by Henke, Shirl
The contessa's eyes grew merry. “You are a rogue, sir.”
“I am a man who knows what he wants,” he replied, his gaze traveling to Beth.
“Ah, but how ruthless are you in obtaining it…and to what end?” Her words hung on the air and her expression was once again wary.
Beth had watched the fencing between Vittoria and Derrick with a bit of bemusement. Whyever would her mentor, who had so long urged her to take a lover, object to a man like Derrick Jamison? She must assure her friend. “I shall confess something myself,” she interjected into the pregnant silence. “I am flattered that a gentleman would go to such lengths for the pleasure of dancing with me.”
“What greater pleasure could there be?” His words were suggestive, “And since they are striking up another waltz, would you do me the honor, Beth?” he asked,bowing as he extended his hand.
Sure of himself, the cheeky devil, the contessa thought, amused in spite of herself. “You had best start dancing lest trouble interrupt. Here comes Bourdin, his majesty's illustrious captain of guards.”
“How dare he even approach me after his conduct at the palace the other night?” Beth seethed with fury.
“The Frenchman who attacked you in the garden?” Derrick asked, eyes narrowed on the tall blond wending his way toward them. He was accompanied by a companion, also dressed in the elaborate gold braid uniform of Murat's palace guardsmen.
“Evon Bourdin, late a captain in Napoleon's Grand Army during its ill-fated invasion of Russia. He's a particular favorite of the king. I would not further antagonize him were I you,” the contessa cautioned.
“Even if he's an animal who tears the clothes off women in fits of drunken lust?” Derrick asked, clenching his jaw.
Vittoria was silent, but she eyed the Englishman with increased interest.
“As I tried to explain the other night, Derrick, I could have handled him, especially because he was drunk. The first time he attempted it, he was sober, and I put a six-inch gash across his right arm. It quite spoiled his lovely white uniform,” Beth said with equal parts disdain and loathing as she stared at Bourdin's pale narrow face. Turning back to Derrick with a smile, she added, “Although I thank you for your gallant dispatch of him in the garden, Vittoria is right. Further antagonizing him would be imprudent.”
“You could take his scalp, I suppose,” he suggested, attempting to cool his fury. He had been instructed by the British ambassador in Vienna to keep a low profile at Murat's court and make friends among his sycophants, not engage them in duels, he reminded himself.
“I'm wearing my weapon tonight,” she replied, her hand resting lightly on a beaded sheath cleverly concealed on the waistband of her dress.
“Good evening, Contessa, Miss Blackthorne,” Bourdin said with an oily smile. When neither woman offered him her hand, his insolence remained undaunted. “Surely you do not still hold my impetuosity against me, fair ladies. Beautiful women must be used to driving mere men to rash behavior. May I have the honor of presenting my superior officer, Major Carascossa?” The older man bowed politely as Bourdin continued. “He has been an admirer of the contessa for many years. Perhaps while they become acquainted, you will do me the honor of dancing with me.” His words were couched as a demand.
“Major Carascossa and I are already acquainted,” Vit-toria said with a cool lift of an eyebrow.
“I would not dance with you, Captain,” Beth replied, “if my only other choice were to stand still on burning coals.”
“Such spirit,” he said,reaching for her hand in spite of her clear refusal.
“I believe the lady has made her wishes known in no uncertain terms,” Derrick said in perfectly idiomatic French, stepping between them.
The captain turned to Jamison with a brisk nod. “I do not believe we have been introduced, sir.”
“Ah, yes, since you were groveling on all fours in the dirt at our last encounter, introductions seemed rather pointless. I am Derrick Jamison, late of London, at your service.” He watched with perverse pleasure as the Frenchman's pale complexion reddened with anger. So much for my low profile.
“You were the cur who slipped behind me—”
“As you were forcing yourself on a lady. And as for cur, you were the one on all fours. In any case, I'm facing you now, Captain.” Jamison's voice was a deadly purr.
“Captain, Mr. Jamison,this is neither the time nor the place for such a display,” Major Carascossa said, his French thickened by a Calabrian accent. His eyes moved meaningfully to the Duke di Arcovito and several other important Neapolitan nobles and French favorites at court.
“As always, dear Etore, you are nothing if not discreet,” the contessa said to Carascossa, ushering Beth and her Englishman away from the still red-faced Bourdin. “You have made a deadly enemy, signore,” she whispered to Derrick.
“One the two of you have already made as well,” he replied.
“You know nothing of Neapolitan politics. We are women, and women can manage things quite differently. I could have sliced his arm off right in the midst of that waltz and no one at court would have done anything but applaud me,” Beth said in an angry whisper. “Bourdin has a filthy reputation with women, which Murat ignores, but the queen would protect me. You she would feed to the lazzaroni. ”
“She is correct. As an Englishman newly arrived in Naples, if you were to have an altercation with one of the king's favorites, the best you could expect would be for their majesties to send you packing immediately.”
Derrick smiled at Vittoria. “Then I am in your debt, my lady, since the last thing on earth I wish at this time is to leave your beautiful country.''As he spoke, his eyes moved to Beth. “Perhaps it would be wise if we departed while the king's illustrious captain of guards is otherwise occupied?” he suggested to her, adding, “that is, if you and Mr. Turner have concluded your earlier discussion?”
“We have arranged to meet at sunrise the day after tomorrow at the Duomo so that I might see how he paints the light against stone,” she replied in acquiescence.
Vittoria, seeing which way the breeze wafted, silently sighed in resignation. With an amused smile, she said, “Take very good care with her, Signore Jamison.”
* * * *
They took his curricle back to the apartments he had let on the Via Roma. The view from his sixth-story window commanded the full sweep of the bay from the Castel Dell’Ovo directly below to Vesuvius smoldering on the southern horizon. A full moon bathed the city in soft white light and silvered the tips of the waves on the water.
“It is quite remarkable. I can see why you love it here,” he murmured in her ear, looking over her shoulder as they gazed out the octagonal window in the main salon.
Beth had always admired the handsome old building but never seen the interior of it. The main salon was furnished with spartan elegance, a sofa and Savonarola chairs, a few eclectic occasional tables and a large Venetian tapestry on one wall, but she was far too nervous and excited to take note. Instead she remained by the window,staring out at the bay as he poured them each a brandy from a cut-crystal decanter.
When he handed her a glass she willed her hand to remain steady and took a sip before replying, ”I felt as if it were my home within days of arriving. I think I shall never leave...except perhaps to visit my family one day.”
“But you would return?”
“Naples calls to me. How could I not answer?” she replied.
“You called to me...that first morning on the shore...like a siren of the sea conjured by my imagination.” He punctuated his words with soft, brandy-sweet kisses on her neck and shoulder, moving her heavy plait away for better access to the sensitive nape.
She shivered, growing increasingly uncertain of what she should do next. Heated kisses exchanged in a garden she had experienced with numerous men since coming to Italy, but she had never allowed matters to progress further than that. Never had she wanted to...until now. Remember what Vittoria taught you, she repeated to herse
lf as he turned her into his arms.
She took a sip from her glass, then offered it to him, turning the rim so he could drink from where her lips had touched. His eyes never left hers as he accepted the brandy, cupping his larger hands around her smaller one, guiding the rim to his lips. He kissed the edge of the glass before he drank deeply. When he returned it to her, Beth, too, kissed the rim where his lips had been, then drained the last sip, her other hand massaging his.
They stood swaying to the sound of a distant mandolin strummed by some lover serenading his lady on the streets below. He took the glass from her and threw it against the stone fireplace, murmuring, “No one else will ever share what we have this night.”
With that, he swept her into his arms and carried her
from the salon down a narrow hallway lit by flickering wall sconces into the large bedroom at the end. Moonlight spilled in from a set of small windows overlooking the large round bed, which sat on a dais elevated by three steps. Pillows were piled in front of the ornately carved walnut headboard. He sent them bouncing every which way as he pulled down the coverlet with one hand, holding her tightly against his body with the other arm.
“Lie back,” he commanded, easing her onto the snowy softness of sheer linen. Then he moved about the room, lighting dozens of creamy white candles, arranging them in a semicircle around the bed until the room glowed with rich warm light. If she had hoped her inexperience would be obscured in the dimness of moonlight, she now realized he would be able to see every inch of her naked body. Of course, she could see every inch of his as well. The thought sent fire singing through her veins.
Beth watched light and shadow play across the chiseled planes and angles of his face;he was strikingly beautiful in a completely masculine, virile way. Derrick's deep-set eyes were rimmed with long black lashes and punctuated by heavy slashes of eyebrow, his mouth firm and wide, his jawline bold and faintly darkened by his heavy beard.
When he bent over to remove his boots, that errant lock of black hair tumbled onto his forehead. Moving with pantherish grace, he approached the bed, pausing at the first step. One bare foot rested on the top of the dais as his hungry eyes swept over her. Although Beth had posed as a nude model, she felt self-conscious lying back on a mound of pillows, still fully clothed. Did he expect her to disrobe in front of him? As if in answer to her question, he stepped onto the platform in one swift stride and sat down beside her, reaching for her foot.
Raising it slowly, he slid her buckskin skirt up her leg, then unlaced the thongs on her high moccasin, sliding it off her foot and tossing it to the floor. His hand curved around the arch of her bare foot, massaging it. “I feel like purring,” she breathed softly.
He chuckled, repeating the process on her other foot. “Oh, I intend to make you purr, puss.” His fingers caressed the delicate flesh of her inner thighs until she gasped in pleasure. “Such a responsive pussycat,” he murmured, taking her hand and pulling her up into his arms for a soft series of kisses across her face and neck. Then he leaned back and whispered, “Unplait your hair for me.”
Trembling with excitement, she reached up and tugged the fat braid over her shoulder, unfastening the beaded thong and working her fingers through the heavy silken mane until it blanketed her shoulders. She could feel his hot eyes burning her even though she did not look up until she had completed the task. “Is this what you wish?” she asked softly, daring to raise her eyes to his once more.
“God, yes,” he said hoarsely, then knelt on the bed and pulled her up against him, his arm holding her tightly as his mouth claimed hers in a deep, hungry kiss.
Beth was dimly aware of her belt being removed and the shoulder ties of her gown being unfastened, but when he slipped the top of the heavy buckskin down her arms, baring her breasts to the cool night air, her lethargy evaporated. Once before she had felt the heat of his mouth on a nipple. In anticipation, both globes tingled, their tips hardening into nubs that ached for his touch. Ever so lightly, he cupped one in each hand, lifting, running his thumbs over the incredibly sensitive nipples until she cried out incoherently, arching against his caresses, desperate for more.
“Your mouth...I want your mouth...” she said with a boldness she never imagined she could muster.
“And I will taste; but you as an artist understand that first my eyes must feast,” he murmured before lowering his head to take one deep pink bud into his mouth, teasing it with the tip of his tongue, suckling deeply until she moaned and dug her fingers into his hair, pressing him closer. He moved between her breasts, murmuring praise for their perfection.
Beth's head dropped back, her eyes closed as she arched into his caresses. At length he slid his hands over her ribs to span her waist, pushing the buckskin gown lower. His mouth followed, the tip of his tongue swirling and teasing her navel as he worked the soft leather over the flair of her hips. As the gown pooled around her legs, they knelt facing each other on the bed. He cupped her buttocks in his hands, kneading their firmness, murmuring, “Is it an American custom for ladies to wear no undergarments—if so, I heartily approve.”
“Only the Indian women,” she gasped as he buried his fist in her hair and tugged gently, nuzzling her throat.
“Then I heartily approve of your red kinswomen,” he replied between kisses.
She could feel the crisp abrasion of his chest hair against her bare breasts, and lower where his hips rocked hers in gentle rhythm, she could feel the pressure of his erection. That male mystery she had studied in art anatomy books but had never seen in an aroused state, although Vittoria had described it in considerable detail. Some primal instinct led her to rub her pelvis against the protuberance until he growled a low oath.
“I think we're finished with seduction, or I'll not be able to contain myself for your pleasure, love,” he whispered as he laid her back on the bed, then stood up and began to disrobe.
She watched as he tore off his shirt, and the muscles of his upper arms and chest flexed and rippled. A light dusting of black hair covered his forearms and a heavier pattern of it veed down from his chest to vanish beneath the waistband of his pants. Her eyes followed avidly as he unfastened the buttons of his fly and started to tug off the tight breeches.
The sun had bronzed his upper body as darkly as the olive-skinned men of the Mediterranean, but his lower parts were much paler. Every inch of him was lean, powerful and graceful. He was utterly magnificent. Her eyes traveled to his engorged staff, jutting proudly from the thick black hair at the base of his pelvis. He reached down and stroked it lightly, murmuring, ”A poor thing, but mine own.”
She could see one pearly drop of semen glistening on the tip. Licking her lips, she replied in a raspy whisper, “Not poor...beautiful...oh my, yes.”
Derrick grinned, looking into her heavy-lidded eyes. The candlelight brought out the golden flecks in their depths. Her mouth was slightly parted and her breath erratic, her body writhing on the sheets, eager for him to join her. He placed one knee on the edge of the mattress and then leaned over her, arms straight, bearing his weight as he gazed intently into her face. “This is going to last all night,” he vowed.
Chapter Six
His weight bore her into the soft mattress as his mouth claimed hers. This time the kisses were not gentle but deep, his tongue plunging in and out of her mouth, a harbinger of that other more intimate penetration to come. Beth felt his knee press between her thighs. Vittoria had explained to her that the first time could hurt a woman a bit, especially if her lover were not careful to make her fully ready to receive him. After his long seduction she could not imagine how she could be made to want this coming together more. “Now, Derrick, now...”
“Your every wish...” he murmured, rising up, trembling with his own long-suppressed need. She opened her legs, clamping them instinctively around his hips as he pressed the head of his shaft at her portal, rotating it to spread the creamy moisture on her nether lips. She was so hot and ready.
Slow. He had promised
it would take all night. Well, perhaps the first time might go quickly, but the night was long and he would not leave her. He plunged inside of her with one smooth, slick glide, feeling her incredible tightness...and just the faintest hint of a barrier being breached. Did he imagine her body recoiling the slightest bit? But when her arms and legs clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, thighs pressed against his hips, all thought ceased. Pure animal instinct took over. He began to stroke deep and strong, holding an even pace to prolong the exquisite pleasure of their joining.
The first penetration did hurt. But it was little more than a swift pinch, instantly forgotten in the wonder of being stretched and filled with his hard hot flesh. So this is the mystery of men and women, the two becoming one, an end to the ache caused by desire. Beth gloried in his powerful body laboring over hers, hard against soft, dark against pale, hairy against smooth. She sought his mouth for another kiss, this time catching the rhythm of his thrusts above and below, kissing him back even as her hips began to arch and rotate in the dance as old as nature itself.
What began as pure wonder over new sensation, joy in intimacy, soon changed as the heat of slick flesh gliding over slick flesh created a growing pleasure that defied any description, was unlike anything she had ever before experienced in her life. Slowly, gradually, it built—and built. Had he not said it would last all night? As the ecstasy grew stronger, she became uncertain if she could sustain such a surfeit of pleasure without dying of it. Yet there was something...just out of her reach...something she strained toward, worked for, craved with every fiber of mind and body.
Derrick crooned, growled, groaned low words of love and sex, praise for her beauty and the pleasure she was giving him, all the while holding off, waiting for her to reach culmination. Then at last he felt the first faint tremors quivering through her body and with a lusty sigh gave in to his own release.
The craving intensified until Beth was certain she would go mad, and then the contractions began, wrenching her with their incredible sweetness, searing her with their intensity. Her whole body shook and bucked. She cried out his name and dug her nails into the bunched muscles of his back, suddenly aware that his body was shaking, too. His spine stiffened as his staff swelled even more tightly within her, releasing life deep against her womb, intensifying her pleasure a thousandfold.
