by AJ Llewellyn
“I want to meet him.”
“Countess D’Agostino, I do understand, but it’s not possible when he is working. He—”
“Then he must come to a ball at my house. I insist upon it. He can be my guest of honor.”
Caprice thought quickly. Balls were masked affairs. She could dress as a man, wear a mask, whirl in and out and pick up some new business whilst remaining utterly anonymous. “Well,” she said, curious to know how badly the Countess wanted Capriccio in attendance. “That would be pleasant, no doubt, however, my cousin, being quite poor…doesn’t really have the necessary garments for a ball.”
“Really? How interesting. How…odd.”
“Being poor, he doesn’t have colorful…attire.”
The Countess understood then and a look of determination fired her large gray-blue eyes. “Then I shall send him garments.” The countess left the house on very unsteady feet. Caprice and Geovanna waited until she hobbled to the end of the street before laughing.
“A masked ball!” Geovanna clutched her sides after the initial burst of merriment had subsided. “Please tell me I can come!”
Caprice had never been so excited in her life. She entered the D’Agostino residence to the accompaniment of lutes and fireworks, Geovanna on one side, Marcello on the other, a sulky-looking Massimo behind them.
All wore masks and Massimo felt slighted that his beautiful mistress should dress like a man.
“You are the most beautiful woman in Venice and you’re wearing…hose!” He shuddered. He seemed to have difficulty sipping his wine through the mouth of his harlequin mask, but Caprice was in her element. The fun of these balls was the mystery of who was behind the mask. For days, she had exchanged coy notes with the Countess and knew the lady enjoyed a special thrill, knowing she’d picked out the costume of her newly discovered artist.
Caprice knew she looked good. It had been an effort to flatten her breasts beneath the jewel-encrusted doublet, her long curly hair hidden under a gathered hat with a jeweled band that matched the doublet. People swirled around them and Caprice’s gaze fixed on the enormous tables of food.
“Out of my way, woman,” she muttered to Geovanna, who was also dressed as a man. Baldovino, her consort, was in a disagreeable mood, owing to a bad bout of gout, and she kept her eye on him. Caprice once again marveled at how fantastically fat and ugly the man was, and yet, how devoted Geovanna was to him.
A group of musicians with horns and pipes heralded the arrival of the first course. Caprice didn’t know where to start. There were chickens, baked fish, squid, pork, beef, tortes and pies…but she was a sweets lover and, after loading a plate with chicken and fish, turned her attention to the desserts. She knew she would be back at this table for the rest of the night. She helped herself to fried pastry dressed with rose water and honey, blancmange and fruit soaked in wine. She looked up and almost dropped her plate.
Caprice felt the dizziness consume her as the man watching her from across the room gave her a lopsided smile. She held his gaze through her mask, feeling beads of sweat trickle down behind her knees. What was happening to her? He wore long gray hair that separated him from the others. She couldn’t hazard his age, guessing him to be in his thirties. He wasn’t wearing a mask and he was the most beautiful and the most dangerous man she’d ever seen.
Suddenly feeling weak and dizzy, four servants hoisting a huge tray containing a whole suckling pig to the center of the table distracted her. With shaky fingers, she reached for the syrup covering the pastry only to find to her shock, the gray-haired stranger suddenly beside her. He held a hand mask to his face with one hand, two fingers from the other dipping into the sugary concoction and traveling to her parted lips. She sucked on them eagerly and felt a flicker of fire soar through her as their eyes met and held.
He removed his fingers from her mouth and she felt oddly deflated and empty.
“My name is Jean Philippe-Auguste, but I prefer to be known as Philippe-Auguste,” he said. “And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
Speaking? How can I speak? I’ll give myself away as a woman. But with this man, I want to be a woman. She quickly picked up her pastry, took a bite and found it would not fit through the mouth of her mask. It lodged there and Philippe-Auguste laughed.
“Quite a character, aren’t you? I was told you were a very great painter, but nobody mentioned your comic skills.”
She was aware of people’s gazes. The pastry was really stuck. It hung like a flag in the breeze. Philippe-Auguste loaded up his own plate and she turned and fled…why, oh why, did this have to happen to me?
She ran down several corridors to a private room where she removed the mask, dislodged the pastry and shrugging, consumed it. She could hear the sound of lovemaking from another room and recognized Geovanna’s voice.
“Oh, yes, papa, fuck me! I’ve been such a bad boy!”
She stifled a laugh, adjusted her mask and slipped out of the room. Music and lights drew her toward the action, but a hand from a doorway drew her away from it. Philippe-Auguste. Her legs trembled when he placed his lips on hers and, for a fleeting moment, she gave into the magnificent Frenchman.
She put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. This was ridiculous. He thought she was a man…soon enough he would find out she wasn’t and it would destroy her ruse. She’d stayed far too long at the ball and her patroness would no doubt be unhappy, but she had to leave. She ran from Philippe-Auguste, but he called her, shocking her when his fervent whisper kissed her ear.
“Caprice.”
She turned on her heel, found herself in his tight embrace.
He lifted the mask from her face.
“How did you know?” she asked as he claimed her mouth with his. Despite having two ardent and talented lovers, this stranger stoked a new and frightening blaze in her. He held her to him and she touched his face.
She heard a sound and turned as Philippe-Auguste was kissing her throat. “Marcello!” Her choked gasp deemed her guilty, but Marcello looked at Philippe-Auguste, who extended an arm to him.
“There you are, mon amant…I have met your little friend at last. And you are right, she is as sweet and succulent as you promised.”
Chapter Four
Marcello took Philippe-Auguste’s hand. Instantly, his body responded to the mysterious male’s warm touch as it had so often during the brief time they had become acquainted. Never before had another man’s presence elicited such a response within him, but there was no denying his want. His hands fairly shook from it. It was almost as strong as his need for Caprice.
Almost.
Shifting his gaze off the Frenchman, Marcello looked over at Caprice, her pink lips parted in surprise as her breath came out in rapid bursts. Was she aroused? Angry? Both? He wasn’t sure. He did know one thing though. She looked so alluring right now, even dressed up as a man. Staring at her legs in those damned tights, he couldn’t help but remember how sweet the flesh had tasted under his tongue. How nice it felt when her heels dug into his back as she urged him on. How when Massimo had buried his dark head between her milky white thighs, Marcello had almost spilled his seed just from looking at them.
“Marcello?” Caprice breathed, her voice bringing him abruptly out of his sex-infused thoughts. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I thought, perhaps, I could interest you in something French?” As soon as the words spilled out, Marcello closed his eyes and silently cursed himself for the fool he was. When Caprice let out an outraged gasp and slapped him across the face, he didn’t even bother trying to avoid it, knowing he fully deserved the blow.
“You pompous fool,” she spat, her eyes, which, moments ago were full of passion, now glittered with anger.
“I meant no offense,” Marcello hurried, trying to right the awful mess he’d made. “I just thought that after as enjoyable our last encounter was that you would like to meet Philippe-Auguste.” Marcello watched the varied expressions pass over Caprice’s del
icate face—anger, surprise, curiosity, embarrassment, before anger took over again and stayed.
“I am not a whore.” She bared her teeth as she spun on heel to leave.
“Please, do not leave, yet,” Philippe-Auguste implored as he touched her arm to stay her. “You will have to forgive my friend. He is young and eager.”
“He’s an idiot,” she countered, but stayed.
Philippe traced her soft jaw line with the tip of his finger and Marcello could see her tremble in response.
“I love you,” Marcello told her as he ran his tongue over his lips. Seeing her react so vividly to the Frenchman’s touch was so alluring. His heart pounded in his chest, a sweat broke out over his body as his cock grew hard.
“I still don’t understand.” Caprice closed her eyes as Philippe-Auguste continued to stroke her face.
Truthfully, Marcello didn’t fully understand either. All he knew was that as soon as he saw the mysterious Frenchman a few days ago across the parlor, he’d been strangely drawn to him. It had become imperative he introduce him to Caprice as well. Even before the night of passion he’d shared with her and Massimo, Marcello knew he wanted to enjoy the pleasure of her and Philippe-Auguste together.
“Don’t understand,” Philippe-Auguste urged as he feathered a kiss on her cheek. “Just feel, mon petite.”
Caprice’s slender body swayed into the large male, her tiny fists grabbing handfuls of his expensive looking doublet. With a sigh, she parted her lips right before he captured her mouth in a searing kiss.
A moan filled the air and Marcello was only partly surprised to realize he was the one making the noise. The vision of his Caprice embracing the handsome male made him ache with need. Hell, whom was he jesting? Marcello was so hard right now he could break stone with his cock.
“Join us.” Philippe-Auguste pulled back from Caprice and, once more, raised his hand.
Marcello wasted no time with doubt as he took it and allowed himself drawn into the pair’s embrace. Desire shot through his body as the familiar sweet scent of Caprice intermingled with the smell of dark spices. Inhaling deeply, Marcello let it wash over him. It was intoxicating, alluring—the aroma of Philippe-Auguste. The Frenchman wrapped one arm around Caprice and the other around Marcello.
Marcello went with it, even though something was warning him this whole situation was dangerous. Something about the other male was making him wary. He knew he should take Caprice and run the other way. However, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the presence of this mysterious man. If anything, fool that he was, he found himself leaning closer in so he could soak up the heat emanating from Philippe-Auguste.
“Have you had many lovers?” Philippe-Auguste asked.
At first, Marcello thought he was talking to Caprice until he felt the man’s fingers stroke his throat. Marcello trembled at the other male’s touch, much like Caprice earlier. “Yes, I’ve had a few,” he whispered, very aware of how Caprice’s gaze was dark with desire as she took in the scene.
“Any males?” Philippe-Auguste leaned in so close his hot breath fanned Marcello’s cheek.
“No, it is forbidden.” Even as he made this protest, he had to resist the urge to turn his face so he could kiss the Frenchman.
“Oh, Marcello, I thought you were into the forbidden. After all, it’s not every day that brothers share the same woman.”
Marcello gasped, surprised that Philippe-Auguste knew. He exchanged surprised expressions with Caprice and she gave a slight shake of her head to tell him that she’d not told him either.
“How did you—” His question was cut off when Philippe-Auguste captured his mouth in a passionate kiss.
Shocked at first, Marcello’s body stiffened. He knew he should push the other man away, take Caprice and run in the other direction. Yet, his body could not obey those commands. Where Caprice’s lips were always so soft and sweet, Philippe-Auguste’s were hard and unyielding. Caprice’s body always seemed to melt against him, the curves fitting into him perfectly. With Philippe-Auguste, it felt as if he were at risk of being overwhelmed by the other male’s larger build. An exciting thrill went through his body as the hint of danger made him even more aroused. There was no way he could deny this. He would sooner stop breathing.
Yielding, he parted his lips so Philippe-Auguste could slip his tongue into his mouth. Marcello let go of all his inhibitions and allowed passion take over. The Frenchman cupped the back of his head and drew him in even closer. Grabbing two handfuls of Philippe-Auguste’s doublet for support, Marcello returned his kiss earnestly. A moan floated through the air, like his had been earlier. This one had a feminine undertone that told him it was from Caprice.
Oh God, this was turning her on. Marcello hadn’t thought it was possible to get more aroused, but he was. If Philippe-Auguste asked, he would probably gladly strip and fuck both Caprice and him, right now, where anyone could stumble upon them.
“I never thought the sight of two men embracing could be so attractive,” Caprice whispered in a sultry voice. She reached over to stroke both males’ faces, her long fingers leaving a heated path on their cheeks.
Philippe-Auguste pulled back and Marcello gazed up into his soft brown eyes. Too stunned to speak, he just stared like an idiot. The Frenchman gave him an amused smile as he rubbed his thumb over Marcello’s bottom lip.
“You are almost as eager as our little temptress.” Philippe-Auguste flicked a glance over at Caprice. Her eyes were dark with passion as she ran her tongue along her mouth, almost like she was begging for her own kiss.
Marcello was only too happy to oblige. With a growl, he turned and pinned Caprice to the wall.
“Oh, yes. Please,” she cried right before he slammed his lips onto her mouth.
He thanked all that was holy for those ridiculous hose as he took one of her legs and wrapped it around his waist. He longed to feel her full breasts pressing against him, but the tight banding she’d wrapped around herself as part of her disguise prevented that.
She buried both hands in his hair and tugged, eliciting a hiss of pain from him that turned into a groan of pleasure as she started to return his kiss in earnest. Little whimpers came from her as he dipped in to taste her sweet mouth.
“Seeing you two together like this,” Philippe-Auguste said in a pleased voice, “it lets me know I was right in my decision.”
Decision? What decision? Marcello continued to kiss Caprice. Lifting her leg high on his hip, he rocked her forward against the hard length of his cock.
“You are both so beautiful,” Philippe-Auguste crooned as he came up behind Marcello, the heat of his body warming his back. “So innocent, yet carnal. Yes, you will be perfect.”
Marcello jumped when he felt lips caressing his throat. The heady, spicy scent of Philippe-Auguste filled his senses. Pressed between the Frenchman’s hard body and Caprice’s soft from, Marcello’s cock twitched in anticipation. He groaned against her mouth when Philippe-Auguste lightly ran his tongue up the length of his throat
“This is madness,” Marcello declared even as he went in for another kiss. Philippe-Auguste was now alternating between kissing and sucking his throat, his long, gray hair tickling Marcello’s face.
“Pure madness,” Caprice agreed as she rocked her hips against him again.
“What is the meaning of this?” Massimo came storming up. He had taken off his mask and the anger on his face was obvious.
Caprice and Marcello jumped, the action screaming of guilt. Philippe-Auguste stayed in place although he did give an amused chuckle.
“I am not finished with you yet,” he whispered into Marcello’s ear. “I have just now got a taste of you and I fear I shall never be able to give you up.” He turned with a flourish, his black cape billowing around him and his gray hair, glinting like silver in the low light. Turning, he gave a bow to Massimo. “Perhaps, we shall talk next time.
A heavy silence followed his departure. Caprice was gripping his arms so tight, there will likely to
be marks tomorrow, her cheeks flush, lips swollen from kissing. After a few tense seconds, she gently pushed him on the chest and he stepped back and faced his brother’s wrath.
“Marcello, have you lost your mind?” Massimo asked heatedly. His eyes were bright with anger, his face red.
Marcello balled his hands at his side, getting himself ready for the impending attack. Whenever his twin got angry, violence was sure to follow. It was a lesson Massimo had learned well, courtesy of their father. Marcello, meanwhile, took after their mother and was more apt to use soothing words to bring about harmony.
The peacemaker as opposed to the warrior, they were two sides of the same coin. Twins by birth, and yet, they were so different. Yet, neither one of them was ever good enough in their father’s eyes
“Have you lost the ability to hear?” Massimo took a step forward. “I asked you a question.”
“No,” Marcello rasped, his thoughts still too confused from the encounter with Philippe-Auguste to think of anything more eloquent to say.
“No, what?” Massimo’s dark gaze shifted from Marcello to Caprice before settling back on Marcello.
“No, I have not lost my mind.” He raised a brow. “Or my ability to hear for that matter.”
Despite the severity of the situation, he could not resist an opportunity to jest. It was something he did whenever he got upset, nervous or angry.
Caprice stifled a giggle, her lips twitching with effort to keep her merriment in check.
Massimo glared at them and Marcello worked to put a serious face on as Caprice put her fingers over her mouth to hide her smile. “You may laugh now, but what if it had been somebody else who found you?”
This time there was a protective side to Massimo’s angry tone and that sobered Marcello.
“But it was only you who did find us,” Caprice soothed. “So you worry for naught.”
“What type of perverted game were you playing?” Massimo reached out and touched Marcello’s neck. When he brought them back, they were wet, with blood.