The Second Duchess Read Online Free PDF Page A

not.
    “You have beautiful hair. Come closer and put your arms around me.”
    I obeyed him.
    He kissed my mouth. I could taste wine on his lips. He could probably taste wine on mine as well. No honey, no spices. I prefer the flavor of the wine itself. I let myself sink farther toward him; the green scent of crushed herbs made me dizzy. He had taken off the shirt. Skin against skin. My husband, my lord. The cathedral. Jacta alea est . I would be the duchess, at the center of the court. I would have children.
    “Good,” he said. He twisted his hands more tightly in my hair. “Open yourself to me.”
    I opened my mouth and let my full weight press against him. He kissed me again and again, with my hair wrapped around his fists.
    “Look at me.”
    I tried to turn my face aside, but he held me. I could not look at him. I prayed he would not insist.
    He did not. He let go of my hair and pushed me back into the center of the bed; then, slowly and possessively, he moved his hands over my throat, my shoulders, my breasts, my arms. I felt ashamed and awkward at first. He calmed me. I have little skill at pretty words. A lie, that. Once he had gentled me, all of a sudden he sank his nails lightly into my flesh, and I recoiled at the shock of sensation. He waited until I had stopped trembling, then began the same slow process again. Caresses, murmurs, more caresses, then—not pain, exactly, but intense sensation. This time I half-expected it and only gasped.
    He did it over and over. Each time the sensation was more piercing. He began using his mouth as well as his hands. I could not catch my breath. I was sweating all over, everywhere. I could feel herbs and flower petals stuck to my skin. I tried to keep from sobbing but could not stop myself.
    Through it all I kept my eyes tight-shut.
    “In time you will look at me,” he said. “Now. This is the rest of it.”
     
     
    THE EMPEROR’S POOR ugly sister is sleeping now, and well she should be—Alfonso took his time at the end, and when he finished she cried a little. Alfonso’s still awake. I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if he’s thinking of me—of the last time he had me, the last time he saw me.
    I laughed when she said she was no longer a child—at least that’s the truth! If I was alive this very night, I’d still be five years younger than she is.
    I’m sure she was a virgin. I was, too. I was! Well, in the flesh, at least, I was.
    It was my sister Isabella who taught me about men. She was two years older than me and betrothed to the Duke of Bracciano’s heir, but she’d been taking lovers since she was twelve. She taught me that noble lovers were dangerous, because they might wake up one morning in a fit of remorse and confess everything to the nearest listening ear. Servants were safest, because a stable boy or a passing soldier wouldn’t be believed even if he did tell tales.
    We’d go to the chapel, Isabella and I, and pretend we were praying, because then our nurses and tutors would leave us alone. She’d whisper things that made me squirm with excitement, and sometimes she’d draw little sketches with paper and charcoal she kept beneath her kneeling-cushion. We’d burn them later when we went up to light holy candles. Everyone thought we were deeply devout, because we spent so much time in the chapel, looking as pious as the Virgin herself and lighting many, many candles.
    It was a lover I wanted, not a husband. Isabella told me husbands expected too much and didn’t give enough pleasure in return. I wasn’t even supposed to marry Alfonso—he was betrothed to my sister Maria, who was five years older and probably would’ve been a better wife. Maria died of a fever in a very inconvenient way. Some people said my father stabbed her because he caught her with a lover. Of course it wasn’t true. At least, I think it wasn’t true. Either way, Maria was dead, and since Isabella was already betrothed and there were no other daughters, that left