Stephanie Howard - The Duke's Wife

I’ll make him love me, she vowed to herself. I’ll make him love me as I love him.

The wedding took place in Rino’s splendid Gothic cathedral once the official one year mourning period for the old Duke was over. And it was a glorious occasion, with the twenty-year-old Sofia looking perfectly exquisite in a fairy-tale wedding dress, wearing a tiara that had belonged to her great-great-grandmother, and with a look of blissful happiness in her wide grey-blue eyes. That day she felt she must be the luckiest girl in the universe.

They flew to Sicily for their honeymoon and stayed in a hilltop castle belonging to one of Damiano’s relatives. And Sofia could clearly remember how excited and terrified she’d been when they’d set off for that honeymoon.

She was a virgin, of course—one of the reasons, after all, that Damiano had chosen her to be his bride. And until that night when they found themselves alone together in the big vaulted room with the vast canopied bed Damiano had never done more than chastely kiss her. She stood there frozen, her mouth dry, her heart hammering. She wanted him. She longed for him. But she was desperately nervous. Would she do it all wrong? Would she disappoint him? Would it hurt? Did he really want her anyway?

‘Come here.’

He was standing in the open doorway to the balcony, the starlight in his hair, making it glisten like polished jet. And he held out his hand to her and smiled at her gently.

‘Come here,’ he said again. ‘I want to kiss you.’

Sofia walked towards him as though she were walking on water. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of feeling in her legs, or in any other part of her rigid body, come to that. But then he took her hand and kissed it and slipped his other hand round her waist and, as he drew her towards him and she felt the strength of him enfold her, every inch of her suddenly burst into flames of desire.

‘Don’t be afraid, Sofia. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’ He released her hand and tilted her chin and delicately, unhurriedly bent to kiss her mouth. ‘I want you to enjoy this. I want it to be special.’

She looked up into his eyes, drowning, drowning. God, how I love him. How I love him, she thought. And she smiled a nervous smile.

‘That’s better,’ he said.

Damiano kissed her again then, her face, her eyes, her hair, and as she began to relax a little she laid her hands on his shoulders, then let them slide round to the back of his neck. She felt the dark hair brush her fingers and a jolt of pleasure stab through her. Suddenly her fear was slipping away, excitement growing in its place.

And that was when, at last, he took hold of her more firmly and kissed her as she had only ever dreamed of being kissed. Fiercely. Hungrily. A kiss that blazed with passion. And she found herself responding, clinging to him, gasping, tight spirals of desire twisting in her body.

‘My sweet Sofia.’

His hand was on her breast now, moving lightly, sending a rain of brightness through her. Suddenly all the fear inside her had vanished. She was filled with a bright, hot need that must be satisfied.

He was leading her towards the bed, undoing the buttons of her dress. Then he was slipping it from her shoulders, letting it slither to the floor, and quickly discarding his shirt before laying her on the coverlet.

‘You are beautiful,’ he told her, making her heart swell with happiness, for there was nothing she wanted more in the world than to please him. And she could see from the dark look in his eyes that she did. At least he desired her. That much was plain enough.

And she desired him. Every inch of her ached for him as she reached up her hand to caress his broad chest, letting her fingers slide quiveringly over the taut muscles of his shoulders, feeling the strength of him, longing for that strength to overwhelm her.

He stripped her naked, never hurrying, discarding her garments one by one, inviting her to do the same with his. And all the while he was whipping up her senses with deep, hot kisses and intimate caresses that grew ever more fiery, ever more urgent. Desire licked through her, making her limbs tremble.

‘Damiano! Oh, Damiano!’ she whispered, pressing against him. How I love you! she added silently. Please love me in return!

When the moment came he was swift and sure and gentle. As he entered her, Sofia felt a quick, sharp shaft of pain. Then it was over and he was a part of her. As she clung to him and kissed him, every inch of her was flooded with a sense of pure, exquisite joy.

And that was when she knew she would love him all her life. He was part of her now and nothing could change that and her love for him would be the glorious centre of her life.

The first couple of months were marvellously happy. He still didn’t love her, but he seemed to have grown fond of her and their sex life was wonderfully, greedily satisfying.

‘You’re going to wear me out,’ Damiano would sometimes tease her. ‘Wouldn’t you ever just like to read a book or something in bed?’

And she would laugh and tease him back, turning away from him, ‘OK. No making love tonight. I’m going to catch up on my Shakespeare.’

‘The devil you are!’ He would grab her then and kiss her as they lay there naked in the big four-poster bed. ‘You can catch up on your Shakespeare once I’ve finished with you, young lady!’ And he would take her breast in his hand, teasing the nipple. ‘Though I’m afraid that may not be for quite some time. I can tell this is going to be another long session.’

‘Is that a threat or a promise?’ She would press against him, shivering, her heart tightening with excitement as she felt him harden.

‘It’s a promise.’

‘How do you know? Maybe I don’t want a long session. Maybe I really do want to catch up on my Shakespeare.’

‘OK, then. Go ahead.’ And he would pretend to release her. But even as she clung to him and moaned in protest he would be kissing her and turning her moans of protest into breathless, excited moans of pleasure.

And Sofia would sink back against the pillows in surrender, losing herself in the cascade of sweet sensations that went tumbling over her in great drenching waves of pleasure.

The secret of their glorious sex life was really very simple. Neither of them, quite frankly, could get enough of the other.

Less than three months after their wedding, however, a second tragedy struck that rather took the edge off their happiness. Damiano’s mother died. Of a broken heart, it seemed, for she had never got over the death of her beloved husband.

Damiano was devastated. Coming so soon after the loss of his father, the loss of his mother affected him badly. And though Sofia tried to be there for him she felt inadequate, almost useless. What could a child like her offer him? She was only twenty, after all. And it seemed to her that they started to grow a little apart at that point.

There was something else too that was starting to trouble her, for Sofia had hoped she might get pregnant very quickly. She had always wanted to have lots of children; besides, Damiano needed an heir, and, more than anything, she longed to give him one. Especially now, after the tragic death of his mother, for surely it would help to ease the pain of his loss. It might also, it occurred to her, have another happy side-effect. It might bring them closer together again.

But the months went by and nothing happened and she grew more and more upset, though Damiano assured her, ‘Don’t worry. There’s no hurry. There’s plenty of time. Just put it out of your mind and, you’ll see, it’ll happen.’

But she couldn’t put it out of her mind and it didn’t happen. Suddenly she began to feel like a horrible failure.

And it was around that time that she heard the first stirrings of the rumour that Damiano was seeing Lady Fiona again.