For the next few hours, he repeatedly retrieved blooms of molten iron from the blast furnace, moving them to his anvil so he could pound the metal into large spikes. His body dripped sweat and his nostrils were filled with the inescapable odor of burning charcoal and melting ore. It was grueling, unpleasant work, but Tavros was accustomed to it and physically suited to absorb the punishment.
The overbearing heat reminded him of his miserable days in the hold of the Greek sailing vessel a year before. The men who had put him in that cage drugged him first. When he had awakened in the dark cargo hold, his rage at finding himself imprisoned precipitated his rapid turning, the agonizing physical changes only increasing his fury.
That’s how Egan had first encountered him, as half-man, half-animal. The sailor had stared in awe as Tavros roared, banging his fists against the iron bars until his hands bled. Snorting loudly, he had roared for an hour before finally passing out in exhaustion.
After that first day in the cage, Tavros had done his best to maintain a sense of calm, despite the taunting regularly doled out by his captor. Since his arrival in Venice, he had turned into the beast only three times, and had been spotted by a scant few people who were wandering the nighttime alleyways of the city. Although they had been scared half to death, no one had been harmed. Without evidence of the sightings, the Beast of Venice became a rumor, something people feared although they only half-believed in it.
For the past few months he’d kept the beast at bay and had settled into a comfortable life of hard work. Tavros knew it would happen again, though. As always, it was never a matter of if, but rather when.
As he toiled away at his anvil, Tavros kept picturing the maiden from the fabric shop. Only when the sun had long disappeared, and he was resting in his quarters did he realize the danger of the course upon which he was setting himself.
“This cannot continue,” his deep voice rumbled, audible only to the rats nesting deep in the hay.
And with that, he forcefully banished the maiden from his mind.
Or so he believed.
He awoke at the first light of dawn, covered with sweat and with his manhood hard as fresh-forged steel. His arousal was the result of a dream depicting an act that could only lead to certain disaster for both of its participants.
Tavros resolved to be more stringent in his thoughts, reminding himself that even if such a relationship were permissible, a refined beauty like he had seen would never lower herself to consort with a beast or a blacksmith.
Chapter 4
Antonia
“I need the floral arrangements in the dining hall!” Signora Crivelli called to her servants at Ca' Crivelli, the opulent family palazzo on Venice’s Grand Canal.
Antonia overheard her mother and stopped to help the staff gather the flowers off the large granite kitchen countertop. The three-story palazzo was alive with activity.
Signora Crivelli looked up from the dining table where her prized silver had been arranged and saw her young daughter carrying a bouquet of lilies and irises into the room. “Mia figlia Antonia!” she cried. “Why are you doing the servants’ work? Put those down immediately!”
When Antonia followed her instructions, Signora Crivelli approached her daughter.
“Now hurry upstairs to your quarters. You must be made presentable for tonight.” Before Antonia could respond, her mother gathered her in her arms. “My precious, I cannot believe this day has finally come.”
Antonia managed an anxious smile. She had eagerly anticipated the occasion as well: the day of the impalamento or joining of hands. After her father had the idea of her marrying Giovanni Donato, he hired a sensale, a mediator who took nearly two years to complete the complex negotiations between the Crivellis and Donatos. When the most influential ship builder in Venice seeks an alliance with the most influential importer of textiles, their children become commodities used to facilitate the merger.
Now that the mediator had worked out all the financial details to everyone’s satisfaction, tonight’s impalamento would seal the alliance with written contracts executed over a lavish dinner. Neither she nor Giovanni would attend the dinner or the party afterward. Only when the “joining of hands” was completed would she meet her future husband, traditionally done when the two of them, without others present, exchanged gifts and conversation through a window.
“Antonia, your bath awaits you!”
She ran upstairs to find her governess standing by the bath. The plump middle-aged woman had graying brown hair and warm eyes that practically smiled, and she was looking at Antonia with a sense of pride. That pride was well-earned, as she’d almost single-handedly raised the bride-to-be from an infant into a beautiful young woman.
Antonia saw that Piera had filled the large copper tub with hot water brought from the kitchen by servants. One whiff told her that her governess had mixed in some delightfully scented oils as well.
“Thank you, Piera. This is perfect. Now I’d like some privacy, please.”
When Piera left, Antonia quickly disrobed and lowered herself into the steamy liquid. She needed to relax, as she was more anxious than she could ever recall being. Two years of waiting had led to this night, but now she would meet Giovanni, and in less than two months they would be married.
Antonia knew of the Donato family and their role in the building of ships in the Arsenal shipyard. Her father had spoken with reverence of Signor Donato, who was among the wealthiest men in Venice.
She had first learned of Signor Donato’s only son when her parents told her they were attempting to arrange a marriage for her. Giovanni was seven-and-twenty years of age and was said to be quite popular among the young upper-class Venetian men who frequented the Piazza San Marco in the evenings. Seven-and-twenty seemed very adult to nineteen-year-old Antonia. She’d spent months wondering what he looked like and dreaming of the adult things he would teach her when they were alone.
As she lathered her slender body, her mind crept back to what Flora had alluded to in the fabric shop. What was it like for Lisabetta on her wedding night? Antonia knew what happens between a man and a woman, because Piera had explained it to her in detail; she just couldn’t imagine it very well.
Sliding the bar of soap around her full breasts, she felt her pulse quicken at the idea that she herself would soon be doing just that. She stood in the tub, her wet skin glistening as she looked down at her small waist, the curve of her hips, and the patch of reddish-bronze hair between her legs.
Was she the type of woman a man would want? More specifically, would Giovanni want her?
And what would he look like naked? She tried to imagine touching him there, wrapping her hand around—
Her imagination was interrupted by the jostling of a doorknob. Antonia quickly plunged back into the tub as Piera entered carrying her attire for the dinner party.
“Grazie, Piera!” Antonia said quickly, hoping her blushing wasn’t too obvious.
Once Antonia dried herself, Piera helped her into her dress, a rich purple brocade gown with ivory silk sleeves that billowed out from her shoulders. She exhaled sharply as Piera tugged at the waistline, cinching the heavy fabric to hug her frame. After she checked her reflection, she sat on a bench in front of the mirror to watch as Piera began to interweave Antonia’s copper-brown locks with lavender satin ribbons.
As her governess worked, Antonia gazed into the mirror and again wondered if her future husband would like what he saw. She loved the thought of being married. She yearned to be in love, to do the things that lovers do, to bear her husband’s children and together create a family.
“Antonia,” a voice called from downstairs, “it’s time.”
She would first be introduced to Giovanni’s parents upon their arrival, then dismissed until the contracts were signed. Only then would she take her place in the library, at a window looking out over the courtyard to wait for Giovanni’s appearance.
She stood and walked to the doorway. “You look beautiful, cara,�
�� Piera whispered to her.
“Thank you,” Antonia whispered back, the suspense of the evening making her feel light-headed.
She descended the wide staircase into the parlor. Before she even got there, she heard the boisterous voice of her father as he shared a crude joke with one of the staff and hoped the Donato family had not arrived yet. She adored her father but at times was a bit embarrassed by his uproarious personality.
Signor Crivelli was dressed regally in a terribly expensive new fabric he’d imported from Arabia, tailored into a jacket with solid gold buttons. Signora Crivelli looked equally extravagant in her lush green gown trimmed with gold embroidery, the neckline plunging slightly to hint at her ample breasts, accentuated with a dazzling string of pearls.
“There’s my angel!” Signor Crivelli bellowed as Antonia entered the parlor. “You look simply beautiful. You have grown into a fine young woman and you will be just like your mother!”
Signor Crivelli grasped Antonia’s face with both hands and kissed each cheek with a flourish, almost knocking her off balance. She thanked her father as she checked to ensure her hair was still in place.
“Signor Crivelli!” called the palazzo’s majordomo, Gasparo, from the landing at the Grand Canal entrance of the palazzo. “They are here.”
The Donato family had arrived, and seconds later Signor Donato was shown into the parlor, sauntering with an air of royalty. Following directly behind him was Signora Donato.
“Please, join us in our home!” Signor Crivelli motioned for the families to enter the dining hall where the staff had minutes earlier put the final touches on an elaborate feast, spread across the entire table. Antonia was surprised by the deference her father paid to Signor Donato. He was bordering on subservient, and she was certain she wasn’t the only one who could see it.
The introductions were brief, and Signora Donato voiced her approval in glowing terms. Then Antonia was ushered from the room so the process could be repeated with Giovanni. Although her father had met Giovanni many times in the course of business, tradition had to be followed.
The dinner would consist of a delectable assortment of game meats and fresh vegetables from the mainland, warm breads, and hearty wines. Afterward, the families would retire to the music room to sign the various contracts. Spirits, fresh fruits and cheeses were to be served under a candlelight chandelier, while in the background, twin violinists played.
Antonia was a part of none of these things, to her chagrin. Instead she waited nearly two hours in her bed chamber, peeking out the window in the vain hope of catching a glimpse of her husband-to-be.
Finally a knock on the door sent her pulse racing. Piera opened it and said, “Come, it’s time.”
She almost forgot to pick up her gift for her fiancé, a tobacco pipe. Her father had picked it out, saying, “Trust me, he will love it.” She certainly hoped so. It would be a dreadful omen if he didn’t, and she couldn’t bear the thought of their relationship getting off to a bad start.
Antonia went downstairs and took a seat in a chair that her mother had a servant place by the open window earlier. Soft candlelight set the library aglow, and several torches illuminated the courtyard.
Expecting Giovanni to show up quickly, she was disappointed when the minutes dragged on and there was no movement outside. She could hear the lapping of the water in the nearby Grand Canal against the front of the palazzo, and a cricket chirping somewhere in the courtyard added to the maddening tension.
When Antonia was beginning to feel nauseous with anxiety, she spotted Giovanni approaching. He was dressed in a pale blue velvet doublet over a billowy cotton shirt with matching blue breeches and satin hosiery, an extravagance afforded by only the wealthiest of Venetian men. She quickly lowered her eyes in an expression of demure respect, a gesture taught to women at an early age. Her heart was beating like a hummingbird’s wings and she feared it would be painfully obvious to him.
Giovanni smiled politely as he arrived at the window.
“You must be Antonia.”
She returned his smile, hoping for a handshake, or in her deepest fantasies, a quick stolen kiss on the cheek. There was nothing of the sort as Giovanni stood a chaste four feet away. He had green eyes and a very handsome face, with delicate features. He also had the privileged look of a man who had never labored in his life, which made sense, considering his family’s absurd wealth.
“And you must be Giovanni,” she said, trying for just the right tone. She only wanted the faintest hint of flirting to show through.
“Here, I brought you something,” he said, handing her a silk bag with a bow keeping it closed.
That was better. “What is it? May I open it now?”
Giovanni’s laugh seemed oddly derisive. “You may open it when you wish, of course.”
Feeling awkward, she removed the bow and peered into the bag to see it was filled with chocolates. “I love chocolates!” she said enthusiastically. “Thank you.”
“These are from Torino.” When he saw Antonia’s blank stare, he frowned and added, “It’s near France. You’ve heard of France, I hope.”
Of course she’d heard of France. Was he teasing her? It certainly didn’t sound like it.
Trying to steady the ship, she offered him the small wooden box containing his gift. “This is for you. I hope you like it.”
Without letting their fingers so much as graze, he accepted the gift and gently lifted the top off the box.
“A pipe,” he said without emotion. “How thoughtful. I don’t smoke tobacco, but now if I ever get the urge, I will have a pipe at the ready.”
Oh, no. Her father had really missed the mark on that one.
Antonia suddenly realized she had no idea how to talk to a man, and this one in particular. Beginning to feel as if he weren’t interested in her at all, she searched for a subject to possibly engage him.
“I hear you work in your father’s shipyard,” she said naively.
“Oh cara mia, no!” Giovanni said. “I would never sully these hands with tasks reserved for laborers. I am soon to be my father’s successor, so I spend my days learning the business side of his enterprise.”
She hadn’t meant to imply that he built the ships himself, but he’d apparently taken her question as an insult nevertheless. She blushed in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to offend—"
“I’m not offended. I just imagined you would have a firmer grasp on your future husband’s business.”
What? Antonia’s stomach felt like it was flipping upside down. This first meeting was going terribly.
Before she could gather herself, Giovanni said, “My father tells me that you were hoping I would escort you to Summer Carnival. Is that so?”
Antonia’s mood brightened instantly. “Yes! I would love to go. I’ve never been.”
“To be honest, I had plans to attend with a friend. But I suppose there’s no reason I can’t do both, is there?”
Great, yet more confusion; would this friend be coming with them on their first date?
Before she could respond, Giovanni said, “Well then, it’s settled. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be going.”
Feeling the need to intervene, she said, “So soon? We’ve hardly had time to speak.”
“We have the rest of our lives ahead of us, time enough for many conversations.” He smiled wanly and strode away, stopping to turn back and say, “Enjoy the chocolates, but do not eat them all or your wedding gown may not fit.” He chuckled at his little joke before turning to walk away.
A confused Antonia was left staring at an empty courtyard. Minutes after Giovanni was gone from her sight, she could still smell his perfumed scent.
This was certainly an inauspicious beginning to their union. The man she was going to marry was unhappy with her. More than that, even; he had seemed annoyed or irritated with her very presence.
Antonia could only pray that things would get better before the wedding. Maybe their date at Summer Carnival would set
things back on course.
Chapter 5
Tavros
The beautiful young woman from the fabric shop smiled potently at Tavros, her fingers toying with the lacing of her partlet. There was something in her eyes that said she would not accept “no” for an answer as they continued to roam over his shirtless torso.
Strange, Tavros recalled drinking wine with her, but he could not remember removing his shirt.
“No one has to know,” she said. “Except us.”
She was very forward in her attempt to seduce him and made no attempt to disguise the abject lust in her voice. Confused, Tavros watched as she tugged the lace, exposing the pale flesh of her upper chest.
“But I don’t even know your name,” he protested.
“Names are of no importance,” she purred.
She removed the partlet, then gave him an enticing smile as she lifted her dress higher and higher up her legs, exposing her pale flesh inch-by-inch. Tavros felt something stir in his pants and was concerned. A gentleman would surely try to avoid having a visible reaction, but he hadn’t seen a woman’s bare legs since the incident in Athens over a year ago, and his body seemed to have a mind of its own.
When the dress reached her thighs, the maiden giggled and let it fall back down over her legs to her ankles.
What room was this? Whose bed was that, beckoning them so insistently?
As she unlaced her dress and pulled it open, he could see a lavender silk camicia covering her breasts. He reluctantly averted his eyes when he realized the outline of her nipples was clearly visible.
She took a step toward him, closing the gap between them. Tavros was paralyzed, knowing he should leave but unable to take a step. He felt his manhood twitch in defiance.
Beauty and the Beast of Venice Page 2