This Mercury had gray eyes and a wreath of short blond hair.

In gazing at his face, Raven immediately thought of the drawing she’d done a few days earlier. The drawing that had mysteriously disappeared after the intruder’s first visit.

Then there was the figure of Zephyr, on the right-hand side of the painting.

Zephyr was clothed in blue garments, but his face and body were decidedly flesh colored, if not a bit paler than the other figures. He, too, had blond hair.

Raven glanced from Zephyr to Mercury and back again. The two figures were almost identical, except that Zephyr had paler skin and a more muscular body. There was also a refinement in his facial features that made him more beautiful than Mercury.

Whoever painted this picture had used the same model for Mercury and Zephyr. And his face was not unknown to her.

Adding to her confusion was the fact that this Mercury, with his short blond hair, largely resembled the ghost she’d found in the radiograph of Primavera. It was almost as if Botticelli had seen this painting, copied Mercury’s appearance, then painted over it, changing his hair from blond to brown.

Raven felt light-headed.

“You should sit down.” Lucia pulled her back to the divan and proceeded to prod her right arm and shoulder.

“I don’t understand,” Raven murmured, her eyes glued to the painting.

“The shoulder isn’t dislocated. Would you like an ice pack?”

Raven peered up at Lucia, who was staring at her with a distrustful look.

Raven shook her head. She tried to remain calm, but her mind was racing.

How could William York have a reproduction of Primavera that I’ve never heard of? And how could it be a reproduction if Botticelli’s original Mercury matches this one?

“I could run a hot bath or you could shower. Perhaps you should wait until you have something in your stomach. I’ll bring some tea and toast.”

Raven’s attention was drawn back to Lucia.

“I should get out of these clothes. The smell…” Her voice trailed off.

“I’ll be back shortly.” Lucia pointed to a long, thin piece of tapestry that hung from the ceiling at the right side of the bed. “If you need me, pull the cord.”

Raven nodded, her eyes moving to the painting again.

As Lucia approached the door, Raven spoke.

“You prepared this room for me?”

“His lordship wanted you to stay here, in his room.” Lucia disappeared through the door.

Chapter Twenty-two

Although Raven would have liked the opportunity to examine the faux Primavera and the alleged Michelangelo in a leisurely fashion, she was not about to put her passion for art above her safety.

Neither was she going to spend the night in his lordship’s room.

She was clever enough to realize she needed to wait until the appropriate time to make her escape. The intruder’s staff was disturbingly loyal.

After her short confrontation with Lucia and Ambrogio downstairs, Raven decided her best strategy was temporary compliance. Her knapsack had been returned without her cell phone and without the relic. She elected not to press the issue, intending as she was to slip out of the house after everyone was asleep.

She was relieved to learn that Bruno was still alive. She was told he was in an induced coma at the hospital while the doctors waited for the swelling in his brain to go down. It was too early to tell if he would survive.

At this news, Raven cried. She shed her tears in the shower, where no one could hear.

Lucia had stationed herself in the bedroom while Raven used the bathroom, as if she were standing guard.

Raven scrubbed her hair and body with a finely milled Florentine soap that smelled of lemon. She’d found the soap in a decorative box on top of the vanity and recognized the scent as being that of the intruder. Since it was the only soap on offer, she couldn’t be bothered to care that it was his.

After drying her hair and changing into the silk nightgown and plush bathrobe, she dutifully drank mint leaves steeped in hot water and choked down dry toast and a couple of aspirin.

She feigned exhaustion and declared to Lucia she was going to bed. Thankfully, the housekeeper departed, bidding her good night.

Raven was sure to lock the bedroom door from the inside.

At four o’clock in the morning, she padded over to the closet. Divesting herself of the nightgown, she pulled on a green wrap dress that was exactly her size. She bent to reach for a pair of black ballet flats and stopped cold.

Sitting on the closet floor, next to several pairs of shoes and boots that looked to be of her size, were her own sneakers. She picked one up, inspecting it. They were the black Adidas sneakers she wore almost every day and had been unable to find since Gina’s party.

Why would the intruder steal my sneakers?

Raven lifted the other shoe, turning it over in her hand. A couple of rust-colored spots decorated the toe.

A sick feeling came over her as she wondered whose blood was on her shoes.

She shoved the sneakers in her knapsack and slid on the ballet flats. She’d worry about the blood spatter later.

She pulled her knapsack onto her uninjured shoulder and crept down the dark hallway to the stairs.

Her plan was to escape the estate as quickly and quietly as possible. She’d walk down the hill to the Arno, even if it took hours. Then she’d go to one of the hotels, borrow a phone, and call the police.

There wasn’t a telephone in her room. In fact, she hadn’t seen one in the house.

No doubt Ispettor Batelli would be glad she’d located William York and that she’d seen his vast and secret art collection.

No, she hadn’t seen the illustrations, but, given his other treasures, it was possible he had them. It was also possible other works in his collection were stolen. Surely this was enough information to place the police’s suspicion where it belonged—on the shoulders of Lord William York.

She descended the stairs slowly, trying not to make a sound. The foyer, like the hallway above, was bathed in darkness, although lights at the front of the villa shone in through the glass of the front door.

As she reached the first floor, she noticed that the doors that led to the more extensive part of William’s collection were open.

Curiosity tempted her. If she could see the stolen Botticelli illustrations with her own eyes, it would make her testimony much more valuable.

She padded lightly to the entrance.

The room was pitch-black.

She placed a hand on the door frame and leaned inside, willing her eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness.

“Psyche awakes.” A low voice spoke to her from inside the room.

She startled, jumping back.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to try to make your escape.” The intruder continued speaking Italian.

Raven turned, intending to run.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

She paused. For the moment, at least, her arm and leg were only aching. But she knew she couldn’t evade him on foot.

The realization discouraged her.

“I’m already furious with you,” the voice announced. “Don’t anger me further. Come inside. Now.”

“Why should you be furious? I’m the one who’s been kidnapped.” Raven clutched her knapsack more tightly.

“You’re the one who’s been rescued. You’d have been charged with attempted murder and be rotting in a jail cell by now if I hadn’t dragged you from the scene of the crime. I should add that the police station is only a short ride away, if you’d prefer their company.”

Raven huffed. She didn’t want to deal with the police. It seemed an audience with the intruder was her only option at the moment.