“Then why the hell were you flirting with him?” His grip on her arm tightened to bruising force, and he yanked her away from him. “You embarrassed me. Everyone knows I'm your lover, Aimée.”
She attempted to placate him by stroking his cheek. “No, don't be angry, cheri. I didn't mean anything by it.”
“If you aren't attempting to seduce him, what were you trying to accomplish? Were you hoping to upset Katerina by undermining her relationship with her husband?” He removed her arms from him.
“No, it was a joke,” she whined, her voice pleading.
“Well, I, for one, am not amused. I'm sure Katerina isn't either. You know, I think I've had about enough of you. Go pack up your possessions and leave. I don't want to see you again. Goodbye, Aimée.”
He turned and left.
The beautiful soprano stared after him in shock. She had not stopped to consider the consequences of her actions, determined as she had been to see her perceived rival humiliated. She hadn't given a moment's thought to how her behavior would reflect on Alessandro. And now he was furious… and he was gone.
She had gone too far, she realized, and she deserved his anger. No part of her behavior had been acceptable. She had been cruel to Katerina, and ridiculous towards the girl's husband. How stupid. Tears streaming down her face, she walked slowly to the room she'd been sharing with Alessandro. She wasn't ready to leave him. Perhaps she never would be, but it would be a miracle if he would forgive her now.
* * *
At the table, Katerina sat between Christopher and an Italian gentleman in his middle thirties, whose name she could not remember.
“Excellent performance,” he told her, his dark eyes shining.
“Thank you,” she replied. After that stressful and uncomfortable performance, a simple conversation could no longer make her blush. “I'm sorry, sir, but what was your name?”
“Me? I'm Carlo Bianchi,” he replied.
“A relative?” She raised her eyebrows. I've met several tonight, and I can't remember.
“Your uncle. Your mother was my twin sister.”
“Oh.” Her face burned. “Sorry.”
He smiled at her. “Not to worry, my dear.”
She smiled, glad he wasn't angry.
“At any rate, you remind me a great deal of her. She loved music, though she didn't have your… skill.” Carlo's eyes turned sad. “I've missed her terribly. We were very close. Did she ever… mention me?”
Katerina looked down at her plate. “Sorry. Our life was not one to encourage idle conversation.”
“I suppose not.” He growled. “I hated that she married him. Did he ever… soften?”
“No,” Katerina replied without prevarication.
Carlo closed his eyes. “Did he kill her?”
“More or less,” she admitted sadly.
Carlo cursed softly. “My fault.”
“How?”
He gave her a sad look. “He took her away because of me. I saw her after the wedding, so thin, so distressed, and covered in bruises. We were only sixteen, you know. I went to him and showed him what it felt like to be beaten. He left the next day.”
Katerina shook her head. “It's a tragedy. I'm so sorry.”
“Was she a good mother?” he asked.
Katerina nodded. “The best. I miss her so terribly. But she's at peace now, uncle. She's finally free of him.”
His gaze turned even more intense. “And you, Katerina? Are you also free of him?”
“I am, thanks to my husband.” She glanced at Christopher and smiled.
“He seems like a good man,” Carlo commented.
“Yes,” she replied, “I owe him my life.”
“Don't think that way, cara,” her uncle urged. “You owe him your heart.”
“He has it,” she replied simply.
“Buono. You have his too.”
She smiled. It's a pleasing sentiment even though there's no way it can be true.
* * *
After dinner, the guests returned to the parlor. The instruments had been removed. Alessandro remained, looking out the window onto his estate, his expression sad. Aimée was nowhere to be seen. Several of the guests approached the master and talked to him privately. At last, he shook them all off and sought out his granddaughter. “Cara, why did you agree to that competition?” he demanded.
“What do you mean, Nonno?” Katerina replied, not wanting to cause trouble.
“You didn't want it. I could tell.” His mouth twisted into a wry expression.
“No,” she agreed.
“Then why?”
She considered, and then admitted the truth with a sigh. I didn't ask for this. She forced it on me. “It was the pianoforte. I wanted to play it. She refused to let me. She said the winner of the competition could have the rights to the music room. I didn't want it all to myself, I just wanted to use it sometimes.”
“Dio mio!” Alessandro threw his hands into the air. “You mean all this was over the piano?”
“Sì.”
He hugged her gently. “You should have talked to me. It's my piano. Of course, you could use it.”
She gave him a pleading look. “I wasn't sure. I can see she has some influence over you.”
“So do you,” he reminded her.
Katerina smiled.
“She's been tormenting you, hasn't she?”
I can't possibly go so far as to admit that.
“Well don't worry. She won't be here anymore. After her scandalous behavior tonight, I've sent her away.”
“Oh, don't do that,” Katerina pleaded.
“Why not?” his expression turned thunderstruck.
She touched his sleeve. “I know you care for her. Don't make her leave on my account.”
“I'm not. She made me look like a fool,” he growled.
“Oh.” That she did, and what a mess. I almost feel sorry for her. “Well, maybe it was a mistake. You know, things got a little out of hand. I would hate to see you unhappy.”
“She tried to steal your husband,” he reminded her.
“She couldn't.” Of that, Katerina remained absolutely certain.
“Doesn't it matter that she tried?”
“I don't know if she was really trying,” Katerina objected. “More likely, she was only attempting to upset me.”
“What a bully.” Alessandro gestured with the fingers of his upraised hand. “I'm sorry you ever had to meet her.”
“It's true,” Katerina admitted at last. “But still… she is important to you. I only wish we could have been friendly.”
He shook his head. “Well, it's between Aimée and me. As for you, you may use my instruments any time you like,” he vowed, hand on his heart.
“Thank you, Nonno.”
He hugged her again. She slid her arms around his neck. I love my grandfather. I'm so glad Christopher suggested coming here.
Then he released her and turned, addressing the room again. “Well, I've heard from many of you, and I believe we are all in agreement. Choosing between two such superior musicians would be impossible. One has more training and experience, the other more sweetness and passion. Therefore, I declare the competition to be a draw. No one loses, and we all win because we all had the privilege of hearing such a fine concert.”
There were nods of approval around the room, and a round of applause that had Katerina's cheeks glowing. Then her uncle claimed her arm and took her to meet his wife and their children.
Alessandro approached Christopher, who was conversing sedately with a middle-aged British couple.
“Signor, signora,” he addressed the couple, “may I borrow my grandson-in-law for a moment?”
The couple acquiesced and Alessandro escorted Christopher to a quiet corner.
“Is everything all right?” the young man asked.
“Yes. I just wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For Katerina,” Alessandro explained. “For rescuing her, ke
eping her safe. I often wished to do the same. I feared for her, especially after her mother's passing.”
“You had cause,” Christopher said grimly.
“It must be very gratifying that what began as a good deed turned into such a deep love,” Alessandro commented.
“It is,” he replied, unembarrassed to lay his heart clearly on his sleeve. “Perhaps someday she will heal enough to love me back. I look forward to that day.”
“No. She already does,” the older man insisted.
“What?” Christopher gaped. “Why do you say so?”
“Because of her last song. Could you understand any of it?”
“No, what did it say?”
“Ask her. I could tell she meant every word.” Alessandro winked.
Christopher nodded. “Yes, she seemed very sincere.”
“Definitely. You're a lucky man, Christopher Bennett.”
“I know it. Thank you.” And now I need to find out what my wife was singing to me.
* * *
Despite her concerns, Katerina actually enjoyed the party once she found her husband and took his arm. Being close to Christopher made anything seem possible, even conversing comfortably with strangers in a foreign country. She stood as near as she was able, until she could feel the heat from his body. Tonight, she was sure, she would feel that heat from even closer, crushed naked in his arms. I can hardly wait. In the meanwhile, she tried to act like a normal woman. I am not a mouse, not a rabbit. She had stood up to a bully, challenged her, and won. Not the contest. She had never cared about winning that. She had won the battle of wills, had been braver than ever before, and felt faintly proud of herself. Aimée, she was sure, would never bother her husband again, and if she did, Katerina would give her a piece of her mind the other woman would not soon forget.
The hours went by, neither flying nor dragging, just passing until at last the appointed ending time arrived. The guests who lived nearby returned home, and those from farther away retired to guest rooms. Finally, Katerina pleaded exhaustion, kissed her grandfather goodnight, and led her husband to their room.
* * *
Alessandro waited for the last lingering attendees to depart before finally heading off to bed. Ending his liaison with Aimée left him unhappy. Her behavior was unconscionable, and I'm still angry, but damn it, I love the wench.
He undressed and slid between the sheets, knowing full well sleep would be difficult. He drew an unsteady breath. The bed felt cold and empty without his warm, vital woman filling it.
The mattress sagged. Familiar arms slipped around him.
“Alessandro, my love,” the sweetly accented voice washed over him, “I'm so sorry. So very sorry. It was so bad of me. But please, please forgive me. Please don't throw me out. I never meant to hurt or embarrass you.”
“Aimée,” he shook her off, “why was claiming my piano so important to you that you put my granddaughter through all of that?”
“Why do you think?” she demanded, fiery as always. “You have so little for me. The music room is one place where I have always been able to please you, where you've always been proud of me. Without that, I'm just the putain you're sleeping with. If she replaces me, what am I but a whore?”
“You're an artist, not a whore,” he protested.
“I know. I also know what you and everyone else thinks of me. Do you honestly believe I lay with you because I have no morals? Do you know how many other men I've had in my bed?” she demanded.
He rolled to face her, taking in her expression. “How many?”
“Only one. Only my husband.”
He raised his eyebrows. “So there really was a Monsieur St. Jean?”
She nodded, her hand lifting as though to touch his face, but then she hesitated and let her fingers slip back to the bed. “There really was. We married young, and he died young, but he left me a little money, and I used it to study music.”
“I never knew,” Alessandro said.
“You never asked,” she retorted.
“But if that's true, then why me?” he asked. “I'm old enough to be your father. Why are you here, Aimée?”
“I don't exactly know,” she replied, speaking slowly while she considered. “When we started, you were so… comforting, so safe. Life is hard and frightening, and in order to survive alone, a woman has to be strong. But with you, I could be soft again, be a woman. I wanted you, and then, after we came together, and you still cared for and respected me, I never wanted to leave. But I'm afraid, Alessandro.”
“Of what?” he asked.
“Of what comes next. If we separate, my heart will be broken, but if we don't… I've already buried one husband…”
“And I've already buried one wife. No matter what, life is hard, Aimée. Tell me what you want.”
“What I can't have. You. All to myself, always. I would…” She broke off, her plump cheeks pink, her blue eyes averted.
“You would what?” Alessandro put one finger under her chin and lifted her face, so she could look at him.
Whatever she saw in his eyes must have strengthened her resolve. “I would marry you if you would have me. I wish we could. It would be so much better.”
“Better for whom? As you've said, there's a real impediment to us being together.”
She nodded slowly. “There is, but I think I would still choose you, even knowing exactly what's coming. I would rather have you while I can.” An odd note in her voice gave him pause.
“What are you not telling me, love?” he asked, seeking answers in a face whose expression he'd never seen before.
“You've given me more than a piano, Alessandro.” She looked at him intently, urging him to understand.
Understanding warred with disbelief. “Dio Mio, are you joking?”
“No.”
“But…” he sputtered. “Is this some kind of ploy to force me to forgive you?”
“Not at all. Look at me and see for yourself.”
He pulled back the covers and regarded her nude body. Her curves looked rounder than ever, her breasts massively swollen, her belly full.
“How long?” And why didn't you notice, man?
“Nearly five months, I think,” she replied.
“Why didn't you say anything?” he demanded.
“What good would it have done?”
“Then why tell me now?”
“Because I made such a terrible mistake. I don't want to lose you. Despite my bad behavior, I want you, only you. I love you, Alessandro. Can't you please forgive me?”
I won't make it that easy on her. “Perhaps. But first, you're going to have to do something for me.”
“Anything,” she vowed.
“Apologize to Katerina and her husband. You made their visit uncomfortable.” He scowled at her. Don't get cocky, wench. You have a ways to go.
Her expression turned contrite. “Yes. I'll do it first thing.”
“And no more flirting,” he roared. You hurt me more than you can imagine. “We look odd enough together. If you appear dissatisfied, I look like an old fool.”
“You're right. I didn't think.” Her eyes skated away from his, and the shame on her face told him what he needed to know.
“You're a very bad girl Aimée,” he said, unable to remain angry with her.
“Are you going to punish me?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“Yes, I think so.”
“How?” The wench looked worried. Good.
“Let's see how loudly I can make you scream.”
Very loudly, it turned out. She had to put the pillow over her face to muffle the noise of her orgasm.
Chapter 18
Aimée and Alessandro weren't the only couple being intimate that night. In the guest bedroom, Christopher tenderly undressed his wife in preparation for some sweet lovemaking. She participated willingly, eagerly opening his clothing at the same time. Despite contending with complicated party clothing with its multiple layers, they stripped each other nude in no time,
and Katerina stepped close to Christopher, pulling his head down for an endless kiss. His arms encircled her lower back, pressing their bodies together.
“Love, what did the last song say?” he mumbled against her lips.
She pulled back a fraction. “The Italian one?”
“Yes.”
She blushed, not wanting to answer.
“Tell me, Kat,” he urged. “You know you can trust me. You do know that, don't you?”
She met his eyes with a tender look. “I've never wanted to trust anyone before.”
“And now?”
She burrowed closer to him. “This is the safest place on earth, here in your arms. Yes, Christopher. I trust you.”
He pulled the pins from her hair. “I'm so glad. Please, love, tell me what the song said.”
She glanced away and took a deep, shuddering breath. Then she raised her eyes to his face. “It speaks of one who is so wonderful, so perfect, that he is worth loving even though there is no hope of reciprocation. With him, even the pain of unrequited adoration is a kind of glory.”
“Were you… singing to me? It looked as though you were.”
“Yes.” Her cheeks grew even pinker, but her voice remained sincere and steady.
He nodded and lowered his mouth to hers again, stroking his fingers over the uneven flesh along her spine. She squirmed, trying to pull away, but he held her fast. He pleasured her mouth with deep thrusts of his tongue while following the scarred lines up and down. Finally, he released her and spoke, his voice rough with emotion. “Do you really think, foolish girl, that your love is unrequited? It's not. I love you, Katerina. I love your beautiful face, your tender heart and your lovely body. I even love your scars.”
She didn't reply at all as the long moments passed. A tear trailed down her cheek, and then another. Her breathing grew ragged. He placed his hands on her arms and turned her, sweeping her long dark hair over her shoulder, giving himself full view of the ruined flesh. Now that all the injuries were healed, he was able to see the jigsaw puzzle effect of overlapping whip marks cut indelibly into her skin from her shoulder blades to her knees. “My God, Kat. How did you survive?”
“I don't know,” she choked. “I'm very glad I did.”
“So am I. Poor darling.”
Keeping Katerina (The Victorians Book 1) Page 20