gates. The wall encircled a vast forest crowned with hillsides patchworked with ribbed rows of what she assumed to be grapevines.
Ahead, the castle loomed closer—majestic, impregnable, and out of scale with its surroundings. The broad sweep of grassland before it was parted like hair on a human head by a single curving road that took her conveyance ever higher.
Too soon, the carriage passed through the castle gates. Jitters bubbled inside her. She’d hoped for some time to become acquainted with her husband and his home upon her arrival. But as the carriage wheels clattered over the drawbridge, it was late. Time to retire.
In the courtyard, one of the footmen assisted her from the carriage, and she stood on the pavement a moment feeling at a loss. To her surprise there were no servants about. Nick opened the massive front doors himself and greeted her as the footmen saw to her trunks.
Her new husband was well turned out in his customary colors of black and white and appeared more relaxed and congenial here than he had in their previous meetings. She, on the other hand, was dusty, travel stained, and tense.
“Welcome to Castello di Blackstone,” Nick told her in velvet tones, drawing her up the steps and into the foyer. “Have you dined?”
“Si.” She’d had little dinner, but she knew she couldn’t eat.
Inside the castle, she glanced around curiously and saw he possessed all the trappings of a wealthy gentleman. Above the grand entrance, the Satyr coat of arms bore a carved sash emblazoned with the words GUARDIANS OF THE GATE . Colorful tapestries depicting scenes of revelry and feasting draped the surrounding walls, which rose to a coffered oak ceiling with ornamental details highlighted in gold.
A wizened servant dressed in formal attire suddenly appeared, his steps echoing across the herringboned Italian marble floor.
“Have the footmen deliver her trunks upstairs,” Nick instructed. “And the coachmen should see to the horses before retiring.”
The servant nodded, never glancing at Jane, and then scurried outside with an idiosyncratic sort of prancing gait. A word to the footmen sent her trunks to a side entrance, and from there she presumed they would make their way to her new quarters.
“Where are all the other servants?” Jane asked when she and Nick stood alone.
“It’s late,” Nick told her. “All have gone, save for a single maid who awaits you in your chamber.”
He had dismissed the servants? Why? What did he plan to do to her that he wanted no servants about?
“Come.” He turned and led her toward the staircase. Together they scaled polished travertine steps, with columned balusters. Gilt-framed paintings lined the way, and from within them the hooded gazes of his ancestors weighed her.
At the head of the stairs, they moved down the long hallway, their footsteps silenced by the nap of a Persian carpet. She watched the floral pattern pass under her skirt, thinking that the next time she tread this expanse, she would no longer be a virgin. It was a peculiar concept.
Ninety-four, ninety-five…She counted ninety-six steps from the base of the stair until they arrived at her bedchamber door. Of course, his steps covered more ground. She would count them next time and take an average.
You’re being ridiculous, she told herself.
“A bath awaits. I will come to you shortly,” her new husband informed her. With an abbreviated bow, he left her standing outside what she assumed to be her bedchamber door.
Shortly? The word ricocheted in her brain, spurring her into a flurry of activity. She darted inside the room he’d indicated and closed the door behind her.
She hated it when people employed such imprecise terms, especially about important matters. Her mother’s “shortly” had often meant an hour. But for all she knew, his could mean but a moment. He mustn’t catch her unprepared.
Her room was beautiful, with a high vaulted ceiling colored pale olive. A wreath of roses
Ahead, the castle loomed closer—majestic, impregnable, and out of scale with its surroundings. The broad sweep of grassland before it was parted like hair on a human head by a single curving road that took her conveyance ever higher.
Too soon, the carriage passed through the castle gates. Jitters bubbled inside her. She’d hoped for some time to become acquainted with her husband and his home upon her arrival. But as the carriage wheels clattered over the drawbridge, it was late. Time to retire.
In the courtyard, one of the footmen assisted her from the carriage, and she stood on the pavement a moment feeling at a loss. To her surprise there were no servants about. Nick opened the massive front doors himself and greeted her as the footmen saw to her trunks.
Her new husband was well turned out in his customary colors of black and white and appeared more relaxed and congenial here than he had in their previous meetings. She, on the other hand, was dusty, travel stained, and tense.
“Welcome to Castello di Blackstone,” Nick told her in velvet tones, drawing her up the steps and into the foyer. “Have you dined?”
“Si.” She’d had little dinner, but she knew she couldn’t eat.
Inside the castle, she glanced around curiously and saw he possessed all the trappings of a wealthy gentleman. Above the grand entrance, the Satyr coat of arms bore a carved sash emblazoned with the words GUARDIANS OF THE GATE . Colorful tapestries depicting scenes of revelry and feasting draped the surrounding walls, which rose to a coffered oak ceiling with ornamental details highlighted in gold.
A wizened servant dressed in formal attire suddenly appeared, his steps echoing across the herringboned Italian marble floor.
“Have the footmen deliver her trunks upstairs,” Nick instructed. “And the coachmen should see to the horses before retiring.”
The servant nodded, never glancing at Jane, and then scurried outside with an idiosyncratic sort of prancing gait. A word to the footmen sent her trunks to a side entrance, and from there she presumed they would make their way to her new quarters.
“Where are all the other servants?” Jane asked when she and Nick stood alone.
“It’s late,” Nick told her. “All have gone, save for a single maid who awaits you in your chamber.”
He had dismissed the servants? Why? What did he plan to do to her that he wanted no servants about?
“Come.” He turned and led her toward the staircase. Together they scaled polished travertine steps, with columned balusters. Gilt-framed paintings lined the way, and from within them the hooded gazes of his ancestors weighed her.
At the head of the stairs, they moved down the long hallway, their footsteps silenced by the nap of a Persian carpet. She watched the floral pattern pass under her skirt, thinking that the next time she tread this expanse, she would no longer be a virgin. It was a peculiar concept.
Ninety-four, ninety-five…She counted ninety-six steps from the base of the stair until they arrived at her bedchamber door. Of course, his steps covered more ground. She would count them next time and take an average.
You’re being ridiculous, she told herself.
“A bath awaits. I will come to you shortly,” her new husband informed her. With an abbreviated bow, he left her standing outside what she assumed to be her bedchamber door.
Shortly? The word ricocheted in her brain, spurring her into a flurry of activity. She darted inside the room he’d indicated and closed the door behind her.
She hated it when people employed such imprecise terms, especially about important matters. Her mother’s “shortly” had often meant an hour. But for all she knew, his could mean but a moment. He mustn’t catch her unprepared.
Her room was beautiful, with a high vaulted ceiling colored pale olive. A wreath of roses
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