Tomasso cast an uneasy look in Ravenna’s direction. There was enough in his expression to alert her that Saturnino’s behavior was both unusual and unexpected. He was the eldest son of a powerful family who had very likely never troubled himself with the housing details of a guest. The steward gestured for the staff to continue their work, but it was laborious and slow. The trunks were heavy and awkward to maneuver up the flight of stairs, and large enough to block the way up. An older servant fumbled with one of the corners and dropped his trunk with a loud clatter that reverberated up and down the hall.
“Leave it,” Saturnino said in a flat voice. “And take the clumsy idiot with you.”
Tomasso’s color was high, twin red flags streaked across his cheeks. “Of course, Cavaliere Saturnino.”
The servant averted his gaze, but not before Ravenna caught the sharp flare of mortification on his face. Hot anger burst from her. She might have been from a small village, but her parents employed many servants, and they were considered part of the locanda family. Treated with respect and dignity. Furthermore, it was late into the evening, and she had just spent a harrowing interval down in the dungeon. Her anger triumphed over her nerves.
“He’s not an idiot,” Ravenna said.
Saturnino’s head snapped in her direction. “What did you say?”
She licked her lips, tried again. This time louder. “He’snotan idiot.”
“No, he’s worse.” A look of scorn flashed across Saturnino’s face.“He’s old.” Still maintaining his eyes on Ravenna, he added, “I thought I told you toleave it.”
Tomasso froze in the act of picking up the corner of the trunk. Then the steward straightened, slowly, as if he were in the presence of one of Lorenzo de’ Medici’s infamous lions. He gestured for everyone to leave the hall. Saturnino paid them no heed, the whole of his attention fixed on Ravenna. She fidgeted under his scrutiny, not liking that she was once again alone with a man who looked as if he reigned over the underworld, a dangerous god whose cunning ways resulted in doom and destruction.
Who was also rude and dismissive and callous. Who had argued with poor Capitano Lombardi hours before he went missing, abandoning his post for who knew what reason. Who had killed a guard for the unforgivable offense of falling asleep in the middle of the night.
Ravenna tried not to let her unease show.
But she had reproached the son of a duke. His heir. She might have been from a good family belonging in a middle-ranking guild, but they were not equals. He was titled, wealthy, andimmortal. She was solidly merchant class, from a family who served people of his ilk.
Even so, he deserved it.
Though it might cost her now that she stood in his own little kingdom. She regarded him warily, stiffly, a rebuke ready in her mouth should he cross another line. But he surprised her.
“Still afraid of me,” Saturnino commented. It wasn’t a question.
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Ravenna countered.
“What do your human instincts tell you?”
She flinched at the reminder that he was indestructible, while she was decidedly not. “That I should run far,faraway from you.”
“That won’t help you.” Then he splayed an elegant hand, ungloved and bare, and said, “Shall we?”
Capitolo Nove
Saturnino’s tone was all gracious host, his black brow rose expectantly. She had never met anyone like him, hard to read clearly, as if he were made of swirling mist. Dealing with him felt perilous, like crossing a rickety bridge that stretched high over a keening river. Ravenna never knew if she would make it safely to the other side.
She eyed him warily. “Are you taking me back down into the dungeons? Is that where I’ll be sleeping?”
“That can be arranged, if you prefer it,” came his sardonic reply.
“At least it would be honest,” she muttered.
“But inconvenient,” he said. “Best for you to stay up here with the rest of the family.”
“Where you can keep an eye on me.”
“That, too.” He regarded her with a faint smile, a knowing gleam in his dark eyes. The lush line of his full mouth remained straight. It really was a beautiful face, the kind of face that demanded notice—or, more troubling, the kind of face that could lure someone into the depths of a turbulent sea.
“I will require a chaperone,” Ravenna said. “It isn’t proper for us to be alone like this, let alone at this time of night.”
“We don’t stand on ceremony here, and even if we did, as the artist in residence you’re granted liberties.”
“What kind of liberties?”
