by Lee Savino
“Hurry up. The water’s hot.” she motioned.
His cock perked up but the rest of him hesitated. “Señora…it may not be wise for you to be here.”
She stared at him with fathomless dark eyes. “I’m the mistress of this house. I take care of my guests.”
Realizing he was on dangerous ground, he cast his fates to the wind and resumed unbuttoning his shirt. He took his time, but she waited, watching him, until he’d taken off everything but his trousers. She left with a look of triumph, and he sighed in relief, as if she’d thrown the gauntlet and then left before he had to pick it up.
After lowering himself into the tub, he was halfway through the fastest bath of his life, when the curtain shook and Francesca returned, bearing several large cloths.
“What are you doing?” He was surprised his voice didn’t squeak like a boy’s.
“Lay this towel over the tub and I will scrub your back.”
“My lady, that is not necessary.”
“Do you have a valet?”
“None of the men even know what that word means.”
“Then I will be your valet for the evening.” She gestured, and he realized she wouldn’t take no for an answer. The thought of having her slender body bending over his body to wash him filled him with horror, if only because his cock loved the idea so much.
“Señora De La Vega, please. We shouldn’t be alone.”
“That did not stop you from baring my body in the forest.”
So here was her revenge. She hadn’t forgotten her humiliation at his hands, she’d been watching and waiting for judgment day.
“That was for a purpose…” he protested.
“Whipping me? Tying me to a tree? You enjoyed it,” she said. “Admit it.”
He was weighed in the balance and found wanting.
She advanced, and he made one last protest. “My lady, I must protect your honor.”
“My honor is mine to give or take as I please. My father tried to protect me, and my husband, and look where it got me.” There was a mad gleam in her eye as she came forward and draped a cloth over the bath for some sense of modesty. She couldn’t see anything but his torso, and she’d seen that before.
She wet a cloth and started to wash him, and Sebastian settled in for the exquisite torture.
He’d spent the last week teasing her, and he’d taken it too far. It was her turn to joust and she was proving able with the lance. His lance. He almost groaned at his awful joke.
He wasn’t sure he’d survive.
The washcloth moved over his shoulders a few times before he felt her lean closer.
“Besides,” she whispered. “I would torture you as you punished me.”
“This is punishment?” He fought to keep his voice cool, even as his cock screamed for release.
“There are many forms of torture,” she purred. She finished with scrubbing his back and fetched the salve. Her fingers smeared it liberally over his reddened skin, stroking and caressing and giving relief.
Sweet relief.
“Does that feel good?”
Sebastian couldn’t answer. He was in another world, one filled with steam and a dark eyed siren who waited for him to say the word.
He blinked as Francesca paused, pushing back her hair sticking to her face and neck.
“It is so hot in here,” she said, and pulled the thick mass of her hair over one shoulder. It brushed against him, setting his nerves aflame like a thousand pleasant needles.
He was impossibly hard, his thoughts turned to mud. She moved away for a moment and he fought for sanity.
What was she on about? For a young widow, she was remarkably world weary.
“Señora…”
Francesca returned to his side, and he faltered.
“You are under a lot of strain, but you’ve managed admirably. Especially for one so young.”
Her hand started to reach for the washcloth that had fallen into the water and he banged his knuckles on the side of the tub grabbing it for her.
“Don’t throw away your honor for a lark.”
“You think I am too young to know what I want?” She took the cloth and set it against his chest, slowly rubbing his muscles. “I was married for five years. I know what it is to please a man.”
“You’re playing with fire.” His voice was hoarse, his whole body seared by the heat in her eyes.
With a devious smile, she pushed her hand a little lower.
He grabbed her wrist. His arousal pounded into his brain.
“Stop. You don’t want what happens next.”
“What will happen?”
By Jove, she was trying to seduce him.
She moved the sponge in small circles over his chest. “You intrigue me, Englishman.” She bit her lip and his arousal ratcheted up another notch. “I have tried and tried, and I cannot sate myself. I cannot stay away.”
Sebastian sucked in a breath. He knew he was getting under her skin, but this was beyond anything he expected. “Francesca. You are grieving. This is not what you want. I will not take advantage of you in this state.” His dick screamed in protest even as he said the words.
She tipped her body forward and the neckline of the chemise fell lower still, showing a wondrous cavern between her ample breasts.
This was madness. He had to stop it.
“No,” he said, rising in a cascade of water and grabbing the cloth to wrap around himself. The flying water forced her backwards, as she had to step back or get soaked.
“You don’t know what you’re doing, señora.” He forced himself to sound cold. “I will not allow you to besmirch your honor any more than you already have.”
Two bright spots appeared on her cheeks. He stepped out of the bath, putting as much distance between her and him.
“You bastard,” she hissed, and followed with a torrent of angry Spanish. Cursing his cock and heritage, no doubt. He sighed as she stomped out, but not before he caught a shimmer of a tear in her eye.
As the curtain closed, the force of her exit leaving the rod slightly askew, Sebastian wondered if he’d made a mistake.
Next morning, Ana greeted him as he entered the kitchen.
“Señor Chivington, I have breakfast laid out for you and the men.”
“Thank you, Ana.”
Francesca came in from the garden with an apron full of cherries, which she dumped out into a bowl.
“And perhaps if you ask the señora nicely, she will make some of her delicious cherry tarts for dinner. Her family’s recipe, though my Francesca makes them even better than her madre ever did, Dios rest her soul.”
Before Sebastian opened his mouth, Francesca cut in.
“You are too kind, Ana, but today I need to go to market. I do not have time to make delicacies for our Lord Chivington’s fine palate. He will have to do with the usual foods, though they must seem like pig slop to him.”
“Francesca!” Ana gaped at her young mistress as the dusky beauty shot daggers at Sebastian before flouncing out of the room. “Lord Chivington, I apologize—”
“No need.” He waved a hand. “I was expecting it. We had a bit of a disagreement, and Señora De La Vega is just making her position clear.”
Ana’s expression shifted from horrified shock to a knowing smile. “Of course, you are very wise to say that. I hope you will forgive our resident wild cat. She loves to flex her claws.”
Sebastian couldn’t stop from grinning back. Francesca reminded him of just that—a half feral cat, affectionate one moment and spitting mad the next. He wondered what it would take to make her purr.
Of course, he also wanted to ruffle her fur.
After breakfast, he sauntered into the garden to find Señora De La Vega on her hands and knees, ripping weeds out of the beds.
“I’ve said it before, but must say it again: you have a lovely garden here.” He strolled and examined the trees. “I love cherries. And tarts.” His eyes twinkled as he waited to see if she caught the nau
ghty meaning of both words.
“Your vulgar wit knows no bounds, milord.”
“Francesca, when are you heading to market? I have a few things for you to pick up,” Ana called and came into the garden, wiping her hands on her apron. “Oh, Lord Chivington, there you are. I was just going to ask if you’d escort the señora. I do not want to impose, but with all the recent trouble I do not think it is safe for her to be alone.”
“Of course, Ana. I also think that is wise, and I’d be happy to,” Sebastian said before Francesca could protest. The young woman glared at them both, then took the list Ana had made.
“We leave now,” she said, picking up a basket and starting to walk towards the gate. After catching Ana’s wink, Sebastian hastened to follow.
Sebastian’s long legs caught up to the angry señora.
“You’re angry with me,” he said, biting back a laugh. She was even more lovely in anger, with a heaving bosom and flushed cheeks.
“You are very observant. I hope stating the obvious isn’t too taxing.”
“Now that’s not very nice, after I spent all week laboring for you, without expecting reward.”
She winced and he cursed himself silently, realizing that she’d tried to give him a reward, and he’d spurned her. He kept silent the rest of the way, and followed her like a puppy around the market. Townspeople were polite with her, she greeted everyone courteously but without very much warmth. They seemed to respect her but treated her as a lady in a station above them.
It made more sense when they passed a butcher’s shop and went in, and the line cleared for her to go first.
“Señora De La Vega,” the butcher greeted her, mopping sweat from his brow. He looked relieved to see her. “My wife has been asking for you.”
“Of course, señor, how is she?”
“Very big and ready to burst. She is afraid the baby is not well.”
“Can she feel the child?”
“Yes, day and night the babe dances in her belly. Keeps her awake—and she keeps me awake. You will be there?”
“I will. Tell her it’s too early for the babe to come, but when it is time, I will know. I will check on her tomorrow and bring herbs to help.”
“Thank you,” the man said, then hesitated. “I must ask you something. The last baby you delivered—was it born with a devil’s foot?”
Sebastian noted how everyone around them got quiet.
“No, of course not,” Francesca snapped with her usual passion. “Who told you that?”
“It is a rumor my wife heard. She was worried.”
“The baby I delivered last was baptized in the church. His family will tell you.”
“No, there is no need.” The butcher looked a little frightened by her ire.
“Your wife and child will be fine. Send for me if there is any sharp pain or bleeding. The baby will come when it is ready.”
“Thank you, señora.”
“Now tell me who is spreading rumors of a baby with a devil’s foot.”
“Please, señora…”
“I have a right to know.”
“It was Bishop Bernardo. I heard it from a neighbor, but the bishop spoke of signs in the village pointing to an evil witch. Señora, I apologize—”
Francesca waved his plea away, and spun on her heel, muttering under her breath. People parted to let her pass. Sebastian hurried to keep up with her, recognizing her on the warpath.
Her strides brought her straight to a fat, balding man in priest’s robes. The man had a queue of supplicants, but Francesca marched straight past them all.
“Excuse me, Bishop, I need to speak to you.”
“Widow De La Vega.” The priest’s eyes swept over her in a way Sebastian didn’t like. “How are you, my child?”
“I am not your child.” The people around the bishop backed away, sensing a fight. Sebastian noticed that none of them left ear shot.
“I have not seen you at mass,” the man said in a calm tone.
“I worship in my own way. Please do not spread lies about me. These people need my healing arts.”
“Of course.” He inclined his head. “But what use is it to help the body, at the cost of one’s immortal soul?”
“The souls of the babies I deliver are fine. Their feet are fine. They are not devil’s spawn.”
The priest mock gasped. “Who would say such a thing? There is no such evil in our midst.”
“I have heard you preach otherwise.”
“We must be vigilant, always, Señora De La Vega,” the priest said in a silky tone. “Even now I pray for you. We all must repent of our sins, or burn in hell. If you would come to confession, you will find forgiveness.”
“I do not need forgiveness. I need you to leave me alone,” she snapped, and stormed off.
Sebastian took in the shocked faces of the onlooking crowd, and the pleased light in Bishop Bernardo’s smile, and then rushed after his hostess. Even with longer legs, he didn’t catch up with her until well up the road.
“My lady, Francesca, wait.”
“That fool,” she fumed. “Sitting on high above us all.” Flinging out a hand, she indicated the large cathedral rising in the distance. Set on a hill, it dwarfed the little town. “He’s never done a day’s work in his life.”
“He did seem a bit smug, but steady on.” Sebastian caught her arm, and she practically hissed at him. Keeping his face blank, he tucked her close. “You are making a scene. Your farm is already under attack. Wouldn’t it be better to pick your battles?” He let her go before she could wrench away. She kept her distance but from the way she quieted for the rest of the walk home, he knew he had gotten through.
Watching her stride beside him, haughty and confident, he realized how much of her energy went into presenting a strong front. Without her husband or father to take her back, she was fighting all alone. Ana and Juan were allies, but also burdens that she worried about.
By the time they were in sight of the hacienda, Sebastian had realized two things: she needed someone to rely on, and someone to take her in hand.
In both cases, he thought that someone should be him.
“You seem to be well respected in the town,” he observed. “Does this Bishop make trouble for you often?”
She didn’t answer, but he heard her mutter under her breath.
“How many babies do you deliver in a month?” He asked as if she was not ignoring him.
She quickened her pace, crossing the path to speak to two laborers lounging on the side of the road. Surrounded by the two strapping men, she talked and laughed while Sebastian wondered what she was on about. He approached, and she glanced back at him, meeting his stare, she laid a hand on one of the young men’s muscled arms. “You must come to the hacienda and speak to Juan. There is work for such strong men as yourselves.”
Sebastian could practically see their heads swell, along with other parts of their anatomy. As for him, he was shocked by the wave of jealous rage that washed over him.
The laborers continued down the path, and Francesca continued on to her house with a little swagger in her stride.
He caught up to her easily, wanting to wipe the smirk from her face. Calling on his patience, he gave her a little test as he stepped in front of her to open the gate. “Thinking of hiring more vaqueros?”
When she studiously ignored him, he caught her arm and swung her to the side, back to the wall.
“Señora De La Vega. I am speaking to you.”
“Let me go,” she hissed, but not loud enough for anyone in the hacienda to hear.
“I told you before, I will not tolerate disrespect. I have offered you nothing but my help—”
“Ha!” she spat.
“—but continue in this vein and your bottom will pay the price.”
She jerked at her arm, but he held it fast. “And just what do you mean by that?”
“What I mean is,” he stepped closer, “you are angling for another whipping.” Close enough to feel
her breath on his face, he got another shock when he saw heat leap into her eyes. Her eyes burned brighter, and his mouth almost dropped open.
“You want it,” he said hoarsely. “You want another…”
For a second, her lips parted, and her eyes half-lidded with desire. Then she wrenched her arm away.
“You sound like Bishop Bernardo. He once offered to whip me at all the stations of the cross, as penance for my sins. Under the pretext of saving my mortal soul.”
Sebastian felt a surge of anger that the priest would suggest such a thing. If anyone was going to mark her skin, he wanted it to be him. He pretended to consider it. “A good whipping can send you straight to heaven through hell. And you need one, badly.”
“Do I, my lord?” she asked in a throaty whisper. Wanton seductress. She knew exactly what she was doing.
“You are playing with fire.”
She licked her cherry red lips and he could take no more.
“Perhaps Bishop Bernardo is right. You do need to be punished. And I’m just the one to do it.”
Triumph surged in her face.
“You,” she sneered and stepped back. “You are just a boy, Chivington. Spoiled and bored, playing at farming before he runs off to spend his father’s money. I need a man.”
“You will treat me with respect or I will teach it to you.” Stop, Sebastian, he scolded himself. This was ridiculous. He had to leave before he made a mistake, even if the little temptress begged for it.
For a second he indulged, stepping close enough to smell her sweet scent. In addition to the rose water in her hair, she had rubbed something on her skin and he breathed deep of the intoxicating aroma before deliberately stepping back and starting to walk away.
“You are afraid,” Francesca spat.
That was it.
He whirled and backed her against the wall. Birds chirped in the trees above them, but the peaceful bliss of the orchard didn’t penetrate the heated space between them. Sebastian’s anger pulsed along with his passion. Did Francesca live every moment with that hunger? It was all he could do to keep from throwing her to her hands and knees on the forest floor, pushing up her skirts and taking her from behind, slapping her ass and tugging her hair the whole time.