Beloved (27 page)

Christina could smell the liquor on his breath and she knew his moods often turned ugly when he drank. She was unsure what she could do to placate him.

“I’m sorry…” she began, but he interrupted her.

“And so you should be. He was my friend, too, but you, my dear, are carrying this to extremes. What will people think? It might be argued that you still harbor some very strong feelings for a man not your husband.”

“Guy, you know that Richard and I were very close…”

Guy laughed. “Oh, yes, my dear, I remember exactly how close you were that night in the barn.”

Christina blushed furiously. “Am I not allowed to grieve, then?” she asked defiantly.

“Grieve? I think the time for grieving is past, don’t you? Now is the time for celebration.”

She looked at him in confusion.

“There is no longer anything standing in the way of you loving me.” He pulled her to her feet and kissed her roughly. When she failed to react as he imagined she should, he pulled back and looked at her. He touched her cheek, then he began to smile.

“Christina, Christina. Sometimes I think you just refuse to allow yourself to respond to my lovemaking. For heaven’s sake, use your imagination. It can be that way between us—the way it was between you and Richard that night—better, in fact, if you would just try.”

Did Guy really think he could ever be the lover Richard had been?

“It’s not so very difficult, you know.” But when Christina’s expression remained unchanged, Guy sighed in exasperation. “You see,” he said, gesturing toward the window, “Rain, just as it rained that night.” He went over and pulled the heavy drapes closed against the grey afternoon light. The room was plunged into darkness but for the flickering flames. Guy took her by the shoulders, turning her toward the fire.

“And we have a cozy fire. Is it not like that night? Or is it also necessary for me to send you out in your nightgown until you’re soaked through?” He pulled off his coat and waistcoat and began to loosen the lace at his throat.

Christina knew he might very well send her outside in her nightclothes in his present state of agitation. She had to calm him down. She gently put her hands against his shirt before he could begin to unbutton it if, in fact, that was what he intended.

“Forgive me, husband,” she said tentatively.

“That’s much better.” Guy smiled. “If you’ll just relax, you may find that I can show you things your friend Richard never even imagined.”

He kissed her slowly and then with more passion and she could feel the excitement running through his lean body. Surely he wasn’t going to try to make love to her right there? The thought caused her to tense up and Guy felt it.

“What now?” he asked impatiently.

“You don’t mean to…I mean…here?… now?”

Guy found he was beginning to enjoy the frightened look in her eyes.

“Of course, my dear. Why not? We’re married. There’s no sin in it. Or are you suggesting that I will have to find an actual stable to take you in? Is that the only thing that can kindle your passion?”

“No, of course not…it’s just…”

“It’s just what?”

She looked at him helplessly and Guy’s impatience overcame his judgment.

“All right. Take off your clothes.”

“What? Guy, please…”

“Take them off or by God, I’ll do it myself!”

Christina knew it was useless to argue. She turned away from him and began to unhook the front panel of her gown, but he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back.

“Christina,” he said, taking her chin in none too gently. “Don’t turn away from me. I find it rather stimulating to watch you undress. It’s all really quite simple, you know. You’re beautiful. You excite me. You should enjoy that knowledge and make use of it…hmm?”

Guy pulled his shirt free of his breeches and began unbuttoning it slowly, first the cuffs, then the buttons under the lace. As Christina removed her bodice and started to untie her skirts, Guy began to walk around her, admiring the pale glow of her skin, warmed, now, by the firelight. Then he reached to unpin her hair and Christina jumped.

“Now, now…” he whispered softly against her ear. “Your hair must be down. You remember? It was down, and quite wet as I recall.”

She turned, frightened, and he laughed.

“I think we can forgo the water, can’t we?” He continued to take down her hair and then to comb through it with his fingers.

Finally, Christina stepped out of her underskirts and Guy flung them aside, leaving her only her corselet and her chemise. She stood in front of him, staring at the floor.

“Christina, look at me.” She looked up and he saw her fear. “Don’t you find me attractive, wife? Others have, you know. Many others.” He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the chair.

She was too frightened to answer. All the memories of their first night together conspired to keep her mute.

“Touch me,” he commanded and she raised her trembling fingers to his chest. He closed his eyes, thinking of those hands, those strong, dark hands.

His skin felt warm to Christina. Too warm. He stepped closer to her and began to unlace her corselet. He kissed her throat and the tops of her breasts as he did so, but it had no effect on her. She stood motionless. She could only pray he wouldn’t hurt her. Not that. Not again.

He reached down and slid her chemise up over her hips, pulling her tightly against him.

“Do you remember?” he whispered breathlessly against her ear. “Do you remember that night?” He pulled the chemise up and over her head. “I remember, Christina. It was as though those hands were my hands…” he said softly as he ran his fingers lightly down her neck and over her breasts.

He touched the soft curve of her stomach and the fullness of her hips. Then he slid one hand between her legs, but much to Christina’s surprise, he did it gently.

Momentarily relieved, Christina closed her eyes and Guy mistook it for a sign that she was surrendering to his touch. Encouraged, he leaned forward and kissed her shoulder.

“That’s right. Give yourself over to the sensations, Christina.” He took her hands and put them at his waist.

She knew what he wanted, but her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t work the buttons.

Guy interpreted her agitation as excitement. He took her hands in his and kissed them.

“Perhaps we should prolong this a little. Would you prefer that?” He smiled at her, then leaned down and ran his wet mouth over her breasts, first one and then the other.

Christina began to tremble, wishing she could forget. She knew the tears were coming and she also knew she mustn’t cry. As long as he didn’t hurt her she could endure him.

He kissed her, long and hard. When he looked at her, she saw the glitter of excitement in his eyes and she tried to smile. Very slowly he made her turn around. He pushed her hair forward and over her shoulders, baring her back. For a moment, he didn’t touch her, he just looked at her. The curve of her back, the firelight on her skin… He was more excited than he’d been since that night when he’d seen the two of them together. It was perfect. He’d always known it could be like this.

He started at her shoulders, running his fingers slowly down to her shoulder blades, then down her sides to her waist. His thumbs lingered a moment in the twin dimples at the base of her spine as his fingers wrapped around her hips. He remembered Richard’s hands there—moving, caressing.

There was a brief knock and before either of them could move, the door opened. If looks could kill, Agnes would have surely been struck dead in that moment when her eyes met her master’s. Christina would have moved, but Guy’s strong hands held her firmly. Agnes’s retreat was instantaneous and Guy returned his attention back to Christina, thinking again of Richard’s hands as he slowly began to caress the twin globes of her buttocks. He moved closer, pressing himself against her.

“Oh, my love,” he whispered. “There’s so very much I want to show you.”

On November first, All Saint’s Day, an incredible earthquake struck Lisbon. The aftershocks, the fifty foot tidal wave and the fires that followed left more than sixty thousand dead. One of Richard’s ships was destroyed and all but three of the crew killed. Though the quake was felt in Corsica, it took nearly two weeks for the news of the disaster to reach them.

The damage to the rest of his father’s fleet was minimal and business went on as usual during the next six months while Richard allowed himself to recover from his wound and regain his strength. He spent most of his time with the children, teaching Piero to tie knots, helping him with his reading, and taking both of the children aboard his ships when they docked.

The four of them seemed very much a family then. Richard began to play the harpsichord in the evenings, which surprised Arabella. She had assumed he didn’t play, for in all the time she’d known him, she’d never once seen him touch the instrument. He made beautiful music for them and they in turn taught him some of the folk songs of the island. It was a warm and happy time for all of them.

Finally, Richard grew restless and went back to the sea. But each time he returned to his makeshift family on Corsica, he stayed a little longer.

La Fureur s’oppose au Destin ce qui dévore

l’espérance brillante des vies innocentes;

Et jamais en assouvie, elle cherche à tourmenter

ceux qui demeurent comme survivants.

—Lolandre

Rage against Fate, who devours the brightest hope of innocent lifeand not thereby sated, feasts on those left behind.

Mai 1758

Bonifacio

It was a beautiful afternoon, clear, a soft breeze scattering the incredible fragrance of the
macchia
across the island. The sea was calm, the brilliant blue-green of tarnished copper. As the sun slipped behind the hill on the west side of the harbor, the light caught the ramparts of the
Haute Ville
, making the pale limestone glow with a soft warmth accented by the red tiles on the roofs clustered within the safety of its massive walls.

Richard was happy to be home as the
La Margarite de Provence
tied up at the deep water dock in Bonifacio.

When he arrived at the warehouse with the manifests, no one was in the office, but there was a letter from Robert waiting for him. He broke the seal and unfolded the pale vellum.

4 Mars 1758

Beloved Brother

I feel compelled to share the news circulating through Provence these days on the chance it has not yet reached La Corse, or at any rate, your end of the island.

In January an attempt was made on the life of our beloved King…or so the story goes.

I think they may be taking it all a bit too seriously.

Those of us trained in the processes of scientific thought must wonder if Monsieur Damiens was a man of such great strength that he was actually capable of dealing our Monarch a death blow with his cane. Perhaps it was merely a fit of temper and not an assassination attempt at all. One would think that if death was his purpose, he would have chosen a more conventional weapon, but then I suppose we’ll never know.

On to happier news—I will be traveling to Rome on Church business at the end of this month. I will reside with His Holiness for four weeks, during which I will be able to spend some time with Grégoire. Since it is then only two days journey to Bonifacio, I should arrive there during the latter part of the first week of May.

I have written to Gérrard and he believes you will be returning to Bonifacio yourself that week.

I’m anxiously looking forward to a visit.

It has been far too long.

Yours in Christ,

Robert

Richard could hardly believe his eyes. Robert would be arriving in a week, perhaps sooner. He quickly turned the remainder of the ship’s business over to Captain Gervais, and gathered up his bags.

Anxious to reach the cottage and share the news with Arabella, he hurried along the crowded street that faced the water. Robert’s visit would provide a perfect opportunity to present Piero to him and to begin making plans for the boy’s education.

Richard was able to make better time after he started up the steep street to the
Haute Ville
. When he reached the top he turned back along the walled path to the cottage.

Tomas heard the gate open and was there to greet Richard as he entered the yard.

“Welcome home, Signore
,
” Tomas said nervously. He studied his master’s face, trying to determine if he’d heard what happened.

Richard, preoccupied with his own news, took no notice of the boy’s questioning look. He went on toward the door, giving Tomas a pat on the shoulder as he passed.

“Signore
?
There is something…”

Richard didn’t even look back. “In a few minutes, Tomas. I’ll come out to the barn.”

“Bella?” Richard passed the morning room and called again down the hall. When there was no response, he went back toward the kitchen.

“Bella?”

She was standing at the work table peeling vegetables. Throwing his bag down, he headed for the door that opened on to the kitchen garden and the small barnyard.

“Piero? Luisa?” he called out the door. When there was no answer, he turned back to Arabella. “Bella, where are the children? I have wonderful news.”

Arabella continued with her work, not looking up, seeming—behaving in fact—as if she hadn’t heard the question.

“Where are the children?” Richard asked again. This was certainly not the welcome he usually received. He was annoyed that she wouldn’t answer him.

She turned her head slightly and nodded toward the open door. “Out by the tree,” she said, her voice husky.

Richard took note of her red-rimmed eyes. Onions, he thought, they always made Bella cry. He went out the door, hurrying across the yard toward the small barn. His eyes searched the little hillock that was sheltered by the dusky green branches of an ancient olive tree and came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the two small mounds of freshly turned earth. A moment later he felt a hand on his back.