Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Beatrice was dancing with Giovanni in the garden.
Mist fell around them and white rose petals scattered the floor.
Held in the tightness of his embrace, she felt safe, comforted, as if nothing could be better.
Then she felt his hand moving up her spine to the bare skin of her back, a thumb tracing along the edge of her gown.
She felt tremors inside her but continued to waltz as if her feet were barely touching the ground.
Giovanni’s scent was overpowering her, the smell of bright oranges and spicy tobacco.
His strong fingers trailed up her spine to tangle into her hair, his green eyes shining in the moonlight as he tilted his face even closer to hers.
“What do you want, Bella?” He whispered. With one arm around her waist, he tipped her backwards in a romantic lean so Beatrice could see the moon shining behind him.
“You,” she whispered. “Only you.”
His lips crushed hers, his tongue exploring her mouth and his hands cradling her face as he pulled her back upright. Beatrice’s fingers found their way into his hair, soft and so heavily scented.
“Oh, Gio,” she gasped as his hands roved over her breasts. “I want you so badly.”
In a moment, he had pushed her against a Grecian pillar, his hands lifting her skirts and pulling her stockinged legs around his waist.
“Have me, then,” he gasped back.
“Miss Klane? Miss Klane!”
Beatrice opened her eyes to see her maid, Georgia, calling her name as she opened the curtains in Beatrice’s room. Beatrice groaned and pushed the pillow over her face, wishing she could return to her dream.
“Are you all right, miss?” Georgia asked, striding to the bed. “You were crying out in your sleep, and you’re terribly flushed.”
“I am fine,” Beatrice groaned, trying not to sound too snappish or ungrateful, though her heart was racing a mile a minute and there was a persistent ache between her legs that she knew would have no relief.
“I shall open the window,” Georgia decided, nodding her head smartly. “You must get so hot under all these duvets.”
“Yes indeed,” Beatrice said, trying not to think that the heat radiating all over her body was due to the lingering sensation of Giovanni’s imagined hands sliding up underneath her dress. She lifted her hair away from her neck, allowing cold air to cool the sticky skin there.
“Take some water, miss.” Georgia poured her a glass from the jug on the side table and Beatrice drank gratefully. However, no amount of water could wash away the imprint of Giovanni’s face on her mind.
“Better?” Georgia asked, crossing to the wardrobe.
Beatrice nodded, lying. “Much.”
“What shall you wear today, miss?”
“My blue silk,” Beatrice said, pushing the blankets away from her hot flesh and sipping her water. “The one with the organza sleeves.”
“Really?” Georgia asked, frowning. “Are you expecting a caller today, miss? It is such a lovely gown.”
“No, no I only thought I might wear it since it was such a lovely day,” Beatrice lied brightly.
She did have a plan for today. She had spent the last two days avoiding it, barely being able to think or speak as her mind recalled her carriage ride with Giovanni.
The memories were so hazy, that on the first morning she woke up, she was sure it must have been a dream.
However, as the days passed, more details slipped back to her, mainly in her dreams.
What do you want? You. That was a new one.
She had fantasized about Giovanni in the past, but never with such lurid, specific details.
Besides, she could remember what his touch felt like.
She remembered how it made her feel. That could not be fabricated from her own imagination.
She was nearly completely convinced that despite the champagne and her piecemeal memories, her dreams were based on reality. But there was one problem—Giovanni.
He had been avoiding her, dodging her gaze, even turning around and walking in the other direction when he saw her. She knew he knew something about what had happened. He was hiding it, and today, Beatrice was going to find out exactly what he was trying to avoid.
Beatrice walked through the grand hallways of the Klane townhouse, knowing instinctively where she would find Giovanni.
At this time of day, late in the morning, he usually took a coffee in the small library at the back of the house after spending the morning with Silas in his study.
She slipped her head around the door. Giovanni was seated in a green leather-backed chair reading the newspaper, a small cup of coffee beside him.
He was so handsome in the morning light that it took her breath away for a moment.
Just the sight of him, of his dark eyebrows furrowed as he read and his large hands turning the pages, was enough to renew that flushing tingling all over her body.
Those hands brushing against the outline of her stockings. Those lips pressed against hers—that hair, soft and warm in her fingers.
She shook her head, trying to dislodge the persistent memories from two nights ago. She had to speak to him. He would be able to set her straight. However, how she could broach whether she really had done those things was beyond her.
“Gio,” she coughed, suddenly unsure how to address him after everything that had happened. “Giovanni.”
“Beatrice!”
He turned to look at her and jumped to his feet, accidentally spilling a little coffee on himself. He swore under his breath and shook the damp newspaper out in front of him before turning to her. His eyes were wary.
“Miss Klane, how can I help you?”
Beatrice’s heart dropped at his formal expression.
She wondered if it were possible for a man to treat her with such formal indifference after holding her so closely, kissing her so intimately.
Had she misunderstood her memories? Or perhaps Giovanni simply didn’t want to remember.
Either way, Beatrice was going to find out where he stood.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Beatrice said, quietly closing the door behind her. She noticed the way Giovanni’s eyes flickered between her and the door. He was never usually this twitchy around her, but he shook his head, smiling in his usual charming way.
“Oh, have you missed me?”
He sweetly tilted his head to one side, but didn’t meet her eyes. It felt like an imitation of the friendly banter they usually had together, as if he was striving for normalcy but was unable to achieve it.
“Your brother has been keeping me very busy.”
“Not every second of the day,” Beatrice rebuked him, stepping towards him with the caution that she might use to approach a nervous horse. She observed him for signs of interest or arousal, anything that would confirm her memories of the carriage ride and the man who had clung to her so hungrily.
“Well, I assumed you were embarrassed,” Giovanni said slowly. Beatrice’s heart jumped. Was he going to admit that they had kissed? “After drinking too much at the ball.”
“Ah.” Beatrice nodded, trying to decide if she thought that was reason enough for his strange behavior. “I feared that you were avoiding me?—”
“I’m not,” Giovanni interrupted a bit too quickly.
“—Because I had done something terrible to offend you,” Beatrice paused. “Were you very upset with me? Was it for the drinking?”
“No, of course not,” Giovanni shook his head, smiling in his usual way but still not meeting her gaze. “I have not been avoiding you, and you have done nothing wrong.”
His words should have been comforting, but they sounded hollow—like something he was saying to make her go away.
The trouble was Beatrice couldn’t tell which part was a lie.
Was he pretending he wasn’t angry with her for drinking, or had she done nothing wrong when he knew that they had kissed?
She swallowed hard, trying to think of a way to test him.
“I suppose I should take more care next time,” she dipped her head, trying to look contrite. “I should have eaten more supper before leaving. Still, no harm done, I suppose.”
“It happens,” Giovanni shrugged, looking out the sunny window. “Like you said, no harm done.”
Based on her memories of what happened before the carriage ride and of Giovanni’s anger at her drunken state, she felt that if he was still angry, she would definitely feel it now.
He would be baited by her saying that no harm was done and give her a lecture as he had done before they left the ball.
Instead, he looked as if he was distracted from what she was saying. She decided to try a different tack.
“You know,” she began slowly, “I’m actually struggling to remember exactly what happened after we left the ball.”
“Oh?”
That had got his attention. To anyone else, it would have seemed like Giovanni was simply alert, but Beatrice knew him well enough to know the signs of when he was paying close attention.
His usually active hands stilled, and his usually diverting eyes were starkly focused.
He was listening carefully to what she was saying.
Beatrice thought he even looked like he was holding his breath.
She didn’t think that he would look so tense if nothing had happened between them.
She had lived all of her life around men with secrets, and he looked like a man with a secret to hide. She decided to probe a little further.
“Yes, it might be the champagne, but my memory seems… a little fuzzy.”