“I was a guest several times in the fourteenth century. Since then, I’ve visited only on occasion, always under cover of darkness.” His attention drifted over the terraces, pausing from time to time. “I’m fond of the gardens. It’s very peaceful here. And not a vampyre in sight.”
“Have the gardens changed much since the fourteenth century?”
“Happily, no.”
She fitted her arm around his waist. “Tell me what it was like living during the Renaissance.”
William rubbed his chin. “It was fascinating. There were tremendous innovations in architecture, art, politics, and science. Florence was the center for many of those innovations. And at the center of Florence were the Medici.
“I played the part of a wealthy Englishman who was eager to spend his family’s money and rub shoulders with the elite. Florentine society welcomed me with open arms. I used that opportunity to learn all I could from the intellectual innovators, and quietly began acquiring art.
“Vampyres had been driven underground by the Curia, but it was easy enough to mingle with humans between the hours of sunset and sunrise. They were suspicious enough to keep their distance but not fearful as their ancestors had been, when we lived openly.”
“You knew Dante and Botticelli.”
William frowned. “I did. I can’t say I liked either of them. I certainly admire Botticelli’s work, when he isn’t trying to paint me into one of his paintings.”
“You knew Beatrice.”
“Not well, but I met her. She was lovely, very noble, and the kind of woman who turned heads when she walked down the street. I knew Botticelli’s muse, Simonetta Vespucci. I knew Brunelleschi, Machiavelli, Michelangelo, Donatello, Leonardo, Savonarola, Galileo . . .” William waved a hand in the air. “I had the advantage of a long life and access to the circles in which they traveled.”
“Were any of them killed by vampyres?”
“No.” William’s gray eyes danced. “But two of them became vampyres.”
Raven’s mouth dropped open. “Really? Which ones?”
“Guess.” William appeared amused.
“Um, Michelangelo and Brunelleschi? They’d make good vampyres.”
“No.”
Raven frowned. “That’s too bad. I would have liked to meet them.”
“I can introduce you to Simonetta. She’s the Princess of Umbria.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I am not. I can also introduce you to Machiavelli, but you’ve already met him.”
Raven fanned a hand to her forehead. “What?”
“Niccolò is a member of my ruling council. You were in the same room with him when I blindfolded you and took you down to the council chamber.”
“I don’t remember much of that meeting, apart from being scared.”
William kissed her cheek. “You were very brave.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s very much as you might expect. However, time has taught him prudence.”
Raven stared at William as an idea suddenly occurred to her. “Did he write The Prince for you?”
William chuckled. “No, that was for the Medici. Machiavelli was not on good terms with them and that was one of his attempts at ingratiating himself.”
“Are there any famous artists who have become vampyres? Monet? Van Gogh?”
“Neither of them. But I can’t speak for the entire art world. For years, I’ve focused my attention solely on the principality. In any case, many of my kind change their names so as not to be recognized. Or hunted.”
“Yes, because art historians would be interested in interviewing them.”
William shook his head. “It would be a short interview. The art historian would most likely end up an entrée.”
“But what a way to die.”
William laughed and hugged her, spinning her slowly in a circle.
She admired their surroundings once again. “This is lovely. But the gardens at your villa are also beautiful.”
“Thank you. I took my inspiration from here.”
She looked up at him. “What do you like about it?”
“Its beauty. Its location. If we stood at the top, where the villa is, we’d have an extraordinary view of the surrounding hills. There’s vineyards nearby. Behind the house is the olive grove. They make their own olive oil here.” His arms about her tightened. “It’s what you’ve enjoyed at the villa. I had Lucia stock it for you.”
“Thank you.”
“The garden here is dissimilar to the gardens at York, when I lived there. But something about this place reminds me of home.” William’s face took on an expression Raven had not seen before.
He seemed lost in thought for a few moments.
Raven waited for him to return to her. “What were your parents like?”
“My mother was pretty and from a wealthy family. She was very accomplished and had been well educated.”
“And your father?”
“He was a tyrant.” William took her hand and began leading her away from the fountain.
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I think I’ve had enough surprises. Do you want to tell me more about your father?”
“No.”
“All right,” she said quietly. “I’m still trying to process the fact that Machiavelli is still alive. I studied him in a political science class in college. He could have tutored me.”