Venice Vampyr - The Beginning

When he straightened and looked at her, a knowing grin flashed over his features. He offered her his arm, and she took it, not only because it was expected of her, but also because her stomach was a nest of butterflies and her knees made of pudding.

“Now try not to think of what I’m planning to do to you later or your rather flushed face will attract every scoundrel at the ball like a pot of honey.” He dropped his voice to a deep gravel. “And this honey is mine.”

Isabella shot him a shocked glare. He responded by laughing. A full, uninhibited, happy laugh.





Chapter Ten




The Doge’s Palace was illuminated as if a fire was blazing within. All of Venice was assembled: nobles, wealthy merchants, and foreign dignitaries. It was the event of the year. Raphael had never attended before. He lived a life that didn’t allow for exposure. Living at the edge of society—albeit in pure luxury—made it easier to conceal what he was. Tonight he would brave society’s scrutiny for one reason and one reason only: to save his lovely wife’s reputation.

Wife. What a strange concept. He’d never thought he’d get married, let alone in such a hurried way with not even his brother Dante in attendance. When he’d sent a servant to their house for garments with a quick note that he was alright, it was still daylight and therefore impossible for Dante to join him. He’d therefore refrained from telling him that he was getting married. Because for certain, his dear brother would have tried to get to him to stop his foolish undertaking.

Isabella fidgeted next to him as they neared the entrance to the hall and edged forward in the line so their arrival would be announced to all assembled. He dropped his head to hers and noticed for the first time that he was a good head taller than her. He liked that—it made him feel even more like her protector.

“Don’t be nervous. I promise you, all will be settled.” He clasped his hand over her fingers, which she’d hooked under his arm. They were ice cold. “And when this is over, I’ll get you so hot, you’ll never have cold fingers again.” He loved rattling her, and the jolt in her body told him he’d succeeded again. By the end of the evening she would be panting for release, and he’d be only too happy to oblige his darling wife.

“Names,” the tall announcer prompted him as they reached the top of the line.

Raphael bent toward him and gave their particulars. A moment later, the booming voice of the man announced them to the room. “Signore Raphael di Santori and his wife, Signora Isabella di Santori, formerly Signora Tenderini, the widow of the late Giovanni Tenderini.”

Dozens of heads snapped in their direction, and the collective gasps traveled through the crowd like a ripple on the water’s surface when disturbed by a pebble. Just like he’d expected: Massimo had already spread the news about Isabella’s ruin. Just as well. This way, Raphael could undermine his credibility.

Keeping Isabella close by his side, he made his way down the stairs and waded into the mass of people whose curious and doubting stares followed them. His goal was single-minded: they needed to see the Doge. His authority alone would silence their wagging tongues. Merely announcing one’s marriage wasn’t sufficient in this case. They had to prove it.

As they approached the place where the Doge sat on his throne to hold audience, they were stopped by one of his attendants. Raphael looked past him and caught the Doge’s eye. The man waved toward him, curiosity flashing in his eyes.

“Let them pass.”

Raphael bowed in front of the older man and noticed how his wife fell into a deep curtsy. From where the Doge sat, he must be able to see deep into Isabella’s neckline and get more than a glimpse of her ample bosom. Raphael took her hand and pulled her up.

“Your Excellency,” he greeted the powerful man, who would help them restore Isabella’s reputation. “May I introduce my wife and—”

“No introduction is necessary. I caught your name well enough as you entered.” Then his eyes settled on Isabella. “Nasty things have been said about you, Signora.”

“All untrue,” Raphael offered.

The Doge gave him an impatient glare. “I addressed your wife, if she is indeed your wife.”

Raphael held his tongue and squeezed Isabella’s arm in reassurance.

“Your Excellency, all rumors are untrue, and I’m certain no harm was intended. However, it merely appears that the person who spread those rumors was misinformed about my status,” Isabella said.

“And would you care to correct this misunderstanding now?”

“Indeed. My wedding to Signore di Santori took place yesterday, and it appears the notices I was planning to have delivered to Venetian society have been delayed. I will make sure my personal attendant makes haste.” Her voice was steady now, and only Raphael could feel the light tremble in her body. He tried to soothe it by gently stroking her arm.

“And you have proof that such a wedding took place? I hope you don’t mind my being a little cynical, but as you can imagine, once a claim has been made, it is up to me to verify it.”