HE WAS DEATH come to take her away. At least, that was what he looked like as he descended the sweeping stairs of the Venetian ballroom, his black cloak billowing behind him, his blunt fingertips brushing the elegant marble banister. Allegra felt it like a touch against her skin, and for the rest of her life she would wonder at the strength of it.
He was masked, like everyone else in attendance, but that was where the similarity between him and anyone else—or indeed, him and any mortal—ended.
He was not wearing the bright silks of many of the men there, rather he was dressed all in black. The mask that covered his face was of some sort of glittering midnight material, cut into the shape of a skull. His skin must have been painted a deep charcoal beneath it, because she could catch no sight of man or even a trace of humanity in the small spaces between the intricately fashioned metal.
She wasn’t the only woman to be struck dumb by his appearance—a ripple ran through the room. Resplendent, silk-wrapped creatures were all quivering in anticipation of a look, a glance. Allegra was no exception. Her identity hidden behind the beautiful painted designs on her face, she allowed herself the indulgence to look at him.
The party, being held in one of the most beautiful and historic hotels in Venice, was hosted by one of her brother’s business associates. It was one of the most sought-after invitations in the world, and those attending were the elite.
Italy’s oldest, wealthiest families. Old money and new. Eligible heiresses who held whole rooms captive with a saucy glance.
She supposed she was part of them. Her father was old money and new. Nobility with a lineage that could be traced back to the Renaissance. But unlike his father before him, he’d taken that position and spun it into gold. Had taken crumbling, inherited properties and reinvigorated them as his business, pushing him to the height of the social and financial stratosphere.
Her brother, Renzo, had only brought the Valenti family higher, taking her father’s company global and increasing their wealth by leaps and bounds.
Still, Allegra didn’t feel like she was one of these women. Didn’t feel seductive or vibrant. She felt...caged.
But this was supposed to be her chance. Her chance to lose her virginity to a man that she chose, rather than to the prince that she was promised to marry, who did nothing to heat her blood or fire her imagination.
Perhaps such a sin would send Allegra straight to hell. Though, who better to take her there than the devil himself? He was here, after all. And with his entrance into the room he had affected her more deeply, more profoundly, than her arranged fiancé ever had.
She started to take a step toward the staircase, and then stopped. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought she might be sick. Who did she think she was? She was not the kind of woman to approach a strange man at a party.
To approach him and flirt and ask him to—
She had no idea what she’d been thinking.
Allegra turned away from the stranger. She wasn’t going to court Death at this party, in all the ways that term applied. Yes, she had the fantasy that she might find someone tonight. Someone she wanted. But when push came to shove, she simply didn’t have the courage.
Anyway, her brother had brought her to this party under sufferance, and if she caused any trouble, he would probably burn the place to the ground. Renzo Valenti was not known for his quiet temperament. Allegra, however, had learned to curb hers.
As a child she had been a trial, according to both of her parents. But she had allowed them to teach her. With lessons in deportment and carriage and all other manner of things designed to make her the sort of lady who would make something of herself.
And it had paid off. At least, from the point of view of her parents. Renzo’s close friendship with Cristian Acosta—a Spanish duke her brother had been friends with since his years in private school—had made an introduction between her father and Prince Raphael DeSantis of Santa Firenze.
From that introduction, at the urging of dear Cristian—who Allegra wanted to dunk into the sea—had come a marriage agreement that saw Allegra promised to a prince. A triumph in her parents’ eyes.
She should be ecstatic, so she’d been told.
She had been formally promised to Raphael since she was sixteen years old, and he appealed to her no more now that she was twenty-two than he had at the very first meeting. It was a strange thing. He was a handsome man, that was not up for debate. But in spite of all that handsome, he left her cold.
Unlike her older brother,
