Once Upon a Scandal

by Delilah Marvelle

  “Come.” Cornelia gathered her pale pink equalette skirts and effortlessly hopped out of the gondola’s cabin.

  Getting in and out of a gondola was something Victoria had yet to master. She gathered her skirts and tried to step out elegantly, only to stumble, as always. It was getting to be quite amusing.

  They entered the dim quarters of an enormous shop that hummed in silence and appeared to stretch for miles. A heavy, musty scent clung to the warm air. Large yellow glass lanterns hung sparsely from the vast timbered ceiling, softly illuminating dozens and dozens of alternating aisles in a way the plate-glass windows facing the canal could not. Tall wooden shelves set side by side cluttered every wall in the vast space, creating a fortress-like maze. And astonishingly, every single shelf displayed mask after mask, all of different expressions, sizes and colors. She never realized so many masks could actually exist.

  Cornelia swept a hand toward the countless narrow aisles the shelves created. “When Carnival was banned, the mascareros were forced to gather their wares. Hence all these masks. Though masked balls are still quite popular, sadly, this shop is always empty. Now I want you to choose masks for yourself and Jonathan. My brother never willingly accepts anything from Giovanni and me, but I’ll bully him if he doesn’t accept a few wedding presents.”

  Victoria breathed out an elated sigh and scanned the never-ending parade of shelves and masks. “There must be thousands of masks here. How do I choose?”

  Cornelia leaned toward her and said in a low, conspiratorial tone, “The purpose of a mask is not to hide your identity, but to flaunt it. Choose whichever mask you believe best reflects you. Though choose wisely. Others will judge you based upon the façade you wear.”

  Cornelia nudged her, then winked. “Take your time. We have at least two hours. I intend to look around myself. There are a few masks in the back I’ve been meaning to buy for myself and Giovanni, though I have yet to decide on which. Find me when you get bored. And if you cannot find me—which I assure you may happen—feel free to bellow across the aisles a few times and make your way toward the very far back. Venetians do it all the time and no one will think less of you. Now have at it.”

  Cornelia offered her a pert wave, then disappeared with a rustle of skirts down one of the aisles, veering off to the right and into the labyrinth of shelves and masks.

  Victoria smiled and drifted to her left, down toward the farthest aisle against the farthest wall. Seeing as they had time, she would go through each and every single shelf and aisle. It would probably take at least two hours…if not three or four.

  She scanned the first set of large shelves. Frozen porcelain faces laughed, cried, smirked and smiled. Though incredibly, none of the masks laughed or cried or smirked or smiled in the same manner. There were masks resembling the moon, the sun, flowers, animals. It was endless.

  She edged farther down the long aisle against the wall, more and more masks taunting her as she moved deeper into the shop. She veered down another aisle, feeling as though she were an ant crawling through a forest. Eventually she paused and eyed a particular mask that seemed out of place amongst all the pompous, bright feathers and porcelain.

  It was an expressionless, all-black velvet oval mask. Smooth, with a sharp nose and no mouth. Only eyeholes. She didn’t know why it appealed to her so much—perhaps because it was so simple in comparison to everything around her and reminded her of how she often felt around others. Somber and out of place.

  Victoria reached toward the shelf and carefully fished the mask out from the clutter. She tilted her head, the bow of her bonnet digging into her chin, and fingered it. It was soft, yet not by any means fragile. The black velvet was attached to leather. It was very elegant and very simple, yet…how did it affix to one’s face? There was no sash or even a ribbon. She drew her brows together, and turned it over, noting a small wooden piece attached to its back.

  There was a soft creak from behind her and a deep voice announced, “Eccellentissimi prima scelta.”

  Her heart jumped. She spun toward an older, broad-shouldered man looming in the aisle behind her. Attractive amber eyes pierced the distance between them. His alabaster, seam-pinched waistcoat and snowy-white shirt, which boasted a knotted silver-lace cravat, were all scandalously flaunted by the absence of any coat. Striped gray trousers hugged his solid thighs, the ends of them pulled against foot straps that buttoned beneath polished, black leather boots. His unconventional appearance hinted that he was the keeper of the shop.

  He smiled with vibrant, boyish charm, raking away long strands of graying, sun-tinted hair from his forehead with a bare hand. He playfully set a red and gold feathered crow mask against his own face with his other hand.

  After peering at her through the large round holes for a moment, he drew it away and carefully set it onto the shelf beside him. His smile faded as he casually slid a heated gaze down toward her breasts and back up to her face again, making no attempt to hide his admiration for her and her newly acquired India muslin gown. “Non farti passare per un santo.”

  Searing heat touched her face as she struggled to remain indifferent. Heaven only knew what the man had said, but the tone of his voice was a bit too erotic for her liking. “Uh…forgive me, I do not understand.”

  She casually held up the black velvet mask she held, hoping to distract him from looking at anything he oughtn’t. “Are you the keeper of this shop? Do you speak English? And if so, can you tell me how this is supposed to be affixed to one’s face?”

  His dark brows rose. “British?” he asked in a heavy Venetian accent.

  Oh, good. He spoke English. “Yes. I am British.”

  He moved closer, the scent of cigars and leather floating toward her as he searched her face. “Visiting? Or staying?”

  She swallowed, not at all comfortable with his questions or the way he continued to look at her as if examining a bottle of brandy he was trying to sip. “Your questions are not in the least bit respectable, signore. I ask you refrain.”

  “Ah. I understand.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded and stepped closer, shrinking the already small aisle with his presence. “Remove your bonnet and open your mouth to me.”

  Victoria scrambled back, farther into the aisle. “I beg your pardon?” she echoed, her fingers clenching on the mask.

  The shop seemed to pulse as he drew closer, towering over her. The plate-glass windows beyond him eerily brightened the color of his golden-brown and gray hair and darkened the space around her. “Remove your bonnet and open your mouth to me. I will assist with your mask. The knob goes into your mouth and is held in place by your teeth.”

  Oh! Is that what the knob was for? She let out an exasperated laugh, glancing down toward the mask. “I see. I understand. Thank you. Forgive me, but for a moment I actually thought…” She winced, realizing how indecent it would have been to even say it to a man she did not know.

  “You flatter me.” The shopkeeper gestured toward the ribbons of her bonnet and smiled. “Remove your bonnet. I will assist.”

  “No, thank you. That won’t be necessary. I—”

  “One cannot purchase a mask without knowing if it matches the worth of its owner. Come. Remove your bonnet.”

  She retreated a bit more. Why was he being so insistent? Was he afraid she wasn’t going to buy any of his masks? “I appreciate your assistance, sir, but there really is no need. I intend to purchase it, I assure you. I find the knob amusing.”

  His dark brows came together. He folded his arms across his chest, the broad outline of his shoulders straining the fabric of his white shirt and waistcoat. “It is not meant to be amusing. Morettas were once worn by women who visited convents and do not allow their wearer to speak. Is that what you seek for yourself? A mask that holds no emotion?”

  She feigned a less than enthused laugh. How depressingly appropriate that she would choose such a mask. She would find another one. She doubted Jonathan would approve of her wearing th
e sort of mask he’d been trying to metaphorically strip from her. A mask she was done with wearing. “I thank you for pointing out the history of the mask. I suppose that leaves me to find another one. One offering more cheer. Now if you will excuse me, signore, I—”

  He blocked her from leaving with the width of his body, his arms dropping to his sides. “You are very pretty,” he concluded with a tilt of his head. “What is your name? Are you staying with the woman you arrived with? Is she your friend? Or family?”

  Victoria blinked up at him in astonishment. Had he been watching her? Her heart pounded as she veered around him. “I am a married woman, signore, and therefore I respectably ask that you—”

  He grabbed her arm and yanked her firmly back toward himself as if she had said quite the opposite. His dominating eyes held her in place as his grip tightened, pinching her skin beneath the sleeve of her morning gown. He leaned toward her and whispered, “I will ensure your husband never knows. Come with me. I promise to have you returned to him by the evening.”

  Her eyes widened. Who did this vile imbecile of a shopkeeper think he was? She ripped herself from his grasp, tossed her mask toward one of the shelves and glared at him. “You think much too highly of yourself, sir. I suggest you leave before I call the authorities.”

  She spun around, gathering her skirts from around her slippered feet and hurried down the aisle in the opposite direction. “Cornelia!” she yelled out.

  She was not staying in this shop with a man like him in it. As she passed shelf after shelf of frozen masks, she eyed the open aisles alongside her, looking for Cornelia through the musty dimness, but there was not a single customer in sight, much less her sister-in-law.

  The older gentleman’s shadowed frame stalked steadily alongside the opposite aisle of shelves. He stared her down through gaps between the shelves, his husky features tight as he dug into his inner pocket for something.

  Panic seized her ability to breathe. She scrambled frantically toward the end of the shadowed aisle, looking to dash across, but he veered right in and grabbed her.

  She screamed as he shoved her hard against the shelf. Using his large body to hold her in place, he ripped off her bonnet, grabbed hold of her face and shoved a bundled handkerchief deep into her mouth with large fingers. She gagged and tried to spit it out, but he only pressed his hand hard against her mouth, forcing it back in.

  Though she screamed against the leather-scented handkerchief and the bare palm of his hand, it was naught more than a muted cry. Tears blinded her as she struggled violently against his large frame. Her elbows jarred the shelves at her back, shooting teeth-clenching pain up the length of her arms.

  He crushed her against the shelf with his massive body and grabbed an ivory porcelain mask from the shelf beside her head. “This is a better fit,” he whispered.

  Removing his hand from her mouth, he set the cold porcelain against her entire face, hooding her vision and in turn pushing the wadded handkerchief farther into her mouth.

  Her eyes widened as she jerked her head against the mask and his movements, but his fingers had already secured the ribbons into place against the back of her head, pinching her temples and her scalp. She shoved against him with her hands, still trying to move, but couldn’t.

  He was utterly mad! He intended to ravage her against a shelf? In the corner of a shop?!

  He pressed against her harder, now crushing her ability to breathe and move as his erection dug into her corseted waist. Unraveling his lace cravat, he yanked her hands down and behind her, sending the masks at her back clattering. He met her gaze and smiled as he tugged and knotted the cravat tightly around her wrists. Her skin chafed and her hands could no longer move.

  She choked on a silent sob and tried to control her breathing to prevent herself from fainting. Her only air was coming through her nostrils, which were pressed tightly against the hard contours of the porcelain mask. The porcelain stuck to her face, growing moist from the silent tears streaming down her cheeks and the perspiration dewing her entire face.

  He grabbed hold of her corseted waist and forced her in the direction of another, darker aisle in a far corner of the shop. She stumbled to get away, her legs tangling against her skirts in her effort, but he rammed her against a shelf and pressed his massive body against hers, keeping her from moving.

  Bending his head toward her, he trailed soft kisses down her exposed throat, his lips warm. “Lascia che per sempre inizi stansera,” he murmured with a staid, haunting calmness.

  He jerked up one side of her skirts and buried a hand beneath them, yanking up her chemise. A large, warm hand was now gliding up the length of her thigh.

  Tears overwhelmed her ability to see through the round openings of the mask. She screamed more forcefully against the gag and tried to use her own body to shove him and his hands away, but he only pressed into her harder, impaling her against the shelves behind her, making it impossible for her to move.

  Where was Cornelia? Where was anyone? Why—

  The man’s fingers playfully grazed the outside of her lower thigh, back and forth, back and forth. “You need this,” he murmured.

  Victoria gagged against the handkerchief, the acrid taste of bile rising against her throat. The endless shelves of masks around them seemed to blur into one another.

  He coolly watched her, his chest heaving against hers as though he were restraining himself from doing far, far more. He leaned into her and slid the tip of his tongue down her throat. “I can sense you defy every man who desires you,” he rasped below her ear. “Why?”

  She let out a muffled sob, his words slashing through her soul. It was as if he was stripping far more than her dignity. He was trying to dig his hands into her soul. Unable to properly breathe, she felt her vision fraying.

  “You smell of lavender,” he murmured against the curve of her shoulder. The hand touching her lower thigh fell away and her skirts dropped.

  He reached behind her head and unlaced the mask, tossing it back onto the shelf beside them. Sliding his hands around her corseted waist, he unraveled the cravat that bound her wrists against each other and draped it around his throat.

  He smiled, then gently pulled out the saliva-moistened handkerchief from her mouth and stepped back, stuffing the handkerchief into his pocket. “We will finish this another time.”

  Victoria gasped, gulping in the air that she had been deprived of as she fell back against the shelf and stumbled away from him. She wanted to run and scream and punch and butcher and maim him for what he just did, but for some reason, her body and her tongue would not cooperate. She only trembled.

  “Victoria?” Cornelia called from behind them.

  Victoria sagged out a sob, relieved she was no longer alone with him.

  The man turned away and faced Cornelia. His deep voice cut into the pulsing silence. “Baronessa. I was wondering when you would join us. I must say, you keep such wonderful company. I wish to call upon your fidanzata tomorrow night at eight. I understand she has a husband. See to it he is not at home when she receives me. That is not a request.” He weaved past them and disappeared down one of the aisles, moving deeper into the shop, his boots echoing heavily.

  Cornelia gasped, turning toward the direction the man had gone before whipping back toward her. “Victoria! What happened? Where is your bonnet?” She rushed toward her, shoving the parcel in her hand beneath her arm. “Oh, God. What did he do? Did he hurt you? I tried to find you. I did, but…didn’t you hear me calling for you?”

  “No.” Victoria drew in several ragged breaths, pushing herself away from the shelf, and placed a shaky hand against her stomach, the frantic beating of her heart still not at ease. “Who is he?” she demanded, still gulping for breath. “I want his name. I want that disgusting bastard’s name! I want him hanged. Hanged!”

  Cornelia’s eyes widened, the parcel slipping from her hands and clattering to the floor. “What did he do? Dearest God, did he…?”

  Victoria fough
t the trembling in her body and the sob clenching her throat as she pointed rigidly in the direction he had gone. “That…savage slathered himself all over me as if it were his right. This is outrageous! For a woman of my standing to be—”

  Cornelia gathered Victoria into her arms and pressed her close. “We must tell Jonathan at once! He will resolve this. He will resolve this misunderstanding. You will see.”

  Victoria flung Cornelia’s arms away and stepped back into one of the shelves. “What sort of misunderstanding do you think this is?” she shouted. “That—that shopkeeper treated me as if I was not a customer but a Drury Lane whore!”

  “Shh! We must leave. Come. Hurry!” Cornelia grabbed her arm and dashed them down aisle after aisle. They veered around a corner and were suddenly at the front of the shop again. Cornelia flung open the door, shoved Victoria toward the direction of their waiting gondola and slammed the shop door behind them.

  Victoria scrambled into the gondola and stumbled into her seat. “I did not encourage him! I didn’t!”

  Settling beside her on the seat, Cornelia eyed her and said in a hushed voice, “I believe you. I do. I am…beyond words. But that…that was not the shopkeeper. That was Marchese Casacalenda. Jonathan was in service to him and his wife all these years. Did my brother ever tell you that?”

  Victoria’s heart about popped from her chest. She gasped, willing herself not to heave up everything she had eaten, and shook her head. Oh, dearest God. Oh, God.

  “Jonathan will resolve this,” Cornelia insisted. “He and the marchese have always had an amiable understanding. Despite the man’s reputation, I can assure you, he was always very good to us. Always. We owe him everything we have.”

  Victoria shifted toward Cornelia, her throat tightening. “That man—” Victoria seethed out, trying to keep herself from shouting “—has never done anything worthy of praise. Whilst you may think he saved you and your mother from debt, in truth, he destroyed Jonathan. That man forced your brother into becoming a whore to his wife. What happened to me in that shop is nothing compared to what happened to my poor Jonathan. And if you doubt anything I say, go speak to your brother about this. Because I…I am—” Victoria choked, unable to keep herself calm. She slapped a shaky hand against her mouth in disbelief of what had just happened. Out of all the shops in Venice, out of all the women in Venice, why her? Why? Why did fate always have to be so cruel to her and to Jonathan? Why?