Graceless heart, p.27
Graceless Heart, page 27
Saturnino wore deep red, from head to toe, and the color suited him. It made his more ruthless nature rise to the surface, giving his smile an edge, his arms a bruising strength. His hair was damp, as if he’d just come from a bath.
He looked inhumanly beautiful.
And he was surrounded by several young women, each dressed in shimmering jewel tones. Peridot, ruby, sapphire, emerald. Her attention flickered to each one before landing back onto Saturnino. He lifted his chin in a challenge, as if to say: I’m not yours, and never will be.
Ravenna knew it to be true.
She raised an eyebrow and said back: I never asked you to be.
He blinked in surprise, then smiled, slow and tender. A fissure split down her middle, as if she existed in two realities: the time before she knew Saturnino, and the time after, when he shared glimpses of the cold heart that still beat a steady rhythm.
Signor Luni and his lady approached Ravenna, blocking all view of their son. She forced a greeting in welcome, pushing Saturnino out of her mind. It was a shame she couldn’t do the same thing with her heart. But he’d snuck inside, and now there was no removing him.
Unless he tried to kill her.
I’d endeavor to rid myself of my doomed attraction then, she thought wryly.
“Signorina Ravenna,” Signor Luni exclaimed. “What a lovely creature you are.”
“That color is very becoming on you,” Signora Luni agreed.
Fortuna joined their group. “Astonishing how it pairs well with that unusual hair color.”
Signor Luni held out his arm, and Ravenna accepted, her smile locked in place. “Lorenzo wants to present you to his wife.”
Ravenna looked past him, to where a group of three people waited. Two gentlemen, middle-aged, and a lady nearly so. Ravenna locked eyes with Lorenzo de’ Medici, and she felt the familiar anger curdling deep in her belly as she cataloged his features. The Roman nose, dark eyes and hair, thin mouth. He was not a handsome man, but he had an arresting quality that commanded notice. An innate confidence, an air of curiosity, clothed in sumptuous fabric, and pretty manners. He looked the same as he had on the day she’d first met him and made her demands.
He was still her enemy, even if she was beginning to understand why he loathed the pope.
His lady wife stood close to his side, a light hand on his elbow. She matched his elegance, a beautiful companion to the portrait he presented, a man in his prime with the city of Florence under his expensive heel. She dipped her chin a fraction, wide eyes curiously lit onto Ravenna, the newcomer to her proverbial kingdom.
Saturnino appeared next to her, a thorn in her side. She felt his cool presence as if she’d opened a window during a winter night: cold air howling around her and the kiss of snow on her skin. But then he drew one step closer to her, until his arm brushed against the sleeve of her gown, and for a moment, it felt as if he had come to stand with her so she wouldn’t face her enemies alone.
But that was ridiculous, surely.
Greetings were exchanged, and when that was finally over, Signor Luni gestured toward Ravenna and said to Signora Medici, “This is Signorina Ravenna’s first visit to the city, not that she’s been able to see any of it. She has been dedicated to her work.”
“Well, I hope she’ll have time to see the best of what Florence has to offer,” Signora Medici said, her manner polite.
“Don’t worry, signora, we brought most of it to her,” Saturnino said wryly, splaying his hand, gesturing to the center of the banquet hall where several troubadours were performing acrobatics midair, flipping and twisting through glittering rings and fiery hoops. Their gowns were bright, etched in embroidery depicting blooming flowers and fluttering butterflies, fat bumblebees, and lush trees.
“I’ve been unspeakably rude in not presenting my friend, Signorina Ravenna,” Lorenzo de’ Medici announced. “Allow me to introduce Galeazzo Sforza, Duca of Milan.”
Ravenna slowly turned to face the man she was meant to lure out to the bridge.
He was a man of refined taste and elegance, wearing a blue brocade stitched with metallic lilies, but no amount of tailoring could soften his harsh features and intense eyes. He dipped his chin, a respectful gesture, but the curl of his lip hinted at a sinister edge. His gaze lingered on her bare shoulders, traveling lower to her collarbones before settling on the swell of her breasts.
He lifted his eyes, peeking coyly at her through thick lashes. “Signorina Ravenna, I’m enchanted.”
He drew out the last word into an unsettling caress.
She gritted her teeth and thought of her family. Her soul. She flashed Signor Sforza a shy smile and then quickly glanced down in a manner that her own mother would approve of: shy, unassuming, demure.
Next to her, Saturnino stiffened, and she felt the weight of his gaze. Ravenna kept her attention where it ought to be. It pained her to smile at Galeazzo Sforza, disgusted her to see his answering grin, sly and knowing.
Ravenna forced the words out. “The honor is mine, Vostra Grazia.”
“I hope you’ll allow me a dance,” he returned, and his voice had turned husky, as if he’d drawn a curtain around them, isolating her from the others. Acid coated her tongue; she could only nod. But it was enough. She had caught his interest.
His evening belonged to her now.
“Well now,” Lorenzo said. “It’s nice to see you at least trying to enjoy yourself, Galeazzo. You’ve been much too serious of late.”
“Given the state of the world, I would think you’d understand why,” Signor Sforza returned dryly. His eyes flickered back to Ravenna. “But I thank you for dragging me to Florence. It has been a much-needed respite with many pleasures to offer.”
His marked interest in Ravenna seemed to amuse Signor Medici, as if he were used to his friend’s wandering eye.
“What brings you to Florence, Vostra Grazia?” Ravenna asked. “Are you here for business?” She swallowed hard and forced herself to add, “Or is it only pleasure you seek?”
Signor Sforza grinned at her, appreciative, and in his eyes, Ravenna could already see how he was imagining spending the evening with her. Twirling around the ballroom before sneaking her out into the back patio, finding a secluded spot …
It took everything in her not to shudder.
“There is always time for both,” he said easily.
For a man who had both wealth and a dukedom, Ravenna believed it. “How long will you be visiting Florence?”
“I’m afraid matters at home require my attention,” he said. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning.”
Her throat went dry. There would be no second chances if she failed.
“So soon?” Signora Luni exclaimed. “I thought you meant to stay for the rest of the month.”
Signor Sforza inclined his head regretfully. “I’m afraid not, signora.”
“Leonardo has made much progress on his designs,” Signor Luni commented. “And it was good of you to bring him tonight.”
Ravenna’s gaze flew to Signor Luni, her mind recalling the intriguing sketches she’d seen. The artist had been a bundle of barely contained energy and ideas, a young visionary who only needed to have the time and space to put his thoughts down to paper. Her eyes traveled across the hall in search of Leonardo until she finally found him by the banquet tables. He was dressed in a black-and-green doublet and peering at a familiar statue that had been placed as the centerpiece.
It was familiar because it was hers.
Her breath caught; she’d nearly forgotten about her Pluto, still adorned by a single Nightflame that glimmered blue fire in the soft, golden lighting.
Signora Medici groaned in mock consternation. “Please do not mention him, signore, or else Lorenzo will not speak of anything else for the rest of the night.”
Ravenna dragged her attention back to the conversation.
“Leonardo da Vinci,” Signor Medici said, his tone mild, “is a young man on the verge of genius and greatness. We will go down in history, mark my words, for not only discovering his talent, but nurturing it. Did I happen to tell you of his latest invention, tesoro?”
“Only several times,” she said with a little sigh.
Signor Medici raised his wife’s arm and gently kissed the back of her hand. “I am, as ever, eternally grateful for your support in these matters, Signora Medici,” he said with a rueful smile.
“But as a matter of fact,” Signor Sforza said to Signor Luni, “there has been a new development.” He glanced at Ravenna pointedly. “But perhaps we ought not to bore the ladies with such talk. Find me later, signore.”
Signor Luni’s eyes glittered. “You may count on it.”
Ravenna looked between them with a masked politeness, filing away the conversation in case she needed to appease the courier with a tidbit of information. Her spine tingled with an inner knowing, a sense that something larger was in play. But before she could dwell further on the idea, a handsome man stepped through the banquet hall entrance, his arm held out for the most beautiful woman Ravenna had ever seen in her life. Her golden hair swept past her shoulders in ringlets, like liquid sunlight spilling over the green hills of Volterra. The shade beautifully contrasted with the deep rose hue of her gown. Jewels glimmered at her ears, throat, and wrists, but her face was the greatest treasure. She had luminous blue eyes, rosy cheeks, expressive brows, and a gentle smile aimed at her escort.
The man said something in her ear, and she tipped her head back, laughing. Lorenzo de’ Medici followed the line of Ravenna’s sight and sighed. Except it wasn’t in anger; the accompanying grin spoke of a tender fondness for the newcomer.
“Forgive my brother,” he said. “Late as usual.”
“I’ll forgive Giuliano everything,” Signor Luni remarked. “He brought her with him. People will expect to hear an engagement any day now.”
Signor Medici shook his head. “They are close friends, nothing more.”
“She is extraordinarily lovely,” Signora Luni commentated. “Naturally, Botticelli selected her as his latest muse.”
Marco suddenly appeared next to the group with a sullen line to his mouth. “Isn’t it time we all sat down to eat?” he demanded. “And before you protest too loudly at my bluntness, Mother, the other guests are circling the banquet table and about to become feral.” He raised his brows expectantly. “Can we eat?”
Signora Luni made an exasperated sound under her breath. “Not yet, Marco. The musicians are set to play music for dancing. But it is time for everyone to at least know where they are sitting down for the meal.” She turned to Signor Medici and his wife, and Signor Sforza, and snapped her fingers to someone who waited nearby. “My steward will help you find your seats.”
Tomasso drew close to Signora Luni’s side as if he’d been waiting for such a moment. He directed them toward the long dining tables, indicating where they ought to sit. Ravenna approached her bozzetto, moving down the table for a better view. It felt like a century had passed since she’d stood in her studio, bringing the lord of the underworld to life. Guests stared at the eternal flame flickering within the crimson gemstone, then they looked to her, the girl in a forest-green gown, the girl who had won the competition and the favor of the powerful immortal family.
“Ravenna, wasn’t it?” came a voice from behind her.
She turned to find Leonardo standing next to her, his shoulder a brush away from hers. “Buonasera,” she said warmly. “And yes, it is.”
He inclined his head. “It’s nice to see you again, signorina.” He extended a hand to her Pluto. “Your work is lovely.”
A blush stole over her cheeks. “Grazie. Are you enjoying the evening?”
He lifted a shoulder, his intelligent gaze moving through the crowd. “An unusual party.”
She peered at him, curious. “How so?”
“No one says what they mean at these sorts of gatherings,” he said.
Ravenna followed his line of sight, her attention flickering from one group to another. He was right. Tension settled over the guests as if they were all collectively holding their breath, waiting for doom. It was an odd feeling, heightened by the lavish comforts displayed around them, the swell of music, the sparkle of magic glittering in the air.
“Why, do you suppose?”
Leonardo’s gaze swerved to hers. “The city waits for an attack from Rome.”
“You believe it’s imminent?”
“Only a matter of time,” he said gently. “I’m surprised to find you here in Florence still. Wouldn’t it be safer to complete your work back home in Volterra?”
She twisted her lips wryly. “Unless Signor Medici kept his word, Volterra is unlikely to welcome me back.” She pointed to the Nightflame embedded into her statue. “Thanks to this.”
Leonardo let out a sound of surprise. “But Signor Medici has kept his word. His army left Volterra days ago. You hadn’t heard?”
Ravenna gaped at him. “He told me he would consider my request, but no one told me that he…” Her mind grappled with the unexpected news. “I can’t believe he actually agreed.”
Leonardo smiled slightly. “You have your admirer to thank, signorina.”
“My admirer?” she echoed. “Who?”
He pointed to someone behind her. “It was he who told Signor Medici to accept your demand. I’ll never forget it. He was very adamant.”
It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. Ravenna slowly turned around, alarmed by the sudden spike in her pulse, beating hard against her throat. Despite the cool breeze sweeping in from the garden, the hall felt like an oven to her, and a deep flush warmed her cheeks.
She found the man Leonardo pointed to deep in conversation with Signor Galeazzo Sforza. He must have sensed her stare because he half turned, his hand flexing slightly. His green gaze locked with hers.
Saturnino dei Luni.
The room blurred, the only thing in sharp focus was the immortal knight. He raised a brow at her, and she couldn’t keep the answering smile from pulling the corners of her lips. Saturnino crossed the room, elegantly maneuvering through the crowd, ignoring guests who openly stared at him. He stopped in front of her and held out his hand. “Dance with me.”
Capitolo Ventisei
Ravenna stared at his palm for a moment before lifting her gaze past his shoulder to where couples were arranging themselves across the dance floor. A wrought iron chandelier hung above the space, casting a warm, golden glow on the sumptuously dressed. Ravenna didn’t know the steps to many dances, and the ones she did know were, she had no doubt, far too provincial. It was an art form she had never mastered. On no account did she want to embarrass herself in front of the upper echelons of Florentine society.
The ornate clock at the front of the hall stood with its gears in full display, letting her know that she still had time before midnight. But now curiosity burned through her as Leonardo’s words swam in her head. Had Saturnino intervened for her? If so, for what reason?
And why did she want the reason to be for her?
It couldn’t be. It wasn’t.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid,” Saturnino coaxed.
Ravenna flicked her eyes back to meet his. Teasing, flirting, coy Saturnino had returned, leaving his sinister plans out of the banquet hall. She ought to be relieved, but panic flared deep in her belly. This Saturnino was hard to predict.
And infinitely more dangerous to her.
“I’m a terrible dancer,” she said honestly. “I’ll only embarrass you.”
“You could never,” Saturnino said. He clasped her hands and drew her close to him. His movements were slow, marked. Without taking his eyes off her, he murmured, “You don’t mind if I steal her away, do you?”
Ravenna blinked; she’d forgotten all about Leonardo da Vinci. She glanced at him from over her shoulder, but the artist’s attention flickered from one guest to another, lingering on a handsome man who stood off to the side, leaning against one of the pillars. Leonardo gave Saturnino a polite bow, murmuring, “Not in the least,” before melting into the crowd.
Her gaze returned to Saturnino.
He was still only looking at her.
Ravenna was conscious of the other guests and dancers staring at her, at him, and the pronounced attention he lavished on her. Saturnino tugged Ravenna to where the other guests danced, his palm cool against the feverish warmth of hers. He glanced at her from over his shoulder, raising a sleek black brow in a silent question. As if to make sure she was all right.
She felt oddly lightheaded.
They joined the long line of dancers. Saturnino pulled her close until she was nearly pressed against the side of his lean chest—a scandalous distance and fodder for conversation for the numerous spectators surrounding them.
“I’ll guide you through the steps,” Saturnino whispered against her hair.
“There’s really no point,” Ravenna said. “I’m the world’s worst dancer. You could drag me across the hall, and it would look better than what I could manage.”
“Maybe,” Saturnino murmured. “But you’ve never done it with me, and I promise to take care of you.”
Her lips parted in surprise as the music swelled in a distracting rush all around her. His expression had turned thoughtful, as if he had discovered one of her many secrets, and it wasn’t one he had been expecting. When he took the first step, she followed, glancing down the long length of the dance floor, where the gentlemen were leading their ladies in gentle circles, their arms raised, palms facing those of their partners with only a whisper of space between them.
It was an elegant dance, measured and slow. The kind of dance that allowed for intimate conversation. Saturnino tightened his hold on her hand and whispered, “Right turn. Then left. I’ll spin you around afterward.”
Ravenna’s eyes flew to his. He winked at her. If he hadn’t been standing in front of her, she wouldn’t have believed it to be true. He had learned her secret, and instead of using it against her to humiliate her, Saturnino was guiding her through the motions, through every step, through all the turns.
He tipped his chin to the right, prompting her to make the turn.
