Francesca (20 page)

The young duke laughed. He had seen his father eyeing the ladies of their small court these past few days. There were some very toothsome widows he had no doubt his father would soon be approaching for companionship. They were ladies of means who would understand what the duke sought of them and be quite willing to share themselves with such a virile and charming gentleman.

Rafaello bid his servants a brief farewell and went directly to the stables, where he found Francesca awaiting him. She was garbed in tight leather breeches and a silk shirt. “No, not the white palfrey,” he heard her say. “I want the storm-gray gelding with the black mane and tail. Ah, here is my good lord. Quickly now!” She turned to greet him.

“They wanted me to ride that sweet dainty creature I parade through the town on, but she is not for the forest, my lord.”

“I agree,” he said. “The gelding is sturdier and will not suffer in the rougher terrain, madam.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the stable boy was hesitating, waiting for his master’s approval. “Did you not hear the
duchessa
, boy?” he said sharply.

“Do not dally. Fetch the gray. When your mistress gives you an order, you obey it.”

“Yes, my lord!” The boy ran off to quickly restable the white mare and saddle the big gray gelding Francesca wanted.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You are to be obeyed in all reasonable matters,” he told her.

“What if I am unreasonable?” she teased him.

“We will thoroughly discuss any unreasonableness on your part, madam,” he said to her seriously. “I prefer discussion. I do not want to have to beat my wife.”

Francesca looked genuinely startled by his declaration. “You would beat me?”

“You will never, I am certain, drive me to such uncivilized behavior,” he said with a wicked smile. “Will you, Francesca?”

She found herself shaking her head and saying meekly, “No, my lord, I will not drive you to barbaric behavior, for then I might have to respond in kind.”

Rafaello found himself laughing at her response. He had forgotten how quick-witted she could be, and remembered the many times she had bested the poor Aceline du Barry. He wondered briefly if her father had found a husband for her. She was a girl who needed a man’s guidance, unlike his new
duchessa
, who would have her own way, he suspected, in all she did.

The gray gelding was brought from the stables, and Francesca quickly, without any help, sprang into her saddle. “How much easier it is without all those skirts,” she said, gathering the reins in her hands and urging her horse forward.

Together they clopped across the thick wooden drawbridge, and cantered into the forest upon a narrow but quite visible path. Francesca remembered that was how she had come last autumn when she had impulsively run away from an impending wedding she hadn’t wanted. It had made no difference, however. They had just waited for her temper to cool, and now she was wed to the young duke.

They rode together for some time within the forest, the dappled sunlight pushing through the trees to enhance the beauty of the nature surrounding them. She followed Rafaello without asking questions, realizing after a time that they seemed to be going uphill. Ahead all she could see were trees. Behind them the forest seemed to close itself so that the path they traveled was no longer visible.

“How do you know where we are going?” she finally broke the silence to ask him.

“I’ve come this way ever since I was a boy,” he replied. “I was five the first time my father brought me. My mother was not fond of the forest. It frightened her. She preferred the open spaces of the land around the castle, where she might easily see the sky,” he explained. “I hope you aren’t afraid.”

“I don’t think I am afraid,” she answered him, “but having been lost in this place I have a healthy respect for your forest. Is it much farther?” They had been traveling for at least two hours now, according to the position of the sun, Francesca noted. The duke’s huntsmen had taught her to tell time by the sun the previous winter when she lived among them. It was, she decided, a good skill to possess.

“No, it is not far now,” he told her. Then the trees began to thin just slightly, and they found themselves upon the shores of a lovely lake. “Look on the far side of the lake, nestled in the hills. Can you see it, Francesca?”

She peered carefully, and then the lodge became visible to her eyes, but had he not told her where to look, Francesca wondered if she would have ever seen it at all. The construction of the small building was such that it blended in to the landscape around it.

They rode around the lake and then up a barely visible narrow path to where the lodge stood upon a promontory jutting out from the hillside and over the lake itself.

“There is smoke coming from the chimney,” Francesca said.

“A pigeon was sent to advise the caretaker of our coming,” he explained. “We do not leave this place unattended. One of my father’s former huntsmen watches over the lodge with his companion. We will not see them, but they will have prepared the lodge so it will be comfortable for us. First, however, we must stable our horses. It may be summer, but there are still beasts that will seek and attack a horse not stabled.”

Francesca slid down from her gelding, and, following her husband, led the beast into a small stable. She unsaddled it, rubbed the horse down, and then set him in a secure stall to eat and drink after his long journey. Her saddle and bridle she put neatly into a small alcove that seemed for that purpose, for Rafaello had set his gear there first. Then together they secured the stable door and found their way to the lodge.

Francesca didn’t believe she had ever been in so small a dwelling. It was simply a large room with a big hearth now blazing with a fire, an ample supply of wood set nearby.

There was a table, two chairs, and two benches. A small oven in the wall next to the fireplace; two black iron kettles, one large, one small; a shelf for their supplies; and a large bucket of water. In one corner was a large bed with red linen curtains that could be pulled about it for privacy. The bed was freshly made.

“Are you hungry?” Francesca asked him, and then answered her own query. “Of course you are. Sit down, my lord, and I will prepare us a small repast.”

He sat down and watched as she prepared a plate for him with half of a roast chicken, some buttered bread with a wedge of hard yellow cheese, and a peach she sliced for him. Then she filled the stoneware cup she had found with the pewter plates with some red wine for him. “Is it enough?” she asked him before she joined him.

“Aye,” he said shortly, and set about to eating the simple meal. And after the meal?

What then? He was going to have to woo her into the bed if their married life was to begin in earnest. He could not leave her as he had last night. They both knew this escape to the forest was for the sole purpose of consummating their union in the privacy that this isolated place could give them and that the castle filled with curious guests could not. Will she compare me to Carlo? he wondered jealously.

But what had Carlo done that he could not do the same, since they were the same? No! Carlo had been gentle, but had his conscience not overcome him he would have taken Francesca quickly to satisfy his own lust. Rafaello would not. No. He would arouse her slowly, slowly, until she was burning with her own desire and begging him to take her. He smiled wolfishly at the thought. Aye! What better way to show her that he was the master of their bedchamber.

“Why do you smile?” she asked him innocently.

“I am thinking of you naked in that bed,” he said, candidly enjoying the flush that suffused her pale cheeks. For all her sophistication she was still an innocent girl.

“Did you think of me naked last night when you did not come to our bridal bed?” she surprised him by asking. “I waited for you.”

“You fell asleep,” he countered, “and I allowed you to sleep, for I knew how tired you must be after the last few days.”

“I thought you were marrying someone else. I returned to see if my servants were still here so that we could return to Florence. I would not leave them behind. The priest belongs to my father’s household. The nuns are from a convent whose head is my mother’s kinswoman.”

“And of course Terza,” he remarked. “Oh, how she scolded us for your disappearance. She attempted to go into the forest to find you herself, but we stopped her. Then came word you were safe at Alonza’s inn, so we left you there to cool your temper, Francesca, but the entire winter she nagged us for not bringing you back immediately. She loves you dearly, my wife. Such loyalty in a servant is commendable.”

“So knowing I was in an inn of rough men, you left me there,” Francesca said to him. “What if one of them had seduced me? What if they had all seduced me?”

He laughed at her. “Alonza warned them—did she not?—that you were not to be touched. And I am told they all fell madly under the spell of your sweet charm, treating you as if you were a precious daughter and not some itinerant serving wench. Nay, you were perfectly safe the whole winter long, for your duties gave you no time to cause mischief even had you wanted to do so.”

“Certainly you do not think me some wanton?” Francesca said, a slight edge to her voice. Her green eyes glittered, narrowing as she glared at him.

“Wanton? Never!” he replied. “You have too much pride in both your father’s name and in mine to bring shame to any of us, Francesca.” He rose from the table, his meal now concluded. “Let me fetch some water to heat so we may wash the dishes up. There is a small well out back.”

“And after the dishes are done and put away?” she demanded of him.

“Then I am taking my wife to bed, as I should have done last night,” he told her. “My father wants grandchildren. Surely you do not want to disappoint him, Francesca. Do you?” Then reaching out, he pulled her to her feet and drew her close. His lips brushed hers lightly. “Remember that you swore before God to obey me, my beautiful wife, and so we will not dash my father’s dreams. Will we?”

“Nay, we cannot,” she agreed breathlessly.

Chapter 10

“T
hen I shall go and fetch the water for washing up,” he said, releasing her.

Francesca quickly reached out to place her hand upon the table lest she fall. Her knees were weak, much to her surprise. Rafaello was not her Carlo, but there was something about him that excited her. Since he was her husband it was certainly permissible that she indulge her curiosity. And the sooner, the better. She barely heated the water he returned with, then quickly washed the two plates, the stone cups, and the knives they had used. Then she washed her hands and face in the remaining water.

When she had finished and turned to find him, she saw he was already in the big bed. His clothing was neatly piled on one of the chairs. He had obviously undressed while she attended to the dishes. Certainly he did not expect her to undress before him, did he?

“Pull the bed curtains, my lord, and leave me a modicum of privacy, I beg you,” she said.

“Tonight,” he said in a quiet voice, “because it is our first night together. But never again. I don’t want you ever hiding yourself from me, Francesca.” The brass rings holding the curtains rattled as he drew the red material about the bed, shielding her from his sight.

Francesca undressed slowly, placing her garments neatly upon the other chair and leaving on her chemise. She had no hairbrush to skim through her hair, and debated undoing her tresses. She reached up, pulling the pins from her hair and unfastening the elegant chignon Terza had styled earlier. She would use her fingers to comb her hair, and braid it come the morning. She had not put a lot of thought into spending a few days away from the castle, smiling at herself for always expecting that everything she needed would be available to her. Even Alonza had supplied her with what she needed when she had spent time at the inn. I am obviously very spoiled, Francesca thought to herself with a little smile.

“Wife! I am waiting for you,” Rafaello’s voice called to her.

“I waited for you last night,” Francesca heard herself say sharply, and heard him laugh. “A woman needs time to prepare herself.”

The curtains on one side of the bed were pulled back. “Get into bed,” he told her.

“Is this how you speak to a maid?” she demanded of him, realizing that she was suddenly very nervous. This was not the wedding night she had envisioned. Actually did any maiden really think of her wedding night except with trepidation? Rafaello Cesare, duke of Terreno Boscoso, was her husband, but the truth was she barely knew him but for a brief time they had spent together almost a year ago. Now he expected her to get into bed with him and give his family babies as quickly as possible.

He saw the look on her face. It was not fear but rather nervous consternation. Of course! What in the holy name of Jesu was he thinking? This was not some woman of experience. For all her quick tongue and Florentine sophistication, she was still a girl. A virgin who had refused to betray him or his family to his alter ego. He held out his hand. “I forget how young you are,” he said. “How innocent.”

She stared at his outstretched hand. “I know what is expected of me,” she said proudly, her whole body stiffening with resolve.

“Of course you do,” he agreed, “but nonetheless the first time is frightening.” Sweet Maria. She stood like a little soldier ready to go into battle. He swallowed down his urge to laugh. “If I promise not to devour you in a single gulp,” he teased her gently, “will you share this bed with me, Francesca?”

“Now you are making fun of me. If I flung myself upon you and demanded you do what must be done, would you find that more to your taste, my lord?”

“Nay. Actually I find your reticence charming and quite appropriate given the circumstances. But certainly you are getting cold standing there in your chemise and bare feet, Francesca. What needs be done will eventually be done. Make no mistake about that, for we both understand our duty to our family and to Terreno Boscoso. But we have a great deal of time in which to accomplish what may now seem onerous to you, and I believe by the time we are done I will have changed your mind as to the nature of bed sport between a husband and a wife,” Rafaello told her gently. “Come now, and take my hand, Francesca.”

She could avoid him no longer without leaving their shelter. Her curiosity was niggling at her. From all she had heard or overheard in her life, making love was not really so terrible once a girl rid herself of that troublesome thing called her virginity. Did she really want to continue to avoid this marital obligation? Was she that much of a coward?

Her mother did not complain about her bed sport, and her elder sister had certainly been eager enough to partake of it with her Turkish prince. Reaching out, Francesca took the hand he offered her and allowed him to draw her into the big bed.

He kissed her gently and then slowly undid the small ivory buttons holding her chemise closed. Pulling the fabric away from her, he gazed with rapt delight at the two round young breasts revealed to him. Though she made no attempt to stop him he could see her pale cheeks grow pink. At first he did not touch her. He just looked at the seemingly flawless twin spheres. Their perfection was broken only by their rosy nipples.

Briefly Rafaello considered their child nursing upon those sweet teats, but then he considered that before any baby tasted her flesh he had to, or he would expire with his own longing for her. His dark head bent to kiss the plump sweet flesh that tempted him. As his lips neared their goal he could actually see the fluttering of her heart in the small valley between them. He stopped and looked up into her face.

Francesca had shut her eyes tightly in her embarrassment as he stared at her bosom. She didn’t know what she had expected, but this slow and measured behavior was not at all what she believed he would do. She wasn’t certain of what she had thought him capable. She wasn’t certain she was even breathing right now. Then his voice startled her in its demand.

“Open your eyes, Francesca,” he said.

“I can’t if you continue to stare at my breasts,” she told him.

“But your breasts are beautiful,” he replied, smiling at her shyness. She had not been quite so shy with Carlo, as he recalled it. But then she had fancied herself in love with the huntsman. She was not yet in love with him. “As your husband it is my right to admire you, and I am certain that you know that.”

“It is our duty to make a child, my lord. The church tells us that the coming together of a man and his wife is solely for that purpose so that we may perpetuate the holy Catholic faith,” Francesca said primly.

He refrained from swearing. Certainly her mother had said something of the delights to be had when a man and his wife made love. He couldn’t believe that Orianna Pietro d’Angelo had dutifully bore her husband seven children without a modicum of pleasure. But perhaps she hadn’t spoken to Francesca. Mayhap she had believed that keeping the girl totally innocent was better.

“Making love,” he said to Francesca, “can be whatever you make of it, Francesca. It can be dutiful without emotions of any kind, as the church would have it. Or the coming together of a man and his wife can be a joyful time, with each of us admiring and appreciating the other’s finer points.”

“You believe my breasts to be my finer points?” she asked him, and she actually giggled at the thought.

“I do! I do!” he told her. “So much so I would worship them with kisses and caresses if you would but allow it.”

“Will I then be rid of my virginity?”

“Ohh, we have a bit of a ways to go before we unburden you of your virginity, Francesca, but enjoying your breasts is a fine start,” he told her.

“What else must we do?” she asked him bluntly.

“It is difficult for me to explain such a process, but if you would simply trust me I will show you all you need to know,” Rafaello promised her.

“You are my husband,” she pondered. “I suppose I really have no choice but to allow you to have your way with me.”

“Some men would not argue the point with you, Francesca. With some men you would have already been most cruelly unburdened of that virginity you protect, without a care for what you wanted. I will be gentle with you, Francesca, but by morning’s light you will be a complete woman. Make no mistake about it. I will have your virginity, and more by the dawn. You belong to me, wife.”

“I will not be any man’s mere possession,” she said spiritedly.

“Nay, you will not. You are, I have seen, a woman of independent spirit, which is one reason that I chose you. You think I picked you because I had no other choice, but that is not so. If I believed that Louisa would have suited me I would have picked her, despite her girlish longing for Valiant. But Louisa would have withered beneath my hand.

“As for the French girl, we both know her eagerness to be my
duchessa
was not enough, despite her beauty and her plump dower. Her sharp tongue towards everyone made her unsuitable. Who wants a shrew for a wife? But you three weren’t my only choices. If I had asked him, my father would have sent you all home and found other maidens from which I might choose.

“But it was you, Francesca Pietro d’Angelo, who caught my eye. I liked your wit, your intellect, and your manners. I saw through the veil of disinterest you affected to a maiden who did not wish to be caged by either church or husband. But you would be forced in the end to choose one. I chose you to prevent you from making a mistake, because it was obvious to me that you were meant to be my wife. I had no intention of allowing you to return to Florence, where your parents would have finally forced a marriage on you out of their desperation. So now you are mine. And I yours. And tonight is our wedding night.”

She was stunned by his speech. Finally she said, “You might have told me this before, Rafaello.”

He laughed. “You say that now, but had I confessed my desire for you earlier, you wouldn’t have believed me. You are everything I want and need in a wife, Francesca.”

“I’m not certain I believe you now,” she responded tartly. “And just what is it you wanted in a wife that made me the one? I don’t think you are so shallow that only beauty was what drew you to me. The others were fair enough.”

“I wanted a woman with whom I could talk on matters other than children and her unsuitable allowance,” he began. “What if I were called from the duchy? I would want my wife to rule in my stead. Do you honestly think either sweet Louisa or the ill-tempered Aceline du Barry could manage by themselves? But you could, Francesca. I could see that you were self-assured and able to make decisions unlike the others.”

“So you chose me not just for my beauty but because you believed I could manage something other than a household,” she said, not knowing if she should be offended by his confession. Was his reasoning flattering? Or just plain sensible? There was nothing particularly romantic about any of it. But marriages such as hers were not necessarily romantic. They were practical, and his words seemed truthful enough. “Shall I believe you or not?” she said, and looked directly at him.

“Of course you believe me,” he said in an assured tone, his eyes meeting hers without flinching. “The ice about your heart is melting, Francesca. You know that I speak truth to you.” He bent down and kissed one of her nipples. “Now can we please get on with the business at hand? I will be happy come the morrow to discuss this further, if you feel the need to do so. But for now there are other matters to which I would eagerly attend.” He kissed the other nipple.

Francesca found herself speechless now. She could find absolutely no reason to prevent him from his determined course of action, which was to make love to her. He hadn’t said he loved her, and yet certainly his honesty could be construed as love. His mouth closed over a nipple and he began to suckle upon her. She gasped with surprise, for rather than being unpleasant, his action was beyond exciting.
“Rafaello!”
she said.

She should stop him. Shouldn’t she stop him? Surely she should, but she didn’t want to. She wanted his mouth on her breasts making her feel. . . . Sweet Maria! What was she feeling? She wasn’t certain, but it was wonderful and she wanted more. Her fingers tangled in his dark hair. The tips of them caressed the nape of his neck. She was unable to prevent the soft moan of distinct pleasure that escaped her lips.