Virginia Henley (29 page)

She splashed and sang the afternoon away in the great marble bathtub, and then breathlessly she pulled on her stockings, then the sinfully sheer drawers, and topped them with the crown-shaped bodice. She strutted about before her mirror and reveled in being shockingly outrageous. First she powdered her luxuriant curls with regular powder to cover the darkness of her hair, then she re-powdered it with the gold. She lit the torchères so that her face was well illuminated before she began her makeup, and a thousand brilliant motes of gold dust sparkled and glittered from her upswept hair.

She was transformed into a fairy princess from some mythic tale. She stared at her face long minutes, picturing the sort of design that would be both disguising and alluring. She chose to be a butterfly. Her large green eyes would be the “eyes” on the butterfly wings. Carefully she
outlined her lashes both above and below with black kohl; then, using iridescent green maquillage, alternating with gold, she painted stripes slanting up to her temples, then down across her cheekbones to create swallowtails. With the kohl stick she drew delicate antennae on her forehead and stuck sequins to the tips. The effect was dramatic. Her costume was perfect. All she had to do now was step onto the stage of Venice and play her part.

The sea had not yet swallowed the sun when Antonia joined the throng. Everywhere was gaiety, music, and laughter. When the barriers of the masks had gone up, all others had come down. Strangers spoke with each other as easily as cast members of a troupe of players delivering their clever lines and reacting to the responses with a smile, a touch, or an overt caress.

The mood of the early revelers was gay and giddy. When dusk veiled Venice, the mood would become one of abandon. The costumes and disguises were spectacular. Some were clever, others unbelievably daring. Seminudity was commonplace. Male and female gender in many cases was blurred to the point where it was undetectable. Some were gaudy, some were bawdy. Many were rude; a few downright crude. All were on display, all were intoxicated, either by the night or by what they had already imbibed.

The mood was infectious, the laughter spreading with abandon from one group to another, linking them in the relentless pursuit of pleasure. Antonia was filled with apprehension. She held herself aloof from hands that reached out to her, and leering mouths that shouted,
“Donna! Bella! Grazioso! Per favore!”

A crowd jostled each other good naturedly in front of the gondolas as they waited to be taken across the lagoon. A few vestiges of civilization still clung, but Antonia could see it would only take a small spark to ignite a mood-swing to ugliness. It was apparent she would not have a gondola to herself, so she climbed into one that carried other females. She pulled away, shocked, when another
woman touched her intimately. As she looked about, it seemed to Antonia that tonight everyone in Venice had the painted face of a harlot. She blushed delicately. She was no different from the others.

Antonia retraced her steps of yesterday along the crowded
fondamente,
smiling in acknowledgment whenever a gentleman touched his fingers to his lips in a gesture of appreciation. She had learned that Italian men were physically demonstrative whenever they saw an attractive female, regardless of Carnival.

The lobby of Casa Frolo was lit brilliantly. Musicians played up on the galleria, their music floating down upon the dancers below along with streamers and clouds of confetti. Antonia examined every face as she searched the crowd for one man. She did not see him, so again she pushed her way through the noisy revelers, realizing how easy it would be to miss him in the sea of masked faces. At last she was certain that he was not yet in the lobby of the palazzo. She decided to go up to the galleria, because she was convinced his chambers were on that level.

She started up the marble stairs and there coming down toward her was a magnificent figure. He wore a crimson turban ornamented with a peacock feather. An Eastern tunic stretched across his wide shoulders. As she gazed up at the raja her heart leapt when she saw his gaze was riveted upon her. The distance between them closed. Breathlessly she realized when he was a few steps above her he had an unimpeded view of her breasts, deliciously displayed by the golden bodice.

Her hand reached out to him. “Signore,” she breathed softly, invitingly.

“Voi siete bella”
(You are beautiful),
“tesoro.”
(darling)
“Baciami!”
(Kiss me) The man reached for her with greedy hands.

Antonia knew his voice was not Savage’s voice. Her eyes widened in alarm as she gazed into obsidian eyes.

“No, no,” she cried, pushing his hands away. Her reluctance
spurred him on and she felt his arm pull her against his body, then he bent his mouth to hers.

She struggled wildly, screaming, “No, no, no, signore, no!”

A bronzed hand descended upon the raja’s shoulder. “I believe
no
means the same in Italian as it does in English.”

Antonia almost fainted with relief. Savage’s dangerous voice was unmistakable. Though cloaked in velvet at the moment, its threat was palpable.

“Per dio!”
(By God!) The raja went down to his knees as Savage increased the painful pressure upon his shoulder, then Adam took Antonia’s hand and led her safely back down the marble steps to the main floor. She felt the warmth of his hand radiate upward into her arm. He was dressed in black. A black leopard, half-mask stopped just at his lips, concealing the scar. A black cloak swirled about his powerful torso. She knew he represented far more danger than the raja.

“How may I thank you, my lord?” Antonia asked breathlessly.

“I’ll think of something, little butterfly. You are English.” He sounded intrigued.

Her mouth curved deliciously. Her black lashes swept down to her cheeks, then lifted over dreamy pale-green eyes. “Do you offer your protection, my lord?”

“Against all but myself,
chèrie,”

Though she was tall for a woman, they stood so close, she had to put her head back to gaze up at him. He lifted her hand to his lips. Antonia felt the jolt all the way to her shoulder as his hot mouth touched her skin.

“You, too, are English,” she whispered.

“Perhaps by birth, but not by nature.”

“A leopard by nature?” She wet her lower lip with the tip of her tongue.

Adam’s pale blue eyes darkened with lust. He was going
to lick that luscious full lower lip with the tip of his own tongue before he kissed her.

She shivered—and burned.

They were still handclasped. He was intrigued by her beauty, her youth, and her nationality.

“I have a proposition for you, my lord. Are you interested?”

How droll. Wasn’t he supposed to proposition the lady? “I shall be enchanted to while away an hour or two,
chèrie.
Do you have a name?”

She shook her head and the corners of her mouth went up in a teasing smile.

He would kiss the corners of her mouth after he’d ravaged her sensual lower lip. He wanted to pick her up and carry her upstairs to his bed without wasting further time, since that was where they would end the night. Savage fought the need for haste. He must at least buy her a glass of champagne first. She was very young. He must not frighten her quite yet.

With a protective hand at the small of her back, he led her along the
fondamente,
then drew her into one of his haunts. It was a bar with tables by arched windows overlooking the lagoon. The sky was a deep purple, the candlelight flickered and reflected a million lights in her golden-dusted hair. He ordered them champagne.

Savage picked up the fine Venetian goblet. “I toast your beauty and your mystery, Queen Mab.”

Her fingers toyed with the stem of her glass. He, too, thought she looked like a fairy queen.

“Now, what’s this proposition you have in mind?” he murmured indulgently.

“I have escaped my guardian for one night. I seek a lover.”

Even in the shadowed room he saw her blushes. He covered her hand. She did not see the amusement in his eyes. “Let me guess. You are being forced into a loveless
marriage and you long to be introduced to erotic pleasures of the flesh before you dry up and blow away.”

She laughed as he had meant her to. “I can never marry. Circumstances forbid it.”

His quick mind assessed the possibilities. A convent? Possible. An invalid parent? More probable. “Never is a long time. Circumstances change. If I agree to become your lover for a night, you may deeply regret me someday.”

“Never!” Antonia vowed.

“How much experience have you had?” he asked, bemused.

“None,” she said faintly.

Savage stood up to leave. “Forgive me,
cherie,
it is impossible.”

“Please don’t leave me! I am a virgin who is sick and tired of that everlasting state. Is it so shameful of me to want a night of pleasure?”

“There is no shame in it at all,
chèrie.
It is simply that our time together would be too short for me to give you the kind of pleasure you crave.”

“Then simply unveil the mysteries of sex for me.”

“When a man breaks a young girl’s barrier, there is blood and pain. There is a certain amount of pleasure for the male, but very little for the female, I assure you.”

Her eyes widened. He thought he might drown in the deep green pools.

“Love me tonight,” she tempted, wetting her full bottom lip.

Heat built in his groin. He mocked himself for a fool. He had imagined a night of decadence with a practiced voluptuary, perhaps three or four to slake his unquenchable sexual energy, yet here was an innocent English lady begging for the services of his manhood.

“How old are you?” Savage demanded.

“Sev—eighteen,” she whispered. It was a terrible lie.

Blood throbbed into his shaft with alarming force, making
him full and turgid and thick with need. Christ, if he turned her down she would seek another. A mocking voice said,
Don’t pretend you’re doing it to protect her.
He’d give her one last chance to withdraw.

“I feel it only fair to warn you, I am scarred on face and body. I will repel you.”

“Never that,” she vowed fervently, her hand stealing to his.

“Then drink up, Queen Mab, and fly away with me. I am about to discover if it really is more blessed to give than receive.” Tonight he must truly be the Prince of Fools. He vowed it was the last time he would ever come to the rescue of a damsel in distress.

The Leopard drew her down the water steps to a waiting gondola and gave instructions in the man’s own tongue.

“You will always remember that romance first stole to you in a gondola in Venice.” He stepped into the narrow boat, reached strong hands to her slim waist, and lifted her down to him. It was an intimate gesture. They stood close, excitement racing their pulses.

Her breath caught in her throat as he drew her to the cushioned seat in the rear. “Come.” His voice was rich, dark velvet, inviting, luring, compelling. She hesitated as she looked down at his magnificence sprawled before her, hers for the taking.

He undid the clasp of his black silk cape and draped one side across the cushions. Her knees turned to water
and she sank beside him into the dark, silken cocoon he offered.

“Where will you take me?” Her voice was soft as a sigh.

“To the end of time … to the scented gardens of Elysium … to the edge of the earth.” His words were fantasy, magic, whimsy, and yet they were rich with promise.

He reclined, opened his thighs, and drew her back against him.

To Antonia he felt like a solid wall of muscle. The heat from his body leapt into hers, shocking, scalding, shiver-inducing. Her heart raced, hammered, in her breast, thundered and roared in her head. His lips whispered and lightly grazed her ear and her pulse went so faint she thought her heart had stopped beating.

“Tesoro.
” It meant “darling.” She melted back against him, taking the heat of his body into her own. Her blood felt as if it had been set afire and blue flames ran along every sensitive vein.

They glided from the misty lagoon into a narrow enchanted canal, away from the noise, away from the revelers, to a place that was secluded, secret almost, silent. It felt mystical, as if they floated above the surface of the ancient waters. The richly ornate, gilded Renaissance buildings towered above them in opulent splendor, isolating them, enfolding them in the dream world that was Venice.

“This was once the center of civilization. It sent grain to the East and brought the riches of the East to Europe. Too much wealth and gold, of course, brought decadence.”

“Doges, condottieri, Medicis.” Antonia murmured dreamily.

“This is the way Venice should be savored, exploring her secret charms.” His hand gently cupped beneath her breast, lifting it so that its pale curve swelled up from her low-cut bodice. In the shadows the crown looked deep
vermilion against silken gold. He dipped his head a fraction and blew a warm breath upon it. The moment he stopped, the cool air ruched it to a sharp little point.

“Cupid’s arrow,” he teased.

Her breath caught in her throat. The quick intake told him her body was giving her pleasure. Told him desire had begun to build in all her lovely, scented, secret alcoves.

Antonia felt the hard ridge of muscle rise against her back. His powerful thighs hardened and what rose between them was like a marble pillar. She had glimpsed men’s parts when they passed around the thunderpots, but she had no idea a man’s appendage could increase to such enormous proportions, nor become as hard as an iron bar. She gasped at the shock of discovery, stiffened slightly, and would have pulled away. If he had allowed her to pull away. But he did not. His arm encircled her waist like a band of steel, imprisoning her, locking her against his magnificent male weapon.

Antonia did not struggle. It was his maleness she craved. His mysterious man-thing. She stilled, feeling it burn into her back. It was so engorged with blood, it throbbed wildly and she felt it pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat that echoed through the wide chest she reclined against.

“Amore mio.
Little butterfly.” The tip of his tongue traced the pulse beneath her earlobe and little tremors ran down her throat, down her back, and she imagined them running along his shaft. Desire leapt between them. Each knew a need to meld with the other, to share the same breath, the same blood, the same body, the same soul.

They pressed together, straining, merging in a primal hunger to be joined into one. It was unendurable that the thirst of their surging blood could not be quenched. They were becoming intoxicated and fevered.

Savage was on the point of ravishing her. To gain control he eased her slightly away from his groin and sat up.
Her delicious murmur of protest shot through him like lightning. He warned himself to give her no pain. That way he knew he could make her wildly, sensually uninhibited. He began to whisper again in an effort to cool and prolong their ardor.

“Each year the Doge was rowed out on his magnificent barge into the lagoon to symbolically marry and join the City of Venice to the sea by throwing a gold ring into the water.” He took off one of his own gold rings and tossed it into the lagoon.

Antonia looked up at him and gasped. It was such a romantic gesture linking them forever to this place.

His gaze fastened on her lips. She held her breath as the Leopard lowered his head to give him access to her hungry mouth. His tongue came out to lick and taste her full underlip. The Leopard’s tongue was rough. She shuddered, then gasped as he sucked in the red ripe succulent bottom lip as if he were taking a cherry into his mouth.

She tasted like sweet, heady wine. She tasted like woman. He reclined again and took her with him. She yielded all her softness against him and was rewarded by his rising, burning arousal. One possessive hand slipped into her bodice to capture her bare breast. His calloused palm and fingers sent a jolt of sensation swirling around the silken skin, then spiraled lower into her belly.

His other hand had other fields to conquer. His fingers searched until they found their way beneath her skirt band. The heat of his palm scalded her as his hand inched lower across her naked belly. The friction of heated rough skin against heated silken skin was like bliss. His long, strong fingers splayed downward until the pads of his fingertips rested just above her pubic bone. Just exactly where the tiniest ringlets sprang covering her mons.

The pressure of his strong fingers felt delicious as sin. She sighed from the very depths of her soul. The Leopard was purring in her ear again.

“We are beneath the Bridge of Sighs.”

She gazed up past his darkly shadowed face. “What a perfectly beautiful name.”

“Not really,
cara.
Beyond this bridge are the prisons. All who pass beneath this bridge heave a sigh as they glimpse their last of freedom through that dense stone latticework.”

Antonia sighed again.

“No sadness,
chèrie.
Tonight is only for pleasure.” His deep command carried to the gondolier. “Casa Frolo.”

At his words threads of golden sensations ran from her breasts to her belly. Surely his splayed fingers could feel the deep tremors that shot to her woman’s center between her legs. She half turned so that she lay facing him. She sprawled between his thighs, mingling her woman’s heat with his.

She filled his arms with loveliness and he made the mistake of picturing them both naked in this position. His shaft bucked against her belly and her mouth formed a delicious O of surprise. He took swift possession of that soft mouth, sliding his tongue deep, then drinking her nectar.

“Shall I take you home to bed?” His voice had a raw edge that sent a frisson down her spine.

“Oh, yes, please.” Antonia’s voice was husky and velvety with anticipation.

She had always been aware of his body’s strength and power, but now that he was expending it to protect her from the disorderly crowd, she felt weak with gratitude. She’d always imagined how it would feel, but the reality of his possessive protection enfolded her, gloved her in dark velvet, so that she was absolutely inviolate to any but Savage.

Her steps felt as if they were floating as they whispered across the marbled floors and stairs of his palazzo. The madding crowd fell away as they ascended. Fancifully she thought even a goddess being taken up to Olympus to
receive sacred rites could not feel more radiantly alive or more desired.

So much about Adam Savage was unknown to her, his dark face ever unreadable as if he wore a permanent mask. She felt as if she were on the brink of a revelation, perhaps more than one, and yet she suspected she would never know him completely. Which was just as well. A slight shiver touched her fevered skin.

When he opened the door she saw that his chambers were palatial. Two rooms were joined by an archway of white, sugar-spun marble. From a wrought-iron balcony flowers tumbled in abandon to the waters of the canal below.

He locked the door from the inside with an ornate golden key and allowed his glance to lick over her. All of her. He stepped toward her and opened his palm, where the key lay.

She laughed that he should offer it to her. “Is that to keep you from escaping me?”

He was completely serious. “Take it. When you see my scars, you may not wish to remain. You must feel free to leave at any time.”

A tiny frisson went through her, running deep. She knew she would never be free. To show she was ready to obey him in all things, she lifted the key from his palm and laid it upon a marble pedestal that stood beside the door.

He took her hand and led her into the spacious bedchamber. He removed his black silk cape and then he lifted off the Leopard’s mask.

Antonia knew his face as well as she knew her own, and yet its impact made her knees so weak and watery, she sank down upon the bed’s edge. Since first she’d seen him she had wanted to let her gaze roam at leisure over his dark, intense features. Now he invited her to look her fill.

His brows were black raven’s wings, his nose a straight wedge with slightly flared nostrils. The structure of cheekbone and jaw was strongly sculpted, as if his Creator had
used a chisel. His lips had a sensual mold. Then, as if the same chisel had been used, a deep gash slashed from the left nostril, straight down through the top lip. His skin was as swarthy as if it had been stained by walnut, then shadowed even darker over the area he kept clean shaven. In startling contrast his eyes were a piercing light blue. She had seen just such a shade in the waters of the Mediterranean.

“Your eyes are as blue as the Bay of Biscay.”

She saw the well-remembered self-mockery. “You are a fanciful, romantic child.” His hands knifed through his long black hair, once, twice. They were powerful, calloused, capable. Capable of gentleness? Possibly. Capable of cruelty? Assuredly. Capable of arousal and satisfaction? Equally!

She reached out to take his hands into her own. The contrast was marked. Hers were pale, his tanned; hers were long and slender, his strong and square; hers were soft, his roughened and calloused. As her finger traced the workworn skin the corners of her mouth went up with the sheer pleasure of touching him. Her green eyes dared to tease him. “You haven’t the hands or the face of a gentleman.”

“No,” he confirmed. “Unfortunately, though, I suspect I am dealing with a titled lady.”

She drew in her breath at his perception.

“Don’t look so dismayed.” A teasing light now appeared in his eyes. “I shan’t put you out on your noble bottom.” He brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “You intrigue me. What’s your name?”

His touch stole her senses. “An—” Her eyes widened in disbelief. She had almost blurted out her name.

“Ann.” His voice sounded like velvet as his tongue caressed the name.

Whatever was the matter with her? She’d be calling him Adam any moment. “Do you have a name, my lord?”

“It is not
my lord
unless that is part of your fantasy, my lady.”

She laughed up into his face. “Of course it isn’t. How absurd.”

“You’d be surprised how important titles are to most women.” He lifted a brow. “Will Adam suffice?”

“Splendidly.” The sigh reached her toes. His name was so perfect, it would have spoiled her fantasy to call him anything else.

“So then, Ann and Adam it shall be.” He spoke as if everything had been settled between them. And in a way it had. He lifted her hand to his mouth and allowed his lips to brush across the back of her fingers. He whispered the question against her skin. “Are you ready to play the game of love?”

Antonia nodded wordlessly, unable to take a deep breath.

He pulled her up into his arms so that all her golden softness was enfolded in his powerful embrace. His arms tightened, imprisoning her against the hard length of him. Breast to chest, ribs to ribs, thigh to thigh, belly to belly, hard male muscle to soft mons. She yielded up her body to his and he rubbed her against his hardness.

The surface of her skin began to tingle as if it were showered by molten gold dust, then the heat penetrated the surface of her silken skin to plunge deeper, to enter her bloodstream exactly like rivers of molten gold. Crushed against him she felt his body’s heat leap into hers, scalding her wherever they touched.

His eyes held hers intensely, needing to see her experience each and every tiny flicker of this arousal. Then suddenly he held her slightly away from him while his gaze dropped inside the golden crown of her bodice.