The Raven (The Florentine #1)(73)

Throughout the afternoon, Raven tried from time to time to engage Lucia or Ambrogio in conversation. They were polite but distant and entirely mirthless.

She asked questions about William, but most of her inquiries were met with either silence or a change in subject. His staff gave a respectable account of his membership in British aristocracy and his love for the city of Florence. They avoided any hint of impropriety.

She wondered if they knew anything about his supernatural activities. She wondered if they’d enrolled in a Stepford-style training program for domestic servants.

In any case, Raven was certain that William’s staff would never disclose any of his secrets, nor would they ever, ever disobey his orders.

Chapter Twenty-eight

At ten o’clock that evening, Raven and William were seated in a black Mercedes, driven by a large man called Luka. The windows were tinted, keeping them safe from prying eyes.

When William had returned to the villa, two hours previous, he’d instructed Raven to dress in black and to cover as much skin as possible. When asked for his rationale, he’d patiently explained he was taking her to meet some of the others of his kind.

(His explanation was not extremely informative since she already knew that.)

Raven was terrified but bolstered her resolve by reminding herself that after the meeting he would take her home.

While she was grateful for her freedom, she was saddened to be leaving his art collection. She hoped she’d be able to return in order to examine and perhaps restore some of the works. More than a little of her curiosity had been piqued by their owner, as well. In a more relaxed setting, she wondered if he’d tell her about living through the Renaissance.

The possibility intrigued her.

As they drove down the winding road toward the city, she adjusted the hem of her black silk dress to cover her knees. Her legs were encased in black stockings, her feet placed in extravagantly expensive black designer heels.

William had been insistent she cover her neck, so Lucia had supplied a black vintage Hermès square in a conservative pattern and Raven had knotted it carefully.

(Raven was beginning to get the impression that his lordship had a thing for the color black.)

She was completely covered, with the exception of her face and hands. She fidgeted with her fingernails, unable to keep still.

William reached over to take her hand, clasping it in his.

“Sorry.” She gave him an embarrassed smile. “I’m anxious.”

“That is an appropriate reaction. Do you like the dress?”

“Very much, thank you.”

He smiled. “You look beautiful.”

Raven squeezed his hand in thanks, but she didn’t believe him. The fabric of the dress was handsome, but silk clung. Even though Lucia had provided her with underthings that smoothed out her body, she knew her stomach, hips, and backside were far too prominent and that the fabric of the dress only emphasized their size.

William’s appetite for blood must be impairing his vision.

“Lucia said you picked the dress.”

“She bought it on my instructions, yes.” His focus moved from her face down her body to her legs. He gave them an admiring look. “I like to surround myself with beauty.”

Raven resisted the urge to scoff.

“I’m surprised vampyres travel in cars. Or on motorcycles.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

“This car provides a measure of security. As for the motorcycle, I like speed.” He flashed her a winning smile. “So, beautiful Jane, why did you say your name is Raven? Ravens are scavengers. They feed on carrion.”

She turned to look out the window. “It doesn’t matter. That’s my name.”

He tugged at her hand. “Tell me why you want to be called Raven.”

“Because they’re intelligent. They’re independent.” She paused. “They’re survivors.”

William stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. “And what have you had to survive, little Raven?”

The tone of his voice, low and inquisitive, caused her to meet his gaze once again. He wasn’t hiding his concern, as if her answer mattered.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Especially tonight.” She disentangled herself from his grasp.

Involuntarily she glanced down at her right leg.

William’s eyes followed the path of hers. He frowned.

“Something made you strong. It’s common for vampyre blood to have that kind of effect in humans, but I think your resilience is your own.” He paused, then asked, “Who is Cara?”

“My sister,” she whispered.

“I had a sister.”

Raven turned to him with interest. “Older or younger?”

“Younger. I was the oldest. There were six of us, four boys and two girls.”

“I always wanted a brother.”

“It was just you and Cara?”

Raven nodded.

William regarded her, his face unreadable.

Under his gaze, she grew progressively more anxious. She swept her hair behind her ears.

“Stop staring at me.”

“Why? I like to look at pretty things.”

“So you say,” she huffed.

“And I haven’t seen anyone as captivating as you for a long time. But you’re a lark, not a raven.”