Read Online O, Juliet by Robin Maxwell - Free Book Online Page B

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    “That war was done a hundred years ago, but when Cosimo came to power, the hatred flared again. Two camps formed, jealous ghosts of the Ghibellines and Guelfs: those who rallied round the city-bound Medici—your father is one of these—and others, like my family, who lived outside the walls, hating Don Cosimo and all his friends and retainers. But he says more fault is rightly laid at my family’s doorstep.”
    “Is that true?”
    He looked downcast. “I fear it is.”
    “What did he tell you to do?”
    “If I manage to cool tempers enough—my father, my uncles, the other anti-Medicians—Don Cosimo will bring them to his table, broker a peace.”
    “Did he say how this could be done? Was any sage advice given?”
    “It might have been forthcoming, but I was chased from the room before I could hear it.” He grinned now. “And thank you, Lady Juliet, for helping my escape.”
    I smiled flirtatiously. “How could I allow those ruffians to injure a peacemaker?”
    His laugh was rueful. “Some peacemaker . . .”
    Gently I said, “You spoke to your father?”
    “And was threatened with disownment if I uttered another word.” He looked down at his feet, mortified. “And yes, he did sink your father’s cargo.”
    “Oh, Romeo!” No words could have wrenched my heart more.
    “Never mind,” he said. “Let us talk of pleasanter things. You are a poet . That amazes me.”
    “It should not. Women own brains, and fingers to hold a quill. Have you never heard of Christine de Pisan?”
    “Of course. We studied her at university.”
    “Was she not a woman?”
    “She was, and a great writer. A contentious writer. A poet. But Christine de Pisan was a widow,” said Romeo, “who only began writing to support her children. Even she believed a woman’s place was in the home—that public discourse was a male domain.”
    “She thought her life ‘a mutation of Fortune,’ ” I agreed. “She claims she became ‘an honorary man.’ ”
    Romeo moved closer to me. Without invitation he threaded his fingers through my hair. “Is that what you wish for yourself?”
    Something melted inside me. “I have no wish to be a man,” I said, “honorary or otherwise. I only wish to write.”
    “Do you wish to love?” he whispered.
    He was so bold. Yet I nodded.
    “Close your eyes, Juliet.”
    Without thought or fear I did as he asked. I believed I would soon feel his lips on mine. But instead he lifted my hand and, with infinite delicacy, pushed back the sleeve of my gown. Then I felt warm breath on the tenderest inside of my forearm.
    “I believe in the senses,” he murmured, sending tiny waves of air across my skin. “Here is touch.”
    I shivered with delight. “Give me another,” I demanded.
    “This one is mine,” he said, releasing my hand and moving away, but in the next moment he was behind me, his face buried in my hair at the back of my neck. He inhaled deeply. “Aaahh,” he sighed. “The natural perfume of Juliet.”
    I tilted back my head to lean upon his and there we remained, still and breathing. Did he know that I wished his hands to circle my waist, slide across the naked skin of my breasts?
    “Listen,” he said softly into the shell of my ear.
    I did, my eyes still closed. “It is the nightingale,” I said. Its trilling notes in the darkness had never sounded so sweet to me. How was it that all at once I heard magic in that song?
    I felt his arms on my shoulders, turning me a half-turn. Then with both hands enclosing my head, he tilted it skyward. “Open your eyes.”
    I did as I was told. There before me at what seemed as close as arm’s length was the full moon, a dark brace of clouds skittering across its bright and shadowed surface.
    “Touch. Smell. Sound. Sight,” he uttered. “All so easily gratified.”
    “What of taste?” I said, pressing him.
    “Ah, now you become greedy.”
    I turned to face him. “It is one of the senses.”
    “True.”
    Again, I thought that he