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which seemed to emanate from upstairs. He grabbed the first item he could lay his hands on, a silver spice holder Sebastian had found in Constantinople, and began to ascend the stairs. He had not gone more than ten steps before he saw a flickering light approaching from below. Figuring he had miscalculated the location of the sound—acoustics were notoriously tricky he knew—he turned to face the nearing light. As the intruder got close, it flashed through Ian’s mind that this must be a pretty audacious criminal, completely unconcerned with concealing himself. Deducing he must therefore be dangerous, Ian decided to take him by surprise.
    Ian sneaked up behind him. Holding his breath, he brought the silver spice container down against the back of the intruder’s head. The criminal gasped, then collapsed onto the floor, unconscious. The candle fell from his hand and was retrieved by Ian. By its light he untied the black mask, but soon wished he had not. There, lying unconscious on the floor, was Bianca. As he stood over her, stunned and astonished, her eyes began to flutter. She groaned in pain as he tried to prop her up against the wall. Finally she opened her eyes.
    And then she opened them even wider. She was completely distracted from the ache in her head by the vision that confronted her. Ian’s naked body was more breathtaking than anything she had imagined in all her hours of imagining live male bodies. His limbs were taut with muscle, his arms and broad shoulders powerful, and his chest covered with golden hair that glimmered in the candlelight and descended past his slim waist into a triangle of darker curls at the junction of his legs. She was so rapt in admiration that she did not notice when he began speaking.
    “Signorina Salva, Bianca, damn it, can you hear me?” he demanded finally, shaking her to get her attention.
    She nodded slowly, dragging her eyes from his body to his face.
    “What the devil do you think you are doing? I might have hurt you.
    “I think you did,” Bianca said, wincing as she felt the bump on the back of her head.
    “You deserve that and more. Who suggested that you could go roaming around the house, dressed like a boy, at all hours?”
    “Oh, no, my lord. You needn’t worry about me roaming around the house. I have hardly been here. I just got back, actually.”
    Ian’s anger was tempered by incredulity. “You went out? Dressed like that? Whatever for?”
    “If you only had seven days to live, wouldn’t you try to enjoy them to the utmost?”
    “But if you were innocent, as you claim, you would have more than seven days to live. Is this a confession?”
    “No. More like my assessment of life married to you.” Bianca hoped to cool the triumph she heard in his voice.
    It worked. She could have sworn she heard Ian growl. But then she realized the noise was coming not from the naked man before her, but from upstairs, in another part of the palazzo. Ian’s head shot around to follow it, both their ears straining in the darkness. Motioning to her to be quiet, Ian turned to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Bianca followed behind slowly, hindered by the sharp pain that went through her body every time she moved her head. Nonetheless, she was grateful to be wearing tight breeches instead of layers of petticoats, which would have made following Ian nearly impossible.
    At the top floor they stopped. Ian put the candle on a console along the wall and made a sign for her to stay there. Her head was aching, and she figured she had already antagonized him beyond endurance for one night, so she dutifully followed his orders. The noise seemed to be coming not from within his laboratory, directly in front of them, but farther along the hall, from hers. Of course, she realized with a flash, whoever had murdered Isabella had probably come in search of the body. What a fool she had been not to have foreseen it and locked herself up here to greet the malefactor when he arrived!