Rose Red by Flora Speer

said that you were
far better than he at planning and intrigue.” Bartolomeo’s voice
was tinged with admiration. “I do believe Girolamo was right about
you.”
    “I have waited so long for Fortune to show me
the way to regain what rightfully belongs to my daughters,”
Eleonora said. “Now that I see the way to do it, I will not be
thwarted. Bartolomeo, dearest and most loyal of friends, the day
will soon come when we will return to Monteferro in triumph!”
     
    * * * * *
     
    Rosalinda burst into Andrea’s room without
knocking. Startled, he spun around to face the door, one hand going
to his waist, reaching in vain for the dagger Bartolomeo had taken
away. More tired after his busy day with the barber and the ladies
of the villa than he cared to admit, Andrea had divested himself of
doublet, shirt, and shoes. Clad only in his borrowed hose, which he
was about to remove, he took a surprised step backward when a
delicious armful of a girl flung herself at him.
    “Andrea.” She clung to him, her soft cheek
pressed against his bare chest. “Oh, take care! I am so afraid for
you.”
    “What is it? Is there some danger?” He was
instantly alert, silently cursing the absence of his only weapon.
Still, he could not stop his arms from closing around Rosalinda or
keep himself from breathing in the rose fragrance she wore. The
effects of her closeness and the rose scent were immediate. The
sudden flush of heat emanating from those portions of his body now
in direct contact with her soft form told him that his recovery
from starvation and illness was progressing remarkably well.
“Rosalinda, what is this about? Do you need protection?”
    “No. You do. But it’s not an attack. It’s my
mother’s plans for you.”
    Her arms were locked around his waist. He
could feel her trembling. Her head fit perfectly into the angle
between his shoulder and his neck. He dared to let his lips brush
across a loose strand of curly hair.
    She stayed where she was, clutching his
waist, until she ceased to shake. Andrea thought she must be aware
of his body’s quickening eagerness. She was too close to him not to
notice it.
    With a deep, shuddering breath, she lifted
her head and moved back a little. Her eyes were wide and soft, a
luminous silver-gray, and they were bright with tears. Never had
Andrea seen such beautiful eyes, or such thick, long eyelashes. He
wanted to kiss each faintly shadowed eyelid. More than that, he
ached to press his own mouth to her rosy-red, softly parted
lips.
    With one hand he stroked the lock of dark
hair that had come loose from her braid, smoothing the silken
strands of it, pulling the hair down the side of her cheek and
under her chin. He had seen noblewomen wearing their long hair that
way, drawn under the chin and up again on the other side, to twist
the end of the lock into braids and pearl-encrusted ornaments. In
Florence, Aullia, and Urbino it was the very latest style. Or it
had been, during the previous summer....
    “Andrea?” Her voice was a faint whisper on
his ear.
    He saw the innocence and confusion on her
face and knew she had never before experienced the emotions that
must be unsettling her now. He tried to remember himself, remember
where he was, and what was at stake, but all he could see, all he
could think of, were Rosalinda’s eyes, those silvery pools of
light. And her mouth. Her lips were much too tempting to ignore.
Slowly, he lowered his head and put his mouth upon those lips.
    Sweetness beyond anything he had known or
dreamed of in the past coursed through Andrea. Rosalinda’s lips
trembled beneath his. He could tell she did not know what to do,
which meant no other man had claimed those perfect lips before him.
Carefully, mindful of her innocence, he led her to a new awareness
until she opened to him and let him taste the wet heat of her inner
mouth. She tasted of cinnamon and rose petals.
    Her arms wound around his neck, a motion that
lifted her breasts, pushing their gentle