"Did Mother send for you?"
Angelo did his best not to stare, and hoped his horror wasn't visible, though Jessica was looking out the window rather than at him. Not even three months since he'd last seen her, at Eight and Medea's wedding, yet he barely recognized her. She was thin, too thin, and her face was the color of ashes, the warm gold of the mid-afternoon sun failing to lend her even the illusion of health.
"No one sent for me," he said, aware he'd been silent too long. "I just wanted to see you."
"Well, I suspect you're cured of that now."
The bitterness in her tone spurred him into motion; he moved closer, drew a chair beside hers so he sit near enough to capture one of the hands she had clenched in her lap. Her skin was cold and dry; he wanted to pull away and wouldn't let himself. "What happened?" he asked, because there was no point in pretending he hadn't noticed the changes in her, or the grim, waiting silence that hung over the household.
"I saw Lorenzo at the wedding."
Angelo frowned at the change of subject, but humored her. "I still can't believe you were once engaged to that ridiculous fop."
"Not so ridiculous." She swallowed hard. "He doesn't take rejection well, it seems."
"He did this to you?" Lorenzo was a dead man, he decided, the penalties for murdering a chancellor's son be damned. And not quickly, either; he'd learned enough from Marcello to ensure the process would be both slow and painful.
Jessica nodded, and finally looked at him; even her eyes had changed, gone dull and hopeless. "He wanted to get me to sleep with him." Her lips quirked in a bitter smile. "Though I doubt the offer is still open. I think he expected the threat of the curse to be enough, and wouldn't want to deal with the consequences."
"If it's a curse, can't the Church..."
"Don't you think we tried?"
"Of course." He wanted to close his eyes, but he didn't, wouldn't look away from her. "Jess, if sleeping with him is what it takes to save your life..."
"It's not." She hesitated. "I mean, from what he said I don't think it has to be him."
"What?" Desperation shifted to anger. "If it could be anyone, then why haven't you already ended this?"
"Because I didn't want just anyone!" she snapped, her anger answering his, familiar enough to almost be comforting. "I wanted you, but you left before...and by the time I realized he hadn't been lying, I was already...no one else wanted me, and I didn't want you to see me like this."
"You vain idiot," Angelo muttered, and kissed her.
She tasted like death.
Shock made him pull back, and she turned away again. "Please just go away."
"Jessica-"
"Please."
She made an almost inaudible sound in the back of her throat when he rose, and he wondered if she was keeping herself from calling out to him or crying. Not that he had any intentions of leaving her like this, of leaving her at all.
He kissed her again, and she wept.
"You don't do wonderful things for a man's confidence," he scolded gently when they parted, and pulled her to her feet, hating how light she was, how her struggles had no force, how he felt like he might break her. Half-formed plans to take her to her bedroom vanished; he didn't think he could bear to test whether she had the strength to climb stairs.
Well, this would hardly be the first sedate parlour he'd defiled in such a manner. He hoped the servants had the good sense to leave them alone.
"You don't have to do this," Jessica said.
"Granted, I'd rather have seduced you under better circumstances," he said, guiding her away from the window, away from the light, hating himself for needing the shadows. He drew her onto the settee beside him, his hand pushing her skirt up her thigh, "But I trust I'll have ample opportunity to make it up to you."
"I hope so," she whispered, tipping her head back, eyes closed.
She gasped when his hand moved higher, fingers delicately teasing through tight-coiled curls to delicate flesh. He had to admit relief when she grew wet at his touch, her hips shifting and pressing upwards; he'd been half afraid she didn't have the energy left to enjoy even this.
His free hand unfastened his trousers, and he stroked himself to hardness, then shifted, pressing her thighs farther apart and moving between them. He couldn't tell if the sound she made when he pushed into her was pain or pleasure; her legs wrapped around him, drew him deep, but even with his eyes closed he couldn't abandon himself to what he was doing, every touch reminding him how fine and fragile she'd grown.
He had very nearly delayed his visit, and wondered if she would have survived the extra week.
Bleakly, he wondered if she would, anyway.
Then she shuddered, her body tightening around his, and he abandoned thought in favor of feeling.
After, she was still, the stillness of exhaustion; he tidied them both and drew her into his arms and watched the sky outside the window grow dark, wondering if he'd done a damned bit of good, or merely robbed her of what strength she had left. A maid came in, lit the lamps and slipped away without a word; in the light, Jessica looked pale and spent.
But when she finally opened her eyes, there was life in them.
And when she kissed him, she tasted like spring.
Written for 101 Kisses. Theme: #98 - Ashes
