The Stargazer by Michele Jaffe Page A

actually, to see if she could still arouse him as she usually did, even in his satiated state. Years ago he had made unobtrusive holes along one wall of her room, facing a mirror, and he had spent hours watching her reflection bathe and dress. He knew every mark on her body, every perfect curve, every adorable dimple.
    He had been infuriated to learn of her absence, even more so of her betrothal, but when he learned the identity of her betrothed, fury cooled to curiosity. Bianca and the Conte d’Aosto. There was something decidedly suspicious about this sudden betrothal, especially about its timing. Eager to know more, he had instantly corralled his mother and sister into making a call on the bride-to-be. But the results so far had been disappointing. None of the members of the household seemed the least put out by the betrothal, and Bianca was as nervy—and enticing—as ever. Whatever was going on, and there had to be something substantial to compel his stubborn cousin into marriage, was being very well concealed. He was wasting his time in polite social calls, he decided.
    Suddenly impatient, he rose and bowed. “We shall be sorry to lose your company at Ca’Grifalconi.” Angelo spoke politely, but his words somehow rang false. “And while I am green with envy, I am sure you will make d’Aosto a perfect wife.” Bianca recalled the curse she had pronounced on Ian’s head just minutes before and wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan.
    Angelo took her hand and was about to put it to his lips when he noticed it was stained with ink.
    “Have you spent these first days of your betrothal working? Cutting up dead cats and whatnot and committing their organs to paper?” He spoke with unconcealed disdain.
    Bianca’s heart started to pound. “One must stay busy, you know,” she said in a voice she hoped did not tremble.
    “You must admit, cara signorina, you have spent an unseemly amount of time in the laboratory upstairs since you got here. Why, just—” Bianca cut Francesco off with a look that might have killed a lesser man.
    “Laboratory, eh? Angelo’s curiosity was finally being rewarded. “I would love to take a look at where a dottoressa works. Could I go there with you now, cousin?” As he spoke, he gripped her hand tighter and began to lead her to the door.
    “I am afraid Signorina Salva does not have time to show you her work space today.” Roberto’s soft voice came from where he stood next to the fireplace. “We have so much planning to do for the party that her time is completely occupied.”
    Bianca tried to keep the question out of her eyes as she looked over at Roberto. “Yes, yes, thank you for reminding me, Dottore Collona, I am much too busy. Perhaps another time, cousin.” She turned to smile at Angelo, pulling her hand from his grasp. Out of nowhere, a young servant appeared to usher the Grifalconi visitors out. Bianca curtsied as her aunt brushed by her, and stood to kiss Analinda on both cheeks. Angelo was the last to go, bowing deeply to her before taking his leave. As the door closed behind them, Analinda could be heard asking her mother who Midas was and if he had any unmarried sons.
    Bianca, Roberto, and Francesco looked at each other and began to laugh.
    “That was a lovely visit. Quite nice of them to come,” Francesco said finally, slightly out of breath. Then, turning to Roberto, he asked, “But what’s all this about a party? Why am I the last to know?”
    “I only thought of it at that moment, but I am embarrassed we did not plan it earlier. No matter what strange circumstances have brought about this betrothal,” here he turned a questioning eye on Bianca, “we should at least observe the proprieties. There must be a party to introduce the new couple.”
    “Indeed, of course, yes quite. And there hasn’t been a party here since that witch Mor—” Francesco was cut off by a sharp look from Roberto. “For quite some time.”
    Roberto needn’t have bothered, for