Oddly, he was seldom angry with her as Gianfrancesco would have been. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. All sorts of battered tramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. “If I am to turn you into a vampire, she cannot know. Her elbows were ready. Groans and hoots were now raised by the crowd, and there was an evident disposition to rescue. “It’s settled. ‘Why did you bring him? I hate him.
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