The Collector 5: The Crystal Flacon Read online

  “Her father wanted me ... no, no, he wanted my name. His daughter -- la duchessa -- what a triumph!” He laughed harshly. “What a disaster. I am thirty-six. Maria was only twenty-five when she was killed. Her father married her off before she had a chance to truly explore life.” He sighed. “I knew that, but we needed the money. My father was dying. He encouraged me to marry her. I could make her a woman, he said. Teach her to be happy.” He laughed again briefly. “I was, how do you say it, a nerd. I spent more time here than with her. She was so young. She wanted to go out to clubs, to the resorts, shopping. I let her. She did all this alone except for those formal business occasions when she was forced to join me.” He sighed. “She had lovers before we even married, and took new ones, I found out later, almost as soon as we returned from our wedding trip to Tahiti. She wanted to go some place exotic and I indulged her.” He stopped abruptly. “I don’t know why I am telling you all this. I have never before ...” His voice trailed off.

  “Perhaps,” she ventured. “Because I’m a stranger. I can’t judge you or Maria.” Inwardly, though, Abby did. She had an image of a spoiled, thoughtless, immature woman and a man too trusting. Not a good match.

  Antonio stared at her calm features and his expression softened. “You are a good listener, Abby.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s late. Lucrezia will be waking up from her nap. Shall we return and perhaps continue our tour another time?”

  “Sure. I do want to be there when she wakes up.”

  “Bene.”

  They strolled back in companionable silence. Every so often their hands brushed and Abby had to restrain herself from clasping his.

  Lucy was still fast asleep, her even breathing soothing to the adults’ ears.

  Antonio turned to Abby. “I hate to wake her. Will you stay with her until she wakes?”

  Abby nodded. “I’ll just lie down on top of the coverlet. I’m sure I’ll get up when she does.”

  Kicking off her sandals, she stretched out next to the little girl. The skirt caught beneath her slim form, revealing a trim waist and long legs. She drew her arms under her head, lifting her breasts, unaware of the innocently seductive picture she presented.

  But Antonio was aware. He could feel his cock harden and he knew he had to get away from her presence before he embarrassed both of them.

  “If you’re not awake by seven, I shall come and get you both. Sleep well. Pleasant dreams.”

  * * * * *

  Rome -- 1501

  “I will not do it! I refuse to marry this man!”

  “You will do as you are told. You have mourned Alfonso long enough. Besides, sister dear, he is also an Alfonso. This way when you cry out his name as he makes love to you, it will not matter who you mean.”

  Lucrezia knew Cesare gloated over his control over her. It had only been six months and already her father and brother were negotiating another marriage for her. Would they kill this man, too, if he no longer was of use to them?

  “I don’t know this man.”

  Cesare opened an ornately carved box and revealed a miniature. The talented artist had created a tiny portrait brimming with life. A proud visage looked back at her. A strong nose and chin with a full, sensuous mouth. Eyes the color of caramelized sugar set beneath straight brows. His hair was curly, the color of dark mahogany. The bones of his face were clearly visible for he wore only a mustache. And the face was young ... quite young.

  Lucrezia looked over to her brother. “How old is he?”

  “Old enough.”

  She frowned. “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “He is four years older than you.”

  Lucrezia narrowed her eyes. “And he has not been married?”

  He shrugged. “Ten years ago, and there was no ... legitimate issue.”

  “Ah, I see. He needs an heir. But why would he wish to marry into our family?”

  “He has no say in the matter. But his family still needs some ... persuading. Why do you think it is taking so long to negotiate a marriage contract?” His nostrils flared and his eyes blazed. “I need a foothold in Romagna. I would rather not destroy Ferrara. I would prefer to be welcomed by the noblest family in the region. I am giving them my most precious sister. What more could they want?”

  Lucrezia’s shoulders slumped. Once more her family had made her a pawn. She took a deep breath. If she were going to be a pawn, she would be an expensive one.

  “How much are you offering as a dowry?”

  “Father is willing to give them one hundred thousand ducats.”

  “Not enough. Double it ... and give them your written promise to leave their holdings intact.”

  “You’re mad. Father will never agree to that much and I surely will not guarantee not to annex their property.” He looked at her with ill-disguised disdain. “Do you truly think your well-used body is worth that much?”

  “No. But perhaps it will buy their acceptance.”

  “I will tell father what you want to give the d’Estes.” He paused. “Are you a witch, sister? You know that what you requested is what Ercole demanded for his son. You have given him all he desired.”

  “Bene. Perhaps his son will also get what he desires.”

  * * * * *

  Lucrezia paced back and forth in her sumptuous new quarters. The duke had spared no expense with the furnishings. Softened with cushions and pillows in moss green, purple, ruby red and gold cloth and dominated by a bed swagged with sheer gold silk, it was a room fit for a goddess.

  Or a courtesan.

  She stared at her reflection. The mirror was one of the largest she had ever seen, displaying her image from head to waist. They must have paid a fortune for this import from Murano.

  She had sent off her body servant after being divested of the gown worn for the evening meal. The looking glass showed the delicate Venetian ecru lace negligee she had commissioned especially for this night.

  She had had no further chance to speak with Alfonso since their meeting earlier; they had been seated at opposite ends of the lengthy banquet table. She had left early, truthfully claiming fatigue after her journey.

  Due to her earlier marriages there would be no public bedding. However, they would keep track of her menses; no love child passed off as Alfonso’s would be tolerated before she bore him an heir. Her lips thinned. A Moorish physician had attested to her state of fertility. If she were lucky, she would bear him an heir quickly.

  But she wanted to be more than just a broodmare. She had tasted love and desire, albeit for a just a bittersweet moment, with her beloved Alfonso, so brutally murdered by her brother.

  She needed to be loved and desired.

  And she would take no chances. A small, carved box lay before her on the top of the vanity. Opening it, she revealed a small, intricately etched crystal bottle. It had belonged to an ancient witch who had concocted the liquid inside. Lucrezia had paid a small fortune for the magical fragrance.

  The old woman had been ushered into her bedchamber in the dead of night. As the daughter of the pope, it would not do to be seen consorting with witches.

  “You wish to be loved, eh? For men, love begins with desire.” The witch rummaged within a large tray containing small vials and jars. As she unstopped several of them, enticing aromas swirled around Lucrezia’s nostrils.

  “The power in my oils, extracts and liquids when applied to certain points on your body, will drive your lover mad with lust. He will crave you like a drug and will never wish to leave your bed. Give him what he wants and he will love you.”

  She set about measuring, pouring and mixing this and that until she was ready. Opening a deep, rough sack, she pulled out a small, canvas-wrapped object, placed it with great care on the table and unwrapped it. Beneath the canvas, was yet another layer of protection for whatever it concealed. This time a soft piece of chamois hid what must be a very fragile item. Finally, the last layer was peeled away.

  The glass flacon was like nothing Lucrezia had ever seen. Not even the master glassmakers of Murano could have created such a bottle.

  “Where did you get this?”

  The witch’s eyes darted back and forth. Lucrezia knew whatever answer she gave would be a lie.

  “My lord Satan led me to it one day. The ingredients are powerful, but not as powerful as the container. It increases their effect a thousand fold. You may transfer some into your perfume rings, but it will not be as formidable.” She cackled. “Still, should your lover cast his eye on some other female in the crowd, this will lure him back.”

  Carefully, she poured the perfume into the flacon.

  “Now, dab a little in the valley between your breasts and on your nipples. Place some on your underarm and the bend of your elbow. Behind your knees, on your wrists, behind your ears.” She leered. “And last, between your nether lips.”

  “You guarantee that he will be mine? That he will desire me?”

  “I guarantee that he will not be able to live without you.”

  Lucrezia nodded. “That will do perfectly.”

  She filled the witch’s bag with gold coins and sent her on her way, swearing her to secrecy. Two days later, the witch’s body was found in the woods torn apart by wild animals. At least, that was what her maid related to her. Lucrezia took her at her word.

  Now she poured a small amount of the magic scent on her fingers and anointed her body as directed by the old woman. She closed the flacon, returned it to the box and then concealed it within one of her clothes trunks. Her maid’s husband, a carpenter by trade, had created a secret compartment for her. The chest’s ornate, geometric marquetry decoration concealed a special latch to open and close it.

  She doused all the candles save one by the bed. The hearth’s glow cast a golden light into the
room. A carafe of wine and two silver goblets had been placed on a small table near the bedside.

  She laid back against the down-filled pillows atop the purple velvet coverlet and spread open her gold cloth robe so that she appeared like a pearl set in gold and awaited her husband. A cold wind seeped from the window, crossed her skin and her nipples tightened. Some of her fear lessened. Even nature acted to help her appear eager rather than afraid.

  Someone knocked.

  “Enter.”

  Alfonso swung the door open and slammed it against the wall. He staggered, swaying like a drunkard and gazed wild-eyed at Lucrezia. His shirt was unlaced, stuffed half in his leggings. He ran shaking fingers through his hair and shook his head.

  “A dream. I have had this dream before. A goddess appears before me, luring me, enticing me, betraying me. But I cannot resist her.” He took a few stumbling steps closer to the bed, and fell to his knees, crawling the last few feet to cling to the edge of the mattress. He pulled himself up to peer at the vision displayed before him, inhaling deeply of her scent -- her magical scent.

  “Are you real?”

  Lucrezia rose to her knees, letting her robe fall from her shoulders to pool around her. Her pearly skin glistened in the candlelight. Her curly auburn hair cascaded around her breasts. She held out her arms in invitation and spoke in a voice husky with desire. “I am no goddess. I’m real, beloved, and I am yours. Come to me. Kiss me. I desire you. I want you. I need you.”

  He moved onto the bed and fell upon her. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the floor. Curving his hands around her head, he crushed his lips against hers. An intoxicating fragrance enveloped him. His cock hardened, and an urge to sink his shaft deep within the woman who lay beneath him overwhelmed him.

  He kicked off his soft, leather shoes and drew down his leggings. His penis sprang free and, wasting no time, he plunged it between her thighs.

  He suckled her nipples, and another surge of desire struck him. He thrust faster into the slick warmth of his wife’s core as she urged him on with her cries and sighs. “Give me more. Harder. Faster. Deeper.”

  With her knees clenched around his hips, she held on to him as though she would never let him go. Her nails dug into his shoulders and she panted in time to his thrusts.

  He felt like a god. His seed gushed forth filling her.

  He rolled off her, pulling her against his chest. For a while, he held her, fondling her breasts, every now and then dropping kisses on her neck and cheek.

  “I have never known another woman like you, cara. You’re like wine. Intoxicating. Sweet.” He grinned and pinched her breasts. “Full-bodied.”

  “And you, my love.” She turned within his arms and reached down to squeeze his cock. “Well-equipped to release the wine.”

  His hands curved around her buttocks and then caressed her thighs. He smiled with contentment. “You’ll give me fine, healthy children, eh?”

  Lucrezia’s heart sank. After their frenzied bout of lovemaking, did he still only want a broodmare? She had to know. She pulled back.

  “And if I couldn’t give you children, would you still want me? Would you be able to give me up?”

  Alfonso gazed at the sultry beauty framed like a brilliant gem in a gold setting. She was nothing like the frail young girl who had been his first wife. He took in her voluptuous bosom, her trim waist, her lush hips and long, slim legs. The fiery curls on her head and between her legs were an enticement he couldn’t resist. Give her up? Never. And she would give him an heir. He knew it. He smiled with smug certainty. He’d see to it.

  “I will never give you up, beloved. I swear it!”

  She smiled, then opened her arms to him. She would keep him happy in the bedroom and show him that she was more than just a beautiful body. She watched as Alfonso drifted off to sleep. The power of the Crystal Flacon and the perfume it contained had been proven to her satisfaction. Taking a moment, she slipped from the bed and knelt by the chest. This time she opened another secret compartment by reaching inside the chest, and drew out a leather-bound book. She opened it, and with a neat hand, inscribed ‘My Journal’. Taking a deep breath, she wrote the words that she hoped would be prophetic. “Tonight my husband fell in love with me”.

  Alfonso stirred.

  She closed the book and placed it back in the chest. Later, when she was alone, she’d write some more. But now, she returned to the bed.

  She closed her eyes, sighed in contentment and let sleep overwhelm her.

  * * * * *

  “Abby, wake up! Per favore, bella. Wake up.”

  Cradled in two warm arms, Abby came awake in Lucy’s bed in Antonio’s arms. “Antonio?”

  He nodded. “You were so deeply asleep.” His arms tightened around her. “I heard Lucy’s cries as she tried to awaken you and rushed in. We couldn’t do it. Thank God, you finally woke up.”

  Abby gripped Antonio’s arms. “I can’t remember anything!” She leaned in toward him, her breasts crushed against his chest, her lips mere inches away from his.

  Lucy patted her hand. “You must have had a bad dream. Kiss her, papà, like you kiss me when I have a bad dream.”

  She knelt by the side of the bed, gazing intently at the two adults who were suddenly conscious of their intimate position. For a moment neither moved. Then, as though unable to resist, Antonio’s lips brushed against Abby’s. A mutual sigh escaped them and the kiss deepened. His tongue darted in to delve the sweetness. He felt her nipples harden against him and he knew if he held her in his arms any longer he would not be responsible for his actions. With great reluctance, he gently released her.

  “See, Abby. I knew papà would make it right.”

  Abby took a deep, cleansing breath. “Si. More than all right.”

  “Let Abby freshen up, little one. I shall help you dress.”

  “Just today, then Abby will play dress up with me, si?”

  “Si.”

  Abby fled the room, grateful to leave her tangled feelings behind.

  She splashed water on her face, hoping to cool off. Leaning on her hands, she gazed at the stark, white face staring at her in the mirror. Superimposed on her features and then gone in a flash, was a wavering image of an auburn-haired young woman in ancient Renaissance dress.

  “What is happening to me? What did I dream? Did I dream about Lucrezia again?”

  She patted her face dry and squared her shoulders. She had to get a grip or Antonio wouldn’t want her near his daughter. And she wouldn’t blame him. It must be all the research she’d done on Lucrezia. But why couldn’t she remember the details? Maybe it was better so.

  “Abby, hurry! Papà said I could stay up late tonight, but not too late!”

  A spontaneous grin crossed her face. Thank heaven for Lucy!

  * * * * *

  Lucy’s sleep-limp form lay cradled in her father’s embrace. The electric wall sconces created pools of golden light as Abby and Antonio headed to the little girl’s room.

  “This has been the best day she’s had in a long time.” He glanced over to Abby. “She likes you. So much, so quickly. She trusts you, I think, not to leave her ... even if she is naughty.”

  “I meant what I said earlier. No child is truly wicked. At least, not in my experience.”

  She reached over and opened the door for him, trailing behind father and child. Once more Lucy was laid down, but this time Abby took over, manipulating the drowsy child as though she were a limp rag doll. Clothes were stripped and her little nightie pulled on. A soft washcloth wiped her face and hands.

  “We’ll skip the bath tonight; she’s too sleepy. Tomorrow, we’ll splash and have bath time fun.”

  Antonio bent down and kissed Lucy’s chubby cheeks.

  “Notte, Abby. Notte, papà.”

  “Buona notte, cara.”

  A shaft of moonlight sifted through the cheery curtains and drifted over Lucy’s face. She looked like a little fairy princess to Abby. “Sweet dreams, little one.” She switched off the light and she and Antonio left the room.

  For the first time in a long time, Antonio felt content.