Ah, my love,
my only love,
consume me,
fill me
with rapture,
enough to last
until the
moments
of our
next rendezvous.
Books by Cassie Edwards
Her Forbidden Pirate
Beloved Embrace
Desire's Blossom
Elusive Ecstasy
Enchanted Enemy
Eugenia's Embrace
Forbidden Embrace
Passion's Fire
Portrait of Desire
Rapture's Rendezvous
Savage Heart
Savage.Innocence
Savage Paradise
Savage Obsession
Savage Torment
Silken Rapture
Published by Zebra Books
Rapture's Rendezvous
CASSIE EDWARDS
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
To my son Brian,
who understands what I am all about
Oh! She has passions which outstrip the wind, And tear her virtue up, as tempests root the sea.
—William Congreve
Rapture's
Rendezvous
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter one
The first sign of dawn was making its presence known as pale orange streaks began to dance along the horizon, casting shadowed images on two lonely figures walking at the edge of the country road leading to Pordenone. They were dressed in dark, tattered trousers and matching black waist-length coats, and their wide-billed hats were pulled down low to hide their hair.
They both stood tall and walked in the same brisk manner as any other sixteen-year-old boys might do . . . except that one . .. was . . . a . .. girl.
Maria Lazzaro squinted her eyes, watching the September morning sunrise as it was filtering through the foggy haze that hung low over the ground. She knew that once the fog began to slowly lift, it would be like smoke from a fire, revealing tall houses in the distance.
She turned her gaze toward her twin brother Alberto, who had been unusually quiet since having left their Gran-mama's house. Maria knew that Alberto was also growing weary of their daily chores, but just hadn't spoken his mind about it, obviously not wanting to worry Maria.
Maria suddenly broke the silence. “How long has Papa been gone now, Alberto?” she asked, wiping a black smudge from the tip of her nose. Oh, how she hated the endless duty of cleaning chimneys each day. The soot had seemed to change her olive coloring to a dull, ashen gray. And the filth beneath her fingernails. It took away from the dignity of having been born a female.
Alberto rested a long-handled brush against his shoulder … the brush itself even more black than the clothes that hung loosely from him and his sister. He shut his eyes and began moving his lips, a mere whisper of numbers barely audible to Maria.
Maria prodded impatiently. “Well, Alberto?” she asked, blinking her long lashes nervously. She was glad that she and Alberto had been given special schooling by her Papa before his departure to America. Numbers had been Alberto's favorite study, while mastering the English language had been her own. She had decided that being able to speak fluently after they arrived in America themselves was of much more importance than being able to add numbers in the head. “Well?” she further demanded, thinking him to be so slow.
“I'm counting. I'm counting,” Alberto finally answered. “Let's see. I marked it on Gran-mama's wall. Yes. Now I remember. Papa left on the fifth of September and it is now the twenty-eighth of September. One year and twenty-three days. That's how long.”
“It seems an eternity, doesn't it, Alberto?”
“Papa said that it would take a while,” Alberto answered, eyeing Maria sympathetically. “The boat trip to America probably took weeks. Maybe months. Who knows? And then Papa had to find work.”
“What if Papa forgets all about us, Alberto?” Maria asked, watching her brother, seeing once again how handsome he was. His dark brown eyes were large like her own, and his skin, when it was clean, was smooth and olive in color, and his determination showed by the solid set line of the jaw. His lips were thick, and his nose had the “Italian curve” in it, and he looked much older than his years as he held his wide shoulders back, proud to display his six-foot height.
Slinging an arm around Maria's waist, Alberto hugged her to him. “You've got to learn to be more patient about things in life, Maria,” he said thickly. “Papa said he'd send for us. So rest assured that he will. Papa has never lied to us.”
“But I so hate to clean chimneys.”
“You should be proud to be able to say that you're earning money,” Alberto argued, dropping his arm away from her, to thrust his free hand deeply inside his trousers pocket.
“I'd much rather be making money while playing my violin,” Maria pouted, kicking at a stone in the road.
“You know how Mama felt about you playing your violin on the street corners of Pordenone,” Alberto grumbled. “She said you were no better than a beggar.”
“Mama is no longer with us, to even worry about it,” Maria said stubbornly.
“Maria!” Alberto stormed. “Shame be upon you. You make it sound as though you're glad that Mama is dead and buried.”
Maria hung her head sadly. “I didn't mean it that way,” she murmured. “I only meant to say that I am free to do as I please now that Papa is in America . . . and poor Mama….”
“You are not free to do as you please,” Alberto interrupted. “I am the one who has been left in Italy to see after you, and I won't have my sister standing on a street corner like a waif. Even if it is while playing the violin. We have respectable jobs while being chimney sweeps. You should be proud.”
“Well, I hope Papa Finds us a nice place to live in America where there are no chimneys,” Maria said, pouting more openly.
Alberto laughed heartily. “Maria, all houses have chimneys. Even in America.”
“Well, maybe Papa won't make us clean them,” Maria said, placing a hand before her eyes. “I've not seen clean fingers on my hands since we've become chimney sweeps.”
Alberto took her hand in his and clutched tightly onto it. Her fingers were slender and lean, like a true violinist's for sure, and he did understand her love for the instrument. But he would not let her play for money to be tossed at her feet. He just wouldn't. She was destined for better .. . greater things … a future of wealth in America . . . the land where only the rich live. . . .
He gazed at her beauty. Beneath her billed hat lay a mass of dark, wavy hair that hung to her waist when set free. And the gentle curve to her jaw, accentuated by the full sensuousness of her lips took one's attention from the one flaw of her classic Italian features … a birthmark of a strawberry color, the size of a small mole, on the slight dimple of her right cheek. When she laughed, it would be as though erased, as it would tighten and blend in with her dark olive skin tones.
Alberto laughed to himself. His own matching birth mark was well hidden . . . but in a more embarrassing place. .. .
H
is gaze lowered, feeling a racing of the pulsebeat in the hollow of his throat. Maria was not yet aware of how her curves could affect a man . .. even a brother. Evenings, while sauntering around the house after bathing, and in more skimpy attire, Maria hadn't yet learned to be modest of herself. Her large, ripe breasts seemed always to be loosely bouncing when she walked, and when she stretched out on the makeshift bed of leaves that they shared, she didn't know to not cuddle up so close to Alberto .. . having done so since childhood.
Suddenly seeing that Maria was studying him, Alberto felt a blush rising upward from his neck and turned his head quickly away.
“What were you thinking, Alberto?” she asked, leaning in front of him, to look up into his face. She loved his tallness .. . even though she could almost boast of being the same. A slight bit of stretching was all that was required to be standing nose to nose with him.
She and Alberto had never ceased to surprise the Lazzaro family—first to be born only seconds apart, and then to grow to such a height. All their other blood relations were short and squatty, and none too pleasant to look at.
Maria smiled smugly to herself. She had liked being different, but was glad that her brother was the same. And their love for one another kept them even more apart from the rest of the family. No harm would come to either of them … ever … as long as they had one another. She just knew it.
Alberto cleared his throat nervously. “Nothing much,” he stammered.
“Want to know what I'm thinking, Alberto?”
“Sure. What?”
“I'm hungry. I'm. starved,” she answered quickly. “My stomach is growling and my lips are parched. It's always such a long walk from Gran-mama's house.”
Peering into the distance, Alberto was glad to finally be able to see that the houses were growing more visible. Some people of the village paid by milk and hot bread. Sometimes that was even more welcome than money. But Maria was hungry now and Alberto usually tried to please her whenever she showed signs of needing something. He was dedicated t.o her. Fully.
His gaze traveled to the large fields of grapevines that now stretched out on both sides of them. The grapes that had been ignored by the pickers were so ripe, most had burst open, with their juices dripping down their thin, browned stems. And the air! It was filled with the sweet aroma.
“I'm hungry, Alberto,” Maria whined further, hardly able to contain herself any longer.
Alberto looked around, then from side to side. “No one will miss a few of those grapes, Maria,” he said. “It seems those that have been left will even soon be gone because it's almost time for the grower to prune the vines for the winter. Come on. Let's have our fill before heading on into the village. It's going to be a long day for us.”
Following her brother's movements, Maria thrust first one grape then another into her mouth, savoring the sweetness as it seeped between her teeth and swirled around her tongue. And after she stuffed her pockets full with more of the delicacies, she fell into step beside Alberto, hurrying on toward Pordenone.
“You know, Alberto, the one thing Til miss most about this old country will be the grapes,” Maria said, licking her lips of the still clinging sweet juices.
“I'm sure there are grapes in America,” Alberto said, laughing.
Maria's eyes widened. “Really? Do you think so?”
Alberto stood more erect, suddenly feeling more knowledgeable than his sister. “Sure,” he said. “America has everything. Just wait. You'll see.”
As they finally entered the village, their pace became slower as their gazes traveled from house to house. Only the rich people lived in such big stone houses. The houses all appeared to have been built alike with their red-tiled roofs and fancy balconies leading from the upper-story rooms. And the yards. It almost took Maria's breath away, seeing the freshly trimmed green grass and the many varieties of flowers in the yards, as well as in window boxes . .. nothing like her Gran-mama's house, which was surrounded by dried, cracked earth, with cows, goats and sheep running free. •
Maria's eyes shifted upward, the chimneys reaching into the sky drawing her full attention. “Which house do we go to first, Alberto?” she asked, stopping.
“Does it really matter?” Alberto mumbled, walking on ahead of her toward a house, eyeing the chimney with distaste. Maybe today the tickets for passage will arrive from America, he thought sadly to himself. Yes. Maybe today.
It had grown dusk, but the fireplace was burning brightly, lighting the room around Maria, keeping her awake. The bed of leaves she was lying on felt good to her. But she rubbed her elbows gently. They throbbed from her having used them to climb up the steep insides of the many chimneys that she and Alberto had cleaned this long, hard day. She looked toward Alberto, eyeing his elbows. But even though his elbows looked raw and red, there was a lazy smile on his face.
Then Maria's gaze settled on the tickets being held tightly in Alberto's hands. Maria also had to smile. It was such a gratifying sensation to know that her Papa had remembered and had finally sent tickets for her and Alberto to join him in America.
Yes. What a pleasant surprise it had been when Maria and Alberto had discovered the tickets for the boat trip waiting in the mail when they had returned to their ■Gran-mama's house earlier in the evening.
“When can we go?” Maria asked, suddenly rising up to lean on an elbow, to face Alberto. She spoke softly, not wanting to wake her Gran-mama, who was asleep only a few feet away, on her own bed of leaves.
Alberto reached up and touched a lock of Maria's long, dark hair. “In the next few days, Maria. We'll have to help Gran-mama get things settled around here first.”
Maria sighed heavily, her eyes seeking the sleeping figure of her Gran-mama. “I wish Gran-mama could go with us.”
“Papa wanted her to go. But she refused. She doesn't want to leave Mama's and Gran-papa's graves. It would make her too sad.”
“But won't she be terribly lonely?”
“Maria, we are not the only members left of the Lazzaro family. You must remember Aunt Helena and many, many more. No. Gran-mama won't be lonesome. She'll miss us. But she won't be lonesome.”
Maria turned over and stretched out on her stomach. It still felt warm and good from the huge bowl of polenta that she had eaten for supper. And the chestnut soup and fresh goat's milk had completed the feast.
“Alberto?”
“Yes, Maria?”
“I wonder what type of house Papa lives in?” “I don't know. But you needn't worry about that. I'm sure it will be nice.” “Alberto?”
“Yes, Maria.” Alberto said impatiently, suddenly feeling the need of sleep. He had many days of responsibility for Maria's safety stretched out before him.
“I wonder if the house will have a place where we can take a bath and real beds to sleep on,” Maria said quietly.
“I'm sure all houses in America have bathing facilities and beds,” Alberto answered. “Now, will you please get to sleep?”
There was a short pause. The only sound that could be heard was from the scratching of the dog that lay stretched out in front of the hearth.
Maria squirmed uneasily, her gown having worked up above her knees. “I wonder what type of work Papa found?” she whispered again.
“Hmm. It's funny. He never wrote of that,” Alberto said.
“And, isn't it just awful, Alberto?” she said even more softly. “Isn't what awful?”
“Oh, you know. Father warned us of the cruelties of a man named Nathan Hawkins and how terribly mean he is to the Italians who have settled in the same town Papa has.”
“Aren't you even a bit afraid, Maria?”
A burning anger made her dark eyes flash, trying to envision such a man. The Italians had planned to find a better life in America. Not a life of slavery. “No. I'm not afraid,” she hissed. “I am anxious to meet this evil man.”
“What?” he gasped loudly.
“Yes. I want to meet this man who is treating Papa and our people so po
orly.”
“Why the hell would you want to meet him? He'll try to be just as cruel to us.”
Maria had never been given cause yet in her life to hate. . . and was now feeling the difference it made inside herself as this hate continued to build, causing her to even suddenly feel like an entirely different person. She frowned deeply. “Why? Because there must be a way to make him pay for treating people so badly.”
“Maria,” Alberto sighed heavily. “Sometimes your sense of adventure gets in the way of logic.”
“But there does have to be a way, Alberto,” she said, sighing deeply. “There just has to be a way.”
“Get to sleep, Maria,” Alberto grumbled. “We've much to do in the next day or so.”
“Okay, Alberto. Good night.”
Maria felt a warmth next to her body, and welcomed her brother's arm thrown across her back. . . .
Chapter Two
One week at sea, and Maria and Alberto feared the worst. . . that possibly they wouldn't even have the opportunity to see the great expanse of rich land called America.
Huddled together in a corner, beneath a water-soaked blanket, they trembled in unison.
“I'm so afraid, Alberto,” Maria whispered, feeling a fresh, wild spray of sea water washing over the flooring of the ship, settling around her. “If only we could have afforded a cabin. What if we're even washed over-board?”
The ship continued to heave and pitch, and the wailing of the wind matched that of the many others who were also seeking a new way of life in America. Alberto lifted a corner of the blanket, to search his eyes around him, seeing once again the jammed upper deck of the crude ship called the Dolphin. As far as the eyes could see through the blur of the rain and the seawater's haze, bunks were lined up, filling the empty spaces of the upper deck, and on these bunks were members of families, huddled, sharing what had suddenly become a nightmare for all.
Feeling a sick ache at the pit of his stomach, Alberto pulled the blanket back down, a barrier being used to separate him and his sister from what mounting fear that he could … a fear that seemed to increase with each added lurch of the ship. He placed his arm around Maria and pulled her closer to him.
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