Read Online The Stargazer by Michele Jaffe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michele Jaffe
Ads: Link
Excitement got the better of her restraint, and she began to move more quickly toward Ian. When she reached him, he was turning the door handle slowly.
The door moved inward without a sound. Little by little Ian inched it open, reminding himself to give Giorgio a raise the next day for not having locked it. When the opening was wide enough for him to slip his head through, he silently peered into the room.
The laboratory was empty save for a figure, cloaked in black, with his back to Ian. The window on the far wall had been shattered by the prowler when he entered. Bianca’s instruments had been thrown from their chests and cases and lay scattered around the floor of the room. The figure stood in the midst of them, attentively studying a pile of papers before him. Ian pushed the door open wider and stepped into the room, right onto something sharp. Cursing silently, he slipped closer to the intruder, ready to strike again with the silver spice container.
As he raised it over the intruder’s head, it caught the light of the candle. A reflection flashed across the far wall. The intruder looked up from the papers for a moment, then looked back down apparently unconcerned. But he had been alerted. The man moved just as Ian brought the box down where his head should have been and was at the window before Ian realized what had happened.
Ian was on his heels as the prowler leapt from the window onto the roof of the adjoining house. Ian could see him in the moonlight, moving quickly over the rain-slicked terra-cotta tiles, gripping the pile of papers under one arm and using the other one to maneuver. Barefoot and empty-handed, Ian was able to make better time than his prey. The intruder jumped from one rooftop to the next, with Ian following closely. Ian lost his footing and began to slip, grabbing on to a nearby chimney pot for support. He righted himself and saw that his adversary had also fallen. Scrambling rapidly across the slick tiles, Ian finally caught up to him. He made a wild leap at the man’s shoulders. For a moment the intruder lay pinned under Ian, his heart pounding rapidly.
It occurred to the intruder that if he got caught he would receive no thanks from anyone. Fired by the thought of his mistress’s gratitude, he began to wriggle under the weight of the man on top of him. He ignored the cutting edges of the tile as he fought to break the clasp of his sable cape. All at once, the cape began to slide off, taking the man on top of it with him. Ian cursed and tried to get a handhold on a tile, but the fur cape only moved more quickly down the wet roof. He was going to die, he thought suddenly, naked, sliding on a fur cape down the steep slope of the Widow Falentini’s old house. People would think he must have been mad. Indeed, he must be mad to find himself in this situation. Betrothal to a suspected murderess, a mad chase by moonlight—these could hardly be incidents in the well-ordered life of Ian Foscari. But they were, and he was… damn it, he was enjoying it. Suddenly he wanted to laugh. And he wanted to live. Then he saw the edge of the roof approaching rapidly as the cape continued its perilous descent. With all his strength, Ian reached out and grabbed at two broken tiles, praying they were not loose.
They weren’t. He hung, suspended from two roof tiles, naked in the moonlight. It was only the second time in his life that Ian had felt close to death, but this time was different. The last time his survival had filled him with anguish. He had felt himself longing for death, for his death instead of Christian’s. Now, instead, he felt exhilarated. “You always were good at self-preservation” he heard Mora’s voice sneering, but it seemed unimportant. More important, he realized, feeling the ache in his arms, was pulling himself onto the roof. With a groan, Ian hauled himself up and stood.
He looked down into the dark streets, hoping for a sign of the intruder but knowing he would find none. The
The door moved inward without a sound. Little by little Ian inched it open, reminding himself to give Giorgio a raise the next day for not having locked it. When the opening was wide enough for him to slip his head through, he silently peered into the room.
The laboratory was empty save for a figure, cloaked in black, with his back to Ian. The window on the far wall had been shattered by the prowler when he entered. Bianca’s instruments had been thrown from their chests and cases and lay scattered around the floor of the room. The figure stood in the midst of them, attentively studying a pile of papers before him. Ian pushed the door open wider and stepped into the room, right onto something sharp. Cursing silently, he slipped closer to the intruder, ready to strike again with the silver spice container.
As he raised it over the intruder’s head, it caught the light of the candle. A reflection flashed across the far wall. The intruder looked up from the papers for a moment, then looked back down apparently unconcerned. But he had been alerted. The man moved just as Ian brought the box down where his head should have been and was at the window before Ian realized what had happened.
Ian was on his heels as the prowler leapt from the window onto the roof of the adjoining house. Ian could see him in the moonlight, moving quickly over the rain-slicked terra-cotta tiles, gripping the pile of papers under one arm and using the other one to maneuver. Barefoot and empty-handed, Ian was able to make better time than his prey. The intruder jumped from one rooftop to the next, with Ian following closely. Ian lost his footing and began to slip, grabbing on to a nearby chimney pot for support. He righted himself and saw that his adversary had also fallen. Scrambling rapidly across the slick tiles, Ian finally caught up to him. He made a wild leap at the man’s shoulders. For a moment the intruder lay pinned under Ian, his heart pounding rapidly.
It occurred to the intruder that if he got caught he would receive no thanks from anyone. Fired by the thought of his mistress’s gratitude, he began to wriggle under the weight of the man on top of him. He ignored the cutting edges of the tile as he fought to break the clasp of his sable cape. All at once, the cape began to slide off, taking the man on top of it with him. Ian cursed and tried to get a handhold on a tile, but the fur cape only moved more quickly down the wet roof. He was going to die, he thought suddenly, naked, sliding on a fur cape down the steep slope of the Widow Falentini’s old house. People would think he must have been mad. Indeed, he must be mad to find himself in this situation. Betrothal to a suspected murderess, a mad chase by moonlight—these could hardly be incidents in the well-ordered life of Ian Foscari. But they were, and he was… damn it, he was enjoying it. Suddenly he wanted to laugh. And he wanted to live. Then he saw the edge of the roof approaching rapidly as the cape continued its perilous descent. With all his strength, Ian reached out and grabbed at two broken tiles, praying they were not loose.
They weren’t. He hung, suspended from two roof tiles, naked in the moonlight. It was only the second time in his life that Ian had felt close to death, but this time was different. The last time his survival had filled him with anguish. He had felt himself longing for death, for his death instead of Christian’s. Now, instead, he felt exhilarated. “You always were good at self-preservation” he heard Mora’s voice sneering, but it seemed unimportant. More important, he realized, feeling the ache in his arms, was pulling himself onto the roof. With a groan, Ian hauled himself up and stood.
He looked down into the dark streets, hoping for a sign of the intruder but knowing he would find none. The
Similar Books
