Rose Red (44 page)

“Lorenzo, you traitor!” Rosalinda screamed
over Andrea’s shoulder.

“She will thank you for this tomorrow,
Lorenzo.” On those words, Andrea kicked open the sitting room door.
Once inside, he set Rosalinda on her feet.

She was a remarkably lovely sight. During her
struggles, the hat had slipped to the back of her neck, where it
hung from the ribbons tied beneath her chin. Her glorious hair was
loosened from its single braid, tiny curls forming a dark, shiny
halo around her head. Rosalinda’s lips trembled, and her eyes were
filled with angry tears.

Andrea reached out to untie the hat ribbons.
She slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch me!” she cried.

“I can see in your eyes that you want me as
much as I want you,” he said. “Why won’t you admit what you are
feeling?”

“Because you don’t love me. You used me,
Andrea. You did not tell me the truth about yourself until Vanni
said too much and you were forced to admit who you are. Worst of
all, you made a bargain with my mother that treated me like a piece
of merchandise.”

“I have explained to you that at the time, I
was a fortuneless exile.” Andrea spoke with all the patience he
could muster, given his rising passion. Holding Rosalinda in his
arms had almost undone him. He was not sure how much longer he
could restrain himself. “That bargain with your mother was the only
hope I had of making you mine.”

“It was the only hope you had of getting your
dukedom back,” she said with quiet certainty. “If you had made the
bargain for my sake, you would have told me about it. But you
didn’t.” On that, she walked out of the room.

“
You
foolish little—” Andrea took a deep breath, trying to control
himself while knowing his self-control was near its end. He
followed Rosalinda into the hall, catching up with her just as she
reached the stairs that led upward to her bedchamber. Again he
lifted her into his arms. This time, she did not fight him, not
until they were safely away from the steps and he was shouldering
open the door to her room.

Maria was there, putting away some clothing.
With Rosalinda’s old russet wool doublet in her hands, Maria gaped
at Andrea, and at the woman who was once more pounding at his
shoulders with clenched fists.

“Maria, do something!” Rosalinda cried. “This
barbarian brute won’t put me down.”

“Maria,” Andrea told the maid, “go and find
Lorenzo. He will answer your questions.”

“But my lord,” Maria gasped, “what are you
going to do to Rosalinda?”

“I am going to make love to her,” Andrea
responded, heading for the bed. “Right now. This instant. It’s up
to you whether you want to stay and watch us or not.”

“Oh!” Rosalinda’s screech of outrage was
punctuated by the sound of her bedroom door closing as Maria fled
the room. “Andrea, how could you?”

“Sometimes, bears are forced to resort to
desperate measures,” Andrea said.

Whatever Rosalinda might have said in
response was stopped by Andrea’s mouth on hers. She fought him, but
not for long. Her lips softened under his, and the fists that had
been pounding at his chest unclenched until her hands were flat
against his shoulders.

“Sometimes,” Andrea murmured a short time
later, “bears themselves become desperate when their desire is
thwarted for too long.”

“I can’t let you do this,” Rosalinda wept. “I
won’t.” But her head fell back, allowing him free access to her
throat and to the tender area just above the neckline of her gown.
Andrea’s arms tightened around her. She shuddered in mounting
pleasure.

“I knew you wanted me. I was sure you
wouldn’t resist for long.” Andrea’s voice was filled with the
triumph he felt at her eager response to what he was doing.

“Yes, you are very sure of yourself, aren’t
you, Andrea? Your self-confidence may well be your greatest fault.”
Her mood swung from desire back to rage so swiftly that Andrea
released her in surprise when she grabbed his hair and began to
pull it. She was now standing in front of him, both hands wound
into his thick hair, pulling hard. Her eyes were blazing with
anger, and with another violent passion that Andrea fully
understood because it matched his own need.

Reacting out of that need, he shoved her on
both shoulders, not pushing hard, but just firmly enough to make
her sit down on the foot of her bed. He caught her face between his
hands and kissed her, letting her feel his desire, letting his
tongue move slowly but forcefully into her mouth.

The fingers at his scalp relaxed. Her
emotions already aroused, Rosalinda began to respond to his renewed
kisses, as he had been sure she would. But Andrea was faced with a
serious problem. His own desire had reached a crucial point. He
simply could not wait any longer. With a trembling hand he reached
down to pull her skirts up to her hips. Her thighs were soft and
warm when he spread them so he could stand closer to her, and the
place between them was moist and ready when Andrea touched her
there. He groaned, suddenly frozen with uncontrollable need, afraid
to move or to continue caressing her.

“Oh, Andrea.” Rosalinda seemed to recognize
how desperate his condition was. Her hands worked at his clothing,
freeing him, pulling him toward her. “I don’t care what happens
later, or what your real feelings are. I’m tired of fighting what I
want. I want you. I want you now. Come to me, Andrea.”

Her legs still dangling over the edge, she
fell backward on the bed. Immediately, Andrea answered her
invitation. With an ecstatic moan, he plunged into her heated
softness. Braced on rigid arms above her, he watched as rapture
overtook Rosalinda. Her eyelids fluttered closed, her lips parted
on a sigh, her cheeks were flushed, and her every feature was
softened by sweet desire. Andrea barely had time to think how
beautiful she was before his own rampant desire overcame him. In an
uncontrollable response to the way her body was tightening around
him in repeated ripples of fulfillment, Andrea moved, stroking into
her just once. A gust of fierce heat shook him and he exploded,
pouring himself into Rosalinda, filling her and completing himself
in an act of possession and love.

It took a few minutes for him to realize that
he was still on his feet, braced over Rosalinda, with her legs
wrapped around him. She lay on the bed, watching him with an
expression that was definitely softer and far more tender than the
coldness with which she had first greeted him in the garden. It
occurred to Andrea that there was much to be said for untrammeled
sexual desire, especially when the woman was as eager as Rosalinda
had been.

Her eagerness meant that, whatever she said
on the subject, her tender feelings for him were unchanged.
Rosalinda would never give herself to a man she did not love.
Surely, the pleasure they had just shared would prove to her that
he loved her, too. Certain that any remaining problems between them
could easily be resolved, Andrea let himself collapse beside her on
the bed.

“We never even removed our clothes,” he said,
running a gentle finger along her chin. With equal gentleness he
turned her face toward his. “I love you, Rosalinda. How could you
have doubted it?”

“I have told you why. And you have never said
that you love me, until now.” A lone tear trickled down her cheek.
Andrea kissed it away.

“Did you really expect me to know what was in
your mind?” she asked. “If you did, then you have been a bigger
fool than I.”

Stung by the accuracy of her words, Andrea
did not bother to answer her. Instead, he put his mouth on hers.
When she did not fight him, he slowly deepened the kiss. It had,
after all, been more than three months since they had lain together
in an alpine meadow, and Andrea was a young and vigorous man.
Rolling over, he pinned her upper body beneath his while he began
to inch her skirts upward. He would pull the loose dress off over
her head so he could touch and caress her wherever he wanted. He
would prove to her how much he loved her, prove it beyond any
question. Before Rosalinda left her bedchamber, she would know that
Andrea was hers completely. And she would know that she was
his.

She caught at his hand as he tugged on her
skirt and petticoat, stopping him for a long moment while she gazed
into his eyes. Then, with a little sigh of surrender, she took her
hand away. Andrea pushed her clothing to her waist... and stopped,
staring at her exposed body in disbelief.

For a long time, he could say nothing. He
could only gape at the rounded abdomen beneath which his child lay.
He knew Rosalinda well enough to be absolutely certain the child
she carried was his.

“When I saw you standing in the garden in
this loose dress, you did look as if you had gained weight,” he
said when he was finally able to speak. “But your face is so thin
that I thought it was an illusion, because the dress has no
waistline. And just a few minutes ago, I imagined your bunched-up
dress and petticoat caused the bulge I noticed.” Passion forgotten
for the moment, Andrea drew apart from her, watching her reaction
to his growing rage at her deception.

“You weren’t going to tell me about this
miraculous secret, were you?” he said in an accusing tone. “Yet you
were angry with me for not revealing my family name to strangers,
at a time when I was in danger of my life? For shame, Rosalinda!
What is fair for you ought to be fair for me, too! How dare you
complain of my actions?”

“I had good reason for what I did,” she
declared. Seeing the outraged expression on his face, she added,
“It seemed like a good reason to me.”

“Did it?” Andrea’s voice was dangerously
smooth. “And what reason was that, Rosalinda?”

“I was determined not to be forced into
marriage with a man who did not love me. Bianca and I once made a
vow that we would insist upon love from our prospective
husbands.”

“I do love you.”

“But you have never said it until today,” she
responded.

Andrea longed to scold her, to tell her how
wrong she had been to doubt him. But, looking deep into Rosalinda’s
troubled, frightened eyes, he knew he would have to rein in his
righteous anger over her actions or else chance losing her forever.
Perhaps, from Rosalinda’s point of view, she had just cause to
wonder if he was using her for his own selfish ends. With that
thought in mind, Andrea modulated his voice and tried to sound more
sympathetic than he actually felt.

“This is why you ran away from Monteferro,
isn’t it? This is a secret that cannot remain hidden much longer,
unless you disappear into these mountains, to this place where no
one will reveal what you do not want known.

“Do you hate me so much that you would keep
my own child from me?” he asked, some of his anger seeping through
his rigid control. “How could you betray our love, and imperil our
child’s future, by not telling me about this?”

“I did it because I will not marry a man who
does not love me,” she said with a stubborn set to her mouth and
chin.

“How many times do I have to say it? God in
heaven, woman, when will you believe me?” Despite his good
intentions, Andrea’s patience slipped and his voice rose. “Since
the first day I saw you on a mountain trail, while you still
imagined I was a bear, you have been the only woman for me. You
proved the truth of my belief when you alone were willing to help
me out of a snowstorm and into the light and warmth of your
home.

“Everything I have done since that winter
night has been done with the hope of proving my love for you and of
making you my wife. I risked my life to make your mother’s dream
for Bianca a reality, in the belief that once Bianca was Duchess of
Monteferro, Eleonora would permit our marriage.

“All of this I have done for you, Rosalinda,
and still you do not believe I love you. So be it.” Andrea withdrew
his gaze from hers to look at the creamy mound of skin beneath his
hand. His fingers moved on Rosalinda’s abdomen in a tender
caress.

“I have been wrong about you, haven’t I?”
Rosalinda whispered, sounding as frightened as the look in her
eyes.

“Completely wrong,” Andrea said, still
caressing that lovely mound of flesh. “Bartolomeo claims that you
greatly resemble your father, but I now have proof that deep in
your soul you are every bit as stubborn as your mother. And
sometimes every bit as wrong as she can be.”

“Bianca said much the same thing,” Rosalinda
told him.

“I am sure your sister is right. She seems to
be a surprisingly good judge of human nature. Which means that I
shall have to reconcile myself to living with an impetuous,
stubborn, difficult woman. Unless, of course, you intend to ruin
the life of this babe who might one day be Duke of Aullia by
refusing to marry his father before he is born. In Aullia,” Andrea
said sternly, “bastards cannot inherit.”

“I did worry about that detail,” Rosalinda
said.

“Ah, I see. To add to all your other faults,
you are now confessing a taste for gambling. Because you lacked
faith in me, you put our child’s future at risk.” He kept his voice
stern, but there was a growing warmth in Andrea’s heart.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I had to be certain
of your love. I will marry you, Andrea.”

“Will you?” He longed to take her into his
arms again, but before he did, there were concessions he was
determined to wring from this willful, fiercely independent, and
altogether enchanting woman he loved. “You must understand,
Rosalinda, that from time to time I will be preoccupied with
matters of state, as I have been over the past few weeks. When I am
thus occupied, I will not have the freedom in which to pay as much
attention to you as you might wish. It is a great honor for me to
rule the city my father once held. I intend to repair the damage
the Guidi family has done to Aullia, and then to preserve the city
in peace and prosperity for our children and grandchildren. More, I
want the descendants of the ordinary citizens of Aullia to inherit
peace and a chance for a decent life. My preoccupation with these
concerns will not mean that I do not love you. I will require your
understanding, Rosalinda. And your help, for I cannot do it
alone.”