Alessa shivered beneath his shrouded gaze. She balanced on her bottom and hugged her knees to the ragged rise and fall of her chest. It didn’t happen often, but she wanted to cry. She was afraid of his rage. More so, she feared the untimely desire coursing through her body.
Her gaze bonded with the wild glow in his. She refused to let her curiosity wander lower. It would be far easier to reject his advances if she wasn’t torn between holding onto her virginity and giving in to Dante’s lust. She reached for the counterpane, but his hand shot out and stopped her.
“You were warned, Alessandra,” he repeated gruffly. “Do not move.”
In reserved silence, she watched him rummage around in a small chest sitting on a long-legged table. Focused on his backside, she reveled in the shear appeal of his wide shoulders and tapered back. The hose hugged his taut haunches and legs as if the fabric were a second skin. The power in his limbs was unmistakable.
Alessa turned her head aside. She’d not ogle him like a harlot summing up the hardiness of a potential customer. Aware of Dante moving across the room, of him standing beside the bed, of his eyes caressing her hunched form, she repelled a shiver.
“Look at me.”
She could not.
The mattress dipped from his weight. He brought her face around to meet the determination set in his eyes. Faith, he appeared more like a man ravenous for passion than one who was vexed beyond reason.
“Rope, I have none, yet I found something I think will suffice.”
She dropped her gaze to the many colored hose hanging from his grip. “You mean to tie me up with…with those?”
“Look at it with hope, Alessandra. The softer hose will be more forgiving on your delicate skin than coarse rope.”
She locked her elbow when he took her wrist and tried to extend her arm up.
“You are making this more difficult on yourself.”
“More difficult than what? The humiliation you have already heaped upon me? Or the humiliation you are about to inflict?”
In answer, he compressed his lips and forced her arm up, tying the hose around her wrist and the bedpost. When he leaned over to do likewise to her other wrist, the protruding log in his hose was poised a mere breath away from her mouth. Dante was unaware of it, but Alessa couldn’t stop staring brazenly at the root of her husband’s need.
He pulled back. “You leave me no choice,” he repeated, mistaking her distress for misery. Truth be told, she was affected more by the enticing sight of him than fearful of what was to come.
Attempting to speak, her voice squeaked. If she were a woman of experience, what would she do? Bite his bold manhood for what its master was doing to her?
He yanked on her leg to straighten it and circled the hose around her ankle, pulling taut when he attached the other end to the bedpost. She lost her fight when he moved to her other leg. She had expected him to gloat. His furrowed brow confused her instead.
Then she noticed the reason why. The bulge in his hose expanded in length. What she had seen before was merely a tinkering of his true asset.
Her unmasked body resurrected Dante’s unquestionable lust. He cringed. The wench had all the attributes to seduce his ardor free from the constraints he had imposed. Those shapely legs he remembered so well. The gentle flare to her hips, dipping into a curvy waist. Her delicate ribcage. Breasts his palms itched to caress, their nipples pebbled proudly in the center of rosy circles. He closed his hands into fists to thwart his burgeoning passion. Bedamned, he’d not give in to the demand.
He met her damning glare. Perhaps he deserved it. By God, he did deserve it. But his headstrong wife brought her situation about all by herself.
“I am cold.” Her tone was just as frosty.
Tiny bumps spread along her legs and arms. He retrieved a coverlet from the foot of the bed and tossed it over her. At the hearth, he sat heavily in the chair, his back shielding him from seeing the loathing on her face.
“I cannot sleep splayed as I am.”
“Hush, woman.”
“I’ll not.”
He listened to her tugging on the restraints. He had tied them gently but firmly.
“My father will not be happy when I tell him what you have done.”
“He’ll not interfere as long as we are married.”
Thanks be to God, she held her tongue, though he sensed she had more to say. After a short silence, she called to him.
“Signore?”
“I am in no mood to argue, Alessandra. Go to sleep.”
“I cannot.”
He sighed heavily. “And why is that?”
“I must use the—”
He clutched the chair arms in his fierce grip, his fingertips digging into the wood.
“—the privy,” she completed, sending Dante to his feet.
He ran from the room, bellowing Agata’s name. The maidservant came running, fear strangling her features.
“Help my wife, then return her just as she is.”
“Sì, my lor—” She curtsied and corrected herself to avoid his further wrath. “Signore.”
****
In the kitchen, Dante cradled a mug of strong ale between his hands. He stared somewhere across the room, contemplating his brash actions. What kind of bastard had he become, tying a woman to his bed and forcing her to sleep in a position suitable for torture? Damn the wench. And damn him even more for losing patience with Alessandra and for allowing her to burrow under his skin.
Agata entered the kitchen and shied away. “The lady is returned to your bed, sir.”
“She is tied as I had her?”
Agata lifted her solemn eyes. “She is.”
He’d not take the woman’s word to heart. Alessandra had escaped Agata more than once, and he had the sinking feeling the maidservant aided her each time. “I will fetch you come morn.”
“Sì, signore.”
“Bedamned, woman. What is troubling you?”
“May I speak freely, signore?”
What woman does not? he mused wryly. He nodded.
“The signora will not sleep well with her limbs restrained.”
“Do not fret over my wife’s sleeping arrangements. She knew well what she faced if she disobeyed me. Mayhap I should threaten you—”
Agata gasped and dropped to her knees, her prayers rushing from her mouth.
Dante reached down and pulled her up by her elbow. “I did not mean I would tie you to a bed as I have my wife. But I should punish you and the others for not guarding her as I had asked.”
“The signora is most difficult to guard,” she argued meekly.
Amused by her suggestion, Dante allowed himself to grin, no matter the grim situation. “I believe you are right.” He lost his grin in a heartbeat. “From here on out, you will get word to me the instant she leaves this castle. If you fail to do so, I will parade you before the French soldiers and sell you to the highest bid.”
Agata’s head jerked up and down. He disliked planting the fearful notion in her head, but he had to retain some semblance of control and respect among the servants.
His legs felt as heavy as mud-filled sacks as he left the kitchen and trudged up the stairs. Each step seemed taller than the last. When finally he stood at his chamber door, he hesitated, contemplating what demeanor to wear. Anger? Pity? Compassion?
None fit the mood he was in. Bewildered over his behavior, he keenly felt the guilt laying heavy in his heart. Disguising his true feelings, he shored up his features and entered the chamber.
“You are comfortable now?” he asked.
“Comfortable for sleep, no, but I have taken care of the other.”
“Good.” His feet dragged across the floor to the fireside chair. He cursed his conscience for warring with his endeavor to tame the wench. Forcing himself not to look back at her, he sat stiffly, realizing he, too, would not sleep well on this night.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Midway through the night, Dante awoke with a start.
Slouched in the chair, he assessed his surroundings. The dream had been too real. A man twice his age and built like a stout oak tree chased him, shouting, “You will suffer, barbarian!”
He shifted and groaned when the muscles in his body resisted. As he stared sightless into the dying embers, he had trouble extinguishing the menacing image of the faceless man from his head. One thing was certain; guilt trapped him in its vicious grip. The man, he realized, symbolized Alessandra’s father.
He shivered from the icy air in the chamber. He moved forward to reignite the fire, wincing when his right knee popped and his back pulled unreasonably taut. Soon, the flames roared upward with renewed vigor. Dante pulled back from the heat before it singed his hair. The bright orange glow cast a soft light across the room.
He glanced back at Alessandra, cursing anew his irrational threat. “She is not an animal,” he muttered under his breath. “No, it is I who is the animal.”
He hurried to the bed. If he had suffered from the drastic drop in temperature, Alessandra must be frozen. Her hand felt like ice. Likewise, her foot. Working quickly, he unknotted the hose and released her limbs. She moaned from the change in position, the pitiful sound cutting deeper into his heart. He moved away to fix a thick pallet of furs in front of the hearth. Without thinking of the consequences, he scooped her off the bed and gently lay her on the stacked pallet. He stripped off his hose and brought her into the heat of his body. Every bit of her flesh was frightfully cold, and he was the lout responsible for turning her into a human icicle.
Gliding his hands over her shoulders and arms, he rubbed warmth into her bones. She moaned again, and her teeth chattered. Dante couldn’t do enough to make up for his atrocious actions.
Snatching up a blanket, he cocooned the two of them under its woolen shelter. At last, color returned to her cheeks, and her body lost its chill. She slept through it; for that he was grateful.
She turned toward the fire, wiggling her bottom into his contour and fitting herself snugly against him. Dante’s breath jerked inward. His swift reaction frightened him. How easy it would be to kiss her shoulder and neck. To run his hand over her curvy hip and down to the patch of hair protecting her secret from trespassers.
“Bedamned,” he whispered coarsely. He would have removed himself from temptation if she hadn’t nudged her foot between his calves, or used his arm for her pillow. “Bella mia, please do not entice me so.”
Her precious ivory shoulder peeked out above the cover. Dante brushed his lips against her soft skin and attempted to draw the blanket over her again. She pushed his hand away and brought her arm up, molding her palm to the back of his head, drawing his lips downward.
“Alessandra.” He moaned, knowing she was unaware of what she did. He tried to rouse her from sleep, but she was embedded deep in a blissful dream. Her lips turned up into a pleasant smile, and she lifted her head, her mouth searching for his. Perhaps he wasn’t thinking with the part of his body that interpreted right from wrong, but he no longer cared.
He exposed her delicious form to his hungry gaze. In the glow of the fire, she was more beautiful than a goddess. Her skin was flawless, her body pure and ripe. Kissing a path from her shoulder to her neck, he pressed her back to the pallet. She had yet to open her eyes.
Dante tapped her cheek. “Look at me, Alessandra.”
His gentle voice coaxed her awake. When she lifted her eyelids, Alessandra was not surprised to find Dante hovering above her. In her dream, he had lain with her, had caressed her lovingly, had kissed her passionately.
She touched his cheek, dragging her fingers down to his chin. “If you are looking for refusal, you’ll not hear it from me.”
Her husband warred with himself over the uncertainty of their intimacy. She saw it in the lines of indecision waving across his forehead. She smothered those lines with the pad of her fingers, then cupped his face between her hands and brushed his lips with her thumb.
“I know not what to do,” she confessed shyly.
“Know you what this means?”
She grinned. “You and I will be bonded for all eternity, for our marriage cannot be annulled once we come together.”
He gave her a look of disbelief, though she could see the playful shine in his eyes. “You dare threaten me with eternity?”
She widened her grin.
Reality slipped over his features. “It is not right, Alessandra.”
“For whatever reasons we were married, can we deny what our flesh craves?”
He was well aware she spoke the truth.
“Mayhap I was wrong.” She cast her gaze aside and stared at the fitful flames. “I have embarrassed myself, assuming you desire to have me.”
He gripped her chin and brought her around. “You are not wrong. I fear my guilt has overridden my desire for you.”
“If it is over what you did, you need not feel guilty. I disobeyed even though I knew the punishment. Do not blame yourself for my indiscretions.” She looped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer. “I forgive you, Dante,” she whispered in a voice husky with desire. “I want you.”
He claimed her lips with a passion surpassing her dreams. She wasn’t afraid of the act of mating. She understood how a man and woman joined their bodies, was aware of the pleasures such an intimate act brought to each. If any fear took hold, it was the fear of having her heart broken.
He trailed kisses across her shoulder, leaving a stretch of gooseflesh in his wake. He moved with purpose to her breasts. Alessa held her breath, waiting for that first exquisite touch of his warm lips to her burning flesh. His mouth closed over her nipple, and the divine sensation was more than she expected. Her skin palpitated with tiny spasms. When he laved his tongue around and over the tip, she couldn’t seem to lie still and gasped his name.
“Easy, bella mia. Let me pleasure you.”
Amidst his tantalizing words, a shiver of excitement spread through her body. His hand curved over her hip as he suckled her nipple relentlessly. Alessa sliced her fingers through his bounty of hair and easily coaxed him into moving across her chest. The instant his moist lips closed around her other breast, her breath shuddered inward. The provoking sensations coursed rapidly through her belly.
She basked in the thrill of each divine stroke of his magic tongue. It could have been a hot lance searing her flesh, yet it was far from painful. Bereft when he abandoned her breasts, she attempted to pull him back. Dante’s fingers circled her wrists and moved her hands away. He took her breasts, one in each hand, and pressed his lips to her ribcage, nibbling gently, plucking her skin with small, arousing bites.
Alessa crushed the fur she lay upon in her tight fists. She tipped her head forward to watch her early morning lover. His fingers dug lightly into her breasts, and when he rubbed his palms over their sensitive tips, she cried out with sweet agony.
“Why do you torture me with drawing out our coming union?”
Dante lifted his dark head. “There is more to consummating our marriage than two bodies joining. First, we will take our time loving each other and enjoy the pleasures that await us. Only when you are ready will we join.”
She anchored herself up on her elbows. “Love? Is that not for two people who are truly in love?”
He placed a kiss below her navel and moved smoothly up her body. The proof of his need pressed boldly into her thigh. “Are we not lovers?”
Pondering his question, Alessa realized a man and a woman need not be in love to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. “It matters not what we are, for I cannot stop myself from wanting you. We have come this far, so I bid you to continue before I burst from the expectation of our coupling.”
He chuckled. “You are a bold wench.”
His hand snaked lower, his palm resting on the hill just above the patch of hair. When he dipped the tip of one finger inside, Alessa feared her body would surely ignite. He delved deeper, his slow, deliberate strokes intensifying the pressure where he touched. Another finger joined the f
irst, and Alessa came close to tearing the fur from its hide. The sensation in her nether region was so great, so astounding, she could not control the gushing wetness crashing over his fingers and ebbing from her body.
Ashamed, she shied away and attempted to pull herself together. She must salvage what dignity she could, but Dante wouldn’t allow her to.
“You are ready for me now,” he said.
She gaped up at the mirthful light in his eyes. “I did not…pee?” she asked in a horrified whisper.
His deep chuckle cast a layer of heat up her cheeks. “My sweet, virgin wife, on the contrary.” He leaned over to kiss one corner of her frowning mouth. “Your passion has come full circle. It is a woman’s way of telling her man he has pleased her.” He touched his lips to her cheek in a brief kiss. “And now it is my turn.”
He climbed over her, his body looming large. She prayed his heavier weight would not crush her like a frail leaf beneath a man’s heavy boot. He held himself up on his palm, his other hand disappearing between them, touching her wet delta, stroking her outer lips. The stirring in her lower body strengthened, and another wave of ill-suppressed delight took her breath away.
He aligned the tip of him to her entrance and pushed just a little. She brought her hands up to his shoulders, marveling at the manly feel of them beneath her caressing touch. As she admired the satiny texture of his skin, she flinched when he pushed in a bit more.
“You are pinching me.”
A sorrowful look claimed his features. “I am sorry, Alessandra. I know not how to avoid the pain.”
“Pain?” she howled at the exact instant he broke past the last barrier of her virginity.
He ran his hands along her head in a calming gesture, raining tiny kisses over her face and whispering words of comfort in her ear. “It is done, bella mia. Soon you will feel only pleasure. I promise.”
She unclenched her fingers from his shoulders, blinking hard when she saw the blood she had drawn. He followed her dismayed look and grinned.
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