Nicholas: The Lords of Satyr (15 page)

“I wasn’t scared!” Emma protested.

“Hush, girl!” scolded Izabel. “Gather your things and stow yourself in the carriage.”

“What’s the true reason you won’t you let her stay?” Jane asked when Emma had gone.

Izabel’s eyes turned sly and elusive. “One of her tender years among so many bachelors here? Her reputation can’t be besmirched if she is to make a good match.”

Jane tugged Nick’s sleeve as though willing him to speak.

He lay a hand over hers and glanced at Emma’s father. Signore Cova fidgeted, uncomfortable. Without wine to bolster him, he was weak. The aunt was the obvious one with whom to negotiate.

“Leave Emma here and my wealth will ensure a good match.”

Izabel shook her head. “In time perhaps. For now, it’s not suitable.”

An involuntary sound of protest burst from Jane, and arguments formed on her lips.

“Come now. My wife wants Emma with her, here at Blackstone,” Nick coaxed. “How may I bring that about? Perhaps an extended visit is warranted to see how the arrangement progresses?”

“Emma may visit of course, but her father prefers to keep her with him for the present. He so dotes on her. Don’t you, brother?”

“Yes, Izzy,” mumbled Signore Cova.

Izabel stepped outside. “Goodness! The temperature is so moderate when one is within the grounds of the estate. Yet so hot when one is outside its walls. Curious.”

“I suppose,” said Jane, hardly noticing. “I haven’t been outside the grounds since I arrived.”

“Of course,” said her aunt. “So recently married. Quite understandable. But you must come to a small party I’m planning in a few days.”

A
week later Jane linked her gloved fingers, tuning out the sea of guests that clotted her aunt’s grand salon di festa. Something odd was happening, but she didn’t understand its precise nature.

She and Nick had come here to the Villa di Nati, which her family currently rented in Florence, to attend this elaborate party of Izabel’s. Jane’s visit with her sister had been brief before their aunt had decreed it time for Emma to retire.

Now the festivities were well underway in the villa’s salon, and Jane stood among her aunt’s friends. Their covert whispers and sidelong glances had grown pointed enough to snag her attention. Jane followed the direction of their gazes and found her husband across the room.

Eveningwear suited him. Though his brand of it was slightly unusual, as always. The cut of his jacket was severe, but the fabric had an iridescent sheen under certain light and was patterned with supernatural beings. It was soft, she knew. They’d had two dances together already, and she’d rested her hand at his shoulder during both.

Watching Nick blend in with society tonight, it was hard to credit that this was the same man who pressed his naked body against her each night while engaging in that unspoken-of activity sanctioned between a husband and wife. It pleased her, this notion of being needed and wanted for a personal service only she could provide for him.

All in all, they’d been rubbing along well together in recent days. She grimaced at her private, unintended pun.

Two attractive young ladies held Nick’s attention now. Their feminine cheeks were flushed as they smiled up at him. Many other women here watched him, too, found him handsome.

She couldn’t help wondering why he hadn’t married one of them. Why had he chosen her when it was obvious other unmarried ladies of his station would have welcomed him?

Beside her, Signora Nesta fluttered her fan in haughty disgust. “Look at those harlots, flaunting themselves. They seek to remind your husband of their existence lest he forget them and remain too long in his marriage bed.”

Jane blinked at her, not understanding. “Of whom are you speaking?”

“Those—how do the English say?” She looked at her companions.

“Doxy,” supplied Signora Natoli.

“No—mistress,” said Izabel.

“Grazie. Mistress,” echoed Signora Nesta.

Jane studied the exotic women who stood on either side of her husband. One of them pressed her full bosom against his arm with unsubtle familiarity. He didn’t push her away. The other tugged his head down to whisper something, her lips caressing his ear.

Annoyance swept her.

She sensed the two women were aware of her interest and were flaunting their claim on Nick’s attention. She followed the direction of her husband’s gaze and found it on her aunt. Some indefinable emotion passed between them, and her aunt’s eyes turned cruel.

Izabel placed a consoling hand on Jane’s arm. “Poor dear. How can you bear knowing he goes to them?”

Realization struck with the suddenness of a lightning bolt striking her heart. Those women and her husband—

Jane blushed and then paled.

Signora Bich was like a hawk pouncing on the juicy morsel of her ignorance. “Oh! Forgive us!” she said, feigning distress. “You didn’t know?”

Jane studied the circle of women around her. They had spoken maliciously, hoping to provoke a reaction from her.

“It’s disgraceful,” Signora Bich added, her eyes avid.

“It’s only natural,” Signora Natoli countered. “Lord knows we can’t satisfy men as those hussies do. And who would want to?”

Their voices swirled around her, but Jane only stared into the melee on the dance floor beyond. When the colorful kaleidoscope of humanity began to blur, she knew she had to make her escape.

Somehow, she produced a facile smile. “You must excuse me.”

She swept away, holding her head high until she had quit the salon. Then she hitched her skirts and scurried along the hallway. A doorknob twisted under her hand, and she slipped inside a deserted sitting room. Only then did she allow her shoulders to bow under the burden of this new knowledge.

While she’d believed the marriage act to be sacrosanct between her and Nick, he’d had in his employ not one, but two mistresses!

She dashed tears away. Hadn’t his marriage contract insisted on fidelity? Now that she considered the matter, it had required fidelity only on her part. No such strictures had been placed on his behavior.

Her place in his life, which had recently begun to feel more certain, now seemed shaky, temporary.

All because her husband was doing
that
with other women. He was touching them as he touched her, lying naked with them. Fornicating with them. Finding his pleasure within their bodies.

A wounded sound welled up from her throat, and she stifled it with a fist. She sank down the wall in a heap of satin and petticoats to stare vacantly across the room.

While she had hoped their relationship might deepen over time, Nick had probably never imagined such a possibility. Did he care for her any more than he did those other women?

If there was no hope he could grow to love her, she would never be safe with him. Her position in his home would never be secure. She would feel forever on probation. Never truly a part of his family.

Her head dropped into her hands, and she sobbed, quietly devastated.

“You are upset?” Nick inquired in the carriage on the journey home.

That he’d noticed was unsurprising. Her cheeks were splotchy from tears, and her emotions were simmering.

She lifted a slat of the blinds at the carriage window with a shaking finger. “I have learned some unsettling news,” she admitted.

His tone sharpened. “What news?”

She gazed unseeing out of the window, keeping her voice impassive. “News my husband is a philanderer who employs mistresses.”

At his silence, she turned accusing eyes on him.

Nick flexed his shoulders tiredly. “I see the cats were out tonight filling your ears with gossip.”

“Is it true?”

“Does it matter?”

Hurt filled her, bringing with it anger. “Of course it matters. It was painful to learn of your mistresses, and in such a public way.”

He waved a diffident hand, dismissing her. “I assumed you knew.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “You assumed I would think you had mistresses? Do you also assume I have male consorts hidden in my armoire?”

He smiled condescendingly, not bothering to answer.

He didn’t care that she knew! In fact, he expected her to accept the arrangement. How appalling!

Suddenly she could see how things would be in the years stretching ahead. Nick would keep his mistresses. And keep his wife. Both would remain on their separate shelves, items in his collection neatly labeled
WHORE
and
WIFE
. He’d dust them off and use them how and when he wished.

She wasn’t sure if she could bear to do
that
special thing with him any longer, knowing he also did it with others.

“Why did you choose me?” she whispered bitterly. “Of all the women you might have chosen.”

He stretched his legs out across the carriage floor, irritated. “It was time I took a wife and begat heirs. I believed bedding you would please me.”

She tamped down the pain his careless words caused. “And does it?”

“Angling for compliments, Jane?” he reproved.

“I’m attempting to determine how you envision our future together.”

“Much as it is now.”

She tried another tack. “When I was a child, in happier times, my parents didn’t act toward each other as we do. They showed affection—”

“You wish me to fondle you in public?” he asked.

Jane reddened, embarrassed as he meant her to be, but she forged on. “They were caring toward one another, not lascivious. I know it’s hard to imagine, seeing my father as he is now. But at one time, my parents treated each other with fondness.”

His brows rose. “And this fondness is something you want to achieve between us?”

She shrugged, embarrassed at her feelings in view of his obvious surprise. “I had hoped it might develop. It occurred to me tonight that the distance I sense between us might be caused by your keeping of other, uh, women.”

“It has been my understanding that the fact that a husband keeps a mistress or two is a matter of relief to most wives. Don’t criticize me for keeping them unless you’re prepared to take their place.”

Her cheeks warmed again, but she made herself continue. “I’m simply trying to understand why men in society employ such women. My father doesn’t.”

“Are you certain?” Nick asked snidely. “You wouldn’t necessarily know.”

Jane looked at him, aghast. Oh, God, had her father ever—? Did he now?

“Do all gentlemen have mistresses then?” she asked.

He gestured dismissively. “Most of my acquaintances. It’s hardly unusual in any case. Surely you were aware of the fact.”

“No, I wasn’t,” she said faintly. “Why?”

“Considerate husbands don’t ask their wives to do the things a mistress does,” he hedged.

What things?
Afraid to voice the question, she instead asked, “Are their wives unwilling?”

He hesitated, flicking her an unreadable glance. “Even the most dutiful wife might find certain acts distasteful.”

“Why not at least give me a chance to find out if I could better satisfy you?” she asked.

He sighed, brushing her words aside. “You do satisfy me, Jane. As a wife should.”

“If I truly satisfied your physical needs, you wouldn’t be bedding other women. And you’re wrong in what you said before. I don’t find the marriage act to be unpleasant.”

His eyes riveted on her in consternation. “You can’t mean to imply you’re willing to act as my mistress? Willing to take the place of two highly experienced courtesans in seeing to my needs?”

Having taken his father at his word, it had never occurred to Nick that a gently bred wife might find sexual congress a desirable experience if he took more time with her. Or that she might even be enthusiastic. His eyes roamed his wife’s shapely contours, allowing himself the leisure to imagine the possibilities.

No, it was unwise. As things stood, he could visit a different bed each night of the week if he chose and display a different side of his need. But if he revealed the entirety of his carnal desires to the same woman, night after night, she would learn too much of him.

Jane wasn’t a mistress he could cast aside once she got too close. And he couldn’t bespell her into forgetting their every night together.

“I see no profit in continuing this conversation,” he said, adopting a bored, supercilious tone. “I recommend you give up these strange notions and accept the natural way of things.”

She raised her chin defiantly. “With me as your servant, and you as my master?”

He frowned. “With me as your husband, and you as my dutiful wife. With me employing as many mistresses as pleases me, and with you accepting that my decision is for your own well-being.”

A frosty silence settled over them for the duration of the trip. The air outside and within their carriage grew steadily cooler as they rumbled along the cypress-lined avenue leading home.

Home. Was it truly that any longer? Jane wondered. Had it ever been?

As he assisted her from the conveyance, Nick’s dark murmur reached her ears. “I’m sorry you were upset by the gossips tonight. I will take measures to ensure that the more sordid activities of my existence won’t touch our lives again.”

The heraldry on the carriage door blurred before Jane’s eyes as she nodded.

Ever the gentleman, Nick accompanied her through the front entrance. Once inside, he gave her a stiff bow. Then he stalked toward his study. She heard its door shut with a firm snap of finality, forming a solid barrier between them. Conversation over.

Nevertheless, Jane didn’t think the matter truly settled.

Nick didn’t think the matter truly settled. He felt it humming between them during his subsequent nightly visits to Jane’s bed. He felt it in her unsure attempts to relax with him, to indicate a hesitant willingness to have him prolong his body’s concupiscent visit within hers. These attempts alternated with an agitation that told him she still dwelt overlong on the subject of his mistresses.

Over the following days, the idea of having her take over his mistresses’ duties took firmer root in his mind. He found himself watching her on occasion, admiring the way her gown molded her hips when she bent over her garden. Found himself studying the curve of her breast or delicate cheek.

Soon he could think of little else other than the possibility of initiating a fulfilling sexual liaison with the woman who was his wife. He somehow managed to convince himself he could do so while still keeping a rein on the extremes of his baser nature. After all, he reasoned, Shimmerskins could be summoned to serve those at a moment’s notice.

He sought her out in the garden one afternoon and approached her.

“I would speak with you regarding the matter you broached earlier this week,” he began.

Jane sank back on her heels and looked at him, her head tilted to the side in question. “What matter, signore?”

“The matter of my mistresses,” he returned bluntly.

“Oh, you mean the matter I must accept for my own well-being,” she said, returning to her work.

“Yes, well…” Her offhand manner disconcerted him. Was he about to make a fool of himself? “I was speaking more specifically of a certain offer you made.”

“Offer?”

He grew more discomfited when she kept working and didn’t seem to immediately grasp the trend of his talk. “The offer to assume my mistresses’ duties.”

“Oh, that offer.” She studied the hand spade, fiddling nervously with it.

“Upon further contemplation, I find myself willing to more fully discuss the idea,” he informed her.

She brightened, looking up. “You are?”

Her reaction strengthened his purpose. Nodding, he proffered a hand. After removing her gloves, she took it, and he led her to walk with him along the brick path.