Rose Red (45 page)

“I will have to live in a city,” Rosalinda
said, sighing.

“Aullia is closer to the mountains than
Monteferro is,” Andrea said. “From the duke’s private suite of
rooms, there is a wide view of the same mountains you see from
Villa Serenita. Of course, from Aullia, you will look at the other
side of those mountains.”

“That might be an interesting change,”
Rosalinda said. Then, more cheerfully, “Bianca told me there is a
large garden surrounding the palace.”

“It’s more like a wild park, certainly not as
carefully tended as the ducal gardens at Monteferro. But then, the
entire court at Aullia is much less formal than the court at
Monteferro. You may do as you like with the garden,” he
promised.

“I shall have to call on my mother for help,”
she murmured with a mischievous glance at him.

“I was afraid of that. Ah, well, perhaps if
Eleonora visits us, so will Francesco.”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised.” Rosalinda
sobered, thinking. “Our children,” she said, very softly.

“Our legal children, my love. It does appear
that you are compelled to marry me for their sake.”

“I suppose so.” Again she sighed.

“As soon as possible, Rosalinda.” Andrea
could not tell from her manner whether she was pleased or unhappy
at his insistence. He decided to continue to be firm with her,
while he instructed her in exactly what he would expect from his
duchess. But before he could begin his lecture, she caught his hand
and pressed it down hard on her abdomen.

“Do you feel it?” she asked. “There it is
again. The baby is moving.”

“I feel it.” Stern intentions forgotten,
Andrea stared, awe-stricken, at the place his hand was covering.
Tears prickled at his eyelids. He did not care if he wept. The life
beneath his hand was a miracle forged out of love. And suddenly it
no longer mattered to him whether Rosalinda was a perfect duchess
or not, so long as she was his Rosalinda, wild and tender and
loving, the kind of woman who would rescue a bear from a snowstorm
and give the frozen creature shelter. But he did harbor a new
fear.

“Do you think I hurt him, before?” Andrea
whispered.

“I cannot think love will ever hurt a child,”
Rosalinda answered. “Andrea, do you remember Ginevra, Giuseppe’s
wife? They have two children, and she is having another at
Christmas, near to the same time when our child will be born. Well,
Ginevra told me one day that Giuseppe makes love to her regularly
until just a few weeks before their babies are born, and she claims
to have the easiest births and the healthiest babies of any woman
here at the villa.

“So you see, Andrea, you will have to make
love to me again if you want a healthy son for your heir.” Reaching
out to him she touched him with a delicately searching fingertip.
“I do wish you would remove your clothes.”

“Rosalinda, promise me you will remain always
at my side. I need you.” As he spoke, Andrea hastened to obey her
command.

“Only for this?” Having torn off her own
clothing while Andrea was occupied with his garments, Rosalinda
pressed herself against him, savoring his warmth.

“For this, yes.” His hand slid downward,
searching between their bodies. “For all you can teach me about
love. And for your support and advice. I cannot rule alone, my
love, and you are the one person I can trust completely.”

“There is always Francesco.” Rosalinda sighed
in pleasure and arched her back. Andrea’s questing fingers located
the spot that ached to feel his touch.

“Francesco lacks your charms,” Andrea
murmured, letting his fingertips stray into heated, sensitive
flesh. “And, at the moment, he has other interests to pursue.
Forget Francesco.”

“Andrea.” Rosalinda shivered and moaned, her
whole body convulsing. Obeying her love, she forgot everything but
the sweet sensation of Andrea’s possession of her in a wild
eruption of passion.

“What other interests does Francesco have?”
Rosalinda asked much later, when she could think and speak
again.

“Your mother,” Andrea said. The setting sun
beaming in the window showed her the twinkle in his dark eyes when
he lifted his head from her breasts to see her reaction.

“Oh, that,” she said, to tease him. ‘‘Bianca
and I have known about Francesco’s interest for months. I do hope
Mother decides to marry him. I wouldn’t want her involved in a
scandal.”

“Speaking of marrying,” Andrea said,
smothering the laughter that threatened to interfere with a serious
statement, “first thing tomorrow I will send Lorenzo for Father
Tomaso. While he is gone, you and I will write out our marriage
contract together. As soon as the priest gets here to bless our
arrangement, we will marry. I am certain your family will
understand our haste.”

“Poor Father Tomaso,” Rosalinda said with an
exaggerated sigh. “We will wear out that sweet old man with our
frequent summons to Villa Serenita.”

“Does that mocking comment indicate the end
of your resistance to my proposal?” Andrea asked. “Have I finally
succeeded in convincing you that I love you?”

“Well, as to that, my lord duke, you know how
uncertain I have always been of your true feelings,” Rosalinda
said. With a sly smile, she added, “I fear the only way for you to
prevent future doubts on my part is by telling me several times a
day that you love me with a great passion, and then by proving it
each night.”

“It will be my pleasure, madonna.” He nipped
playfully at her ear. “So that you will never misunderstand me
again, I do solemnly promise that, however busy I may be with
affairs of state, I will find time to tell you every day and show
you each night that I love you completely and forever.”

“Even when you are old and decrepit, my lord
duke?” she asked with great seriousness.

“Even then, I will find a way.” His eyes
gleamed in the golden late afternoon light. “I promise you,
Rosalinda, I’ll find a way to keep you happy. I am the Duke of
Aullia. I can do anything.”

“Do you think we will quarrel much?” she
asked.

“Probably,” he answered, gazing at her with
love and rising warmth.

“I will never run away from you again,” she
said.

“And I will never again keep secrets from
you,” he whispered.

“I love you, Andrea.”

“I know.” His mouth touched hers lightly.
“I’ve known it all along.”

“Andrea, are you sure this is where you want
the bearskin to stay?” Eleonora asked.

“I can think of no better place for it,”
Andrea said. “Have you any objection?”

“No, not really.” Eleonora pursed her lips,
studying the bearskin. “I am only surprised to learn you do not
intend to take it to Aullia when you and Rosalinda return
there.”

They were in the sitting room at Villa
Serenita and Bartolomeo had just spread out the bearskin in front
of the hearth. Shortly after Andrea’s first appearance at the
villa, Bartolomeo had turned the bearskin over to one of the
men-at-arms, whose favorite occupation was hunting. For lack of
anyone else at the villa who was able to do such work, the
man-at-arms had made himself an expert at curing and preparing
animal skins. Thanks to his efforts, the once stiff and smelly pelt
that Andrea had worn while a fugitive was now a rug with soft,
shiny fur.

“It was in this room, before this very
hearth, that I first relinquished my disguise as a bear and became
a man again,” Andrea said. “Bartolomeo, I thank you for the gift of
this rug.” Andrea clasped hands with the faithful Bartolomeo, who
then excused himself and departed the sitting room to find
Valeria.

“With your permission, Madonna Eleonora, I
will also ask you to excuse me,” Andrea said. “Rosalinda should
have young Federigo put to bed by now, and I find that I am also in
need of a midday nap. Fatherhood can be tiring.”

“A nap. How discreet you are.” Noting that
Andrea did not look the least bit tired, Eleonora repressed a
smile. She had smiled a great deal in recent months, and had
laughed more often than she could remember doing since she was a
girl. It was lovely to be so light-hearted and free. She supposed
some of her newfound joy had to do with the realization of all her
hopes and dreams for her daughters, but there was also the
unexpected delight she found in the infant grandson whom Rosalinda
and Andrea had produced on the previous Christmas Eve, and in
anticipation of a second grandchild from Bianca and Vanni in the
coming autumn. There was a third, more intimate reason for
Eleonora’s happiness and it awaited her, rather impatiently, on the
terrace.

“Do not let me keep you from your bed,
Andrea,” Eleonora said to her son-in-law. “You will want to be
alert and rested when your brother arrives later today. Bianca did
say they would be here before sunset.”

“Ah, Madonna Eleonora, from the very first
you have always understood me.” Andrea kissed her on the cheek
before he strode out of the sitting room.

He was scarcely gone before Francesco poked
his head through the open doorway to the terrace and leered at
Eleonora.

“Are we alone at last?” Francesco asked.

“For a little while.” Eleonora left the
sitting room to join her husband.

It was a warm and sunny mid-June day, and the
rosebushes were in full bloom. Eleonora stood at the top of the
steps to the garden, breathing in the soft, delicate fragrance of
the white roses and the rich, sensual perfume of the red roses. It
was a heady combination. When Francesco came up behind her and
wrapped his arms around her waist, Eleonora felt positively dizzy
with delight.

“Perhaps we should retire for a nap
ourselves, before the ducal retinue from Monteferro appears,”
Francesco suggested.

“What a lecherous old man you have turned out
to be.” Eleonora leaned back against her husband’s broad chest.

“
Did no
one warn you about aging
condottieri
before you married me?” Francesco teased.
He turned Eleonora around to face him and his blue eyes were
twinkling. “I must confess, madonna, that no one told me about the
lecherous interests of dowager duchesses, either.”

“You are a truly wicked man, Francesco.”
Eleonora caught her breath just as his mouth met hers.

“Bianca and Vanni won’t stay long,” Eleonora
remarked when Francesco finally released her from a long and heated
kiss. “The next heir to Monteferro must be born in the city, and
Vanni won’t want to subject Bianca to a homeward journey too near
her time.”

“I smell a plan in the air,” Francesco said.
“A plan that will remove us from this peaceful villa and force us
to Monteferro by early September.”

“Will you mind very much?”

“Not if we can return here before winter
comes.” Francesco lifted his gaze to the mountains and the blue,
blue sky. A happy expression softened the craggy contours of his
face. “This place is home to me now, Eleonora. Every day I thank
your father for building Villa Serenita and for giving it to you.
However, there is one change I would like to make.”

“Oh?” Eleonora’s voice took on a slight edge
at the suggestion that Villa Serenita was not perfect. “What change
is that, Francesco?”

“Just a small improvement to the garden.”
With an amused tilt to his mouth, Francesco considered the herbs
and the flowers and the little pool with the Florentine iris
growing at its edge.

“What is wrong with my garden?” Eleonora
demanded.

“Nothing is wrong. I merely wish to make an
addition, in honor of you and of our most improbable, but
altogether wonderful, love.” Francesco pointed to a sunny corner.
“There, I think, would be the ideal spot. We will put a bench just
in front of it, so we can sit while we enjoy the spicy fragrance
and the view of villa and mountains.”

“
A bench
in front of what?” Eleonora pushed herself out of Francesco’s arms
to stand facing him with fists planted on her hips. “I will not
allow you to alter my garden. I have worked long and hard on
it—”

“This garden needs another rosebush,”
Francesco interrupted her. “You have planted a white rose for
Bianca, and a red rose for Rosalinda, but where is a bush for
you?”

“For me?” Eleonora said, looking thoroughly
astonished. “I never thought of such a thing.”

“
Then,
it’s time you did. I envision a rose with flowers as pink as your
cheeks when your anger is aroused – or your desire,” he said,
kissing one of those cheeks, which was glowing with a distinctly
rosy tinge. “Furthermore, the bush planted in your honor will
produce a bloom with petals as soft as your lips and a scent as
tantalizing and spicy as your embrace. This lovely rose will, of
course, be cursed with thorns, but they will only make the blossoms
it bears seem all the sweeter once they are successfully
plucked.”

“A soldier, and a poet, too,” Eleonora
murmured, returning to his embrace. “You are quite right,
Francesco, my dear. We do need another rosebush.”

“I am glad you approve of my plan, because
Vanni and Bianca are bringing the very bush with them today.”

Francesco kissed her quickly, before Eleonora
could protest this announcement, which clearly indicated that he
had made up his mind about the change to her garden before
discussing it with her. After a moment, Eleonora ceased her efforts
to get free of his embrace so she could argue the point with him.
Instead, she gave herself up to the pleasure she always found in
Francesco’s kisses. It was some time before she could speak
again.

“We will plant the new rosebush together,”
she said, “but I will tell you exactly where to place it, and I
will decide where that bench you mentioned should be.”

“Of course, my love. Whatever you want,”
Francesco murmured, and bent his head to kiss her again.