The Border Lord and the Lady (2 page)

“If your papa says you will marry him, it will make no difference if he is ancient or crooked of back, Madonna. You must do as you are bidden,” Donna Clara said primly.

“Hush, old crow!” Luciana scolded her companion. “I want to hear what is said.” She leaned forward, listening eagerly.

Master Pietro d’Angelo welcomed his guest, inviting him to sit, signaling to his servants for wine and cakes. “And now,” he said when they were both settled, “we will finalize the arrangement for your marriage to my daughter, my lord. There are but one or two small details to settle. Luciana’s dower is sufficient?”

“It is more than generous, Master Pietro d’Angelo,” Robert Bowen answered. “What
small
details?” The earl’s blue eyes were slightly wary of some last-minute change to be made in a contract he had already agreed upon.

“A trifle, my lord, to be sure,” the merchant replied, seeing the suspicion blooming in his companion’s look. “Luciana is a carefully raised virgin with the delicate sensibilities of a true Florentine gentle-woman. I beg that you not burden your bride with the care of your
bastard,” Master Pietro d’Angelo said nervously. Damn his daughter for putting him in this position, but he knew his wench too well to argue with her on this point. Better he beard the earl, who was certainly more reasonable and would understand. But even if he didn’t, would he be desperate enough to agree? “I have been informed that the child is as dear to you as my Luciana is to me. But my daughter is young and romantic. She wants all of your attention, as any bride would. She wants to bear you your heir, and cannot help but be jealous of another woman’s child.” He paused, looking hopefully at the earl.

Robert Bowen felt a bolt of irritation. Then, remembering that the girl’s fat dower would rebuild his family’s ancestral home, which had fallen into disrepair when early earls had spent what small income they could wrest from the estate going on Crusade, he let common sense overrule his pride. Unlike other knights, his ancestors had not returned carrying the treasures of the east with them. They had returned injured, unable to be of further use to anyone, let alone their families. Or they had not returned at all, leaving widows and children to carry on at Leighton Hall. Now Robert Bowen, current and possibly last earl of Leighton, must marry the daughter of a wealthy Florentine merchant in an effort to restore his family’s fortunes, and gain sons. He would have to wed the wench if she were a toothless idiot.

He drew a deep breath. “My daughter, Master Pietro d’Angelo, is not a bastard. Because I was to wed her mother, who tragically died in childbirth before our union was formally solemnized, I requested that Cicely’s birthright be recognized by both Holy Mother Church and English civil law. When she was three, the papers arrived from Rome attesting to her true birth as my legitimate daughter. And English law accepted my petition just prior to her first birthday. Lady Cicely Bowen is no bastard.”

Dio mio!
He was going to have to say something to justify his daughter’s stubbornness. He lowered his voice so no one else in the hall might hear him, and leaned forward. “My lord, I beg you to understand. My deceased wife, Carolina, was a woman of the most delicate,
the most fragile sensibilities,” he began, struggling to find just the right words in English to explain. “If something distressed her, she would alternate between a deep despair, weeping for hours until she was weak, and being so exhausted she would lie abed for several days. Or worse, she would fall into a ferocious rage that was difficult to calm. It was much like a great storm that had to blow itself out to sea. Because she was such a good wife to me, I tolerated these foibles of her female nature. Our daughter, while possessing the intelligence of a born merchant, also has her mother’s sensitive and refined nature. You will not be able to change it, I fear.”

There! It was said. He held his breath, awaiting what the earl would say now. Would he decide to nullify the marriage contract? Or would Robert Bowen choose to overlook this weakness in his daughter’s character because of his own needs? The Florentine merchant gambled that the latter would be the earl’s choice. He was therefore relieved when the earl responded as he now did.

“For the sake of Luciana’s fragile sensibilities, I will indulge these delicate emotions for as long as it takes for her to overcome them. I will compromise with your daughter, Master Pietro d’Angelo,” the earl said. “I will domicile Cicely and her nursemaid, Orva, in a large cottage at the far end of my gardens. Then Luciana may come to know Cicely. She will like her, for she is a charming little lass. When that time comes my child will return to the main house.”

“It is an equitable arrangement,” the merchant agreed, nodding. He had suddenly realized as the earl spoke that his tolerance would extend no further. But at least Pietro d’Angelo’s conscience was clear. He had disclosed his daughter’s weakness.

There was no need for the earl to know that his wife, Carolina, had died by her own hand. Only he and Donna Clara knew the truth of Carolina Pietro d’Angelo’s demise. The priest had been told that she had been sleepwalking when she fell from the balcony of her bedchamber. The Church did not need to know that Carolina had, in a moment of weakness, taken a lover and, when she found herself
incinta,
had taken her life rather than shame her husband and their family. Master Pietro d’Angelo never knew the identity of the man who had seduced or been seduced by his wife. No gossip had ever emerged.

Hidden behind her screen, Luciana had heard the last words spoken between her father and the earl. She hissed angrily. But then she allowed her anger to ease. Once she was Robert Bowen’s wife she would have a stronger position in his life. At least the brat would not be under her feet.

“He is a
real
man, your husband-to-be.” Donna Clara cackled softly. “You will not twist him about your little finger as you do your father and brothers, Madonna.”

“Aye, I will,” the girl said in a hard voice. Was she not young and beautiful? And would not the earl want to please his bride? He would do whatever she desired of him. Men did not refuse her. She would wrap him about her finger and he would be her slave! Her mouth twisted in a small smile as she already savored her triumph. She was free now of Firenze, and free of her overprotective father. She would soon be the Countess of Leighton, a great English lady. And her husband would love and adore her because she would make him!

Donna Clara sighed. “Aye, you probably will. Men are fools.” Then she said, “What a coup for your father, who brought you to London to protect you from the unwelcome rumors surrounding your association with Signore di Alba. Now he may return to Firenze proud to announce your marriage, and to tell all who will listen that his daughter is a contessa! Finally your younger brothers may make respectable marriages within the great houses, thus strengthening the
famiglia
Pietro d’Angelo. Remember what they say in Firenze: ‘A man without wealth is also a man without esteem.’ Ah, if only you had not involved yourself with di Alba!” the older woman lamented.

“Nothing happened with di Alba,” Luciana half lied. “I was only amusing myself while I waited for Papa to make a great match for me.”

“I believe you,” Donna Clara said, although she was actually not certain. Still, if the girl had ruined herself, it was Donna Clara who would be blamed. She was a poor relation, and needed to retain her standing within Master Pietro d’Angelo’s household. What would happen to her if she were driven away? Better she follow the girl’s lead. “Signore di Alba was a knave. He hoped to force your papa into a marriage alliance by making you appear undesirable to a more desirable family.”

“He was poor,” Luciana said scornfully. “Why would I marry a poor man when so many rich men sought after me? Di Alba was a fool. A handsome fool, but a fool nonetheless.”

“You were foolish too to ever involve yourself with him, Madonna,” Donna Clara scolded the girl gently. “And now you must wed in England. The earl is a poor man too, but he is noble, and I am told he is respected. You will be a contessa. He will gain wealth, and your children will be nobility. ’Tis a good arrangement, and one made many times before through the ages.”

A servant hurrying from the hall stopped when he saw the two women in the shadows, saying, “My master has sent for you, Madonna. Shall I tell him you are here?”

“Buffone!”
Donna Clara snapped, reaching to cuff the servant, who ducked the blow. “Say the signorina will join the gentlemen shortly.” She turned to Luciana. “Come,
bambina mia
. Let us freshen your hair and gown so the earl will be pleased to see you.”

“Nay, he would show pleasure if my eyes were crossed and my teeth crooked,” Luciana responded dryly. She stepped from behind the carved screen and made her way forward. Reaching the two men, she swept them a graceful curtsy. “Papa. My lord.” She greeted the gentlemen in a deceptively soft voice, her eyes modestly downcast as she moved to take her seat on a stool by her father’s side.

But the Earl of Leighton took her hand and drew Luciana to him. “Your father has spoken to me of your concerns regarding my daughter,” Robert Bowen began. “I understand. But you must know and
accept that my child is legitimate. As such she will stand among my legal heirs. If you do not give me a son, she will inherit my estate one day. But I expect you will give me several sons, Madonna Luciana.” The blue eyes looked down into her brown ones.

“You will walk with the earl,” Master Pietro d’Angelo said to his daughter. “You should know each other better before the marriage is celebrated.”

Robert Bowen tucked the girl’s dainty hand in his arm and led her off.

When they were out of earshot Luciana said, “I am glad you will not make me share you with your daughter.”

“Her name is Cicely,” the earl answered quietly.

“I do not care,” Luciana replied. “I shall never see her.”

“Nay, you do not have to if you choose not to,” the earl told the girl. “You will be far too busy, lady. Your rich dower and your late mother’s reputation for fecundity make you worthy to be my wife. I will keep you on your back with your legs open to me until you prove fertile. I want sons, lady, and I mean to have them on your body.” He pushed her into a darkened corner of the hall. Then, taking her oval face in his two hands, he kissed her lush mouth with a hard, fiery kiss.

Luciana’s heart beat rapidly as one of the earl’s big hands moved to clamp about her waist while the other reached down to squeeze her left breast hard through the fabric of her gown. His fingers found the nipple of that breast stiff with her arousal, and he pinched it several times.

“I know the rumors about di Alba,” he growled into her ear.

Luciana moaned against his demanding mouth. “Falsehoods!” she protested.

The Earl of Leighton laughed knowingly. “We shall see, lady,” he said wickedly as he bit down on her earlobe. “I am no fool. If you do indeed possess a tiny heart-shaped birthmark upon your left thigh I will know ’tis you who are the liar, and not di Alba.” His lips moved teasingly across hers again.

The girl grew pale at his words. “I am still a virgin,” she insisted
to him. “I swear it by the innocence of the Blessed Mother!
I am a virgin!
”

“That too I shall soon learn, lady,” he told her cruelly. Robert Bowen laughed again. “Do not fear, Luciana. It is your wealth that attracts me, not your virtue. But be warned: From this moment forth I will expect you to remain faithful to me alone. Should I ever discover you have not been faithful I will kill you with my bare hands, and be lauded for it. Do you understand me? You may whore no more.” The blue eyes had turned icy with warning as they looked down into her face.

“
Sì,
my lord,” Luciana whispered. “I understand, but I swear to you that no man’s cock has entered my body, and none will but yours.”
Dio!
They had always said that the English were a cold race, but this Englishman certainly was not. He excited her! She felt the moisture pooling between her nether lips. She was already half in love with him, and trembled in his strong arms. He would share her with no other man, but she would share him with no other female. Even his little daughter!

The earl was not certain how truthful his intended was being with him, but he did believe she was an honorable woman. Whatever had happened before she came to England would not happen again. He had learned by chance from a friend returned from Italy of the stories being bruited about Firenze by one Signore Vincente di Alba regarding Luciana Maria Pietro d’Angelo. Some gossips even said her father had spirited the girl away because she was with child. Robert Bowen knew that not to be true, for the Pietro d’Angelos had been in London for over a year now. His friend had also told him that Signore di Alba was heavily in debt, and had convinced his creditors that he would soon have a wealthy wife when Master Pietro d’Angelo returned with his daughter.

“Do you believe me, my lord?” Luciana said softly, gazing up at him with doe eyes. She pressed herself against him.

The earl laughed softly, recognizing her budding lust. “Soon, little
one,” he promised, stroking the top of her silken head. “We shall not tarry on our way to the altar.”

Several days later the wedding contracts were signed in her father’s London hall, the priest from Westminster who had drawn them up overseeing the formality. The spiritual blessing would be given and the ceremony celebrated shortly afterwards. Then the Earl of Leighton would take his bride home to Leighton Hall in Gloucestershire, where her duties as mistress of his house would begin as she prayed for sons.

Luciana was almost weak with her excitement. She took Donna Clara aside. “You are certain I am still a virgin?” she demanded of her companion. “The old witch knew what she was doing?”

“Her examination showed his fingers had slightly torn your maidenhead, but that it was still intact, Madonna,” the older woman said. “But to make sure your bridegroom is fully satisfied we shall begin this day to treat your sheath and its opening with alum to shrink it. It will make it difficult at first for his cock to penetrate into your body. He will be so aroused by it, and by your cries of innocence, he will not notice that your maidenhead gives way easily. And there should be some blood. But you shall also secrete a small chicken’s bladder of blood to break in your bridal bed so the earl will have no doubt as to your virtue,
bambina mia
.”