Beloved (60 page)

The two men looked at each other. It was somethng neither of them wanted to consider.

“Well, it’s easy enough to find out,” Robert concluded. “I’ll send Denis into town to get something for Christina from her house. That should answer the question. Meanwhile, make your plans as quickly as you can.”

“I’d like to send a message with Denis for Maryse. I want to stay with her for a day or two.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“Do you have any other suggestions?” Richard asked in exasperation. “I can hardly go to the townhouse or to an inn. But Yves could meet me at Maryse’s and we could make the arrangements with no one the wiser.”

“I suppose you’re right. But I wouldn’t tell Christina where you plan to stay.”

“I don’t intend to.”

Richard watched Christina dry herself after her bath. For the thousandth time he thanked Fortune for reuniting them. He helped her into her robe, putting his arms around her from behind and holding her tightly. He kissed her gently on the side of her neck and then along the top of her shoulder. He chuckled quietly against the soft material of her robe.

“What?”

“Nothing, Love. I was just remembering that day in the garden when you were comparing yourself to the little statue of Venus.”

Christina smiled. She remembered. How many times had she lost herself in those happy memories over the last seven years? Richard’s hands slid up to gently cup her breasts, swollen with her pregnancy.

“It seems that you’ve acquired a few curves of your own, in spite of your fears.” His hands moved down to her belly, pressing her gently. “And a few more that our little Venus only longed for.”

She turned to him and he enfolded her in his arms.

“Do you mind very much?”

“Mind what?”

“My new curves.”

He laughed. “Dear heart, I’ve been waiting for a child of ours since you were ten years old. Do you think that after so many years I might have changed my mind?”

She leaned against him, closing her eyes. “Oh, Richard. I want so very much to be your wife.”

Richard’s eyes closed, too, for a moment as he thought of the woman he had nearly married, the woman who had, in fact, been a wife to him for the last seven years.

“We’ve been promised to each other all our lives. Nothing can change that. We spent our wedding night in the stable at Beauvu.” He pushed her away a little so he could look into her eyes. “I wanted so much more for you, but you are my wife, Chrissa. We know it and God knows it. That’s all that matters.”

Two days later, after Compline, Richard arrived at Christina’s room with her supper. She’d been walking with Robert in the cloister after the service and apparently had not yet returned, so he set about removing his clothes and boots from the bottom of the blanket chest while he waited for her. He was putting some things into a bag when she flew through the door.

Christina was excited and out of breath, her cheeks flushed from hurrying up three flights of stairs.

“Richard,” she said breathlessly. “Look what Robert has found for me! A book of Louise Labé’s poems!”

Suddenly, she realized that his traveling clothes were laid out on the back of the little sofa and she stopped. “What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving early tomorrow,” he answered, not looking up from the things he was packing. When she said nothing, he finally turned, and seeing the stricken look on her face, couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, Chrissa,” he said, as he went to her, putting his arms around her. “It’s only for a few days. I have to go to Arles and make the arrangements for us to leave.”

Christina clung to him, suddenly terrified at the thought of being separated from him, and even more frightened by the idea of him going to Arles where he might be recognized.

“Please…” she whispered. “Take me with you. Please don’t leave me…”

Richard regretted making light of the situation. He realized she was truly terrified of any separation, no matter the reason or necessity. He kissed the top of her head, stroking the back of her neck.

“I can’t take you with me, my Love. It will be difficult enough to keep from being recognized, myself.” He pushed her away from him, his hands on her shoulders. “No, Beloved,” he said, his lips brushing her cheek. “You must stay right here and take care of this child of ours.” He slid his hand down to gently caress her belly.

She took his hand, pressing it to her lips as her eyes closed in a silent prayer that this fragile, safe, new world of hers would not be split asunder. She began to tremble and Richard put his arms around her again. He took her over by the fire and sat down with her, holding her tightly.

“Chrissa, you mustn’t upset yourself. I’ll only be gone for a day or two. I want us to leave as soon as possible. It will be safest for us to take the ship, and in order to do that, I must meet with Yves at the warehouse. I’m afraid he’s the only one I’m sure I can trust.”

“But they’ll be looking for you. I heard Robert say that there were policemen at your father’s funeral.”

Lord, how in the world had she overheard that?
“Yes, there were policemen. But since they didn’t find me at my own father’s funeral, there’s no reason for them to think that I might be here, now. If I’m careful, I’m sure there won’t be any problem.”

She looked up at him. “Can’t we just stay here?”

Richard smiled. He kissed her. “Tell me, do you really want to raise our children in this one room?”

She smiled, but it faded quickly. “How long will you be gone then?”

“With luck, no longer than two days.”

Christina sighed, resigned to the forced separation.

“Come now,” Richard said, trying to coax a smile. “Why don’t you read me some of those poems?”

Es-tu content, Mon Amour? Se puisse-t-il que malgré tout,

nous trouverons un peu de bonheur dans cette vie?

—Rudot

Are you content, My Love? Is it possible that we will yet glean a little happiness from this life?

Février 1760

Arles

The weather on the trip back to Arles was surprisingly pleasant, but Guy hardly noticed. He was anxious to see Christina. As the tedious hours of travel dragged on, he lost himself in thoughts of their future. The idea of Christina with a child,
his child
, gave him a lot to think about. He was happy Stefano had returned, that he had apparently learned his lesson and was ready to take his proper place in Guy’s household.
Yes. Finally.
The family he had longed for, the family he was determined to have, was coming together at last and this time there would be nothing to tear it apart.

Yet, there was the question of the bracelet. It had been the only disturbing note in Dom Louis’s letter. He would have to talk to that Rouverault fellow and then Robert would certainly have some explaining to do. It didn’t really seem possible that Richard would send a gift to Christina after so many years, and especially when Richard was, himself, newly married.

Well, Guy thought, if for some reason Christina fancied herself in love with Richard again, he could always tell her about Richard’s new wife. Richard had gone from an Oriental whore to an Italian one. Surely his taste in women would disgust Christina if she knew about it, and, if it became necessary, Guy was willing to make sure she did.

It would all be settled soon enough.

Stefano was lost in thoughts of his own. Since returning to Venice, he’d felt reasonably in control of his relationship with Guy, but things were rapidly changing and he had no idea why. Guy was becoming more remote. By the time they’d boarded the boat at Genoa, Stefano was beginning to feel he was traveling with someone he hardly knew, a distinctly uncomfortable sensation. Past experience had taught him the danger of Guy’s erratic temper and he’d learned that lesson well.

Several days earlier Stefano had tried to persuade Guy to tell him if they would be returning to Venice in the near future, but Guy would only say, “It depends.” He’d refused to say on what. So Stefano had done his best to mask his impatience and give every appearance of enjoying the trip.

As the endless hours of travel crawled by, Stefano spent the time imagining how Christina would react when she saw him again, and in each scenario she was overjoyed at his return. She had missed him. She realized that he was the man she truly loved. Occasionally, he would lose control of these fantasies and Christina would beg him to take her away with him. This led to a host of uncomfortable thoughts, which he quickly put aside. Stefano assumed they would indeed go away together, but the details of how he might manage to provide for her weren’t worthy of his consideration at this point. He contented himself with thoughts of their reunion, which he had succeeded in convincing himself would be sweet.

Due to the good weather, Guy and Stefano arrived in Arles late Tuesday night, nearly a full day earlier than expected. Guy had sent André and Marie on ahead so the house was ready and Agnes was expecting them.

That night, after a late cold supper, Stefano determined it was time for him to gain the upper hand with Guy again, since Christina would soon, no doubt, be joining them. They were in the library. The house was silent but for the crackle of the fire.

“Are you all right?” Stefano asked solicitously as he poured them both a brandy.

Guy stood before the fireplace, one elbow on the marble mantelpiece, obviously lost in thought. When Stefano spoke, Guy turned and glanced at him, but only briefly.

“I’m just tired. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Stefano asked slowly.

“No.” Guy ran a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes. “Not now.”

Stefano let a moment pass in silence, just enough time to allow himself to sound wounded.

“I’m beginning to think that you might be sorry you brought me along.”

“What?” Guy looked at Stefano, surprised. “No. Not at all.”

“I know you came back to see Christina. Is anything wrong?”

Guy smiled, but to Stefano, his eyes seemed to reflect some malice.

“No. Quite the contrary.”

“Good.” Stefano’s own carefully calculated expression was filled with tender concern. “Come and sit with me,” he said, motioning to the space beside him on the sofa.

When Guy sat down, he handed him the glass of brandy. As Guy took it, Stefano’s hand dropped down and rested lightly on Guy’s thigh.

“We used to do this often, do you remember?” Stefano said, just a bit wistfully. Then he looked into Guy’s eyes with a smoldering intensity carefully calculated to convey desire. “I’m very happy to be with you again.”

“Are you?”

To Stefano’s surprise, the tone of Guy’s reply was suspicious, smug and a bit nasty.

“Do you have some reason to doubt it?” Stefano said softly as his hand tightened on Guy’s leg.

“I hope you won’t give me one.” Guy’s cold eyes bored into Stefano’s. “I prefer to believe that all our difficulties are behind us.” Having made his point, he rested his head against the back of the sofa and stared at the flickering shadows on the ceiling.

Stefano dropped his gaze to follow his fingers as they moved to Guy’s chest, where they lingered then gently began to unbutton Guy’s waistcoat.

“Are you looking forward to seeing Christina again?” Guy asked slowly. His eyes remained closed, his tone of voice one of idle curiosity.

“Of course.” Stefano’s gaze remained on his slowly moving fingers. He was not about to be taken in by Guy’s feigned disinterest. “I hope she won’t be angry with me, anymore. I didn’t like her coming between us.”

“Is that what happened?” Guy replied sarcastically, rolling his head to look at Stefano.

“Isn’t it?” Stefano, suddenly quite serious, looked into Guy’s eyes, his fingers motionless on the lace at Guy’s throat.

“I rather thought you were suffering from some inflated sense of self-importance.” Guy had some difficulty controlling his voice. Behind the beard it was still Richard’s face, now only inches from his own.

Stefano looked injured and withdrew his hand. He stood up.

“I suppose it might have seemed that way.” He went to the shelf for the bottle of brandy and returned to refill their glasses. He wanted Guy to drink a little too much. “I guess you never did know how frightened I was.”

Stefano looked into Guy’s eyes with such soul-baring sincerity that Guy was unable to look away.

“Frightened of what?” Guy whispered. Never had Stefano seemed so much like Richard as he did at that moment, even with that beard. Guy reached for his brandy, shaken and not understanding why.

Stefano stepped closer, standing right in front of him until he finally had to look up.

“Frightened of losing you,” he said softly. He reached out then and tenderly touched Guy’s cheek.

The alcohol was clouding Guy’s perceptions. He knew it was Stefano’s hand on his face but he would have sworn it was Richard’s.

“It wasn’t Christina?” he whispered.

“It was never Christina. It was always you. Always.”

“But you loved her.”

“No. She’s lovely, of course, and an interesting diversion. But it was you I wanted. Your strength. I needed that.” Stefano paused, seeing that his words were having the desired effect. “I still want that. I still need you.”

Guy stared, his expression one of disbelief. These were words he never imagined he’d hear. Could it be true? Slowly, his arms wound around Stefano’s legs and he pressed his face against his body.

Stefano smiled as he ran his fingers through Guy’s hair.
That’s better. Much better.

Denis dropped Richard off at Maryse’s townhouse late Tuesday morning and went on to pick up some things for Robert from the library at St. Trophime. Maryse’s majordomo, Phillipe, admitted Richard and led him to the salon where Maryse sat reading. She looked up and smiled when they entered, but she didn’t move until Phillipe left them alone together. Then she burst into a brilliant smile and ran to him like a young girl, jumping up to throw her arms around his neck.

“Richard! It’s so good to see you.”

Richard was surprised by the enthusiastic reception, but he hugged her and kissed her cheeks. She was as beautiful as ever and her amazing mouth still had a profound effect on him.