The Vision of a Viscountess

by Linda Rae Sande

  “What’s wrong?” Marianne whispered in reply, one of her hands reaching out to touch his shirt.

  Jasper knew she could probably make out the white lawn fabric despite the dark. He gently wrapped one of his hands around hers and raised it to his lips. “I couldn’t sleep, is all,” he replied, just before he kissed her knuckles. In the dim light from the window, he could make out the glisten of a tear rolling down her cheek. “It seems I am the one who should ask what’s wrong?” he asked in alarm. He reached out and wiped away the tear with a thumb.

  “I’ve become a terrible burden to you,” she managed to get out before a sob interrupted her breath. “I know it was never your intention to marry me. I wondered if perhaps...?”

  His arms were suddenly around her, pulling her hard against him. “No, no, no,” he murmured, his lips kissing the top of her head.

  “...There might be a way I can go back to England?” she continued, as if she couldn’t hear his response. “Or... home to... Canobie? I understand your need to stay, of course.”

  Jasper gave a start, stunned to hear her words. “Marianne,” he breathed, disappointment—nay, sorrow—evident in his voice. He had a mind to simply lift her into his arms and put her back in the bed, follow her down and cover her body with his own. If he kissed her to distraction, made love to her until she pleaded for him to stop, perhaps she would want to stay. Instead, he sat back down in the lounging chair and pulled her down atop him.

  He half-expected she would resist his attempt to hold her, so he was gratified when she finally relaxed into his hold, her bent legs resting on the lounging chair as he pressed his back into the high side of the chair. “You are not a burden, my sweet. The opposite, in fact. I rather adore having you with me,” he stated, his voice sounding loud in the quiet room. Even though there were people in the piazza below—there would soon be more as businesses closed for the night—their voices didn’t reach them up here. “In fact, I cannot imagine what my life might be like without you,” he added.

  How had she managed to endear herself to him in only a month’s time? To make him forget his life with Sophie and his brief stint as a widower, where he wondered from day to day where he might eat and where he might take tea? Where he would spend his evenings and where he might have a cup of chocolate or coffee? Where he might find solace in the arms of someone just as lonely as he was?

  “You see, I am quite smitten with you,” he said then, well aware of how her body jerked in response to his soft words. “I cannot imagine having to spend any night without your company,” he added. “Without your body next to mine.”

  “And yet you left the bed, and came to this...” She allowed the sentence to trail off when she was forced to sniffle.

  “I just needed to think a moment,” he countered. “When I’m wide awake and lying next to you, I find I am too distracted to think straight, you see.”

  Marianne sniffled again. “Distracted?” she repeated.

  “Oh, yes. I want nothing more than to make love to you. All the time. I thought by now... I thought by now I might have become used to having such a beautiful woman sharing my bed. Become used to seeing your beautiful smile in the morning. Used to watching you as you sleep. But I am not. I never will be, for I can never get enough of you.”

  Marianne frowned, her unseeing gaze going to the window. “How can you say such a thing when I look so hideous in those awful spectacles?” she countered.

  Jasper sighed, realizing her desire to return to England had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her eyewear. “Your beauty transcends ugly eyeglasses. I don’t even notice the damned things,” he claimed with a shrug. “I only see you.”

  Marianne continued to frown at him. “You’re a bounder,” she accused, her head lowering to his shoulder despite her words.

  Finally allowing a grin, Jasper managed a snort. “I must admit, until you, I have never in my life been accused of being a bounder,” he claimed, just before his lips found hers. He kissed her then. Lightly at first, and then more thoroughly when she finally turned in his hold so her breasts pressed into his chest. When he eventually pulled away, he struggled to catch his breath. “May I take you to bed? I still wish to make love to you,” he murmured, his lips barely touching the column of her throat.

  “I think not,” Marianne replied, suddenly moving her body so she faced him, straddling him and the lounging chair.

  He had the placket of his breeches undone in a second and was pushing them down when he realized he was suddenly inside Marianne. She hadn’t waited for him to remove the offending garment but had simply moved her body so she could capture his member.

  Hot and slick and ready for his turgid manhood, she allowed a hiss and a murmur of ‘yes’ as he buried himself into her wet haven. Her hands were at his neck, her lips pressed against his forehead as he thrust himself deeper into her body.

  “It’s like you’re a daughter of Jupiter,” he whispered hoarsely, “I have my very own goddess of love to worship.”

  Marianne paused in her movements, rather shocked at hearing his words. “Are you my slave, then?” she wondered in a harsh whisper.

  “I am,” he replied just before he stripped her of her nightrail and took one of her nipples in his mouth.

  “To do as I might command?”

  Jasper was about to agree when he sensed a trap. He rested his forehead against one of her collarbones, feigning an attempt to catch his breath. Not difficult to manage given he was rather breathless just then.

  “What would you have me do?” he asked, deciding he best hear her request before agreeing to it.

  Marianne’s fingers speared his hair, her fingernails scraping his scalp as she lifted his head and gazed down at him. “Don’t require me to wear the spectacles,” she whispered.

  Already expecting the condition, Jasper couldn’t help but frown. He was about to remove her from atop him, about to set her aside and leave the room, about to join the revelers down in the piazza and yell his frustration with her at the top of his lungs.

  Couldn’t she understand the danger she was in by not being able to see? How she was missing out by not being able to see the wonders of the world? How she was only able to see a fraction of anything she did see because she had to stand so close to it?

  Jasper finally sighed and lifted his eyes to meet hers. “I will agree on one condition,” he said in a hoarse whisper. He could feel how her body jerked in his hold, as if she didn’t expect he would be the least bit amenable to her request. “If I think you are in any sort of danger—mortal or otherwise—you will put them on and leave them on until the danger has passed.”

  Marianne allowed a sound of protest. “You will merely claim I am always in danger,” she argued, straightening her legs so that his manhood was no longer inside her.

  “That’s not true,” Jasper managed, his wince apparent when she pulled her body from his. “But I cannot bear the thought of losing you,” Jasper claimed, his arms tightening their hold around her body so she couldn’t remove herself completely from the lounging chair. “So, I promise I will only require you wear them if I think you will be in danger of falling off a cliff, or being crushed in a crowd, or hurt by a falling statue.”

  Marianne stared down at him, finally allowing a sigh of reluctance. “Very well. I agree,” she finally whispered, although it was apparent she wasn’t the least bit happy with the arrangement.

  The moment of intimacy having passed—Jasper was sure they had been about to make love as they did the morning after their wedding—he realized he didn’t want to give up his hold on her. Not the way he had her settled atop his body, her bare breasts still only inches from his lips. At least she hadn’t attempted to leave his hold completely. “Is there some deed my goddess wishes me to do?” he asked in a whisper, the back of one finger brushing against the side of her breast.

  Marianne sucked in a breath at the slight touch. Despite her momentary anger and frustration with Jasper, she couldn’t he
lp the surprise she had felt at hearing his declaration.

  I cannot bear the thought of losing you.

  Does he feel more affection for me than he did for his first wife? she wondered. Marianne was never sure of his feelings for his late wife. Sometimes he spoke of her fondly, and then caught himself, as if he thought she didn’t wish to hear about Sophie. Other times, a mention of her would be accompanied by a strange expression, as if he detested the woman.

  Marianne had to admit to a bit of curiosity about Sophie. Like her, she had to marry the viscount because they had been caught kissing by the fountain in Lord Attenborough’s garden. The idea that it was all Cupid’s fault was never brought up, although she had believed it for that brief moment when they had been kissing. There were some nights, when they made love and for the few minutes after, when she believed it.

  I cannot bear the thought of losing you.

  Does that mean he loves me? she wondered as she settled her head onto his shoulder, gratified when one of his arms slid up her back and tightened its hold on her.

  Do I love him?

  There were times she was certain she was in love with him. The moments of ecstasy, when he was deep in her body and the waves of pleasure and the wash of warmth filled her near to bursting. The moments when his fingers barely touched her skin, as if he wanted to remind her he was there, perhaps because he thought she couldn’t see him.

  Like now, because there were no antiquities or relics to keep him occupied. His attention was entirely on her, his lips kissing the top of her hair between murmurs about worshipping his goddess. His finger once against brushed the side of her breast, and she sucked in a breath between her teeth. Desire overwhelmed her. Desire and wanton lust. And, mayhap, love.

  Marianne didn’t wait for Jasper to make another move. “If you truly wish to worship me, then you shall do so whilst in that bed,” she whispered as she pointed in the general direction of the largest piece of furniture in the room, never mind that her finger was really directed toward the fireplace. “You will take me to that bed right this moment, and then you shall...” She gave a yelp when she was suddenly off of his lap and into his arms.

  “Yes, my goddess,” Jasper managed before he carried her to the bed. He settled her onto the middle of the mattress and followed her down, his lips nipping at her breasts and belly as he made his way down the front of her body, his hands smoothing over her thighs as he pushed them apart.

  Realizing what he was about to do—she remembered the mosaics depicting an orgy—Marianne was ready to pull her legs together when his tongue touched the space just below her mons. She allowed another audible gasp when his hands were suddenly beneath the globes of her bottom, lifting them while his thumbs caressed the tender flesh. When his tongue flicked across her womanhood, she cried out. A second later, and his tongue was circling the swollen bud, the motion at once a great tease as well as the perfect foreplay, for she was sure he would simply end the exquisite torture by impaling her with his manhood.

  But he didn’t.

  Instead, his tongue suddenly delved into her wet haven. She nearly screamed at the sensations his rough-textured tongue created, nearly pulled herself from his hold at the extreme pleasure his ministrations manifested. About to cry out from the intensity of it all, Marianne swallowed the exclamation when his assault changed again, his lips capturing her womanhood to suckle it. Her body bucked and jerked beneath his hold until her cry of his name had Jasper finally pulling away a bit.

  Once Marianne seemed to relax a bit—as if her body had been wrung out—he flicked his tongue across her womanhood one last time and felt a good deal of satisfaction at hearing her inhalation of breath and soft whimper of, “No more.”

  He had half a mind to bury himself in her then and there, but decided instead to allow her a few moments to recover so that he could simply do what he had just done all over again. Although his manhood begged for respite—he had been aroused since their time on the lounging chair—Jasper ignored his need and concentrated on providing more pleasure for his wife.

  He used his nose to caress the inside of her thighs, his fingers to barely touch the back of her knees, his short-cropped hair to tickle her belly, all the while delighting in how she whimpered, how she softly gasped and sighed.

  When he was sure she had recovered, he repeated the entire process. This time, he was gratified when her thighs seemed to spread wider for him, when her womanhood seemed easier to coax from its honeyed folds. Ecstasy had her crying his name, her hands moving to either side of his head until he finally pulled away.

  On his way up the front of her body, he left a trail of kisses that had her murmuring words he couldn’t make out. Her legs, suddenly bent, trapped his thighs and had his manhood pressed against her mons. He wondered how she had the strength to lift her knees—he’d been quite sure she was satiated and relaxed to the point of being boneless.

  “What would you have me do now?” he whispered just before his lips captured hers for a quick kiss. “You seem to have me...” He gave a start when he realized one of her hands had taken possession of his manhood, guiding it to her wet folds. “At your advantage,” he managed as he slowly entered her. He had to suppress the urge to chuckle at the same time he had to resist the urge to simply thrust himself into her and allow his release.

  She was ready for him. She had been ready for him since before he had brought her to ecstasy the first time.

  “Give me a child,” Marianne whispered in reply, one of her hands going to the side of his face so her fingers caressed the slight stubble of his beard.

  Jasper held his breath a moment, as much to control what he wanted to do just then as to be able to hear her command. “I’ll do my very best, my goddess,” he murmured in awe.

  He was expecting some kind of plea that he simply make love to her. Her command that he get a child on her was completely unexpected.

  Unexpected, but not unwelcome. It was past time he start a nursery. What better place to conceive a child than in Palermo?

  And so he made love to her. Slowly at first, and then a bit faster when her body seemed to demand it. When he finally allowed his release, it was because he could no longer hold on. Her hands had moved from his sides to his buttocks, and then one of her fingers had touched his sac and stroked the base of his manhood as he pulled himself from her to begin another thrust.

  The white hot stars and intense pleasure had him blinded and bewildered, for it seemed as if he had somehow left his body and was hovering above, watching Marianne as her head pushed into her pillow and her neck and chest arched up to meet him. Her expression had him pausing in his descent, for he was about to end up falling onto the front of her body in exhaustion. Instead, his elbows managed to hold him up as he paid witness to her heavy-lidded eyes and the look of adoration she bestowed on him. He kissed her then, a quick but thorough kiss between gasps for air.

  Overcome in too many ways, Jasper finally settled his head into the space above her shoulder and fell asleep.

  Feeling as boneless as Jasper apparently was at that moment, Marianne wasn’t surprised when he seemed to pass out atop her. His manhood was still tucked inside her, a situation she found rather satisfying. Despite how his head had fallen next to hers, most of his torso rested on hers. She found she didn’t mind the weight. The warmth of their coupling soon dissipated, and she struggled to pull a blanket over their bodies before she finally allowed a long sigh and closed her eyes.

  Back in London, she had read in great detail about almost everything he had done to her tonight. Cherice had shown her the book in Devonville’s library the night before her wedding. Don’t be too terribly scandalized. You’ll find you’ll enjoy the marriage bed if you just allow it. If you don’t think you can, drink a glass or two of wine before bed. You’ll do fine.

  Marianne hadn’t been frightened of the marriage bed—curious was probably a better word to describe it—but she had appreciated her aunt’s words of encouragement.

 
She also appreciated the graphic descriptions in the book even more, wondering if her desire to learn more and to experience some of the activities first-hand made her a wanton.

  All except one, that is. For having seen it in the form of one of the mosaics she and Chiara had dug up had her wondering. Had Jasper done something on this night that was entirely inappropriate for a wife to experience?

  The longer she thought about it, the more uncomfortable she was with it.

  She always intended to leave the more scandalous activities to the courtesans and mistresses to perform. But what about what had been done to her?

  Earlier that evening, she had felt lust, she was sure. At least, once she had Jasper’s assurance that he hadn’t left their bed over something she might have done wrong.

  Well, besides almost falling over the cliff.

  He had been frightened for her.

  I cannot abide the thought of losing you.

  He had been so close when he said the words, she could make out his face, even in the dim light. Make out his eyes as he seemed to stare into her very soul. He had said the words with such conviction, she was sure he must have felt affection for her. And now that he had made love to her the way he had on this night—to within an inch of her life, she was sure—Marianne found she felt more than simple affection for him.

  As to whether or not it would be enough—enough to warrant wearing the damned eyeglasses—she didn’t yet know.

  Chapter 36

  A Walk Leads to Enlightenment

  Earlier that afternoon, in Girgenti

  As Darius walked alongside Chiara, their path down the lane that led to the Greco-Roman quarter, he thought of all the things he had wanted to say the last day he had been in Rome.

  None of them seemed appropriate now.

  “Was he good to you? Romano, I mean,” Darius asked just as they reached the path that led to San Nicola. At Chiara’s gentle urging, they turned onto it.