“Than her father?” Christopher shook his head. “Yes. I doubt he could be worse, and if it doesn't work out, Florence is a sizable city, and we can certainly
find a hotel. Still, we thought it best to start this way, at least.”
“No doubt you're right,” Adrian agreed, dipping his pen and signing a paper
from his own pile.
The naked girl, her bound hands affixed to a hook in the ceiling whimpered under the lash and then moaned in pleasure, the sound muffled by the lush red
velvet curtains on every wall.
Giovanni drew back his arm and whipped her again. It's so much more
difficult here, less satisfying. He had to control his strokes, not just give vent to his rage. The fact that she was enjoying it also reduced his relief tremendously.
What a disgusting whore.
For me, this has never been sexual, he argued vigorously in his mind, but with my daughter gone, there is no other choice. Of course, she turned out to be no better than the whore in front of me. Only the other day he had looked in the parlor window of the townhouse his daughter shared with her bastard husband,
only to see the couple embracing indiscreetly. Vile.
He brought the whip down again, harder, and the girl squealed in protest as
her skin broke and a thin line of blood trickled down. “Sir, that's too much!”
“Silence, slut.”
“No. You know the rules. Soften your strokes or I'll call the manager.”
“Merda,” Giovanni muttered under his breath. This is hopeless. He had so wished to have Katerina back in his clutches today, but that damned burly footman had barred the door, threatening to summon the police. Now volcanic rage ripped at Giovanni, and this tepid, partial release would not suffice.
Somehow, I will get her back, and then she will pay like she has never paidbefore.
The following Friday, Katerina clutched her husband's hand as he escorted her into his poetry party at the Wilder home. This time, she felt nervous but in good
health. The bruises had been gone for days and the cuts on her back almost
completely healed. She wore her stays, not a tight-laced corset, and thus she could breathe freely. No longer dizzy, she found herself able to take in the room
and its occupants with greater attention than she'd paid before.
Mr. Wilder leaned against the fireplace, smoking a fat and acrid cigar. She noticed Christopher glance sharply at him and make a displeased face.
James Cary sat on a chaise, but this time he had the lovely Miss Carlisle perched beside him wearing another mint green gown that emphasized the green
of her eyes. They were not touching, but stared at each other intensely, deep in a
private conversation. Katerina could see the little blonde's lips pursed out slightly, though not precisely pouting this time. She held her eyes deliberately wide as she attempted to secure the handsome young vicar's interest. Her venture
appeared quite successful.
Katerina looked away, granting them privacy. Christopher's thumb traced the
side of her hand. It would have been more proper to hold his arm, but the allure
of his strong fingers tempted her more than she could resist.
“Christopher,” a young man with light brown hair and lines around his
mouth and eyes that didn't fit his lack of years approached them saying, “where
on earth have you been? Mrs. Wilder says you disappeared from the party last time with Cary and Miss Valentino, never to be seen again. I've been to your rooms and you moved out without a word.”
“Sorry, Colin,” Christopher replied. “I was caught up in a situation that required immediate attention.”
“Well, it must have been quite a situation for you to move and not let your
best friend know where you'd gone. The most ridiculous rumors are circulating.”
Christopher changed the subject. “I believe you've met Katerina before?”
“Yes. Miss Valentino.” He nodded to her politely but without much attention.
“Good to see you again, Lord Gelroy.”
