“Your Eminence. What a pleasant surprise.”
I looked up to see Sancia of Aragon coming toward me down the hallway. I had just left Lucrezia, having spent a pleasant afternoon visiting her.
She was wearing a gown of dark red—her preferred color—and her dark curls were rather casually pinned up, as though they might escape the pins’ confines at the slightest touch. She wore no jewelry—unusual for her—and yet it was plain to me that she did not need it. She looked more beautiful without it, as though the gaudiness of the jewels detracted from her natural beauty.
We had been in each other’s company often since her arrival—at family dinners, at public events with the Holy Father, and when I would visit Lucrezia and find her in Sancia’s company. The two had become fast friends, for which I was grateful—for Lucrezia’s sake, and ashamed though I was to admit it, my own.
It seemed plain our attraction was mutual. We were often catching each other’s eye over the dining table, across a room, through a crowd. Each time I felt her gaze would set me on fire. I could only hope no one else had noticed. Indeed, we had never spoken a word to each other that was not perfectly appropriate. Yet that almost made it worse.
Holy Virgin forgive me, but all I wanted to do as I watched her walk toward me was take her in my arms. Her movement was sensual, fluid. The way she would move against me in bed, pressing her body to mine …
I forcibly wrenched myself from my sinful reverie as she approached and dropped a curtsy, all too aware this was the first time we had been alone together. “Princess Sancia,” I managed, hoping my voice did not sound as strangled to her as it did in my own ears. “Though perhaps, as we are family, we may dispense with the formalities. You may call me simply Cesare.”
“Cesare,” she said. Her tongue curling around my given name nearly brought me to my knees. In the name of Christ, who was this man I had become, so in thrall to a woman I had never even touched? “Then you must call me simply Sancia.”
I gave her a slight bow. “It would be my privilege.”
She nodded back in the direction from which I had come. “Visiting your sister?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“A pity you must depart so soon, before I have had the pleasure of your company.”
“I am set to dine with His Holiness this evening,” I said. My next words were out of my mouth before I could think better of them. “But I am not due for some time yet. Would you care to take a stroll through the gardens?”
Interest—and, I thought, desire—flared in her eyes. “I would be honored.”
I offered her my arm. I could nearly feel her hip pressing against mine as I led her down the stairs and out into the gardens. We were so close, too close, yet not nearly close enough.
We started along one of the paths. When she did not seem inclined to speak, I cleared my throat. “And how are you finding Rome?” I asked. “Such a change it must be, after Naples.” Perhaps if we spoke of mundane things, my thoughts would stay on mundane things.
“It is very different,” she said in her low, rich voice. “I am not used to being so far from the sea and its breezes.” She wrinkled her pert nose. “There is not such a stench there as there is here in Rome.”
“Does Rome have nothing to recommend it, then?”
She laughed, and the sound was like music, like the taste of a fine wine. “No, no. Do not misunderstand me, Your Eminence. Cesare. I confess I merely fall into homesickness for my beloved Naples at times. Rome has much to recommend it, from the lovely architecture of its palaces and churches to the fine society. And it is the Holy City. Anyone who lives here must consider themselves blessed to do so.” She looked up at me. “And there is your presence, of course. Perhaps the chief way in which Rome is superior to Naples.”
I felt a strange twinge in the pit of my stomach—and lower—at her words. There was no mistaking her meaning, not with those words and the way she was peering up at me through her eyelashes, her head tilted and a slight, almost hungry smile on her face, as though she wanted to devour me. How I responded would determine how we moved forward from here.
I could ignore her words. Ignore them and in so doing say I had no interest in pursuing whatever this was between us. No interest in hurting my little brother. Not even if his wife was the woman I wanted more than any other in all my life.
Yes, that is what I would do.
She pulled me to a stop on a garden path surrounded by high bushes and trees. “Have you nothing to say to such a declaration, Cesare?” she asked, shattering nearly all that was left of my resolve with her repeated use of my Christian name.
“I have many things I wish to say to you, Sancia,” I said, not backing away, “but none are in the least appropriate to say to my brother’s wife.”
“Then do not say them to your brother’s wife,” she challenged. “Say them to me, Sancia, the woman who stands before you, for I wish to hear them all.”
My resistance crumbled at that. I reached out and pulled her against me, my mouth coming down on hers. Her lips opened readily beneath mine, and she made a low noise in her throat that made me hard in an instant. I was pushing her back onto a low stone bench and pulling up her skirts before I realized what I was doing. Abruptly I pulled away from her, and she sat up, breathing hard.
“Why did you stop?” she asked. “I can feel that you are ready.” Her gaze moved downward meaningfully, and she reached out to put her hand beneath my robes. I caught her wrist, stopping her.
“No,” I said, my voice strangled. “Not here. Anyone could happen upon us.”
“That is part of the fun.”
“If we are to do this, we cannot be discovered. It would kill Jofre. Do you want that?”
She was silent. Despite her actions, she was fond of my brother; no doubt more like a sibling, as I had surmised. “You are right,” she said aloud. She rose and met my eyes. “Where? And when?”
It would need to be as soon as possible, lest I be driven out of my mind. “Tonight,” I said. “Do you know of the tunnel that leads from Santa Maria in Portico into the Vatican?”
“I have heard of it, but never seen it.”
“Find it. I will meet you halfway down the tunnel at midnight and bring you back to my rooms. No one will disturb us.”
She smiled with relief and anticipated pleasure. “A whole night spent with you? It is nearly more than I dared dream.”
I wanted to laugh with pure joy that I need not resist this magnificent woman any longer. “And I. We must make sure you are back before dawn, so you are not missed.”
She shivered. “Perhaps this shall be as exciting as a tryst in the garden, after all.”
She went to move past me toward the palazzo, but I caught her by the arm. “I can promise you will have more excitement than you ever thought possible in my bed.”
Her eyes darkened with desire. “I must go inside and pray,” she murmured.
Fear struck my heart. Had I gone too far?
“Pray for what? Forgiveness for sins we have not yet committed?” I demanded.
She looked back at me, her gaze bold. “Pray this day passes as quickly as possible.” With that she turned and disappeared down the garden path, leaving me to collect myself as best I could before returning to the Vatican.
I should have been asking God for forgiveness for what I was about to do. Instead I could only thank Him for sending me Sancia of Aragon.
I usually enjoyed dinners with my father. It was when we would discuss politics and make plans, and he would often seek my counsel. But that night, it seemed an interminable affair. Father spoke of plans for Juan’s triumphant return to Rome, a subject on which I normally would have had much to say, but I barely listened. I could think only of Sancia, and the pleasures that awaited us both.
I left the dinner table as soon as I reasonably could and returned to my rooms, where I paced like a caged beast. I wanted to send for wine, but decided against it. Too much drink could render a man unable to perform, and though it had never happened to me, I could not risk it this night. Not when the woman who embodied all my desires would be in my bed. I would make good on my promise to her if it killed me.
And it may well damn my soul, but I could not bring myself to care.
As midnight approached, I left my rooms without so much as a torch and made my way down to the tunnel. I had dismissed my manservant for the night and told Michelotto to make himself scarce. I was still fully dressed in my cardinal’s robes; should anyone happen upon me, some excuse could be easily made. The way back, with Sancia in tow, would take more care. But should anyone see us, I would make sure they were bribed well. I was too consumed with desire to give it much more thought than that.
I moved into the dark tunnel, feeling my way along the damp stone walls. I heard the scratching and skittering of rats and mice, but paid them no heed. As my eyes adjusted, I saw a cloaked and hooded figure waiting up ahead. I approached, and the figure did not move. “Sancia?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Sì,” she said, and stepped closer, removing her hood. “It is I. Your woman.”
I stopped no more than an inch away from her, not close enough for our bodies to touch, but almost. “I have not made you mine yet.”
Even in the dark I could see the look in her eyes, one of desire and expectation and relief but also … something more. “I am yours, Cesare,” she whispered. “I have been since first we set eyes on each other.” She looked down. “I was afraid you had changed your mind and would not come.”
I took her hand, clasping it tightly in mine. She felt something more for me than just lust, then. And I, God help me, knew what I felt was not just lust, either. She fascinated and captivated me in every way, and I wanted nothing more than to be in her presence, always. “Never,” I said roughly. “Not pain of death nor threat of hellfire could keep me away from you.”
With no further words, I led her back up the passage the way I had come.
Thankfully, the fates were with us, and we saw no one else on our way back to my rooms. I led her into my bedchamber, where a low fire was lit against the slight nighttime chill, and bolted the door behind us. I turned to find her standing by the massive bed, already having removed her cloak. Beneath it, she wore only a shift, and I could not tell if I was disappointed I would not have the pleasure of removing her layers, or relieved I was that much closer to my goal. Watching her across the dimly lit room, I quickly removed my robes until I stood before her only in my long shirt. When she did not move, I quirked an eyebrow. “Now you,” I said.
She smiled, that slow, sensuous curling of her lips, and took the hem of her shift between her fingers. Slowly she lifted it off over her head, letting the fabric gingerly trail over her smooth olive skin, revealing herself to me one inch at a time: first her thighs, then the dark patch of thick hair at their apex, then her generous hips, her slightly rounded belly, her ribs, and then her breasts. Finally she stood before me in her naked glory, as perfect and beautiful as any of the statutes sculpted by the ancient Greeks and Romans. They could have had no better model. And indeed, beholding her in her carnal glory, even with animalistic lust roaring through my veins, I could understand what many artists had long said: that the human body was God’s finest work of art. Only now, looking at Sancia of Aragon, did I see it was true.
I started to move toward her, wanting to feel her curves beneath my hands, but she lifted a finger. “Aha,” she said. “First you must repay the favor.”
I had not the patience to move slowly, and swiftly pulled my shirt off in one motion. She beheld me, my body well formed from much time riding and training in the fighting arts with Michelotto. My manhood stood erect, straining toward her, and she studied its length with a lascivious smile.
“May I approach, and worship at your altar?” I asked.
“Oh, you may,” she said, and in an instant I had crossed the room to her and was kissing her fiercely as the full length of our naked bodies pressed against each other. My hands roamed over her, first her breasts and then down her back to cup her buttocks. She made that same moaning sound low in her throat, and it took all of my self-control not to climax right then. Even if I had not been driven so completely mad for her, it had been some time since I had been with a woman.
She reached between us and took me in her hand, her fingers stroking, toying. I groaned and broke the kiss. “Christ Almighty, Sancia,” I swore. “You would undo me so soon?”
She smiled, her hand continuing its light movement. “I am no shrinking virgin, Cesare,” she said. “And I have waited long enough.”
That was all it took.
I lifted her bodily and laid her on the bed, thrilling at her gasp of surprise and delight. I covered her body with mine, kissing her mouth hungrily before kissing my way down her body. I took one nipple in my mouth and sucked, then the other. She arched her body beneath me and moaned. “Yes,” she gasped. “More. Please.”
I moved my hand between her legs, and they opened eagerly. I slid two fingers inside her, feeling the welcome moisture there. She was as aroused as I, even in this short time.
“I am ready,” she breathed. “Oh, I am ready.” She wrapped her legs around my waist. “Please, Cesare. Please.”
“I like it when you beg me,” I murmured, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin of her neck.
“Please, Cesare, please!”
I could resist no longer. I thrust myself into her, and we both cried out at the sweet relief and torture of the sensation. She lifted her hips to meet my thrusts, moaning with each stroke. “Yes, God, yes,” she gasped, pulling me even closer. “Yes. Harder.”
I obliged, thrusting harder, faster, burying myself in her. Dear God, she was exquisite, tightening around me, her beautiful body welcoming my every stroke. I thrust again, and again, and finally nearly shouted as the most shattering pleasure shook me. Everything else in my life, everything that had been and everything yet to be, would come second to this moment. I heard her cry out my name sharply, her body shuddering around mine, and knew she had reached her pleasure as well. It seemed to go on and on, until finally I collapsed against her body, spent, and she wrapped her arms around me and held me to her chest, both of us breathing heavily with exertion.
After a moment, she laughed. “You promised me excitement in your bed,” she said. “And you more than fulfilled your promise.”
I laughed, lifting myself off her and turning onto my side to draw her against me. “I am nothing if not a man of my word.”
“Then promise me this as well.” Her beautiful face turned serious, and she reached up to brush a sweaty curl off my forehead. “Promise me you will never leave me.”
I was not able to promise her any such thing: she was married to my brother, and should he wish to leave Rome—or should my father send them away—she would be obliged to go. I had no rights to her, not in the eyes of God nor man. The only rights I had to her were in my heart.
That would have to be enough.
“I swear it,” I said. “Never will I leave you.”
She kissed me, a long, sweet kiss, and nestled her head against my chest. We dozed off, sleeping lightly, ever aware of each other’s presence.
I awoke perhaps an hour later to her hand stroking my manhood, and instantly I hardened beneath her touch.
“I see the excitement has not ended for the night,” I said drowsily, opening one eye and looking at her.
“The night is hardly over, Cesare Borgia.”
“Indeed it is not.” Swiftly I moved her onto her back, causing her to squeal with delight. “But you shall not rush me along this time, vixen.”
I let my hands and mouth wander over every curve of hers I had admired hiding beneath her clothes in weeks past, kissing and caressing every inch, taking my time. I made my way slowly down her body, and put my mouth between her thighs, using my tongue to probe and caress that most intimate part of her. She cried out sharply at the first touch of my tongue, and I smiled against her. Her hands wove through my hair, gripping tightly; she was begging and sighing and moaning in the most exquisite ways. Then her climax was upon her, her body writhing beneath my mouth as she quivered and gasped my name. When she was finally still I sat up, gazing down at her, and she smiled with her eyes closed. “Oh, Cesare,” she said in a soft, breathy voice, and I was very pleased with myself. That she was experienced in the ways of bed sport was plain, but it seemed no lover had ever been quite this thorough before.
“Are you too tired for more, my love?” I asked, and her eyes snapped open at the word love.
“Hardly,” she said.
I lowered myself over her and entered her once more, slowly, bit by bit, and she moaned, her voice ragged. “Yes, Cesare, yes. Yes, my love.”
I nearly lost all control as she applied the word to me in turn, but I held on, moving deep and slow within her, painfully slow, until she was begging me again, until she could no longer bear it, and I made sure she came to her pleasure before I allowed myself to let go.
I never wanted to leave this bed.