by Renee Rose
"Have you been with the count long?"
"Yes, my lady. I came with his first wife, and he was kind enough to keep me on after her death."
"How did she die?"
"A fever took both her and their son."
She felt a pang for him. She hadn't known he'd had a child. "How old was he?" she asked softly.
"He was three years old when they died."
"I'm sure the count was much aggrieved."
"Yes. He loved that little boy very much." The maid's eyes swam with tears.
It was odd she had omitted the wife. She probed further. "Was he quite close with the countess?" Lucia asked, stepping into the pool. The water was perfect—cool but not too cold; refreshing. She dipped her head under and rubbed her face with her hands. When she came up dripping, Ana answered her. "I wouldn't say that, no."
Lucia waited to see if she would say more.
It worked. "They never really got on."
"Why is that?"
Ana shook her head and blushed. "I shouldn't like to say."
"Ana," Lucia said in her most gently persuasive voice. "I must live with this man for the rest of my life. I implore you to give me any help you can in understanding him."
Ana looked at her, unsure. Lucia gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile. The woman's eyes lowered. "The count had a habit of employing village girls rather than bedding the countess," she said in a low voice, as if she feared being overheard. "My lady prayed and prayed he would come to her instead, but after he had fulfilled his duty of giving her a child, he stopped attending to her at all."
Lucia felt her belly knot up at that information. She tried to imagine the count with a village whore, and unfortunately, found it quite easy. He had already admitted to knowledge of what they did for him in bed, hadn't he? She pushed the thought out of her mind forcefully. It would be different with her. She would provide him with all he needed.
A new thought made her grow cold. She suddenly found her enjoyment of the bath had ended. Stepping out, she said, "I suppose he must have a great many bastards running around?"
Ana shrugged, helping her dry off. "If he does, they are unknown or unacknowledged."
That gave her a little relief. She had noticed both times they had coupled he had not left his seed inside of her. Mayhap it was a habit he'd developed through his practice of extramarital entertainment. But if so, how would she ever get pregnant, herself?
* * *
Walking up from the courtyard, Marco saw his servants carrying one of Lucia's trunks into the potting shed. "Where are you going with that?"
"The countess sent it here, my lord. She said it contained cuttings of grapevines."
His pulse quickened at the thought. Cuttings of her father's grapevines would be infinitely valuable. A vine didn't produce decent grapes for at least five years, and none would bear fruit good enough for fine wine until they were over seventy years. To think she had brought him some such vines, which might shorten that time and add greater variety to his vineyard, spiked a thrill through his whole body.
He went in search for her and the servants informed him she was in the bath. He headed out to find her. "My lady!" he called as she emerged from the entrance to the baths. She wore a fresh gown, this one in blue, and her pale skin glowed from the bath, highlighting her big brown eyes. She reminded him of a painting of Venus he'd seen in Florentine by Lorenzo de Medici's new favorite artist Botticelli. He truly had lucked into a beautiful wife.
"My lord?"
"Is it true you brought grapevine cuttings?"
"Yes, my lord. Of each of my father's vines."
He couldn't believe the old man would willingly share them. "Did he send them with you?"
Her mouth curved into a slow, sly smile. "No, my lord. He does not know I took them."
Marco took her shoulders and kissed her fully on the mouth. "You're an angel," he breathed. "Will you show me?"
She took his arm, looking happy she'd pleased him. He liked the feel of her small hand on his elbow, her body close enough to smell her freshly scrubbed skin. Just being near her ignited little tremors of interest in his body.
In the shed, he opened the trunk and she identified each vine for him.
"I hope they all take." She inspected each cutting to see how it had survived the three day journey. They were packed in cloth bags of moist soil, and they appeared undamaged.
"I will have them potted straight away," he said.
"If you don't mind, I should prefer to do it myself."
He lifted his eyebrows. "Of course. As you wish. You shall have any help you require."
Suddenly, despite his decision to distance himself from her, now that they had arrived at the villa, he found he could not wait to show her his vineyards. He wanted to hear her opinion on the plants, to have her taste the wines. But she looked tired. "Have you had anything to eat, cara mia?"
She shook her head.
"Come, let's see if supper is ready, no?"
She turned her dimpled smile on him, and he caught her up into his arms. "Lucia. Thank you. I know what a gift this is." He realized with a pang he had not given her a wedding gift and vowed to correct the situation as soon as possible.
"And to think that you still chose to bring this trunk for me after I made you leave so many of your trunks behind. You should have told me, cara. I am unsympathetic, but even I know a countess requires more than two trunks of clothing to survive!"
She threw her head back and laughed, warming his heart. He kissed her again, molding his hand to her nape, enjoying the way she melted into him. Unbidden, the image of her naked, rolling her head back in pleasure sprang into his mind. He groaned and cupped the curve of her bottom in one hand, pulling her hips against his legs. Her kiss grew eager, and he heard himself groan again. This time the image was of her bent over the potting table. But she was a lady and certainly not for taking from behind in a potting shed.
She nipped at his lip a little with her teeth, and he growled in response.
Potting shed it would be, then. Taking charge of her, he kept their lips connected as he backed her swiftly against the potting table. He disengaged from her lips and spun her around, lifting her skirts to display her bare bottom.
She went stiff, looking over her shoulder at him with wide, frightened eyes. Oh hell. A lady should not be taken like a common whore out in the potting shed. But then...he almost laughed when he realized. She thought she was going to be spanked. No wonder she was afraid! She was too innocent to know this was also a sexual position.
Spitting on his hand, he rubbed saliva on the head of his manhood and brought it between her legs, rubbing the lips of her warm sex. She moaned, and her eyes rolled back in her head. She clearly did not object. That thought made him even harder, and he pressed into the opening that was blooming there for him. She cried out, so he went still, giving her time to absorb the way he filled her. When she pressed back into him, he moved with a growl and a surge of excitement. He held her hips firmly to push into her.
She looked over her shoulder at him again and this time her eyes were filled with wonder. He reached one hand around and slid it into her bodice, pulling on her nipple to stimulate her further. It put her over the edge—she bucked and jerked, crying out as she climaxed. When she was through, he glided in and out until he reached his own climax, pulling out before he spilled his seed. Getting his new wife pregnant was not a part of his plans.
* * *
Her reveling in the glory of her husband's passion tapered off when he pulled out again.
"My lord?"
"Marco," he corrected her, throwing her skirts back down. He turned her around and smiled down at her affectionately.
"Marco." She faltered a little, not wishing to ruin the sweetness of the moment. But she had never been a coward. She needed to know where they stood. "Why do you not leave your seed within me?"
His face closed up into a blank mask, and the warmth disappeared. "I just wanted to enjoy you
for a while," he said lightly, "before I have to share you with a child." The smile returned, but it was not genuine.
She shivered a little, and he put his arm around her, leading her out of the potting shed. "Come, cara. It must be nearly supper time."
That night, Lucia went to sleep alone in her new bed, staring at the decorated walls, wondering if the first countess had been responsible for the adornment. She refused to allow herself to fret over the worries swirling around her mind about her new husband. He was what he was, and she would make the best of it.
As it turned out, she did not have to sleep the entire night alone. In the early hours of the morning, she woke to the feel of her husband crawling into bed next to her, his warm hands stroking her fully awake.
Her body responded to his touch, nipples beading up before he'd even bent his head to flick them with his tongue. He scraped his teeth over one nipple, nipping her, then laving away the pain with his tongue. She moaned, heat rushing between her legs. He slid his hand up her inner thigh.
"Open for me, Lucia." The command in his desire-roughened voice was unmistakable, and her thighs parted, ever obedient. His fingers grazed her dewy slit, igniting a fiery need, but instead of attending to it, he stroked back down her thigh.
She rocked her pelvis, showing him her eagerness.
He repeated the path up her thigh, brushing her outer lips but ignoring her pulsing nubbin.
"Marco," she pleaded.
He bent to claim her mouth, his tongue licking between her lips.
She lifted her breasts to meet his chest, wrapped her ankles around his back, pulling him down on her.
He chuckled. Sitting back on his heels, he lifted her ankles in the air with one hand and gave her bottom a swat.
She jerked and reached up to cover, squeezing her cheeks together. "What was that for?"
If he answered, she missed it, because his manhood nudged at her entrance sending shivers of excitement down her inner thighs to her curling toes.
She moaned her approval.
In the dark, she saw his mouth stretch into a lazy grin. He parted her legs and placed an ankle on each shoulder just before he shoved deep inside her.
Her eyes rolled back in her head with pleasure as she discovered the delights of the new position, the unique angle creating an excitement deep inside her as well at the entrance. Her juices flowed around his cock, eager for all he had to give.
He increased his tempo, pumping into her with more force now.
Her cries turned wanton as his loins slapped against her lifted bottom again and again.
Marco pulled out and pushed her feet away from his shoulders, tipping her even farther back, until her feet nearly reached the bed behind her shoulders. He entered her in this position, and she squealed at the sensation of being stretched tight while he shoved in and out.
"Lucia," he gasped. "Come for me."
She didn't understand the words, but her body seemed to know their meaning, because she crested the hill, tumbling over the other side with rapid contractions of her muscles around his cock. She watched the control slip from his face as his thrusts grew erratic. "Oh, sweet Jesu, yes." He pulled out and spurted his seed on her belly, his eyes closed in bliss. When he finished, he climbed off and she feared he would leave her room, but he returned with a damp linen, which he used to clean her.
When he finished, he settled beside her, wrapping a strong arm around her waist and pulling her against his body. "You're a willing little student, Lucia," he murmured. "You please me."
She smiled in the darkness.
"Come, I want to show you the grapes," he said after they had dozed in each other's arms and woken with the sun streaming fully through the windows. She got up and dressed quickly, catching his enthusiasm. She knew her father had sold the count on the marriage based on her experience with his vineyard, and it gave her joy to have a direction and purpose in this new life.
They stopped downstairs for a quick breakfast, and then he led her out to the vineyard. The new plants were small, and though they bore fruit, they looked as though they were struggling. She walked slowly, fingering the leaves, noting the white powdery mildew that speckled some of the plants, and the yellowing edges on others.
"Sulfur water," she declared definitively.
"I don't think so," he said doubtfully. "I've never smelled anything strange about the water here."
"No, I mean that's what is needed to get rid of the mildew."
"Ah. Where do I get that?"
"That is the question. My father used to get it from a hot springs in the south. But to transport any quantity of it all the way here could be expensive or difficult. Is there any sulfur spring in the area?"
Marco looked disappointed. "Not that I know of."
She considered the problem, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. It was a bad habit, as her sister Celia would have pointed out. "Maybe a diluted vinegar solution would work."
"Yes. We could test it, just on this row—that way we won't do too much damage if it doesn't work."
She agreed. "I also suspect that more sand is needed in your soil. Grapes need lots of water, but the moisture must drain quickly. The yellow on the tip of the leaves here tells me they are getting water spoiled." She plucked a leaf and held it out to show him.
"How am I to get more sand in the soil?"
She lifted her shoulders. "I'm not sure, but in the meantime, you could be careful to only irrigate in the mornings, and not until the soil has fully dried from the last irrigation."
Marco nodded and looked around. "I'd like to introduce you to Arturo, the steward of the vineyard. You may give him instructions directly. I don't see him just now, but he's usually around."
He led her back toward the terrace. "Come, I'll show you the winery."
It was a large building with vats of grapes and oak barrels filled with finished wine for aging. He opened one and scooped out a little in a cup for her to taste. She couldn't help but grimace, and he laughed.
"I know. It's because the grapes are too young, no?"
She nodded. "I would imagine that's true. I don't know—I haven't tasted wine from young grapes before, but I've heard it takes at least five years before the vines are old enough to produce decent fruit."
"I've heard the same. So I try not to be discouraged."
"You could always use it for a blended wine. Either purchase another winery's wine or sell yours to blend the wines for a passable table wine."
Marco looked thoughtful. Then abruptly he pulled her in for a kiss. "I think I'll keep you around." She peeked at his face to see if he had seriously considered not keeping her around and he gave her a wink. She smiled in relief and took his arm. Thank you, my lord. I should like to stay."
Marco left her to attend to business, and she returned to the vineyard, walking up and down the length of the rows to see if her inspection revealed anything new. She had bent to examine the soil when a voice startled her.
"Are you lost, lady?"
She whirled around to take in a short man, in a hat and a billowy white shirt with soaked armpits. "What? Oh, no. I'm the new countess. Lucia Dante de Parma." She held out her hand.
"Dante? Of the Dante winery?" The man looked incredulous. He took her hand and bowed over it, kissed it in a lingering way that forced her to fight the urge to snatch it back. "I had no idea the count planned to take a wife, much less one of such exceptional beauty."
This was one of those moments she missed her sister. If Celia were there they would have given each other a secret look, or discreet eye roll. Instead, she lifted her chin a bit and inquired regally, "And you are?"
"Arturo. I'm the steward here."
"Ah. The count wished for me to discuss the care of the vines with you."
Arturo raised his eyebrows as if a woman having any ideas worth discussing was nonsense. "But of course, my lady." His eyes fell to the neckline of her dress and stayed there on the swell of her breasts. "I will be happy to hear your tho
ughts, but right now I am in the middle of something. In fact, I came to ask you to please remove yourself from the rows so I can release the water."
"That was one of the things I wished to discuss with you. The vines look over-watered to me. I think you should let the soil dry out before you water again."
"Yes, yes, countess. I will do that," he said so dismissively that she knew he would not heed a word she had said. "Now if you wouldn't mind..." He opened an arm as if to usher her out. Anxious to avoid walking with the infuriating man, she brushed past him, lifted her skirts, and marched back to the villa. With gritted teeth, she added Arturo to her list of challenges to be addressed.
* * *
Lucia was nothing like his first wife. Things had never been pleasant with Isabella. She had appeared to be a mouse, but only if mice could be bitter creatures, who never spoke, but seethed venom every time their husbands were in the same room. She'd crept about the villa, too painfully awkward to give orders to the servants or step into her role as countess. Yet her thoughts were clearly not as submissive as her manner. He always felt a sense of blame emanating from her. He'd made it clear to her he ruled the villa and required his independence, not wanting to be trapped in a shameful marriage like his father's. She was frigid in bed, so he'd taken to whoring and made no secret of it. She hadn't taken it well. She hated him for the puttanas he used, hated him for not bedding her more than he did, even though she seemed to detest the act, hated him for being alive, it seemed.
She'd borne him a beautiful son, for that he'd been grateful. And she'd been a good mother to him, though her dour disposition made him a quiet boy. He had loved their son—loved knowing that something of flesh and blood was produced from his own body and cherished the incredible love and innocence the boy showed him. He still grieved his death. Yet he didn't want another child. Losing little Marco had been too painful, and having a child had bound him so completely to his wife and home. After ten years of sweet solitude, he was loathe to get himself entrenched in a family situation again.