Commedia della Morte (7 page)

“It’s by Handel.” He continued with the little minuet.

“I like it. It’s a bit old-fashioned, but I like it.” She leaned against his back, her breasts pressed to his head.

“So do I,” he admitted, and said nothing more until the end of the piece.

She waited a moment after he had finished the air, then said, “You do play very well.”

“Thank you. Music has been my solace for most of my life.” He cast his mind back to the days in Egypt when he had first begun to learn to play. Then he had been taught by priests on the Egyptian harp, a skill he had maintained for more than eight centuries. Over the millennia he had mastered other instruments, and had taken to collecting them during the last several centuries of his life.

“It can be that,” Photine agreed. “But it can stir other emotions as well.”

“Of course,” said da San-Germain, swinging around on the bench and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Of which were you thinking?”

She bent artfully and kissed his forehead, lingering just long enough to ensure his excitement. “You will have to discover that for yourself.”

He eased her down onto his knee, holding her effortlessly. “Don’t you think you might help me?”

“Certainly,” she said to him, and kissed his mouth with determination and skill that gradually warmed to awakening passion. When she pulled back from him, she was breathing a little faster.

Da San-Germain traced the line of her cheek with one gentle finger. “What would you like me to explore first?”

She laughed softly but with eager anticipation. “Perhaps it might be best to get me out of my stays first? I don’t want your fingers getting pinched.” Reaching over her shoulders to the laces tied at the top of her bodice, she tugged the bow-knot undone and tugged at the laces to loosen them. “The corset—”

“I can deal with it,” he assured her, pulling the lacing loose and then lifting the bodice over her head and tossing it onto the chair beside the clavichord. Deftly he worked at the heavier laces of her corset, using that activity to stroke her shoulders and back while he worked at separating the ends of the undergarment from neck to waist.

“It is sweet of you to do this,” said Photine, playing with his silk neck-cloth; she hesitated to undo its knot. “Bayard thought it beneath him to—” As soon as she mentioned her former patron’s last name, she went silent, hoping she had not made a dreadful gaffe; few men, she knew, liked to be reminded of their predecessors.

“If Bayard took no pleasure in removing your clothes, then he is a fool,” said da San-Germain, feeling the laces release another notch lower; he continued to pull on them, making steady progress. “If you’ll hold still, I’ll have it off in a minute or two.”

“You may do as you like, Conte.” Feeling relief surge through her, to be replaced by a frisson of anticipation; pleasure-prickles rose along her arms and shoulders. Photine leaned down to kiss him again, holding his lips with her own until her breasts swung free of her corset’s stays, revealing nipples and areolas slightly brightened with rouge. “There,” she said, dragging the corset over her head, claiming the undergarment for herself so as to keep his attention on her body, not the clothing that covered it. “I can manage the skirt. At least I have no panniers to wrestle with.” She deftly unhooked the skirt’s waist-cords, and loosened the petticoats beneath, letting them drop, then stepping over them, now wearing gartered silk stockings and walking slippers of soft Florentine kid dyed dark-rose, with two leather flowers framing each tongue.

“The couch?” she suggested, bending to gather up her skirts, and moving around him to put them on the chair with her bodice.

“If that would please you,” he said, getting to his feet and going to the couches. “Which would you prefer?”

She kicked off her slippers and came over to him, taking advantage of the light to make the most of her nudity; her breasts were opulent and high, her body showing her thirty-four years but trim enough to allow her to play ingenues some of the time. There was no self-consciousness about her, for she was used to being looked at, and she delighted in the effect her body had on men, especially men of quality who had not become corrupted by the lures of perversity. She glanced quickly at da San-Germain, trying to read his preference in his manner, but could discern nothing from him. After regarding the two couches, she shrugged. “They are the same.”

He nodded to the one nearer the door. “The back of this one can be lowered. You might find it more comfor—”

Her eyes brightened. “What a good idea. You must have thought of it yourself.” She reclined on the couch, making sure she displayed her body seductively while he operated a hidden lever that dropped the back, making the couch open on two sides. With a tantalizing smile she reached up to him, every subtlety of her gesture voluptuous and tantalizingly languid. “I don’t suppose you’re going to disrobe?”

“I’ll remove my coat, if you like,” he offered, and unfastened the buttons, then shrugged out of it, revealing that he wore no waistcoat.

Photine rolled slightly to make herself more comfortable and to display the curve of her waist to advantage. “I know you prefer to keep your clothes on, but I still don’t see how you can satisfy yourself so … encumbered.” There was a hint of inquiry in her observation, and she watched him with sharpened interest.

“You know how I do that: I find my satisfaction—all my satisfaction—in yours.” He flicked the corner of her mouth with a gentle finger. “What gratification you achieve, I too, experience, no more and no less.” He hung his coat over the arm of the other couch, then came around the table to sit beside her.

“I know that’s what you told me,” she said archly, holding out her arms to him. “But I have never known a man who made such a claim and then did not assert the right of penetration as his due.”

“So you don’t entirely believe me.” He drew her up close to him, and again felt her ardor flare. “You think that I may yet demand—”

“Possession?” she ventured.

“I have no desire to master you, Photine: I want you to be free of all restraints and completely gratified when we’re done. Don’t you grasp that yet?”

“No; not entirely, though the two times we have met this way before, you have done nothing more than what you said you would do, and that is most remarkable. It is an unexpected benefit of your affections. And since you have been veracious with me, I will do what I have promised to do.” She pressed her open mouth to his while she seized one of his hands and ran it over her flank and then between them so he could cup her breast. As she broke their embrace, she added, “I’m content as long as you are.” There was a note of dubiety in her words that she could not entirely conceal.

“I’m content,” he said before kissing the line of her brows and the lids of her eyes. “For now.” He went across the bridge of her nose and along her cheekbone to the top of her jaw, bestowing swift kisses all the way.

“You are … very good at this,” she whispered, stretching so that the whole of her torso pressed against his. She was warming to his touch in earnest now, and her flesh seemed more pliant under his small, expert hands.

He continued to kiss her, now her brow, now the corner of her mouth, now the place where ear and jaw created a sensuous hollow. His lips were light, as teasing as a feather; he was unhurried in his ministrations, matching his stimulation to hers, aware of every refinement of response she provided, and adding to her increasing ardor by evoking more pleasure with every exploration he made of her. Gradually she leaned back from their entangled arms, but only to give him greater access to her body. There was a slight flush on her face and neck, and it was spreading down to her breasts, obscuring the color already applied there. She laughed a little, with unstrained joy at what she knew was coming. “You know what pleasures me.”

“I have some notion, but I believe that there is more within you that has not yet been touched.” He fingered her nipple, turning the stiffening flesh gently, blowing softly on it while he rolled it between his thumb and first finger, taking care to give her only excitement, without any hint of pain.

“That’s … delectable,” she sighed, surprised that such little titillation could awaken so much desire.

“Then I’ll do the same to the other,” he said, and began on the other nipple, taking his time to be sure that she derived maximum pleasure from him.

“How … did you…” She inhaled sharply as she felt her entire body become more sensitive; now his touch radiated this stimulation through her so that when the tip of his tongue lightly brushed her nipple, it rippled along the pathways of excitement from her head to her toes, then began to gather in the cleft between her legs.

While he flicked at her breasts with his tongue, intensifying her fervor as well as the blush which now spread almost to her waist, he began to stroke her hips with long, languid motions that reached her knees. “You have exquisite physicality, Photine,” he murmured as he caressed her thighs.

“You…” Whatever she was going to say was lost as a preliminary spasm trembled within her, and her body tightened in anticipation of her release.

“You needn’t hold back on my account,” he whispered.

“But you—”

“There’s time for more,” he pledged, and tenderly took her nipple in his mouth.

Her culmination shook, pulsing deep within her; she was unaware of the soft cries she made while he continued to fondle her. Gradually the rapture passed and she stared up at him. “How did you do that?”

“I did very little—this is your fulfillment.” He took her hand and kissed her fingers, then turned it over and kissed her palm. “You were kind enough to share it with me.”

“You took nothing for yourself, as you did on the previous occasions,” she chided him with a lazy smile.

“Not yet. I told you there is more time.” He leaned down and nuzzled her breasts, and heard her heart speed up again.

She closed her eyes and lay back, her body seeming to hum expectantly. “I’m willing to spend it any way you like.” Through half-closed eyes she watched him, wondering what he would do next.

With gossamer caresses he began again to resume the honing of her passion, his lips following his hands along the contours of her body, never hurrying, never demanding, bringing forth the whole scope of her hedonism. She had never before felt as comprehensive a rousing as what she experienced now. At last he explored the soft folds between her legs, his ministrations kindling an abandon that would have surprised her had she not been consumed in the ecstasy that overwhelmed her as he enfolded her in his arms, his lips on her neck, his esurience finally luxuriating as the culmination of her own desires was accomplished.

Some little time later, Photine stretched, managed not to yawn, and looked up at da San-Germain, who was still sitting on the side of the couch. “I don’t know how you did that, but I’m thrilled that you did.”

“I did only what you enjoy,” he told her as he tweaked a curling tendril of her tawny hair back into place.

“That you did,” she said with deep satisfaction. “And nothing I dislike—except that you did not—” She made a gesture that mimed the act she meant. “I feel that I have deprived you of your release.”

“You know that can’t happen,” he reminded her. “I lost that capacity many, many years ago. I have what you have, nothing more and nothing less.”

She propped herself on her elbow. “But I’m afraid I’m cheating you.” Before he could speak, she waved him to silence. “I know—you have what I have.”

“Then I won’t have to explain again,” he said lightly.

“But you must understand that your … situation is very … unusual. I’ve never known any man who…”

He offered her a sad smile. “Remember, Photine; I am not quite a man.”

“And you’re not quite alive, either, or so you say,” she countered, daunted by the sorrow in his enigmatic eyes. “But I find that hard to believe. Not a man!”

“No, I’m not.” He slid a little nearer to her. “I hope this doesn’t frighten you.”

“Frighten me?” Her laughter was brittle, and she made herself stop. “I’ve faced audiences that would terrify an angel; you hold no dread for me. I am surprised that you should have to ask.”

“Have you forgot what I told you?” His voice was soft, as if to spare her any dismay.

“I remember everything you’ve said.” She caught his hand in hers. “You said that if we lie together more than five or six times I may become like you when I die, and would have to learn to live as you live. I have tried to believe you, but it isn’t the sort of thing I expect to hear from a lover. It sounds … unreasonable.”

“That’s an interesting choice of words,” he said, moving so that she could snuggle up against him, content as a kitten.

For a short while she seemed to doze, though her breathing made it apparent she was not asleep. Then she stretched languidly, opened her eyes, and said, “It must be wonderful to be an exile.”

Startled, he asked, “Why do you say that?”

“Oh, just that you are not allied to anyone—not a lord, not a cleric, not a—”

“Patron?” he suggested.

She slapped his hand in playful remonstrance. “Or anyone else. No one has a call upon you, and you have no obligations beyond those of your own making. You can choose your own way, and be beholden to no one. You can go anywhere without care, you can be anyone you want to.” She gazed wistfully at the distant window. “It must be lovely to be so free. I can’t imagine the adventures you have had.”

“Adventures,” he echoed as he felt memories well in him, but said only, “It is easier to be free if one is rich, which, fortunately, at present, I am.”

“A good thing for me, and my troupe, as well,” she said, sounding a little disappointed for reasons he could not fathom. “And my troupe and I have work to do.”

Realizing that she wanted to leave, he lifted her hand and kissed it before he rose. “Come. I’ll help you dress.”

“More a lady’s maid than anyone in my troupe,” she said. “I’m grateful. Trying to dress properly without any help is an ordeal.”

“How do you mean?” he asked.

“Just tightening the laces requires tying oneself into a knot,” she said, demonstrating the acrobatic posture needed for her to be able to tighten the laces of her corset. “The women trade off assisting one another to adjust their stays.”