Page 14 of Venice Vampyr: The Beginning

“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.”

Isabella nodded. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Raphael reached into his pocket and handed her a folded piece of paper. She smiled at him when she took it. Then she looked back at the Doge, who motioned her to approach.

When the man took the paper from Isabella’s hands, Raphael could fairly hear her heart pounding. She wouldn’t have to worry about anything. The ceremony as well as the priest had been genuine. The only thing he’d manipulated with his powers of persuasion was the date on the wedding certificate.

When the priest had signed and dated it, Raphael had sent his suggestions into the man’s mind and made him write a different date: one day earlier. That way, Massimo couldn’t claim they’d only gotten married after he’d discovered them in Isabella’s bedchamber. They could claim that Massimo had intruded the morning after their wedding night. The scandal would be all his.

After many long seconds, the Doge looked up and rose from his chair. He nodded to one of his attendants, who pounded a long staff onto the floor to ask for silence in the hall. The chatter of the crowd subsided.

“My dear friends, I would like you to join me in congratulating Signore and Signora di Santori on their recent nuptials.”

Gasps went through the crowd yet again, but before any kind of cheer could break out, a man pushed through. Raphael recognized him immediately: Massimo.