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William rubbed his eyes with both hands, blotting out the holy imagery that confronted him.
“It’s exactly the kind of dilemma our colleagues would have posed to you in Paris. So what say you, magister? What is the virtuous decision?”
The Prince stared at his famous teacher.
“Yes, of course it’s a false dilemma. I could send the woman—my woman—away. But that would only hasten the Curia’s arrival. They’d assume I’d killed her.
“I could kill the priest. It would be difficult to do since he lives on holy ground, but assassinations have been carried out in the past.” The Prince ran his fingers through his hair. “Yes, I know what happened as a result. The Curia marched on Budapest and massacred the covens there. The principality has never been the same.”
He paced, back and forth and back and forth, fists shoved into his pockets. “I could attempt to negotiate with the Curia. But why should they negotiate a treaty with me, when one of their own wants his protégée safe from my control?
“No. There are myriad possibilities, all equally vicious.”
The Prince cast a baleful look at the personifications of virtues that surrounded his teacher. The Virtues, of course, remained silent.
“You and I spoke many times of the beauty of goodness. This young, extraordinary woman is so beautiful, so noble in her character, you would have been entranced. She’s read your works. I told her of you and she thinks you’d have compassion on me, despite . . .” He cleared this throat.
“I don’t hope for compassion. I made my choice; I accept my fate. But for her, for her beautiful, brave soul, I shall hope.” William lifted his face. “I love her. And because I love her, I come to you now to ask for your help.
“I know better than to try to bargain with you. Either you will come to my aid or you will refuse. I have nothing to offer in exchange, no way to expiate my sin, no virtue to recommend me.
“But I ask you, teacher, whatever compassion and love you had for me, for the boy I once was, that you would extend the same to her. Whatever grace has been given unto you, I ask you to pray that same grace will rest on her.”
William extended his arms, his figure like a cross, and bowed very low. “Once again, I am sorry for disturbing your rest. I ask one favor in memory of our friendship—only remember my woman, that her beauty and goodness may not die.”
Without a backward glance, the Prince left the chapter house, his body tight, his heart beating an uncertain tattoo in his chest.
Chapter Forty-one
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Birth of Venus.”
With a flourish, Dottor Vitali removed the large tarp covering the newly restored painting. The crowd gathered in the Botticelli room at the Uffizi burst into loud and enthusiastic applause.
Vitali introduced Professor Urbano, who offered a few prepared remarks on the restoration process. He introduced Raven and the other members of his team to thunderous applause.
While he was thanking the donors and organizations who had funded the restoration, including Professor and Mrs. Emerson, who were not in attendance, Raven stood to one side, appraising the work.
An excellent restoration job allows a painting to present its best self. In her careful estimation, this was precisely what Professor Urbano’s team had done. The colors of the painting were brighter and more vibrant. The details of the figures and the other elements were much easier to see. Indeed, the skill of Sandro Botticelli was more visible now that the layers of darkened, discolored varnish had been removed. The Birth of Venus would now enjoy a second life.
Raven was proud.
She stood with her friends Patrick and Gina, leaning against her cane. The full skirt of her new blue silk dress swished whenever she moved. She’d spent a great deal of time on her appearance, even going to a hairstylist to have her long black hair done in an elaborate, elegant twist. She’d covered the bite mark still visible on the side of her neck with makeup, its presence hardly noticeable except upon very close scrutiny.
The Botticelli room was full. There were patrons and politicians, journalists and professors, and the staff of the Uffizi, all standing in appreciation of the beautiful painting.
And Ispettor Batelli, watching the proceedings from a spot a few feet in front of Primavera.
Raven ignored him.
“I can’t believe that asshole is here.” Patrick jerked his head in the direction of the policeman.
“It makes sense, no?” Gina shrugged. “Perhaps the thieves are here. Perhaps they will try to take the Birth of Venus.”
Raven glanced furtively in Batelli’s direction and found him staring at her. She turned her back on him to address her friends. “They’d need ten men to do it and possibly a crane. We had a terrible time moving the painting from the lab.”
“It’s a masterpiece.” Gina smiled at her as they applauded the conclusion of Professor Urbano’s speech.
Dottor Vitali ended the formal part of the evening by inviting everyone to enjoy the Botticelli room. The crowd moved forward, eager to have a closer look at the restoration, and Raven and her friends discreetly moved aside to allow the guests a better view.
Patrick gave a low whistle. “I saw the photographs from before the restoration. You guys did a fantastic job.”
“Thank you.” Raven bowed.
“I think this calls for wine. Ladies?” Patrick lifted his eyebrows. Raven and Gina nodded and he excused himself in order to find a waiter.
Raven’s gaze followed him as he moved to the far side of the room. For no reason in particular, her eyes flickered to the doorway that led to the corridor.
Standing in the hall, partially shadowed, was a young, handsome man dressed all in black.
His eyes locked with hers.
Raven fumbled an excuse to Gina and began to weave through the crowd. But there were a lot of people and she was not swift of movement. By the time she reached the door, he was gone.
Frustrated, she continued down the empty corridor, looking for him. The rest of the second floor of the Uffizi was cordoned off. She paused next to the velvet rope and sign that instructed guests to stay out.
Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her in between a pair of statues.
Before she could scream, she looked up into a familiar face. Her heart skipped a beat.
“You have to stop doing that!” She shook off his grasp. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
William smirked. “I can hear your heart. It’s perfectly sound.”
“I think vampyres are capable of recognizing a figure of speech.” She fanned a hand to her chest, trying to catch her breath.
William grew solemn. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to her cheek. “You are beautiful.”
Raven’s face flamed. “Thank you.”
“The painting is lovely, but its beauty pales in comparison with yours.”
“Could you see it from the hall?”
He caressed the side of her face. “I slipped in earlier and peeked under the tarp. Your work is exceptional.”
Raven fidgeted with her purse. “I was part of a team. Why are you here?”
“I came to see you.” His eyes grew shuttered. “Am I not welcome?”
“Of course you’re welcome.” She moved so she could see past the statues toward the Botticelli room. “But there are cameras everywhere. And Ispettor Batelli is here.”
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sp; “I know. I saw him.” William’s mouth moved to her ear and he kissed its shell. “Let’s move to a place that is more private.”
He took her hand and led her to the octagonal Sala Tribuna, which was only three doors down from the Botticelli room. He led her inside the space, which was lined with paintings and sculptures. “There are no cameras in here.”
The room was dark, lit only by a series of small, high windows that filtered the starlight from outside. The sculptures seemed like ghosts to Raven’s eyes. William, on the other hand, navigated the space as if it were bathed in sunlight.
They stopped in the center of the room, before an octagonal table. Without a word, he tossed her purse and cane aside and lifted her by the waist, seating her on the edge.
“This isn’t a good idea. I don’t want to break it.” She gazed at the table doubtfully, wondering if it would hold her weight.
William placed his palm on the table and pressed, as if testing its sturdiness. “I wouldn’t worry.”
“I don’t want to damage anything.” She moved as if to stand.
“We won’t.”
He placed his hands on her knees, subtly lifting the skirt of her dress. His cool fingers slid under the silk to part her legs, then he was standing in between them, bringing his hips in contact with hers.
“William, I—” Raven was interrupted by William’s lips, which touched hers reverently.
As if a flame had been ignited he began to kiss her deeply, urgently, his hands cupping the back of her head.
“What have they done to you?” he murmured, his thumb tracing the twist in her hair.
She spoke against his mouth. “I thought it would look nice.”
“You’re lovely, but lovelier, I think, naked and with your hair streaming down.” He kissed her again, this time exploring her cheek, and jaw, and neck. When he began nibbling at her throat, she placed a palm to his chest. “Stop.”
“Why?” He continued his ministrations, his hand sliding between her legs to trace the edge of her panties.
