He wanted her more than he had ever wanted anything in his whole life. He wanted her even more than Casa dei Fiori and its estate, more than the glory of winning the Palio. But he wouldn’t be tainted by her convict sensibilities. She may be beautiful. As beautiful as Titian’s Venus of Urbino. But her beauty was only skin-deep. She’d never be good enough for him. Except here, on this tightly-stretched canvas where he could mould and shape her as he willed.
He knew he must stop for the day. He could, he believed, paint for weeks without a break, so eager was he to finish the picture. To have her completely in his possession. But the rational part of his brain told his heart and soul that it would be madness to continue for another minute. It was important he paint only when he was at his freshest. The work must be as perfect as she was.
Reluctantly, he cleaned his brushes and neatly ranged his paints so they would be waiting for him when he started again in the morning, as soon as the light was right. Only then did he go to the old, noisy refrigerator and gulp a carafe of cold water. He didn’t feel hungry, for food at least, but he knew he must eat, if only to retain his strength for his project. He gobbled several figs, a bunch of grapes, the heel of a loaf of bread that was almost stale.
Tonight was the ball in Fortezza Rosa and he half hoped he’d go there with Claudia, walking down the hill to the village at sunset and perhaps not stumbling back to the cottage until dawn, as they had in previous years. But she didn’t seem to have returned from Siena.
Realising he was hot and sweaty from his day’s work, he stripped out of his clothes and stood under the cold shower. His body wasn’t used to being confined within four walls all day and he felt restless. Damn it, he decided, he would go to the ball with or without Signora Silvestro. There’d be plenty of single village girls only too happy to dance with him.
Tonia and Annabella climbed a little-used spiral staircase to the attic. Annabella had never been up so high and gasped in delight at the view from the turret window as they went up, up, up. As a child, it would have seemed a fabulous adventure to come here but her one visit to her great-grandfather’s house had been too full of other even more exciting activities for there to have been even one day left to explore the villa.
The housekeeper took from her belt the big bunch of keys that hung there and examined them thoughtfully. It was obvious she hadn’t been here for years because it took her several seconds to select the one that unlocked the heavy, arch-shaped door.
The two women stepped through a curtain of cobwebs into a dome-ceilinged room where dust-motes danced in the late-afternoon sunlight. Grimy dust-sheets were draped over items of furniture – old lamps, a harp, a rocking-chair and, incongruously, a Welsh dresser. Annabella flew to the window to admire the bird’s-eye view over her now neatly-weeded and supported vines while Tonia walked slowly around, trying to ascertain which of the many trunks might contain the dress she was seeking. She opened several before she found the right one, exposing to sunlight Venetian lace tablecloths that might not have been seen for centuries, a mangy mink coat, boxes of costume jewellery and untidy heaps of shoes. There were gloves of every colour and fabric, photograph albums full of sepia pictures, stacks of fine china and Murano glassware wrapped in ancient, crumbling yellow newspapers. The air became sweet with the mix of ghostly perfumes released from these treasures. Lily of the valley wafted from the mink, roses from a silk scarf the colour of wisteria blossom, musk from the gloves, vanilla from a cashmere shawl.
Annabella abandoned her window seat to pore over these moth-eaten treasures. The debris of her ancestors’ lives. Then she turned to look at the housekeeper as the older woman cried, “I think it’s here, Bella!”
Tonia was prising open a suitcase crafted of the finest pigskin whose quality had barely been diminished by the years. However, its catches were rusty and stiff with age but finally yielded to her proddings and pokings and, with a creak, snapped apart and allowed her to lift the lid, untrapping the scent of lavender that could have been picked yesterday. Annabella knelt down beside Tonia as they looked inside. Layer upon layer upon layer of almost transparent tissue paper had to be set aside before, in triumph, the housekeeper lifted out the wonderful dress that Elisabetta had worn for her last night at Casa dei Fiori.
Annabella gasped at its beauty. It was of softest, palest eau de nil silk, a creamy colour that was almost green, almost lemon. The silk caught the dying sunlight and drank it in thirstily, becoming alive and seeming to ripple, bounce and lift like wavelets on a lake. As Tonia stood to allow her to see its whole length, the full skirt billowed out from the tiny waistband like seafoam. Annabella knew it would fit her perfectly. It could have been made for her by Rome’s finest couturiere. Shoe-string shoulder straps held up the bodice, on which hundreds of tiny sequins of silver, aquamarine, emerald and lapis lazuli had been sewn. The bodice was tightly-fitted and she knew without having to be told that it would flatter her figure as nothing she had ever worn before had done. The wide waistband was of the same silk, cut on the cross, and then the knee-length, bell-shaped skirt frothed out. Fifty-two years had passed since this dress had been touched by a human hand, yet it looked as wonderful as it must have looked for Elisabetta who, Tonia was telling Annabella, had been driven to Florence in the Bentley especially to buy it.
“So, cara,” Tonia asked. “You think it will do?”
Annabella laughed. “Do? I think it’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to wear it. Hang it in my room, Tonia, and I’ll go and bathe and wash my hair. I’m hot after our walk up the hill from Tomasina’s house.”
With that, she dashed down the spiral staircase and, flinging off her clothes as she went, ran into the bathroom where she showered, hardly daring to believe the wonderful dress would actually still be there when she emerged. She felt as if she were living a dream, with the most important ingredient missing. Alessandro. Yet, in this dress tonight, perhaps…
CHAPTER NINE
“You look fabulous, Annabella,” Umberto breathed as he watched her sashay down the stairs to the foyer of Casa dei Fiori where he was waiting for her. “The belle of the ball. I am honoured to be able to escort you.”
“Don’t be silly, Umberto!” she giggled. “It’s just an old thing that belonged to my grandmother. Tonia dug it out of the attic for me.”
“You don’t mean that. I can see it in your eyes. You adore wearing it, and so you should. You are a stunningly beautiful woman, even in jeans, but in this you are …”
“Divine.”
The deep voice was hoarse, almost a growl.
Annabella and Umberto turned to see Alessandro in the open front door. He was resplendent in a cream dinner jacket that hugged his broad shoulders and back and swung easily at his sides. Black trousers, beautifully cut and of the finest Italian wool, emphasized the powerful, lean length of his legs. On his feet, shoes so shiny they reflected the moonlight.
Annabella sucked in her breath sharply. She’d never seen him looking so compellingly handsome. She couldn’t bear to wrench her hungry gaze away from his dark, brooding eyes, the full lips that were slightly parted to reveal perfect white teeth, the stubborn jaw where even a recent shave could not entirely erase the blue-black shadow that bespoke his potent masculinity.
I want to make passionate, unrestrained love to you, his eyes declared as they unashamedly raked every inch of her body, lingering on the huge eyes, then the soft lips that trembled into an uncertain smile. They swept eagerly down and contemplated the rise of her breasts, before worshipping the ripe curves of her hips and buttocks.
I want to melt against you and feel the crashing of your heart against mine, her eyes divulged as she gripping the banister, feeling as if her legs would buckle under her. Was it normal to yearn to feel a man’s arms tight around you, she wondered, to long for the taste of his lips? She was sure it was not, because the sensation was so powerful she could barely walk. She really did feel as if she were about to
faint yet normally she was a strong, healthy young woman who could work all day in the hot sun and not be troubled in the least. Surely ordinary, modest women did not feel such desperate hunger?
She blushed deeply, ashamed of her lustful thoughts.
“Cara, are you all right?” Umberto asked, slipping his arm around her waist to steady her.
She nodded and tore her eyes away from those of her second-cousin, but not before she had seen the flash of anxiety in them, the fire of envy as the doctor claimed her.
“I wondered if I might take a lift down to Fortezza Rosa with you?” Alessandro stepped forward to ask the other man. “I saw your car as you drove past the cottage.”
“Of course, Alessandro,” Umberto said graciously.
“Is Signora Silvestro not back then?” Annabella asked her relative, regretting her question as soon as she had uttered it.
“No. She’s still in Siena,” Alessandro replied coldly, not daring to meet her eyes again. There was a limit to the number of cold showers a man could endure in one day and he’d well and truly exceeded his borderline already. He wondered briefly what Titian had done while painting his Venus. Had he been in a constant paroxysm of desire too? Perhaps he was lucky enough to have sampled those delights he had so eloquently recorded. Or maybe the great artist’s very frustration had been the secret to his brilliant work?
“Shall we go?” Umberto asked, leaving his arm around her waist.
“Yes, let’s,” agreed Annabella, anxious to be away in the dark interior of Umberto’s car, where her second cousin couldn’t scrutinize her.
“Is Tonia back?” asked Alessandro, leading the way to the driveway where the red Fiat waited and eager to seem nonchalant and in the mood for conversation, although he wanted nothing except to be alone … with the woman who was becoming an obsession.
“Yes,” Annabella told him, wishing her voice was steadier. “Tomasina is better, thanks to Umberto, and she walked home from the village with me earlier today. But as soon as she was dressed and ready for the ball, off she went again. We’ll see her there.”
Alessandro was stung by her praise for the doctor, yet glad he’d been able to make the elderly woman well again.
Umberto opened the front car door for Annabella and motioned for Alessandro to climb into the back. In a moment, they were motoring down the hillside, waving to small groups of people as they went. Most of the families who lived on small land-holdings within a ten-mile radius of the village attended the ball and many preferred to go to the village on foot, the pleasant walk part of the whole evening’s fun.
Soon Umberto had parked the Fiat near the church and the three of them were walking side by side into the square, where a piano accordianist was already playing foot-tapping tunes to an as yet small crowd.
Heads turned to watch the handsome trio enter the heart of Fortezza Rosa. The stunning redhead in her gorgeous dress, the tall, dark-headed Lothario on her left, the fair-haired man on her right, whose hand she clung to.
Because the two men were well-known to the locals, there were friendly shouts of greeting and even several wolf-whistles, the loudest from Carlo, despite the presence of his fiancée. Although Umberto had not long lived in the region, he was already popular, being the only local doctor. Umberto led Annabella to one of the small tables that had been placed around the side of the square and pulled out a chair for her, motioning for her to sit down.
“I’ll go and get a jug of wine for us, and perhaps something to eat,” he suggested before Annabella could beg to go with him.
Anything than to be left marooned with Alessandro. As the doctor disappeared through the thickening mass of people, she became painfully aware of her second cousin. Of the clean, pine-scent of his aftershave. The warmth that radiated from his taut body. She marvelled that she had ever been able to converse easily with him. Where was the child she’d once been? And where was the lovable boy-man he’d been? He’d notice her trembling like a leaf and think she was crazy. Thank goodness it was dark enough for him not to see how unusually pink her cheeks and neck were.
An old piano was being wheeled from one of the houses that edged the square, across to the other side. The two men pushing it shuffled past the table where the second cousins sat, and Alessandro moved his chair closer to Annabella’s to let them through. As he did so, his thigh brushed against hers and she felt an electric current bolt through her body, igniting every cell.
He felt it too and he drew his beautifully-cut jacket closer to his sides, the better to disguise his rampant, insistent desire for her.
Each sought desperately for something innocuous to say, but each was tongue-tied.
Umberto rescued them from their agonies by triumphantly placing on the table a tray which bore wine, glasses, olives, bread and cheese. By now, the square was full of noisy people and the first stars were appearing in the velvet sky. Someone began to play the piano and, as well as the accordianist, a violinist joined in. More and more of the villagers chose partners and were dancing exuberantly. The doctor poured three glasses of wine and they sipped and watched, their feet tapping to the irresistible music.
“Annabella, dance with me!”
It was an order, not a request and it was uttered with such urgency that she unquestionably obeyed, getting to her feet slightly unsteadily.
Alessandro, already standing, grabbed her wrist possessively and pulled her into the pulsing, throbbing crowd of people who were, at that moment, executing the tango in a hundred different ways. The music teased and crooned like a lover and Annabella knew she’d never be able to resist her cousin while it cajoled her into subservience. Still clutching her wrist, he dragged her against him with his free arm and they were caught in a fierce embrace. Pressed hard against his lean frame she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he wanted her. She knew exactly how badly.
But, despite longing to feel his nakedness against hers, she realized it would be wrong for her to give in to her physical yearnings when he was so contemptuous of her. She’d feel used by him and she wanted much, much more than that from Alessandro de Rocco. Her father worshipped her mother and her mother adored the man she had married. That was what she wanted too. Complete reciprocal love, given and received whole-heartedly. If she couldn’t have that she would rather be a virginal spinster all her life.
But it was thrilling to be held in his arms as he expertly whizzed her around on the cobbles of the village square, to know that every hard, powerful inch of this handsome, discerning, aristocratic man found her attractive.
Alessandro realized, as soon as her pliable body was in his arms, that he’d made a crazy mistake. He should never have given in to his wild impulse and asked her to dance with him. What had he been thinking? As it was, he fantasized about her every waking moment and for most of the night as well, torturing himself with imagining his lips on the pink-tipped luscious breasts, his tongue in the perfect whorl of her ear …. Ah! And now his fantasy was almost reality – almost. But not quite. And it was excruciating to be so near and yet so, so far from realizing his most cherished dream. It was, he knew in the small part of his brain that was able to be rational, better to imagine making love to her than to allow it to happen in reality, no matter how much he longed to. There would be no way the stunningly gorgeous Miss Smith, as he contemptuously thought of her, would ever live up to the ridiculously high expectations he harboured in his dreams of her. Yes, it was better to keep her in the realm of unreality. Otherwise, how would he bear the disappointment he was sure to feel?
But, he thought, as he spun her into the air and admired the way her eyes sparkled with the exhilaration of it, how delicious it was to tango with her! He was the envy of every man in that square and he was powerfully aware of it.
“Caro!”
Annabella fought the rush of nauseating envy the voice provoked.
The woman – the intruder – had stepped between her and Alessandro and was gripping his shoulders with her taloned fingers, having forced him
to relinquish his hold of Annabella.
“I’ve missed you so, so much, my darling neighbour,” Claudia continued. “I hope you missed me too, Alessandro?”
Alessandro raised his eyebrows sardonically. “You can see I’ve been managing to enjoy myself without you,” he said. “Even you must admit you’ve never seen my little second cousin looking quite so lovely.”
Claudia turned and swept scornful, black-kohled eyes over the younger woman.
“Pah!” she spat, swiveling her coiffed head back to Alessandro. “In that old thing? It must be at least fifty years old. It pre-dates even Dior, I’m sure. Now, be sensible, caro. You must be longing for some adult company, are you not?”
“You know I always enjoy your company, Claudia,” he answered. “But right now I am dancing with Miss Smith. Perhaps it will be your turn next.”
“Perhaps?” she sneered. “I can see I have my work cut out for me to get back into your good books. But you needn’t be jealous, my love. As it happens, when I was in Siena enjoying the hospitality of the Ferri family, my husband joined us. So I didn’t relinquish you for a younger man, Alessandro. This time, there is nothing to forgive me for.”
“What you do with your life is not my affair,” he told her. “Now, please, excuse me while I turn my attention to the music.”
The music. Annabella was stung. He could have said, Now please excuse me while I turn my attention to my cousin. But no, it was the music. Fiercely, she extracted herself from the arms he had wrapped around her after Claudia had stalked away.
Loving Venus (Sally-Ann Jones Sexy Romance) Page 9
