The Silver Devil (11 page)

The
duke looked a negligent query.

"That
harlot Maddalena Feroldi." The Bastard's eyes were greedy. "I have
been wooing her these ten days past, but because she thinks you will return to
her, she spurns me as roughly as a maid would do. If you showed her that her
reign is over, she might be open to a fresh assault—so far I have had nothing
but coldness and blows."

"Does
your taste run to viragoes, then? You will have little peace."

"She
shall not have much either. Once I have bedded her, I'll tame her fury and
leave her little time to trouble you. Come, Brother." The blue eyes
hardened. "You owe me a mistress—my last bedmate is banished by your
means."

I
looked at the duke and saw his lips tighten.

"I
am persuaded." He smiled, but it was not pleasantly. "You shall have
the bitch."

I
felt a pang for the woman who was being so casually disposed of and then a
sudden dreadful apprehension. If he had meant what he said, this was how Piero
meant to ask for me; and when the time was right, no doubt I should be given
just as casually. But by then, I thought chillingly, it would matter little.

I
looked covertly at the tall figure sprawled in the shining chair. Seeing him, I
understood why so many of the court blanched hair and skin to an artificial
fairness to seem like him; Piero's pale curls and brocaded doublet were a
travesty of this man's beauty.

His
head was turned away from me as he spoke to someone on his other side; then as
I watched, he stretched, shifting his weight with the unconscious delight of a
pampered cat. For an instant the whole world went dark before my eyes.

When
the hall ceased its drunken reeling, I still sat, my eyes fixed, my nails dug
savagely into my palms. Mercifully, it seemed, I had not made a motion or a
sound. I lifted dazed eyes to Piero's face— he, if he had seen, would be
delighting in my confusion—but he too was watching the duke, and the naked
desire in his face at that moment mirrored my own.

I
wondered hazily why he should say he wanted me. His popinjay manners and
feminine tricks were recognizable even to me—yet the purpose in his face when
he looked at me was real enough, too. Then the duke turned his head, and I
looked down swiftly. I felt his gaze on me, compelling me to look up, and fought
his will doggedly; but at last, against my will, I raised my eyes to his.

He
did not speak, for there was no need. I knew without words that I was not to
sit for much longer making a pretense of eating to lengthen this joyless
banquet.

"Your
Grace." Maddalena's deep voice interrupted my thoughts. "You asked
for me?"

The
triumph on her face was painful. She did not know why she had been bidden; it
was enough that he had asked for her. He nodded, his expression unreadable.

"We
have a secret which concerns you, lady, that cannot be proclaimed throughout
the court. Come close and we will whisper."

She
darted me a jubilant look and went to him, bending her head to listen. I saw
her give a little shiver of ecstasy as his bright hair brushed her cheek; then
I turned away, trying not to hear his poisonous, sibilant murmur.

He
spoke only a few words, and when he had done, she stared at him disbelievingly,
her pointed face ashy pale.

"You
cannot do that to me, Domenico! I will not be cast off on your brother after all
we have been to each other!"

"You
forget yourself." The duke's voice was bored. "Be grateful that you
are provided for, and do not speak so wildly."

"Domenico,
I beg you, listen. You swore to me..."

He
seemed to be deaf to her low-toned beseeching, only the deepening lines of
bored petulance about his mouth showing that he heard her. Then, as her tears
threatened to choke her, he said indifferently, "Brother Sandro, quiet
this whore."

The
Bastard surged past me, pulling Maddalena away and into his arms, his mouth
covering hers avidly, his hand at the laces of her gown. She gave a cry, but no
man moved to help her; on every face was the same cold curiosity. Only the duke
ignored them, fastidiously smoothing his sleeve where Maddalena had caught his
arm and paying them no more heed than he would a couple of puppies tussling
around his feet. He did not even look up when Sandro dragged Maddalena through
the throng towards the shadowed doorway.

By
now torches were beginning to gutter here and there, casting such pools of
shadow that I did not notice the approach of the soberly clad Ippolito. He
seemed to appear from nowhere, bowing at Domenico's side.

"I
have brought the duchess's jewels, Your Grace."

"My
good Ippolito!" It was a purr. "Give them to me."

Around
us the talk fell silent as he lifted the casket's lid and drew out its
contents. Diamonds hung from his fingers in a cascade of white fire as he rose
to his feet, and I sat unmoving, spellbound by the blaze in the black eyes
watching me above the blaze of the jewels.

"Here,
lady. We give you these to signify the love and honor we intend towards
you."

The
cold metal felt like fetters as it touched my skin, and I shivered under the
brush of his fingers. The court's applause had a startled sound.

"Your
Grace," I whispered as he sat down, "I cannot wear them."

"Why
not?" The question was idle, but it made my blood run cold.

"I..."
I found inspiration in the blue white stone which lay between my breasts.
"I cannot bear the weight."

Poire,
devilish delight lit the black eyes. "Custom will make it easy. You will
learn to bear a greater weight than that."

One
or two heard him and laughed, but I was surprised to see on Ippolito's face a
fleeting look of pity. Fighting down my dread, I stiffened proudly, and as I
did so, the Duke's eyes smoldered suddenly.

"These
public revels are for those who want no better. Come, you and I will seek
sweeter ones alone."

Before
I could protest, he had risen, his grip crushing the print of his rings into
the flesh of my wrist. He waited an instant for silence and then spoke with an
arrogant turn of his head to the sea of expectant faces.

"We
would not have our absence cut short the feast, my lords—we commend you to your
pleasures. For our own part, we have business to dispatch which has been too
long undone. And so, good night."

A
titter arose that he did not bother to check, and the court was on its feet and
bowing. He looked at the stooping backs with sheer infantile glee before his
nod freed them; then he was leading me back towards the doors through which he
had come, with torchbearers before and a line of nobles in our wake. The doors
closed behind us on a burst of clamor in which, mercifully, I could distinguish
no words.

The
antechamber was bitterly cold after the heat of the banqueting hail. Drafts
swept through it, striking gouts of flame from the torches, and I shivered as
the chill struck me. The duke's hand tightened on mine; involuntarily I looked
up at him and saw his eyes blazing behind the slight smile which masked his
beautiful face.

My
hand jerked, trying to pull away, but I could not get free; he only held me,
watching me struggle against his imprisoning hold without a change in his
expression. Behind me I could hear the dry rustle of brocades as the courtiers
closed in, and I felt the heat of a torch at my back. Other hands gripped me,
forcing me forward, and I cried out.

"Not
here, Piero." Domenico's eyes held mine, but he spoke past me. "Let
the women have her, and then bring her to my chamber. Do it quickly."

There
was a cheated murmur from the ring of men around me, and Piero's hands fell
away. I thought I glimpsed his face, startled and angry, his eyes hard with
calculation; then I was being hurried away, across the antechamber and up the
stairs to the tapestried room, where Niccolosa was waiting.

She
worked quickly and expertly, as though this were a task she had performed many
times before, taking off the heavy silks and the great weight of diamonds and
dressing me instead in a bedgown of white velvet, brushing my hair so that it
hung smooth and shining past my waist, like the black veils of the Sisters of
Charity in the Via Croce. I wanted to laugh at such a ludicrous resemblance.

Niccolosa
said, "You are ready?" and I nodded, wondering how many others she
had made ready for the Duke of Cabria's bed. She started to the door to call
Piero but stopped halfway and came back. Some emotion was struggling for
expression in her bony face as she stood there, almost awkwardly; then she
patted my hand in quick, embarrassed comfort and turned again to call.

Piero
appeared in the doorway so quickly that I knew he had been kicking his heels in
the gallery outside. His eyes ran over me with an appraisal that was a studied
insult, but he only gestured in silence for me to follow him.

The
floor was icy under my bare feet. It was all I would allow myself to think of.
I hardly noticed the guards closing in behind, cutting off my retreat—it all
seemed unreal, like a nightmare, the tramp of their feet echoing in my ears.
Doors swung open ahead of us, and I caught a glimpse of softer candlelight.

Piero
stood aside, sweeping a mocking bow. "You are at the duke's chamber,
mistress."

The
taunt was so blatant that my strained nerves snapped, and I slapped his face,
hardly knowing what I did. "I may be worsted," I said furiously,
nursing my stinging fingers, "but I need not endure your insults!"

He
stepped back, his shrill laugh bubbling as he touched the red mark on his
cheek, but his eyes were wide, considering. "So you've claws?" He
sounded intrigued. "Wait until the duke is tired— we will see then how
much you can endure."

I
swept haughtily past him, only to turn in sudden shameful panic as he started
to close the doors on me. He must have understood the movement, because he
laughed then in real amusement.

"Here,
lady, you will lead a duchess's life—for tonight, at least. I wish you good
night and good rest."

The
doors closed in my face. I stood still, staring at them as though they would
dissolve under my eyes, as though the whole palace would dissolve and I would
wake in my bed over the Eagle's gateway.

I
was still standing there when I realized I was no longer alone. There was no
sound, but my skin began to prickle, and when I turned, the duke was there, a
silver silhouette against the black bed-curtains, stripped of clothes, of
jewels, and of paint. Only a swathe of cloth of silver was draped about him,
twisted about his hips and over one shoulder, and his skin looked unnaturally
white in the candlelight.

"Felicia."
It was a purr like a cat's in the silence of the room.

I
fought to keep my voice even. "Your Grace."

"Domenico.
You will forget court duty shortly." He took a slow, prowling pace towards
me, lazily letting the silver cloth slide to the floor. In the light of the
candles his flesh gleamed like alabaster, but this statue was warm and living,
as graceful as a leopard and as treacherous as murder. His hips swung once,
like a cat launching itself on a bird, and then he moved forward.

There
was no time to evade him, no time to resist. Almost before I saw him move, he
had caught me and lifted me, and then there was softness under me and his
weight on top of me as I fell sprawling across the great bed. I tried to rise,
but his mouth came down on mine in the first kiss I had ever known and forced
my head back against the pillowing velvets.

Instinctively,
like an animal, I fought back, scratching and biting. This was less lovemaking
than deliberate cruelty, all that grace and strength employed in the inflicting
of pain.... It was like being mauled by a giant cat for sport, not for food.
Light glinted on the bright hair as the duke's head bent again to mine; there
was no tenderness in his shadowed face, only a harsh, blazing excitement that
made me catch my breath.

"Your
Grace..." It was a broken whisper.

"That
is not my name." His voice was low and breathless, full of teasing.

I
gasped, "Please..." and could not go on.

"Please?"
He laughed so that he shook me with it. "Do you mean, please take me
quickly? Please, this? Or this?"

The
velvet robe tore under his fingers and I felt his hands slide over my breasts,
probing and caressing as I tried to arch away from their remorselessly sensual
possession. The touch of his hands seemed to burn my skin.

My
breath was coming in gasps like sobs as I struggled, braced in every nerve to
resist the demand that tore at my thighs; then he gripped the scruff of my neck
and held me, fingers spread across the back of my head, with my lips hard
against his. His kiss was urgent, like an invasion; then, as his mouth traced
the hollow of my neck with quick, fierce kisses, his weight came full upon me.

I
realized that until that instant he had merely been playing with me. There was
no escaping his insistence. He stilled my desperate thrashing with almost
insolent ease, forcing me against him, shocking me to breathtaking awareness of
every muscle in his hard, smooth body. Blindly, I made one last effort to free
myself, but his hands were plundering my body too ruthlessly.