In the Garden of Sin by Louisa Burton Read Free Book Online

description of their physical allure had been no exaggeration.
    Inigo, who struck me as a Greek or Italian type, had hair that grew in a mop of tight black curls, big dark eyes, and a disarmingly boyish grin. He was attired, for some reason, in the height of ostentatious English-style fashion, his doublet of ivory silk and full, midnight blue breeches both thick with embroidery. No opportunity for embellishment had been neglected; his whisk and garters were edged in lace, a lovelock trailed over one shoulder, his earring dripped tassles, and his shoes, which were embroidered to match his doublet, sported immense silken rosettes.
    Elic was, as Bianca had said, very tall and handsome, with long, honey-blond hair and pale blue eyes. He resembled his sister Elle to an extraordinary degree; one would never confuse them for anything but siblings. His garb, which was far more austere than that of his friend, reminded me of Domenico Vitturi’s in that it was entirely black but for a good deal of linen showing through the open front and armholes of the doublet; he wasn’t even wearing a collar.
    I could barely meet the eyes of either man. If my tutelage proceeded as planned, they would soon be doing unpardonably sinful things to me and with me, things I had never evenimagined before that afternoon. I couldn’t claim that I hadn’t been warned. Elle had been most explicit.
You will be taught certain practices that may shock you at first, and you will be expected to perform these acts with men who are virtual strangers to you
.
    Elic greeted me warmly, but his brow soon furrowed. “Hannah, are you—” He caught himself, making a sheepish face at having addressed me so familiarly. “Pray pardon me. Are you quite well, Mistress Leeds? You seem terribly pale.”
    “I thank you for your concern, monsieur,” I replied, “but I am quite well. I tend toward paleness.”
    He gave me the oddest look of skepticism—half scowl, half smile—as if he were well aware that I wasn’t normally pale, though of course he had no way of knowing that.
    Monsieur Pépin assigned us each a footman to run our errands, as well as a ladies’ maid, whose immediate duty was to show us to our bedchambers, unpack our baggage, acquaint us with the castle, and help us to wash and dress for supper.
    “A feast of Auvergnet delicacies will be served in the great hall at eight of the clock,” Pépin announced, “after which we shall enjoy libations and sweetmeats in the adjacent withdrawing room.”
    As we were filing into the castle, the
administrateur
took me aside and said, “I understand, Mistress Leeds, that you were asked to bring with you a book of madrigals of your own composition.”
    “Oui
, monsieur.”
    “Signor Vitturi asks that you bring it to supper so that he may choose one for you to sing when the company retires to the withdrawing room.”
    I had been anticipating something like this—just one more assault on my already frayed nerves. “They are meant to be sung by more than one voice.”
    The
administrateur
responded to that with a smile and a Gallic shrug.
    I sighed. “Very well, monsieur. Please tell Signor Vitturi that I shall be happy to oblige him.”
    “Afterward, you and the other novices are invited to accompany Elic and Inigo to the bathhouse for the first of your lessons in, er,
les arts de la chambre à coucher.”
    “Oh.”
Oh, God, so soon?
    “If you would be so kind to extend this invitation to the other ladies…?”
    “Of course,” I replied, thinking this was no invitation, which one might have the option of declining, but rather a summons.
    “Excellent! Until supper, then, mademoiselle,” he said with a bow.
    “
À bientôt
, monsieur.”

H, ISN’T IT LOVELY,” Lucy cooed that evening as we novices and our two
professeurs d’amour
followed a pair of footmen with torches around a bend in the gravel footpath leading from the castle to the base of the tallest mountain overlooking the valley—an extinct