Rose Red (20 page)

“Do be careful.” Bianca put her hand over
Rosalinda’s fingers, and Rosalinda gave her sister a quick kiss on
the cheek in response.

And Eleonora, standing in the doorway with
Valeria, smiled and nodded and went away pleased to see her
daughters on warmer terms again.

The next day Rosalinda went riding alone. She
did ask Bianca to go along, but Bianca had some work to finish for
Valeria. An hour or so later, with her tasks done, Bianca gave in
to a new bout of restlessness and went in search of her sister.
Believing Rosalinda would go first to the bridge, Bianca rode in
that direction. The river was slightly lower than before, as Bianca
could see by the level of the water rushing past the rock from
which they had rescued the strange little man. There was no sign of
Rosalinda, but perhaps she had gone into the woods in search of the
flowers she had spoken of, to pick some for their mother.

While she looked around for some trace of her
sister, a delightful idea occurred to Bianca. If there were areas
in the forest where enough sunlight filtered through the foliage to
allow flowers to bloom, then berries might also be growing wild in
the woodland soil. Just the thought of the delicate, tiny
strawberries that Rosalinda sometimes carried home from her
excursions made Bianca’s mouth water.

A short distance beyond the bridge, Bianca
noticed a narrow stream that fed into the river. There seemed to be
a path beside it. Dismounting, she tied her horse’s reins to a
sapling so it could feed on the grass at the edge of the wood while
she was gone. Then, knowing she could not become lost so long as
she followed the stream, Bianca ventured into the leafy shade. Dead
brown leaves carpeted the soil and crackled pleasantly when she
stepped on them; the little stream bubbled and gurgled cheerfully,
and here and there flowering plants did poke their fragile heads up
into patches of sunlight, just as Rosalinda had described.

Some distance into the woods, Bianca came to
a spot where her explorations were halted by a solid rock wall that
extended well above her head. The rock was not bare. Bushes grew in
a few crevices, vines drifted downward from trees to underbrush,
and from the top of the gray rock a waterfall tumbled down the
sheer face into a mossy pool. Venturing to the very edge of the
pool, Bianca put out her hands to catch some of the falling water
and carry it to her lips. It was sweet and pure, and very cold.

“No wonder Rosalinda likes to explore. I
never knew this lovely spot was here. How pleasant it must be on a
hot summer day.” Thinking she heard her sister’s voice, Bianca went
still, listening. At first all she heard over the sound of the
waterfall was the rustling of leaves as a breeze blew by and the
songs of the birds that flew among the trees. Then, very
distinctly, she heard someone whistling.

Rosalinda sometimes whistled. Always, when
they heard her, their mother or Valeria reminded Rosalinda how
improper it was for a lady to make such a noise. Bianca smiled at
the notion of her sister whistling in the woods, where no one would
hear or criticize her. The merry tune was coming from just above
Bianca’s head. How like her sister to find a way to climb up over
those sheer rocks so she could stand atop a waterfall and
whistle!

“Rosalinda,” Bianca called, stepping back
from the pool to look upward. “Come out, my dear. If you do not
scold me for following you and discovering at least one of your
secrets, I promise to tell no one how well you have taught yourself
to whistle.”

The whistler broke off in mid-note.

“Come down, come down,” Bianca called,
laughing now at the thought of Rosalinda’s discomfiture at being
found out. “I shall not punish you. Word of honor.”

“I do admire an honorable lady.” A tall,
masculine shape moved into view on the rocks above the
waterfall.

“Andrea?” Bianca whispered. The man who
perched precariously above her looked like Andrea and sounded like
Andrea, but she could not be certain that was who he was. At first
she thought sunlight and leafy shade were playing tricks with her
eyesight. There was only one way to identify him and that was by
seeing him face to face at closer range. In a louder voice, Bianca
called, “Come down from there at once before you fall.”

“At your command, madonna.” Catching a tree
limb, he swung downward to land lightly on his feet no more than a
few inches away from her. The tree branch swung back up again when
he released it, showering bits of greenery over both of them. He
reached out to pluck a leaf from Bianca’s hair. “Here I am,
madonna, as you wish. Now that you have me, what do you plan to do
with me?”

“Do? Why are you here?” Shaken by the vital
male presence confronting her, Bianca took a step backward. She
slipped on the moss. Quick as lightning, Andrea’s arm was around
her waist, pulling her away from the pool, drawing her firmly
against his hard, very manly body.

His clothes, which Bianca did not recognize,
were worn and soiled, and his dark beard had grown back again,
though it was neatly trimmed. She wondered if he was traveling in
disguise. Then she noticed the gold ring on his left little finger
and she knew he was not. Still, his unexpected presence puzzled
her. She could not think why he had not presented himself at the
villa, to make his report to her mother.

“Why am I here?” he repeated her question. “I
do believe the angels sent me here to find you, madonna.”

“I’m sure you mean you wanted to find
Rosalinda. That is why you are here, isn’t it? For an assignation
with my sister.” It was the only explanation that made sense to
Bianca.

“Since your sister obviously is not here,
perhaps you will allow me an assignation with you instead.”

His smile really was charming. Andrea had
never smiled at Bianca in that way but, seeing him now, she could
understand why Rosalinda found him irresistible. Bianca knew she
ought to be ashamed of herself for permitting him to continue his
embrace, but it was lovely to be held so closely, to gaze into his
liquid brown eyes, to see the smile that made her smile back at
him.

“That’s better,” he said, seeing her smile.
“You were altogether too serious before, when you ordered me to
join you down here.”

“Of course I was serious. I was afraid you
would slip and fall off those rocks.”

“If I were injured, would you care?”

“Yes, I would. You know I would. Didn’t I -”
Bianca could not go on. His mouth was much too close to hers. She
could not think about what she wanted to say. She could only stare
at his beautiful lips.

“Didn’t you what, madonna?” he murmured.

“Why are you calling me madonna, as if we
were strangers?” she asked. “You know my name is Bianca.”

“Bianca.” The word was a caress on his lips.
“You are well named, Bianca, with hair like silver sunlight and
eyes the color of the sky over the mountains.”

“You should not say such things to me.”

“Why not, when they are true?”

“This is wrong. I must not allow it.” But she
could not stop what was happening. His arms were tightening around
her and, heaven help her, she did not want him to release her. Not
yet. Not until he had kissed her. No man had ever kissed Bianca.
She knew Andrea would, in just a moment more. Her lips parted on
the thought. His mouth brushed across hers.

“Oh.” The single word was a soft whisper of
sound on Bianca’s lips, granting free consent to whatever he would
do next. Then his mouth slanted across hers with firm assurance and
Bianca was lost. Her hands fluttered briefly over his shoulders and
then went still. Her heart stopped, and the breath halted in her
lungs. The world pitched crazily around her, and Bianca was swept
into a new place where wild emotion reigned. All that mattered was
this man’s arms around her, his mouth on hers, and the hardness of
his muscular frame. He was supporting her, he was her lifeline, and
she recognized that he was the very reason for her existence.

His fingertips were on her cheeks, on her
throat, then on her breasts, caressing, squeezing gently. When his
thumb rubbed across her nipple, Bianca pulled away.

“I-I cannot,” she stuttered. “I should not
have allowed so much.”

“Bianca.” His hand cupped her cheek, and
Bianca turned her face into his palm. “Lovely Bianca. You have
never been kissed before today, have you?”

“Could you tell? Did I do it badly?”

“You did it sweetly,” he told her. “As
sweetly as any innocent girl could ever return a kiss.”

“It was wrong. I ought to be ashamed.”

“And are you?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered. “And my very lack of
shame makes me ashamed. I mean -” She bit her lip in confusion,
until he put a finger on that lip and rubbed it with a softly
sensual touch.

“I know what you mean, sweet Bianca. You are
a lady of noble birth, that’s plain to see, and I have presumed too
much. The fault is entirely mine.”

“I think I should take half the
responsibility for what we have done.”

“If that is your pleasure, sweet Bianca.” He
seemed amused by what she had said.

“Pleasure?” Bianca whispered, looking hard at
him. His smile was warmer than she remembered, but now she noticed
a difference about his eyes. He seemed more cynical, a bit more
calculating, and somehow more daring than the Andrea she remembered
from their winter evenings together. Perhaps a change in him was to
be expected. Her mother had sent him out on a secret mission that
Bianca was certain had been dangerous and, judging by his next
words, might still be dangerous.

“Sweet Bianca,” he said, “I want you to
promise you will tell no one that you have seen me. It is vitally
important that no one knows I am here.”

“I promise,” she said at once. “But An-” He
stopped her with a finger on her lips.

“Not another word,” he said. “I saw you come
here to the waterfall. Now I want you to return by the same path.
Do not look back. Do not ask why. Just go, believing that I send
you away for your safety and not because I want you to leave me.
You are the sweetest lady I have ever met. Do not forget me,
Bianca. Go, now. Go.”

She trembled at those last few words of his
which, unknown to him, dredged up terrible memories for her. She
stared at him, wanting to stay with him, yet knowing that this time
she must obey. He took her by the shoulders and turned her around,
pushing her gently along the path he wanted her to take. Wracked by
memory, Bianca took a deep, sobbing breath.

“Ah, don’t cry, sweet lady. We will meet
again, I promise you.” Still holding her by the shoulders, he drew
her back to rest against his chest. His mouth lingered on the nape
of her neck, before his tongue traced a warm, moist path down to
the neckline of her dress. Then he steadied her, stepped away from
her, and gave her a gentle shove between her shoulder blades.

“Go.” His voice was so soft it sounded like
the murmur of the spring breeze.

Bianca walked along the stream until it
curved around a huge, mossy boulder. Only then did she look
back.

He was gone. She wondered if he had been a
dream, a man formed out of her own fevered imagining, to provide
the tenderness, the soft laughter, the warm desire that she so
desperately needed. Not until she touched her lips and recalled the
pressure of his arms as if he were still holding her, was she
convinced that he was real. Then cold reality struck her and she
wished with all her heart that he were the product of her
imagination. For, whatever he might be to her, he was the man her
sister loved.

In that
household where secrets and half-truths had burgeoned in recent
months like the new leaves on the trees, at last Bianca had a
secret of her own, and she hugged it to her heart. Andrea, who last
winter had had eyes only for Rosalinda, was interested in her – in
pale, quiet, almost invisible Bianca.

Well aware of her high birth and of the lost
inheritance of Monteferro that ought, by right, to be hers, Bianca
understood that she had allowed Andrea too many liberties with her
person and that she would be foolish beyond belief to permit him
more than he had already enjoyed. Still, she took a perverse
pleasure in the knowledge that Rosalinda was not the only girl
capable of attracting the romantic attentions of a handsome
man.

Throughout the rest of that day and the
evening that followed, Bianca existed in a state of terrified
anticipation, jumping nervously at every sound, expecting Andrea to
stride boldly into the villa. When he came, would he look first at
Rosalinda and smile his beautiful smile at her, or would his eyes
seek out Bianca before her sister?

Such thoughts finally produced the guilt
Bianca had not felt during her encounter with Andrea. She was
certain that Rosalinda, who was honorable to her very bones, would
never have done what Bianca had done. Rosalinda would rather die
than ever embrace or taste the lips of the man her sister
loved.

Bianca felt like weeping, not only for shame,
but for the unworthy jealousy of her sister that had prompted her
shameful actions in the first place. But had it all been the result
of jealousy? Hadn’t Andrea encouraged Bianca’s response to him? Did
that mean he was not as fond of Rosalinda as Bianca had thought? Or
did it mean he was not the honorable man she had believed him to
be? Consumed by this inner debate, Bianca kept her distance from
Rosalinda and rebuffed every overture her sister made.

“Bianca, you are remarkably distracted this
evening,” Eleonora said, frowning at her. Bianca could almost feel
in her own heart her mother’s disappointment at seeing the
returning warmth between her daughters ended so quickly.

“I am tired.” It was a lame excuse and Bianca
knew it, but in her present state of mind she could think of
nothing clever to say.