“How is it that a relic deters a feral, and holy ground repels Maximilian and Aoibhe?”
“You’re a murderer.” She changed the subject.
He did not blink. “Yes.”
“And a thief.”
William released her neck and straightened.
“With respect to the illustrations, I merely repossessed them.”
“But you came to see if I was frightened after I saw the policeman being killed.”
He nodded once.
“And you came to me tonight, when you thought I was in danger. Now I discover you fought three men to save my life, even though you didn’t know me.” She gazed up at him in wonder.
He moved to cup her face.
“I know you.
“I know you live alone and have few friends. I know you walk with a cane because of your leg and ankle.
“I know you weep over a homeless man and risked your life to save him.
“I know that, despite the quiet and simplicity of your life, you’ve been happier in Florence than anywhere else.”
He drew a circle on her cheek with his thumb before dropping it to her jaw.
“You are my greatest virtue and my deepest vice.”
He leaned forward and pressed their lips together.
Anguish and desire flared in his chest as his mouth touched hers, his kiss becoming firm and insistent. His thumb traced a tempting trail down her beautiful neck and he groaned, the sound throaty and carnal.
Raven had been taken by surprise. At first she was motionless, trying to get her bearings. At the sound of his groan, which she took to be an indication of genuine desire, she relaxed against him.
His mouth was sensuous, his lips softer than she expected. And he kissed with the intensity of a condemned man.
Suddenly he pulled away.
“Good night, Cassita.” His words were a command and not a suggestion.
He turned his back on her, walking to the far end of the room where the Botticelli illustrations were displayed.
Raven wanted to ask him questions. She wanted to ask why he’d kissed her. Why he’d changed his mind and stopped.
She wanted to ask about the medicine he’d used to save her.
His mood had shifted. He seemed irritated, if not angry, and she was wary of him.
Her wariness was enough to propel her to obey his command and delay her escape. She had too many unanswered questions to leave now.
Without a word, she lifted her knapsack and exited the room, touching her lips in wonder.
Chapter Twenty-three
William strode to his library and shut the doors, locking them from the inside. Bookshelves ascended from the floor to the domed ceiling. A sliding metal staircase ran on a track that curved around the room, enabling one to climb to the tallest shelf.
Not that he needed the staircase.
Through the immense glass panes that formed the ceiling, he could see the moon, and the stars winking above him. Year after year, century after century, he’d gazed at that same sky. Its response was always the same—beautiful, cold indifference.
Just like God.
He growled at the thought.
He hadn’t chosen this life; it had been forced on him.
So much for the justice that governs the universe. Dante was a fool to believe such myths. Some of us are damned by the actions of others and exiled to hell through no fault of our own.
It was rare that he indulged himself with such thoughts. They stoked his anger and tested his discipline. On this evening, they could not be put aside.
He’d served God, even after God had taken what he treasured most. And in such a sick and twisted way.
Then God had taken from him again.
Twice he had seen goodness disappear from the world, watching the very life ebb away. Twice he’d been powerless to stop it. On the third occasion, when he came upon Cassita, he had the power to do something.
So do something he did.
Interestingly enough, Cassita’s goodness wasn’t cold and indifferent, as her tardy response to his kiss indicated.
The thought seared him.
He sat behind his wooden desk and opened the center drawer, withdrawing a small, black velvet box.
He opened it.
A pretty face looked up at him from behind glass.
The face was of a woman, young and fair, with large blue eyes and anabundance of long, reddish blond curls.
William remembered his anger, long since buried, as he stroked the girl’s cheek. He remembered the centuries of despair and hopelessness he’d weathered until the night he’d found the girl with the green eyes, slumped in an alley.
With her face firmly fixed in his mind, he closed the box and put it back in its place, sliding the drawer shut.
The next morning, Raven awoke late. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, her mind active and worried.
She found a card on her nightstand that indicated she should ring Lucia for breakfast. The card itself was unremarkable. What was remarkable was the fact that Raven found herself squinting in order to read Lucia’s elegant script.
Her heart sank as she realized that her eyesight, like all the other changes to her body, was reverting back to what it had been before William rescued her.
If, in fact, he had rescued her.
In the bright light of day, she wondered about his story. He claimed she’d had a head injury, but apart from a headache or two and her memory loss, there wasn’t any physical evidence.
Of course, there was the strange matter of her changed appearance. She wondered how William had been able to bring that about.
William.
The name, like the man, was deceptive. His attractive exterior and elegant name belied the criminal who was prone to violence.
The man who’d kissed her the evening before.
She had limited experience when it came to kisses, but she recognized his expertise. The recognition was accompanied by the cooling tide of guilt.
William was handsome and he could be charming. Certainly he’d helped her more than once. But he was an art thief, a member of almost the lowest form of humanity.
And I let him kiss me.
Raven told herself she hadn’t pushed him away because she’d been emotional. She’d been frightened. She couldn’t be attracted to a criminal.
More precisely, she wouldn’t allow herself to be attracted to a criminal. No matter what.
She pulled on a robe to greet Lucia and was delighted when the woman set her brunch out on the balcony that opened from the bedroom.
Raven was grateful that two aspirin had been left on the tray, since her leg and ankle were aching. If the pain worsened, she’d have to start taking her prescription pain medication again.
She sighed at the thought.
As she enjoyed the noon sunshine her mind naturally drifted to the evening before.
William York was behind the theft of the illustrations from the Uffizi Gallery. Whether they’d belonged to him in the past or not, Raven didn’t know. Certainly his story was at odds with the account the Emersons had given.
In addition, William seemed almost too young to be a serious art collector. The collection he’d amassed downstairs rivaled that of many museums in quality, if not quantity, leading Raven to believe it had been acquired over decades, if not centuries, by his family.
Since Professor Emerson had already mentioned William as a potential suspect, it was more than likely he’d been investigated. Knowing he was guilty, she wondered why he hadn’t fled the city and returned to England.
Raven looked down at her half-eaten sweet roll. She’d suddenly lost her appetite.
William claimed to have saved her life, and killed in order to do it. While it was possible he’d lied about that, too, she couldn’t explain the strange images that continued to flood her consciousness—images of a dark alley and blood and the faces of the man and woman she’d seen the night before.
And there was the
fact that she’d sketched William’s face before seeing it. She must have met him before.
If he’d killed to protect her, she certainly didn’t condone it. But she knew her story would be too fantastic for the police to believe. She’d had enough trouble with them already.
She could try to persuade William to give the illustrations back, so they could be enjoyed by everyone and not relegated to a private room in his villa. Given his attitude and the way he’d spoken about the illustrations, this task would not be easy.
A shadow fell across the table.
“Good morning,” William greeted her. “Did you rest well?”
“I found it difficult to sleep.” She pulled the edges of her bathrobe closed. “Would you like to join me?”
“I’ve eaten already.” He stepped out of the sun and back into the master bedroom, hovering in the doorway.
She found the movement strange.
“Don’t you want to sit in the sun?”
“Not particularly.” He sounded prim.
She gestured to his fair skin. “Do you burn easily?”
“I find the sun uncomfortable and tend to avoid it. Is breakfast to your liking?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Raven felt conspicuous eating in front of him, especially since her waist had noticeably thickened overnight. She pushed the tray aside and sipped her coffee, looking out over the extensive gardens and trees at the back of his villa.
“You have a beautiful home.”
“Thank you.”
Raven shifted in her chair in order to appraise him. His clothes were impeccable and clean, although he appeared to be wearing the same black shirt and jeans he’d worn the night before.
Raven inferred he was wearing new clothes that resembled the others.
“Do you always wear black?”
He seemed taken aback by her question. “Ah, yes.”
“It’s a warm, sunny day. Aren’t you hot?”
“Not really.” His body tensed.
His nearness reminded her of the kiss they’d shared the evening before. It also reminded her that he’d had to convince himself not to kill her. It was time to disentangle herself from this situation.
“Thank you for your hospitality and coming to my rescue last night. I really should be going. I’d like to visit Bruno in the hospital.” She placed her coffee cup on the tray and gave him a smile calculated to disarm him.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you go.”
A feeling of alarm coursed through her. “Why not?”
“A longer conversation is in order. I’ll leave you to dress and meet you downstairs. You have one hour.”
Raven watched as he strode through the bedroom toward the door, his spine ramrod straight.
“I don’t want to wait,” she called. “Let’s talk now.”
William paused before turning around. He did not look pleased.
“We can’t talk here.”
“Because?”
William walked back to her so quickly he was almost a blur.
“Because your proximity to my bed reminds me of all the things I’d rather be doing with you.”
Raven’s mouth dropped open.
William took a moment to regain his control, willing his body to obey his mind.
“Get dressed and come downstairs.”
He returned to the door, closing it loudly behind him.
Raven sat in her chair, dumbfounded.
She was not accustomed to receiving attention from men. Mostly she’d been treated a little like wallpaper or a piece of furniture.
At college, she’d had two boyfriends. The first one was affectionate, but not especially passionate. The second was duplicitous. Neither of them ever looked at her as William had just done, even in their most intimate, secret moments.
William had seen her and wanted her. He knew she wasn’t a size zero, with a dainty figure. Still he wanted her in his bed.
She tried to reconcile his expression of wanton desire with the tenderness with which he’d kissed her the night before. And the way he called her Cassita.
He doesn’t even know my true name.
Raven’s realization was enough to stop her speculation about William’s desire and his probable talent in bed. She was not lonely and desperate enough to trade her respect for herself (and her name) for an afternoon of pleasure.
Plus, he’s a criminal.
She needed to remind herself of the fact.
There was also the small matter of William’s anger. He seemed cross with himself for wanting her.
She wondered if his anger was because she was troubling his well-ordered criminal life or for other reasons. Probably he resented his attraction, knowing there were exceptional Florentine women ripe for the taking.
Raven decided not to dwell on the subject. She’d long since discarded the belief that all puzzles in the universe could be solved. Some puzzles didn’t have solutions, and she suspected William was exactly that sort of puzzle.
The internal struggles of a criminal were not her concern.
With a labored gait, she walked to the closet. As she sorted through the hangers and shelves of clothing, she realized it held an assortment of sizes, ranging from the size she’d been a few days past to the size she was before she lost her memory.
Either he’d provided clothes for her while he was saving her life or he’d anticipated her return to a larger size. She didn’t know what to think about either possibility.
She chose a raspberry-colored sundress, calculated to contrast with the green of her eyes; a white cardigan; and a pair of simple, low-heeled sandals. Then she locked herself in the large bathroom to get ready.
When Raven reached the first floor, Lucia was waiting. She escorted her to a room down the hall, which she said was the library; she opened the door, then left Raven to William’s company.
Raven found the term library a gross understatement. The room was larger than the central archives at the Uffizi Gallery. She stared at the books openmouthed, turning in circles as she tried to take in the enormous and varied collection.
She was amazed someone so young could have amassed such an extensive library. What she would not give to be able to spend hours perusing the shelves.
William stood at the far end of the room, in front of a massive window that ran from the floor almost to the domed ceiling, facing the gardens. He did not turn around.
The air was filled with one of Rachmaninoff ’s piano concertos. Raven recognized the music, which seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere all at once. She looked around the room for the source but couldn’t find it.
She resisted the urge to limp and walked to a chair in front of his desk, sitting down with a barely repressed whimper.
“Are you in pain?” he asked, still facing the window.
“A little. The aspirin is helping.”
He turned. “I can make the pain stop.”
“How?”
“Alchemy.”
She wrinkled her nose. “What does alchemy entail?”
“Prepare to have your universe expanded, Jane.”
She stiffened at the sound of her former name.
William rested his hip against the front of the large desk, crossing his arms in front of him. “You said last night there was no such thing as souls. Your disbelief doesn’t negate reality.”
“Your beliefs, however fantastic, don’t create reality.”
William’s expression hardened.
“Your ignorance will get you killed.”
“Then enlighten me.” She mirrored his posture. “You’ve been speaking in riddles and esoteric circles. It’s time for the truth. Who are you and what are you involved in? Why does it put me in danger?”
William’s eyes flared gray fire.
“You saw the feral for yourself. Last night you encountered Maximilian. Either of them could have drained the life out of you in minutes.”
“I thought Florence was relatively safe at night. I’l
l be more careful.”
“You need to stop being so damned dogmatic and open your eyes,” William snapped. “You wore a relic, and a feral kept his distance. You ran to holy ground, and Maximilian didn’t follow you. Isn’t that enough empirical evidence for the supernatural?”
Raven opened her mouth to argue, but found herself unable to formulate an intelligent response.
William shook his head.
“Use your reasoning, Use your powers of observation. They weren’t choosing to stay away from you; they were forced to stay away. What more proof do you need?”
“I agree, they avoided me. The question is why. Maybe there’s something to your belief in relics and the power of Sanctuary. But maybe it’s just the placebo effect.”
William lifted his hip from the desk and growled.
Raven leaned back in her chair.
The sound coming from his chest was unmistakable—he was growling like an animal. She didn’t know what to do with that realization.
William moved closer.
“Your leg was healed, temporarily, and you changed in physical appearance. What are your scientific explanations for that?”
“I don’t have one. Listen, Mr. York. I think I deserve the truth. Something strange happened to me. My memory is confused. Just tell me what you gave me so I can go and see a doctor.”
“A doctor wouldn’t know what to do with you. He’d draw your blood, test it, and discover that it contains substances absolutely foreign to human biology.”
Raven started, visibly shaken by what he’d said. She remembered her doctor’s remarks about her blood work and the incompetence of the lab. She’d said the lab contaminated the blood sample.
“What did you give me?” she whispered.
“You’re asking the wrong question. You should be asking who I am.”
Raven pressed her lips together.
“I know who you are. You’re the thief who stole the illustrations from the Uffizi.”
“As I said, I didn’t steal them. They were stolen from me, originally.”
“Dottor Vitali said they belonged to a Swiss family since the nine-teenth century.”
William tilted his head to one side.
“From whom did they acquire them?”
She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know.”