Read Online The Courtesan by Susan Carroll - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Carroll
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very peril Cass dreaded straight to her door.
Or Gabrielle could be merely letting her imagination run wild. There was only one way to know for certain. Slowly straightening, she resisted the urge to glance behind her again. Lifting the latch, she swung the gate open. It had been left unlocked according to her instructions. Gabrielle had wanted no curious eyes registering her coming and going this evening, not even any of her own servants. Now she was doubly glad she had left no guard posted, for it would enable her to set a trap.
She entered the courtyard with seeming casualness. Only when she was sure she must be out of view of the street did her demeanor change. She darted into the shadows, flattening herself against the stone wall that surrounded her property, positioning herself only yards away from the gate. Gabrielle inched Remy’s sword free of the scabbard and winced, the rasp of the blade sounding as loud as cannon fire to her ears. Her pulse thudded as she waited for what seemed an interminable length of time.
Perhaps her pursuer would not be rash enough to follow her onto her own grounds. Or having seen her return home, he would conclude there was nothing more to be learned of her movements tonight and simply vanish.
She almost came out of her hiding place when she heard it. The chink of the latch and the creak of the gate as it was being slowly opened. She quickly crouched back again. Gabrielle held her breath as the lean silhouette of a man stole through the open gate.
Moonlight washed over his features and Gabrielle could see that he was indeed an ill-favored varlet with long, tangled hair and a thick beard, his black jerkin and venetians worn and tattered. He paused, glancing from the abandoned walkway to the distant outline of the house and Gabrielle imagined that he must be puzzling over her sudden disappearance. She had best make her move before he had time to figure it out. Her heart banged hard against her ribs, but it was more from excitement than fear, a righteous anger at this interloper.
Gabrielle slipped from her crouching place beside the wall and circled behind him. Her footsteps whispered across the grass as she raised the sword and brought the point to bear directly in the center of his back.
“Don’t move a muscle,” she growled. “Or I’ll run you through where you stand.”
Gabrielle saw him tense, flexing his shoulders. She experienced a fraction of alarm as she realized he was taller and more muscular than she had first assumed. She also noticed too late that he had a weapon strapped to his side.
She had some skill with a blade, but no idea how she’d fare against some strange cutthroat in the dark. It occurred to her that perhaps she’d been a trifle rash to attempt to capture this spy alone. But she had him now. She had to do something with him.
“Raise your hands,” she said fiercely. “Unbuckle your sword and drop it.”
“I can hardly do both, Gabrielle,” he murmured. There was something familiar about the voice that caused her heart to miss a beat. He chose to obey her first command, raising his hands in the air.
Gabrielle recovered from her shock at hearing him use her name so intimately. She infused her voice with hauteur. “So you know who I am, do you, sirrah? I should like to know who the devil you are and why you’ve had the impertinence to spy upon me. Turn around, but do it carefully. One move toward your sword and I vow I’ll slice your hand clean off.”
“I verily believe you would, mademoiselle.” She heard his voice more clearly this time, deep, a little hoarse like a voice that had permanently roughened from roaring out commands over the smoke of a battlefield . . . Nicolas Remy’s voice.
Gabrielle’s heart skittered and then seemed to stop entirely as her captive swung about to face her. Moonlight etched a gaunt visage all but lost in a wild tangle of hair and beard. The only things soft in that hard face were his eyes of rich, melting
Or Gabrielle could be merely letting her imagination run wild. There was only one way to know for certain. Slowly straightening, she resisted the urge to glance behind her again. Lifting the latch, she swung the gate open. It had been left unlocked according to her instructions. Gabrielle had wanted no curious eyes registering her coming and going this evening, not even any of her own servants. Now she was doubly glad she had left no guard posted, for it would enable her to set a trap.
She entered the courtyard with seeming casualness. Only when she was sure she must be out of view of the street did her demeanor change. She darted into the shadows, flattening herself against the stone wall that surrounded her property, positioning herself only yards away from the gate. Gabrielle inched Remy’s sword free of the scabbard and winced, the rasp of the blade sounding as loud as cannon fire to her ears. Her pulse thudded as she waited for what seemed an interminable length of time.
Perhaps her pursuer would not be rash enough to follow her onto her own grounds. Or having seen her return home, he would conclude there was nothing more to be learned of her movements tonight and simply vanish.
She almost came out of her hiding place when she heard it. The chink of the latch and the creak of the gate as it was being slowly opened. She quickly crouched back again. Gabrielle held her breath as the lean silhouette of a man stole through the open gate.
Moonlight washed over his features and Gabrielle could see that he was indeed an ill-favored varlet with long, tangled hair and a thick beard, his black jerkin and venetians worn and tattered. He paused, glancing from the abandoned walkway to the distant outline of the house and Gabrielle imagined that he must be puzzling over her sudden disappearance. She had best make her move before he had time to figure it out. Her heart banged hard against her ribs, but it was more from excitement than fear, a righteous anger at this interloper.
Gabrielle slipped from her crouching place beside the wall and circled behind him. Her footsteps whispered across the grass as she raised the sword and brought the point to bear directly in the center of his back.
“Don’t move a muscle,” she growled. “Or I’ll run you through where you stand.”
Gabrielle saw him tense, flexing his shoulders. She experienced a fraction of alarm as she realized he was taller and more muscular than she had first assumed. She also noticed too late that he had a weapon strapped to his side.
She had some skill with a blade, but no idea how she’d fare against some strange cutthroat in the dark. It occurred to her that perhaps she’d been a trifle rash to attempt to capture this spy alone. But she had him now. She had to do something with him.
“Raise your hands,” she said fiercely. “Unbuckle your sword and drop it.”
“I can hardly do both, Gabrielle,” he murmured. There was something familiar about the voice that caused her heart to miss a beat. He chose to obey her first command, raising his hands in the air.
Gabrielle recovered from her shock at hearing him use her name so intimately. She infused her voice with hauteur. “So you know who I am, do you, sirrah? I should like to know who the devil you are and why you’ve had the impertinence to spy upon me. Turn around, but do it carefully. One move toward your sword and I vow I’ll slice your hand clean off.”
“I verily believe you would, mademoiselle.” She heard his voice more clearly this time, deep, a little hoarse like a voice that had permanently roughened from roaring out commands over the smoke of a battlefield . . . Nicolas Remy’s voice.
Gabrielle’s heart skittered and then seemed to stop entirely as her captive swung about to face her. Moonlight etched a gaunt visage all but lost in a wild tangle of hair and beard. The only things soft in that hard face were his eyes of rich, melting
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