Francesca (19 page)

“You know how to play to the crowd,” Rafaello growled low at her.

She turned a dazzling smile upon him, and, reaching up, touched his face. “I was born to be your
duchessa
,” she told him.

He caught her hand and kissed it. “I can play the game too, darling.”

The crowds below them went wild with their delight at this show of affection between the newly wed and now newly crowned duke and his
duchessa
bride.

“If you do not come to me tonight I shall complain to your father,” she told him sweetly. “He wants grandchildren, and it will be difficult to give them to him without some cooperation on your part,
darling
,” she purred at him. “Give me a half-dozen or so of sons and daughters and you may go back to your mistress or whatever it was that kept you from our bridal bed.”

“And you may go back to your rough woodsman, then, for all I care,” he answered her coldly, though his lips were smiling for the benefit of the populace.

Francesca gasped with her surprise, but then she said, “I am no wanton, my lord. You will find me a virgin if you will bother to get into my bed and do what you should. I never betrayed you with another man, nor would I even, given the opportunity. Like you, I have my pride. I will never allow doubt to taint your heirs. If you had taken the time to know me instead of just choosing me because the French girl was such a bitch and Louisa was in love with another, you would have known it. But you picked me for your bride only because I appeared to be the only unblemished fruit in the basket you were offered!”

He led her down the cathedral steps, setting her back upon her palfrey before mounting his own animal. Her words stung him because they were true. His father had forced him into choosing a bride because God only knew Rafaello wouldn’t have himself, for he was having too much fun as a bachelor. A man without a wife could hunt and wench and drink until dawn. A man with a wife could hunt as long as he brought home game for dinner, and before dusk. He couldn’t wench with anyone but his wife unless he was a complete cad, which Rafaello wasn’t. And as for drinking with boon companions until the sun came up, well, a married man had to bed his wife and beget heirs.

Born late to his parents, he had been spoiled and indulged. When his mother had died he and his father were even closer. Rafaello was glad of that, for Duke Titus was an intelligent man and a great wit. It had pleased his son to emulate him. But his father knew him too well, which was why he now found himself with a beautiful wife who hadn’t wanted to marry him at all, much to his surprise. Girls always wanted to marry him. Francesca hadn’t, however. She had even run into the forest to escape him and their shared fate. Only good fortune had kept her from a wretched end, and she had come upon the huntsmen’s winter inn. As they now rode through the town returning to the castle and another day long feasting on too-rich foods and too much wine, Rafaello Cesare considered what had followed when they had learned Francesca was safe.

“She doesn’t want to wed me,” he had told his father. “Send her back to her family. I’ll find a wife eventually.”

“Hah!” his father had said scornfully. “I know you better than that, Rafaello. No, we made a mistake in rushing the girl. She is proud and strong, but like all women she wants to be appreciated for her finer qualities.”

“I appreciated her pretty breasts and sweet lips,” he had answered his sire, only to receive a cuff to his head.

“She is like any other girl, my son. She wants to be courted and perhaps even fall in love. But if she doesn’t fall in love, at least let her know you like her, you enjoy her company, you are proud to take her as your wife.”

And it was then Rafaello Cesare had taken it upon himself to spend the winter months at the inn in a persona he had sometimes affected since his late teens, when one day he had joined a party of his father’s huntsmen as Carlo, who usually lived so deep in the forest he was more legend than truth. Now and again over the years that followed Carlo would appear among the woodsmen, always welcome, for he easily fit in with them. He could bring down a deer with a single arrow, a skill they all admired. He paid his small gambling debts with them and was an honest friend to all.

Only Alonza knew his true identity, for she had once been a castle servant and had tenderly cared for Rafaello’s mother when she lay dying. Duke Titus had been grateful to the faithful Alonza and had offered her anything she desired. On her suggestion he had seen the inn in his forest constructed to shelter his huntsmen in winter, and because she asked it of him, Duke Titus had put her in charge of the inn. Alonza explained to her master that she had had an older brother who had once been one of the duke’s huntsmen. Caught in a bad winter storm with no shelter to be found, he had died, his decaying body not found until the following spring. But thanks to Alonza, the duke’s huntsmen now had a safe shelter for the winter months.

And last winter the mysterious Carlo had joined them at the inn, where Alonza had a pretty new servant helping her. Rafaello had been fascinated to see the proud Francesca he had so briefly known shed her lofty persona as she learned to cook and clean. She even seemed to enjoy what she was doing. He was particularly impressed when Alonza had fallen ill and without any complaint Francesca had nursed her while managing the inn by herself. And his companions, always eager to bed one of Alonza’s helpers, had shown only respect for the feisty girl, while he had fallen in love with her.

He might have considered himself fortunate, for she had returned his affections, but he had not been able to decide how to reveal his identity without drawing her anger.

And she would have been angry at having been tricked. Women, he had learned, did not enjoy having their delicate emotions toyed with by anyone, let alone a man.

The Francesca who had wed him so dutifully yesterday did not love Rafaello Cesare, her husband. She loved Carlo, a poor huntsman, and the new Duke of Terreno Boscoso couldn’t figure out a way to reconcile the two for her. He had thought to reveal himself when he had crept into her bedchamber last night in his disguise, but instead he found a dutiful woman who would not betray her lawful husband even for the man she loved. Part of him was well pleased at her sense of honor, but as he exited her chamber through the window to get back to his own chamber, he found himself also disappointed. He had considered making passionate love to Francesca, revealing himself at the crucial moment as he captured her sweet innocence. But then he actually considered the sense of shame and betrayal she would feel at having yielded to her would-be lover only to discover he was actually her husband. Jesu! What was he to do?

They clopped over the castle drawbridge and into the courtyard, where a servant had Francesca down from her saddle even before Rafaello could dismount his own stallion. He helped his father instead. Inside the hall his new mother-in-law was preening as if she had been crowned
duchessa
and not Francesca. He wondered how soon they would leave Terreno Boscoso to return to Florence. It would be rude to ask, of course. He suspected that Francesca would not object to seeing her parents depart.

The days seemed to drag, unlike their wedding day, when everything had gone so quickly. At one point Rafaello had slipped from the hall and found his way into his father’s gardens. To his surprise he saw his wife sitting quietly upon a marble bench near a small fish pond. He quietly joined her, saying, “The hall is too noisy and full of stinks.”

“I like the smell of the gardens better too,” Francesca answered him, “but I think I liked the forest best of all. The air is cleaner, and the sounds natural, purer.”

“I suppose while we are so newly wed no one would mind if we went off to be by ourselves for a short while,” he told her. “My father could manage for us. Don’t you think? He certainly has the experience.”

Francesca turned her head to look at him. “You like the forest?”

“Very much,” he replied. “I have been running off into it ever since I was a boy. I like the freedom of it.”

“As duke you will not have much freedom now,” Francesca noted.

“I know, which is why I believe we should take this opportunity,” he said.

“Run away?” Her green eyes twinkled with humor.

“Why not? I am the duke. Can I not do as I please?”

“I’m not sure,” Francesca admitted. “I’ve never been wed to a duke. I think you must first consider what is good for the duchy before you act upon your own impulses.”

Rafaello laughed aloud. “I think it would be a very good thing for our duchy if you and I slipped away after our long separation. My father has a little hunting lodge deep in the forest. We might go there for a few days. Just you and I. No servants.”

“How will we eat?” she asked him.

“I will hunt. You will cook,” he said.

Now it was Francesca’s turn to laugh. “Perhaps we can bring some food with us. Bread, cheese, meats already roasted, wine. Enough for three days and nights. Would you not rather spend your time with me than out in the forest, hunting our supper? Would you leave me alone by myself?”

“Let us go now while all the rest of our guests are more involved in eating our food, drinking our wine, and gossiping,” he said. “And when we return they will all be gone. Perhaps even your mother and father.”

“Oh, especially my mother,” Francesca said. “My father I can tolerate, but my mother must return to Florence, where she may regain her strength and then begin to consider an even richer and more important husband for my next sister, Lucianna,” Francesca said mockingly. Then she continued, “We must tell your father that we are going so he will not worry about us, and we must arrange for the food to sustain us in the next few days, and we must dress appropriately, for I have no intention of going into the forest in my coronation gown. As for any beasties you would hunt, they would laugh themselves to death at you in your fine blue and gold ducal garments. How near is this hunting lodge? It is already afternoon.”

“If you can dress quickly, my
duchessa
, then we shall just be able to reach it by sunset,” he promised her.

Francesca rose from the marble bench where they had been conversing. “I will meet you in the stables,” she said. Then, turning, she hurried away from him.

Rafaello remained on the bench, considering what had just happened. Perhaps all was not lost. Was it possible that alone together in the forest, they might reach some sort of détente? Or would she be thinking of her huntsman? Was that the real reason she wanted to return to the woodlands? In hopes of finding her lover? But of course Carlo hadn’t really been her lover at all, and he was Carlo. How was it he was jealous of himself? It was ridiculous. If he daren’t tell her of the ruse he had played on her, then he would simply have to turn her girlish passion away from Carlo and to him. Rafaello laughed aloud at the ludicrous position in which he found himself. There is no fool, he thought to himself, like a man in love.

Returning to the castle he avoided the noisy hall and hurried upstairs, calling to Fidelio, his manservant, so he might change his clothing. He signaled to Matteo and when the servant came quickly to his side, he said, “Go and find my father in the hall. Tell him I would speak discreetly with him now. Then escort him back to me.”

“Yes, my lord duke,” Matteo said, and Rafaello looked startled briefly. Matteo grinned cheekily at him.

Rafaello laughed. “I am, aren’t I?” He chuckled as Matteo ran off. Fidelio was awaiting him, and said nothing when his master asked for hunting clothes. “My bride and I are going to the forest lodge for a few days before we take up our duties,” he said. “Pack lightly. There will be no servants accompanying us.”

“Of course, my lord duke,” Fidelio responded, as if this were an everyday request. “Shall I send Piero to notify the stables you will want two horses saddled and ready?”

“Yes, and tell them not to put a sidesaddle upon my wife’s horse. She will want to ride astride,” he said, hoping that he was right, for when she had run off into the forest she had been astride. The forest was no place for a woman to be dainty. Even as good a horsewoman as he knew Francesca to be.

He dressed quickly in woolen breeches, a chemise that served as a shirt, a sleeveless leather doublet. He pulled on his boots over woolen socks. Tucked a sharp knife in the leather knife case attached to his belt.

Fidelio handed him a cloak. “It could rain,” he said. “Piero has taken a saddlebag with your essentials to the stables.”

The apartment door opened and Duke Titus appeared. “My wine is so good that your absence has gone unnoticed, except by
Signora
Pietro d’Angelo, who has complained to me that she did not raise her daughter to be rude to her guests,” the older man said.

“Francesca and I have decided to go to the forest lodge,” Rafaello said. “We will remain a few days.”

“Have you told her?” Duke Titus asked his son quietly.

Rafaello shook his head. “No, and I don’t really know how to tell her. She fell in love with Carlo, and now I must turn her love from the huntsman who doesn’t really exist to me, because I love her.”

Duke Titus nodded, chuckling. “I must tell you, Rafaello, that I find your situation quite comical. Even I know if you tell her the truth right now she will be furious with you for perpetrating such a jest upon her. I think it is better you make her fall out of love with Carlo and in love with Rafaello. Francesca was ripe for seduction when she ran off last autumn, and a rough hunter certainly offered her something different than a civilized and proper suitor. Perhaps you need not be so mannerly with her now that she is your wife. Overwhelm her with the passion you feel for her. Push aside her maidenly fears, for despite her Florentine sophistication Francesca is still a virgin, my son.”

“You know women far too well, Father,” Rafaello teased his parent.

“And now that it is you who are the duke of this wee country, I shall again indulge my taste for variety. Discreetly, of course, but I am not dead yet, by any stretch of the imagination, my son. I will give you a week—no more. Then you must return and pick up the reins of your government, Rafaello, so I may have the time to enjoy my old age.” Duke Titus bowed to his son, and then, turning abruptly, departed his presence.