Chapter One #2
Wasn’t this a chance to enjoy one of the more sensational aspects of her adopted home city, rather than contending with the downside of the busy Venetian Carnival?
Like having to fight her way through marauding hordes of tourists every time she went to buy a loaf from that little shop near the corner of Campo San Barnaba.
Or being half startled to death every time a cloaked figure emerged from the shadows, wearing one of those white, unmoving masks which she still found scary, even after all these years.
‘Does your boss know you’re here?’ asked Kirsty.
‘Are you kidding?’ answered Grace. ‘He’d have an absolute fit.
’ Vincenzo Contarini was a self-confessed snob, who believed that everyone had their station in life and, as his general dogsbody, Grace was very definitely near the bottom of the heap.
But he paid well and provided free board and lodgings in a city which was eye-wateringly expensive.
She could never have afforded to live here otherwise.
And if sometimes it felt a bit like living in a gilded cage, she always tried to push that particular thought away, because those kinds of thoughts got you nowhere.
Kirsty gave her a little shove. ‘Now, grab your bag and let’s go. The ball awaits you, Cinderella. And don’t forget…’ She paused dramatically, but her words were tinged with seriousness. ‘Tonight you can be anyone you want to be.’
Rather nervously, Grace nodded and followed Kirsty from the cloakroom, through a confusing number of back stairs, until they found their way to a discreet door which was obviously a staff entrance.
She could hear chatter and music and laughter in the distance.
In her narrow and delicately buckled shoes, her footsteps faltered and if Kirsty hadn’t given her another gentle push, she might have fled.
Inside, it was as spectacular as everyone had said it would be.
The sparkle and gleam of lavish costumes.
The rising chatter of voices and cliquey little groups.
Beneath chandeliers which cascaded from the high ceilings like diamond waterfalls, people were dancing, the women wearing jewels which glittered like flashing lights.
In a distant alcove of the giant space, a string quartet was playing, and in another stood a trio of young men, juggling with gleaming golden balls.
But everyone else was mingling at the far end of the ballroom and Grace felt stupidly self-conscious and alone as she stood there, her fingers gripping her sequined bag.
Her main objective had been getting into the venue—she hadn’t thought much beyond that and she couldn’t see her friends anywhere.
Hurriedly, she moved forward, aware that her palms were damp with nerves but not daring to wipe them on the hired dress.
Terrified that people were looking at her and recognising her for the usurper she was, she felt achingly self-conscious, her progress slow, and as she paused deferentially to let an older woman pass, her gaze drifted upwards to the balustrade which overlooked the ballroom.
And that was when she saw him. Standing on a balcony directly above her. Grace’s footsteps came to a halt as their eyes met and, beneath her tight bodice, her heart began to pound.
If only she had wings and could fly!
Because there, silhouetted against a tall window, stood a man who made every other man in the room shrink into nothingness.
Why? Was it because he was so much taller than all the others?
His shoulders much broader? His legs indecently long?
Or because he exuded an aura of experience and danger which was almost tangible?
Which should have made her want to run a mile in the opposite direction, but instead she found herself rooted to the spot.
He was dressed entirely in black. A tricorn hat sat rakishly on his slightly too long ebony hair, making him resemble a figure who’d stepped out of a fairy tale.
Or a dream. He stood alone and watchful, as if daring anyone to come close.
As if personal space was something he guarded jealously.
Was that why people were circling him so warily, the men appearing to acknowledge an unassailable rival while the women slowed their speed whenever they passed, though he seemed oblivious to their lash-batting attention?
She wondered if their gazes really had connected, or whether that was wishful thinking on her part, because why would he have noticed someone like her—small and insignificant and out of place in this grand setting?
But he was definitely looking at her now.
Behind his mask, she couldn’t see his facial expression—obviously—but there was something subtly challenging about his stance.
Something which was calling out to her and bringing her senses to life.
How mad was that? Blood flooded to her cheeks as Grace found herself remembering Kirsty’s parting words.
‘Tonight you can be anyone you want to be.’
Could she? She swallowed. Because right now the person she most wanted to be was the kind of woman who would stride up to the powerfully built man who was standing on the balcony and boldly ask him to dance.
And he would say yes. Of course he would.
He might even give a delighted laugh as he pulled her into his arms. Beneath the tight bodice her nipples grew hard as she imagined herself melting into that impressively honed body and…
‘Signora?’
An unfamiliar voice breaking into her wayward fantasies, Grace turned to see a man, his name badge marking him out as an official rather than a guest, his face sour and slightly malicious.
Her breath froze. Had she been rumbled? Had slipping in through the staff entrance made it obvious she didn’t have a ticket?
‘Yes?’ she answered, in English rather than her more usual Venetian dialect, hoping the man might treat her more deferentially if he thought she was a wealthy tourist.
But annoyingly, he immediately switched to the same language. ‘Your ticket, please, signora ?’
Grace swallowed. It was her worst nightmare come true.
She pictured herself being publicly ejected and word getting back to her boss.
Wouldn’t he accuse her of bringing his aristocratic name into disrepute and wouldn’t those be grounds enough for him to sack her?
Her contract wasn’t formal—in fact, she didn’t even have a contract.
Desperately, she considered her options.
She could turn tail and flee, or she could try to brazen it out.
But how? She glanced up to see the man in black, who hadn’t moved.
He was still there. And unbelievably, he was still watching her, a small curve playing around his sensual lips as he studied the reaction between her and the official.
Was it her imagination, or had he just imperiously bowed his head in her direction—as if he were granting her permission to approach?
‘Signora?’ repeated the official. ‘Your ticket, please.’
And suddenly she knew exactly what she was going to do.
For one night only she was going to forget about being careful Grace Foster.
Timid Grace Foster who never put a foot wrong, who always bowed to authority and rules.
Tonight was supposed to be about doing what she wanted, although she wasn’t exactly sure what that might be.
The only thing she did know was that the brooding figure in black looked commanding and indomitable.
A safe haven, she thought with sudden certainty—which was surprising, given the undeniable edge of danger he exuded.
Could he rescue her from this annoying little man?
Sucking in a deep breath, she began to hurry towards him.