Chapter1
The Start is Not Always the Beginning
September 1841, Palazzo D’Avalos, Rome, Kingdom of the Two Sicilies
Although Vittoria D’Avalos was possessed of an active imagination, the very last thing she expected to happen at her come-out ball was actually happening.The very event her late mother had warned could happen to any unsuspecting young lady.
Ruination.
Being caught in the clutches of a young buck well known for his antics at such fêtes might well mean she would no longer be allowed out in Society.She might even be forced to marry the rogue.
The one who seemed intent on ruining her?None other than the self-proclaimed Lothario,DonLuciano Nicholas Michael Tucci, heir to acontealocated near Naples.He was far too handsome for his own good, his dark hair, brown eyes, and height causing young girls to blush and their mothers to hope he might one day pay a call when their husbands weren’t at home.
Unfortunately, he knew it.
Widows adored him for his bed sport.Husbands cursed him for his audacity when it came to flirting with their wives.Young ladies were both attracted and repulsed by him, for even if any one of them managed to secure a promise of marriage, none of them wanted an unfaithful husband.
How could this be happening?
Vittoria had only managed to make her way down the stairs and into the ballroom a few minutes ago!Most of the guests were still arriving.
DidDonLuciano Tucci, better known asDonDiavala, not know she would defend her own honor?
Of course not.He didn’t know her from Eve.
But she knew him.
At least, she knewofhim.Even if she hadn’t truly been out in Society before this evening, she had overheard gossip whilst shopping.Listened intently as her modiste shared scandalous news ofDonDiavala as she hemmed her gowns.
Then there was her great aunt Armenia, who seemed to know of every aristocrat’s various bed partners, probably because she had at one time participated—although apparently not because it was her choice to do so.
Vittoria hadn’t learned his name by way of a formal introduction, for no names had been exchanged that evening.Surrounded by a number of aristocrats, her father was otherwise engaged in his hosting duties and unavailable to do the honors.
When the rake grabbed her hand, led her out to a corridor, and pulled her into an alcove barely hidden by a marble statue of Apollo, the Roman copy a perfect replica of the Greek original, she was already imagining what she might do to him.
If he lifted her skirts, she would pull the knife from her garter and hold it to his throat.
If he attempted a kiss, she would bite his lip until it bled.
If he thought for one second he was going to capture one of her breasts and give it a squeeze, she would do the same to the bulge at the top of his thighs, the one he had proudly displayed upon capturing her hand.
Lorenzo, the footman who saw to the second floor of Palazzo D’Avalos, had explained she could either squeeze his arousal hard or jam her knee into it, effectively forcing her attacker to bend over so she could use the same knee to good effect upon his face, possibly breaking his nose.A hard chop with the heel of her hand to the back of his neck would send him to the floor in a world of hurt.
She couldn’t consider the other scenarios she had imagined when they were suddenly behind a dark curtain.The image of Apollo’s pose came to her mind’s eye, and she thought of one more way she might defend herself.
“Whatareyou doing?”she asked in a hoarse whisper.
“Stealing a kiss, of course.Maybe filling my hand with one of your gorgeous tits?What else would I be doing?”Luciano asked in a hoarse whisper, his rich brown eyes growing darker as his pupils dilated in the dimness.
Her eyes widened with a combination of shock and excitement.This was some of what her mother had warned her could happen, and now she had to decide for certain if she was of a mind to participate or send him to the floor in pain.“Oh, I thought perhaps you intended to take my virtue.”
His brows arched as a smirk lifted the corner of one lip, and Vittoria immediately regretted her words.For a moment, the sounds from the ballroom—the music, the murmur of conversations, and the baritone voice of the butler announcing the latest arrival to the ball—faded into the background.All she could hear was his inhalation of breath followed by a chuckle that sounded positively devilish.
Not that she had any idea what a devil’s chuckle would sound like, but if she did, this was it.
DonLuciano Tucci apparently wished to live up to his reputation.
“Is that whatyouwant, my pet?”he asked, one of his dark brows arching in a manner that made him appear positively demonic.
