Page 49

“You go too far,” Sanchia said between her teeth. “Do you want to cause a scandal? What will everyone think?”

“Why, that I’m a gracious host aiding my guest. What else should they think? Bianca is clearly not missing my attentions.”

Sanchia cast a glance down the table where Bianca and Marco were in animated conversation.

“And your mother?”

Lion glanced down the table at Caterina and met her glare with a bland smile.

“She will ignore us politely once she becomes accustomed to the idea, and her guests will follow her example. She has, after all, been expecting it for more than a week.” He turned and dipped his hands in the basin of rosewater offered by a lackey and then dried them on the white linen towel offered by a second servant. “As you have, Sanchia.”

“I haven’t expect—” she trailed off as she met his gaze. She wouldn’t lie. She had expected him to approach her at any time and, when he had not done so, the tension and anticipation had grown to an unbearable magnitude. “I had little time to think about you.”

“Because you were playing with that fool Della Rosa.” His lids veiled his eyes as the lackey set a silver server of soup before him and then moved to serve Sanchia. “Do you think him comely?”

“He’s handsome enough.” Sanchia added defiantly, “And he has a lovely voice. He’s going to favor us with a song later.”

“Intelligence, beauty, and talent.” He picked up his spoon. “And he seems to be enchanted by you. Tell me, do you seek a husband, Sanchia?”

“You know that he would never marry me.”

“I’m not so sure. My mother would like to marry you off, and I’m sure she’d managed to scavenge a decent dowry for you even if it meant selling her jewels.”

Sanchia laughed uncertainly. “You’re jesting.”

“No, but I’m glad the idea amuses you.” He smiled as he lifted the spoon to his lips. “Because I doubt if your bridegroom would live to make it to the chapel.”

She stiffened, her hand clenching the handle of the spoon.

“And if he did, he’d be a cuckold before nightfall. So I’d really not entertain the thought of marriage, if I were you.” He paused. “You’re not eating. At least try the soup. It’s truly delicious.”

She automatically lifted her spoon to her lips. She tasted nothing.

“You’re not speaking. Why is that? You chattered unceasingly with that prancing coxcomb.”

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered. “Why are you trying to hurt me?”

“Did it not occur to you that I, too, could be hurt?” His tone was low but savage. “You said you had a liking for me. I thought you might even—” He was silent for a moment. “Don’t talk to me about hurt.”

“You forced me to come to your mother.”

“I used no force.” His left hand had been resting on the table. Now it clenched into a fist. “It was no easy thing for me to show restraint and gentleness with you. All my life I’ve known only force and the prizes force brings. I wanted something different with you. I wanted your trust.”

She didn’t know what to say. Sympathy, guilt, fear, assaulted her in an overwhelming tide, deluging her thoughts, drowning her voice. She could only say, “It’s dangerous to trust those who have power over you.”

“It’s more perilous to flaunt those who hold that power.” His fist slowly relaxed and he glanced down at Sanchia’s hand resting on her lap. “What a prettily decorated splint. That looks like Bianca’s touch.”

“It is. She used the ivory ribs of an old fan and sent Marco to the seamstress to get strips of the velvet with which my gown is made. Then Bianca fashioned these pretty little bows from those strips. It was very kind of them.”

“Oh, yes, they’re both exceptionally kind. Finish your soup. The second course is about to be brought in.”

“I have finished.” She watched numbly as the lackeys collected the soup tureens and with equal disinterest as a parade of lackeys entered the hall with a variety of meat dishes dressed to perfection.

Under any other circumstances she would have been as enthralled as the other guests at the sight of roast boar garnished with apples and roses, mouth-watering peacock and, finally, a towering pastry likeness of the castle of Mandara itself, complete with battlements and a miniature garden.

The display was met with exclamations and applause as the lackeys proudly toured the hall before repairing to the long carving table on the far side of the room to strip the dishes of their culinary magnificence and carve them to be served.

Meanwhile other lackeys were bustling around the table with fresh basins of rosewater and pouring more wine until the trenchers of carved meat and gravy were brought to the dais.

As was the custom, there was one trencher for every two people, and Sanchia found herself staring down at the trencher placed between Lion and herself with dismay.

In spite of her claim, it was going to be very difficult to manage knife, spoon, and bread with any measure of dexterity.

She started to reach for her knife but Lion stopped her.

“It will be quicker if I feed you,” Lion said as he held up the small piece of bread. “Open your mouth.”

She found herself opening her lips and taking the bread and then a bit of meat and then bread again. His feeding her was excruciatingly intimate. She wished desperately to have the meal over and done with.

“Again.”

His thumb caressed her lower lip as he placed a morsel of meat on her tongue. Her lip began to throb and she instinctively jerked her head away from his hand. “Enough. I want no more.”

“I think you do.” He smiled at her. “And I certainly want more.” He reached for a cluster of grapes, took one, and pressed it to her lips. “Something sweet and full.” His gaze moved over the low-cut bodice of her gown. “And firm.”

She took the grape, and tart sweetness flooded her tongue. She should look away. The heat tingling between them was thickening in intensity. She realized with desperation that the soft linen of her undershift was abrasive against the sudden sensitivity of her nipples.

She looked down at the table. That was a mistake, too.

His big hand still held the cluster of grapes, and memories suddenly assaulted her of those broad, powerful fingers toying with the jade queen, outstretched before the fire encased in heavy leather gauntlets, jerking the neckline of her gown with frantic haste to bare her breasts. …

“Your cheeks are flushed,” Lion said softly. “Are you warm, cara?”

Not warm. Hot, melting. She felt as if the blood was running molten just beneath the surface of her flesh. She quickly picked up her goblet and drank deeply.

“It’s a warm evening and will grow warmer. Another grape?”

“No. Nothing.” She sat her goblet down and it was immediately refilled by the lackey. “Is it not time for the dancing to start again? It seems we’ve been at the table a long time.”

“It seems a long time to me, too.” His hand released the cluster of grapes and dropped casually to his knee.

“If we don’t leave the table soon I’ll have to find something to amuse me.

Do you know what I have in mind, Sanchia?

” His hand disappeared beneath the heavy damask cloth covering the table and pressed against her upper thigh.

She went rigid, her gaze flying to his face. He was looking straight ahead, his expression bland, only the leaping pulse in his temple betraying his arousal.

The warmth of his palm burned through the layers of velvet and satin, and her limbs began to tremble. Her hand was also trembling as she hurriedly reached for the wine goblet again. “Take…your hand off my skirt,” she hissed.

“Why? It gives you pleasure. You’re quivering like a little bird.

Shall I push the skirt of your gown up and touch your flesh, rub those soft, tight curls?

No one could see. The table and the linen hides my hand.

I could fondle you and bring you even more pleasure.

” His palm was rubbing slowly back and forth. “Would you like that?”

“No.” She could barely force the word past the tightness of her throat.

“I think you would. Of course, you’d have to be careful not to cry out when your pleasure peaked.” His nostrils flared and a flush mantled his cheeks. “Why don’t we see if you enjoy it? Part your thighs, cara , and I’ll—”

“The moresca!” Lady Caterina was on her feet, motioning to the musicians and guests. “Let us see if we can still manage to move after we’ve eaten and drunk so heartily.”

The announcement was met with laughter and groans by the guests and the wild, spirited strains of the moresca from the musicians in the gallery.

Bernardo was suddenly by Sanchia’s side. “May I escort you to the floor, Madonna Sanchia?”

Lion’s hand on her thigh suddenly tightened. Warmth, strength, demand.

A demand she must not answer. “Yes.” Her hand was still trembling as she set her goblet down on the table. Would Lion move his hand and release her? “I love the moresca . Did I not tell you?”

Lion’s hand dropped from her thigh and he leaned back in his chair.

Sanchia rose hastily to her feet and fled down the long table and the three steps leading from the dais to the floor.

She had escaped. Or had she been permitted to escape?

A hasty glance over her shoulder revealed Lion still lolling at the table, looking dark, sensual, and slightly sinister in his black velvet slashed jerkin.

His expression was lazy, arrogant, as if about to command a performance expressly for his pleasure.

Bernardo snatched four bracelets of bells from the overflowing tray the lackey was extending toward them and slipped one over each of her wrists and then his own. The hall resounded, shimmered, with the merry sound of bells and tambourines, music, and laughter.

Bernardo ran to the other side of the room to join the men, and Sanchia took her place with the women.

Bianca was laughing excitedly and even Caterina’s dark eyes were glowing with exhilaration as she slipped the bracelets over her wrists, straightened her scarlet velvet skirts and signaled the musicians to start again.

Sanchia lifted her arms over her head, the bells on her wrists jingling.

She found herself laughing aloud with the same excitement as Bianca.

No, it was not the same. Her excitement was not only with the dance but with the way Lion was looking at her, the way the blood was pounding in her veins, the feel of fabric touching her flesh as she twisted and turned and stamped and whirled.

The torches on the walls blurred into blue-orange flame before her eyes, and the bells and the tambourines rang and echoed not only in her ears but in her heart and her body.

The excitement was growing as they all joined hands and circled faster and faster and then broke and whirled by themselves again.

The laughter bubbled up in her throat, and she felt almost too breathless to release it.

The men and women in the hall were only streaks of violet, crimson, blue, and gold.

A hand grabbed her wrist, pulling her out of the whirling throng and behind a stone pillar.

“What.…” She gazed up dizzily to see Lion’s face above her. “No, I want—”

His lips were on hers, parting them with his tongue, plunging deep inside with a low groan.

His powerful body pressed her back against the pillar and she could feel the tension of his muscles, his arousal rampant.

He lifted his head. “This is what you want.” He rubbed yearningly against her. “Isn’t it, Sanchia?”

She clutched desperately at his shoulders as a wave of heat surged through her. She couldn’t think. The bells, the tambourines, the music, the blood singing through her veins were all too loud. “No, someone will see…”

“They’re all dancing.” His lips pressed quick, hard kisses on her temples and cheeks.

“No one can see us here. Open your mouth.” She didn’t realize she had obeyed him until his tongue filled her mouth, toying wildly with her tongue.

“I wanted to do this at the table,” he muttered. “This is how I wanted to feed you.”

She tried to stifle the moan trembling in her throat but he heard and lifted his head. “Come with me. You need me. I’ll give you what we need.” He was already pulling her toward the door.

She shouldn’t go. But she found herself stumbling after him and could think of only one protest. “They’ll miss us.”

“The moresca goes on forever, you know that.” They were out in the corridor and he was urging her up the stairs.

“And what if they do miss us? They’ve suspected Marco of being Bianca’s lover for years.

They’ll think it only natural that I take my pleasure.

” He lifted her in his arms as he started up the steps.

“It is natural, Sanchia. Natural and beautiful and right. Don’t you know that? ”

She didn’t know anything anymore. Her mind was whirling as if she were still dancing, and her heart was slamming against her ribs until she thought it would burst. She should resist Lion and this lust cascading through her. It was madness to lie pliant and helpless in his arms.

But she wasn’t helpless. She could fight him if she chose.

Yet she knew with a sudden despair that she wouldn’t fight him. Not tonight.

She murmured his name and closed her eyes as she buried her face against the black velvet of his jerkin.