Rose Red (40 page)

“I don’t know.” Andrea looked up at
Rosalinda, who had reached the top of the stairs. “She has changed.
She has withdrawn from me and I don’t know why. And the fates are
conspiring against us. Every time I try to talk to her, we are
interrupted.”

“Wait until after the wedding,” Vanni
suggested. “Then all the attention will be on Bianca and me and no
one will notice if you take Rosalinda aside for a private
conversation.”

“I suppose you are right. There is nothing I
can do now, while she is with her sister and Valeria.”

“What you can do,” said Vanni, “is come and
help me. I tell you, Andrea, I will not live with my mother-in-law!
She will try to rule Monteferro for herself! Some other provision
for Eleonora will have to be made, but anything I can think of will
only antagonize her and make Bianca unhappy.”

“I have an idea that might work,” Andrea
said, and led the way back into the sitting room.

For a ceremony prepared in such haste and
conducted an hour after midnight, the wedding of Bianca and Vanni
was surprisingly elegant. This was in large part thanks to
Valeria’s efforts. At her order, the small chapel on the second
level of the villa was bedecked with late summer flowers from
Eleonora’s garden, and the tall gold candlesticks on either side of
the altar bore the finest beeswax candles. Father Tomaso wore a set
of white-and-gold vestments that Valeria had brought out of storage
for the occasion.

Nor had the various participants slighted the
occasion by their personal garb. Eleonora was resplendent in deep
wine-colored brocade threaded with silver, and Valeria had taken
time from her harried schedule of last-minute arrangements to
change into her best gold silk gown. Bartolomeo was clothed in a
rather old-fashioned long green robe.

Rosalinda wore a rose silk gown. Hoping to
conceal her rounded figure she had drawn over the dress a loose,
deep green brocade tabard that was open down the front and trimmed
with gold embroidery.

The twins and Francesco were simply clothed,
each of them having brought only a single change of garments along
on their hasty journey, but all were freshly bathed and brushed.
Vanni was in blue wool doublet and hose, Andrea in red, and
Francesco in russet brown. In the glow of candlelight, they all
made a fine showing.

But it was Bianca who drew every eye when she
stepped into the chapel on Bartolomeo’s arm. Gowned in palest blue
silk, she wore as her only jewelry the pearl earrings that had once
belonged to her mother. She had given Vanni’s gold-and-sapphire
ring back to him temporarily, so he could use it as her wedding
band. Bianca’s straight blond hair cascaded down her back,
unconfined by net or pins. Her face was lit by an intense inner
joy. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes sparkled with happiness, and
her lips curved in a sweet smile as soon as she saw Vanni waiting
for her.

It was not customary for brides to carry
flowers, but Rosalinda had slipped out to the terrace to pluck a
few blossoms from the white rosebush. There were not many roses
blooming so late in the season, so only three perfect, five-petaled
flowers were wrapped with silver ribbon into a simple bouquet.

“One for you, one for Vanni, one for your
love,” Rosalinda had whispered, putting the flowers into Bianca’s
hands just before she started down the aisle.

The chapel was packed with the men-at-arms
and their families, for Bianca was well loved. Several of the older
women wiped their eyes at the sight of her, remembering when Bianca
had been a little girl.

When Bianca stood before the altar holding
Vanni’s hand, the contract was read by Bartolomeo, who was acting
as Eleonora’s representative. Afterward, all the interested parties
signed it as witnesses to its legality. Then Father Tomaso said the
first mass of the day and blessed the marriage of the Duke and new
Duchess of Monteferro.

In the dining room after the ceremony,
Valeria produced a simple feast of cold meats, bread and cheese,
wine, fruit, and small, sweet cakes drenched in honey and cinnamon
syrup.

The bride and groom did not linger long after
receiving the good wishes of family and friends. While Eleonora was
engrossed in conversation with Andrea and Francesco, Vanni drew
Bianca out of the dining room and into the hall.

“Do you think anyone will follow us to your
bedchamber?” Vanni asked, glancing back into the room they had just
left.

“I hope not,” Bianca whispered. Vanni bent to
kiss her, and she could feel herself blushing. She knew what she
and Vanni would soon do together. She wanted him to make love to
her. The memory of what he had done beside the waterfall earlier in
the summer sent a flood of warmth coursing through her veins. There
was more to be learned about lovemaking than she had experienced on
that day, and she trusted Vanni to give her pleasure again, this
time without guilt on her part.

But the reversal of her mother’s opinion
about Vanni and her agreement to the marriage had been so abrupt
that Bianca’s thoughts were spinning. She was still trying to
comprehend the wonderful fact that she and Vanni were actually
married when Bartolomeo joined them.

“Be happy always.” Bartolomeo kissed Bianca
on each cheek. “You and Rosalinda have been like the children
Valeria and I never had.”

“Oh, Bartolomeo.” Bianca’s throat tightened.
“How can anyone say thank-you for loyalty such as yours? There are
no adequate words.” She threw her arms around Bartolomeo and kissed
him.

“Treat her kindly, Vanni.” Bartolomeo’s voice
was rough as he handed Bianca back to her new husband.

“I will,” Vanni promised, his arm about
Bianca’s shoulders.

“I will remain here to prevent anyone from
intruding on your privacy, as merrymakers sometimes do when the
wine flows too freely.” Bartolomeo planted himself firmly at the
foot of the stairs. “Go to your bridal bed, and I wish you joy. Go
quickly, before someone comes.”

With more whispered thanks, they fled up the
stairs and along the corridor to Bianca’s room.

“As if we were culprits,” Vanni whispered. “I
feel slightly wicked, running away like this.”

“So do I,” Bianca agreed, smothering a
giggle.

While Vanni bolted the bedchamber door,
Bianca went to the open window, to stand there in the cool breeze
with both hands pressed to her burning cheeks. There were candles
lit in a triple-branched holder. That was Valeria’s doing. Bianca
had seen her leave the dining room just a short time before and
return with a smiling glance at the newlyweds. Bianca saw that the
bedcovers had been turned back in an inviting way. She stared at
the clean white sheets and began to tremble.

“My sweet Bianca, you look absolutely
terrified.” Vanni approached her with a smile.

“It is one thing to kiss and caress each
other spontaneously, in a forest glade,” Bianca said. “It is quite
another matter to lock ourselves into a bedroom with all the world
knowing what we are going to do.” Her glance slid nervously away
from the waiting bed.

“Would it help if we spread your cloak on the
floor and made love upon it?” Vanni asked. Deliberately, he laid
one hand on her shoulder and let a fingertip slip beneath the edge
of her gown. The neckline dipped low into a wide angle that was so
deep it almost met the high waistband. Within that tantalizing
angle only an inch or so of the thin linen of Bianca’s chemise hid
the gently swelling curves of her breasts.

“
On the
floor?” she gasped. “No. We – I –Vanni!”

His fingertip had traveled along the neckline
of her dress to the top of her chemise. While she gazed down at his
hand, Vanni tested the softness of Bianca’s swelling flesh, the
pressure eliciting a soft cry from her. Daring more, he reached
under the linen. There he found her nipple already taut and
puckered and began to stroke it.

“Oh, Vanni.” Bianca bit off a moan of
disappointment when he removed his hand. His nimble fingers were at
the laces of her dress, loosening them. Then he was pushing dress
and chemise off her shoulders, baring her to the waist. She
resisted the maidenly urge to cover herself, instead allowing him
to gaze at her for as long as he wanted. She saw that his cheeks
were flushed, and she wondered if he knew how exciting she found it
to be standing in her bedchamber, half undressed, alone with a man
who looked at her as if she were the very embodiment of perfection.
She cried out with pleasure when Vanni lowered his head to take her
breast into his mouth. By the time he released her and began to
tear away the rest of her clothing, Bianca could scarcely
think.

He lifted her into his arms, the blue wool of
his doublet scratching her tender skin. Bianca wrapped her arms
around him and kissed him while Vanni carried her to the bed,
pushed aside the rose hangings, and laid her upon the sheets.

“How beautiful you are. Lovelier than I
dreamed, and I have dreamed of you beside me like this on many a
lonely night since first we met.” Vanni’s hands caressed her
shoulders, lingered on her breasts, moved slowly downward to hips
and thighs. He lowered his head to kiss her inner thigh. Bianca
gasped, writhing at his heated touch.

Vanni smiled and began to remove his doublet.
Bianca watched him with avid eyes. His linen shirt was next, Bianca
following his every movement, taking in his firmly muscled chest
and strong arms as they were revealed.

“You have two scars.” She stared at his left
forearm.

“This one is from the wound Stregone
inflicted, more than a year ago,” he told her, touching the raised
line of skin that crossed his upper arm. His fingers moved to the
second scar. “This one is older. It is the souvenir of a youthful
tavern brawl. My days of drinking, wenching, and brawling are over
now. And not regretted. Not for an instant.” He gazed at her
thoughtfully for a moment, as if gauging her emotional state,
before he turned his back and quickly stripped off his hose.

He was beautifully made, his back rippling
with muscles, his buttocks tight and rounded. His legs were long
and straight. It was all Bianca could do to keep herself from
reaching out to run her hands up his legs from ankle to buttock and
along his back to his shoulders. It was what she wanted to do, so
she could feel his skin, with its contrasting textures of youthful
smoothness, manly hardness, and crisp, curling hair and
well-trained muscle. She saw his shoulders lift as he took a deep
breath. He turned around to face her, letting her see his heavy
arousal.

Bianca stared. Her jaw dropped. Vanni was the
most intimidating sight she had ever encountered. And yet, even so,
she was fully aware of the flaring warmth in her lower limbs that
rushed upward as she continued to gaze at him. That heat melted her
bones and touched the very core of her body. She still wanted to
caress him, but she did not dare, for she could see the problem
that faced them, and she felt like crying with the frustration of
her romantic hopes.

“Vanni, I do not think we can possibly fit
together,” she said in a sad little voice. “You are a giant, and I
am a small person. Oh, I am so sorry to disappoint you.”

But Vanni did not appear to be at all
disappointed, nor did he seem to recognize any problem. He lay down
beside Bianca and gathered her into his embrace. The sensation of
his bare skin against hers was enthralling. But that huge part of
him prodded at her thigh when he drew her nearer, and Bianca
shuddered at the heat and the stiffness of his manhood.

“Will you trust me?” he whispered, nibbling
at her ear as he spoke. His breath was warm on her neck, and his
lips traced a moist trail from her ear to the base of her
throat.

“I do trust you,” she responded, torn between
heartbroken tears and the renewed longing that surged through her
when he continued to caress her as if nothing was wrong. “But the
problem must be as obvious to you as it is to me.”

“Bianca, please believe that I will do no
serious harm to you,” Vanni said.

“I believe you will try not to hurt me,” she
replied. “But how can you help it if you persist in what you are
supposed to do?”

“I’ll show you how.” He raised himself a
little to look into her eyes, catching and holding her gaze. “You
know I love you. If you love me, Bianca, then give yourself into my
care.”

She could not take her eyes from his. Her
lips parted on a sigh of regret for what could not be, just as
Vanni’s mouth descended. On his lips she tasted wine and the honey
and spices from the sweet cakes he had eaten. She tasted his
tongue, hot and smooth as velvet against her own tongue. His chest
rubbed against her breasts, and the motion of rough hair on her
sensitive nipples sent ripples of pleasure curling downward through
her being to the place that was becoming uncomfortably warm despite
her trepidation. So intense were these sensations that it was a
moment or two before Bianca realized where Vanni’s hand was, or
felt the distinct tightness as her body closed around his probing
finger.

He had touched her there before, the first
time they had lain together, in the forest. The result of Vanni’s
intimate caresses then had been an amazing, unexpected pleasure.
Perhaps he would be content merely to repeat what they had done
then. With an eager cry, Bianca lifted her hips, pushing against
Vanni’s hand, pressing toward a repetition of that earlier
release.

Through the blissful sensations that pulled
her inevitably toward the end she so desired, Bianca became aware
of Vanni separating her legs and of the texture of his hard
masculine thighs between her own.

“Vanni?” Her eyes widened, her body tensed,
and her fingers clenched around his upper arms as she realized what
he was about to do.