by Folsom, Tina
He swallowed hard. “Easy for you to say. Your wife is beautiful. Who wouldn’t want to—”
“Don’t say it,” Dante warned, his voice low and dangerous. “One word of disrespect toward Viola out of your mouth and I’ll toss you into the canal myself.”
Nico’s eyes widened instantly. Landing in the waters of the canal was a death sentence for any vampire. Their cells were so dense and solid that as a result their bodies were much heavier than water and therefore sank like a rock. He would drown. “My apology.”
“Apology accepted.” Dante nodded swiftly. Then his expression darkened. “Don’t think I don’t understand your plight. But we need this house. We need every single house on this block to build a sanctuary for us and our fellow vampires. The Guardians are on our heels, and without a stronghold affording us safety and security, our numbers will diminish. We need to be strong to fight them.”
Nico understood only too well. The Guardians of the Holy Waters, a secret society of Venetian noblemen and merchants, had made it their mission to eradicate each and every vampire in their midst. They had killed many of his friends in the last few years. It was because of this ever increasing threat that the vampires had decided to band together and purchase all houses on the block where Dante and Raphael lived, and to connect them with secret walkways, creating in effect one large fortress in which they could move around safely.
“Have we still not been able to glean any information from the list of names Lorenzo’s wife found?”
“I haven’t heard anything about Marcello having found the cipher yet.” Raphael gave a hopeful smile. “But he’s a smart man. I’m sure he’ll find something.”
Nico nodded. It had been very fortunate that Bianca, Lorenzo’s wife, had found a list with the names of the Guardians in her father’s house. It appeared that her late father had been one of them and prepared the list possibly in an attempt to use it to make a fortune. And for certain, any of his fellow vampires would have paid a pretty penny for it. However, it had turned out that the names were written in some sort of code that Nico and his friends hadn’t been able to decipher yet.
“Good. I hope so. I’d hate for us to be sitting ducks, not knowing who our enemies are.”
Dante let out a deep breath. “Patience, patience. But in the meantime, we have to continue what we’ve started. Enrico just bought the house at the end of the alley. Andrea is in the middle of negotiations for the house between ours and Lorenzo’s, and Carlo thinks he has a lead on another one. We’re making progress.”
Nico picked up the gaze his friend sent him and read the question in it. Could he be relied upon to do the right thing and take over Lombardi’s house despite the burden it came with? Nico felt perspiration build on his neck and felt the urge to pat himself dry but resisted it. He didn’t want to admit to his friends that the entire situation caused him stress. Instead he looked away and changed the subject.
“Maybe I should call on Marcello and see if he needs help. Four eyes see more than two.”
“Suit yourself,” Dante said, sounding slightly annoyed. “But your time would be better spent returning to your negotiations with Signore Lombardi. The man is clearly interested in ridding himself of the house and his daughter in one transaction, and there are plenty of men around who might find the offer tempting.”
“Tempting?” Nico snorted. “Marrying an old spinster whose face is so disagreeable no man in his right mind would want to be in her presence at daylight? I don’t see how that can be tempting.”
“Tempting or not, what’s your objection? You prefer the night anyway. Just blow out the candles.” Dante made it sound easier than it was.
“Just imagine she is somebody else when you fuck her,” Raphael advised. “You probably do that anyway when you visit your whores. So what’s the difference?”
Nico shrugged. Was there a difference? In the dark, weren’t all women the same? Well, maybe not entirely. They all tasted and smelled different. And maybe, just maybe Lombardi’s daughter had an agreeable smell to her. Then fucking her in the dark wouldn’t be as disagreeable after all.
Nico rose from his seat. “I’d better get going. There’s much to be done.” He walked to the door, then glanced back over his shoulder. “I trust you’ll be at my wedding?” When he saw both brothers’ jaws drop in surprise, he couldn’t suppress his grin.
“You already decided?” Dante asked.
“Of course. The house is worth it. The wedding is scheduled for Friday night. You’ll attend with Viola and Isabella?”
“That’s two days from now.”
“No need in wasting time. The quicker I get the ceremony behind me, the faster I can send her to the country.”
And that was exactly what he would do. He’d marry the ugly spinster on Friday night, consummate the marriage post haste and send her on her way to his estate by Monday. Despite his plan, Nico felt as if he’d made a decision which would change his life forever. But he wouldn’t allow it. Once his wife was safely tucked away in the country, he’d resume his bachelor life, fucking whatever woman he wanted and feeding from the sweetest blood available. Nothing would change. Nothing!
3
Nico had insisted on an evening wedding, and Lombardi hadn’t objected. The parlor of the home that would officially become his after the ceremony had been decorated with flowers. Furniture had been removed to make space for the wedding party. Nico had invited only a few of his friends, mostly so as not to raise any suspicion with Signore Lombardi. A man without friends was not to be trusted.
In addition to the brothers Dante and Raphael and their wives Viola and Isabella, Lorenzo had come with his wife Bianca. Both Marcello and Carlo couldn’t be dissuaded to stay away once they’d heard of his impending nuptials. The two bachelors were clearly here to gloat.
Nico nervously shifted from one foot to the other when he finally heard the bride’s footsteps on the stairs as she descended from the upper floor. He cast a look through the open door and saw her walking on her father’s arm. Her gown was of cream silk, making her appear as if she floated on a cloud.
His mouth went dry. This was Oriana, his bride? He looked back up the stairs to reassure himself that no other woman was following the procession. But no, the female on Signore Lombardi’s arm was the only woman apart from his friends’ wives.
Once more he shifted, this time not because of nerves, but to adjust his stiffening prick—for his bride was the most gorgeous woman he’d ever set eyes on. Her hair was a dark chestnut color and was piled high on her head, leaving her graceful neck bare.
Temptation coiled through him. He could see himself taking out the pins from her coiffure, allowing her hair to cascade over her pale shoulders while he dug his hungry fangs into her neck and thrust his insatiable shaft into her quivering sex.
As he tried to find some semblance of composure, a question penetrated his lust-drugged mind. Why was Lombardi so keen on marrying her off by practically throwing her in with the sale of the property? For certain, a stunning beauty like Oriana had suitors aplenty. What was wrong with her?
Still seething about her father’s orders to marry a man she’d never met before, Oriana did not turn her head to look at her future husband and instead stared at the priest who officiated the ceremony. She’d had no choice but to bend to her father’s will. He owned her, just like her husband would own her the moment the marriage vows were spoken.
At least while she’d been subject to her father’s wishes, she’d been able to circumvent his orders often enough: in secret and with the help of the second footman, she’d been able to conduct her scientific experiments. This was her life’s work. It had started two years earlier: one night after a masquerade, she’d returned home accompanied by her footman. In an alley, she’d observed a man bent over a woman as if he were kissing her neck. At first she’d been embarrassed and had looked away, but when she’d glanced back, she’d noticed that the woman’s neck was bloody. Shocked to the core, she’d fled fr
om the scene, her footman chasing after her, surprised at her behavior.
After a night during which she was plagued with nightmares about what she’d seen, she’d woken with a purpose: to prove that she hadn’t imagined the scene from the previous night. She had seen a vampire feeding from a human. For weeks she’d ventured out after dark, always accompanied by her footman, and had searched for the supernatural creatures, until one night, she’d seen one. She was certain now: vampires existed, and they were using humans without their consent. The far-away look in the eyes of the woman the vampire was feeding from was proof of it: he’d somehow drugged her so he could use her. Oriana had felt compassion for the young woman who was no older than herself. And then she’d recognized her: the girl was the maid her father had fired after a few pieces of linen had disappeared. Was she living on the streets now? Had she been easy prey? Her heart had clenched, and she’d searched for a way to help, but she’d been too afraid to approach, scared that the vampire would attack her too.
Ashamed, she’d returned home, and after a sleepless night, she’d woken with the determination to do what lay within her powers. She’d started devouring every scientific book she could lay her hands on and started her research. Now she was at a point where she had a machine which, if it worked, would alert her to the presence of a vampire.
When her father had found out, he’d been furious at first, claiming that it was no decent occupation for a lady. Luckily, he only knew that she was tinkering with scientific instruments—had he known she was trying to ferret out vampires, he would have locked her in an asylum for the insane.
Her father had started contemplating what to do to make her stop in her endeavors. Clearly, he’d found a solution: to marry her off to some rich gentleman, thus killing two birds with one stone. Not only would her father finally be rid of her, making her scientific interests her husband’s problem, he would also be enriching himself in the process, taking the money Signore Angelotti paid for her and the house to live a carefree life on the mainland.
Everything was working out perfectly, at least for her father and her new husband. She alone was carrying the entire burden. And as if the loss of her freedom wasn’t enough, she was certain her husband would insist on his marital rights and make her share his bed. The very thought of having to offer her body to a man she didn’t know and allow him to do whatever god-awful things he wanted was disgusting.
A shiver ran down her spine, and she felt herself sway. She was tempted to look at the man who now stood next to her, but she fought it. It would only increase her feeling of disgust further. Pushing down the bile that rose, she automatically answered the priest’s questions and repeated his words. She wanted no conscious memory of this ceremony and not be reminded of the moment her life would change irrevocably.
A husband—she’d never wanted one. She’d seen too many of the women she’d grown up with stuck in arranged marriages with older men in order to save their family’s waning fortune. She’d prayed to escape the same fate, but alas, her prayers had not been answered.
Now all she could do was bear her lot. But this didn’t mean that she would make it easy for her new husband. She could brush him off as if he were merely a dust particle on her pristine white gloves and make certain that after a few unsatisfying nights in her bed, he would seek his pleasures elsewhere. Maybe she should suggest he take a mistress so he wouldn’t bother her with his carnal desires. It was the best solution for both of them. After all, he’d agreed to marry her without even seeing her. It confirmed that he was only interested in the house, not in her. Surely, an arrangement by which he wouldn’t be encumbered by her presence, nor feel obligated to perform any marital duties, would suit him just as much as it suited her.
“ . . . by the power vested in me by God, I pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest suddenly said. “You may kiss the bride.”
For the first time, Oriana lifted her head and turned it toward the man standing next to her. Shock made her rock back on her heels, almost robbing her of her balance. The man she’d exchanged vows with only seconds earlier wasn’t at all what she’d expected.
He was young, perhaps only five to seven years older than herself. And handsome—extraordinarily handsome. Instantly her mouth went dry and her stomach quivered. Why had this man married her? Why would he possibly marry a woman he’d never seen? Something had to be wrong with him.
But she couldn’t continue her thought process, because her husband stepped closer, bringing his head close to hers. His eyes locked with hers, and the brilliant green in them struck her, sending another flutter through her core. She’d never been one to faint, had always despised the debutantes who did so at the slightest provocation, but now she herself felt as if her knees would give way at any moment.
Yet, she knew she wouldn’t fall because Nicholas Angelotti, the man who was now her husband, laid his hands on her waist and drew her against his body. His lips parted. Then he pressed them onto her mouth, kissing her softly.
She inhaled his masculine scent, drawing it into her body, opening her mouth in the process. As if seeing this as an invitation, she felt his warm tongue slide over her lips, licking gently before dipping inside her. It took her by surprise, so much so, that she instinctively gripped his shoulders. But instead of pushing him away from her, she pulled him closer.
Like a wanton woman, she tilted her head to the side, allowing him deeper access. A moan came over his lips as he danced with her tongue and explored her. She should be ashamed of herself for allowing him such liberties, but her body didn’t react to her commands. His kiss was passionate and seductive. It was indecent! Did all husbands kiss their wives like this? Her female friends had never mentioned anything like it. No, this was all wrong. She had to stop this. But her lips continued responding to him, relishing the firm pressure with which he captured her mouth, the seductive slide of his tongue and the sinful way with which his hands burned through her gown.
When the clearing of several throats entered her consciousness, he finally released her.
“Oriana, my sweet wife,” he said for all to hear. Then he bent to her ear and whispered, “I promise you, our wedding night will be more passionate—and last much longer.”
She gasped for air, shocked at his insinuation. At the same time, heat rose to her cheeks, making them burn as if somebody had doused her with scalding hot water.
“Signore!” was all she could exclaim.
When he pulled his head back to look at her, he smiled knowingly.
Outraged at his arrogance, she pressed her lips together. If he thought he could simply waltz into her life and turn her into a quivering female who would bend to his will, she would show him!
4
Nico couldn’t wait to see the back of his wedding guests as he ushered them out the door. Unfortunately they had taken their time and lingered after the ceremony, accepting the beverages his new father-in-law had offered. But finally, after what seemed like an eternity, not only his friends but also Oriana’s father had departed with his dreaded footman. Only the second footman, a maid, and the cook remained in the house.
In effect, he was alone with his wife.
Oriana took his proffered arm, and he led her to the stairs. Her face remained expressionless, and he could only imagine that she was afraid of what would happen in the marriage bed. As it happened, her mother had died many years earlier, and at the ceremony no elderly female relative had been present who could have talked to his bride about the goings on between husband and wife. It appeared Nico would have to explain things to her himself. Since he wasn’t in the mood for a lengthy conversation, he would have to show her instead. That prospect pleased him more than anything else.
At the top of the stairs, she motioned to the left, and he followed her indication until she stopped at a door.
“May I?” he asked politely and opened the door for her, letting her enter.
Nico caught a glimpse of the room. It was lit by several candles, and wa
rmth emanated from it, indicating that a fire was burning in the fireplace. But before he could peruse the chamber further, Oriana turned and blocked his entry.
“I bid you good night, signore,” she said with a quick bow of her head.
Taken by surprise for a split-second, he almost had the door slammed in his face, had he not reached out his hand and stopped her from shutting it. Jerking it open wider, he took a step into the room.
“Signore,” she protested, her cheeks flaming. “This is my chamber. Yours is next door.”
Nico sighed. It appeared he had more explaining to do than he expected. Exactly how innocent could this beautiful woman be? Was it possible that she knew nothing about the relations between married couples?
“I beg your pardon, my dear wife, but it appears you may have overlooked something. I can only guess that the lack of a mother has made you oblivious to the concept of a wedding night. Surely, were your dear mother—God rest her soul—alive, she would have explained to you about—”
“Signore,” she interrupted him with an icy voice. “Let me be clear, since it appears that a subtle hint from me will not suffice.”
Nico raised a surprised eyebrow, both at her tone as well as her words.
“You married me because you wanted to purchase this house and my father would only sell it if he could arrange a marriage at the same time. Neither you nor I are interested in this arrangement. Therefore, I propose that you and I carry on as before this unfortunate event and live together in quiet ignorance of each other. I shall play the obedient wife in public as long as you make no demands on me in private. I shall turn a blind eye to any mistresses you may wish to entertain and can assure you that you will find no fault in my virtuous behavior. I trust this is agreeable?”
