Rose Red Read online

  “Bartolomeo, we have told you every detail of the man’s appearance and every word he spoke. We have repeated the story twice,” Bianca said, exasperated by his continued questioning. “Now, let us go, please, so Rosalinda can get into a hot bath before she catches a serious chill.”

  “You were both very brave to attempt such a rescue,” Bartolomeo said with his eyes on Bianca as if he were trying to convince her of the truth of his words. “I do have a request to make of you. Do not disturb your mother with this tale. You said the man rode away from the estate and toward the mountains. I will inform the guards about this incident and they will take extra care to see that he does not set foot upon these lands.”

  “You are right, Bartolomeo,” Rosalinda agreed before Bianca could voice her opinion. “Let Mother hear of this afternoon’s adventure and she will keep Bianca and me inside the house for at least a month. I, for one, could not tolerate the confinement.”

  “Bartolomeo, if you are certain there is no danger,” said Bianca somewhat more reluctantly, “then I suppose we needn’t upset Mother, or Valeria, either.”

  But Bianca could see that Bartolomeo was upset by the tale she and Rosalinda had told. She thought he must have said something to Valeria after all, because over the next few days, under the guise of cleaning out the dust of a long winter, Valeria found so many tasks to keep both Rosalinda and Bianca busy that neither sister had an opportunity to go riding, or even to venture beyond the garden.

  “You know what she is doing,” Rosalinda muttered to Bianca one morning in the dining room, as they each polished a chair with a mixture of beeswax and oil, rubbing the wood with soft cloths until it shone.

  “Of course I know,” Bianca responded. “I am not as stupid as that nasty little man believed. Bartolomeo wants to be absolutely certain the man has gone before we are allowed out again, but he doesn’t want you to be annoyed by our confinement or me to be frightened, so he has convinced Valeria to keep us occupied.”

  “They won’t keep me indoors for long,” said Rosalinda with an impish smile.

  “Do be careful.” Bianca put her hand over Rosalinda’s fingers, and Rosalinda gave her sister a quick kiss on the cheek in response.

  And Eleonora, standing in the doorway with Valeria, smiled and nodded and went away pleased to see her daughters on warmer terms again.

  The next day Rosalinda went riding alone. She did ask Bianca to go along, but Bianca had some work to finish for Valeria. An hour or so later, with her tasks done, Bianca gave in to a new bout of restlessness and went in search of her sister. Believing Rosalinda would go first to the bridge, Bianca rode in that direction. The river was slightly lower than before, as Bianca could see by the level of the water rushing past the rock from which they had rescued the strange little man. There was no sign of Rosalinda, but perhaps she had gone into the woods in search of the flowers she had spoken of, to pick some for their mother.

  While she looked around for some trace of her sister, a delightful idea occurred to Bianca. If there were areas in the forest where enough sunlight filtered through the foliage to allow flowers to bloom, then berries might also be growing wild in the woodland soil. Just the thought of the delicate, tiny strawberries that Rosalinda sometimes carried home from her excursions made Bianca’s mouth water.

  A short distance beyond the bridge, Bianca noticed a narrow stream that fed into the river. There seemed to be a path beside it. Dismounting, she tied her horse’s reins to a sapling so it could feed on the grass at the edge of the wood while she was gone. Then, knowing she could not become lost so long as she followed the stream, Bianca ventured into the leafy shade. Dead brown leaves carpeted the soil and crackled pleasantly when she stepped on them; the little stream bubbled and gurgled cheerfully, and here and there flowering plants did poke their fragile heads up into patches of sunlight, just as Rosalinda had described.

  Some distance into the woods, Bianca came to a spot where her explorations were halted by a solid rock wall that extended well above her head. The rock was not bare. Bushes grew in a few crevices, vines drifted downward from trees to underbrush, and from the top of the gray rock a waterfall tumbled down the sheer face into a mossy pool. Venturing to the very edge of the pool, Bianca put out her hands to catch some of the falling water and carry it to her lips. It was sweet and pure, and very cold.

  “No wonder Rosalinda likes to explore. I never knew this lovely spot was here. How pleasant it must be on a hot summer day.” Thinking she heard her sister’s voice, Bianca went still, listening. At first all she heard over the sound of the waterfall was the rustling of leaves as a breeze blew by and the songs of the birds that flew among the trees. Then, very distinctly, she heard someone whistling.

  Rosalinda sometimes whistled. Always, when they heard her, their mother or Valeria reminded Rosalinda how improper it was for a lady to make such a noise. Bianca smiled at the notion of her sister whistling in the woods, where no one would hear or criticize her. The merry tune was coming from just above Bianca’s head. How like her sister to find a way to climb up over those sheer rocks so she could stand atop a waterfall and whistle!

  “Rosalinda,” Bianca called, stepping back from the pool to look upward. “Come out, my dear. If you do not scold me for following you and discovering at least one of your secrets, I promise to tell no one how well you have taught yourself to whistle.”

  The whistler broke off in mid-note.

  “Come down, come down,” Bianca called, laughing now at the thought of Rosalinda’s discomfiture at being found out. “I shall not punish you. Word of honor.”

  “I do admire an honorable lady.” A tall, masculine shape moved into view on the rocks above the waterfall.

  “Andrea?” Bianca whispered. The man who perched precariously above her looked like Andrea and sounded like Andrea, but she could not be certain that was who he was. At first she thought sunlight and leafy shade were playing tricks with her eyesight. There was only one way to identify him and that was by seeing him face to face at closer range. In a louder voice, Bianca called, “Come down from there at once before you fall.”

  “At your command, madonna.” Catching a tree limb, he swung downward to land lightly on his feet no more than a few inches away from her. The tree branch swung back up again when he released it, showering bits of greenery over both of them. He reached out to pluck a leaf from Bianca’s hair. “Here I am, madonna, as you wish. Now that you have me, what do you plan to do with me?”

  “Do? Why are you here?” Shaken by the vital male presence confronting her, Bianca took a step backward. She slipped on the moss. Quick as lightning, Andrea’s arm was around her waist, pulling her away from the pool, drawing her firmly against his hard, very manly body.

  His clothes, which Bianca did not recognize, were worn and soiled, and his dark beard had grown back again, though it was neatly trimmed. She wondered if he was traveling in disguise. Then she noticed the gold ring on his left little finger and she knew he was not. Still, his unexpected presence puzzled her. She could not think why he had not presented himself at the villa, to make his report to her mother.

  “Why am I here?” he repeated her question. “I do believe the angels sent me here to find you, madonna.”

  “I’m sure you mean you wanted to find Rosalinda. That is why you are here, isn’t it? For an assignation with my sister.” It was the only explanation that made sense to Bianca.

  “Since your sister obviously is not here, perhaps you will allow me an assignation with you instead.”

  His smile really was charming. Andrea had never smiled at Bianca in that way but, seeing him now, she could understand why Rosalinda found him irresistible. Bianca knew she ought to be ashamed of herself for permitting him to continue his embrace, but it was lovely to be held so closely, to gaze into his liquid brown eyes, to see the smile that made her smile back at him.

  “That’s better,” he said, seeing her smile. “You were altogether too serious before, when you ordered me t
o join you down here.”

  “Of course I was serious. I was afraid you would slip and fall off those rocks.”

  “If I were injured, would you care?”

  “Yes, I would. You know I would. Didn’t I -” Bianca could not go on. His mouth was much too close to hers. She could not think about what she wanted to say. She could only stare at his beautiful lips.

  “Didn’t you what, madonna?” he murmured.

  “Why are you calling me madonna, as if we were strangers?” she asked. “You know my name is Bianca.”

  “Bianca.” The word was a caress on his lips. “You are well named, Bianca, with hair like silver sunlight and eyes the color of the sky over the mountains.”

  “You should not say such things to me.”

  “Why not, when they are true?”

  “This is wrong. I must not allow it.” But she could not stop what was happening. His arms were tightening around her and, heaven help her, she did not want him to release her. Not yet. Not until he had kissed her. No man had ever kissed Bianca. She knew Andrea would, in just a moment more. Her lips parted on the thought. His mouth brushed across hers.

  “Oh.” The single word was a soft whisper of sound on Bianca’s lips, granting free consent to whatever he would do next. Then his mouth slanted across hers with firm assurance and Bianca was lost. Her hands fluttered briefly over his shoulders and then went still. Her heart stopped, and the breath halted in her lungs. The world pitched crazily around her, and Bianca was swept into a new place where wild emotion reigned. All that mattered was this man’s arms around her, his mouth on hers, and the hardness of his muscular frame. He was supporting her, he was her lifeline, and she recognized that he was the very reason for her existence.

  His fingertips were on her cheeks, on her throat, then on her breasts, caressing, squeezing gently. When his thumb rubbed across her nipple, Bianca pulled away.

  “I-I cannot,” she stuttered. “I should not have allowed so much.”

  “Bianca.” His hand cupped her cheek, and Bianca turned her face into his palm. “Lovely Bianca. You have never been kissed before today, have you?”

  “Could you tell? Did I do it badly?”

  “You did it sweetly,” he told her. “As sweetly as any innocent girl could ever return a kiss.”

  “It was wrong. I ought to be ashamed.”

  “And are you?” he asked.

  “No,” she whispered. “And my very lack of shame makes me ashamed. I mean -” She bit her lip in confusion, until he put a finger on that lip and rubbed it with a softly sensual touch.

  “I know what you mean, sweet Bianca. You are a lady of noble birth, that’s plain to see, and I have presumed too much. The fault is entirely mine.”

  “I think I should take half the responsibility for what we have done.”

  “If that is your pleasure, sweet Bianca.” He seemed amused by what she had said.

  “Pleasure?” Bianca whispered, looking hard at him. His smile was warmer than she remembered, but now she noticed a difference about his eyes. He seemed more cynical, a bit more calculating, and somehow more daring than the Andrea she remembered from their winter evenings together. Perhaps a change in him was to be expected. Her mother had sent him out on a secret mission that Bianca was certain had been dangerous and, judging by his next words, might still be dangerous.

  “Sweet Bianca,” he said, “I want you to promise you will tell no one that you have seen me. It is vitally important that no one knows I am here.”

  “I promise,” she said at once. “But An-” He stopped her with a finger on her lips.

  “Not another word,” he said. “I saw you come here to the waterfall. Now I want you to return by the same path. Do not look back. Do not ask why. Just go, believing that I send you away for your safety and not because I want you to leave me. You are the sweetest lady I have ever met. Do not forget me, Bianca. Go, now. Go.”

  She trembled at those last few words of his which, unknown to him, dredged up terrible memories for her. She stared at him, wanting to stay with him, yet knowing that this time she must obey. He took her by the shoulders and turned her around, pushing her gently along the path he wanted her to take. Wracked by memory, Bianca took a deep, sobbing breath.

  “Ah, don’t cry, sweet lady. We will meet again, I promise you.” Still holding her by the shoulders, he drew her back to rest against his chest. His mouth lingered on the nape of her neck, before his tongue traced a warm, moist path down to the neckline of her dress. Then he steadied her, stepped away from her, and gave her a gentle shove between her shoulder blades.

  “Go.” His voice was so soft it sounded like the murmur of the spring breeze.

  Bianca walked along the stream until it curved around a huge, mossy boulder. Only then did she look back.

  He was gone. She wondered if he had been a dream, a man formed out of her own fevered imagining, to provide the tenderness, the soft laughter, the warm desire that she so desperately needed. Not until she touched her lips and recalled the pressure of his arms as if he were still holding her, was she convinced that he was real. Then cold reality struck her and she wished with all her heart that he were the product of her imagination. For, whatever he might be to her, he was the man her sister loved.

  Chapter 11

  In that household where secrets and half-truths had burgeoned in recent months like the new leaves on the trees, at last Bianca had a secret of her own, and she hugged it to her heart. Andrea, who last winter had had eyes only for Rosalinda, was interested in her – in pale, quiet, almost invisible Bianca.

  Well aware of her high birth and of the lost inheritance of Monteferro that ought, by right, to be hers, Bianca understood that she had allowed Andrea too many liberties with her person and that she would be foolish beyond belief to permit him more than he had already enjoyed. Still, she took a perverse pleasure in the knowledge that Rosalinda was not the only girl capable of attracting the romantic attentions of a handsome man.

  Throughout the rest of that day and the evening that followed, Bianca existed in a state of terrified anticipation, jumping nervously at every sound, expecting Andrea to stride boldly into the villa. When he came, would he look first at Rosalinda and smile his beautiful smile at her, or would his eyes seek out Bianca before her sister?

  Such thoughts finally produced the guilt Bianca had not felt during her encounter with Andrea. She was certain that Rosalinda, who was honorable to her very bones, would never have done what Bianca had done. Rosalinda would rather die than ever embrace or taste the lips of the man her sister loved.

  Bianca felt like weeping, not only for shame, but for the unworthy jealousy of her sister that had prompted her shameful actions in the first place. But had it all been the result of jealousy? Hadn’t Andrea encouraged Bianca’s response to him? Did that mean he was not as fond of Rosalinda as Bianca had thought? Or did it mean he was not the honorable man she had believed him to be? Consumed by this inner debate, Bianca kept her distance from Rosalinda and rebuffed every overture her sister made.

  “Bianca, you are remarkably distracted this evening,” Eleonora said, frowning at her. Bianca could almost feel in her own heart her mother’s disappointment at seeing the returning warmth between her daughters ended so quickly.

  “I am tired.” It was a lame excuse and Bianca knew it, but in her present state of mind she could think of nothing clever to say.

  “Perhaps it is my fault.” Valeria offered her own excuse. “I have kept Bianca occupied for long hours every day recently.”

  “I trust you are not unwell?” Bartolomeo was watching her closely. Bianca was sure he was wondering if her encounter with the strange man whom she and Rosalinda had rescued might have stirred old, unhappy memories.

  “I am in perfect health, thank you, Bartolomeo.” Wanting to prevent any further questioning, Bianca went on, “Nor have my cleaning chores tired me. I think the sudden advent of warmer weather has produced this lassitude. In fact, I am so sleepy that
, if you will excuse me, Mother, I will seek my bed.”

  “If it is what you wish, then go to bed,” Eleonora responded. “However, if a good night’s sleep does not refresh you, Valeria and I will prepare a tonic for you to take.”

  “Thank you, Mother. Good night.” Bianca had to grit her teeth to keep herself from declaring that she was a grown woman, with her own needs and wants, and not a child to be fussed over or fed tonics whenever she lapsed into a bad mood.

  It did not take long for Bianca to realize that retreating to her bedroom was the wrong thing to do. With no one else present to take her mind off the tormenting subject, all she could think of was Andrea. She went over every word he had said to her, every touch, every kiss. She could even recall the funny little tune he had been whistling when first she saw him perched above the waterfall. Remembering Andrea’s embrace, Bianca ached, as if a hollow place inside her must be filled or she would go mad with longing.

  She drew back the curtains, opened the shutters, and leaned out of her window to see the stars and the faint gleam of white on the mountaintops. There was no moon. The night was still and dark, save for the dim starlight.

  As if in response to the quietness, still more questions crowded her mind, giving her no peace. Why had Andrea returned to the mountains? What drew him there? Why did he not come to the villa? What would happen if he did?

  Bianca wished there were someone to whom she could talk, but Rosalinda, the one person in whom she had always before been able to confide, was also the one person who must never learn what wicked Bianca had done with her sister’s lover.

  * * * * *

  “I am surprised at you, Bianca,” her mother said. “Whence comes this sudden lack of interest in your household duties? It is usually Rosalinda who forsakes Valeria and me when we require her presence.”