And even as Sebastiano Rovere prepared to meet Bianca Pietro d’Angelo, the girl was being dressed in a new gown of the finest rose-colored silk. The fabric molded itself to the line of her graceful young body before blossoming into a full skirt. The neckline was low-cut and square. The sleeves were full. The bodice of the gown was decorated with silver embroidery, and the sleeves edged in delicate silver lace. Her long dark hair was left loose but held back by a rose-and-silver-striped ribbon. Pale pink pearls set in silver hung from her ears. About her neck was a dainty rope of pink pearls from which hung a silver and gold crucifix.
“I’ve never had such a gown,” Bianca marveled.
“The color suits you,” Francesca said ruefully. “It wouldn’t suit me at all.”
“You are many years away from such a gown as this,” their mother said. “Do not be in such a hurry to grow up, my daughter.”
“But if I can grow up quickly,” Francesca said, “I can marry that Venetian prince you were considering for Bianca before Signore Rovere asked for my sister. Our grandfather must be very disappointed to have that match stolen from beneath his very aristocratic nose.”
Orianna sighed. “You are too outspoken, Francesca,” she scolded. “And you must stop listening at doors. Do not deny it, for we both know it is the truth.”
“But nobody ever tells me anything,” Francesca complained.
“Much of what you learn is not your business, which is why you are not told,” her mother replied sternly. Then Orianna turned back to Bianca. “I will call for you when it is time for us to introduce you to Signore Rovere. He is certain to want a bit of time alone with you. Say as little as possible to him, and be modest.”
“Would he decide to change his mind if I forgot my manners, Madre? If that be the case then I shall do what I must to discourage him,” Bianca replied.
“Regretfully, it will not change his mind, for he is determined to have the most beautiful maiden in Florence as his wife,” her mother said. “Signore Rovere is a collector of fine and rare things, my daughter. You are one such thing, and as it is within his grasp to have you, he will.”
Bianca shuddered and Orianna put a hand on her shoulder to reassure her.
A servant came to tell the mistress of the house that their guest was even now coming through the little park towards the palazzo door. Kissing Bianca upon the top of her dark head, Orianna hurried off to join her husband. Together they greeted Sebastiano Rovere, ushering him into their palazzo.
“You honor our house,” the silk merchant said, welcoming their guest and bowing.
“’Tis I who am honored,” Sebastiano Rovere replied, bowing in return.
“Allow me to present my wife, Orianna Venier, to you, signore.”
Sebastiano Rovere bowed over Orianna’s elegant little hand, kissing it. “Signora,” he murmured. “The legend of your beauty does not do you justice.”
“I am flattered by your gracious words,” Orianna answered him, wanting to yank her hand away from him, but with supreme self-control allowing him the time to release it.
“We will have wine in the gardens,” Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo said.
“A charming idea,” their guest agreed. “And I will be allowed at long last to meet your daughter, the lady Bianca, soon?”
“Of course,” the silk merchant replied as he led them outside.
It was early evening and the sun had not yet set. They sat together upon two marble benches amid the greenery. A well-trained servant brought silver goblets of sweet wine for them. Sebastiano Rovere noted the goblets were decorated with small stones of black onyx amid pale gold scrollwork. They were exquisite, and for a brief moment he was jealous, for he did not believe he possessed any goblets as fine.
“Is the wine to your taste, Signore Rovere?” the silk merchant inquired politely.
“It is delicious,” was the reply. “Will you not ask your daughter to come and share it with us?” Rovere pressed Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo.
Orianna raised her hand, and a servant was immediately at her side. “Tell Fabia to fetch the lady Bianca to us,” she said in her beautifully modulated voice. Then she turned to their guest. “It will be but a few moments, signore, but before my child joins us I have a boon to ask of you.”
Sebastiano Rovere was surprised, but he was feeling extremely pleased with himself at this moment. “Please, signora, you have but to ask.”
“You have requested that Bianca no longer attend Mass at Santa Anna Dolce with me. Please, signore, I beg that you rescind that order. I understand your concerns, and I share them with you. But soon Bianca will be gone from my side. I have gained such great pleasure these past months worshiping in my daughter’s company. Perhaps if you would escort us to the church yourself several times, your august presence would discourage any bad behavior, along with the knowledge of your betrothal.” Orianna reached out and put an elegant, beringed hand on his velvet-clad arm. “Please, signore, do not refuse a mother’s plea.” She gave him a small smile, astounded by the cold eyes that looked back at her.
He considered her words. It was hardly a request he could refuse without appearing mean-spirited. He forced a smile. “If it means so much to you, signora, then of course I will grant your boon.” Then catching a movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned his head. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the girl in her rose-pink gown. He came to his feet, pleased to see he towered over her. He felt his cock twitch beneath his elegant robe, pressing almost painfully against the fabric of his trunk hose.
“Thank you, signore,” Orianna said, almost cringing at the lust that touched his face when he saw Bianca, though it disappeared as quickly as it had come.
“Come forward, Bianca,” her father said, beckoning her.
She had gotten a quick look at him before he had seen her. He was a handsome man, Bianca thought. Perhaps it would not be so bad after all, even if he was twice her age. She glided forward, eyes lowered, her ebony lashes brushing her ivory cheekbones.
She curtsied perfectly without so much as a wobble.
Beauty and grace, Sebastiano Rovere thought, well pleased. For once the gossips had not lied. If truth be told, they had not praised her highly enough.
“Signore Rovere, may I present to you my eldest daughter, Bianca. If having seen her now she continues to please you, then she is yours to wife,” Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo said, almost choking on the words as he said them. How could he do this? And yet if he did not, his eldest son—their family—would be ruined by this vile, powerful man.
“I am overwhelmed by the exquisite beauty and purity I see in your daughter’s face. Her presence as my wife will bring great honor to my house, and I will gladly have her to wife,” Sebastiano Rovere said. Then, suddenly reaching out, he took up the girl’s small hand, kissed it almost reverently, asking her, “And will you have me for your husband, Bianca Pietro d’Angelo?”
No! No! No! she wanted to shriek, but she knew what was expected of her. “I am magnified that you would have me, signore.”
He kissed her hand again, this time a bit more enthusiastically. “We will walk together in your father’s garden,” he said without even bothering to ask her parents for their permission.
Startled but not knowing what else to do, Bianca turned away with him. He led her from their sight deeper and deeper into the greenery and floral beds until finally they came to a single marble bench set amid some rosebushes. He drew her down, seating himself next to her. Bianca was a little frightened. She had never before been alone with a man. She wasn’t very comfortable. “I think we should go back to my parents,” she said nervously. Her heart was thundering.
He laughed softly and lowly, which frightened her further. “You have never been with a man before, have you? Of course you haven’t,” he said with a chuckle. “Do you realize that I am the only
man you will ever be allowed to be alone with, Bianca? I am to be your lord and your master. You will obey my every wish.”
She was silent but suddenly angry at his presumption.
“Look at me! I want to see your eyes, Bianca,” he told her. His fingers grasped her small chin and almost forced her head up.
She was going to have to look directly at him. She felt brief nausea but swallowed it back. She could not, would not, be afraid of this man. Fear gave the instigator of that emotion power over his victim, and while she must wed him, she would not give him the privilege of controlling her heart, her mind, or her soul. Bianca raised her lashes and looked directly into the dark eyes of the man she was to marry. It was like looking into black ice. “The color of my eyes is said to be unique,” she told him quietly.
Sebastiano Rovere stared, amazed by the beauty and clarity of the girl’s eyes. He would find aquamarines to match their color and have a necklace and ear dangles made for her. He would have her wear them naked with her hair down. Blue, ivory, and ebony. The mental picture in his mind was almost too much to bear as he considered her spread upon his bed, ready for him. His male member ached painfully. “Will you give me a kiss, Bianca?” his voice rasped. Slowly, slowly, he cautioned himself. She was innocent.
Bianca was startled by the bold request. “Signore, I do not believe such a thing would be considered proper by my parents.”
“The betrothal agreement has already been signed,” he told her. “You are mine but for the wedding ceremony, Bianca. Your beauty, your manner have all pleased me.”
He grasped her by her slender shoulders. “I must taste your lips!” And he put his lips on hers, his lust communicating itself quite clearly to the girl.
Bianca was horrified. The kiss. Her first kiss screamed with his need to possess her totally. She struggled against him, yanking her head away from the marauding mouth that assaulted her. “Signore!” she gasped, and then breaking away, she fled from him into the thick greenery of the gardens.
He immediately gave chase. He could not permit her to return in tears to her parents. He would look like a lustful fool. She had stopped in her flight, obviously listening to see if he was still behind her. “Dolce Bianca, I beg you to forgive my eagerness. I apologize for taking forcibly what you had not offered. Come out and we will return together to your parents.”
Listening to his words, Bianca wondered how sincere they were. Not at all, she suspected, but he did not want to look a fool before her parents, and the truth was she did not want to put him in that position. As her husband he would have total control over her life, and could make it quite miserable. She needed to remain on his good side.
“You frightened me, signore,” she told him.
“I know! I know! It was unforgivable of me, dolce Bianca,” he agreed. “Your innocence is so very tempting to a man of my experience. I shall endeavor not to frighten you again. Forgive me!”
Bianca stepped out from behind a row of tall bushes. “I do, signore.”
“Ahh, cara mia, you make me the happiest of men,” he swore to her. Little bitch! He would soon show her the extent of his power over her. His cock twitched again.
Bianca tucked her hand into his arm. “Let us return to my parents,” she said.
They walked back through the gardens as the evening deepened around them.
“When will you set our wedding day?” he inquired of her.
Her mother had advised her to expect such a question, and told her how she must answer it. “Oh, signore, first a new wardrobe must be made for me. And my wedding gown will take time. I must make a retreat with the nuns to ensure the success and happiness of our union. It will be at least several months before I am ready.”
Sebastiano Rovere gritted his teeth at the thought of such a delay, but it was actually no more time than any respectable betrothal would take. “If I must wait,” he told her, “then surely you will allow me the privilege of kisses and caresses in order to whet our appetite for the marriage bed. I will admit to being a man of great desires.”
“I know naught of such things,” Bianca said. “I will ask my mother if such things are permitted, for I would not sully my family’s name.”
“Of course, of course, dolce Bianca,” he agreed. “Remember, though, that the legalities have all been signed and sealed. As Florence’s premier attorney, I drew them up myself and saw them properly executed. I would not bring shame on either you or your good family.”
“If my mother says it is allowable, signore, then you shall have your kisses and your caresses, I promise you,” Bianca told him. “Ah, here are my parents awaiting us.”
He almost laughed aloud at the relief on the faces of his in-laws. Did they think he meant to ravish their little virgin in their gardens? Then he realized that had he been able to manage it, he probably would have. She was a most delicious tidbit, and ripe for his picking. “We have had a most delightful stroll,” he told Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo. “I shall look forward to other such rambles while we await our wedding day.” He smiled at Bianca, who was now standing next to her mother. Then he bowed to his hosts. “I shall not overstay my welcome this evening,” he said.
“Allow me to escort you to the door,” the silk merchant said, and the two men departed the garden, leaving Orianna and Bianca together.
“You look paler than usual,” her mother noted once the men were out of sight and hearing. “Did he attempt to take liberties with you?”
“He kissed me,” Bianca said hesitantly, not wanting to go into detail.
“That was to be expected,” Orianna replied.
“You did not warn me, Madre, that he might do so.”
“I had forgotten what inexperience was like,” Orianna admitted. “I had older sisters who advised me what a courtship would be like. You had only me. I’m sorry I failed you, and that you were startled, Bianca. What did you speak of?”
“The wedding day,” the girl said.
“You told him it would be months away, didn’t you?”
“I did, Madre, and it was then that he said if he had to be patient, I must allow him the privilege of kisses and caresses,” Bianca told her mother. “I told him I must be certain such behavior was proper. Is it?”
Orianna sighed softly. “Yes, it is. He has signed the marriage agreement, and but for the Church’s blessing, you are already his wife. You must allow him to have his way.”
“Oh,” Bianca responded, not certain she liked the idea of caresses, and as for kisses . . . but there was no help for it. Her mother said it was allowed, and so she must bear it. And would probably get used to it in time. Her mother did not seem to mind her father’s endearments.
The next morning, Sebastiano Rovere appeared to escort Bianca and her mother to Mass. Her first appearance in the doorway of her father’s house brought a cheer from the young men gathered in the piazza. It died as Florence’s most famed lawyer stepped out behind her and took her arm. Together they crossed the piazza with her mother and entered the church. When they exited an hour later, there was a larger crowd of young men, but they were silent. Then one caught sight of the large, deep red ruby betrothal ring Sebastiano had slipped on Bianca’s finger when Mass had concluded. A hiss and a hum vibrated through the crowd, followed by a sound that resembled mourning.
The lawyer smiled, well pleased. While her family did not intend to make a formal announcement until a few evenings from now, it would be known throughout Florence by the noon hour that Sebastiano Rovere was to marry Bianca Pietro d’Angelo. He expected the crowds to lessen over the next few days, and they did, as Florence realized there was no hope. The most beautiful virgin in the city was to wed a powerful and important man, which, of course, was just as it should be.
Bianca could see the disappointment upon the faces of all the young men who had so faithfully paid her their court over the l
ast few months. She felt sorry for them, and couldn’t help but wonder if her fate would have been different if Sebastiano had not come into her life—if her brother Marco had not been such a fool. When Bianca put the whole situation into perspective, it was ridiculous. To think that the accidental death of an unknown courtesan had catapulted her into the arms of a man she did not want to wed.
He returned them from Mass but came back that evening to take Bianca deep into the gardens once more. “Did you speak with your mother?” he asked her, and she knew exactly what it was he sought to know.
Bianca nodded. “But, please, signore, I beg of you, do not hasten me.”
“You belong to me now, cara mia,” he purred at her. Then he stopped, and turned the girl to face him. “I am going to kiss you,” he told her. “You will open your mouth, cara, and give me your tongue when I do.”
It was a startling command, but before she had a moment to question it, he was kissing her. He held her tightly, her breasts pressing flat against the velvet of his robe. His tongue slid along her lips, encouraging her to obedience, and Bianca opened her mouth for him. Immediately his fleshy organ began stroking her tongue, exploring her mouth. She gagged with the shock of the invasion, but he did not release her. His kiss grew more lustful, deepening, as Bianca struggled for air, for it seemed he had sucked it all from her body. Her small palms pushed against his chest, and she grew faint, sagging in his arms. She gasped deeply, drawing several breaths into her lungs again, and to her shock his attentions continued.
Bending his head, he began pressing kisses on the swell of her small breasts as she attempted to recover herself. His wet mouth seemed everywhere, and then a hand pushed past the fabric of her neckline to pull one of her breasts free. He groaned as he stared at the small, perfectly round globe in his hand. Then his mouth closed over her helpless nipple, tugging fiercely. Her fragrance surrounded him and drove him wild with raging desire. He knew he had to stop soon or he would commit a forcible act. But she was so delicious. So ripe for his taking, and he wanted her.
Bianca: The Silk Merchant's Daughters Page 4