Venice

by Lynne Connolly

  I grew increasingly agitated as we drew closer to the city, excited by the prospect of reunion with the man now my husband, my anxieties crowding in on me, taking advantage of my exhausted state.

  Richard had known so many women, none of his affairs lasting very long, so I didn’t know how long his passion for me would last. Since I knew more about him than I did when I met him, I found more to worry me. His affairs typically followed a flash-flood pattern, reaching high tide quickly and ebbing away just as fast, leaving devastation in their wake.

  My love for Richard would last as long as I did, but the fears he had worked so hard to dispel still emerged when I was tired or dispirited. Yes, he’d married me, but I’d been a spinster, most unlike his usual flirts, but that only meant he was ready to beget legitimate heirs for the estate. I tried to dispel my worries. He didn’t deserve them, and the concern came from me rather than from him.

  We’d committed to each other within our first few weeks of meeting. No warning, no courting, nothing. I’d known of his reputation, but not the pattern it followed and by then, I could do nothing to draw back and think about what I was doing. In any case, I’d fallen for him just as deeply. But if I’d known him better, made his acquaintance, I wouldn’t have felt so unsure of myself and where I fitted into his life.

  We approached Venice from the land, not over the Lagoon, but I wouldn’t have seen much of the city, even had I been looking, as night had long fallen by the time we arrived. At one point, we were transferred into a boat, but by then, I was past caring. It could have been a barge on the Exe for all the notice I took of it.

  We were taken to a building on the Grand Canal, and disembarked at a wharf. Carier took us inside and up a flight of steps to the door of the apartment where, if he was not out somewhere, Richard was waiting. We had been apart for a month, but it felt like eternity.

  Chapter Six

  IN THE SMALL ENTRANCE hall, with a wide-eyed footman bowing, Carier opened a door in front of us and showed me in. I took a deep breath and, holding my head high, went inside.

  I found myself in a pleasant drawing room, furnished in fine taste, with large windows that must open to a view over the Grand Canal outside, but the shutters were drawn against the night. The main impression was one of quiet elegance, but I only looked in one direction after one quick glance to take in my surroundings.

  He was dressed more simply than I was used to, and he had obviously been taking his ease. A bottle of wine, a half-full glass and a book flung down at an open page reposed on a small table by the side of his chair.

  Nobody said anything; the stillness seemed palpable as I stood there, suddenly shy, unable to read the expression in his cerulean eyes.

  He got to his feet, smiling, and opened his arms to me. Heedless of anything else, I ran forward and felt them close tightly about me. I rested my head on his shoulder and held him while he held me, feeling his presence like a balm, forgetting the rigours of the journey and the adventures we had been through. I felt him move and realised he must be rubbing his cheek against my hair, over and over as if he wanted to memorise the sensation.

  After a time Carier cleared his throat. Richard released me but kept one arm about my waist as he took me to a sofa and sat down with me.

  “How did it go?” he asked quietly. “Do fetch yourselves a drink and sit, tell me your news. And bring one for my lady, if you please.”

  Carier went out of the room and came back with two fresh bottles of wine and some glasses, which he distributed. I was happy to sit on the sofa, Richard’s hand warm in mine, sipping my wine while I listened to Carier tell his master what had happened on our journey.

  He listened carefully, smiled when Carier said they had hired a clavichord for me at one stage in the journey, but didn’t interrupt him as he told the story of the Ravens, and then the accident. He exclaimed, concerned when Carier told him I had been knocked unconscious, but I assured him I was perfectly well now, and the bump had almost gone. Then his face darkened as Carier told him about the Ravens’ startling change in identity, and he leaned forward, frowning. “We can’t allow this. It might draw unwanted attention here.”

  Carier put his half-empty glass on a table. “I fear that might be too late, my lord. From what I understand, these people have announced their presence on every stage of their journey.” Richard’s hand tightened around mine. “You mean I’ve brought Rose all this way trying to ensure her safety only to drag trouble behind us?” He was not pleased.

  “We have two choices here, my lord—to move on, or to use the situation to our advantage.”

  I had considered that, too. “We might be able to draw this assassin out if we let the Ravens get on with whatever they have planned.” I’d had enough of travelling. “We can still continue the Locke story, but watch and wait. We won’t be safe anywhere if we don’t find out who did this.”

  Richard was still frowning. “I can’t say I like it. My first instinct is to take you away, and leave it to Carier to deal with.”

  He looked enquiringly at Carier, who nodded. “It would be a sensible precaution, my lord. Will you allow me to suggest a strategy? If you can stay close to the apartment for a few days I will put some of our people in the palazzo they’ve hired and then we’ll know more.”

  Richard nodded, but was still reluctant. “I don’t want any interruptions, any dangers. But you’re right, it might be wise to give it a day or two. We’re safe enough here.”

  Nichols and Carier stood then, preparing to leave. “I owe you both more than usual,” Richard said, acknowledging the care they had taken of me on his behalf. “I’ll leave this matter up to you for the next few days, if you please, but I’d like to be kept up to date should anything important occur.”

  Carier and Nichols bowed and quietly left the room. Only then did my husband turn to give me his full attention. My initial tumult had subsided and I could return his smile with one of my own, only a little tremulous. I was nervous. Despite what we meant to each other, it seemed to me that we’d spent an eternity apart. I felt like a stranger again, waiting for his response.

  He must have seen my anxiety because his first kiss was very gentle, very courteous, but he slid his arm around my shoulders and I tentatively put my arms around his waist, under his coat. “A little delayed,” he murmured, “but none the less desired.”

  “I missed you so much,” I confessed, almost whispering in my nervousness.

  He smiled and stole another soft kiss. “That’s over now. I made up my mind on this journey I would never willingly let you out of my sight for that long again. Does that dismay you?”

  “No.”

  “Are you hungry, shall I order you something to eat?” Despite his obvious need of me, he still considered my welfare.

  Despite my sudden shyness, I couldn’t bear any more delays, so I smiled and shook my head.

  “Are you tired, my love?”

  I couldn’t meet his eyes, looking down instead. Heat rushed to my cheeks. “No, I’m not tired, but I would like to go to bed.”

  He laughed softly and stood, took my hands and drew me to my feet. Then he picked up our empty wine glasses and the bottle we had not yet drunk, and I followed him out of the room and along a corridor, at the end of which he paused. I opened the door, since his hands were full, and we went in.

  He deposited the bottle and glasses on a small table by the unlit fire, then came back to where I stood and closed the door gently behind us. He was so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body, though he didn’t touch me. “You heard Carier. He thinks it wise if we remain in the apartment for a few days. Between ourselves,” he added, looking at me with a warmth that, perversely, made me shiver, “I had no intention of going anywhere for a while. It would have been a grave blow if we had been forced to move on, but I don’t think I could have given up this time with you any longer.”

  “Carier wanted to put up for the night just outside Venice,” I confessed, “but I made him press o
n. Even if it was midnight, I would have insisted.”

  He smiled, and in a quick movement gathered me up and pushed his hand into my hair. A shower of pins tumbled down my back. This time his kiss held nothing gentle about it, releasing his passion and need. I returned it, my shyness evaporating chimerically as my desire for him rose in a heated rush. Our mouths opened, tongues met and I knew what I was hungry for. It wasn’t food.

  I felt his fingers unhooking the front of my gown, as he had done for me twice before, but this time there was no need for any concealment, or anything furtive. I helped him, but when I tried to unbutton his waistcoat he put a restraining hand over mine and drew back so our lips separated. “Let me. I’ve been thinking of little else for the past few weeks, and I know how I want it to be.”

  I let him. He undressed me carefully, each garment falling to the floor unheeded by either of us. He touched each part of me newly revealed by the loss of each piece, occasionally brushing kisses across my bare skin, reducing me to incoherent gasps and moans until finally I was stark naked. He was still fully clothed. I had never dreamed of such a situation before, and I found it immensely exciting, something I was unable to hide. The remnants of my shyness only added to my state of arousal and from my heightened breathing and my flushed skin I knew he must be aware of it.

  “I want to look at you,” he whispered, his lips next to mine and I nodded, beyond words now. He stepped back while I stood unashamed, and let him look.

  He took his time, scanning me from head to foot and everywhere in between. It felt like bathing in blue. His voice was thick with hunger when he spoke. “You’re as lovely as I remember and twice as desirable.”

  Taking my hand he led me to the bed, but didn’t sit with me. He went over to the table and picked up the bottle and glasses, glancing to where I sat, still waiting, and hardly able to breathe. He poured out two glasses, gave one to me and put the other on the table by the bed.

  Then he undressed himself, much faster than he’d stripped me. His gaze rarely left me as his clothes fell on top of mine. He increased my need for him with every garment, until eventually, obviously as aroused as me, he picked up his glass and sat on the bed, still careful not to touch me. “To marriage,” he said formally and chimed his glass with mine.

  “To marriage,” I echoed, my voice unsteady. We drank.

  He took both glasses and leaned over to put them down but instead of returning to his previous sitting position, he laid his arm over my shoulders and drew me down to the soft, cool, satin-covered bed. Our first kiss then was a pledge, an unspoken promise, but after that he kissed me with more passion, and I responded eagerly, tasting him, tasting his need for me.

  “We have all the time we need now and I can love you as you deserve, at last. How can anyone have thought of you as anything but beautiful?” He lay next to me, one arm holding me close, the other moving over my body in a series of caresses, increasing my desire for him with each smooth stroke until I thought I might dissolve with need. His last caress ended at my breast. He dipped his head and took the nipple into his mouth, turning his tongue around the hard peak.

  I caught my breath on the sensitivity he unlocked in me. “Oh, Richard, Richard—” I managed while his hand, still smoothing my skin, but lower, slipped between my legs and gently caressed the tender bud there.

  I touched his shoulder and upper arm, felt the thin line of the scar he bore, reminding me what that wound had meant to us both. His hard shaft pressed against my leg, and I pushed against him, hearing his whispered, “Rose my love, you taste wonderful.” He kissed my breast and worked his way down to my stomach, making it quiver in tune with my anticipation. It felt so taut and sensitive now, I didn’t think I could bear it much longer.

  I tried to draw him up, but he resisted, exerting gentle force against me. “Wait—wait. I want to learn your body, know it as well as I know my own. Starting tonight.” He kissed me right down to my feet, and then up again, pausing just long enough at the seat of passion to make me moan my need for him, then back up to my mouth, so his body lay over mine. I didn’t know it was possible to want someone so much and survive.

  He entered me carefully, slowly. We watched each other, knowing this was the first act of married love. I pushed my body up to meet him, to hear his, “Careful, careful my sweet, my precious. I want to make you feel truly, completely loved before I find my peak. If you do that much harder, I don’t think I can promise that.”

  He smiled down at me and I smiled back, my arms wrapped about his back, my legs cradling his. His pause was of necessity, as we hadn’t made love for a month, and I’d only ever done it three times in my life, and eager though I was, his body didn’t fit so easily into mine.

  He took the time to speak to me and move one hand down my body once more, in a long, aching caress. “You’re everything I need, all women, all loves. You excite me, make me want you so much I can hardly bear it, but I need to care for you too. Need it.”

  “I feel that.” I lifted my hand to his head, smoothed it down his shoulder bone and lean muscle, and flexed to support his weight. “I wanted you before I knew what it meant. I wanted you to touch me, to feel my skin against yours. It’s everything I dreamed of. And more.”

  He smiled at that and bent his head to kiss me, beginning to move inside me, each stroke taking him deeper, bringing with it the dimly remembered heat that had kept me yearning through all the lonely nights since I last knew this. I knew only he would feel like this. He kissed my neck when I made a wordless sound of love, found the pulse at the base, increasing the ecstasy building deep inside me. “Oh yes,” he murmured, his breath hot on my skin.

  My head went back when I cried out. He kissed my throat and then my mouth once more, pushing his tongue inside, exploring as he was exploring below. I made a sound deep in my throat, and when he lifted his head I took a deep breath and unable to hold back any longer, arched my back and cried out, “Oh! Oh! Richard—oh, Richard!” past pretty speeches, almost inarticulate.

  “Yes! Don’t hold back. I’ll take care of you, Rose. My sweet wife, my dearest love!” I lost myself, trusting him to take me wherever he wanted to.

  It must have taken all his skill and powers of self-restraint to keep me at that height. We’d made love before, but it was nothing like this, this protracted joy, seemingly unending. He knew by some sixth sense when to push hard, when to hold me close.

  I’ll never know how he held back for so long, but eventually he let himself go, joining me in the heights of love as he called out my name and pushed, unheeding, inside me. I felt the throb and the warmth as he gave me all he had. His head sank onto my shoulder and his ragged breathing heated my skin.

  He lay back on to the bed beside me, and we held each other in peace for an uncountable time.

  “I love you.” I could think of nothing else worth saying at that moment.

  “I love you.” He kissed my lips and lifted his hand to touch my cheek. I caught it in mine and kissed the palm.

  He smiled. “So you won’t object to staying in the apartment for a day or two?”

  “Does anywhere else exist?”

  “Not now.”

  We lay in blissful silence for a while and then he turned his head to look at me, caressing my body with his gaze. “It’s been a long, lonely road, but I’ve come home at last.”

  I laughed from sheer happiness, and watched his loving smile in return. This was what I had dreamed of for weeks. I reached my hand across to touch his chest. “Married a month and only made love once since then.”

  He laughed too. “Give me a few minutes, my angel, and we may be able to put that right.” He paused. “Do you think marriage will suit you?”

  “It will probably make me sleek and self satisfied,” I was still purring inside from his attentions. “But will it suit you?” I was only half joking. It was the fear it wouldn’t that marred my happiness.

  He saw it. He was certainly aware of my anxiety because I had mentioned it befo
re, despite my determination to keep such things to myself. “You are the culmination of everything that went before. The zenith of womanhood, the peak of desire for me. Why should I risk all this for a second’s gratification somewhere else? Why should I want to give this up?” He touched me intimately once, gently.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. And you’re entitled to me, whatever else you do. But I’ve known nobody other than you like this, and I think my lack of experience may be my stumbling block. I don’t know,” I repeated, and then looked away, feeling foolish. He’d broken down all the defences I had built over the years. I couldn’t hide anything from him and my fear was as much at finding myself so raw and open to someone else as it was an issue of trust. “I’m afraid if I let you down, I’ll never get over it. You have such a hold over me I wouldn’t be able to do anything if you should—it would kill me if...”

  He took my hand to his lips. “You shouldn’t tell me that. You’ll give me such an inflated idea of myself I might get too complacent. Then I’ll get fat and contented.”

  He stopped when I laughed derisively. “Fat, you? More likely I’ll grow fat, in a few months, maybe.”

  His head turned sharply, and he stared at me, studying my body with a new alertness. “You’ve quickened?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “It’s what my father prays for daily.” He touched my stomach with the flat of his hand. “I, on the other hand, would prefer to keep you for myself a little longer, but in this case we must leave matters to Providence.” He kissed me again and some time passed before he said anything else. “I can’t imagine a situation where I wouldn’t want to be near you.”

  “What if I’m one of those women who seem to quicken every year? I mean to do my duty by the family if I can, but I’m not sure I want thirteen or fourteen children.”

  He shuddered in an exaggerated way. “What a terrible thought! We’ll just have to cope with it if it happens, and pray we aren’t too fertile.”