Sebastiano Rovere bowed over Orianna's elegant little hand, kissing it. "Signora," he murmured. "The legend of your beauty does not do you justice."

"I am flattered by your gracious words," Orianna answered him, wanting to yank her hand away from him, but with supreme self-control allowing him the time to release it.

"We will have wine in the gardens," Giovanni Pietro d'Angelo said.

"A charming idea," their guest agreed. "And I will be allowed at long last to meet your daughter, the lady Bianca, soon?"

"Of course," the silk merchant replied as he led them outside.

It was early evening and the sun had not yet set. They sat together upon two marble benches amid the greenery. A well-trained servant brought silver goblets of sweet wine for them. Sebastiano Rovere noted the goblets were decorated with small stones of black onyx amid pale gold scrollwork. They were exquisite, and for a brief moment he was jealous, for he did not believe he possessed any goblets as fine.

"Is the wine to your taste, Signore Rovere?" the silk merchant inquired politely.

"It is delicious," was the reply. "Will you not ask your daughter to come and share it with us?" Rovere pressed Giovanni Pietro d'Angelo.

Orianna raised her hand, and a servant was immediately at her side. "Tell Fabia to fetch the lady Bianca to us," she said in her beautifully modulated voice. Then she turned to their guest. "It will be but a few moments, signore, but before my child joins us I have a boon to ask of you."

Sebastiano Rovere was surprised, but he was feeling extremely pleased with himself at this moment. "Please, signora, you have but to ask."

"You have requested that Bianca no longer attend Ma.s.s at Santa Anna Dolce with me. Please, signore, I beg that you rescind that order. I understand your concerns, and I share them with you. But soon Bianca will be gone from my side. I have gained such great pleasure these past months worshiping in my daughter's company. Perhaps if you would escort us to the church yourself several times, your august presence would discourage any bad behavior, along with the knowledge of your betrothal." Orianna reached out and put an elegant, beringed hand on his velvet-clad arm. "Please, signore, do not refuse a mother's plea." She gave him a small smile, astounded by the cold eyes that looked back at her.

He considered her words. It was hardly a request he could refuse without appearing mean-spirited. He forced a smile. "If it means so much to you, signora, then of course I will grant your boon." Then catching a movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned his head. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the girl in her rose-pink gown. He came to his feet, pleased to see he towered over her. He felt his c.o.c.k twitch beneath his elegant robe, pressing almost painfully against the fabric of his trunk hose.

"Thank you, signore," Orianna said, almost cringing at the l.u.s.t that touched his face when he saw Bianca, though it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"Come forward, Bianca," her father said, beckoning her.

She had gotten a quick look at him before he had seen her. He was a handsome man, Bianca thought. Perhaps it would not be so bad after all, even if he was twice her age. She glided forward, eyes lowered, her ebony lashes brushing her ivory cheekbones.

She curtsied perfectly without so much as a wobble.

Beauty and grace, Sebastiano Rovere thought, well pleased. For once the gossips had not lied. If truth be told, they had not praised her highly enough.

"Signore Rovere, may I present to you my eldest daughter, Bianca. If having seen her now she continues to please you, then she is yours to wife," Giovanni Pietro d'Angelo said, almost choking on the words as he said them. How could he do this? And yet if he did not, his eldest son-their family-would be ruined by this vile, powerful man.

"I am overwhelmed by the exquisite beauty and purity I see in your daughter's face. Her presence as my wife will bring great honor to my house, and I will gladly have her to wife," Sebastiano Rovere said. Then, suddenly reaching out, he took up the girl's small hand, kissed it almost reverently, asking her, "And will you have me for your husband, Bianca Pietro d'Angelo?"

No! No! No! she wanted to shriek, but she knew what was expected of her. "I am magnified that you would have me, signore."

He kissed her hand again, this time a bit more enthusiastically. "We will walk together in your father's garden," he said without even bothering to ask her parents for their permission.

Startled but not knowing what else to do, Bianca turned away with him. He led her from their sight deeper and deeper into the greenery and floral beds until finally they came to a single marble bench set amid some rosebushes. He drew her down, seating himself next to her. Bianca was a little frightened. She had never before been alone with a man. She wasn't very comfortable. "I think we should go back to my parents," she said nervously. Her heart was thundering.

He laughed softly and lowly, which frightened her further. "You have never been with a man before, have you? Of course you haven't," he said with a chuckle. "Do you realize that I am the only man you will ever be allowed to be alone with, Bianca? I am to be your lord and your master. You will obey my every wish."

She was silent but suddenly angry at his presumption.

"Look at me! I want to see your eyes, Bianca," he told her. His fingers grasped her small chin and almost forced her head up.

She was going to have to look directly at him. She felt brief nausea but swallowed it back. She could not, would not, be afraid of this man. Fear gave the instigator of that emotion power over his victim, and while she must wed him, she would not give him the privilege of controlling her heart, her mind, or her soul. Bianca raised her lashes and looked directly into the dark eyes of the man she was to marry. It was like looking into black ice. "The color of my eyes is said to be unique," she told him quietly.

Sebastiano Rovere stared, amazed by the beauty and clarity of the girl's eyes. He would find aquamarines to match their color and have a necklace and ear dangles made for her. He would have her wear them naked with her hair down. Blue, ivory, and ebony. The mental picture in his mind was almost too much to bear as he considered her spread upon his bed, ready for him. His male member ached painfully. "Will you give me a kiss, Bianca?" his voice rasped. Slowly, slowly, he cautioned himself. She was innocent.

Bianca was startled by the bold request. "Signore, I do not believe such a thing would be considered proper by my parents."

"The betrothal agreement has already been signed," he told her. "You are mine but for the wedding ceremony, Bianca. Your beauty, your manner have all pleased me."

He grasped her by her slender shoulders. "I must taste your lips!" And he put his lips on hers, his l.u.s.t communicating itself quite clearly to the girl.

Bianca was horrified. The kiss. Her first kiss screamed with his need to possess her totally. She struggled against him, yanking her head away from the marauding mouth that a.s.saulted her. "Signore!" she gasped, and then breaking away, she fled from him into the thick greenery of the gardens.

He immediately gave chase. He could not permit her to return in tears to her parents. He would look like a l.u.s.tful fool. She had stopped in her flight, obviously listening to see if he was still behind her. "Dolce Bianca, I beg you to forgive my eagerness. I apologize for taking forcibly what you had not offered. Come out and we will return together to your parents."

Listening to his words, Bianca wondered how sincere they were. Not at all, she suspected, but he did not want to look a fool before her parents, and the truth was she did not want to put him in that position. As her husband he would have total control over her life, and could make it quite miserable. She needed to remain on his good side.

"You frightened me, signore," she told him.

"I know! I know! It was unforgivable of me, dolce Bianca," he agreed. "Your innocence is so very tempting to a man of my experience. I shall endeavor not to frighten you again. Forgive me!"

Bianca stepped out from behind a row of tall bushes. "I do, signore."

"Ahh, cara mia, you make me the happiest of men," he swore to her. Little b.i.t.c.h! He would soon show her the extent of his power over her. His c.o.c.k twitched again.

Bianca tucked her hand into his arm. "Let us return to my parents," she said.

They walked back through the gardens as the evening deepened around them.

"When will you set our wedding day?" he inquired of her.

Her mother had advised her to expect such a question, and told her how she must answer it. "Oh, signore, first a new wardrobe must be made for me. And my wedding gown will take time. I must make a retreat with the nuns to ensure the success and happiness of our union. It will be at least several months before I am ready."

Sebastiano Rovere gritted his teeth at the thought of such a delay, but it was actually no more time than any respectable betrothal would take. "If I must wait," he told her, "then surely you will allow me the privilege of kisses and caresses in order to whet our appet.i.te for the marriage bed. I will admit to being a man of great desires."

"I know naught of such things," Bianca said. "I will ask my mother if such things are permitted, for I would not sully my family's name."

"Of course, of course, dolce Bianca," he agreed. "Remember, though, that the legalities have all been signed and sealed. As Florence's premier attorney, I drew them up myself and saw them properly executed. I would not bring shame on either you or your good family."

"If my mother says it is allowable, signore, then you shall have your kisses and your caresses, I promise you," Bianca told him. "Ah, here are my parents awaiting us."

He almost laughed aloud at the relief on the faces of his in-laws. Did they think he meant to ravish their little virgin in their gardens? Then he realized that had he been able to manage it, he probably would have. She was a most delicious tidbit, and ripe for his picking. "We have had a most delightful stroll," he told Giovanni Pietro d'Angelo. "I shall look forward to other such rambles while we await our wedding day." He smiled at Bianca, who was now standing next to her mother. Then he bowed to his hosts. "I shall not overstay my welcome this evening," he said.

"Allow me to escort you to the door," the silk merchant said, and the two men departed the garden, leaving Orianna and Bianca together.

"You look paler than usual," her mother noted once the men were out of sight and hearing. "Did he attempt to take liberties with you?"

"He kissed me," Bianca said hesitantly, not wanting to go into detail.

"That was to be expected," Orianna replied.

"You did not warn me, Madre, that he might do so."

"I had forgotten what inexperience was like," Orianna admitted. "I had older sisters who advised me what a courtship would be like. You had only me. I'm sorry I failed you, and that you were startled, Bianca. What did you speak of?"

"The wedding day," the girl said.

"You told him it would be months away, didn't you?"

"I did, Madre, and it was then that he said if he had to be patient, I must allow him the privilege of kisses and caresses," Bianca told her mother. "I told him I must be certain such behavior was proper. Is it?"

Orianna sighed softly. "Yes, it is. He has signed the marriage agreement, and but for the Church's blessing, you are already his wife. You must allow him to have his way."

"Oh," Bianca responded, not certain she liked the idea of caresses, and as for kisses . . . but there was no help for it. Her mother said it was allowed, and so she must bear it. And would probably get used to it in time. Her mother did not seem to mind her father's endearments.

The next morning, Sebastiano Rovere appeared to escort Bianca and her mother to Ma.s.s. Her first appearance in the doorway of her father's house brought a cheer from the young men gathered in the piazza. It died as Florence's most famed lawyer stepped out behind her and took her arm. Together they crossed the piazza with her mother and entered the church. When they exited an hour later, there was a larger crowd of young men, but they were silent. Then one caught sight of the large, deep red ruby betrothal ring Sebastiano had slipped on Bianca's finger when Ma.s.s had concluded. A hiss and a hum vibrated through the crowd, followed by a sound that resembled mourning.

The lawyer smiled, well pleased. While her family did not intend to make a formal announcement until a few evenings from now, it would be known throughout Florence by the noon hour that Sebastiano Rovere was to marry Bianca Pietro d'Angelo. He expected the crowds to lessen over the next few days, and they did, as Florence realized there was no hope. The most beautiful virgin in the city was to wed a powerful and important man, which, of course, was just as it should be.

Bianca could see the disappointment upon the faces of all the young men who had so faithfully paid her their court over the last few months. She felt sorry for them, and couldn't help but wonder if her fate would have been different if Sebastiano had not come into her life-if her brother Marco had not been such a fool. When Bianca put the whole situation into perspective, it was ridiculous. To think that the accidental death of an unknown courtesan had catapulted her into the arms of a man she did not want to wed.

He returned them from Ma.s.s but came back that evening to take Bianca deep into the gardens once more. "Did you speak with your mother?" he asked her, and she knew exactly what it was he sought to know.

Bianca nodded. "But, please, signore, I beg of you, do not hasten me."

"You belong to me now, cara mia," he purred at her. Then he stopped, and turned the girl to face him. "I am going to kiss you," he told her. "You will open your mouth, cara, and give me your tongue when I do."

It was a startling command, but before she had a moment to question it, he was kissing her. He held her tightly, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing flat against the velvet of his robe. His tongue slid along her lips, encouraging her to obedience, and Bianca opened her mouth for him. Immediately his fleshy organ began stroking her tongue, exploring her mouth. She gagged with the shock of the invasion, but he did not release her. His kiss grew more l.u.s.tful, deepening, as Bianca struggled for air, for it seemed he had sucked it all from her body. Her small palms pushed against his chest, and she grew faint, sagging in his arms. She gasped deeply, drawing several breaths into her lungs again, and to her shock his attentions continued.

Bending his head, he began pressing kisses on the swell of her small b.r.e.a.s.t.s as she attempted to recover herself. His wet mouth seemed everywhere, and then a hand pushed past the fabric of her neckline to pull one of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s free. He groaned as he stared at the small, perfectly round globe in his hand. Then his mouth closed over her helpless nipple, tugging fiercely. Her fragrance surrounded him and drove him wild with raging desire. He knew he had to stop soon or he would commit a forcible act. But she was so delicious. So ripe for his taking, and he wanted her.

"Signore! I beg you, cease!" Bianca cried as he sucked upon her innocent flesh, arousing emotions in her she had never known. "Please! Please! No more, I beg you!"

Reluctantly he raised his head from her snowy bosom. His eyes were glazed with his l.u.s.t. He drew a ragged breath, but then covered the little breast. He knew his c.o.c.k was surging so strongly in his need for her that he was surprised it didn't push through the fabric of his trunk hose. No woman, least of all his two previous wives, had brought him to such a state without a touch of the dog whip. He was both astounded and thrilled by the knowledge that this girl could have such an effect upon him. Particularly given his age.

"You are a temptress, cara mia," he told her.

"I did not mean to entice you, signore," she said lowly. "Will you always kiss me with such fervor? Why did you suckle on me?"

"Didn't you like it when I caressed your sweet little breast?" he asked, not bothering to answer her questions.

"It was strange. I felt . . . I felt strange," she told him. "I thought only babes suckled from their mothers' b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

"I want no children of you, Bianca. I have two strong sons, one of whom will wed shortly before we do. I will not spoil what I suspect is a perfect body beneath your gown. That body now belongs to me, and you will reserve it for my pleasure alone, cara mia. Before we marry you will know much of what I require of you."

Bianca did not tell her mother of his words, or his actions as the next few months went by. She dreaded his visits, for she never knew what he would do. When the weather began to chill, they were given the privacy of a small salon, in which he slowly educated her to his taste. She almost fainted the first time she was given a view of his manhood. He made her kneel before him before he uncovered himself to her sight. Then he taught her how to handle his c.o.c.k, delighting in her gentle, delicate touch, in her gasp of shock as he thickened and lengthened before her sight. When he was hard, Sebastiano instructed her to kiss the very tip. She did so, reluctantly.

Another time, when he was suitably firm, he explained to her how to lick him, starting with the satiny head of his c.o.c.k, then slowly bathing the length with her tongue. He might have waited until Nudara could teach her these things. He had fully intended to do so, but he found he was gaining great pleasure in teaching her himself. Once a tiny pearl of his juices bedewed the tip, and he forced her to lick it up. "I sometimes enjoy being sucked dry, cara mia," he told her. "Best that you get used to the taste now."

Bianca was horrified by such a suggestion, but there was worse to come for her, she found. Her fifteenth birthday came in December, and after eight months of betrothal, her wedding date was set for the week after. Learning of it, Sebastiano Rovere became bolder in his tutoring of his bride-to-be. His hands began to roam beneath her skirts, stroking her silken thighs, rubbing her mons, and then one evening the curious finger of her fidanzato pushed between her nether lips. His lips and tongue engaged with hers as he began rubbing a tiny nub of flesh with that finger.

Bianca moaned as it caused that secret flesh to tingle. Stronger and stronger the sensation grew, until she could bear it no more. She wiggled against the finger until a lovely burst overcame her, and she sighed with open pleasure.

He laughed softly, darkly. "I am glad to see you can respond so naturally to my lovemaking," he said. Then his finger pushed into her up to the first joint.

"Ohhh." Bianca gasped.

"I just want to see how tightly your virginity is lodged, cara mia," he rea.s.sured her, and he moved his finger deeper into her sheath. She was very tight, her sheath narrow. Breaching her would be divine. She would feel pain, as the membrane blocking his finger's pa.s.sage was strongly fixed. The very thought excited him. She whimpered, and he withdrew the finger. "There, there," he soothed her.

Was there any escape, Bianca wondered in the days that followed? No, there was none. She would belong to this man till she died, and she would have no children to comfort her, to distract her from him. She had never seen the palazzo in which she would reside after the wedding ceremony. She knew his younger son lived with him, but the boy had just been betrothed to Carolina di Medici, a distant relation of Cosimo.

Stefano, who had wed Violetta Orsini in October, had been given a charming little palazzo in which to live with his new wife by his in-laws. Stefano's father-in-law knew well the dark reputation of Sebastiano Rovere and did not want his daughter living in the man's home. A silk merchant himself, Signore Orsini wondered how Rovere had managed to gain the hand of the fair Bianca Pietro d'Angelo from her usually prudent father. He felt sorry for the poor girl.

Bianca knew she might ask to see her new home, but she did not. Seeing it would have made the reality of her life fact. But she did wonder if the gardens were as lovely as her father's, for like most respectable married women, she would not leave her home except on rare occasions. Her servants would do the marketing. Sebastiano Rovere was an extremely old-fashioned man and had told her quite frankly that a priest would come and say Ma.s.s when she wished it. There was no church on his piazza. Unless it was a wedding or a funeral, it was unlikely she would even see her sisters again, although she knew that her father, being less traditional, would allow her mother to visit her.

"You will come tomorrow," Bianca said to Orianna as she was being dressed for her wedding.

"Not tomorrow, but in a few days' time," Orianna promised her daughter, thinking as she did how beautiful Bianca looked in her wedding gown.

It was silk, of course. A very rare fabric, for it had not been imported from China, as all of the bolts in her husband's warehouses were. It had been spun from the thread of the silkworms Giovanni Pietro d'Angelo raised himself in a hidden garden of mulberry bushes outside of the city. There was enough silk this year for one gown, and no more. Pure white, the fitted bodice with its squared neckline was embroidered with pearls over lace. The sleeves were lace-edged silk, heavily embroidered with gold thread and pearls.

The full skirt was lace trimmed at its hem. Bianca's long dark hair was left loose, and she carried but a single white rose in her hand.

All of her siblings were to be allowed to attend the ceremony in Santa Anna Dolce, a rare privilege, but Giovanni Pietro d'Angelo was proud of his family. An occasion such as this one gave other important men and their wives the opportunity to see the strong, healthy children he and Orianna had produced. He would soon have to find a wife for Marco. Georgio would go to the Church next year. He was clever, and Giovanni had no doubt he would one day gain a cardinal's red cap. Having a cardinal in the family was a useful thing, as the Borgias in Rome were discovering.

But today was for Bianca and her marriage to Sebastiano Rovere. While his conscience still troubled him over the match, he had, as his daughter had, resigned himself to it. Nothing could be changed now.

Chapter 3.

Because of the time of year, an awning had been run between the palazzo of the Pietro d'Angelo family, across the piazza, and up the steps of Santa Anna Dolce. A cold, light rain fell as the silk merchant brought his eldest daughter to her destiny. His wife and children had preceded them and now waited in the crowded church. Despite the fur-lined cloak that had been put over her shoulders to protect her, Bianca felt cold, and the garment was removed the moment they entered the building.

Her father led her up the long aisle of the church past nameless people she did not know. Some smiled at her. Others simply marveled at the girl's extraordinary beauty. Some whispered to their companions knowingly. Bianca was numb. She would shortly have the Church's blessing on her marriage. She didn't want it! She didn't want this union. She was terrified of Sebastiano Rovere, who now stood waiting for her at the end of the aisle, a toothy smile decorating his darkly handsome face, his l.u.s.t barely concealed.

Her father put her hand into that of Rovere. Bianca remembered to acknowledge him with a small nod of her head. They knelt at Father Bonamico's instruction. She answered when required, but she didn't really hear the words being spoken. She just instinctively knew what was expected of her and performed her duty. That was all that would be needed of her from now on. That she do her duty.

And after the church had done what was expected of it, Bianca and her new husband led her family and the guests back across the square to the Pietro d'Angelo palazzo, where tables covered in the finest linen cloths and topped with golden candelabras had been set up in the formal sala da pranzo. Bianca had never had a meal in this dining room, with its mural-covered walls and coffered ceiling. Their family ate in a smaller and more intimate chamber. This was where her father entertained his guests. Tomorrow there would be another wedding feast given in her new home by her husband.

The menu was extensive, with several kinds of pasta, salads, and roasted meats and poultry. There were freshly baked breads and rich wines. Unlike many, Giovanni Pietro d'Angelo did not serve his best wines first and afterwards his worst, believing as so many did that no one would notice. He served only his best wines for the entire feast, which led the bridegroom to imbibe too much.

Sebastiano Rovere knew he was drinking too much, but tonight he could not seem to stop himself. Soon, soon Bianca would lie naked in his bed, at his mercy. The thought of her fear, of her screams as he took her virginity, excited him almost beyond bearing. And she was fearful of his attentions, he knew. She accepted his kisses easily enough now, but when his hands would roam over her nubile young body, a look would cross her face and she would struggle not to forbid him, although he knew she wanted to do so.

He turned his head to look at her now. The neckline of her wedding gown had been cut particularly low. Her full young b.r.e.a.s.t.s almost swelled over the lace edging, and he had seen many men in the room tonight admiring the view. Little b.i.t.c.h, he thought. She will soon learn at my hand the consequences of her teasing. His fourteen-year-old son, Alberto, could not take his eyes from Bianca's tempting cleavage. Alberto needed to have a wife. Stefano had told their father that the young devil could hardly keep his c.o.c.k in his hose these days. Sebastiano chuckled. Alberto was like his father.

It was time to go home. They had remained long enough to satisfy custom, and he wanted to f.u.c.k Bianca now. He arose from his seat, reaching out to pull Bianca up too. "My friends," he said, his voice slurring, "it is time for me to take my bride to my bed. I thank you all for coming, and will look forward to your company at our own wedding banquet tomorrow."