When her turn came, Chloe Sinclair greeted her, her Italian stilted by a clipped British accent. Dani’s opinion of Rafael sunk lower when she came close enough to see the burning light of narcissism gleaming in the actress’s blue eyes. She seemed drunk on vanity, basking shamelessly in her position as Prince Rafael’s hostess. It was all Dani could do to make herself spare the actress a dismissive nod. Ms. Sinclair seemed instantly offended by Dani’s lack of enthusiasm toward her. Her wanton-looking mouth stiffened, but Dani looked away and walked on in disdain.
She decided not to waste one more moment indulging her lurid curiosity about the prince’s private affairs. Somewhere inside this menagerie of vice, a little boy was waiting for her to rescue him.
She began weaving her way uncertainly through the crowd toward the edge of the gilded ballroom. She passed an absurd fountain spewing arcs of wine from the mouths of silver fishes. She rounded clusters of chatting guests, the women in lavish gowns in every color of the rainbow, though most of the men wore black. A few of the wilder guests were bizarrely arrayed in costumes as though it were Carnevale.
Staring every which way, she dodged footmen carrying trays of wineglasses and lovely antipasti—little pieces of smoked swordfish garnished with the orange pulp of sea urchins, sweet cheeses, snails and caviar, and baby octopus, pink as coral, marinated in pungent lemon. There were fruits—candied figs and apricots, peaches in wine, wheel-shaped slices of oranges covered in sugar-fuzz, garnished with the sweet mint that grew wild on Ascencion.
A footman paused to offer her a thimbleful of his cordials, a sticky-sweet blackberry liqueur, but she didn’t dare imbibe, and though the exotic delicacies tempted her, she was too nervous over her mission to eat a thing.
She passed one of the young lords of Rafael’s entourage who had cornered a woman against a pillar, smiling as he fed her an oyster from the half-shell, stroking her throat as she tilted her head back to swallow it, her eyes closed.
A whisper of sensuality slid through Dani’s veins at the sight of the lovers, but she quickly lowered her gaze and hurried by, hearing him murmuring to the woman that oysters were an aphrodisiac.
Blushing intensely, she stole guilty glances at the other young lords of the prince’s inner circle. They stood nearby, edgy and sleek, like fierce birds of prey. Intense and jaded, they monitored the crowd. Dani could not help but notice among them the sullen and gorgeous Adriano di Tadzio, whose dark, seductive beauty put most of the women in the room to shame.
She winced at the memory of the night she had robbed him as the Masked Rider, but if he hadn’t been so haughty, perhaps she wouldn’t have gone out of her way to humiliate him.
Moving on, she recognized the fair-haired, thin, and amiable Viscount Elan Berelli, who was perhaps the only one of them who could be counted as a decent human being. His big nose, slightly hunched posture, and forward head gave him the look of a friendly buzzard. They said he was being groomed as the future prime minister.
Then she heard deep, worldly laughter from no more than six feet away and froze in her tracks.
Looking slowly over her shoulder, she saw Rafael, towering like a golden colossus amid a cluster of women and men who stared up at him, entranced, hanging on his every word.
Dani stared, too, unable to tear her gaze away. At the sight of him, a tangle of emotions thrashed inside of her like a net full of fish being pulled up from the sea. So, she thought with a strangely anguished longing that her bravado couldn’t quite mask, the god had descended to bask in the adulation of his worshipers. Apollo, perhaps.
The most eligible bachelor in the world.
Her gaze took in his sun-streaked hair, his bronzed skin, the white flash of his scoundrel’s smile, the strong, dynamic features of his face, carved with indomitable will, but tempered by the gentleness in his eyes, the strength of his innate noblesse oblige. He had thick golden brown eyebrows and a deliciously sensual mouth. On any other man, his sapphire-blue coat would have been foppish. On him, the effect was splendid, the flamboyance of his long hair and jewel-toned coat tempered by the stately reserve of his starchy cravat and the forceful intelligence in his green-and-topaz eyes.
She caught her breath and looked away, his magnificent image emblazoned on her mind.
She cursed herself for admiring a notorious rake, but she had to admit that Prince Rafael was the superior of every man in the room by something more than the happenstance of rank—something intangible. She could feel his effortless dominance in her blood as surely as he stood there. Worse, she was not immune to it.
Ignoring the uncontrollable surge of her reaction to him, she forced herself back into motion, pressing onward in her quest.
She didn’t need his friendship, his pity, or his lavish, unprincipled offers. She didn’t need him—or any man. She could take care of herself. She always had.
At last, she came to the edge of the ballroom and slipped away through a salon. She found herself in a dim, empty hallway, and immediately stole down it. At the end of the corridor, she alighted a glistening marble staircase. The steps zigzagged back and forth three flights until she arrived at the top floor. She searched the corridors, calling Gianni’s name as loudly as she dared, to no avail. She hurried to search the next floor down and repeated the process, trying every door.
It did not help matters that half of the hallways had trick trompe l’oeil paintings at the end of them. More than once she walked straight into a wall, thinking, thanks to the three-dimensional illusions of the paintings, that the hall continued on, or that she was entering some new room.
No doubt Prince Rafael would have laughed at her, country bumpkin that she was.
When she had exhausted all possibilities in that section to no avail, she returned to the stairs and tried another wing of the palace, repeating the process. Again, there was no sign of the child.
By the time she searched the second floor of yet another wing, she had begun to despair. Perhaps Rafael had moved Gianni to another building. Still, she moved resolutely down the hall, calling his name as loudly as she dared.
Suddenly, from down the hall, she heard a faint, muffled owl’s call—Gianni’s usual signal. Drawing in her breath, she quickly found the room in which he had been closeted.
“Lady Dan, is that you? I’m in here! In here! The door’s locked, Dan!”
“Gianni! Hold on, I’ll get you out of there!”
Quickly sliding a hairpin from her coiffure, she leaned down, concentrating on the lock. She tipped her satin half-mask up over her forehead so that she could see better in the dimly lit hallway. Carefully, she picked the lock, frustrated with the time it took her as the moments dragged. Lock-picking was not her forte, but at last she heard the bolt turn. She opened the door and whirled in.
“Gianni!” She rushed to him, grasping him by his thin little shoulders to examine the child with a worried, sweeping glance. “Are you all right? Have they hurt you?”
Suddenly she stopped. The boy was wearing a neatly pressed skeleton suit with knee-length trousers, a little jacket, and an expertly tied miniature cravat. His hair was lightly oiled and combed over to the side.
“Good Lord, Gianni, what have they done to you?” she exclaimed. “You’re clean!”
“Yeah!” he said angrily. “The batty old housekeeper made me get a bath and put these patsy clothes on!”
“Take off those shoes,” she said at once. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”
“Good, ’cause I’m bored.” The boy plopped down on the rug and began pulling the shoes off.
Dani walked away marveling that he was in a better condition than when she’d last seen him. “Not bad quarters you’ve got here.”
“Guess what, Dan? The batty old lady told me this room is where Prince Leo stays when he visits his big brother.”
“Really?” she asked, glancing around.
“Yep, he’s ten, just like me. I wish I was a prince. How are we gonna escape, Lady Dan?”
His question snapped her out of her surprise that Rafael had placed Gianni in his own royal brother’s bedroom. “With this.” She pulled the sheets off the child-sized bed, coiled them into a rope, and began tying knots in it, each about one foot apart. Then she walked to the double windows, opening them as wide as they would go. Seeing that her makeshift rope ladder would not yet reach the ground, she pulled down the damask curtains and added them. Then she knotted the rope firmly around the post of the bed and threw the length of it out the window.
“Your escape ladder, my lord,” she said grandly, hoping that a playful manner would lessen the boy’s fright. Only Gianni wasn’t at all frightened.
He peered down, then looked at her in excitement. “Do I get to go on that?”
“Do you think you can hold on tight and climb down all by yourself?”
“Of course! I’ve climbed trees lots higher than that.”
She didn’t doubt it. Still, she looked over the two-story height in worry, then crouched down before Gianni and held him by the shoulders, staring into his eyes. “Take your time going down. The rope ladder will bring you to the roof over that balcony, but it looks like you’ll have to climb down the rose trellis to reach the ground. Be brave, and please, Gianni, hold on as tight as you can.”
He gave her a long-suffering look. “Why do you always treat me like a baby?”
She ignored him. “Brace your feet on the knots. When you get to the bottom, run to those hedges. See?” She pointed. “When you reach the hedges, turn right—which hand is your right?”
He lifted his right hand.
“Good. Follow alongside the hedges. Run as fast as you can and when you come to the wooden gate, go out. Your mother is waiting for you on the other side. She’s got the wagon, and that’s how you’re going to get away. Have you got all that?”
He nodded.
Her frown deepened and she gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Be very careful, Gianni.”
He grinned. “I’m not scared!” Spry as a little monkey, he climbed up onto the windowsill, firmly grasping the rope. “You know, Lady Dan, he’s not that bad.”
“Who?”
“Rafe.”
“Rafe!” she exclaimed. “You’re speaking of the crown prince! Rafe?”
“He said I could call him that.”
“Did he?” she echoed warily. “You spoke with him?”
“Oh, sure. He came here after lunch and had milk and cookies with me. He showed me a good card trick. He was asking me all kinds of questions.”
“About the Masked Rider?” she asked worriedly.
“Some,” he said. “I told him I don’t know who the Masked Rider is. Then, you know what? He started asking about Mateo—and you.” The boy laughed in hilarity. “He thinks Mateo’s sweet on you. He was awful curious about you, Lady Dan.”
She scowled. “That’s enough out of you now. Go on and get out of here. You haven’t got all night and your mother is waiting down there. When midnight comes, your brothers are going to blast out of jail. You have to be ready to flee.”
His small fingers gripped the first knot. “What are you gonna do?”
She glanced over her shoulder, sorely tempted to return to the ball and solve the problem of her taxes once and for all. She had noticed an untold fortune in jewels dangling from throats and wrists. Since Rafael’s soldiers had recovered the gold she had tried to steal last night, she still did not have the means to pay Count Bulbati’s latest round of taxes. It was as good an opportunity as she could hope for. True, she was a highway robber, not a pickpocket, but soon the guests would be too drunk even to notice if they were robbed. Besides, when the Gabbiano brothers were gone away to Naples, there would be no more highway robberies. She could not pull off her feats of valor single-handedly.
“I just want to go ask some questions about where the king has gone away to,” she said, reluctant to let the boy know she was up to thieving again, for she had not set him a very good moral example. “I won’t be long.”
The child nodded gravely.
“Now go on. I’ll be right here watching you.” Dani gripped the edge of the windowsill, her heart pounding as the boy moved down the rope, knot by knot. He paused about halfway down. She saw him glance toward the lawn, then he craned his neck and peered up at her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Is that a peacock down there on the grass?” he called in a loud whisper.
She glanced over. “Yes.”
“Do peacocks really peck people’s feet if they ain’t wearing any shoes?”
“No, Gianni. For heaven’s sake, who told you that?”
“Rafe!”
“Well, he lies an awful lot. Keep going. You’re almost there.”
A few moments later, the boy reached the balcony, clambered down the trellis, and stepped onto the grass. She quickly threw his new shoes down to him. He grabbed them, paused only to wave at her, then darted across the lawn toward the hedges just as she had instructed. She followed his progress worriedly.
Finally he came to the break in the hedges and disappeared. She waited a few more minutes just to be sure he had gotten away safely, then she gathered the rope ladder in through the window again.
At last, her mission complete, she steadied herself with a deep breath, smoothed her hair, and folded her hands demurely over her stomach as she braced herself to return to the ballroom.
Cloaked in shadows, his hands resting on the railing, Rafe had returned to the narrow gallery girding the dome’s base. Observing his guests, he wondered vaguely how the presence of a thousand people was not enough to dispel his restless, lonely mood.
A party on a night like this seemed all wrong.
He took another long drink, ignoring the inner warning that he’d had too much already.
Twenty-four hours had passed since he’d become the most powerful man on Ascencion, but he felt no change inside himself yet, no easing of the hollowness that he had been so sure would be filled when he grasped his destiny. He was now the kingdom’s supreme authority—yet here he was, the star guest of another ghastly party, as though nothing had changed.
Perhaps things never would change for him, he mused, chilled by the thought. Perhaps he would expire of boredom and emptiness. Pleasure he had tasted in every subtle shade, but would he never know contentment?