The Collector 5: The Crystal Flacon Page 2

  Lucrezia moaned. As though it had a will of its own, her hand drifted to her lap. Hidden by the tablecloth draped to the floor, she crumpled her gown, rolling it up so that she could reach under and delve between her thighs. Her fingers caressed the nubbin of aching flesh. Her eyes closed and her head tilted against the padded back of the chair.

  Without warning, a strong hand pulled her fingers from their task. Beard-roughened cheeks insinuated between her thighs and a skillful tongue plied the tiny bud.

  Her eyes sprang open and she bent her head to observe short, ebony curls atop a masculine head. Her heart raced. She didn’t want to push the unknown man away -- his lips felt so good. She had never experienced such feelings before. Instead, she clasped the silky curls and thrust against him.

  She arched upward, her breasts pressing against the cloth of gold that covered them. The material chaffed her skin and without thought, she untied the thin ribbon, loosening the bodice and dragging it down. The hall’s warm air caressed her skin and she moaned louder, uncaring of the wanton display she presented. Her hands gripped the chair’s arms, her fingers curving around them.

  Her eyes closed, she let the incredible sensations drown her and her orgasm struck hard, forcing a scream of pleasure from her lips.

  The sound of nearby applause caused her to open her eyes.

  Her father and brother stood before her, satin robes mercifully shielding their bodies. Hastily, she drew her bodice up, attempting to cover her nakedness.

  Her father smiled. “Brava, cara mia. Who is the man who has brought you such ecstasy?”

  Who?

  She looked down as her lover raised his head. Clear amber eyes framed with thick lashes gazed with adoration at her. A proud Roman nose shadowed a wide, full mouth.

  “Alfonso,” he mouthed.

  “Alfonso.”

  “The Duke of Bisceglie? Molto bene!” He beamed. “You have done well, my daughter. The duke has been under consideration. The marriage will be arranged.”

  He turned, his robe flaring behind him.

  Juan licked his lips and smirked. “I hope you enjoyed your playtime.” He whirled and strode after their father.

  Lucrezia took in her appearance. Her bodice displayed one nipple peeping from behind the drooping cloth. Her gown, rucked up, revealed her moist pubic hair. One auburn curl had managed to slip from her elaborate hairstyle and lay across her shoulder.

  Alfonso’s warm breath blew across her skin. He squeezed her knees. She felt him press them wider apart as he rose between them until he could look directly in her eyes.

  “Cara mia, ‘tis too late to repair the damage this evening has wrought.” He licked his lips. “I have already tasted your cream. Let me kiss you and taste your honey.”

  Lucrezia said nothing, but bent her mouth to his.

  And as their lips touched the scene faded.

  And Abby awoke.

  Chapter Two

  “Where the hell did that dream come from?” Abby’s thoughts whirled. Had she become so wrapped up in Lucrezia Borgia that she was dreaming about her? The entire scene was so vivid, stronger than any dream she’d ever had. It was as if she were Lucrezia. She shook her head and sniffed. The aroma of hot espresso wafted her way, distracting her.

  She’d opted for special business class going over. The seats were far more comfortable; she had more legroom and could boot up her laptop. The cuisine, however, could go either way -- unappetizing or uninteresting. As the food cart rumbled down the aisle, she straightened her seat and tried to dredge up some enthusiasm for the meal.

  At least the espresso was good.

  With her seatmate remaining uncommunicative, Abby had plenty of time to mull over her dream.

  The reports of Lucrezia’s corrupt behavior were quite controversial and had been refuted by many historians. Unfortunately, her subconscious obviously preferred the rumors.

  The Alfonso in her dream was Lucrezia’s second husband to whom she’d been married for barely two years. Abby knew that this brief marriage had been a happy one and Lucrezia well satisfied with her husband -- her dream attested to that -- but the ending had been tragic and added fuel to her corrupt reputation. Her father and her oldest brother, Cesare, ordered Alfonso assassinated when his usefulness was at an end. Although he survived a first, near-fatal attack, a month later, even with Lucrezia’s devoted nursing, one of her brother’s henchmen tricked her away from Alfonso’s bedside and strangled him. Lucrezia was inconsolable, but as soon as possible, her family arranged for another marriage.

  In December 1501, she married Alfonso d’Este of Ferrara. Within two years of the marriage, her father died abruptly and Cesare was ruined. Her reputation no longer stained by her family, her lovely nature became evident. The marriage lasted almost twenty years and was a happy one. Lucrezia was beloved by her husband, who outlived her by fifteen years. Her in-laws and all of the people in Ferrara admired her for her beauty, wit and kindness.

  Her descendent, the man whom Abby was to meet, appeared to be a modest man, preferring not to use his title. Since the palazzo in Ferrara was no longer in the family, being sold to pay off debts, the present duke resided in the family residence, the Villa Lucrezia, outside of Ferrara on the outskirts of the Oasi di Campotto nature reserve.

  Surrounded by the lush landscape created by his ancestor, Alfonso I, the floral gardens were the basis for the signature scent of the Borgia perfume company, named after his ancestress’ family. There was, however, one bit of information relating to the duke’s perfume business absent in all the information the Collector had given her.

  Just how did the Crystal Flacon come to be in Lucrezia’s possession and what significance did it hold in her life and that of her descendents?

  Abby decided these questions had to be answered to her satisfaction before she could truly come to terms with her goal. If she wasn’t happy with the answers, if it looked as though the flacon did belong with the duke, she’d have to abort the mission and set about returning the advance the Collector had given her.

  She sighed and stretched stiff muscles, twisting her neck, trying to loosen up her shoulders. As soon as the steward took her tray away, she rummaged around in the little amenities kit provided by the airline. Kicking off her shoes, she slipped on the socks she found inside and placed an eye mask over her tired eyes.

  And giggled, thinking of the last time she had worn a mask -- a blindfold, actually -- and the playful lovemaking that followed. It had been a while. Maybe that was the real reason she had dreamed of that orgy.

  She was horny. She settled deeper into her seat and let sleep overwhelm her again.

  * * * * *

  She wore nothing but a silken mask without eyeholes. She had no idea where she was. Utter silence surrounded her. She could feel soft velvet beneath her naked derriere. She lay supine, her hands bound behind her.

  A draft of warm, scented air wafted over her. Did a door open or a window? Harsh breathing heralded the arrival of someone, but whom?

  “Perfection.”

  A man’s voice, with a slight accent. She heard the rustling of clothing, the plop of shoes being kicked off. Then, the mattress sagged at the foot of the bed and a masculine hand grasped her ankle.

  “Wait!” The single word she uttered sounded hoarse and desperate to her ears, but there was no further movement.

  “Why?”

  “Who are you? Why am I here? Where am I?”

  Anger infused the man’s voice. “You ask too many questions. Know this -- I am your master. You are here to be fucked. And it is not necessary for you to know where you are.”

  This must be a dream. It had to be. “Will you free my hands?”

  Amusement colored the man’s response. “So you can fight me? I think not.” Two large hands caressed both her ankles, then tightened. They spread her legs wide. “Why these questions? I bought and paid for your services. This is what you do.”

  So, she was a prostitute; she hoped a well-paid one. She’d played games like this before; it was one she enjoyed. She giggled. She certainly was horny.

  “I’m glad you are now amused.”

  She stifled her laughter. “Will you tell me your name?”

  “Antonio. Listen, I am tired of your conversation. Let’s put your mouth to better use.” Swift movement marked a body straddling hers. She smelled the musk of a male’s arousal and licked her dry lips.

  “So, you are greedy for my candy, eh? Open wide, bella, here comes your treat.”

  Thick. Soft. Hard. Salty. Just what she liked the best.

  He thrust deeper but she took him all in. The only sounds were his rhythmic pants as she satisfied him. He withdrew and her tongue swiped the last drops of his cum. She sighed.

  “You did very well, bella. You deserve a reward.”

  He moved lower, his body brushing her as he shifted.

  Her nipples grew taut with anticipation. Her pussy dampened as she tried to guess what he would do. Would he plunge his cock in her aching cunt? Or would he ply his lips and tongue and teeth to bring her to ecstasy? She waited, holding her breath. Would he give her a hint? Would he tell her what he would do with her willing body? Would he speak again?

  * * * * *

  “Signorina, Signorina, wake up, please. Breakfast will soon be served. ”

  Abby woke up with a start. She was damp and still not satisfied and there was not enough time to do anything about it now. She concentrated on satisfying her hunger for food. The enticing smell of espresso filled her nostrils. Breakfast was more rushed than supper and she opted for a Continental meal. Juice, espresso and a sweet roll were more than she usually had in the morning. Finishing quickly, she freshened up in the lavatory and regained her seat.

  They circled the Bologna-Ma
rconi airport, arriving late as she expected. Not needing to wait for any baggage to collect, she figured she’d have more than enough time for a leisurely ride to her destination. One more splurge in her budget -- a taxi to the duke’s villa -- ensured that she’d arrive less wrinkled and more refreshed.

  And she could catch a bit more shut-eye. Maybe this time she’d wake up after she climaxed!

  Her cabby, thrilled that his American passenger spoke fluent Italian, chattered away, putting the kibosh on her additional naptime. It did make the ride fly by and with an occasional nod, smile and “bene, bene”; she could take in the beautiful scenery.

  Late springtime in the region guaranteed a rainbow of flowers and skies so blue they almost hurt the eye. The driveway leading to the villa impressed her. Rows of ash trees lined the way on both sides, fronted by bergamot trees. She could smell the scent of a multitude of flowers redolent on the air mingling with bergamot’s zesty, citrus scent. She smiled and inhaled deeply.

  The cabby, hearing her sigh of pleasure, took his eyes from the road, waved his arm expansively and commented. “Belissima, si?”

  “Molto.”

  Abby relaxed as the cab pulled around to the impressive façade. She’d been to many magnificent homes, though often in the dead of the night, but the Villa Lucrezia was exquisite.

  After paying the cabby, she strolled toward the entrance to the villa, and was almost bowled over by a disheveled middle-aged woman, her graying hair sticking out at the oddest angles. Her white-knuckled fists gripped hanks of hair. Seeing the cab pulling away, she ran screaming after it, only to stop short as the vehicle kept moving down the drive. Shoulders slumping, she trudged away from the villa, still following the cab. Abby watched the distraught woman, who was oblivious of her presence. Then in the hope of finding some help, she entered the villa.

  The entrance hall echoed her footsteps. A sweeping staircase split into two wings at the second floor. Standing at the top of the staircase, an auburn-haired toddler posed with a pair of shears in one hand and a clump of hair in the other, a beatific smile curving her lips.

  “Devil’s child!”

  Abby whirled.

  The woman was suddenly behind her, shaking her fist. Spittle flew from her mouth as she continued her tirade in a rapid-fire Italian. She moved stiffly to the bottom of the stairs, her claw-like hands held out in front of her.

  Rather than turn tail and run, the little girl started down the stairs, picking up speed and raising her shears.

  Could she be meaning to cut off some more hair?

  Half-way down the stairs she launched her chubby body into space.

  Abby watched as time moved in slow motion. She dropped her two small bags to the ground, and shoved the woman aside, catching the little girl and sustaining a gash along her arm as the shears struck. She cradled her, and the diminutive assailant burst into tears. “There, there, bambina, it’s all right.”

  “It is not all right. She is a wicked, wicked child!”

  Ignoring the blood dripping from her wound, Abby responded sharply. “No child is wicked. I don’t know what prompted her actions, but you’re an adult and should know better!”

  “Humph! I do know better. I shall call for a taxi and leave here at once.” She gazed pointedly at Abby. “And were I you, I should leave as soon as possible.”

  Abby smiled. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not you.” She turned to the little girl still sniffling in her embrace. “Can you tell me where I might clean up, cara?”

  “Let me show you, signorina.”

  A strong, masculine voice responded from the doorway of one of the rooms leading off the entrance hall. Abby turned toward this new player upon the scene.

  The duke stood there, dressed casually in black slacks and a blindingly white shirt, left open at the collar, its sleeves rolled up above his muscular forearms. Tall, tanned and even more handsome than his picture. Abby’s mouth watered.

  Slipping from Abby’s gentle captivity, the little girl flung herself into her father’s open arms. He scooped her up and strode further into the hall. Assessing her American clothes and accent, he continued in English, speaking with a twinkle in his eye.

  “I fear my Lucrezia takes after her ancestress and has tried to assassinate you ... Ms. Foster, I presume?”

  Abby stood, holding her hand against her wound and nodded.

  He set his daughter by his side and gestured for Abby to follow him, dismissing the older woman in the hall. Taking a clean handkerchief from his pocket, he wrapped it around Abby’s arm and led her to a small powder room.

  “You’ll find ointment and gauze in the cabinet, I believe.” He glanced down at Lucrezia clinging to his pants leg. “With one such as this, every bathroom contains an ample supply of first aid materials.” His face grew deadly serious and he squatted to be at eye level with his daughter. “Lucrezia Guilietta Isabella Maria d’Este, I am very disappointed with you. You almost killed yourself and Signorina Foster with your thoughtless behavior. I should send her away and bring back Signora Guigliano.”

  “No, papà, no!” Chubby arms clung to her father as the little girl sobbed. Her voice muffled against her father’s neck, she cried for forgiveness.

  “Hush, hush, little one. I know you truly meant no harm. But you must be more careful. You wouldn’t wish to make your papà cry?”

  Abby took in the tender scene of father and child and found her heart melting.

  “Truly, I’m not hurt that badly. Please don’t punish her further.”

  The duke looked up, also responding in English. “You are most kind, Ms. Foster. And you are right. I need not punish her any further. My displeasure is punishment enough for her.” Reaching for one of the soft hand towels hanging in the powder room, he dried his daughter’s tears. “Your agency comes highly recommended and I see by your actions that the accolades were not exaggerated. Do you still wish to stay?” He paused and smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Even though your charge almost killed you? I will not hold it amiss if you decide to leave.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll stay. I think Lucrezia needs me.”

  A tug on her skirt shifted Abby’s attention. “Parlare Italiano!”

  Her father frowned. “Say, ‘please’, Lucrezia.”

  Looking up at Abby from beneath lush curly lashes with a pretty little pout on her cherub lips, the tiny charmer murmured her plea again. “Parlare Italiano, per favore.”

  “Your papà asked me if I would stay and try to tame his wild child. I said, yes.”

  Clapping her hands with glee, Lucrezia danced around the two adults, forcing them into closer proximity. The powder room shrank as their bodies touched. The duke looked down at Abby, towering over her petite form. He smiled. “I think it is past time that you go to your rooms and refresh yourself. We’ll be eating in a few hours and we can talk further then. I washed my plate.”

  She tilted her head with a questioning look. “‘Washed your plate’?”

  “Canceled my appointments for the afternoon.”

  A light dawned as Abby realized what he meant. “‘Cleared the slate’.” She giggled. “Please, don’t change your schedule on my account. That’s the whole idea of having a nanny -- to allow you not to have to alter your life style.”

  “Tomorrow. Today you will rest and tomorrow I’ll leave you alone with your charge ... if you haven’t run screaming into the night by then!” A full-out grin produced a dimple in one lean cheek and Abby was lost.

  “Papà, may I take Signorina Abby to her rooms, please?”

  “We will all go, Lucrezia.”

  Antonio retrieved Abby’s two pieces of luggage from the hall, and the threesome made their way up the right wing of the staircase. Abby cast a glance over her shoulder at the scarlet drops staining the polished marble floor. The duke, catching her look, shrugged.

  “The servants will clean that.” He paused. “And find Signora Guigliano and assist with her departure.” He sighed. “She is the aunt of my late wife. I should have known better.”

  Hearing the woman’s name, Lucrezia made a typical little child’s gagging sound. “She was horrible, papà! She made me eat artichokes!”