Beauty and the Beast of Venice Read online

  Beauty and the Beast of Venice

  Alexis Adaire

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Thanks for reading!

  Also by Alexis Adaire

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Tavros

  The year 1690

  Somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea

  “Wake up, monster!”

  Tavros couldn’t very well have continued sleeping anyway, considering the bucket of seawater that had just been dumped over his head. He glared at his aggressor, unable to retaliate. If it weren’t for the rusted iron bars of his cage, he would have strangled the lout without a second thought.

  The ship rolled slightly with a wave, the hardwoods groaning and creaking like a chorus of tortured souls. The cold salt water was bracing in the dank, musty air of the cargo hold, and Tavros fought back a shiver.

  “Time to eat,” the man said through the few teeth remaining in his mouth. His greasy black hair framed a squarish head, and a ruddy complexion testified to years spent in the Mediterranean sun and wind. He held a plate filled with leftovers from the galley’s morning meal, moving it above the cage, just out of Tavros’s reach. “I’m bettin’ your belly is empty by now. Don’t ya want some o’ this?”

  Despite being famished, Tavros refused to indulge his jailor’s sadistic tendencies, remaining silent as always. The quiet wasn’t well-received by the man, whose stench was nearly as bad as Tavros’s despite his not being likewise caged for days.

  Suddenly, a stick poked him in his bicep, making Tavros wince in pain. He grunted loudly when a second poke landed squarely on his ribs.

  “C’mon, beast, change for me. Let’s see how ya earned that new brand. Show me again the devil that Hades himself rejected.”

  Tavros grabbed the end of the stick and glared at the man. His muscles were stiff from lack of use over the long voyage, and the outline of a bull’s head recently branded onto his upper arm burned as if it were on fire. He yearned to stand, to walk. But most of all, he longed to throttle the sorry excuse for a man standing in front of him. If he could change at will, he would do so just to beat the life out of him.

  “All right, here’s your food then, ya vile creature.” The man turned the plate over and spilled its contents through the bars atop the cage, and it all landed on Tavros. Fortunately, everything had grown cold hours earlier.

  He refused to give the man the pleasure of watching him scrounge for the scraps of food. Instead he remained silent, unmoving, until his jailor got bored and turned to leave.

  “What’s your name, sailor?”

  The man spun around at the sound of the deep voice.

  “Oh, it speaks, does it?” He approached the cage again. “After four days a-sea, it wants conversation? Needs to know my name now?”

  “I have need of your name, so that I can track you down and kill you with my bare hands once I’m set free from this iron prison.”

  The man was briefly taken aback, then cackled in laughter. He turned once again to the oak ladder that would take him up to the deck. “The name is Egan, you horned devil. And you won’t see the outside of that cage until we get to London near a month from now.” The cackling returned and continued until he disappeared up the ladder.

  As soon as he was out of sight, Tavros ate what he could of his breakfast.

  “Slowly… deeply… relax… Now try again. Breathe in like this...”

  The kindly old man was face-to-face Tavros, talking in a reassuring voice about how important it was to take slow, deep breaths. Tavros felt sad and confused, frustrated with himself as if he’d done something wrong. He began to cry, then was shocked when he realized he was a child.

  “You can do it, my boy,” the man said, gently tousling Tavros’s hair. “I will teach—”

  A violent jolt abruptly ended the dream. Tavros awoke and looked around the dark, dank hold to see he was still alone.

  It had been the same scene he’d dreamed about regularly throughout his life, with the old man and his patient instructions. What could it possibly mean?

  A second violent bump told Tavros the ship was docking. He had no idea where he was but was certain they were no longer in Greece. He’d never been on a ship before and had no idea how far four or five days of sailing would take them. Slivers of light slipping in through the cracks in the deck above him came and went, signifying it was daytime and there was much activity up top.

  Any hopes that he might get out of his cage were dashed when Egan brought water and told him, “Don’t get excited, demon. You’re bound for London, still a month away. While you rot in your iron cabin here, I’ll be going ashore here in Rome for a while to drink some wine and mount a Roman whore or two.”

  For the next few hours, men came and went, unloading the sailing ship’s cargo and bringing more aboard. Some of them stopped at his cage to stare with eyes as big as saucers. He could not understand their language, but from the look on their faces he got the gist of it: They were eager for a look at the monster and were likely surprised to find only a dirty man.

  At one point, Tavros saw a length of rope fall from the underside of a crate as it was being carted away. He just managed to reach it with his extended arm and quickly hid it beneath the tarp on which the cage sat.

  Then he waited for his chance.

  It was dark when Egan reappeared with the wooden food tray. He was obviously drunk and began taunting in a slurred voice while he was still descending the ladder.

  “I just had a feast of a dinner, devil-man. An entire chicken and a big bowl full of minestrone with beans and rice, served on a table in a real inn. Fresh-baked bread, too, and many flagons of wine.” He sadistically added, “But don’t you worry, I’ve got some of yesterday’s leftovers for you.”

  He grinned drunkenly at Tavros and said, “I even brought you some used wine, hell-spawn.” Setting the tray on the floor, he approached the cage and dropped his pants to his ankles, then began to urinate. “Here ya go, I’ve got some at the ready for you.”

  Tavros backed to the far corner of the small cage.

  “You can’t run from me, beast. When I’m done, you can beg for supper.” Egan moved closer, aiming the stream right at his prisoner. “If you’re a good dog, you—”

  Without warning, Tavros leapt forward, his hand shooting between the bars to grab Egan’s shirt. He pulled violently and the sailor fell, his mouth slamming against the cage and blood and teeth flying out. In an instant, Tavros had looped the rope around Egan’s neck and began to pull hard on both ends, bracing his feet against the cage bars for leverage.

  “I am no beast,” Tavros whispered harshly, tightening the rope.

  Egan struggled, his eyes bulging and his face turning purple, but he could do nothing
against the much stronger Tavros. Eventually his motions ceased, and his swollen tongue hung from his bloodied mouth.

  Tavros took a minute to calm himself, steadying his breathing and forcing his pulse to slow. He tried his best to set aside his anger at the sailor, knowing that if he changed now, disembarking would be an even more difficult task. A filthy man leaving the ship is one thing, but one with the head of a bull would be something else entirely.

  Fortunately, it had all happened so quickly the turning hadn’t even begun. When Tavros was satisfied no change was coming, he fished the keys out of Egan’s pocket. They were right where he’d seen the sailor put them on the rare occasions the cage had been opened to replace the bucket he’d been given for waste. This time, though, there were no armed guards to prevent his escape.

  Egan had only a few coins in his pockets, but Tavros took them. His righteous anger at four days of humiliation was tempered by the knowledge that this is how they would find the sailor later, with his pants still at his ankles.

  Moving cautiously, Tavros made his way off the ship and quickly slipped off into the night, undetected.

  He was in a foreign land and didn’t speak the language, and he had nowhere to sleep, nothing to eat, and no job.

  Chapter 2

  Antonia

  One year later

  The Republic of Venice

  Antonia touched the soft fabric, reveling in the sensuous feeling of the silk gliding beneath her fingertips. She marveled at the intricate handiwork of her Uncle Emilio, who was renown as the best dressmaker in Venice. With Summer Carnival right around the corner, his shop was already filled with incredible costumes that had been commissioned by the elite of Venetian society.

  One particular dress had especially captured Antonia’s imagination. The bodice was a wine-colored Egyptian silk taffeta and the skirt a sumptuous Arabian velvet incorporating gold threads into a gorgeous floral pattern. The sleeves were wine and gold silk, tapering to a slender wrist with braided gold touches. A tall collar practically melted into a lovely embroidered Burano lace partlet that covered the low square décolletage, adorned with beautiful floral appliqués over the sheer base.

  Antonia was entranced, lost in the fantasy of attending Summer Carnival in such a dress. It was the kind of dress a woman would wear, the kind that would turn men’s heads. Of course, her father would never allow it, but she happily indulged the dream. It took her friend Flora to break her concentration.

  “I spoke to Lisabetta yesterday,” Flora whispered to Antonia so as to not be overheard by the other shop patrons. Antonia tore herself away from the dress and turned her attention to her friend.

  “Did she tell you about her wedding night?” Antonia asked in an even quieter whisper.

  Flora smiled, her blue eyes dancing with delight. “Every detail.”

  “You must tell me!”

  “Proper ladies do not speak of such scandalous things,” Flora teased.

  Antonia moved in closer to her dear friend. “Then for now, pretend we are men and tell me everything.”

  Flora laughed. “You’ll find out for yourself soon enough. I’ll bet you can barely sleep at night with your mind filled with unchaste thoughts.”

  Feigning shock and indignance, Antonia replied, “That is entirely false. I have never once thought about my marriage bed, nor have I contemplated Giovanni in that manner.”

  “Never? Not even in your room with the candles out?”

  Antonia’s serious expression slowly gave way to a conspiratorial grin.

  “Such an evil tongue, Flora. If you had horns to match, I’d think you to be the Beast of Venice.”

  The two young women dissolved into giggles, drawing a stern look from a well-dressed older patron perusing the offerings in the little shop. Antonia gathered herself and turned to her uncle.

  “This is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen, Uncle Emilio. What is the price?”

  The older man stood behind a small table, tufts of grey hair peeking out from under his red cap, his kind eyes wrinkled on the sides by a warm smile. “Price is irrelevant, as I would never charge you, cara. We both know the real obstacle would be your father.”

  Ah yes, her father. Antonia starter to argue, but knew it was of no use. Even if she could procure the dress without her strict father’s permission, where would she wear it without him finding out? Being the daughter of the wealthiest fabric importer in Venice was nice, but it came with a few distinct disadvantages.

  She took the dress and held it in front of her, then walked to a mirror near the front door of the shop to appraise her look.

  Her heart melted at the sight of her face above such a breathtaking work of art. Sighing, she whispered to herself, “Maybe one day...”

  Antonia returned the dress to its place and bid her uncle goodbye as she and Flora walked to the entrance. Flora stopped, then went back in to retrieve a pair of gloves she’d forgotten in the shop. Antonia stepped outside to wait for her friend, one hand playing idly with the end of a ringlet of chestnut-colored hair that hung by her ear.

  She looked around the large, bustling Piazza San Marco, with its herringbone-pattern bricks flanked on three sides by shops and offices. There must have been two hundred people in the plaza that day, but as she looked around, her gaze landed on a solitary figure standing in the shadow of a granite column.

  Her hand left her hair and dropped to her side as her eyes adjusted to the shadow that cloaked the stranger’s frame. She began to register the stranger’s tall, muscular build, his dark, tousled hair, the faint outline of a strong jaw, and those eyes—orbs that seemed to be silver and held an intensity that left her unsettled.

  A shiver snaked up her back. Antonia stepped backwards toward the shop and gasped when she hit something solid that hadn’t been there a second ago. Spinning around, she saw Flora standing there holding her gloves.

  “I found them,” Flora chirped, before noticing her friend’s strange expression. “What is it, Antonia?”

  “Someone is staring at me.” Antonia refused to turn around. “Near that column.”

  Flora looked over Antonia’s shoulder. “There’s nobody.”

  Sure enough, when Antonia turned back to see for herself, the shadowy figure was gone.

  “Perhaps it was Giovanni, standing guard to protect his innocent bride-to-be’s honor,” Flora said. “Well, believe me, she’s not that innocent in her mind!”

  The two young Venetian women laughed before walking away, although Antonia stole a last glance at the column where the mysterious stranger had stood.

  They strolled through the plaza, passing St. Mark’s Basilica and the Doge’s Palace, then following the Grand Canal past the Ponte dei Sospiri, or Bridge of Sighs. Suspended over a smaller canal between the palace and the prison, the narrow corridor was enclosed except for several tiny windows. It earned its name because of the reaction of prisoners glimpsing a last view of the outdoors while being led to the dingy stone cells where they would serve their sentences.

  After bidding her friend goodbye, Antonia boarded a gondola to take her back in the opposite direction, to her family’s palazzo near Campo Santo Stefano. The gondolier steered the boat around the various vessels floating through the Grand Canal as Antonia watched the bustling activity of a nearby fishing boat unloading the day’s fresh catch to waiting fishmongers. Another vessel sailed past, laden with bushels of spices headed to the mainland. A chorus of voices drew Antonia’s attention across the canal as a procession of nuns walked in front of the Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute.

  The city was filled with life, and Antonia drew in a deep breath, taking in the sweet Venetian air. She had forgotten all about the beautiful dress in her uncle’s shop. Instead, her thoughts kept drifting back to the shadowy figure she’d seen and his intense silver eyes.

  Chapter 3

  Tavros

  Tavros hurried back to the Arsenal, Venice’s vast state-owned shipyard, knowing that he’d exceeded the time all
otted for his break. It had been worth any pay the yardmaster might dock him, though.

  He had realized that the young maiden caught him staring, but couldn’t force himself to look away, mesmerized by the vision of the most magnificent sight his eyes had ever taken in. He first spotted her as she entered the tailor’s shop with a young woman about the same age. Waiting patiently for another glimpse, he caught her standing before a mirror just inside the door, holding a gown in front of her. From his vantage point next to a column in the piazza, he could see her reflection in the mirror and immediately recognized that her beauty outshone even the stunning dress.

  Moments later, she had stood in front of the shop, a heavenly sight in a dress of fine burgundy velvet, with a cream-colored partlet of lace through which he could detect only the faintest hint of flesh. Her hair had the color and sheen of dark copper. Perfect ivory skin made her appear doll-like, with the pink of her cheeks standing out in contrast.

  Tavros had been mesmerized and couldn’t tear his gaze away, even when she spotted him. The sight of her large, emerald-green eyes held him rooted to the spot. It was only when she turned for a second that he was able to hurry off.

  Back at the shipyard’s forge, he was only given a first warning for having been away too long. Breaks were rare and short for the Arsenal’s blacksmiths, and Tavros had pushed his luck since he was not among the “favori” guild members. As a foreigner, he should have known to be more cautious. He apologized to the yardmaster and re-stoked his forge with charcoal for the afternoon’s work.