loved Tomi. A good-looking rakish young man, he had always provided them with an excellent dance partner, escort or a flirty conversationalist. And though he was honorable with them, he had bedded every pretty servant in their father's villa at least twice.
The count greeted Tomi and then led them past the entryway and away from the suffocating presence of her father.
Her legs trembled. She hoped she didn't look as stricken as she felt.
"He's a coward, Celia," Marco said in a low voice. "He didn't know what to say to you, so it was easier to pretend you weren't there. Next time I will not let him off so easily."
She blinked back the tears stinging her eyes fiercely. She didn't know what that meant, but she really didn't want to experience a next time. She moved through the hall as if in a dream—the sounds of people talking around her came through as a muffled din. She could see and hear them, and she even smiled and replied to introductions when they were made, but if someone asked her who she had met that evening, she couldn't have told them.
Until the Duke and Duchess of Tuscany arrived. Then her world sharpened to a razor's edge.
"Let's get it over with," Marco said, spying them at the same time. She took his arm with a toss of her head, Lucia clasped the other one, and he led them over.
"Marco," the Duchess exclaimed.
That's right—he'd said the duchess was his cousin.
"Maria, well met." Marco bowed over her hand. "I would like to introduce you to my wife, Lucia, and her sister, Miss Celia Dante."
The Duchess Maria appeared to be an innocent, charming sort of creature. She greeted them with warmth and enthusiasm. Out of the corner of Celia's eye, she noticed the duke giving her belly a close look, obviously trying to reconcile the letter she'd sent with her present un-pregnant state.
"Niccolo, when may I call on you?" the count asked the duke. "We have some business to discuss."
The duke's eyes flicked briefly to Celia before
he answered smoothly, "Tomorrow afternoon?"
"Tomorrow will do. I will see you then."
"Oh you must join us for our party tomorrow night," The duchess piped up, looking at Lucia. "I believe your father will be there. It would be lovely if you three would come as well."
"We would be honored," Lucia said with one of her rewarding smiles. Celia didn't feel nearly so generous, but she beamed her identical one as well.
"Wonderful, then it's settled," the duchess said warmly. "We will see you then." The duke was already leading her away as she spoke the last words. No doubt he was in a hurry to separate them.
After that, the dances began. Tomi appeared at Celia's elbow and invited her to partner with him. As he led her to the dance floor, he murmured, "Your father is relieved to see you are well."
"Did he tell you that?" she snapped. "Or is that just what you think a man who threw his daughter into the streets without a coin to her name ought to feel when he discovers that she's still alive?"
Taking her bitterness out on Tomi wasn't fair, but he was the closest person to her father, and the words flew out unchecked. She'd always been able to speak frankly with him.
"He didn't say it, but I can tell. He grieved for you. Terribly."
"I hope he did," she said bitterly.
"You lost the baby, then?"
"Yes." She pursed her lips. "You can tell him it was the strain of being beaten and raped before I found refuge with the count." She caught a glimpse of his shock at that, but the dance had begun, and they were separated, following the intricate patterns the dancers wove on the floor.
When they came together again, Tomi still wore a look of anguish. "I wish you'd come to me, Celia," he said. "I wasn't there to see it happen, but I would've done anything I could have to help you."
They spun away from each other again, and her eyes smarted with tears. She hadn't thought to find Tomi when her father had thrown her out. She'd been too stunned by the beating and the shock of being disowned that she'd simply stumbled away like the beggar she had suddenly become. Knowing that someone would have been willing to help her filled her with a sense of gratitude. The knife edge of her feelings about her life before and after that fateful afternoon dulled just a bit. Someone still cared about her after that moment. Not just her sister. One other person from her father's villa. Somehow, that mattered to her.
