Chapter 2 #2
“I’ve never had such a gown,” Bianca marveled.
“The color suits you,” Francesca said ruefully. “It wouldn’t suit me at all.”
“You are many years away from such a gown as this,” their mother said. “Do not be in such a hurry to grow up, my daughter.”
“But if I can grow up quickly,” Francesca said, “I can marry that Venetian prince you were considering for Bianca before Signore Rovere asked for my sister. Our grandfather must be very disappointed to have that match stolen from beneath his very aristocratic nose.”
Orianna sighed. “You are too outspoken, Francesca,” she scolded. “And you must stop listening at doors. Do not deny it, for we both know it is the truth.”
“But nobody ever tells me anything,” Francesca complained.
“Much of what you learn is not your business, which is why you are not told,” her mother replied sternly.
Then Orianna turned back to Bianca. “I will call for you when it is time for us to introduce you to Signore Rovere. He is certain to want a bit of time alone with you. Say as little as possible to him, and be modest.”
“Would he decide to change his mind if I forgot my manners, Madre? If that be the case then I shall do what I must to discourage him,” Bianca replied.
“Regretfully, it will not change his mind, for he is determined to have the most beautiful maiden in Florence as his wife,” her mother said. “Signore Rovere is a collector of fine and rare things, my daughter. You are one such thing, and as it is within his grasp to have you, he will.”
Bianca shuddered and Orianna put a hand on her shoulder to reassure her.
A servant came to tell the mistress of the house that their guest was even now coming through the little park towards the palazzo door. Kissing Bianca upon the top of her dark head, Orianna hurried off to join her husband. Together they greeted Sebastiano Rovere, ushering him into their palazzo.
“You honor our house,” the silk merchant said, welcoming their guest and bowing.
“’Tis I who am honored,” Sebastiano Rovere replied, bowing in return.
“Allow me to present my wife, Orianna Venier, to you, signore.”
Sebastiano Rovere bowed over Orianna’s elegant little hand, kissing it. “Signora,” he murmured. “The legend of your beauty does not do you justice.”
“I am flattered by your gracious words,” Orianna answered him, wanting to yank her hand away from him, but with supreme self-control allowing him the time to release it.
“We will have wine in the gardens,” Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo said.
“A charming idea,” their guest agreed. “And I will be allowed at long last to meet your daughter, the lady Bianca, soon?”
“Of course,” the silk merchant replied as he led them outside.
It was early evening and the sun had not yet set.
They sat together upon two marble benches amid the greenery.
A well-trained servant brought silver goblets of sweet wine for them.
Sebastiano Rovere noted the goblets were decorated with small stones of black onyx amid pale gold scrollwork.
They were exquisite, and for a brief moment he was jealous, for he did not believe he possessed any goblets as fine.
“Is the wine to your taste, Signore Rovere?” the silk merchant inquired politely.
“It is delicious,” was the reply. “Will you not ask your daughter to come and share it with us?” Rovere pressed Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo.
Orianna raised her hand, and a servant was immediately at her side. “Tell Fabia to fetch the lady Bianca to us,” she said in her beautifully modulated voice. Then she turned to their guest. “It will be but a few moments, signore, but before my child joins us I have a boon to ask of you.”
Sebastiano Rovere was surprised, but he was feeling extremely pleased with himself at this moment. “Please, signora, you have but to ask.”
“You have requested that Bianca no longer attend Mass at Santa Anna Dolce with me. Please, signore, I beg that you rescind that order. I understand your concerns, and I share them with you. But soon Bianca will be gone from my side. I have gained such great pleasure these past months worshiping in my daughter’s company.
Perhaps if you would escort us to the church yourself several times, your august presence would discourage any bad behavior, along with the knowledge of your betrothal.
” Orianna reached out and put an elegant, beringed hand on his velvet-clad arm.
“Please, signore, do not refuse a mother’s plea.
” She gave him a small smile, astounded by the cold eyes that looked back at her.
He considered her words. It was hardly a request he could refuse without appearing mean-spirited.
He forced a smile. “If it means so much to you, signora, then of course I will grant your boon.” Then catching a movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned his head.
His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the girl in her rose-pink gown.
He came to his feet, pleased to see he towered over her.
He felt his cock twitch beneath his elegant robe, pressing almost painfully against the fabric of his trunk hose.
“Thank you, signore,” Orianna said, almost cringing at the lust that touched his face when he saw Bianca, though it disappeared as quickly as it had come.
“Come forward, Bianca,” her father said, beckoning her.
She had gotten a quick look at him before he had seen her. He was a handsome man, Bianca thought. Perhaps it would not be so bad after all, even if he was twice her age. She glided forward, eyes lowered, her ebony lashes brushing her ivory cheekbones.
She curtsied perfectly without so much as a wobble.
Beauty and grace, Sebastiano Rovere thought, well pleased. For once the gossips had not lied. If truth be told, they had not praised her highly enough.
“Signore Rovere, may I present to you my eldest daughter, Bianca. If having seen her now she continues to please you, then she is yours to wife,” Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo said, almost choking on the words as he said them.
How could he do this? And yet if he did not, his eldest son—their family—would be ruined by this vile, powerful man.
“I am overwhelmed by the exquisite beauty and purity I see in your daughter’s face.
Her presence as my wife will bring great honor to my house, and I will gladly have her to wife,” Sebastiano Rovere said.
Then, suddenly reaching out, he took up the girl’s small hand, kissed it almost reverently, asking her, “And will you have me for your husband, Bianca Pietro d’Angelo? ”
No! No! No! she wanted to shriek, but she knew what was expected of her. “I am magnified that you would have me, signore.”
He kissed her hand again, this time a bit more enthusiastically. “We will walk together in your father’s garden,” he said without even bothering to ask her parents for their permission.
Startled but not knowing what else to do, Bianca turned away with him.
He led her from their sight deeper and deeper into the greenery and floral beds until finally they came to a single marble bench set amid some rosebushes.
He drew her down, seating himself next to her.
Bianca was a little frightened. She had never before been alone with a man.
She wasn’t very comfortable. “I think we should go back to my parents,” she said nervously. Her heart was thundering.
He laughed softly and lowly, which frightened her further.
“You have never been with a man before, have you? Of course you haven’t,” he said with a chuckle.
“Do you realize that I am the only man you will ever be allowed to be alone with, Bianca? I am to be your lord and your master. You will obey my every wish.”
She was silent but suddenly angry at his presumption.
“Look at me! I want to see your eyes, Bianca,” he told her. His fingers grasped her small chin and almost forced her head up.
She was going to have to look directly at him.
She felt brief nausea but swallowed it back.
She could not, would not, be afraid of this man.
Fear gave the instigator of that emotion power over his victim, and while she must wed him, she would not give him the privilege of controlling her heart, her mind, or her soul.
Bianca raised her lashes and looked directly into the dark eyes of the man she was to marry.
It was like looking into black ice. “The color of my eyes is said to be unique,” she told him quietly.
Sebastiano Rovere stared, amazed by the beauty and clarity of the girl’s eyes.
He would find aquamarines to match their color and have a necklace and ear dangles made for her.
He would have her wear them naked with her hair down.
Blue, ivory, and ebony. The mental picture in his mind was almost too much to bear as he considered her spread upon his bed, ready for him.
His male member ached painfully. “Will you give me a kiss, Bianca?” his voice rasped.
Slowly, slowly, he cautioned himself. She was innocent.
Bianca was startled by the bold request. “Signore, I do not believe such a thing would be considered proper by my parents.”
“The betrothal agreement has already been signed,” he told her. “You are mine but for the wedding ceremony, Bianca. Your beauty, your manner have all pleased me.”
He grasped her by her slender shoulders. “I must taste your lips!” And he put his lips on hers, his lust communicating itself quite clearly to the girl.
Bianca was horrified. The kiss. Her first kiss screamed with his need to possess her totally. She struggled against him, yanking her head away from the marauding mouth that assaulted her. “Signore!” she gasped, and then breaking away, she fled from him into the thick greenery of the gardens.