Dante's Flame

by Jannine Corti-Petska

  “I did not wander away.” Alessa spoke with pride.

  Dante grinned at her. “Mayhap I have cured you of that malady.”

  Hot color curled up her cheeks.

  Fabroni chuckled. “Mayhap marriage has cured her.”

  Benito slid his hostile glare from Dante to Alessa. “The heavy hand of a man is what controls a defiant woman.”

  Dante’s arm tensed beneath her hand. Praying the two would not come to fists, Alessa stepped in front of her husband. “Sometimes a gentle hand is more controlling than a fist.”

  Regaling because Benito could do naught about her bold tongue in Dante’s company, she leveled a challenging look on him. His neck and face flushed a darker, angrier hue.

  Dante thanked Fabroni for looking after her and promptly ushered her out of the shop. He lifted her with ease onto his waiting horse. After he mounted, she bristled. “Why did you drag me out of my cousin’s shop?”

  “Would you have me kill Benito in front of his father because you cannot hold back your insolent tongue?”

  “He’ll not harm me in your presence.”

  “All the more reason for you never to meander into the city alone.”

  Alessa glanced back at the window. Benito watched her, the message in his eyes and on his face clear. He’d not hesitate to kill her if he had the chance.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “I shall like to speak with Father Damiani,” Alessa requested before she and Dante reached the gates to leave the city.

  “Have you sinned in the short time you were with the Valentes?” he asked.

  “My confession is between me and our Lord.”

  “And Father Damiani?”

  His sound observation annoyed Alessa. “He is close to God, is he not?”

  “Is there something I should know?”

  She tried a different approach. “It will be my first confession as a married woman. Would you deny me my devotion to God?”

  His chest vibrated from his deep chuckle. “God will hear you no matter where you pray to Him, devoted or not.”

  Alessa attempted yet another tactic, one she hoped would draw out his guilt. “When last did you make your confession?”

  He shrugged, then a glimmer of amusement settled in his eyes. “I have naught to confess.”

  “Lying is a sin.”

  “What have I lied about?”

  She had already voiced her opinion of him hiding his ambition behind the French without pointedly accusing him of aiding their cause. He remained tight-lipped about his true association with the soldiers. He’d not confess it to her, but she had hoped he’d at least be forthcoming with his work here in Naples now that she was his wife.

  “My pardon, signore. I must have been mistaken.”

  Dante pulled up and stilled the horse. He held her chin in the bend of his fingers and turned her head. She gave pause to the exposed conflict darkening his gaze.

  “Have you something specific to say to me, Alessandra?”

  The pressure of her new role as Dante’s wife weighed down her heart. If she revealed her cousins’ plan, she’d betray her blood. If she kept the information locked away, she’d betray her husband whom, she now realized, had not returned to Naples solely to teach.

  She removed his fingers from her chin and gave him a placid smile. “As I said, I was mistaken. But I will tell you this. I am not pleased with you for keeping me from seeking out the good priest to hear what I believe I must confess.”

  His mouth curved up into an amused smiled. “If it is that important to you, I will see you to Father Damiani.”

  “I thank you for your kindness.”

  “Take care that sarcastic tongue of yours, Alessandra.” His smiled never wavered.

  ****

  Father Damiani greeted Alessa unfavorably. He was preoccupied, his eyes darting more than once to the chamber he came from. He was unusually agitated. Assuming she had interrupted whatever it was priests did when not hearing confessions or holding mass, she begged just a few moments of his time. He guided her to a pew in the empty church and lowered his plump body to the seat. Without a curtain separating them, she was uncomfortable sitting face to face with him.

  “Is it a sin for a woman to lead her husband to believe that which is not true?”

  Confusion marked his flushed features.

  “I mean, what if a wife knows something important and does not tell her husband?” Meeting with the priest was not going as she had hoped. She succeeded only in confounding him. Starting over, she tried to be succinct. “Will God forgive me if I am not truthful with my husband?”

  “God is forgiving, my dear. He will not judge you if you sin but will lead you down the path to goodness.”

  His answer puzzled her. Did he intone she’d be deemed a sinner by keeping information from her husband? “Mayhap a confession is not what I need.” She might have been premature in going to the priest. But who could she turn to with her knowledge of her cousins’ plot? “I am a new wife and do not pretend to know all that is expected of me. I pray in time I will understand my role and confide in my husband should the need arise.”

  Father Damiani rested his stout hand on her forearm. “What are you keeping from your husband?”

  If she told him, he might call the authorities and have Fabroni and his family imprisoned. On the other hand, he could forgive them as he had her sin, if indeed she committed one. The city’s conflict tottered between two warring kings, but where would the sympathies lie if someone among the people of Naples was arrested for disloyalty to the occupying French? If she wasn’t convinced she was caught in the middle of two sides, she’d have ignored her cousins’ plot. If it weren’t for her husband, she certainly wouldn’t have cared who ruled Naples.

  More confused than ever, Alessa pardoned herself from the priest, claiming she must think through her confession before unveiling what lay heavy on her mind.

  Outside the church, Dante awaited her near his horse, a noticeable smirk upon his lips. “Have you purged your sins?”

  “Not as much as I had hoped.”

  “Mayhap you can purge to me what you have not to Father Damiani.” He leaned down and kissed her. When again he spoke, his voice lowered to a whisper. “Or we can forego the confession.”

  Anticipation drizzled down her belly, and she couldn’t wait to return to their chamber—posthaste.

  ****

  From the chamber door, Dante had trouble taking his eyes from his wife who sat cross-legged on his bed, engrossed in her writing. The fair hair of her braid hung over one shoulder, its feathery tip grazing the page of her journal. She brushed it away, only to have it return. He was curious about what she fervently wrote. A new tale? A truth? Her confessions to the priest?

  Striding farther into the room, Dante forced his attention away from Alessandra and doffed his surcoat and tunic. He sat on the chair to pull off his boots. With only his hose remaining, he leaned back and stared into the hearth, desperately resisting the urge to join her on the bed.

  “I did not hear you enter,” she said.

  The honey tone of her voice speared straight to his heart. “You were well into your writing. I fear the French army could have marched in and you would not have noticed.”

  Her light-hearted laughter teased his ever-growing passion. “Are you wounded by my neglect?”

  “Surely you jest.” He refused to look at her, safe-guarding his desire.

  In the absence of conversation, he listened to her movement, envisioning what she was up to. She came up from behind and draped her arms over his shoulders.

  “I may have much to learn about men, but you, my husband, are quite easy to figure out. And though I did not approve of our marriage, I find myself unable to resist you when you are fairly naked in our chamber.”

  He smiled grimly. Her honesty pierced his heart, reminding him of his duplicity. He held her hand and guided her around the chair, intending to stand her in front of him. She shocked him by sliding
onto his lap and hooking one arm around his neck. While her fingers played with the ends of his hair, Dante was helpless to stop his lust from breaking free. He scooted her away from his sensitive manhood and searched deep into her eyes. What he found astounded him. No woman looked at a man with that much admiration if she didn’t care for him. Even if he hadn’t given Alessandra any reason to lose her heart to him, he wondered just how far her empathy went.

  “Alessandra, we are bound by the laws of marriage, and I will do my best to treat you with kindness and respect.”

  “Then you’ll not tie me naked to your bed ever again?”

  He’d admit he was wrong to have treated her roguishly, but he’d not admit he was sorry for what had followed. “In the future, I shall resort to a more appropriate punishment should you disobey me.”

  He cherished the sparkle in her eyes, shining as bright as a jewel worthy of a queen. She drew near, seeking his lips. He’d not deny her, but there was one thing more he needed to say.

  “Mayhap this is wrong, Alessandra.” His heart did not agree. “As you have said before, you would marry only for love.”

  “A childish fantasy.”

  Oddly, it was not what he wanted to hear. With a raspy sigh of defeat, Dante claimed her lips, his kiss intense and likely combustible. Neither of them willing to break away, he maneuvered his hose down his hips while she clung to his shoulders. He quickly adjusted her dress and slipped her leg over both of his until she straddled his thighs. He reached down, finding her soft curls. Parting her easily, he slipped one finger inside, his thumb rubbing the sensitive bud until she grew wet.

  Their clothing became an annoying obstacle. He set her on her feet, ripped off his hose, then divested her of all but her stockings. He found it enormously arousing to see her clad only in the decorative leg covering. He kneeled before her, tilting his head back to behold the baffled innocence disturbing her beautiful features.

  “You’ll not regret this, Alessandra.” His throat clogged with hopeful expectation and sounded as hoarse as a braying donkey.

  He patted the seat of the chair. She followed his silent command to sit, though she hovered on its edge as if she’d take flight. He’d not give her the chance to shy away from this new pleasure. If she believed it was a sin to let him taste the nectar of her body, he would whisk her off to confession.

  Sliding his hands up her legs, he reveled in their lean shape. He toyed with the top of one stocking, slipping a finger beneath its rim, and slowly pulled it below her knee. Trailing kisses down her exposed limb, he lifted her delicate foot and bared it to his view. He tenderly kissed each perfect toe and absorbed her tremble where his hand cradled her calf. When he moved up between her spread legs, she tensed.

  “Do not be afraid,” he whispered against her mouth, stealing one more kiss before his lips teased her from her collarbone to her breasts, to the dancing flesh over her belly. He relished tantalizing her body into those tiny tremors of delight.

  Tightly gripping the arms of the chair, Alessandra’s skin paled to white over her knuckles while he hooked two fingers over the rim of the other stocking, gliding it off her leg. He wedged his shoulders between her knees, spreading her ivory thighs and leaving her open and vulnerable. When he pressed his lips to her soft inner thigh, she reacted with a start.

  “There is naught to fear,” he said softly.

  “It is not fear but anticipation, I think.”

  “Then, bella mia, I will not prolong what your body craves.”

  He spread her nether lips, pausing when she attempted to shut him out. She played a game of give and take, desperately awaiting his first touch yet subconsciously denying what most women viewed as sinful. He stroked her cleft, drawing away any shame she might feel. He expelled his breath purposely, feathering the mass of pale hair. Soon, her limbs became pliant, and she eased her legs apart again.

  Without prompting, she set her feet on his shoulders. He spread the folds of her womanhood, and his tongue snaked out to take the long-awaited taste. It was tentative at first, and he supposed he unfairly teased while sublimely fulfilling his desire to behold every last venue of her luscious body. His light touch threw Alessandra back, her fingers gripping the arms of the chair tighter. When the tip of his tongue flicked over her most sensitive spot, she elicited a half moan, half gasp. Dante glanced up, his breath taken away by the throes of ecstasy capturing her features.

  With the growl of animal hunger, he delved deeper, suckling, drinking up the sweetness trickling out of her body. She squirmed and begged him to stop. All the while her scent beckoned him to take her higher. He slipped one finger in to join his plundering tongue. At last, it was all she could endure. The powerful force of her climax was his undoing.

  Leaving her wet, wanting, Dante sprang to his feet and lifted her off the chair. He sat on the edge, straddling her over his thighs, and closely watched her face as he impaled her with a forceful thrust. She cried out his name as her fingers gripped his shoulders. This time there would be no blood shed from either of them. This time, she’d truly learn the difference between fantasy and reality.

  Somehow she maneuvered her legs to encircle him and hooked her ankles just above his haunches. Using all her strength, she rose, holding the tip of him inside, becoming the one who teased now. When she dropped hard, it forced a grunt from the two of them. Falling into a rhythm as steady as a marching army, Dante seized her mouth, the kiss ardent. His urgency as strong as his thrusts, he molded his hands over her hips and jerked upward. The start of his climax coursed through his blood. His head dropped back as a groan pressed through his clenched teeth. With more force than he imagined possible, he exploded inside her with nary a thought his seed might take root. His rapture so great, he couldn’t think beyond the riveting sensations shooting throughout his body.

  What seemed an eternity of perpetual bliss came to an end, although the euphoria lingered. Dante hugged his wife to his damp chest. Fearful of what it meant, he gathered her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He observed the lasting shroud of desire in her eyes, begging him to lie with her. He steeled himself from giving in.

  “I will send Agata up to fill a bath for you.”

  Disappointment replaced her elation.

  “Should I fetch Father Damiani as well?” The question offended her in an instant. The daggers flinging from her eyes dug keenly into his chest, and he swore the pain was genuine. “I assumed you would desire to confess….” He’d do best to close his mouth before he swallowed his foot whole. “Mi dispiace, bella mia.”

  “You are sorry? For what?”

  Baffled by the shrillness in her voice, Dante backed away. “I beg your forgiveness, but it seems my tongue cannot provide me with the proper response.”

  “Not long ago your tongue was in fine working order,” she snapped, then blushed hotly.

  He scooped up his clothes and dressed in haste. At the door he paused and raked his eyes over her naked form. If he hadn’t insulted her, he’d lose himself in her again. Alas, it was for the best he departed and remained away from the castle until nightfall. If he didn’t, he would keep her naked and a slave to his staggering lust the whole day. He might also tell her things she should not know. Unwillingly he left, his loins heavy and his heart even heavier.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  When Dante failed to return to the castle by the afternoon, Alessa feared trouble had befallen him. Her fertile mind conjured up all the horrible ways he could be harmed. She calmed her runaway imagination and took comfort in believing he hadn’t left the city before the gates were locked.

  She was no longer upset over his indifference the night before. More was her bafflement over his sudden mood change, as if he’d shared glorious sex with a harlot instead of his wife. Granted, neither came into their marriage with illusions of falling in love. Still, she felt mortally wounded when he had asked if she wished to confess to Father Damiani. Dante was the one who convinced her their intimacy was not a sin. She believed
him. And now she wondered if he’d meant only to ease her mind to satiate his manly palate.

  Unable to remain in the same chamber she shared with her husband, she flounced down the stairs to find Agata. Stopped midway by the sound of Dante’s agitated voice in the great hall below, Alessa backed up a few steps and crouched down to listen.

  “Agata!” he bellowed.

  Her maidservant’s hurried footsteps relayed her alarm. “Sì, Signor Santangelo.”

  “Where is my wife?”

  “She is in your chamber, signore.”

  “She is?” Shock invaded his response.

  Alessa scurried up the stairs. In their bedchamber she hastily retrieved her journal and leaned back against the massive headboard, opening the leather bound book just as her husband burst into the room. He appeared quite surprised to find her there. She feigned fright at the sudden sight of him.

  “My pardon,” he apologized. “I did not realize you were here.”

  “Where else would I be?” she asked innocently.

  “Where else indeed.”

  She closed her journal and set it aside. When Dante walked to his desk, she contemplated broaching the subject of politics. But how would she with a man who, she suspected, was in deeper with the French than he let on?

  This was the first time she’d seen him sitting at the desk. Curious, she meandered over, stretching her neck to get a closer look at what he was writing. It was in French, and she frowned.

  “A letter to your lover?” she teased, moving to his side.

  “Why would you think that?”

  She shrugged matter-of-factly. “You spend a good amount of your day in the city. More precisely, the French camp.”

  He rose stiffly to face her. She rested her hand on his chest, his heart pounding rapidly beneath her palm. The rhythm reflected the upheaval in her own heart.

  Her fingers kneaded like a cat’s claw, yet Dante held his breath to stave off the desire her touch awakened. He closed his hand over hers and pulled it away. “Would that I could lay you down this very moment, Alessandra, but I cannot. The French captain has bid me to—” He glanced away abruptly. “I have important business to attend.”