Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)
A light rap sounded on the door, but Daniele did not move to open it. He walked instead to the golden cord beside the thick blue velvet drapery and pulled it open.
The room was more stark than the Golden Chamber, Giana saw, without the lush furnishings. But the sweating naked man on the bed with the buxom Lucia astride him, her position unusual in that her back was to him, was but more of the same. Giana could hear the man groaning as Lucia raised and lowered her body, splaying her hands sensuously over his legs. Giana could not prevent a shudder at the animallike sounds he was making.
Suddenly the door to the chamber burst open, and another man ran inside, fully dressed.
“Now for our own special commedia dell’arte,” Daniele said softly. “All well rehearsed, with everyone knowing his part.”
Giana stared at Vittorio Cavelli. He was dressed in a full-sleeved white shirt, tight trousers, and black riding boots. He was slapping a riding crop against his thigh, his smooth young face mottled with fury.
“What is this?” he yelled. “You miserable unfaithful bitch, you offer yourself to my best friend the moment I leave you alone.”
Lucia drew herself off the naked man and cowered away from Vittorio, covering her bountiful breasts with shaking hands. “No,” she cried, “it was he who seduced me. I swear it. He forced me to submit.”
“Liar. Deceitful whore. You were riding him like a wild mare. Well, did you seduce my wife, force her?” he angrily demanded of the naked man, who now sat on the edge of the bed.
The man, as young as Vittorio, olive-skinned and slender, broke into loud, scornful laughter. “She tore my clothes off,” he said, pointing toward the trembling Lucia. “She is a whore, and unworthy of you, Vittorio. She will spread her legs for any man who wants her.”
Giana darted a confused glance toward Daniele, but his face was impassive. Her fingers clutched the arms of her chair so tightly the knuckles showed white.
“No, no.” Lucia cried. “It is not true, my dear husband. Never would I betray you willingly. He forced me.”
“Shut up, harlot. I will teach you that I am your master.”
Vittorio raised the riding crop and brought it down over Lucia’s white shoulders. Lucia shrieked and fell to her knees in front of Vittorio, clawing at his riding boots.
“No, my husband, no more, I beg of you.”
“The unfaithful whore must be taught a lesson,” Vittorio snarled to the other man. “Bind her.”
Giana lurched forward in her chair, a cry on her lips. She felt Daniele’s hand grasping her arm, pulling her back. “Hush. Do not intrude on their charming charade.”
She watched numbly as the man pulled Lucia to her feet and bound her wrists together with a silk scarf that Vittorio tossed to him. He pulled her long hair from her back and held her against him, stretching her upward until she stood on her tiptoes.
“No, my husband,” Lucia wailed, “do not do this.”
Vittorio walked slowly toward Lucia. “Whore,” he spat, and brought the riding crop down across her white buttocks.
“Stop it, Uncle. By God, you must stop this.”
“Shut up, Giana. Lucia would not thank you, you know. She earns a good deal of money playing these games.”
“It is Vittorio Cavelli.”
“Yes, I know. A interesting young gentleman.”
The other man held the straining Lucia tight against him. “Again, Vittorio, again. I want to hear her scream.”
The riding crop descended again and again, and Lucia yelled, tossing her mane of black hair, writhing frantically to escape the whip.
“Give me her belly,” Vittorio cried suddenly. He ripped open his trousers as the other man whirled Lucia about to face him, and drove his thigh between her legs to spread them. Vittorio lashed her once again with the riding crop, and slammed into her. His yells of sexual pleasure mixed with Lucia’s screams. He fell away from her onto the bed, and watched as the other man quickly untied Lucia’s wrists and flung her to the floor.
“Take the bitch. Cram the unfaithful little whore,” Vittorio cried.
Giana said not a word as the man drove into Lucia’s belly. White-faced, she rose and walked from the room.
Daniele loosened his collar and set his empty brandy snifter upon the sideboard. He thought he heard a noise, and turned to walk from the library onto the balcony. He drew up at the sight of Giana, dressed only in her white cambric nightgown, leaning over the railing, staring at the magnificent sprawling city. She had tied her heavy black hair in a ribbon off her neck, and lazy curls framed her face.
“You could not sleep my dear?”