Forbidden Duke (Princes of Avce Book 4)

by Victoria Pinder

  He massaged her back lightly but asked, “Weekend?”

  The plans. Right. She intended to see everything she could. She glanced into his warm brown eyes. “I’m going to Florence next and then Rome and then Naples before I head north to begin my trek to Paris.”

  “I still have an apartment in Paris.” He answered as if everyone had multiple homes around the continent. “Why are you in a hurry to see all these places?”

  Guess it was time to explain her goals of this trip before she went home and threw herself into a job search. She held onto his hand like it was an anchor. “I want to travel to find myself.”

  His eyes widened as he stared back at her. “Find yourself? Are you lost?”

  A giggle escaped her throat as a small chill went down her spine. She scooted closer to him as he was warm and inviting. “When the library closed, I decided to actually do things on my list and not just dream about them. I’ve lived all my life happy enough with a book to help me escape, but I never gave my own happiness or who I was any thought. I don’t know what I want or who I’m supposed to be, and I’m thirty years old. Most people have plans and an agenda for themselves, but I’m lost.”

  He held her tight and the cold left her body even as a small drop of water splashed against her nose.

  “Can I see your list?”

  “I guess.” She shrugged and reached into her back pocket for her cell phone.

  A second later, she unlocked it and handed it to him. He read the list but then laughed and stared at her. “Kiss a stranger?”

  Drat. How had she forgotten that was on the list? She felt the heat in her cheeks, but she said, “I figured you counted for that one.”

  He winked at her but then continued to read the list. At the end, he summarized, “Most of this is travel in Europe. Have you booked how to get everywhere?”

  “No, it’s mostly just the next few stops, but I can find a travel agency to get the rooms.” For once, she was building her confidence this vacation.

  The gondola turned back toward the pier. For the few days here, she’d love to find out more about Blackwell and get to know him, but she couldn’t imagine herself in his world, not once the vacation ended.

  He kissed her hand. “No need. If you allow me, I can have my man, Piers, book us for many of these for the next few weeks and we can take my plane. In Paris, we’ll stay at my apartment.”

  Seriously his world was nothing like hers. She blinked. “You have a plane?”

  He shrugged. “It’s easier than flying commercial.”

  The gondola ride was almost over. Perhaps her heart shouldn’t make up wishes about him. Falling in love meant she thought about him and only him and she couldn’t do that without figuring herself out first. She lowered her head. “I shouldn’t. You don’t have to do this.”

  He traced her chin until she looked at him again and then leaned closer, “I want to get to know you, Donna. If seeing these things help you find yourself, I’d like to see what you transform into.”

  His world and her world never fit. She lifted her shoulders like they were a shield. “Still, it’s an imposition.”

  He sat back, stared at her and the warmth in his gaze made her knees weak. “Don’t get shy on me now. I like who I see so far.”

  She pushed her hair out of her face and wondered what he saw in her that brought him here today. She said a small prayer for guidance and asked, “Who do you see?”

  He leaned closer. “Donna Smith, the only woman who could get into my heart.”

  “Relentless flirting. I guess I like that.” She closed her eyes and took the chance. “Okay Blackwell, I’d love to see Italy with you.”

  “And Paris.”

  “Okay and Paris.”

  Then his lips met hers again and she forgot about her list, her fears about whatever happened next and just focused on the feeling of his mouth on hers.

  7

  Donna guided Blackwell back through the alley and toward the hotel. His face went white when he saw the outside. She knew she’d paid for a budget hotel, but he didn’t have to be a snob. She pointed to the door and he asked, “This was your hotel?”

  “Yes. It was a good price and close to things I wanted to see.” They walked inside.

  She asked for her bag and he kept quiet until the bellhop brought it out. He immediately tipped the man and took the bag for her.

  As they walked back into the alley, he said, “This wasn’t the place for you, Donna.”

  She looked over her shoulder. The worst part about the lobby had been the cigarette stench. She took his arm. “It smells, but I’d hoped the rooms were clean.”

  He lifted her bag and urged her to walk faster. “Come. Let’s hope everything you packed is still inside.”

  As they passed the small souvenir shop, she asked, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  He took a deep breath once they made it to the main road. “You’re trusting. It’s part of your charm.”

  Trusting wasn’t a bad thing, was it? Sure, the hotel needed a good sprucing up but she hadn’t gone beyond the lobby. There was hope that the rooms would be fair value for the cost.

  As they walked back toward the Grand Canal, she asked, “How did you get here, to Venice?”

  He guided her to a much nicer part of town. “I drove. The roads can be faster than the train because it makes so many stops. We’ll take my car to Firenze, that’s what Italians call Florence.”

  A drive would be great. However, he didn’t need to judge her as they passed Cartier. “Well, I was trying to budget.”

  He turned the corner with her, taking long strides in jeans and a t-shirt that were casual, yes, but still designer. “Budgeting is important to you?”

  For someone raised in America, she felt they were miles apart on reality. She blinked. “It’s important to most people. You must have realized that growing up in Colorado.”

  He lowered his head as he guided her further down the posh street next to the canal. “We still own the farm there. The truth is my parents always had money. I never questioned how they had it or why.”

  “Family money.” She tried to imagine what her and her grandmother’s life would have been like if her parents’ life insurance had been slightly bigger, but she couldn’t picture anything. Her grandmother never needed anything, and neither had she.

  Blackwell had no idea her thoughts as he said, “My heritage goes back in Avce to about 600 AD when some ancestor helped the king befriend the crusaders on their way and then sold goods they might need.”

  Her eyes widened. She couldn’t name her family past her great-grandparents. Having his lineage would be so interesting! It would be nice to know where she came from. “That was a long time.”

  He guided her through a crowd. “He, like many of my relatives, was good with numbers.”

  “Are you good too?” They maneuvered through people all milling around the street.

  He nodded and walked closer to the building. “Decent.”

  His face blended in well here. His olive skin must come from the ancient Roman history of his country. She blinked and wondered what he thought of her looks, though she’d never ask. “That sounds modest-”

  He interrupted her and opened the glass doors to a building that could double as a small palace. “This is the hotel. If you need anything to freshen up or if you lost anything in your bag, just call the front desk. We’ll get it replaced.”

  “Sounds good.” She followed him and the clean smell of lemon was the only scent she detected in the lobby.

  He walked toward the front desk and was taken right away to sign in. With barely a word, he signed papers and was given a key.

  She looked up at the huge crystal chandelier that reflected against the pale yellow walls with murals of Venice life hand-painted on top. The feeling of opulence met with warmth. As he turned toward her and placed his hand on her back, she said, “Wow, this place must cost a fortune.”

  He made a sound like that didn’t matte
r and directed them toward the elevator. “It’s safe, clean, offers a good breakfast, and is near all the sites on your list.” They went to the top floor and the doors opened. Then he glanced at her jeans and said, “If you change into a knee length skirt or longer, we can go to St. Mark’s next, before we get dinner.”

  “Why the skirt?”

  “Our Churches are more traditional here than in America. If you want to see St, Mark’s on your list, we both have to change.”

  “Oh. Okay.” When in Venice, she thought, do as the Venetians do.

  He used his key and opened the only door on the floor. She held her breath, unsure she’d ever seen a penthouse even on TV. As she walked inside behind him and her bag, her eyes widened. The decor was similar to the lobby, but the furniture seemed hand-carved. No machine could make the flowers that spiraled up the table legs. She traced the hardwood table and stared out the huge window that overlooked the Grand Canal.

  This wasn’t her world. Truly a city that was a mix of old and new, and gorgeous in the evening lights. She hugged her waist and turned toward him. “Blackwell, I’m serious, when I ask this. Why me? And this time don’t flirt. We’re not from the same background.”

  He sat on the bed that had a string of gold vines wrapped around the bed frame. “My entire life has been planned out for me. I must marry next month.”

  So he did have someone else. Maybe because of her novels and stories, she never saw the appeal of being the other woman. Her skin chilled as she turned her head. “I’m sure she must be lovely.”

  “There is no one but you, Donna.” He patted the bed beside him.

  She glanced into his brown eyes and felt he was in earnest. She went beside him. “You must marry?”

  His hand went over hers but otherwise he didn’t move. “Or I lose the estate my family had for over a millennia. I will marry a total stranger, if I must.”

  The name of the woman must have already been chosen. Harry might have been a bad choice, but she only had herself to blame. If she’d been forced to marry anyone, she’d be miserable. She kept her head down, but she didn’t move. His closeness warmed her. “So this trip is your last hurrah too.”

  He reached up and lifted her chin and gave her that sexy smile of his that showed off those dimples. “How is this your end? I thought you were finding yourself.”

  She laughed. True. This was about figuring out what she wanted in her life. She definitely didn’t want to be forced into marriage, but that wasn’t exactly knowing herself. She tried to explain. “I’ve always been good at doing what I’m told.” Blackwell looked surprised, but she swallowed and continued. “I never questioned anything. And I never lived, not really. I’ve always been a rules follower and a good girl who never even tried to be edgy. I had to get a job, figure out how to pay for college, take care of Grandma until she died.”

  He traced her arm with a seductive fingertip. “The woman in my arms last night was daring.”

  With Blackwell, she’d felt comfortable enough to be slightly out of her element. She laughed a little. “I don’t know if I’m really just all screwed up in the head. I told you my fiancé left me. So when the library shut down, I was frozen. I never made a choice in my life without thinking about what was best. So this trip is about putting myself first.”

  She closed her eyes and wiggled closer, hoping for a kiss. However, a knock sounded at the door, interrupting the moment. “Who could that be?”

  He scooted off the bed and went to let room service in. A chilled bottle of wine, cheeses, grapes and other finger-foods were pushed inside on a cart. “Our champagne, for when we return. Come, let’s get you to St. Mark’s Church so you can supposedly see the burial site of one of the writers of the Bible.”

  He tipped the waiter and showed him to the door. She opened her bag and fished out her black work skirt that would do for going to church and stripped off her black t-shirt and found a black button down. “That’s something a bridegroom might say.”

  He changed into a white button-down shirt that only made his dark features more prominent and hotter. He had no idea her thoughts as he said, “This is the place where in the 10th century the Archdiocese claimed to have found/stolen the body of the man who wrote the bible and brought his remains here, to Venice.”

  Donna was used to showing people how to find specific books with information, so she appreciated his history lesson. She changed and fluffed her hair. “Blackwell, I’m glad you were honest with me, about needing to get married.”

  He stared at her with slight confusion but shrugged. “Good, now let’s get going. I’m looking forward to dinner, with you on my arm and this time, we’ll eat well. Now that I saw your list, I want to make every one of your dreams come true.”

  That’s right. Good food and sightseeing was what she wanted on that list. She needed to review it again, but for now, she took Blackwell’s arm and felt a tremble race down her body.

  Part of her wished she could do this for the rest of her life, but she knew she wished for the impossible. It was better to memorize every moment. Tonight, after dinner, she’d sleep beside him again and this time, not run in the morning.

  8

  Donna held her breath and stared one more time at the marble statue of St. Mark. He seemed so short! This church was so different than the modern structure she attended in Miami. And her church was all white. This one was had nooks and colorful murals and engraved statues and portraits. If she let her imagination wander, she could see that this was the seat of royalty.

  Blackwell leaned against the wall. “Are you ready?”

  “Almost.” She moved onto the next alcove. The church could hold thousands of people and every corner had something unique. She kept her pace slow and Blackwell followed her as she said, “The basilica is so different than what I’ve seen at home.”

  He came beside her as she gazed at the next statue, and he gently pushed a loose hair behind her ear. “Do you go to church regularly?”

  She turned toward him and ignored the trail of awareness his touch left on her skin. She then turned back toward the statue that someone had carved by hand. “Not as often as I should. I get lazy on some Sundays, and after my grandmother died, I felt alone and isolated. I should add that to my list of things to do.”

  He put his hands behind his back though he leaned closer to her. “Sounds doable. The truth is I only step into church for special occasions. It was never really my thing.”

  She raised her eyebrow and stared at him. “But you have so much to be grateful for.”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t feel like sitting on a bench while someone preaches is a testament to my gratitude. I prefer to give back to society where I can.”

  Giving back through charities was good, too. “We don’t have to talk about religion.”

  He guided her toward the exit, pointing to a mural that most tourists were snapping pictures of even though the priest had said no photography. Blackwell stopped and motioned with his hand. “See the guy on the right, third in the back of that mural?”

  Her gaze took in the famous image and asked, “The one where the merchants are bringing St. Mark to Venice?”

  He lowered his hand. “Yes. Well that guy is supposedly my relative. It all gets surreal when people mention history and how I’m related to an actual saint.”

  She swallowed a tiny taste of jealousy. Her grandmother hadn’t mentioned anyone important in her own lineage. She stayed closer to him as they walked toward the door. “I don’t have that issue. My great-grandparents were good people but I don’t think they did anything saintly.”

  He held the door for her as she passed. “I can have my secretary order your family tree if that interests you.” She turned toward him outside as the light posts turned on, but he finished, “I can’t promise it would reveal much but I employ experts on lineage.”

  Interesting. She smiled and took his offered arm so they could walk toward the canal together, this time with less people s
hopping and standing around. “Sounds like a lovely gift, Blackwell. Thank you. I’d like to know what you find out about me.”

  “No problem. If you were my bride, they’d want to run it anyhow.”

  Bride? She couldn’t imagine. Part of his appeal was his virility mixed with the dream world he lived in, but this fantasy would never last.

  He patted her hand and led her toward a restaurant with a huge outdoor patio. She motioned to sit outside and he agreed.

  The waiter held her chair for her but Blackwell stood until she sat. She needed to respond already to his bride comment. She picked up her water glass, stared at it and tried to find her words. “If I was… no, I’m sure you don’t want to disappoint whoever you are actually going to marry in favor of a woman you met yesterday.”

  He joined her at the table and told the waiter to bring them Prosecco and scooted his seat in. He stared into her eyes and she felt heat rising in her body as he said, “I’d rather marry someone I have something in common with and who won’t correct me when I’m simply being myself.”

  His bride would have to come from a good family, wealthy and probably be picture perfect. She had no real money, no family, no notable ancestors and considered herself passably pretty.

  The waiter brought over the white wine and poured them both a glass once Blackwell nodded his approval. She picked up her menu. “We don’t always get what we want. Everything looks so good. What do you recommend?”

  He barely looked at his menu. “You wanted to try new foods. Well, Venice is known for seafood. We can start with Sarde in saor, then move onto Bigoli in salsa as the pasta dish, and then all you have to pick is your meat.”

  Good. He knew the local favorites. She let out a deep breath. “Those are both good?”