My second night with Maddalena was as pleasurable as the first—more so, as she had shed some of her shyness. “I know something that shall please Your Eminence,” she’d said coyly, having undressed and seated herself on the bed.
I raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh?”
“Yes.” She pushed me down so I lay flat on my back, and before I knew what was happening, she had bent her head and put her mouth on me. “Christ, Maddalena,” I swore, gripping the sheets as her tongue moved over me. “Yes. Christ, yes.”
Afterward, she straightened up, looking pleased with herself. “My husband used to ask me to do that,” she said. “I was always rather disgusted by it until now.”
“Your husband was a sinful man,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Such things are forbidden by the Church, you know.”
“So is my presence in your bed,” she pointed out.
“Ah. Well, then.” I flipped her onto her back, and she squealed in delight. “For both our sakes, I pronounce you forgiven of these sins.”
The next day, as I walked the halls of Santa Maria in Portico to visit Lucrezia, I stifled a yawn. I might need to forgo the lovely Maddalena for a night or two, lest I lose my stamina. Yet it was true that part of the impetus for my visit to Lucrezia was in hopes of catching a glimpse of her captivating maid.
As I approached Lucrezia’s suite of rooms, all such enjoyable thoughts were chased away by the sight of Sancia of Aragon, coming toward me.
My entire body tensed in anger as she approached, but I refused to acknowledge her. It was best for everyone, though God and all the saints knew what effort it would cost me to do so.
Sancia, damnable woman that she was, could not leave well enough alone. As I strode past her, my jaw tightly clenched, she stared after me. “Not a word for me, then, Cesare?” she called.
I stopped and turned, praying I could keep my temper under control. “You would not like the words I have for you, Sancia,” I said tautly.
“Is that so?” she taunted, like a bullfighter waving her cape before my eyes. “Or are you too much of a coward to face me?”
With that, I snapped. I charged toward her, grabbed her arm, and hauled her off to the nearest empty room—a largely unused receiving room of some kind, though not, thankfully, that particular room—and slammed the door behind us. Once we were alone, I whirled on her, advancing toward her slowly. “You would dare call me coward, after what you have done?” I demanded. “Going behind my back to Juan’s bed?” I laughed mockingly. “Or to whatever room where he can pull your skirts up fastest, I see. No doubt he has not the stamina for much more.”
“How dare you,” she spat. “I need not answer to you.”
“I think that you do,” I said, moving closer. She did not back away; instead she raised her chin and glared back at me, defiantly. I was impressed and it only infuriated me more. “You were mine, Sancia. We both said as much, the night you first came to my bed. We loved each other. Or so you said. Was that another of your lying whore’s tricks?”
“How dare you insult me so,” she said. “You knew of my past when you first bedded me. I take my pleasure where I find it, and—”
“Your past was none of my concern,” I interrupted. “It still isn’t. It was your future that mattered to me.”
She laughed bitterly. “And what future would that be, Cesare?” she demanded. “Your fantasies of leaving the Church, of marrying me, of conquering Italy? You need not have spun such tales to win me; I was already in your bed. You cared more for your ambition, for what you saw in your dreams, than you did for me.”
“They were not fantasies,” I snapped. “I meant every word.”
“Then you are an even bigger fool.”
“Why, you—”
“We took our pleasure together. It need not be more than that,” she said. “I did not need, want, or expect more.”
“You knew there was more to it for me than that,” I bit out, my anger growing with everything that she was forcing me to admit. “And you acted as though there was more to it for you, too.”
“There was not,” she said.
“You are a lying, deceitful bitch.”
“Why, because I will not bend to your every whim, Cesare Borgia? Because I will not be your slave? Juan does not want nor expect anything from me other than bed sport, and that is how I prefer it.”
“Don’t you dare say his name to me,” I said through clenched teeth. “Two Borgia brothers was not enough for you, Sancia? You needed the third as well?”
“Oh, listen to you,” she said scornfully. “So high and mighty, as though you did not immediately take a serving wench to your bed after learning about me and Juan.”
An almost deadly stillness settled over me. “What did you say?” I asked, almost calmly.
“You heard me,” she said. “I know what you did. So you can refrain from your holy, moral recriminations. You are no better than me.”
I’d be damned; was that hurt I saw in her eyes? As though she had any right to be hurt if I fucked every woman in Rome. And maybe I would, just to spite her. “I do not see how you could possibly know who has or has not been in my bed, since you are no longer in it,” I said.
“I have my ways. I have my own eyes and ears in the Vatican.” She laughed harshly. “To think. A servant girl. And you think me disgusting? At least I do not choose my bedmates from the slums.”
“In fact, that is exactly what you’ve done, Sancia.”
Her hand snaked out and slapped me across the face. My head snapped to the side, and my cheek stung where her palm had struck it. “I dare you,” I spat through gritted teeth, “to strike me again.”
“I know exactly which little bitch it is, too,” she went on, as though she had not heard me. “She serves Lucrezia. One of your own sister’s maids! Maddalena. A fitting name, I suppose, for a woman who has come to a man who thinks himself Christ—”
“If any harm comes to Maddalena, Sancia,” I cut her off, “rest assured that I will know who to blame. And you will be sorry.”
“I am not afraid of your hired thug Michelotto,” she flared.
I took a step closer, and this time she took a step back. “Perhaps not. But you should be afraid of me.”
This time I was ready. As her hand lashed out to strike me again, I caught her wrist in a tight grip, and I saw her wince in pain. “Now, I am going to see my sister. I suggest you make yourself scarce.” I released her.
“Perhaps I shall go see Juan,” she spat.
“Do that. I care not whether you go to his bed or directly to hell.”
“Enjoy your low-class slut,” she sneered. “No doubt she knows lots of whore’s tricks.”
“No more than you, Sancia.”
With a scream of rage and frustration, she yanked the door open and left the room, slamming it behind her.
That night my cock prevailed over my wisdom and I sent for Maddalena. I made love to her hard, fast, urgently, thinking not of her pleasure but only of my own. I wanted to erase every last trace of Sancia from my body, to burn her from my flesh. And Maddalena, as if knowing just what I needed, as if we had been lovers for years, drew me in and held me tightly within her body, meeting me and moving with me until ecstatic oblivion claimed me.