The Shades of Time (17 page)

She collapsed
onto a settee hoping to alleviate the strain of the tight bodice
constricting her midsection only to have the voluminous folds of
the skirt and the hooped stays preclude her achieving any kind of
supine position.

"Can I
help?"

"Stefano," she
gasped, mildly annoyed that she'd neither heard nor sensed his
presence. She must be more tired than she thought.

The young man
fussed with her skirts as she struggled to sit upright, feeling
more than a little foolish with the state of her disarray. But she
had more problems that a simple wardrobe malfunction. She needed to
get her head back in the game. Antonio de' Medici had effectively
derailed her, forcing her down pathways over which neither of them
seemed to have much control.

Whatever
attraction, feelings, she'd developed for Stefano's older brother
had to be set aside. If she didn't resume her role she would miss
an opportunity to insinuate herself into the one arena that
mattered. Cosimo was known as the kingmaker, though it was a
misnomer. The fractured politics that divided city-states and the
Papacy from each other—and the rest of the continent—functioned on
the shoulders of commerce and the waning threat of eternal
damnation.

The Medici
family played a pivotal role in the building of a new empire that
had changed the face of the continent and the course of history.
Her history.

Stefano
interrupted her train of thought. "Does this remind you of
anything?"

He leered at
her in his old lecherous way but the good humor failed to extend to
his eyes. It seemed she was not the only one playing a role. With
an effort she resumed the mantle of the courtesan, rearranging her
face into the familiar coquettish mask.

"If you mean
when we, in that Count's … what was his name?"

Stefano
muttered, "Gustaf," as Veluria recalled what should have been a
mortifying situation.

"That sitting
room with the hideous Moorish pillows he'd imported to impress
Carlos … who never did come to visit."

"I believe we
were the first to, uh, make use of them, no?" Stefano carelessly
rearranged her skirts so he could slide next to her on the narrow
seat. His actions seemed stilted and awkward.

"You are such a
wicked one." Veluria summoned a warm rush of pleasure, hoping to
steer the young man back to lighter sparring and teasing while she
re-established her persona.

A shadow passed
over Stefano's face. "I may be more wicked than you know."

"Whatever do
you mean? Surely that night we…" she sputtered to a halt when his
face turned pale, his breathing labored.

The young man
choked back a sob, his agony palpable. "You don't know me, Veluria.
Not anymore. I am not the person I was just two days ago."

Antonio's
overwhelming presence intruded, almost as if he were in the room
with them. He'd been the source of Stefano's and his own distress,
of that she was certain. Perhaps now she would learn what had
transpired and so traumatized both brothers to the point where
they'd buried it beyond her ability to divine even the smallest
hint.

"Explain this
to me. What has happened? Who has done this thing to you? Tell me,
now!"

Veluria did not
have to feign anxiety for she sensed the agony, the barrenness of
his soul. The sensation was akin to falling down a well without a
bottom, a spiritual rush through cold, clammy air—so real it raised
the hairs on her arms.

A few of her
sisters were mediums, graced with the ability to 'see' into the
realm of the spirit world. She was not so blessed, yet the
connection had such a three-dimensional quality she could swear she
saw his spirit circling about the cavity that had once been a
vibrant boy-man.

She murmured
softly, "Stefano, please?" but he stuttered, "I, I can't."

"Stefano. You
can trust me." She poured sincerity into her voice, willing him to
believe. "I would never betray you."

Stefano
grimaced, making no effort to hide the emotions warring for
predominance, his fists clenching and unclenching as he battled
some inner demon. A demon who would be his brother.

She took his
face in her hands and rubbed her thumbs along his jaw, allowing her
energy to open to whatever tortured his spirit. She hissed in
dismay as a frisson of fear and something she could not identify
flowed through her. Such pain, such agony, such…

Pleasure? What
in the name of the Holy Mother?

Fighting
through the confusion was akin to swimming upriver in a full flood.
Channeling it was simply out of the question, although that worked
in her favor as it avoided what she liked to call 'blowback'—a
reversal of energies that risked initiating awareness in potential
adepts. Like Stefano.

"I'm not the
fool everyone thinks, Veluria."

She brushed a
finger across his lips and said, "I don't think…" but halted when
he raised a hand to stay her words. His eyes took on a hard edge,
calculating. She could swear she saw Cosimo staring back at
her—with recognition and no small amount of satisfaction.

His voice tight, he rasped, "I know you are like us.
Like
him
."

Him? Antonio or
Cosimo? Did it matter?

Stefano glared
at her accusingly. "Don't try to hide it. I've always known." He
stood and towered over her. Softly he continued, "I am so very
sorry."

"I don't
understand. Sorry because someone mistreated you, hurt you?"

He whispered,
his voice an agony of emotions, "No, I hurt someone. Someone who
didn't deserve it. I started it. I should have stopped it." Stefano
grasped Veluria's hands, clinging to them like a lifeline,
trembling as with palsy. His next words cut her like a knife, "But
I didn't want to."

He didn't want
to? Did he mean he didn't want to hurt that person? Or … he didn't
want to stop it? What in God's name…?

Stefano had his
lips clamped in a thin tight line, making it clear he was offering
no further comment on the subject. Instead she focused on his
admission that he recognized her 'gifts'. That was hardly cause for
concern. All the Medici men were well aware of their own unique
abilities and, in true Florentine fashion, exploited those powers
with single-minded cunning and legendary deceit. Even Stefano, the
kindest and most fey of the famiglia, had a preternatural
understanding of court intrigue. Coupled with a glib tongue and
stunning good looks, the boy-man charmed with a savant's guile.

Reverend Mother
had factored in the probability that she would be found out, yet
the head of their order had assumed she would be able to mask her
own abilities when necessary. In light of the Medicis'
extraordinary psychic gifts, that amounted to a miscalculation on
the woman's part, something she would have to turn to her advantage
if at all possible.

For now she was
more concerned with Stefano's cryptic confession, though without
context she was having trouble understanding why he embraced this
soul-searing self-flagellation.

She stated with
a conviction she feared might prove groundless, "I cannot believe
you would intentionally inflict suffering on anyone."

With a darkness
not even his demon older brother could match, he growled, "Believe
it."

"Stefano,
no…"

He lunged back
from the settee, dragging her with him. Still grasping her hands in
an ever-tightening grip that nearly crushed the fine bones in her
fingers, Stefano raked her with such a hungry stare she felt the
first tremor of fear snaking along her spine. He yanked her roughly
into his arms, as close as the awkward bodice and heavy silk fabric
would allow.

"Damn it," he
muttered.

Ignoring her
protests, he half dragged her to a door set at the far end of the
room. With one hand firmly around her waist, he pushed the door
open, revealing a spacious bedchamber beyond. He thrust her through
the narrow entryway, his excitement evident as his cock strained
the fabric of his wool codpiece.

Veluria took in
the dark walnut four-poster bed, several wood benches and an ornate
leather-covered Spanish chest at the foot of the towering bed. The
coverlet was a rich tapestry of muted browns, greens and russet. It
lay rumpled and tossed to one side. The indentation remained where
Stefano had tossed restlessly, pulling the fine linen sheet away
from the down-filled bolster. A gossamer spill of sheer ecru
curtains surrounded the imposing bed on three sides. A small stool
lay overturned from where Stefano must have kicked it over when he
heard her in the antechamber.

Veluria turned
to take the measure of the young man advancing, not aggressively as
she had half-expected, but with his heart in his hands, to do with
as she will. Under other circumstances he would have what he
wanted, whenever he wanted it, so artful were his gifts that he
gave back tenfold in pleasure and devotion. But not this day. Not
when he'd let her glimpse a capacity for violence … and the
potential to enjoy it beyond anything she could have guessed.

The contrast
between Stefano and Antonio hit her like a runaway train—an image
unsuitable for the time but it was the only frame of reference she
could conjure. Antonio, a man of violence, believing himself devoid
of a soul—and, ultimately, redemption—harbored a deep well of
tenderness and a capacity to care that belied the demon persona he
so carefully nurtured. His youngest brother, on the other hand,
beguiled all with a mask of youthful exuberance and innocence.

Even she had
bought that image of the shallow dandy, the court favorite with
pleasing mannerisms and a decided gift for conquests of the heart.
She trembled at the memory of the last time they'd touched and
fondled—his scent, his exquisite gentleness that had set every
nerve, every synapse on fire. It had been a most pleasant …
entertainment. Clever boy, constructing a magnificent false front
and using it so artfully.

Stupid. Stupid.
Stupid.

It might have
seemed a betrayal of the young man's affections, a violation of
trust, when his older brother so possessed her and sent everything
in her sensual arsenal into free-fall. At this moment she was less
inclined to suffer feelings of remorse. But if she could not rein
in her rampaging hormones, she would have to recuse herself from
the mission.

No, Reverend
Mother would not be happy.

"I've missed you,
amore mia
bella
," Stefano husked in her ear. "More
than you can ever know. When you were attacked, I feared I would
lose you. Had it not been for my brother, all would have been
lost."

How convenient
for Stefano to overlook the fact that he was the one who summoned
her, placing her in peril. Wherever he'd been holed up, he'd chosen
to let his brother do the dirty work instead of coming forward to
see to her safety and well-being. It would do well for her to
remember that.

It became
harder and harder to think as Stefano drew her close, bending her
slim neck in an exaggerated arc until her artery bulged and pulsed,
as if begging for his tongue to taste the heat. He had such a
clever tongue, so eager to sample every inch of flesh. Heat and
pressure in her private place begged for her to yield, just one
more time, to give in to his sweet demands. Sometimes her training
and self-control came into serious conflict. With so much at stake,
she must yield to the euphemistic greater good and subsume her own
needs.

Damn you and
your mission. When this is said and done, Reverend Mother, I am
going to need serious therapy.

Stefano felt
the familiar heat settle in his loins, no longer tempered with a
desire for subtle restraint and consideration. All his life, his
peers and court toadies had fed his lust with admiration and
exhortations to outdo himself. Even his brothers had looked on with
sly smiles and unabashed support while working behind the scenes to
set to rights the inevitable fall-out from his headlong rush into
one infatuation after another. From the age of fourteen he had set
a standard amongst his cousins and circle of friends of a randy lad
graced with a way with the ladies, young and old alike, to the
dismay of his father's business managers whose profits often
contributed to salvaging his freedom from demanding fathers or
irate, cuckolded husbands.

Veluria was
different, exotically so. She offered herself with no expectations
beyond the sharing of pleasure, sometimes with the hint that it
could be so much more … exciting. Until two nights ago, he'd never
allowed his secret yearnings free of the inner space where he
concealed his very particular tastes.

Because she
knew him in ways no other woman could, he would finally be able to
explore all the possibilities that had been denied him for far too
long. He could finally set aside matters of propriety—Veluria would
understand, and she would not pass judgment.

"Turn around,"
he whispered into her ear, "and let me loosen those bindings."
Veluria complied as she lifted the strands of hair that had fallen
from the tight braid and bent forward.

"Beautiful, you
are so…" He finished off his thought with a taste of the pale flesh
behind her ear, nuzzling with exquisite softness, feather light,
using his tongue to moisten and warm, then his breath to chill. He
gently removed the lacing, pulling the long strand through the
eyelets, slowly drawing out the sensation, letting the sound
envelop their senses, building anticipation.

Before Veluria
he'd never known how incredibly seductive a slow hand could be. Too
often his liaisons were frantic couplings disguised as passion, but
gradually he learned to optimize the experience in favor of
securing advantage before moving on to the next encounter. Cosimo
would chide him on his rash behavior but he would listen
attentively to the gossip.