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, halfway across the garden by the soaring side wall of the palazzo, so she could take in the gardens and their magical lighting. To the left, a low wall topped with an ornate railing bordered the garden. The canal lay beyond, she guessed, though it was near impossible to make out anything through the fog, and the buildings opposite were no more than shifting apparitions in the mist.
The mist blurred the tops of the trees and turned the lights of those distant buildings into mere smudges, giving the garden a mystical air. To Rosa, it was almost as if Venice had shrunk to this one fairy-tale garden. The damp air was cold against her face, but she was deliciously warm under Vittorio’s cloak and in no hurry to go inside. For inside there would be more guests—more strangers—and doubtless there would be friendships and connections between them and she would be the outsider. For now it was enough to deal with this one stranger.
More than enough when she thought about the way he looked at her—as if he was seeing inside her, reaching into a place where lurked her deepest fears and desires. For they both existed with this man. He seemed to scrape the surface of her nerve-endings away so everything she felt was raw. Primal. Exciting.
‘What is this place?’ she asked, watching the play of water spouting from the fat fish at the base of the three-tiered fountain. ‘Who owns it?’
‘It
