by Speer, Flora
“Rosalinda, promise me you will remain always at my side. I need you.” As he spoke, Andrea hastened to obey her command.
“Only for this?” Having torn off her own clothing while Andrea was occupied with his garments, Rosalinda pressed herself against him, savoring his warmth.
“For this, yes.” His hand slid downward, searching between their bodies. “For all you can teach me about love. And for your support and advice. I cannot rule alone, my love, and you are the one person I can trust completely.”
“There is always Francesco.” Rosalinda sighed in pleasure and arched her back. Andrea’s questing fingers located the spot that ached to feel his touch.
“Francesco lacks your charms,” Andrea murmured, letting his fingertips stray into heated, sensitive flesh. “And, at the moment, he has other interests to pursue. Forget Francesco.”
“Andrea.” Rosalinda shivered and moaned, her whole body convulsing. Obeying her love, she forgot everything but the sweet sensation of Andrea’s possession of her in a wild eruption of passion.
“What other interests does Francesco have?” Rosalinda asked much later, when she could think and speak again.
“Your mother,” Andrea said. The setting sun beaming in the window showed her the twinkle in his dark eyes when he lifted his head from her breasts to see her reaction.
“Oh, that,” she said, to tease him. ‘‘Bianca and I have known about Francesco’s interest for months. I do hope Mother decides to marry him. I wouldn’t want her involved in a scandal.”
“Speaking of marrying,” Andrea said, smothering the laughter that threatened to interfere with a serious statement, “first thing tomorrow I will send Lorenzo for Father Tomaso. While he is gone, you and I will write out our marriage contract together. As soon as the priest gets here to bless our arrangement, we will marry. I am certain your family will understand our haste.”
“Poor Father Tomaso,” Rosalinda said with an exaggerated sigh. “We will wear out that sweet old man with our frequent summons to Villa Serenita.”
“Does that mocking comment indicate the end of your resistance to my proposal?” Andrea asked. “Have I finally succeeded in convincing you that I love you?”
“Well, as to that, my lord duke, you know how uncertain I have always been of your true feelings,” Rosalinda said. With a sly smile, she added, “I fear the only way for you to prevent future doubts on my part is by telling me several times a day that you love me with a great passion, and then by proving it each night.”
“It will be my pleasure, madonna.” He nipped playfully at her ear. “So that you will never misunderstand me again, I do solemnly promise that, however busy I may be with affairs of state, I will find time to tell you every day and show you each night that I love you completely and forever.”
“Even when you are old and decrepit, my lord duke?” she asked with great seriousness.
“Even then, I will find a way.” His eyes gleamed in the golden late afternoon light. “I promise you, Rosalinda, I’ll find a way to keep you happy. I am the Duke of Aullia. I can do anything.”
“Do you think we will quarrel much?” she asked.
“Probably,” he answered, gazing at her with love and rising warmth.
“I will never run away from you again,” she said.
“And I will never again keep secrets from you,” he whispered.
“I love you, Andrea.”
“I know.” His mouth touched hers lightly. “I’ve known it all along.”
Epilogue
“Andrea, are you sure this is where you want the bearskin to stay?” Eleonora asked.
“I can think of no better place for it,” Andrea said. “Have you any objection?”
“No, not really.” Eleonora pursed her lips, studying the bearskin. “I am only surprised to learn you do not intend to take it to Aullia when you and Rosalinda return there.”
They were in the sitting room at Villa Serenita and Bartolomeo had just spread out the bearskin in front of the hearth. Shortly after Andrea’s first appearance at the villa, Bartolomeo had turned the bearskin over to one of the men-at-arms, whose favorite occupation was hunting. For lack of anyone else at the villa who was able to do such work, the man-at-arms had made himself an expert at curing and preparing animal skins. Thanks to his efforts, the once stiff and smelly pelt that Andrea had worn while a fugitive was now a rug with soft, shiny fur.
“It was in this room, before this very hearth, that I first relinquished my disguise as a bear and became a man again,” Andrea said. “Bartolomeo, I thank you for the gift of this rug.” Andrea clasped hands with the faithful Bartolomeo, who then excused himself and departed the sitting room to find Valeria.
“With your permission, Madonna Eleonora, I will also ask you to excuse me,” Andrea said. “Rosalinda should have young Federigo put to bed by now, and I find that I am also in need of a midday nap. Fatherhood can be tiring.”
“A nap. How discreet you are.” Noting that Andrea did not look the least bit tired, Eleonora repressed a smile. She had smiled a great deal in recent months, and had laughed more often than she could remember doing since she was a girl. It was lovely to be so light-hearted and free. She supposed some of her newfound joy had to do with the realization of all her hopes and dreams for her daughters, but there was also the unexpected delight she found in the infant grandson whom Rosalinda and Andrea had produced on the previous Christmas Eve, and in anticipation of a second grandchild from Bianca and Vanni in the coming autumn. There was a third, more intimate reason for Eleonora’s happiness and it awaited her, rather impatiently, on the terrace.
“Do not let me keep you from your bed, Andrea,” Eleonora said to her son-in-law. “You will want to be alert and rested when your brother arrives later today. Bianca did say they would be here before sunset.”
“Ah, Madonna Eleonora, from the very first you have always understood me.” Andrea kissed her on the cheek before he strode out of the sitting room.
He was scarcely gone before Francesco poked his head through the open doorway to the terrace and leered at Eleonora.
“Are we alone at last?” Francesco asked.
“For a little while.” Eleonora left the sitting room to join her husband.
It was a warm and sunny mid-June day, and the rosebushes were in full bloom. Eleonora stood at the top of the steps to the garden, breathing in the soft, delicate fragrance of the white roses and the rich, sensual perfume of the red roses. It was a heady combination. When Francesco came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, Eleonora felt positively dizzy with delight.
“Perhaps we should retire for a nap ourselves, before the ducal retinue from Monteferro appears,” Francesco suggested.
“What a lecherous old man you have turned out to be.” Eleonora leaned back against her husband’s broad chest.
“Did no one warn you about aging condottieri before you married me?” Francesco teased. He turned Eleonora around to face him and his blue eyes were twinkling. “I must confess, madonna, that no one told me about the lecherous interests of dowager duchesses, either.”
“You are a truly wicked man, Francesco.” Eleonora caught her breath just as his mouth met hers.
“Bianca and Vanni won’t stay long,” Eleonora remarked when Francesco finally released her from a long and heated kiss. “The next heir to Monteferro must be born in the city, and Vanni won’t want to subject Bianca to a homeward journey too near her time.”
“I smell a plan in the air,” Francesco said. “A plan that will remove us from this peaceful villa and force us to Monteferro by early September.”
“Will you mind very much?”
“Not if we can return here before winter comes.” Francesco lifted his gaze to the mountains and the blue, blue sky. A happy expression softened the craggy contours of his face. “This place is home to me now, Eleonora. Every day I thank your father for building Villa Serenita and for giving it to you. However, there is one change I would like
to make.”
“Oh?” Eleonora’s voice took on a slight edge at the suggestion that Villa Serenita was not perfect. “What change is that, Francesco?”
“Just a small improvement to the garden.” With an amused tilt to his mouth, Francesco considered the herbs and the flowers and the little pool with the Florentine iris growing at its edge.
“What is wrong with my garden?” Eleonora demanded.
“Nothing is wrong. I merely wish to make an addition, in honor of you and of our most improbable, but altogether wonderful, love.” Francesco pointed to a sunny corner. “There, I think, would be the ideal spot. We will put a bench just in front of it, so we can sit while we enjoy the spicy fragrance and the view of villa and mountains.”
“A bench in front of what?” Eleonora pushed herself out of Francesco’s arms to stand facing him with fists planted on her hips. “I will not allow you to alter my garden. I have worked long and hard on it—”
“This garden needs another rosebush,” Francesco interrupted her. “You have planted a white rose for Bianca, and a red rose for Rosalinda, but where is a bush for you?”
“For me?” Eleonora said, looking thoroughly astonished. “I never thought of such a thing.”
“Then, it’s time you did. I envision a rose with flowers as pink as your cheeks when your anger is aroused – or your desire,” he said, kissing one of those cheeks, which was glowing with a distinctly rosy tinge. “Furthermore, the bush planted in your honor will produce a bloom with petals as soft as your lips and a scent as tantalizing and spicy as your embrace. This lovely rose will, of course, be cursed with thorns, but they will only make the blossoms it bears seem all the sweeter once they are successfully plucked.”
“A soldier, and a poet, too,” Eleonora murmured, returning to his embrace. “You are quite right, Francesco, my dear. We do need another rosebush.”
“I am glad you approve of my plan, because Vanni and Bianca are bringing the very bush with them today.”
Francesco kissed her quickly, before Eleonora could protest this announcement, which clearly indicated that he had made up his mind about the change to her garden before discussing it with her. After a moment, Eleonora ceased her efforts to get free of his embrace so she could argue the point with him. Instead, she gave herself up to the pleasure she always found in Francesco’s kisses. It was some time before she could speak again.
“We will plant the new rosebush together,” she said, “but I will tell you exactly where to place it, and I will decide where that bench you mentioned should be.”
“Of course, my love. Whatever you want,” Francesco murmured, and bent his head to kiss her again.
About The Author:
Flora Speer is the author of twenty-two full-length novels and two novellas.
She writes historical, futuristic and time-travel romances. Born in southern New Jersey, she now lives in Connecticut. Among her favorite activities are doing research for the next book, gardening (especially herbs and flowers used in medieval gardens) and amateur astronomy. She believes in space travel, and wishes the U.S. would restart its space program.
Flora can be reached at [email protected] and at www.floraspeer.com.
Other Books By This Author (all available through Smashwords)
Historical:
By Honor Bound
Much Ado About Love
The Viking Passion
For Love And Honor
Rose Red
Castle Of Dreams
Castle Of The Heart
Two Turtledoves (a Christmas novella)
Time-Travel:
Twelfth Night (a Christmas novella)
Christmas Carol
A Time to Love Again
A Love Beyond Time
Timestruck
Love Just In Time
Love Once And Forever*
Paranormal – Medieval Magic
Heart’s Magic
The Magician’s Lover
A Passionate Magic
Love Once And Forever*
Futuristic
Venus Rising
Destiny’s Lovers
No Other Love
Lady Lure