The game. It would have to do.
Without making a sound, I moved closer to the balcony's railing and searched in the audience an interesting subject to study. And choosing one, I moved on to another.
I did this for a long while.
Time flew by and my lascivious thoughts remained contained in the back of my mind. By the time I took notice, the third act had already begun.
Across our private box, a young woman caught my eye. A widow, by the looks of her chosen attire; black gown with black wired cap and veil. She had surrounded herself with several young attractive males. I discarded her immediately. I found no interest in her conditions because cases as these abounded.
The box beneath hers, however, interested me much. He was the one face in the crowd worth studying.
Something about the gentleman's facial features seemed familiar to me. His eyes fixed on Letizia Leone as she interpreted Medea's aria. Indeed, the melody itself was quite moving, but this man seemed compelled to the point of tears.
I know you... Who are you?
The man rose before the opera reached the end.
Tall and lean, but with a muscular build; he stood with both hands lying at his sides. A towering figure, imposing, with chestnut-colored medium length hair... Bianchi?
A flash of a memory from my infancy appeared before my eyes. The day he resigned as our Master Swordsman and his last words of advice to me before he stepped out of my life forever.
But, how could this be? Was he not dead?
My senses were fooling me. This was impossible. He was dead!
I wanted him to be alive, so much so, that my eyes tricked me into believing that man could actually be him, even when my brain knew better!
However, I had only Marietta's words to trust. I had never seen his body myself, and by her account, neither had she.
Caring little for propriety, I rose from the chair. Alisa's eyes fixed on me with a reprimanding gaze, along with many others; but there was no time. The man had opened the box's doors and was about to leave the theater.
I had to see him. I had to meet him, vis-à-vis, and corroborate my deception once and for all.
With panting breath, I ran downstairs and reached the building's lower étage.
Through the gallery's narrow corridor, I moved quickly until I reached the other side. Every passing face I met, I scrutinized, discarding him, one by one.
In my haste, I bumped into a man. Flustering, due to my rudeness, I turned to extend him my apologies.
“Forgive me, sir,” I said with a slight bow, my eyes wandering away, lest Bianchi were to pass by my side right then.
“Make nathin’ of it,” the man said with a coarse Irish accent as he straightened his dark-blue velvet jacket. “We’re both men in a hurry, ain’t that the truth?”
For once, I acknowledged the man’s presence. Tall and strong-boned, with small but piercing blue eyes and freckled pale skin.
“I suppose that’s—”
“Captain Blood!” a man called at a distance, his waving hand looming above the moving crowd. “This way, Captain!”
Captain Blood? Was he here too? Thomas Blood, the villainous hero, my source of mischievous inspiration, the one man who had successfully proven that even fiends get their happy rewards… where was he?
“Excuse me, my friend,” the man said, offering me his hand in the most amiable gesture. “It seems I’m needed elsewhere. Pleasure bumping into you. Captain Thomas Blood, at your service.”
Impossible to contain my astonishment. This was him. How I wanted to engage in a deeper conversation, to ask him of the feat which had granted him such fame that promised his entry into the annals of History.
“You’re Captain Blood…” I mused as I shook his hand, bearing in mind the moment when he stabbed the Tower’s guard and seized His Majesty’s crown.
“The one an’ only!” he replied puffed up with conceit, and then turned to the man calling him from the end of the corridor.
“Captain—!” I said, and he faced me once more. What compelled me to say the following words, I shall never know. “I have to ask, how did you convince him to spare you from…” I meant the King, of course. How on earth did he persuade him to spare his life?
Amused by my question and my uncloaked admiration, Captain Blood took one step closer to where I stood and narrowing his eyes, in confidence, he spoke. “I told him that I thought the royal regalia was worth one hundred thousand pounds and had I known it was only worth six thousand, I never would have taken such troubles!”
His wicked smile filled my heart with bliss.
Throngs poured into the hallway as the opera ended, engulfing us until we drifted apart. However, Thomas Blood’s mischievous countenance was engraved in my soul. I would have liked to reminisce about that marvelous moment, but the bustling crowds reminded me of my purpose.
Bianchi. I have to find him.
Against a sea of silken gowns and suits, I scurried, until at last, I reached the private box.
Beyond the open doors, no trace of him did I find. I should have seen him amongst the people I passed, but I did not. Had he vanished into thin air, or was he entirely a figment of my wild imagination?
Whatever the answer, my hands went cold as ice the minute I stepped into that private balcony, empty as it was.
“What happened to you?” She pressed my arm. I turned back. Her eyes glistened with concern.
“I thought—” I bit my lip. “Nothing happened.”
“Are you sure? You're as pale as snow!”
“I'm fine, Alisa...” I shrugged. “Come, let's go meet Miss Leone.”
“What are you saying? She would never receive us, not just like that!”
I took her hand and guided her downstairs. My confidence was such as we went backstage to the dressing room that nobody dared stop me. It was Alisa's dream to meet Letizia Leone. I would give her that at least.
Singers undressed and removed their makeup before small looking glasses. We moved through a dark, narrow corridor and at the end of it was Letizia Leone. She sat on a comfortable velvet-lined armchair, drinking a glass of wine.
I took one deep breath as I stood behind her. She saw me through the mirror's reflection. Her gentle blue eyes widened as they filled with my image, and in that moment, I questioned the boldness of my action.
More presumptuous than anxious, I hinted a smile.
“I know you!” she said. Turning back without standing from her seat, her gaze met my eyes. “Mr. Lockhart, isn't it? I remember you!”
“I'm honored that you would recall me at all,” I said, genuinely surprised. “I know how many people you meet on a regular basis...”
“Oh, I could never forget you!” she said extending her hand, which I kissed that very second. “Paris, wasn't it? You were with that young lady—”
“Miss Leone, may I introduce to you, my sister? This is Miss Alisa Lockhart. She's one of your most fervent admirers and appreciates your talent far better than I could ever hope to achieve.”
“I'm always grateful to meet any of my followers. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Lockhart,” she said. “If you are anything like your brother, I'm sure I will be quite blessed by your friendship.”
Alisa smiled and curtsied, but Letizia rose from the chair and kissed her cheek.
“Now tell me, Mr. Lockhart. Shall you deprive me of another one of my maschere?” she teased. “I only complied with your friend's wishes that time in Paris because of your charming appeal, you know.”
Warmth spread to my cheeks; I knew I was blushing. Alisa frowned and fixed her eyes on me.
Letizia, please stop talking, I wanted to say. Every word of indiscretion was a nail sealing my coffin shut.
“Didn't you know, dear?” she said, noticing Alisa's confusion. “Your brother managed that which no one has ever done before! He persuaded me to give one of my masks to one of my admirers.”
“That's completely unheard of...” Alisa mused
in a monotonous voice.
“Of course it is, dear! But leave it to him! One handsome smile of his and I was at his mercy.”
“You are most kind, Miss Leone,” I said, hoping to put a stop to her tongue. “I assure you, Alisa, she indulges me with such a compliment.”
“Does she?” Alisa said. “Pray, tell me, Miss Leone. Who was the lucky recipient of your precious mask?”
“Why, the young redhead, of course. You know, I cannot remember her name...”
“Oh, but I do,” Alisa said. “It must have been Miss Deveraux.”
I hinted a nervous smile and raised my brow. My hands went into my jacket's pockets. And then, I regretted bitterly ever thinking of such a terrible idea.
“Yes, that's the name!” Letizia said. “I see no reason why I shouldn't show the same affection to your sister as I did to your friend, Miss Deveraux. What do you say, Mr. Lockhart?”
I was doomed. Doomed and speechless.
“Would you like to have the mask I wore this evening, Miss Lockhart?”
Alisa's eyes glistened with joy. “I would be most grateful,” she said, trying to contain her enthusiasm. She did an amazing job at it. If not for her clasped hands tightening slightly, I would have never guessed her excitement.
Letizia Leone reached for her white mask with golden feathers and offered it to Alisa.
“Thank you, Miss Leone!” she said. “Thank you so much!”
“Do not thank me, dearest.” Letizia raised one eyebrow and fixed her inquisitive eyes on me. “Thank your charming brother.”
Bemused by her selection of words, Alisa frowned. But delighted with her present, she extended her farewells and walked away from the dressing room carrying the mask as if it were her trophy.
“You've been extremely generous, Letizia,” I mused. “How can I ever thank you?”
“Oh, I don't know, Ivan...” She drew close to me, enough to kiss my lips. But just as her mouth neared mine, Letizia moved her full lips aside and her kiss landed on my cheek. Pressing my hand, she slipped a card in it. “Keep in touch?”
The card had an address in elaborate writing. I assumed it was hers. It was scented with lavender. I covered my lips with it and smiled.
“I will,” I said and left the room.
A large silver tray piled with biscotti lay before me. And across it, Alisa's deep-blue eyes pierced through and landed on my own.
The parlormaid came and served Alisa's choice of tea. And of course, I was expected to have it too. Although, after that perilous encounter with Letizia Leone, a glass of red wine enticed me more.
She had not spoken a word to me since we arrived from the opera, and that had been last evening.
The wall clock ticked its mesmerizing monotonous song.
I grabbed a piece of bread, broke it in half, and jabbed it into my mouth.
“You've lain with her, haven't you?”
The bread got stuck in my throat. I could not breathe. I coughed once and then again until I spat it out in a napkin, and only then did I take a deep breath. Alisa's forwardness astounded me. I never saw it coming. She caught me completely off guard.
“What—what are you talking about?”
“You mean who am I talking about,” she said. “Because of course, we have two choices: Miss Leone and Miss Deveraux. And you want to know to which one of them I am referring.”
“Alisa, what on earth has—?”
“You got her the mask,” she mused. “You knew I wanted it, and still, you got it for her.”
Juliette. This was all about her... or was it?
“I had no clue of your intentions... I didn't know you wanted that wretched mask!” I said. “Had you bothered to tell me, I would have done everything in my power to get it for you! And may I remind you, it was not my confidence you sought for this matter, but Lady Cisseley's.”
“How did you—?”
“I heard you mention it to Pritchard.” I shrugged. “You have the mask now, is that not enough?!” I threw the napkin on the table and satisfied my fit by leaving the room before she carried on with her dangerous inquiry.
“No,” she said with a cool dispassionate voice. “It's not enough.”
I stopped at the doorway and turned.
The doorbell rang.
My eyes fixed on hers, trying to unravel the meaning behind her words.
“Miss Valerie Sinclair to see Miss Lockhart,” Marcello said as he stood behind me.
“Send her in,” I said under my breath. “I was on my way out, anyway.”
16
The Venetian Grand Ball
The evening air was rich and warm, fragrant with intoxicating perfumes lingering amidst the crowds gathered outside the luxurious palazzo.
A violoncello suite, Courante, echoed inside the main hall. The music filtered out of the ballroom and mingled with the many voices tangled in chatter and the occasional burst of laughter.
Making my way through the crowd, I reached the end of the hall with slow and careful steps, for lavish gowns of the most profuse dimensions filled every inch of the room. And I did not want to cause a lady's unlucky accident or trip myself with their endless yards of silk.
Alisa had gone ahead of me, with Miss Sinclair and her friends. An hour had passed since then.
I expected to meet her here.
The minute I walked through the ballroom's threshold, I stopped. At the far end of the room, I spotted her. Immersed in conversation, amused by her friends' company, she smiled and whisked her fan to drive away the infernal heat of the many lit candelabras.
I leaned against the damask wall and filled my eyes with the spell of her exquisite beauty. Wrapped in a royal blue silk gown, with blue eyes that gleamed beneath the black Colombina mask, as blue and shimmering as the sapphire pending from her neck.
With a gentle tilt of her head, she excused herself from the group and moved outside, to the courtyard.
The soft press of a hand around my wrist pulled my attention away from her for one painful second, and as I turned, lustful eyes lost themselves in my own.
“I remember you, Mr. Lockhart,” her sultry voice purred the French words in my ear.
“And I, you. Good evening, Miss Sinclair,” I said, becoming free of her grasp. She was not an unpleasant woman to behold, by no means, with fierce dark eyes and porcelain skin. She was simply not what I wanted.
“You are not her,” I almost said. But I smiled and nodded instead, plunging into the crowd and disappearing from the room within seconds.
Unwilling to acknowledge any other face in the room, I followed Alisa’s footsteps into the courtyard.
She leaned over the balustrade, whisking her fan with her eyes closed, unaware of my presence.
With the stealth of a cat, I moved behind her.
“Miss me?” I whispered.
Her eyes opened, she turned and smiled as soon as she saw me. “Not much, really,” she teased, and taking her hand to her mouth, she yawned.
“Oh, I can see that... You're bored out of your wits! Come, let's dance.”
“Dance? Are you unwell?” she said, unable to conceal her astonishment. “If I know one thing about you, is that you do not dance unless you are forced. And I would never force you.”
“As beautiful as you are, I would dance with you and only you.” I held her hand and led her to the ballroom. But I had not moved a step forward that I found her resistant to follow.
“What is it?” I frowned, turning back. “What's wrong?”
I moved closer and searched an answer beneath her mask. Her shimmering eyes said very little. I only knew that she suffered in silence, and that knowledge alone broke my heart.
“No, please don’t. Don't cry, dearest.” I smoothed my hand beneath her cheek and pulled her close to my chest the moment the first tear fell.
Her body shuddered under my embrace and she wept even more.
Tears loomed in my eyes. Always with such reserve—why would she not speak her mind and for once
become free of whatever tortured her soul?
I kissed her brow and next, her cheeks, and in that nearness, my lips landed on the corner of her mouth. When her lips brushed against mine, every nervous fiber in my being came to life. And without giving it another thought, I went for that precious kiss, the one I had longed for many months in secret. My lips pressed against hers with a soft, gentle touch. And her lips, warm and tender as was she, returned my kiss with endless devotion.
Locked in a world of our own, everything else faded into nothingness. The background noise of snobbish conversations, the melodic music playing in the ballroom, the soft thunderclaps of the upcoming storm rumbling in the distance... it all went away in one precious moment of pure bliss, a true glimpse of heaven.
I never wanted this moment to end... but it did.
She stepped back, her eyes filled with shock. And before I could say a word, she ran into the ballroom, blending in the mass of guests and crossing to the other side quickly.
She went through the doors and disappeared from my sight.
I had to find her.
Frail as I had never seen her, she stood outside by the palazzo's gates.
Her hand was wrapped around the iron forged door; her eyes stared past the Rialto Bridge laying ahead. She took one shallow breath, perhaps seeking to regain the stillness of her rushing mind.
I moved past the front door. The first drops of rain landed on my hands. A soft gust of humid wind stirred the Grand Canal's waters, announcing the impending storm.
I drew closer and stood one step behind her.
“Say something,” I said. “Please, talk to me.”
She covered her lips with her gloved hands and shook her head.
To hell with it. I had kept silent long enough.
“Very well. Then I will,” I mused, caring little for the racing rainstorm now sifting upon us. “I would begin by saying that I'm sorry, that I beg for your forgiveness, that what took place in that courtyard will never again happen between us... but then, I would be lying.
“I am not sorry, Alisa. And I do not want your forgiveness.” I held her hand. “I want much more...”
Written in Blood: A New Adult Vampire Romance Novella, Part One. (The Unnatural Brethren Book 1) Page 16