Prince's Virgin In Venice. Trish Morey

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       CHAPTER THREE

      ROSA’S HEART WAS tripping over itself as the gorgeous man placed her hand around the leather of his sleeve and cut a path through the crowds, and her feet struggled to keep up with his long strides.

      Vittorio, he’d told her his name was, but that didn’t make him any less a stranger. And he was leading her to a costume ball somewhere, or so he’d said. But she had no more detail than that. And she had nobody and nothing to blame for being here but a spark of impulse that had made her abandon every cautionary lesson she’d grown up with and provoked her into doing something so far out of her comfort zone she wondered if she’d ever find a way back.

      ‘Why not?’ she’d said in response to his invitation, in spite of the fact she could think of any number of reasons.

      She’d never in her twenty-four years done anything as impetuous—or as reckless. Her brothers would no doubt add stupid to the description.

      And yet, uncertainty and even stupidity aside, her night had turned another corner. One that had tiny bubbles of excitement fizzing in her blood.

       Anticipation.

      ‘It’s not far,’ he said, ‘Are you still cold?’

      ‘No.’

      Quite the contrary. His cloak was like a shield against the weather, and his arm under hers felt solid and real. If anything, she was exhilarated, as though she’d embarked upon a mystery tour, or an adventure with an unknown destination. So many unknowns, and this man was at the top of the list.

      She glanced up at him as he forged on with long strides through the narrow calle. He seemed eager to get where he was going now, almost as if he’d wasted too much time talking to her in the square and was making up for lost time. They passed a lamp that cast light and shadow on his profile, turning it into a moving feast of features—the strong lines of his jaw and nose, his high brow and dark eyes, and all surrounded by a thick mane of black hair.

      ‘It’s not far now,’ he said, looking down at her.

      For a moment—a second—his cobalt eyes met hers and snagged, and the bubbles in her blood spun and fizzed some more, and a warm glow stirred deep in her belly.

      She stumbled and he caught her, not letting her fall, and the moment was gone, but even as she whispered her breathless thanks she resolved not to spend too much time staring into this man’s eyes. At least not while she was walking.

      ‘This way,’ he said, steering her left down a narrow path away from the busy calle. Here, the ancient wall of a palazzo disappeared into the fog on one side, a high brick wall on the other, and with each step deeper along the dark path the sounds of the city behind became more and more muffled by the fog, until every cautionary tale she’d ever heard came back to mock her and the only sound she could hear was her own thudding heartbeat.

      No, not the only sound, because their footsteps echoed in the narrow side alley and there also came the slap of water, the reflection of pale light on the shifting surface of the path ahead. But, no, that would mean—

      And that was when she realised that the path ended in a dark recess with only the canal beyond.

      A dead end.

      Adrenaline spiked in her blood as anticipation morphed into fear. She’d come down this dark path willingly, with a man of whom she knew nothing apart from his name. If it even was his name.

      ‘Vittorio,’ she said, her steps dragging as she tried to pull her hand from where he had tucked it into his elbow. ‘I think maybe I’ve changed my mind...’

       ‘Scusi?’

      He stopped and spun towards her, and in the gloomy light his shadowed face and flashing eyes took on a frightening dimension. In this moment he could be a demon. A monster.

      Her mouth went dry. She didn’t want to stay to find out which. ‘I should go home.’

      She was struggling with the fastening of his cloak, even as she backed away, her fingers tangling with the clasp to free herself and give it back before she fled.

      Already she could hear her brothers berating her, asking her why she’d agreed to go with someone she didn’t know in the first place, telling her what a fool she’d been—and they’d be right. She would never live down the shame. She would regret for ever her one attempt at impetuosity.

      ‘Rosa?’

      A door swung open in the recess behind Vittorio, opening up to a fantasy world beyond. Lights twinkled in trees. A doorman looked to see who was outside and bowed his head when he spotted them waiting.

      ‘Rosa?’ Vittorio said again. ‘We’re here—at the palazzo.’

      She blinked. Beyond the doorman there was a path between some trees and at the end of it a fountain, where water rose and fell to some unseen beat. ‘At the ball?’

      ‘Yes,’ he said, and in the low light she could see the curve of his lips, as if he’d worked out why she’d suddenly felt the urge to flee. ‘Or do you feel the need to remind me once again that you are just wearing a costume?’

      Rosa had never been more grateful for the fog as she swallowed back a tide of embarrassment.

      Dio, what must he think of me? First he finds me lost and helpless, and then I panic like I’m expecting him to attack me.

      Chiara was right—she needed to toughen up. She wasn’t in the village any more. She didn’t have her father or her brothers to protect her. She needed to wise up and look after herself.

      She attempted a smile in return. ‘No. I’m so sorry—’

      ‘No,’ he said, offering her his arm again. ‘I’m sorry. Most people take a motorboat to the front entrance. I needed the exercise but walking made me late, so I was rushing. I should have warned you that we would be taking the side entrance.’

      Her latest burst of adrenaline leeched out of her and she found an answering smile as she took his arm and let him lead her into a garden lit with tiny lights that magically turned a line of trees into carriages pulled by horses towards the palazzo beyond.

      And as they entered this magical world she wondered... She’d been told to expect heavy security and bag searches at the ball, but this doorman had ushered them in without so much as blinking.

      ‘What kind of ball is this?’ she asked. ‘Why are there no tickets and no bag searches?’

      ‘A private function, by invitation only.’

      She looked up at him. ‘Are you sure it’s all right for me to come, in that case?’

      ‘I invited you, didn’t I?’

      They stopped just shy of the fountain, СКАЧАТЬ