Betrayed by His Kiss

by Amanda McCabe

  Yet there had been something in her eyes as he drew away from her, something that tugged at his memory and his senses now. Could it be possible...?

  Orlando frowned as he swallowed the last of the wine and tossed aside the goblet. The liquor flowed through his veins, bringing a measure of warm forgetfulness at last. It mattered not who the woman was, or what she wanted from him. His heart was gone now, leaving him hollow.

  He shed his shirt and fell across the waiting bed. He could only pray his dreams would cease to haunt him for this one night...

  Chapter Seventeen

  The palazzo was silent as Isabella tiptoed out of her chamber. Almost eerily so, as if the night had closed its dark tentacles around them all and put them under a sleeping spell. The salon was deserted, shadowed, scattered with empty goblets, wilted flowers, and greyhounds fighting over the remains of the feast.

  Isabella shivered. Surely there was nothing sadder than the remains of a party when everyone had left. All of Florence had felt like that when she took Caterina away. Would Fiencosole become just such another place now?

  Her stomach tightened painfully as she remembered the blood and terror of Florence. Her life had always been about art, about making the world more beautiful and more orderly. Now she had set out to take all of that apart, just as the Pazzi had.

  Isabella glanced over her shoulder back to the darkened staircase. She didn’t feel like herself that night. It was as if she hovered somewhere high above, watching as she moved through the deserted halls. She didn’t know herself any longer, didn’t know the world around her.

  But she had set her course when she held Caterina’s hand and promised her she would take care of things. She had to finish it. She had to discover the truth, about Orlando and Matteo. About herself.

  She closed her eyes for an instant, remembering the look on Orlando’s face when he turned away from her behind the tapestry. Had she gone mad, or did he, could he, miss her? Regret what happened? Mayhap all her feelings in Florence had not been mere imaginings. Mere fancies.

  But why, then, had he done what he did at the cathedral?

  Isabella stiffened her shoulders and her resolve. She would discover it all tonight. She drew the hood of her cloak closer around her face and hurried onwards.

  The corridor where the page told her Orlando’s chamber lay was as silent as the rest of the palazzo. Torches in their sconces flickered, lighting the way. The rich tapestries on the walls muffled any sound at all, except for a quickly cut-off gasp and cry from behind one of the doors. But it was not from Orlando’s chamber.

  His room was at the very end of the corridor. Isabella’s stomach still hurt and she could hardly breathe. For an instant, she longed to flee, to forget all of this had ever happened, but it was far too late for that now.

  She reached out and gently pushed the door open.

  The window was half-open, letting in stray silvery beams of moonlight that fell across the polished floor. It was a small space, but grand, with carved furniture, a painting of a serene, blue-draped Madonna on the panelled wall and a damask curtain at the window.

  Isabella turned away from the Madonna’s sad smile and found the large bed set up on a dais. One candle was lit on the table beside it, casting shadows on the green curtains.

  A tangle of dark garments lay atop a clothes’ chest at the foot of the bed and the embroidered curtains were half-drawn back. In the moonlight, she could glimpse a pale, rumpled sheet and one hand flung out. The long, elegant fingers she remembered all too well were curled into a fist, as if he fought even in his dreams.

  Her feelings were so confused in her. She longed for him and hated him all at the same time.

  She forced herself to breathe, pushing away her fear and gathering an icy-cold mantel around herself. She drew out the dagger she had hidden in the folds of her cloak and crept closer to the bed. She would have her answers tonight—one way or another.

  She stepped up on to the platform of the bed and reached out for his hand. Time seemed to slow down, taking on a hazy quality.

  Suddenly, everything sped up horribly. The hand that had seemed so still, so restful, shot out and grabbed her wrist hard. Pain shot up her arm like a fire-tipped arrow and she cried out in shock.

  He dragged her down on to the bed and his free hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her screams. She stared up at him, wide-eyed, suddenly sure that this was the end.

  She couldn’t see his face. The glow of the candle was behind him, casting a halo over the tumble of his sleep-rumpled dark hair, the gleam of the bare skin of his chest. His fingers tightened on her wrist until she went numb and let go of the dagger.

  ‘Who are you?’ he growled. ‘Who sent you?’

  Isabella shook her head. She could say nothing with his hand over her mouth. The movement dislodged the hood of her cloak and it fell away from her face.

  Shock wiped away the fury on his face. ‘Isabella?’ he said roughly. His hand dropped from her mouth. ‘What are you doing here? I thought perhaps it could be—but I would not have thought you so foolish.’

  ‘I saw you!’ she cried, all her anger and confusion tumbled together inside of her. ‘In the cathedral. Matteo...’

  Suddenly, the full horror of what had happened that day, and of what she had just done, crashed over her. A sob escaped her lips and she turned her head to the side so she couldn’t see him. So he couldn’t see her shameful tears.

  ‘Isabella...’ he said, his voice confused. ‘You saw what happened?’

  All she could do was nod.

  ‘It was not what you thought,’ he said. ‘I swear that to you.’

  ‘What else could it be? I saw you stab him. Were you somehow in league with the Pazzi?’

  ‘Never. I only confronted Strozzi about—about something that happened a very long time ago. I tried to get answers. What happened was not planned.’

  Not planned? Did that make the violence better or worse? In his surprise, his hold on her had loosened. She struck out at him with her fists on his bare shoulders, his chest, all the emotions of so many long days and longer nights flooding out of her. Once he had made her hope, made her want him, and now that made her hate him.

  ‘I hate you!’ she cried out. ‘You were not what I thought. You were not—’

  ‘Isabella!’ He grabbed her hands and held them to the bed. ‘Isabella, stop now and listen to me.’

  But she was beyond listening. Beyond rational feelings. Too much had happened. ‘You bastard! You...’

  He bent his head and stopped her furious words with his mouth hard over hers. His tongue slid deep into her mouth and his hands were hard on her body as he dragged her closer to him.

  Shocked, Isabella struggled against him, anger and desire battling inside of her. But his kiss was too overwhelming, too perfect, and she found herself holding on to him just as hard. Opening her mouth to him, tasting him deeply. The anger and the need flooded over them both, drowning them.

  She slid her hands down his bare back, scratching his warm skin with her nails. He felt so hard, so strong, under her touch. He groaned and his kiss turned rough, nothing held back now. He forced her head back as his tongue plunged deeper, sliding over hers. She met him with equal fire, her arms wrapped around him, her nails digging into his back. She wanted the pleasure and the hurt all at once.

  He tumbled her down onto the bed, among the rumpled blankets, and her skirts fell back from her legs. His mouth slid from her lips to her throat, her shoulder, the tip of his tongue tasting her skin. She shivered at the sensations every touch sent soaring through her.

  ‘My god of the Underworld,’ she whispered.

  ‘If you stay here with me, you may never see sunlight again,’ he moaned against her shoulder.

  Somehow, she knew the darkness suited her now. Everything in the
world had changed and she didn’t know it any more. She didn’t know herself. Her hand slid down his back, over his lean hip. He was naked under the bedclothes and she revelled in the feel of his bare skin. Her fingers skipped over his manhood. She had seen them before, on statues and in paintings, but it was wondrous to touch one. So hot and hard, like satin over burning steel.

  He went perfectly still above her, his breath harsh in his throat. ‘Do you like this?’ she whispered.

  ‘Too much,’ he said hoarsely.

  Isabella laughed, a glorious new feeling of power taking hold of her. She grew bolder, sliding her touch down his length, feeling him grow even harder under her hand.

  But he pushed her away. She had no time to think, to wonder what might happen next. He pulled her gown away from her shoulders, leaving her body bare to him as the muslin fell from her back, her legs.

  ‘You smell like roses,’ he said.

  She shivered as he bent over her again, touching his lips to her shoulder, the soft curve of her breast. His hands tumbled the pins from her hair, letting the heavy black mass fall free over his pillows. He stared at it as if entranced as he spread it over the pale linens.

  Isabella could only watch him, unable to breathe or think. She could only feel. He was so very beautiful there above her. How could he ever be capable of evil? Nothing felt evil now. It was all too right. Too glorious.

  His kiss traced over her bare body, light, teasing caresses, touching here and there, never lingering, until she moaned for more. Then he did something terribly shocking. He knelt between her legs and softly kissed the bare skin just at the top of her thigh.

  ‘Orlando...’ she gasped.

  ‘Shhh,’ he whispered against her. ‘Just let me.’

  He traced the seam of her womanhood with the tip of his tongue before he plunged deep inside and tasted her very essence.

  Isabella cried out at the pleasure. She had never imagined there could be anything like that in the world! When she came there that night, she didn’t know what would happen, what she would do. She only knew she had to find answers. Now it seemed she had it—and it was nothing like she could have ever imagined.

  Suddenly, she was not afraid any longer.

  The pleasure threatened to overwhelm her. She caught his soft hair between her fingers and drew him up again so she could look into his eyes. She could read nothing there but a passion, a need, that answered her own.

  He braced himself over her, his arms stiff at either side of her, and she could tell he held himself carefully so he wouldn’t crush her with his strength. But she wanted him closer, so close she could lose herself in him and not have to face the real world again.

  She wrapped her legs around his lean hips and tugged him closer to her, until their bodies were fitted together, softness to strength. His skin was so warm, damp and satin-smooth over his hard muscles. She traced a caress over his taut back, his bare backside, revelling in the way he felt. The strength of him. Godlike in truth, capable of such destruction and such pleasure all at once.

  ‘Orlando,’ she whispered, just to hear his name. She pressed her lips to his shoulder and tasted the salt of his sweat. How she craved the heat of him, to warm her after she had been cold for so long.

  ‘Isabella,’ he said roughly. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and she could feel his harsh breath against her. ‘I know I should not do this. That I have wronged you too much. But I cannot hold back any longer...’

  ‘I know.’ She drew in a shuddering breath, and the scent of him was all around her, intoxicating. That dark essence of him she had craved ever since she first saw him.

  He kissed her neck, his mouth open and hot, sliding over her shoulder again as if he wanted to taste her just as she did him. His mouth opened over the curve of her breast. ‘I have never known anyone like you,’ he said.

  ‘Nor I you. Our sins must be meant for each other, then,’ Isabella whispered, hardly knowing what she was saying. She could think no more.

  He pushed aside the loose fall of her hair to kiss her ear. She felt the rush of his breath, the gentle bite of his teeth on her soft earlobe, and it made her shiver. She arched up into him, her hips brushing the hardness of his erection. The proof of his desire for her.

  His kiss pressed to that sensitive spot just below her ear, making her gasp. ‘Do you like that?’ he said against her.

  ‘I feel as if I’m falling,’ she said truthfully. Falling down and down, into a place she didn’t recognize at all.

  ‘I will catch you. Just let yourself fall, bella.’

  So she did. She dared to leap out into the unknown into the sparkling mist. She traced her hand down his naked chest, his back, feeling every inch of his skin. He shuddered when she touched his manhood again. It hardened even more and she closed her fingers around him.

  He shuddered and pushed her hand away. Before she could protest, he touched her, his thumb tracing the wet core of her, making her cry out. She spread her legs wider, letting him feel all of her desire.

  This had to be, she knew that. Fate had been leading them here ever since they met, whatever came afterwards. Orlando seemed to feel that, too.

  He gently parted her folds with his fingertips as he knelt between her legs. His hips gave a twist and she felt a sudden stretch and burn as he slowly entered her. She gasped at the unfamiliar friction, that new sensation of fullness at their joining.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he whispered. He went very still, his arms rigid as he held himself balanced above her. His back tightened as if he would pull back from her.

  ‘No!’ she cried. ‘Don’t leave.’ Her legs closed hard around him, holding him with her so she could feel more and more. Feel them fully together at last.

  The ache was fading as her body grew accustomed to his, leaving only that delicious fullness and a faint, faraway glimmer of something she could not quite grasp. Something wondrous, that she sensed she could only have with him.

  He drew back one slow, tantalizing inch at a time, almost sliding out of her before he flexed his hips and plunged deep again.

  ‘Oh,’ she gasped as he did this again and again, moving faster and faster. That tiny seed of pleasure inside her grew, flowering and expanding until her whole body seemed to come to fiery life, ignited by the feel of his body in hers, joined to her in every way. She instinctively learned his rhythm, moving with him, the two of them perfectly together.

  The whole planet seemed narrowed to only his body in hers. Behind her tightly closed eyes, she saw sparks of gold and silver, shimmering, and a humming began in her ears, like the music from the dance. She just wanted more and more, wanted this to go on for ever.

  Then all her thoughts and feelings, everything she was, flew apart in an explosion of fiery stars. She felt like she was soaring into the sky, her old self burning up until she could emerge anew.

  Above her, Orlando shouted out her name as his back arched. He pulled out of her and she felt the damp warmth of his seed against her hip. He collapsed beside her on to the bed, their arms and legs entangled.

  Isabella slowly sank back down to earth, those stars still scattering around her. She had never felt so light, so tired, so very confused. She did not know what would happen tomorrow, or even in the next moment, but being with Orlando had been inevitable.

  Beside her, she heard the ragged rhythm of his breath, the heave of his chest as his own release slowed. She opened her eyes and rolled carefully on to her side to study him in the flickering candlelight. His eyes were half-closed and he did not smile. This was not a moment for smiling, though. It seemed to be a moment when everything changed.

  ‘Do you still want to kill me, Isabella?’ he asked hoarsely.

  Shocked by his words, she shook her head. ‘I do not know,’ she answered truthfully. ‘I do not know what I want now, what I should do. Once I thoug
ht I knew what was right. But now...’

  ‘What is right is always complicated,’ he said.

  And so it was. Everything that had happened in Florence had turned all she thought she knew upside down and now she was sure she lived in a different world. An Underworld, where he was the lord.

  But her body felt sure that what had just happened was right. She softly kissed the corner of his mouth. ‘I cannot kill you tonight. I must return to my room.’

  ‘Not yet, surely. It is still deepest night and there is much I have to tell you,’ Orlando answered.

  Isabella propped herself up on her elbow to study his beautiful, starkly elegant face. How she wished she could read him, as she could other people. But he hid from her artist’s eye all too well. ‘I think there must be.’

  He pushed himself up off the bed and walked naked to a table by the window, laid out with a platter of fruit and ewers of wine, silver goblets. She studied the powerful line of his back, his long legs, and she longed for her sketchbook. Maybe in art she could capture him, but she feared even then he would be far from her. Unreadable.

  He came back to the bed, two goblets in his hand, and he handed one to her. She sipped at the wine, which was soft on her raw throat, and tried not to look at him. Looking at him was much too overwhelming. What had just happened between them still seemed too raw, too unreal.

  ‘You will know the truth soon enough, Isabella, I promise you,’ he said.

  Isabella tried to nod, but suddenly her head felt too heavy to hold up. The room grew blurry and the goblet fell from her suddenly numb fingers. Orlando caught it and she felt his arms come around her to ease her back to the bed.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said.

  Then she realized what had happened. That he was truly a villain after all and she had been the greatest of fools. She tried to cry out, but the room faded to deepest black.