Return to Paradise (Torres Family Saga) (12 page)

      
“My course is set,” she whispered in the darkened corridor as she went in search of Benjamin's body servant with her missive clutched tightly to her breast.

Chapter Six

      
The pounding of the heavy brass knocker on the front door was deafening in the empty front hall, but since the master's young nephew, the physician, had come to live here last year, it was not a remarkable occurrence. Margaret, one of the maids cleaning up after the evening's festivities, was the first to reach the door.

      
As she struggled to open it, Benjamin came to her assistance. “The Councilman Le Bruge has been ill with a bloody flux all week. Tis probably his servant. I was half expecting to get no sleep,” he said wryly to Margaret as he confirmed his surmise by noting the late caller's livery. “Tell your mistress I am on my way to tend her husband as soon as I gather some medicines,” he instructed the runner.

      
Ruth stood at the foot of the curving staircase, taking in the now familiar scene. “Well, at least the old fool had the good grace to wait until the celebration was over,” she said to Benjamin. “Gather what you need. I shall send word to Paul that you will likely not be home until daybreak.”

* * * *

      
Rigo lit a taper and inspected the small, musty rooms. They had not been in use all fall, but the Torres' servants were diligent under Ruth's sharp eyes. Even the bedding linens were passing clean. He threw open the shutters and let in some cool night air. It had a faint tang of salt in it from the harbor below, but mercifully the stink of fish did not carry this far.

      
Rigo had brought a clean coverlet of soft cendal, which he spread across the simple peasant's bed. Trying to conjure up an image of Patrice's lush curves and dark hair against the gold fabric did not work. Instead his treacherous mind's eye brought forth a long, slim body with bronze hair and pleading gray eyes, her arms outstretched to him. Rigo swore and poured himself more wine from the large ewer he had taken from a complacent serving wench. He had seen his brother with his medical bag, preparing to visit some patient across the city.

      
“I was right when first I spoke to him. He is the good half, I am the evil,” he muttered as he drank again, deeply. At last he began to feel some slight effect from all his consumption. He pulled off his slippers and unlaced and removed his doublet as one used to doing for himself. Only in recent years with his rise in rank had he the luxury of a body servant, and often in the chaos after a battle, he still did not have such. Even Pescara dressed himself often as not when they were on campaign.

      
He lay back across the bed and propped several pillows behind his head, wondering if he should rejoin his general in Italy or dare to venture to the New World. The answer to his dilemma still eluded him. He hoped Patrice was able to get free of her husband. Perhaps a good lusty tumble would clear his mind of its brooding fixation on his brother's betrothed. Soon sleep claimed him and the lone candle flickered out as the night breeze from the harbor kissed it.

      
The city was silent below her as Miriam peeked from the heavy velvet curtain of her litter to look down at the winking lights from the harbor. The Torres palace was only a stone's throw away now. She had cautioned her faithful servants to be quiet as they approached for fear of awakening anyone in the household. What if Benjamin was not there? Or, worse yet, what if he scorned her for making this bold overture? Again her conscience excoriated her for arranging such a dangerous and covert tryst, even if she was betrothed to Benjamin and they had signed the documents. She refused to examine the reasons for this rash act. Please, let him be there!

      
As she alighted from the litter, the voluminous hooded silk cloak she wore billowed softly in the breeze. No one could recognize her, even if someone were about in the dank narrow alley. Refuse had been dumped by some servant from across the way and a large willow tree's whispering branches shadowed her in the sinister darkness.
This is not right
, an inner voice chided. She ignored it and stepped up to the door, which was splintery and narrow, albeit sturdy. She turned the latch and it lifted. With a small squeak, the door swept open. Her servants had their instructions and departed now that she had safely gained access to the house.

      
“Tis fearful dark in here,” she whispered low to Benjamin. Surely he must be here for the door to be left open thus. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the darkness. One thin beam of light fell from an opened window. Trembling, she shoved the door closed and removed her cloak. She could hear his steady breathing and dimly discern his figure in the shadowy corner. Suddenly her mouth was dry and her voice trapped in her closed throat.

      
Rigo had come awake in spite of the wine. He sat on the bed, frozen in amazement as the woman's scent filled his nostrils. Even before he heard her soft whisper and saw her silhouette in the dim moonlight, he knew it was not Patrice but Miriam. Why? What earthly reason would bring her here? His wine-fogged mind churned to clear itself. Surely this was a dream! But as he watched while Miriam shed her cloak, revealing her slim, supple body clad in a plain gown of thin, airy fabric, he knew she was all too real. The soft essence of roses filled his nostrils.

      
Never had he wanted a woman this desperately. Always before he had been content with any healthy and attractive female, but this was different, so strange...and frightening. He saw her hesitate, as if aware for the first time of his presence. His heart was hammering in his chest as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and whispered raggedly, “Come to me.”

      
Miriam took a hesitant step. Was Benjamin as uncertain, as frightened as she? His hands reached out for hers, palms open, supplicating. Such beautiful hands. She quickly crossed the smooth earthen floor and knelt in the darkness beside the crude pallet. “We should talk—” she choked out. He enfolded her in his arms, stilling her words with a soft kiss as he held her chin in one hand. His lips cherished hers, brushing them softly, then moving upward to caress her eyes and eyebrows, her temples, her cheeks, as if memorizing and tasting every contour of her face.

      
Hesitantly she raised one hand and stroked his cheek, feeling the slight bristling of his whiskers. At her touch, she felt a shudder go through him, as if he were gripped by an ague. His breathing was labored. He had been drinking to excess, something Benjamin never did. Had she brought him to this pass? Guilt assailed her in renewed waves. Then, as if he could no longer leash his passions, he gave a low feral growl and buried his hands in her long masses of hair, pulling her against the hardness of his body, lifting her up and onto the bed to lie beside him in the darkness.

      
Miriam could feel his bare chest as the springy hair rubbed against the sensitive skin above the low neckline of her summer gown. Nervous about undressing before him, she had chosen it for its loose fit and front lacings. His fingers were already at work with great deftness on the laces. When he brushed a pebbly hard nipple and freed it in the cool night air she gasped. Quickly its twin was also bared and he was touching, teasing, stroking them both as she kneaded the hard muscle of his chest and listened to the rapid pounding of his heart. As frissons of ecstasy shot through her, she knew her own heart must be similarly betraying her pleasure.

      
Yet, for all his leashed passion, he was being so gentle, so careful of her as his lips once more found hers, brushing them, traveling down to her throat, then lower. His tongue outlined her delicate collarbone, then his mouth dipped tantalizingly toward her breasts and fastened on one aching nipple. When the hot wetness of his mouth enveloped the crest and suckled, she cried out incoherently and dug her nails into the bunching muscles of his shoulders.

      
He continued to feast, first on one delicate little breast, then on the other as she arched toward him. Slowly her hands grew bolder, running up and down the corded muscles of his arms. Her fingertips glided over satiny biceps and then traced a path higher. Her hands clutched at the long hair on his head just as he imprisoned her lower body by swinging one long leg across her thighs. Miriam felt the pressure of his erection probing insistently between her legs through the thin layers of her gown. Her fingers tangled in his hair—coarse, straight hair, not Benjamin's fine, curly blond hair!

      
At once she knew it was gleaming black as a raven's wing. “Rigo!” she cried out just before his lips silenced hers with a fierce, searing kiss, as if he wished her to say no more.

      
There was a great roaring in his ears as he heard her speak his name. Robbed of all thought, all reason, he deepened the kiss, plundering deep inside her mouth with savage ferocity, unleashed by that single word. Rigo could not stop when she stiffened and began pushing against his chest. So far lost was he that he could scarcely breathe as his hands roamed over her slender curves, pressing her beneath him as he rolled atop her.

      
Miriam knew she should stop the madness, gouge out his eyes, pull his hair, scream. She did nothing. Nothing but open for his invading, dancing tongue. Rigo teased her lips, biting them and sucking on them, then tracing their outline with the tip of his tongue. He tasted of wine and smelled of a strong, heady musk that she knew was from sexual arousal. She could feel his hand gliding down the curve of her hip to pull at her skirts. The sheer fabric slid easily and cool air touched one long, slender leg. Then he branded it with the scorching heat of his caress. She felt his lower body, bucking and rocking between her thighs, knowing in a remote part of her mind what the motion presaged. Yet she did not protest.

      
His hand continued caressing her hip as he pulled the whole of her gown up about her waist. When his fingertips lightly grazed the insides of her thighs he released her mouth and began to suckle and torment her breasts. Ragged little cries of passion, low, moaning, pleading, issued from her mouth. And still she did not stop him.

      
Rigo ached, ready to explode if he did not slow down, yet he could sense her growing passion and it drove him wild with longing. Her body, virginal and untutored, cried out to his, even as she keened and gasped her frantic pleasure and need. Her breasts arched, the nipples hardened to points beneath his touch. He continued the assault on them with his mouth while one hand stroked the silky softness between her legs, moving toward the center of her need. Rigo groaned when he touched the velvety wetness, and his cry of primal possessiveness mingled with her cry of ecstatic amazement.

      
On rare occasions, Miriam had heard her patients speak of the pleasures of coupling. At last her eager, starved young body understood. With a volition of its own, her body writhed shamelessly beneath his touch. She was aflame. When he rolled away from her, leaving her breasts bared and her skirts bunched about her waist, she could not suppress a moan at the loss of his heat. She could feel the rustling and tugging as he unlaced his hose. In a moment he was once more above her. She felt his staff probe the most intimate recesses of her body.

      
“Open for me,” he whispered hoarsely, his breath scorching her neck as he once more devoured her throat with kisses and then claimed her mouth with his own. Rigo could feel the warm, wet opening, feel her hips raise ever so slightly, instinctively, to welcome him. He guided his aching phallus to enter her, moving it in a slow circle to slick it with her moisture first. Then, kissing her deeply, he plunged, sundering the thin membrane before conscience or reason could stop him.

      
Her body, so fired with maddening forbidden pleasures now felt a sharp tearing pain, then a tugging fullness as he buried himself deeply inside her. The pressure was intense. He lay very still, not moving but for his chest. He breathed as if he had run a race. She could sense that he struggled not to hurt her further. But they both were compelled to move. Miriam experimentally arched her hips beneath the impaling pressure of his shaft and discovered the pain was past.

      
Rigo buried his face in her neck and gritted his teeth to keep control of his passion.
I will not end it this soon, not after waiting and wanting so long!
Slowly he withdrew and thrust. The slick tightness that sheathed him was bliss beyond any he had ever known. With a muffled oath he felt his hips begin to work faster, the thrusts come harder, drive deeper into her virginal heat. Losing the battle, he gave in to glory.

      
Miriam felt the first stirring of that earlier delicate ecstasy when he had first stroked her with his hand. Now the huge, hard instrument of his sex stroked slickly in and out and the motion, the pleasure came alive once more. Instinctively her hips arched into his stroke. Suddenly she felt him swell inside her, then his whole body shuddered as he plunged deeply one last time and collapsed on her, holding her tightly in his arms. The pleasure of a moment earlier now turned to an unquenched aching. Surely this was not how it was supposed to end? Nothing in her medical books had ever addressed the subject, but she was too dazed to think clearly. Miriam only knew frustration at the moment.

      
Rigo felt her restive stirring. Slowly his senses returned after his spiraling flight to the heavens. When he withdrew from her she tried to suppress a gasp of pain. He had taken virgins before, a few young peasant girls eager to be rid of their maidenheads, but never a gently reared lady. Guilt immediately seized him, settling like a leaden weight in his guts. Why had she come to him? Why had she betrayed Benjamin? His head spun with questions.