by Renee Rose
Pedro and other servants had arrived and were gathering around.
"Bring me two swords," Marco demanded. "I will have satisfaction."
"Yes, my lord," Pedro was as calm and efficient as ever, gliding swiftly back to the villa to do as he was bid.
Arturo stood up, shaking his head. "I will not fight you."
"You will." Marco's voice was as cold and hard-edged as a blade itself.
"Nay, my lord." He held up his hands in surrender. "I will not take up arms against you."
Pedro returned with the swords and Marco took one, darting forward and holding it to Arturo's throat. "Shall I kill him, my lady?" he asked darkly.
Arturo backed up slowly, but Marco followed. She found she couldn't answer. Was it a test? To see if she cared for the man? Did he believe Arturo was her lover? Or did he know he'd just attempted to rape her?
"Shall I?" he asked sharply.
Lucia found her courage and strode forward to Arturo. For the second time in a few moments, she brought her knee up between his legs as hard as she could, and he dropped groaning to the floor. "Tell my lord husband the truth," she demanded.
Marco pressed the tip of the blade to his throat again. Arturo's eyes went back and forth from Marco's hard face to hers, and then he grunted, "She refused me. She is unspoiled."
Anger flared in her chest. "Refused? I was not aware I was given a choice!" She spat on his face.
She could see the jaw muscles in Marco's face flexing. "Are you unspoiled?" he asked in a low voice so that the audience would not hear.
"Yes."
"Hurt?"
She rubbed her neck. "Not really."
He took his sword in both hands and drew it up directly over Arturo's heart, stopping there and staring the man in the eye. Beads of sweat ran down Arturo's hairline and gathered on his lip. His face had gone pale. She recalled suddenly he had a wife and children who lived on the property, and she wondered if they were there to witness this horrible scene. She closed her eyes, but resolved not to flinch if Marco unleashed his sword on its target.
He did not. With a show of mercy, he lowered his sword and spat on the ground with disdain. "Remove him from my property," he ordered the servants. As an afterthought, he turned to Pedro. "His family may stay if they wish. His dishonor is not theirs."
"Yes, my lord."
Marco turned to her then and met her halfway. "Are you hurt?" He drew her closer to inspect her.
She shook her head, holding up the torn flap of her bodice. The shaking in her knees had not stopped and unshed tears closed her throat. He wrapped his arms around her, and she pressed her cheek against his strong chest, absorbing his strength, reveling at being close to him again after his long absence. He pulled back to inspect her face again.
"What happened, exactly?"
She felt her face grow hot. "I was stupid. Arturo said..." She shook her head so she could speak clearly. "He said he had a question about some seeds." She swallowed. "But he's never been interested in hearing my opinion on anything. I should have known it was a ruse."
"So you went with him to the potting shed?"
She nodded. "And then he shut the door and..." She brought her free hand up to her throat and rubbed at the soreness. Marco peeled the hand back and inspected her neck, looking grave. "I tried to scream, but he covered my mouth and told me no one here would believe I was innocent, since I'd met him in the potting shed willingly."
She ventured a look at Marco's face. He looked grim. "I swear to you, I never encouraged such behavior."
He nodded, but said nothing.
Did he believe her? He had been willing to risk his life to defend her honor. But that didn't necessarily mean he believed in her innocence.
"Then what happened?"
She closed her eyes as if to erase the memory. "He forced me to the ground, on my back. He ripped open my dress." She removed her hand from the bodice and let it fall open, exposing her breast. Then she quickly pulled it closed again, in case any servants reappeared.
"I waited until I could use my knee to strike him between the legs, and it gave me enough time to get out the door. And you know what happened next."
Marco nodded. "Had he tried anything like this before, Lucia?"
She shook her head. "No." She sighed, her shoulders sagging. "But he made me uncomfortable—always looking down the front of my dress or holding my hand too long." She shook her head, remembering. "He leered. And it seemed as if he was always coming upon me when I was unchaperoned."
"Why is this the first I've heard of it?"
"Why... Oh. Well, I don't know. I didn't want to complain, I guess."
Marco looked at her for a long moment. He cupped her chin. "We will discuss this more tomorrow. Tonight I want only to hold you close and soothe away your trauma." He scooped her into his arms and carried her toward the stairs. "I missed you, cara. And you gave me quite a scare just now."
She looped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. "I'm so glad you're home, my lord," she murmured.
Marco carried her to his bedroom and helped her out of her torn dress. Once he'd tucked her under the covers, he shucked his clothes and joined her, pulling her into his arms and smoothing her hair.
"I wasn't sure whether you believed me." She spoke her fears into the darkness of the chamber.
He pulled her into him. "Shh. I believe you, cara. But you should have told me about your problems with Arturo. I would never have left you alone with him."
She caught the reprimand in his voice and shivered. When he meant they would discuss it later, did he mean to punish her? "I'm sorry."
He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "We'll talk about it later," he repeated.
She sighed and snuggled closer, breathing in his masculine scent, taking comfort from his strength and commanding presence.
The following evening after supper, Marco said, "It's time for our discussion, amore. Go up to my chamber and take off your clothes."
A wave of icy cold washed over her. She had no doubt now of his intention. "Marco, please. I have learned my lesson."
He chucked her cheek. "And I'm still going to spank you. Go now, or I'll use the strap again."
Her eyes widened, and she turned abruptly and fled up the stairs to his chamber.
She removed her dress and chemise and shivered. She didn't know what to do with herself. It felt horribly awkward to be naked in the middle of the afternoon in her husband's chambers. She wanted to climb in his bed and pull the covers up to her chin, but she wasn't sure he would like finding her that way. Maybe she should get her robe from her chamber? Not wanting to be caught anywhere but where she'd been told to go, she darted into her room to snatch up the robe, not breathing until she'd returned. She pulled it around her shoulders and sat on the edge of the bed, ill at ease.
The door opened, and she jumped to her feet, throwing the robe off.
Marco shut the door behind him. In his hand, he held two wooden spoons from the kitchen. "Thank you for your obedience."
Despite the butterflies in her belly, she felt absurdly pleased she'd met his approval.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and inspected the spoons. One was a normal size and the other was one they used for making jam—much larger and quite flat. He held the larger one up and measured it against the palm of his hand. "This is about the same size as my hand, isn't it?"
Lucia's belly jumped in anticipation of that big spoon spanking her instead of his hand. She didn't really know how to answer him. "Come here," he said, patting his thighs. She forced her feet to approach him. He took her arm and guided her over his lap, angling his legs toward the bed so her upper body rested there. Her bottom prickled in anticipation.
He slapped the wooden spoon down on one buttock and then the other, setting up a steady pace.
She flinched, squeezing her buttocks together and listing to the side.
Marco tightened his grip on her and tapped her bottom. "Relax your
cheeks, amore. I don't want to mark you."
She forced her muscles to relax, and he began again, bringing the odious wood down first on one side, then the other. She found it impossible not to tighten her buttocks, and once more Marco stopped and tapped her bottom.
"I will help you." He shifted her position, placing one knee between her legs to lift and separate her cheeks. The pressure of his thigh against her lady parts, combined with the stinging heat already radiating from her buttocks created a strange sensation. She found herself thinking about the spanking in the armory, where she'd climaxed. What was it about his dominance that made her go weak and willing?
He resumed spanking, smarting the lower half of her bottom with steady smacks of the spoon. The implement wasn't as horrible as the strap, but so much worse than a spanking with his hand. He brought it down as rapidly and with as much force as with a hand spanking.
Before long, she found herself trying to scramble away from it. "Ow! Ah! Ouch!" She cried out each time the spoon met her flesh.
On and on he paddled, without taking mercy on her jumping, flinching bottom.
"Please...stop. Ouch...Mar-co!" Tears leaked out the corners of her eyes, and she dug her fingers into the blankets. "No...please." The pain brought on a wave of anger. Was her crime really so awful to deserve all this? Her intent had only been to spare him her complaints—did that really merit such a chastisement? As the pain became more intense than she could handle, her anger and resistance built.
As if sensing the change in her, Marco stopped spanking and pulled her up to sit on his lap, studying her face. She didn't bother to mask her anger. He said nothing, though. Just kept looking at her, as if waiting to hear what it was that had bubbled up in her.
So she told him. "That was unfair." Bitterness threaded through her words.
To his credit, he looked as if he were taking her complaint—even her anger—seriously.
"You don't believe you deserve to be punished?"
"No." She lifted her chin, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face.
"Because your intentions were good." He said it more like a statement than a question.
She was surprised that he understood her. "Yes."
"Lucia," he said slowly, "You might have been raped yesterday. And I might have killed Arturo or he me. This is not something of small consequence. And it could have been prevented had you not kept your complaints from me."
The reality of his words sunk in, and she shivered. She had been terrified when she thought he was going to duel Arturo. Losing him...was not an idea on which she wanted to dwell. Fresh tears welled in her eyes, and she lowered her gaze to his chest. He took her chin and lifted it. The tears spilled.
His voice was gentle. "I know you did not wish to trouble me. Your intentions were good. You did not guess Arturo would stoop so low. But I insist on making an impression on you now, so I can be sure this will not happen again in the future. You will come to me with your difficulties—no matter how small. Will you promise me?"
She nodded, her chin quivering.
He was studying her seriously again. After a moment's consideration, he said, "Did you think I was spanking you too hard?"
His perception of her thoughts stunned her. She acknowledged it, trying not to look sulky. The pain and heat of the spanking still radiated fiercely across her backside, although instead of inspiring anger, she now felt only submission.
"I'm sorry," he said simply.
She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face there, and he held her close, rubbing her back.
* * *
To wake next to Lucia was the best part of being home. She laid on her back with one arm thrown up over her head and one knee cocked out to the side. Her thick hair was spread like flames around her head. She was an angel.
He couldn't deny the connection he felt with her. He'd known, the night before, precisely when he'd gone too far in spanking her. She had willingly submitted for her chastisement but she'd gone stiff at a certain point, and somehow, he'd known something had changed. He'd considered spanking through her anger to break down the resistance, but he was glad now he'd stopped and let her speak her feelings. He had a better idea of her limits and his force now. And the truth was, whether he thought it was deserved or not, he didn't wish to be too harsh. He liked her willing submission to him and didn't want to ruin it by eroding her trust.
He pulled himself up to sitting, leaning with his back against the headboard, gazing at her. She stirred, opened her eyes and stretched like a lazy cat. "Buon giorno." She rubbed her eyes.
"Buon giorno." He reached out and pulled her, face down, over his lap and ran a hand lightly over the curves of her lovely bottom.
"Marco?" Her voice quavered.
He chuckled. "I am just inspecting to see if I left any bruises."
Her body relaxed, and she twisted to look at him. "Did you?"
"Some red marks. I'm not sure about bruises. Does it still hurt?"
She tightened the muscles in her bottom, making a lovely view. "Yes."
He rubbed her cheeks. "I think I shall make a wooden paddle with which to spank you. Then I won't have to use that wicked spoon."
Lucia rolled her shoulders open further and regarded him. "That sounds even worse. I do believe you enjoy punishing me!"
He considered that. It might be true. It was certainly a powerful experience for him. There were parts of it he enjoyed—the gift of her submission, the lovely view. But there were times that were as traumatic for him as they were for her.
"No," he said decisively. "That's not true. I had tears in my own eyes when I gave you that whipping."
"That's because it was your own fault to begin with," she said tartly.
He suppressed the smile that surfaced and made his face stern with his eyebrows raised, "I did not force you to throw a plate at my head."
Lucia had the grace to flush.
He pulled her up to cradle in his arms. "But I suppose you're right. I felt the burden of guilt for causing the emotions that pushed you to do such a thing."
"Still, it didn't stop you, did it?" There was a sulkiness to her tone, but he found he didn't mind it a bit. It was such a full acknowledgment of his authority over her that it made him feel about ten feet tall. She was adorable.
"No. I am your husband and therefore your master. In the end, you answer to me, even if I'm in the wrong."
Lucia studied his face for a moment, then suddenly threw her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.
"What was that for?"
"I am happy I have a husband who can admit he sometimes might be wrong."
He took her face in his hands and returned her kiss tenderly. He still didn't believe rationally he had been in the wrong—about his right to whore, that is. But emotionally, it had been another thing. Hurting Lucia was not something he ever wished to do again.
"It was the way you cried that pained me," he said softly.
She looked up at him, a flash of vulnerability showing on her face. He pulled her in tighter to him.
"It was plain I'd broken your heart."
Pain flickered in her face again, but for some reason—that same miserable reason he insisted on whoring in Venice, he pressed on. "In the end, that mattered more to me than making you see things my way."
She looked at him for a long moment, and then her eyes narrowed slightly. It was pride that had made him say it. He was still trying to explain whoring was his right, whether he exercised it or not. And being an intelligent woman, she had understood, he was sure of it. The pang of guilt that bubbled up made him wish he'd kept his mouth shut.
Chapter Five
"When you have a moment, my lady, there is someone to see you in the kitchen," Pedro said in a low voice to Lucia after supper.
Marco frowned. Who would be asking to see Lucia at this hour? And from the servant's entrance? Lucia's brows knit, and he experienced that surge of protectiveness for her that was beginning to feel familiar.
Pedro bowed and looked uncomfortable, raising Marco's concern up a notch. "I believe she said her name is Celia. She is in need of assistance."
Lucia was already up and running for the kitchen before he could digest that information. Celia. Was she the twin? But why would she come to the servant's entrance and why would she need help? He followed with a rising sense of concern. Unfortunately, there was only one reason he could think of for a lady to come creeping in the back entrance unattended, and that was if her honor had been compromised and she had fallen from society's grace.
Even with the warning, he was unprepared for what he saw. Without a doubt, the woman was Lucia's sister, but it was hard to tell exactly how similar they were because one eye was swelling shut, and the lady's nose had been freshly broken, dried blood covering the entire front of her dress. The dress itself was a plain muslin servant's gown.
Lucia had her arms around her, and they were speaking quickly and softly to each other. Celia raised her eyes to him over Lucia's shoulder, and sensing it, Lucia whirled to face him, a desperate pleading in her face. She broke away from Celia and came to him.
"My lord." Lucia started to drop to her knees before him in supplication.
God, no. He caught her arm and pulled her back upright before her knees hit the ground. He didn't want her to beg him and certainly not in front of the servants.
"Please, I beg you—"
He cut off her entreaty. Of course, he would receive her. There was no way he would turn away his wife's sister in her hour of need, no matter what she had done. He held out his hand to Celia, inviting her forward. "You are welcome here, Celia."
Lucia exhaled, and some of the anxiety in Celia's face ebbed.
"Thank you, my lord." Celia curtsied and stepped forward. Her hand shook as she took his arm.
Lucia's eyes brightened with grateful tears. He met her eye and held his other arm out to her to escort them both out of the kitchens.
"Pedro, please send Ana to prepare for the Lady Celia the chamber next to Lucia's and assist her with cleaning up."