Master: An Erotic Novel of the Count of Monte Cristo (7 page)

He’d helped her realize that she was still alive, and could still feel.

Which was why, although she would never admit it even to herself, when she ran from Paris, she came to Marseille and walked along the wharf, hoping.

And so, later that afternoon, on her fourth day in Marseille, Mercédès once again made her excuses to Julie and left for her walk. Her friend could have accompanied her, but at her late stage of pregnancy, a nap was more prudent.

Dressed in a simple day gown of pale pink wool, and a cloak of heavier wool to protect her against the bite of the November sea wind, Mercédès made her way along the streets, following the path she took every day. Past Morrel and Company, toward the tang of the salty air and the busyness of the docks.

She watched for a time, looking for the tall, bearded Sinbad and remembering the tall, lithe figure of Edmond striding toward her, lately from a ship’s deck. The cold bit the tip of her nose, and her fingers had become stiff. The pungent smell of fish filled the breeze, bothering Mercédès, and at last she turned to go back.

But just beyond the bustle of the wharves, she felt someone behind her. Her heart began to thump in her throat, and the back of her neck prickled. She turned.

It wasn’t Sinbad. It was no one she recognized. A man, perhaps in his middle forties, of average height and with the swarthy skin of a Greek, approached her. She realized he was holding a gun when he came close enough to prod her with it.

“Now you shall not be hurt, madam,” he said calmly. “But you must come with me.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” she asked, looking around. But no one passing by seemed to notice what was happening. There were four sailors, carrying a heavy crate hoisted on their shoulders. A cluster of women, giggling and pointing and watching the display of muscles from the aforementioned sailors, paid no mind to the single woman being edged back toward the docks.

“I am Jacopo,” said the man. “Come with me.” He poked her a bit harder with the weapon, and Mercédès had no choice but to follow. “You will not be injured if you do as I say.”

“But what do you want from me?” she asked.

“I am taking you to my master.” He directed her around a corner, and suddenly she realized they were at the far end of the docks, near one that was fairly deserted but for a single, well-appointed yacht that sat all by itself. Honey-colored wood gleamed in the sun, and startling white sails snapped under the sea wind. As she neared, Mercédès recognized that the small figurehead, carved of ebony, was that of the Greek goddess Nemesis.

Mercédès was prodded up the gangplank and found herself on the smooth deck of the small vessel. By now she was becoming truly frightened. At first, she had thought, perhaps crazily, that this was a trick of Sinbad’s . . . that somehow he had found her again and wanted to see her. But there was no sign of the tall, bearded man, and before she had any chance to think, she was urged with the prod of the gun down a short flight of stairs. The passage was so narrow she had to turn sideways in order to fit her heavy skirts through, and she tripped on the bottom step, barely catching herself from falling.

She heard the shouts and calls, and the sudden shifting of the vessel, and realized that they were setting off.

“No! What are you doing?” she cried, pounding on the door that had closed behind her after she was shoved down the four steps. “Where are you taking me?”

No one answered for a long while, but she could tell by the rocking of the yacht that they had left the dock and were setting out to sea. She peered out the small porthole, watching in apprehension and disbelief as the dark patch that was Marseille disappeared over the horizon. At last she sank onto the narrow bed, staring into the falling darkness, wondering if she’d ever see Albert again.

At last, hours later, the door opened, and she was treated to the dark face of the man called Jacopo. She realized how much he looked like a pirate, with his unshaven face and red scarf tied over his head. “Now you may come up if you like, madam. We have food if you are hungry.”

“What do you want from me?” she demanded much more bravely than she felt. She remembered now that ten years ago, Sinbad had saved her from being kidnapped by several men who’d threatened to do this very thing. Her mouth was dry, and her stomach churned so much she was certain she would never consider food. Yet fresh air was a must.

She came out onto the deck and realized that the sun had lowered quite a bit in the sky. The wind chilled her almost immediately, but she drew in deep breaths of the cool air. Besides Jacopo, there were only two other men on the small vessel.

They’d been sailing for several hours now, and behind them, she could see the outline of the rocky Château d’If, the island prison etched against the horizon. And behind that great craggy island, far beyond her sight, would be the shoreline of Marseille, and the village where she’d been raised along with Fernand.

Perhaps she would never see him again either. Her fingers shook and her stomach pitched, and it had nothing to do with the rhythm of the yacht.

“You are the Comtesse de Morcerf, are you not?” asked Jacopo.

“I am the comtesse,
oui
,” she told him, her hands clasped. Yet she would not plead. “I wish to be taken back. My husband will pay handsomely for my return.” She had no doubt of that. He did not wish to lose his wife—of that she was certain, for it was of great importance to him that he was wed to a beautiful woman he could show off in the ballrooms and theater, as well as in the privacy of his bedchamber.

Jacopo nodded in agreement, the tails of his headwrap flapping. “Indeed he will, madam. And that is exactly our wish. Or, I should say, the wish of Luigi Vampa.”

“Luigi Vampa? Who is he?” Yet the name sounded familiar to her. A moment later she recalled the brief reprimand Sinbad had given her would-be kidnappers ten years earlier.
It would be best for you to release the woman, else I shall have to tell Luigi Vampa that you have tread beyond your boundaries.
Only the briefest of mentions, but since she had committed every detail of the event to memory, one that came to her immediately.

“A fearsome bandit.” Jacopo’s smile revealed a gold tooth. “But not a murderer, unless he is crossed. Nor does he involve himself in the slave trade, so you may consider yourself safe, madam. Now, if you do not wish to eat, you must go back below. We shall arrive at our destination in two days.”

Two days!

It was indeed late in the second day that the yacht edged around the shoreline of Corsica and steadied itself straight on toward a small island. As they drew nearer, Mercédès, who had been allowed on deck, saw that it was little more than a massive rock. Straggling trees and a few tufts of grass were evident as they drew nearer, but other than that, the island looked completely uninhabitable.

“Monte Cristo,” announced Jacopo with a flourish.

Mercédès looked with dismay at the rugged land. There was no sign of any buildings or even tents, nor anything remotely civilized. As the yacht came near the shore, she saw two goats stumbling along the ridge of ragged rocks, and then down below, in the beach, the black ashes of a fire’s remains.

Surely they didn’t mean to stay there?

“Where is this Luigi Vampa?” she asked boldly. “Surely a man who is as great a bandit as you claim doesn’t live in such primitive conditions.”

Jacopo laughed as if in delight at her pointed question. “No, no, Signor Vampa does not live here . . . but you are wrong if you believe these are primitive conditions.”

Mercédès looked at him, brushing messy, tangled hair away from her forehead. Two days since she’d seen a brush or comb, or even a cloth to wipe her face! The marks from her stays must be permanent by now, and her dirt-hemmed, sea-crusted gown would never be the same. She’d given up wearing her gloves since getting on the yacht, and they were crumpled on the floor in a small puddle of seawater. “I see nothing but rock that’s difficult even for the goats to maneuver. And do you mean to say that Signor Vampa, who is certain to demand a ransom from my husband, will not even be here to greet me?”

“No, not Signor Vampa. You will be kept here in comfort in the quarters of his friend while all arrangements are made for your husband to retrieve his wife. And now,” he said, making an odd sort of
tsk
ing sound, “that is all I will say. You may ask the remainder of your questions to my master. Go below until we have dropped anchor, madam.”

Another two hours passed before the vessel was secured enough for Mercédès and Jacopo to disembark. By then, the sun was resting on the edge of the sea, ready to dip beneath it, and she was hungry.

And nervous.

The yacht couldn’t be beached, of course, so there was knee-deep water through which she had to slog—or would have had to, if Jacopo hadn’t lifted her and handed her down to his companion. Mercédès closed her eyes against the mortification of being carried by the burly, sweaty sailor who looked—and smelled—as if he hadn’t bathed for weeks.

Nevertheless, when she was let down on the beach, she felt more bereft than ever. How long was she going to be kept on this empty, rough place? Did she really have nothing to fear, as Jacopo claimed?

“My master desires that you join him,” Jacopo said as he sloshed onto the sand next to her. “But you will have to be blindfolded, for he allows no one to know where his residence is.”

Mercédès looked around yet again, and even though the light was growing dim, she could tell that there was nothing resembling a building or a house. The only possibility was some sort of cave, which certainly could be shelter from the elements, but didn’t sound the least bit inviting.

“Excuse me, madam,” Jacopo said, moving behind her. A hood was placed over her head, not so stifling that she couldn’t breathe, but enough to block out every bit of light. She couldn’t even see through gaps in the bottom of the dark cloth.

Jacopo guided her over the soft sand, around choppy rocks, and up and down easy inclines. At last, after walking down, down, down and feeling the air grow cooler, Mercédès was halted. The hood was drawn away from her face and she found herself in . . . a miracle.

Aladdin’s cave.

The cavern room wasn’t large, but it was furnished just as comfortably as her parlor on rue de Helner. Thick rugs covered the floor; tapestries hung on the walls. Candles and sconces lit the room. There were two cushioned chairs and a long table, which presented gold dishes filled with grapes and oranges and other fruits she couldn’t identify. Goblets encrusted with jewels lined the mahogany table, along with several bottles of wine, brandy, and other libations.

“The master thought perhaps you would like to bathe before joining him for dinner,” said an oddly accented female voice.

Mercédès noticed a young woman with the darkest skin she’d ever seen emerge from the shadows. Her hair was completely covered with a brightly patterned scarf similar to the one Jacopo wore, and large golden earrings dangled from her ears. Her clothing was something that surely was out of
Arabian Nights
—loose fitting, silky, and gathered at wrists and ankles. “Come with me.”

Mercédès felt as if she were in a dream—surely, this world of luxury wasn’t really hidden beneath the rock of the small island! But the warm, bubbling water spilling into a marble pool wasn’t a dream. It was heaven.

A pleasing scent rose into the air as the Nubian woman gracefully tipped a bronze urn to spill its liquid contents over the bubbling water.

“What is it?” asked Mercédès, sniffing delicately, as the young woman moved to her side to help her disrobe. The smell was orangey, yet floral, and very delicate.

“It is called neroli. Now let us hurry, for His Excellency awaits.”

If it was a dream, it was one of the most heavenly Mercédès had ever experienced. Her hair, which had been pinned up for two days, was sorely in need of brushing and washing, and her scalp ached when all of the pins were finally removed. The maidservant’s fingers massaged her scalp as Mercédès rested in the deep, bubbling pool, and tried not to worry about what was to come.

Thus far, she had no reason to disbelieve Jacopo.

Another ebony-skinned woman joined them, and soon Mercédès was being soaped and scrubbed and massaged by two pairs of hands. The slip and slide of fingers and suds, the lapping of the warm, incessantly bubbling water, and the easy, sensual scents all served to awaken her senses . . . yet to relax her at the same time.

At last, she was brought out of the bath and toweled and lotioned. Her hair was brushed, but not dressed; instead, it was left long and unbound in a fashion she hadn’t worn since she was very young. A single tie, a leather thong, was wrapped around her thick, wavy tresses more than halfway down their length, creating a loose tail.

Instead of dressing her in the confining stays and heavy skirts, the two maidservants pulled a scandalously simple tunic over her head. It was rose-colored silk, with long, loose sleeves and a neckline that traced her throat, but opened in a deep, narrow slit. The edges were embroidered with black and gold, and tassels hung from the ties at the top of the slender vee. To Mercédès’ relief, when she stood, the hem of the tunic reached the floor, for she was given nothing else to wear beneath it.

Now, suddenly very nervous, and exceedingly aware of the way the silk slid against her nipples, Mercédès was led from the bath room into yet another chamber by way of a tapestry-covered door.

She found herself back in the same chamber with the long table and golden fruit bowls, the thick rug beneath her bare feet, and the glorious hangings on the walls. But she wasn’t to remain here, for the first maidservant—by now she’d learned her name was Omania—gestured for her to follow. Omania lifted another tapestry, and beckoned for Mercédès to go through the doorway thus revealed.

Heart pounding, palms suddenly slick, and her breathing much too shallow and quick, Mercédès walked silently across the rug and through the doorway. The tapestry fell into place behind her with a gust of air, and she found herself in a room even more splendid than the one before.