His Last Duchess by Gabrielle Kimm Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gabrielle Kimm
her laces. In the event, he did not sing, but his breathing deepened and quickened as he worked.
First came the sleeves, which he slid from her arms like a caress. Then the more complicated laces of the bodice. He was taking his time, Lucrezia thought, apparently unaware of her trembling, seeming to enjoy flipping the long, thin cords through their stitched eyelet holes. She closed her eyes as Alfonsoâstill standing behind herâreached around her. With his head next to hers, his cheek against her ear so that he could see what he did, he eased her shift from her shoulders and let it drop. Her clothes fell from her, piece by piece, until everythingâskirt, overskirt, bodice and shiftâlay in jewel-bright folds around her feet, and she was naked in the mass of material, like Venus in her floating shell.
She stood quite still, watching the points of light dance in the windows, aware of Alfonsoâs warm bulk behind her, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.
She felt his hands on her shoulders again; he turned her back to face him. Exquisitely and entirely exposed now, she held his gaze, wide-eyed, fearing that if she should so much as blink, he would look away from her eyes, andâwould look at her body. At the thought, her nipples contracted and a hot thread from her throat hooked itself deep in her belly, where it jerked like a fish on a line.
But without taking his eyes from hers, Alfonso reached behind him and blindly picked from a small table a carved rosewood box. He held it in one hand, unlocked it and opened it with the other. Lucrezia drew in a sharp breath, and the hot thread tugged again as Alfonso pulled from the box a long, long rope of dark red, glittering stones. He stepped forward and began to wind it around and around Lucreziaâs throat, sliding it each time underneath the mass of her hair. Each time he slid his hand across her neck, his face drew near to hers and the stuff of his doublet brushed against her breasts but, still, he did not speak.
Once fastened, the rope hung heavily around the base of Lucreziaâs throat. Alfonso stood back and gazed at her, apparently entranced. The stones were cold and heavy against her skin, and she shivered.
Seeing this, Alfonso picked her off her feet and into his arms. Startled, she smothered a gasp. He walked swiftly across the room, pausing to blow out the candles as he passed them. As the flames went out, Lucrezia saw the wood-panelled walls and the gilt-framed pictures all but disappear; only the thinnest lines gleamed along the picturesâ edges as the moonlight caught them. In the candlelight just now, the colours of the room had glowed as warm as late-evening embers, but now the moonlight turned this, in an instant, to silver.
The bedcovers had been folded back in readiness. Alfonso placed Lucrezia carefully on the linen sheet and, without comment, stepped back into the shadows. She pulled the covers over her, watching him in the dark, feeling the linen chill against her skin.
A moment later, Alfonso sat down on the edge of the bed, pushed back the blankets so that Lucrezia was once more quite uncovered, and then, slowly and deliberately, began to explore her body with his hands and his mouth. At the first touch she stiffened, her whole body prickling with shamed embarrassment, and with what in her confusion she hoped might be desire. She wondered what she should do. The silence seemed to be growing more and more robustly elastic between them, increasingly hard to break. The only sounds in the room were those of her new husbandâs breathing and the paper-smooth whisper of his hands on her skin.
She reached towards him, wanting to touch him, but he grasped her wrists and pressed them back onto the bed without comment, returning straight away to his own searching, insistent caresses. She tried again, twice, with the same result. Alfonso did not speak or look at her face and, to Lucreziaâs bewilderment, seemed determined that
First came the sleeves, which he slid from her arms like a caress. Then the more complicated laces of the bodice. He was taking his time, Lucrezia thought, apparently unaware of her trembling, seeming to enjoy flipping the long, thin cords through their stitched eyelet holes. She closed her eyes as Alfonsoâstill standing behind herâreached around her. With his head next to hers, his cheek against her ear so that he could see what he did, he eased her shift from her shoulders and let it drop. Her clothes fell from her, piece by piece, until everythingâskirt, overskirt, bodice and shiftâlay in jewel-bright folds around her feet, and she was naked in the mass of material, like Venus in her floating shell.
She stood quite still, watching the points of light dance in the windows, aware of Alfonsoâs warm bulk behind her, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.
She felt his hands on her shoulders again; he turned her back to face him. Exquisitely and entirely exposed now, she held his gaze, wide-eyed, fearing that if she should so much as blink, he would look away from her eyes, andâwould look at her body. At the thought, her nipples contracted and a hot thread from her throat hooked itself deep in her belly, where it jerked like a fish on a line.
But without taking his eyes from hers, Alfonso reached behind him and blindly picked from a small table a carved rosewood box. He held it in one hand, unlocked it and opened it with the other. Lucrezia drew in a sharp breath, and the hot thread tugged again as Alfonso pulled from the box a long, long rope of dark red, glittering stones. He stepped forward and began to wind it around and around Lucreziaâs throat, sliding it each time underneath the mass of her hair. Each time he slid his hand across her neck, his face drew near to hers and the stuff of his doublet brushed against her breasts but, still, he did not speak.
Once fastened, the rope hung heavily around the base of Lucreziaâs throat. Alfonso stood back and gazed at her, apparently entranced. The stones were cold and heavy against her skin, and she shivered.
Seeing this, Alfonso picked her off her feet and into his arms. Startled, she smothered a gasp. He walked swiftly across the room, pausing to blow out the candles as he passed them. As the flames went out, Lucrezia saw the wood-panelled walls and the gilt-framed pictures all but disappear; only the thinnest lines gleamed along the picturesâ edges as the moonlight caught them. In the candlelight just now, the colours of the room had glowed as warm as late-evening embers, but now the moonlight turned this, in an instant, to silver.
The bedcovers had been folded back in readiness. Alfonso placed Lucrezia carefully on the linen sheet and, without comment, stepped back into the shadows. She pulled the covers over her, watching him in the dark, feeling the linen chill against her skin.
A moment later, Alfonso sat down on the edge of the bed, pushed back the blankets so that Lucrezia was once more quite uncovered, and then, slowly and deliberately, began to explore her body with his hands and his mouth. At the first touch she stiffened, her whole body prickling with shamed embarrassment, and with what in her confusion she hoped might be desire. She wondered what she should do. The silence seemed to be growing more and more robustly elastic between them, increasingly hard to break. The only sounds in the room were those of her new husbandâs breathing and the paper-smooth whisper of his hands on her skin.
She reached towards him, wanting to touch him, but he grasped her wrists and pressed them back onto the bed without comment, returning straight away to his own searching, insistent caresses. She tried again, twice, with the same result. Alfonso did not speak or look at her face and, to Lucreziaâs bewilderment, seemed determined that