Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Beatrice, wait,” Giovanni said, grabbing at Beatrice’s shoulder from behind. “Don’t be angry.”
“Leave me alone, Gio,” Beatrice sniffed, shaking him off as she tremulously pulled on her stockings. “Go and get the carriage ready.”
“What?” Giovanni exclaimed behind her. “But it’s barely dawn. No one will be awake.”
“Then go and wake them,” Beatrice commanded, tying her stocking tops and trying not to shake with rage.
“Beatrice, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” Giovanni stroked her back. The touch was so alluring, so magnetic, that she had to push herself forwards, focusing on her hands to resist the urge to fall back into his arms.
“I’m not upset,” she lied, standing up and crossing the floor to retrieve her gown. “Please, just go and make preparations for our departure.”
“Why?” Giovanni asked, nonplussed.
“If we leave within the hour, we could be at Fallenbrook for breakfast.” Beatrice shook her gown, stepping into her petticoat and tying the ribbon at the side.
“That’s not what I meant,” Giovanni said, shuffling to the end of the bed on his knees, his shirt still open at the collar, revealing his delicious neck and the dark wisps of his chest hair. Beatrice forced herself to look away.
“You should get dressed,” she said, slipping her shoes on.
“Why is it that we must suddenly leave?” Giovanni demanded, climbing off the bed and crossing to the fire to shake out his breeches. Beatrice tried not to look at the muscled length of his brown legs, how his shirt rose slightly at the sides to reveal the paler skin of his hips.
“Because the rain has stopped, and the way is clear,” Beatrice was trying to keep her voice level as she looked in the mirror and tried to assess the damage their nightly adventures had done to her hair. “It’s time to go.”
“That isn’t the reason,” Giovanni’s voice was rising. Clearly, he had none of the same worries about keeping his tone under control. “Tell me.”
“Maybe it is because I can no longer stand to be in the same room as you,” Beatrice retorted, whirling around to glare at him. “Have you considered that?”
“So, you are angry with me.” In two short strides, Giovanni had dropped his breeches and crossed the room to grab her upper arms, pulling her close to his chest.
“Gio, stop it.”
She hadn’t yet put on her gown and her breasts, clad only in stays and shift, were pressed against his shirt, her nipples perilously close to exposure.
She could feel the naked skin of his legs through the thinness of her shift.
It was enticing. All she wanted was to melt into his arms, but she wouldn’t let herself, not after everything he had said.
“I am not angry,” she lied again, pushing him away as firmly as she could. It had little impact, and he still held onto her bare upper arms as tightly as a vice. “I am just done, Gio.”
“What does that mean?” Giovanni said, his hands moving up to her neck, his thumbs caressing her jaw. Beatrice didn’t understand how he could follow what he had said with these actions. She resolved that the only way forward was to be as cold and dismissive as he had been with her.
“It means I am done pursuing you,” Beatrice said coldly. She pulled away, putting her gown on. “I am done with trying to persuade you of my feelings. I am done with you.”
“Done with me?” Giovanni raised his eyebrows. He looked like he didn’t believe her. She hardly believed herself, but she wanted it to be true. She wanted all of this to be over so she wouldn’t feel this pain anymore.
“Yes. Done.” Beatrice pulled her gown over her head, using the moment when the red fabric covered her face to blurt out her choked truth.
“I am done with having my heart trampled on, Giovanni Amante.”
“Trampled?” She emerged from her gown to see Giovanni standing close to her again, waiting for her to put her arms through the sleeves of her gown so that he could grab her hands and hold them close. “You think I am trampling on your heart?”
“You don’t respect me.” Beatrice tried to pull her hands away, but Giovanni was gripping them so tightly she almost couldn’t feel the tips of her fingers.
“How can you say that?” he exclaimed, his brows furrowing with fury. He was completely unconcerned by the fact that she was nearly completely dressed, and he was naked apart from his shirt. “After last night? After everything we did?”
“It is not what we did, it is what you said,” Beatrice snapped, jerking her hands away and doing up the buttons of her gown, fumbling uselessly with the top one.
She didn’t want to look down but couldn’t help herself.
Through the cream shirt, she could see the tented prominence of his manhood.
It took her breath away. She wondered briefly if anyone had ever wanted anyone as much as she wanted him.
No. I won’t do this anymore, not after what he said.
“That I don’t want to risk your safety?” Giovanni looked down at her like he couldn’t understand a word she was saying. “That you mean so much to me that I would never, ever let any danger come to you?”
“That is not what I heard,” Beatrice glared at him, unable to hold back the anger she felt inside. His words had cut her deeply, all the more deeply for following on the heels of such life-changing intimacy. “What I heard was a man saying I was not worth the risk.”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it,” Giovanni growled. He pushed her back against the dressing table, his hands gripping her hips tightly.
“Don’t,” Beatrice’s voice was suddenly hoarse. When he held her like that, all she could think of was how much she wanted him to put his hands on her and not stop touching her until she reached the heights of pleasure she had achieved just hours before.
“Don’t what?” Giovanni set his lips to her jaw, his fingers grasping the fabric tightly at the back of her gown. “Don’t remind you of how much you mean to me?”
“Don’t play with me,” she whispered angrily.
“Does it seem like I’m playing?” Giovanni demanded, gently biting her chest so that she gasped and threaded her fingers through his hair. “Tell me, Beatrice. Does it seem like I have anything in mind but pleasing you?”
Beatrice gave in to it. She bent her head to meet his lips, opening her mouth to allow his eager, roving tongue to meet hers.
The sweet rush of his warm breath entered her body, and she couldn’t help the fire it lit there.
He growled against her mouth, his hands lifting her onto the dressing table, and she couldn’t help herself from wrapping her legs around his waist. Instantly his fingers dropped to her knees, digging his short nails into her thighs and kissing her urgently as he pulled her skirts up.
“Can’t you tell?” He growled, ripping up the hem of his shirt and pushing his naked self against her. Beatrice gasped to feel the strength of his manhood pressing against her core—warm tight skin meeting hot damp flesh. No matter what she said, her desire for him was evident.
“Can’t you feel how much I want you?”
The white-hot burn of desire was almost enough to block out her anger and disappointment.
It was certainly enough to blind her for a moment.
It was like a rushing tide of passion was whipping them both away.
His growls and grunts spurred her on as she locked her ankles behind him, allowing him to rub himself against her.
The delightful friction of the intimate parts of their bodies meeting made her pant against him, her lips desperately finding his.
They were not soft or gentle kisses as they had been the night before.
They were not questioning or curious. Now, Beatrice felt as if they were both savages, driven by a need to prove something to one another—of only she knew what.
His desire was evident, but she knew he had one goal now.
He dropped his fingers between her legs, opening her up like a flower as his fingers suddenly delved inside her.
“Gio!” Beatrice gasped, her head flopping back against the mirror.
“Yes,” Giovanni growled. “You are perfect, Bea, perfect.”
All she could think about was the strong pressure building with each flicker of his fingers.
She was aware they were rocking the table, that items were falling off, she was aware of the perspiration on his brow and the way her nails were digging into his shoulders, but she didn’t care.
She felt herself screaming out, biting against his chest as she felt his hand fumbling between them, covering his manhood with his fist as he climaxed against her.
He was a little too slow and she could feel warm slickness against her inner thigh.
“Oh, Bea, amore, you mean so much to me,” he groaned into her neck.
But not enough that you will marry me.
Beatrice pushed him away forcefully and he stumbled back, eyes wild.
“What was that for?” He demanded.
Beatrice covered her mouth with her hand to stop herself from crying. She had thought it would be enough. Somehow, she had thought that if they found pleasure together just as they had done last night, they would be able to return to that warm, kind place of intimacy and hope. It wasn’t enough.
“I can’t, Gio,” she said, her voice broken.
“Bea,” he took a step towards her, but she held up a trembling hand, keeping him away. She could feel the dampness of his seed on her legs. He looked so desirable and raw at that moment; neck flushed, hair tangled, the edge of his shirt damp with her wetness, his feet bare. She couldn’t stand it.
“I offered you everything,” she said, shaking from head to toe. “I offered you myself, my life, the chance to bear your children...and you said no. Again. You rejected me. Again.”
“Because I care for you, Bea,” Giovanni protested. “You know I do.”
“I know you do,” she nodded. “But you care for Silas and his opinion more. That’s why you won’t have me, even though I am prepared to risk everything, even my relationship with the only family I’ve ever known, for you.”
“I’ve never asked you to do that,” Giovanni whispered, his face taut and pale.