Chapter 5

The heavy velvet drapes of the private alcove in the Palazzo Vendramin’s west wing did little to muffle the distant, thrumming bass of the orchestra, but they blocked out the prying eyes of the other guests. We had slipped away just twenty minutes prior, escaping the suffocating politeness of the masquerade with a shared, knowing glance that had been all the invitation we needed. Now, standing in the dim, amber-lit seclusion of the room, surrounded by the scent of aged wood, expensive perfume, and the faint, metallic tang of anticipation, the air felt thick enough to choke on. I had removed my mask, letting it dangle from my fingers by its delicate ribbon, but he kept his on—a half-mask of black lace that concealed the upper half of his face, leaving only his intense, dark eyes and the strong line of his jaw exposed. He looked like a predator who had finally cornered his prey, though I was no longer resisting. In fact, I had practically thrown myself into his arms. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the soles of my feet and up my spine. His gloved hand came up