Nicholas: The Lords of Satyr (8 page)

Izabel’s pale ass rose high in the air, begging. Even now, one of the others left Signora Natoli’s bosom. Hands caressed her bottom, and thumbs spread her cheeks. Finger fuck or tongue? Which would it be? She groaned into Signora Natoli’s cunt, anticipating.

As dawn came, Izabel let herself into her city town house by a side door, taking care not to disturb anyone. She took the steps and then moved stealthily down the hall, passing her bedchamber door.

She intentionally didn’t wash before joining her stepbrother in his bed.

He rolled on top of her when she woke him and kissed her. His greeting was sleep-slurred, his first caresses lethargic.

Suddenly his head jerked back. His eyes widened, alert as he searched her face. “You come to me from another’s bed?!” he accused.

She smiled, taunting, and felt his shaft harden in reluctant response.

“You dare come to me drunk with some other man’s wine and smelling of his cock?” he demanded. His face was thunderous.

Izabel reached low between their bodies to find and stroke him. “Don’t scowl and bluster with pretended outrage when this says otherwise.” Her firm squeeze on his cock made him wince. “Yes, I have been well fucked by another this night, and you’re aroused by the smell of him on my skin. Don’t bother to deny it.”

“Damn you.”

She widened her legs under him and flung her arms to the sides in open invitation. “Come inside me, brother,” she crooned, “and feel the welcome of another man’s cream.”

With a harsh grunt, he rammed his cock into her gaping slit, reddened and abused from recent screwings. She folded her arms and legs over him like a beetle capturing prey.

The bed quaked and jolted under his angry pumping as he punished them both for the truth of her words.

The body of a young man was fished from the Aniene River long after the Sisters of Bacchant had forgotten him and moved on to other victims. His wrists and ankles were chafed, officials noted. And a dainty handkerchief of fine lawn was stuffed in his mouth, holding his ruddy lips wide in a silent scream.

J
ust shy of two weeks later, Jane found herself ensconced with her sister in a lacquered carriage emblazoned with the Satyr crest. They were outside the chapel, waiting for her husband of less than an hour to join them before traveling the short distance to the celebratory luncheon her aunt had organized.

Nick had returned to his home in Tuscany immediately after their engagement, so she hadn’t set eyes on him again until that very morning when he’d arrived on horseback flanked by his brothers. In the chapel, the three Satyr lords had towered over the congregation of her aunt’s friends, looking invincible. Though many had whispered and stared in awe, all three men had appeared oblivious of the mass scrutiny directed their way.

On their part, Raine and Lyon had covertly studied her with equal measures of suspicion and curiosity. If they were searching for flaws, they would find them. Perhaps not on the surface, but probe a little deeper and they were there.

However, once outside after the wedding, the brothers were all politeness as they offered felicitations. The manner of their congratulations had told her a wealth about them as individuals.

Raine had placed a restrained kiss upon her bare wrist and bid her a solemn, “Welcome to the family.”

Whereupon Lyon had sighed, nudging him aside. “Don’t let my brother overwhelm you with his enthusiasm,” he’d told her teasingly. “We have long been without the grace of a female upon our lands. You are indeed welcome to the family.”

His golden cat eyes had sparkled as he planted a brotherly kiss upon her lips. As opposed to Raine, he’d appeared reluctant to release her, and she’d worried a melding might occur. When Nick cleared his throat, Lyon remembered himself, tossing her a mischievous smile before moving away.

It had been Lyon who’d charmed Emma on immediate acquaintance, and Jane had seen her sister’s disappointment when she realized Nick was to be Jane’s husband rather than his youngest brother.

But with his benevolence in allowing Emma to ride to the feast in the carriage, Nick now found himself on the receiving end of her sister’s adoration as well. Upset at the impending loss of her older sister, Emma had become a sponge desperate to soak up any kindness.

The two sisters had settled themselves in the carriage facing away from the driver, leaving Nick the better seat. Emma’s nose was already buried in a book, something she was rarely without.

Jane twisted the Satyr family’s sapphire-and-emerald-encrusted wedding ring on her finger and then smoothed her gown. Nick’s money had paid for it, an ivory damask with several flounces along the bottom edge, a design of seed pearls over the bodice, and gigot sleeves. She wore orange blossoms in her hair, a symbol of chastity and fertility.

Twitching the window curtain, Jane watched her new husband make his farewells to his brothers outside. It was a busy time on their estates, he’d told her. So his brothers would return home immediately, and Nick would follow on horseback after the wedding feast. That would leave her to travel in his wake by carriage.

She caught the fleeting look that passed between the threesome and turned her ear to the window to catch her husband’s lowered voice.

“I have her,” she thought he said. Odd phrasing. He spoke as though she was some sort of prize he’d obtained through specific effort.

“I’ll begin my search,” Raine replied.

Search for what?
Jane wondered.

His brothers departed, and Nick made for the carriage. She dropped the curtain before he could catch her spying.

The large table in the sala da pranzo of her aunt’s home glinted with silver candlesticks, cutlery, and platters laden with food enough for three dozen wedding guests. All had been beautifully prepared and purchased with Satyr funds.

Jane glanced longingly toward the staircase as they passed it, wanting nothing more than to go upstairs, sink into her bed, and hide. But of course this wasn’t to be. The last of her belongings were being packed into traveling trunks even now.

She felt eyes on her and turned to meet the intent gaze of Signore Nesta. He’d been at the wedding, so it followed that he would be here. After all, his mother was one of Izabel’s inner circle.

Unconsciously she scooted closer to Nick.

“A particular friend of yours?” he inquired, noting Nesta’s approach.

She shook her head.

“May I kiss the bride?” Nesta inquired of Nick when he reached them. Sensing the other man’s covetous nature, Nick placed a hand at her waist, staking claim.

“You must ask her for such a favor,” he said.

Jane glanced at him in surprise, wishing with all her heart he’d refused. The one time a husband’s domination would have served her, and he’d bungled it. Now she had little choice.

“Of course,” she agreed woodenly.

Nesta wet his lips and then moved to grasp her.

“No hands,” Nick ordered coolly.

“W—what?” asked Signore Nesta, his voice affronted.

“I said no hands,” said Nick. “But now that I consider the matter further, I’ve decided no kiss either. You will excuse us?” He steered Jane toward the table.

A muted giggle escaped her at Nesta’s shocked expression.

“You’re amused?” Nick asked. From his tone it was obvious he wasn’t.

“Grateful,” she answered. “I didn’t want his kiss.”

“Then you should have said so.” Nick’s clasp relaxed, and she suddenly wondered if he’d been jealous of her, his newest possession. His expression gave nothing away as he saw her to her seat and took his place beside her.

During the meal Nesta stared at her from time to time, but he’d ceased to concern her, now that Nick had dealt with him.

She in turn stared surreptitiously at her new husband. At his hands stroking his fluted glass, wielding his knife, lifting a napkin to his lips. His fingers moved with sensuous grace and patience. She shivered with an indefinable emotion at the thought of them moving over her.

“Here, Jane. Have some wine. It will calm you,” said a friend of her aunt’s seated next to her.

Jane searched her mind for the woman’s name and managed to find it. Signora Bich. She didn’t mention her mother’s death or the role spirits had played in it but simply told her, “Thank you, but I don’t take spirits.”

Signora Bich’s laughter trilled, drawing attention. “You have wed a winemaker, yet you refuse to drink wine? But, how amusing.”

“Winemaker?” Jane echoed. “You’re mistaken.”

“I assure you I’m not. Lord Satyr and his brothers are the most famous winemakers in all of Italy,” said Signora Bich.

Jane swiveled her eyes to Nick and froze at the confirmation she read in his face.

“Demon bastards!” A loud male voice echoed through the dining room, ripping through her thoughts and severing all conversation. The clinking of china and crystal faded into silence.

“Fucking Satyr! Fucking my daughter!”

Across the white linen, Jane and Emma exchanged chagrined glances.

“Oh, no,” mouthed Emma. “Father!”

“I’ll see to him,” murmured Jane.

She and Izabel leaped to their feet at the same time and dashed to the vestibule.

Signore Cova halted at the sight of the two women rushing toward him, but it was Jane his stare accused. His raised fist held her heavy coin purse, and he shook it in her face so its contents rattled.

“How come you by this, girl?”

Jane’s fingers curled, wanting to grab. “It’s mine.”

“I know that, wicked child!” he raged. Spittle popped and sizzled on his lips like grease on a griddle. “It was found hidden among your belongings as they were packed. How did you come by such a sum? Have you been whoring? Been with Satyr? Is that why he wants you so badly?”

He towered over her, his expression menacing, his breath reeking of spirits.

“Silence, Cova,” said Nick, coming to stand behind her.

Her father paled at whatever he read in Nick’s eyes above her head. With a mighty thrust, he flung her coin purse across the room. When it hit the wall, it exploded, sending silver and gold flying. Coins pinged off the vases and thumped the drapes and then clattered to the floor. Finally the last one rolled to a stop, leaving only dull silence.

Cova weaved on his feet, viewing the destruction with satisfaction.

Jane stared at the money, tears filling her eyes. It had been her safety net. If things went badly in her marriage, it would have bought her and Emma an escape.

She made a convulsive move to reach down and scrabble after the coins, but Nick forestalled her. Placing a hand at her back, he guided her through the nearest door and onto the veranda.

It came as no surprise to Nick that Signore Cova was a drunkard. His attorney’s investigation of Jane’s household had been thorough.

But he’d been taken aback tonight by his wife’s feelings on the matter of wine. Would they color her view of him? Of his family?

Jane pulled away from him and went to stare blindly at the the view beyond the railing. From the distance came the sounds of her father being forced from the room under the determined strength of several footmen and her aunt.

“You see what you have married into?” she murmured. “I did warn you to take more care in your choice.”

“Every family has its quirks,” said Nick, leaning idly against the doorjamb to study her. “Some make wine. Some imbibe too freely.”

She shook her head, defeated. “I apologize for my father’s behavior. It’s inexcusable.”

“Signore Cova chooses to be both intemperate and immoderate in his consumption. It’s nothing to do with you. Or me.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “But you do make wine?”

He nodded.

“And probably drink it.” Shaking her head at her silliness, she returned her gaze to the view. “Of course.”

“Winemakers tend to appreciate libations slowly. Few are drunkards.”

She whipped around wearing an agonized expression. But her voice was quiet when she spoke. “I don’t drink spirits. I won’t become like him.”

Something twisted inside Nick. He couldn’t bear that she suffered under the mistaken belief that the sot in the next room was her true father. If there were a Cova family predisposition to alcoholic excess, it wouldn’t affect her. She had no Cova blood. But now wasn’t the time to explain that.

“Is he often like this?” Nick asked, nodding toward the vestibule.

Jane shrugged, and Nick didn’t press. He noted with approval her reluctance to share family secrets.

“You can honestly claim you never drink to excess?” she persisted.

“I’m no stranger to occasional overindulgence,” he confessed. “However, I can assure you that you haven’t consigned yourself to marriage with a swill pot.”

He moved to take her satin-covered shoulders in his hands, and she lifted uncertain eyes to his.

“No thoughts of reneging, Jane. You’ve given your word in your aunt’s church, and your signature on the wedding documents has satisfied the courts. I’ll do my best to be a good husband.”

She lifted a hand and rubbed her temple. It had been a long day terminating a tense week and a half since their betrothal.

“Come, you are tired,” said Nick. “I’ll summon the carriage. It’s past time to depart.”

“P—please, may I go with you?” a voice begged.

Jane looked beyond Nick to find her sister in the doorway. She went to her, wanting to link their hands but not daring. Instead she placed a palm on her arm, where fabric would separate their skin.

“Now, you mean?” asked Jane.

Emma’s eyes darted to Nick and then away, unsure of him. She bobbed her head, looking pitiful.

A curious melting sensation assailed the region of Nick’s heart when the two turned beseeching glances his way.

“I will speak to Signore Cova,” he said.

“You will speak to me,” said Izabel from the doorway. “Jane’s father is indisposed.”

“Very well. As you heard, my wife doesn’t wish to be parted from her sister so soon. Jane travels alone with footmen while I ride ahead to attend to business. Emma would provide good company if she comes with her now.”

Izabel shook her head. “It wouldn’t be proper for newlyweds to take a child.”

“Emma is welcome in my home,” Nick persisted. “Jane and I will make time for ourselves.”

“No. ’Tis my final word,” said Izabel.

Tears of frustration filled Emma’s eyes, and she dashed off toward her room without another word.

“I’ll see to her,” said Jane, anger tightening her voice.

Izabel accompanied her upstairs, as though concerned she might abscond with Emma via window. Thus the remaining time Jane spent with Emma was dear but besmirched with their aunt’s presence and the knowledge that they would soon part. When Emma slid into a doze, they left her.

In the hall, Jane blurted the question uppermost on her mind. “Did you know he made wine?”

Her aunt merely smiled as they headed downstairs. “But of course. Everyone knows.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? You know my feelings on the matter!”

“Lower your voice, girl,” said her aunt, motioning toward Nick where he waited below them. “As his wife, it’ll be your duty to urge him toward restraint.”

Jane looked at Nick, standing solid and strong just a dozen steps below them. If there was any restraining to be done, she imagined it would likely go in her direction rather than the reverse.

“Is your sister settled?” he asked when they reached him.

“For now, but she’ll be distraught when she awakens,” Jane told him. “I’d rather not leave her.”

Nick frowned. “I must return to my estate. It’s a critical time for the vines.”

“I could join you later,” she suggested.

Before he could answer, Izabel reminded her, “Your place is with your husband.”

“Of course. But—”

“Jane, you will observe the traditions,” said Izabel. “We will discuss Emma when you’re receiving again.”

This time Nick didn’t dispute her aunt’s decision.

With a heavy heart, Jane allowed herself to be ushered away.