A Chance to Dream

by Lynne Connolly

  The door opened. He didn’t look up, expecting his valet to take the untouched tray of food away. Something alerted him. The scent perhaps, a light floral fragrance any valet would despise. He got to his feet, the light chair he was using clattering to the floor behind him. “Violetta!”

  Forgetting everything else he went to her, folded his arms about her and sought her mouth like a drowning man seeking air. She asked nothing, said nothing, but joined with him, her arms going around his back, her face tilted up for his kiss.

  He sank into her. He needed her, more than his title, the lands he’d fought so hard for, his respectability. His life. She gave him what he needed. He would never let her go. Never.

  He lifted his head, brought up his hand to cup the back of her head. “I’m only complete when we’re like this. You’re my other half, my love, my life.”

  She gave a shaky laugh that seemed to degenerate into a sob. “I only came because you were ill. Was this to draw me to you?”

  “No, love, but I can’t be sorry you came. I had matters to think over.” He pressed another kiss to her lips, briefly this time. “Now I’m in turmoil again. Come and sit down.”

  He released her only long enough to help her to the sofa by the window, before he sat down and settled her in his arms once more. It was only then he noticed she was dressed for bed, in a loose, frothy gown of clear ivory and who knew what underneath. Her hair was braided. He lifted it, to feel the fine, silky strands. She chuckled. “I claimed a headache, too. Lisette got me ready for bed and left me with a book. I don’t doubt she’ll return before long, and raise merry hell if she finds me missing, so I haven’t long.”

  Forgetting everything but her presence he murmured, “Can you come back later? Can I come to you?”

  “Maybe.” She breathed the words when his tongue caressed the delicate skin behind her ear. “I’m supposed to keep you at arm’s length.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re betrothed.”

  “Oh God!” He stared at her, recalled to the present. Her eyes opened wide at his expression of horror and she drew back. He pulled her back where she belonged; into his arms. He nuzzled her hair with his lips. “I have to discuss that with you, love. I’d rather talk it over with you like an adult than leave you with no explanation at all.”

  She lifted her head. “What do you mean?”

  “I asked Judith to release me today. She would not.” He swallowed, but even this didn’t seem as bad when Violetta was here.

  She reached up to caress his face.

  He kissed her fingers. “She confirmed what you once suspected. She wants women. I told her I wouldn’t countenance infidelity and she laughed at me, said I needn’t worry about that. I thought you were seeing things, imagining things that weren’t there, but you weren’t.”

  “Will she release you? Can you use it to persuade her?”

  He shook his head. “No. There’s no law against it. I can make things difficult, but—oh, Violetta, I’ve been such an idiot!”

  She moved closer, smoothed her hand over his jaw. “No, no you haven’t. You tried to make the best of things, that’s all. You thought I’d revealed my face in my mother’s salon, but I did not. Another woman did that, not me, with my mother’s connivance. I didn’t know I was definitely coming here until a few days ago. It would have been too late then.”

  He grimaced, then lifted his hand to cover hers, to prevent her taking it away. “He’s been playing gooseberry for days. We only eluded him for the first time that morning.”

  “If we’d been earlier—“

  He interrupted her with a gentle two fingers placed over her lips. “If Ripley hadn’t been so assiduous I could have been tied hand and foot by now. So far the contract’s only verbal. I still have a chance to escape from it honourably, but I need to think. That’s why I’m really alone tonight.”

  She kissed his fingers and he smiled, before dropping his hand to hold her waist. “What can you do?”

  “Ripley’s agreed to delay the contract to give me a chance.” His control wavered, but he continued. “I’ll talk to Perdita tomorrow. Perhaps she might be able to help in some way. So far I’ve hardly had any private meetings with her. Judith’s always been there.”

  “Oh, poor Orlando!” The cry came from her heart, and it broke him.

  He pulled her close, as close as he could, feeling her warmth, her comfort. His breath came shakily. “I don’t care any more. You could be the daughter of the pope and I’d still want you. I love you, Violetta, and I want you more than I’ve wanted anything in my life, but I won’t ruin this chance for you if you wish to take it.”

  She gave him a watery smile. “You may have already done that.”

  He stroked his hand over her hair, bound up in its nighttime braids. He began to fiddle with the end of one of the braids, unravelling its tight neatness. “I know. But, Violetta, I can’t be sorry.” He glanced up at her face. “Besides, if you’re a Palagio, your rich suitors might be persuaded to overlook a discretion.” He paused, concentrating on his task, letting the silky fine hair slip through his fingers, slowly working his way up to the top. “Your father was rich and powerful.” He looked up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Would it have made a difference?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “Not to the way I feel about you.”

  She swallowed. “My father is dead now. He can’t come back to claim me.”

  He saw the echo of fear in her eyes. “What happened?”

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. “I was five when my mother ran away. It was all she could do. It was only when he turned on me she took me away. He wanted to—he said if she didn’t do what he told her he would give me to his friends. It was vile, Orlando!”

  Bitter tears fell from her eyes, and he dropped the braid and pulled her close, stroking her back and hair, numbly listening. “He forced her to do things she’s never told me about, but I’ve spent plenty of time thinking. She did it all, to save me, to stop him hurting me. Papa was a powerful man and there was no one to gainsay him, not for many years. He hated Mama because she didn’t give him a son. His mistress gave him two.”

  Confusion warred with the shock. He put two fingers under her chin and pushed her head up so he could see her face. Her tears poured down unchecked, tears he wanted to kiss away, to help her forget what she had seen, what she knew. He pulled her close again and let her sob. His mind whirled. How could a woman like that be satisfied with her lot as a London courtesan? La Perla must have been powerful, important once, more than most women in England, yet she had suffered abuse here, been reviled. His reluctant admiration for her went up a notch.

  There was still a chance of Violetta being found out as La Perla Perfetta. He would protect her with everything he possessed, even if it meant his own downfall, the collapse of everything he’d worked for. Nothing else mattered now. Only protecting Violetta from further hurt, caring for her as she deserved.

  “Where are your brothers and sisters?” he asked gently. It was something that had been taxing him for some time.

  “Gabriella’s children? My father’s mistress?” She lifted her head presenting a face that was more child than woman. Distress had scoured all her sophistication away, leaving her open and vulnerable. She sniffed. “She took them to Rome, to my uncle. He protected her from my father, and after a few years she moved on to a nobleman in Naples. I suppose they must be there. Mama and I thought it best to leave them alone.”

  The world rocked under his feet. “You’re the daughter of the Conte d’Oro.” It was a statement, not a question, an effort to understand.

  She stared at him, her beautiful eyes wide. No tears now. “I always thought I was Ripley’s daughter. I couldn’t bear to think of anything else.”

  “I know.” He kissed her gently on her lips. “I thought so too. I spoke to Ripley. He says he didn’t become your mother’s lover until she came to England with you, when you were three year
s old.

  “So I would end up with my own Lady Ripley if I married Judith.” He leaned forward, hands on his knees and bowed his head.

  She stayed silent, sitting so still and quiet he had to look to make sure she was still there. “Judith has laid determined siege to me, with the encouragement of my sister, but she has no sensuality, no desire for me, only for the title.” He took her hand, caressed her fingers. “One night. Give me one more night, Violetta. One night of dreams, of love. Then we’ll decide what to do.”

  The burning look she gave him was pure desire. “How can any woman not want you?”

  His spirits soared. Despite everything he had someone, someone wholly his. “Come here my love. Let me show you how much I want you.”

  She went willingly, with the generosity and wholeheartedness he adored about her. Once Violetta had given herself, she continued to give, and wouldn’t hold back. He understood now what she had tried to tell him after Richmond. It was all or nothing.

  He gave himself without stint. Lifting her in his arms he crossed the short distance to the bed and laid her down on the turned back sheets. Her hands went to her head and she busied herself undoing the remaining braid while he loosened her gown. It fell away from her with a sensuous slide of rich silk, the lace flounces catching on the clean white linen. He swept it up from under her and dropped it in the general direction of the sofa. Then he crossed the room and locked the door. He turned back. He could see her body, glimmering past the bedhangings, past the mahogany bedposts. She waited, and he looked and finally made up his mind. He wasn’t going back. “I’m not letting you return to your room tonight. I want you all night, to love and to sleep in my arms. Let this be a pact, Violetta. I’ll not let you go. Not now, not ever.”

  Throwing his banyan on top of her gown, he began on the buttons of his shirt, pulling it over his head and dropping it to the floor. Violetta raised herself up on her elbows. He made a sound deep in his throat, almost a growl. She watched intently as he shed the rest of his clothes. Breeches, stockings and shoes went in an untidy pile on the floor, with his undergarments.

  Before he went to her he locked the connecting door, the one to his dressing room. He doubted anyone would try the jib door, the one leading to the servants’ quarters, but he was past caring about that.

  He joined her, climbing onto the bed and stretching out beside her, without touching her. Violetta reached out for him. He dragged her close, sealing their bodies all the way down, feeling a surge of sensation as all senses were assaulted by her closeness, by her presence.

  Nothing more than this would serve. No one other than she. He lowered his mouth to hers and counted himself lost.

  Violetta was no passive partner. She went to him and when he drew her close moved to push him on his back, rolling over him, giving him delightful access to her back and her bottom. He couldn’t bear his lips to leave hers, taking her with a determined onslaught, giving her his tongue, taking hers, caressing her in smooth strokes of his hands down her delectable body.

  Desperation lent them a passion they had not been aware of before, fuelled by their separation. She sat up. He watched her take his shaft in her hands and guide him to her entrance. He watched her take him. Then he looked up and their eyes met.

  “This is how it should be.” The words, breathed in a low, sighing breath stirred her, stirred him. He lifted his hands to her breasts, and watched her arch back, pushing them into his hands, inviting his touch, his caress. The nipples were hard buttons against his hands. He lifted his knees and she leaned against them.

  The sight filled his eyes. He breathed deep, savouring the heady scent of their lovemaking. Together. When she gasped and sat up, alarm in her face he stilled, but couldn’t dispel the clouds of sensuality surrounding them. “What—what is it?”

  “Oh Orlando, I haven’t—I didn’t—I thought you were ill. I didn’t come to seduce you and I didn’t—“

  After their recent conversation it was ironic that this was only their second experience of unprotected sex. He knew he should stop, but he could not. Orlando had always been in control, always been able to bring his willpower to bear, but it was beyond him now. “No matter,” he gasped. “We’ll have to leave it to God. I can’t, Violetta, I can’t stop now.”

  “Neither can I.” The confession was made on an outbreath as she leaned back against him.

  It would have to serve. They would cope. Somewhere deep inside, where Orlando couldn’t usually reach, a primitive instinct growled its satisfaction. To give her a child. The knowledge, dangerous though it was, flashed through his mind and he knew, whatever the risks, he would welcome any child she gave him, be it idiot or genius, athlete or invalid. And it would give him more leverage to persuade her to stay with him. The businessman in Orlando purred in triumph. He always liked to have the better hand in any deal and this meant more to him than any other. “Give me your hands.”

  “What?” Wholly lost in him, Violetta lifted her head. They looked at each other, smiled.

  “Your hands.” She lifted her hands from their resting place on the bed and slipped them into his outstretched ones. It made the intimate act deeper. Sunk within her, the act of trust and love gave him pause, made him lift his head. “Look at us. Look at where we join, my love.”

  She looked. Her hair slid over one white shoulder. She stared, fascinated at the point where they became one, then lifted her chin and met his gaze once more. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, it is.” His voice had softened and lowered. He gripped her hands. “Now pull hard.”

  She pulled on his hands, as he’d asked and shattered. It gave him the purchase he needed to thrust deep inside her, deeper than he’d ever been before. He felt the pulsations, gripped, pulled and thrust. Watched her cry out, arch so that the only part of her body touching his legs was the back of her shoulders, pressed against his knees. He planted his feet firmly on the bed, gripped her hands and pushed, kept on pushing, lost in her. “Dear God!”

  It was his turn. The bed canopy seemed to spin as his world shifted. He heard her cry out once more as he erupted inside her, felt his whole being drive into hers. For that moment, that untimeable moment, they were truly one. One feeling, one need, one love.

  As the tremors died away he pulled her up into his arms. “Sweetheart, love, dear heart, how can I live without you, without this?”

  All she could say was a breathless, “Ti amo, ti amo,” repeated sotto voce until her voice died away. She snuggled close. She slept. Orlando watched over his lady, held her and thought.

  He was not altogether surprised when someone tried the door and relieved when they went away. It must have been his valet or a footman, collecting his dinner tray. The light outside began to soften and fade. Orlando lay still, holding his sleeping princess, willing the night to go on forever. Perhaps Violetta’s maid would find her missing. If so that would expedite his desire to marry her. He wasn’t about to wake Violetta, to avoid that fate. Eventually he, too, slept, exhausted by thinking to no end. Comforted by her presence he slept better than he had in a long time.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Goodness!”

  Violetta sat bolt upright in bed, only to feel her lover’s arms pull her back down into the warm nest they’d created together. “I didn’t expect to stay here all night.”

  “I said I wanted you all night.” His voice was a sleepy murmur. He tried to settle her for more sleep. “The doors are locked. Nobody can come in.”

  “Lisette will know I wasn’t in my room last night. She’ll tell Aunt Virginia and she—”

  “She will make me offer for you, something I intend to do in any case. Be quiet and go back to sleep.”

  It was too late. Violetta was awake. The dream had gone. Last night she had decided what they must do, and she was determined they would do it. “No. I’m going back to my room. But before I do I have to tell you something.”

  He opened his eyes, meeting hers in a caress as intimate as a touch.
“Good morning, my love.”

  “Good morning.” She leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips but drew back before he could seize her and deepen the embrace. She didn’t want her senses completely befuddled by desire. Or rather, she did, but she couldn’t afford them to be. She leaned up on one elbow. He smiled up at her, so Violetta couldn’t help but think how wonderful he looked newly woken from sleep, hair in his eyes, the scent of their lovemaking about them. “I won’t marry you, Orlando.”

  His eyes snapped open. “Yes, you will. We’ll find a way.”

  “No. Think, Orlando. There’s more at stake than two people’s happiness. You have tenants, employees, business partners, all of whom depend on your good name for their prosperity. We can’t ignore them, can we?”

  He sighed. “No.”

  “If we create a scandal all those people will suffer. You’ll lose your good name, and a lot of business.”

  His soft, slow smile found its way through to her heart. “After last night, it’s possible you’re pregnant. I’ll insist on marriage then.” He stretched and folded his arms behind his head. His naked arms.

  “I want you to talk to Lady Judith again. Tell her the real situation.”

  “About Miss Lambert, La Perla Perfetta?”

  She nodded. “If you have to.”

  “That won’t persuade her. It will merely give her ammunition.”

  “Tell her. Or I’ll go to Italy and you’ll never see me again.”

  She flung back the covers and got out of bed, taking her time finding her wrapper. She slid her arms into the sleeves and drew the garment around her, hearing his reluctant sigh of regret. “Do it for me. Do it for us.”

  She left him.

  Violetta found him later in the day in the garden. He was sitting in a small summerhouse, his hands clasped loosely before him, staring at a bird on the lawn beyond. “Well?” She stood in front of him. He saw her and she saw his face lighten, his expression change to something softer, more loving.

  “She said no. Again.”

  “I thought she would.” Violetta walked to the end of the pavilion and looked back. Now it came to it she was filled with profound sadness. This would be the end of her hopes for respectability, for someone, something of her own. “Did you tell her the whole?”