Free Urban Venus by Sara Downing Page A

kind to me, I have been happy here.’ I do not feel I need to justify my presence in this house beyond that. What other options are there for an orphan girl of lowly status, with neither father nor brother to protect her? I believe myself fortunate not to have fallen into more disreputable hands; my corpse could now be defiled and rotting at the bottom of the River Po, were it not for Rosetta’s kindness.
    He leads me gently to sit on the side of the bed. I cannot recall a client ever wishing to embark on conversation before taking his pleasure, but if that is what he desires, then I must grant him his wish.
    ‘ What say you of the visit of Il Papa today?’ he enquires. How strange this man is. What reason could he have for being so interested in my opinion?
    ‘ We are greatly honoured,’ I reply. ‘He passed by our window and he is indeed the most holy and reverend man.’
    ‘ I have had the considerable honour of being in his presence this afternoon,’ he replies, but does not expand on this any further. Who can this man be? Some kind of dignitary? But of course I am not permitted to enquire this of him. If he wishes to remain anonymous to me then he has every right to do so.
    As though suddenly remembering the reason for which has come, he asks, ‘May I kiss you now?’ He gently pulls me to my feet, and is it as though time itself has halted as he places his hands carefully at my waist, and pulls me slowly towards him. Our faces are merely an inch apart for what seems like an eternity, as he studies me intently again, and those eyes bore into my soul once more. I feel myself quiver with anticipation at this sensation which is so unfamiliar to me.
    With the utmost tenderness he kisses me and it is as though a spear of desire cuts right through my body in an instant. There is a fire burning in me that I have never felt before; this man has ignited the passion I believed I did not possess. How can I be permitted to feel passion when daily I satisfy the needs of several men? There is no room in my head or my heart for these kinds of feelings; I acquired long ago the skill of isolating that part of my brain which might allow me to experience personal pleasure from my daily occupation. But it would seem today that I do after all have the capacity to feel passion, it was simply that the spark which might set it free had never been lighted until this very moment.
    His lips move from mine to my neck, behind my ears, around my chin and over my décolletage. I feel as though my legs can no longer hold me upright, and swoon with an intense longing, stronger than any emotion I have ever felt, into his arms. Responding to this he gently lays me back onto the bed, but instead of tugging at my skirts and his own breeches and continuing on as most clients would, he pulls away from me, stands up and begins to pace the room.
    ‘ What is it sir? Do you not find me pleasing?’ I dare to ask, conscious that my failure to provide him with a service will not sit well with Rosetta. This has never happened to me before.
    ‘ You should not be here,’ he replies. ‘This is not the place for you. Your beauty and serenity place you far, far beyond all this.’ He waves his arm around the room to indicate my surroundings. ‘What trick of fate that I should make your acquaintance in this manner! I declare I have never set eyes on such beauty, and the respect I have for you cannot allow me to defile your body in this way. You must be mine and mine alone. Please, dear maiden, please say it can be so.’ He rambles on in such a way, his sentences short and frantic, meanwhile pacing the room, and although he says these things to me, he cannot seem to look directly at me, as though to do so would break his resolve and he would be compelled to ravage my body, regardless of the convictions of his mind.
    I do not speak, so shocked am I, and my silence causes him to stop his pacing and come to me finally. He takes my hands in his and says: ‘Tell