Sighing as he scanned the crowd below, he saw his mistress holding court near the punch table, dazzling her rapt audience. His friends sauntered through the crowd, keeping their eyes and ears open for the barest whisper of any sort of treachery against the king.
No proof of poisoning had been found in the doctors’ files, but even now Rafe was having the royal pantries emptied and every food item tested in the university laboratories by having it fed to cats. He was sure the animals would merely grow fat and happy, for he could not imagine anyone wanting to poison the great King Lazar. No doubt he had merely been seeing too many gothic plays and melodramatic operas lately, but better safe than sorry.
Then he heaved another long sigh, his expression faraway as he gazed down at the festive throng, feeling in no way a part of it.
Maybe Father had been right. He usually was, blast him. Perhaps it was not merely power that would make him happy, but a more settled life as a husband and father. Frankly, though, the prospect sounded deadly boring to him.
He had done his best to try to settle on one of the five young women who had been selected as possible brides for him, but so far all seemed equally undesirable.
The first was a ravishing beauty—with a greedy gleam in her dark eyes that he did not trust. The second was a wit and had even written some published essays on virtuous conduct—but that was the last thing he needed, someone to excise all his endearing character flaws out of him—a moral surgeon of a wife. No, thank you, he thought.
The third was virtuous, a chaste young saint known for her piety, and far be it from him to sully her. The fourth looked sickly and frail. Childbirth would surely kill her. And the last was a big, apple-cheeked butterball of a Bavarian princess with a jolly look about her that Rafe liked immensely, but his friends had assured him that the courtiers and ladies would destroy the girl with their cruel mockery, and he knew they were right.
He frowned to himself. It shouldn’t really matter which one he picked, yet somehow he had always thought when he married that it would be for—
What an idiot you are,
he told himself, forbidding himself from finishing the thought. Clearly it was time for more champagne.
He was just about to go for a fresh drink to nurse his dejection when he noticed a striking young girl in the crowd moving along carefully, warily—for all the world like a little ginger cat stealing through a garden. He paused, staring at her from a distance with a sudden leap of his heart.
Is that my redhead?
Realizing it was indeed none other than she—the gunpowder girl who could ride standing astride her horse’s back—he leaned his elbows on the rail, beginning to smile.
So, the little minx came after all.
Ha. I knew I saw her looking at me,
he thought in amused satisfaction. Well, it was a lady’s prerogative to change her mind.
Rafe gazed at young Lady Daniela in heartfelt male appreciation. Her slender figure was clad in light blue, with a dark blue half-mask over her eyes. It did not conceal her identity from him. There was something so unique and rare about her he would have known her in a crowd ten times this size. Her upswept hair glowed a rich chestnut hue in the bright lighting from the chandeliers.
An obvious provincial, she looked adorably out of place in this glamorous, decadent crowd. He shook his head to himself, feeling a curious surge of fondness. Scanning the crowd around her, he saw no sign either of escort or chaperon. Wryly, he lifted a brow. Maybe she had finally caught the hint after all.
One thing he knew—she was out of her depth here, all right. Even now he saw Niccolo, one of his unscrupulous friends, presenting himself to her. In moments, Lady Daniela was backed against the nearby marble pillar before an onslaught of roguish flirtation.
Rafe watched for a couple minutes, his brow knit in consternation, then he smiled for her in the shadows as she extricated herself from Niccolo’s attentions and moved on.
He decided he had better whisk her under his wing before one of the others pounced on her. God knew, if anyone around here was going to pounce on her, it was going to be him. Indeed, that sounded like exactly what he needed right now to cheer him up.
He called for Adriano and Tomas, who were sitting in the room behind him, smoking and arguing about horse racing. They quickly appeared at his side. He nodded toward the crowd.
“Do you see the red-haired girl in the blue dress near the palm over there?”
“Who is she?” Adriano asked.
“Her name is none of your concern,” he chided with a narrow smile, never taking his stare from Daniela.
“Pretty thing,” Tomas remarked, resting his elbows on the rail as he studied her.
“I want her,” Rafe murmured. “Bring her to me.”
Tomas looked over uncertainly at him, as though unsure if he was serious or joking. “You’re sure about that? She looks awfully young. Things are different now that you’re the regent, Rafe. You can’t just…” His voice trailed off.
Rafe held a chilly, reproachful silence, not deigning to explain himself, nor breaking his fixed stare on the girl. He watched her move with lithe grace through the crowd. The caution in her furtive glances as she went sneaking along made him smile faintly to himself. What was the little minx up to?
Ah, but he’d always had a weakness for strays.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Tomas said at last, sounding stung, but he withdrew with a slight bow. “Where should we bring her?”
“My bedchamber,” Rafe added barely audibly.
“Naturally. Come on,” Tomas muttered to Adriano.
Rafe wet his dry lips in anticipation. Would she fight or flee…or yield?
A good game, a very good game.
His friends had only taken a few steps away when Adriano abruptly whirled around.
“What about Chloe?” he burst out with his usual air of torment.
Rafe continued watching the girl. “What about her?”
“She cares for you, Rafe!”
For a long moment, he didn’t move, then he merely looked at Adriano, keenly feeling the huge gulf that existed now between him and even his closest friends.
True, he had often felt isolated in their midst, perhaps because of his rank or perhaps because so many of them had no vision for their lives beyond the pleasure of the moment, but at least he had never lacked for company. Now, no matter what comfortable posts he gave his loyal friends in service to Ascencion, he knew they could never contemplate the burden, the weight of responsibility, that rested solely on him. He was only beginning to grasp the full enormity of it himself. He was certainly in no mood to admit to Adriano or anyone else that his new role had him scared as hell.
“I’m waiting,” he said coolly instead.
Adriano turned away in disgust. “I don’t even know you anymore.”
As they walked away, Rafe felt more alone in that moment than he ever had in his life. He didn’t move from his spot at the rail, but his gaze fell and with a familiar, hollow feeling in his chest, he wondered if this was the prize he had been waiting for.
Dani had just slipped out of the ladies’ lounge, where she had snagged an emerald necklace off a woman who had imbibed so much wine she had passed out on a divan. Slipping the necklace into her pocket, she made her way toward the exit, her heart pounding wildly, when two of the prince’s friends stepped into her path.
She drew in her breath, the way blocked before her.
She didn’t know the brown-haired one, who was smiling uneasily at her, but the other was the raven-haired demigod Adriano di Tadzio.
He looked her over in arrogant contempt. “Is this the one?” he asked his friend.
“Good evening, miss,” said the brown-haired fellow with a short, gallant bow, though his smile was a trifle sheepish.
“Come with us,” di Tadzio growled, grasping her about the wrist.
Horror flooded her.
My God
—
I’m caught!
Before she could react, they each took one of her elbows and began propelling her toward the edge of the ballroom. “What is this about?” she cried frantically—guiltily.
“You’ll see.” When she tried to yank her arm away, Adriano merely tightened his grip.
She struggled, her heart pounding, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end in sheer terror. People began staring as she was all but dragged away.
“Please don’t make a scene, miss,” said the brown-haired man apologetically. “That would be embarrassing for all of us.”
She fought to compose herself. “Am I under arrest?” she asked with forced calm.
They looked at each other and laughed.
“Am I?” she cried.
“Let’s just say there’s someone who’d like to make your acquaintance,” Adriano growled. “Up the stairs. Walk!”
“Easy, di Tadzio! She’s just a girl,” said the other in annoyance.
Sensing a possible ally, Dani stopped on the steps and gave the brown-haired young man a beseeching look. “Please let me go. I won’t make any trouble—”
Adriano pulled her hurt arm. “Come on, you little slut.”
She gasped. “How dare you! You’re hurting me!”
“Di Tadzio, there’s no need to be rough!”
Adriano ignored the other man and leered at her. “Rough? Wait till
he
gets his hands on you. Then you’ll see what rough is. He’s a beast with his women, you know.”
“Who?” Dani cried, aghast.
“Leave her alone, di Tadzio!” said the other in annoyance. “Ignore him, miss. He’s temperamental and he’s just trying to scare you. Nobody’s going to harm you.”
Adriano’s gaze flicked derisively over her. “This, over Chloe Sinclair.”
Dani said nothing, going cold with fear. She made a mental note of her surroundings and the path they took through the sumptuous corridors. Whatever their plans for her, she was determined to escape. The two men brought her to the third floor, where Adriano opened a door, staring at her with a smirk as the brown-haired man gestured her into the room.
“Please, wait! Tell me what’s going on!” She struggled, wedging herself in the way as they tried to pull the door closed. “I haven’t done anything wrong! Don’t leave me here!”
Adriano laughed apathetically, but the brown-haired man shook his head and pressed her back into the room. “Don’t worry, miss. You’ll be compensated.”
“What do you mean?”
But with a mild look of regret, he closed the door in her face. Crestfallen, Dani heard the lock click from the outside. She listened at the door and heard them arguing idly as they walked away. Her heart sank. She turned around slowly, leaned against the door, and surveyed her cell. She was alone.
Compared to the brightly lit ballroom, the chamber was dim in the flickering glow of one candle. She could make out a couch, a small table, and an armchair. A sitting room of some kind, she thought. A deep, heavy quiet hung in the room. Only the orchestra’s music seeped up, muffled, through the floor.
Looking around, she saw a doorway and instantly wondered if she could escape through there. She ran for it, dodging the furniture in the dark, but as she flung into the doorway, she froze, her eyes widening.
Soft candlelight revealed an enormous bed with high, carved posts and a towering Baroque headboard inlaid with mirrors. Rose-colored satin sheets were turned back invitingly, and an opened bottle of wine with two glasses waited on the night table.
“Hello.”
She nearly screamed. Leaping back a step, her gaze whipped around the large, dim bedchamber.
The commanding figure of a man sat in a wing chair in the shadowy far corner. As she watched, wide-eyed, he rose and sauntered slowly toward her, but even before she saw his face in the candlelight, she knew that combustible presence, that deep, caressing voice.
She stood mesmerized as Prince Rafael emerged from the gloom, princely and golden and huge, a mighty, fallen angel sauntering toward her from the shadows.
His stare was fixed on her. The candlelight contoured his angular face with shadow and flame, and reached tawny depths in his tarnished-gold hair. Chips of gold glowed in his marble-green eyes, and though his sculpted face was austere, his mouth was voluptuous. She gazed at him, transfixed, as he slowly approached, hands in pockets. Moving casually and with deceptive laziness, he crossed the room to her, advancing relentlessly until she found herself flattened back against the doorframe.
He towered over her, mere inches away, his beauty and sheer size humbling her, his aura of physical strength overwhelming her.
She dropped her head, her breathing shallow and quick. Flustered, confused, she could not bear to look up at him. Her whole body blushed, going hot, cold, hot again under his unnerving, silent perusal.
Had he found out she was the Masked Rider?
If Gianni had been bullied into revealing her identity, surely the child would have warned her.
What should she do? Confess? Throw herself on his mercy?
Grovel
—
to him? Never!
she vowed, finding courage enough at last to tilt her head back and hold his gaze, though inwardly she quaked. Until she knew for certain she was caught, she would blasted well keep her mouth shut.
“I’m so pleased you decided to come, Daniela. I was having a dismal birthday.”
Prince Rafael slid his right hand out of his pocket and traced his fingertip over her blue satin half-mask with a tiny caress down the slope of her nose. His fingertip trailed enticingly over her lips, her chin, and down along the line of her throat. “Do you know,” he murmured, “what I want for my birthday?”
“W-wasn’t a country enough for you?” she whispered, trembling at his touch.
He smiled faintly with a satyric glint in his eye. She looked away, flustered and blushing, her heart beating rapidly in her throat. Was this his manner of punishing her for her crimes? It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, what he intended, what he knew, but the spell of his potency made her head spin.
“I have a confession to make,” he whispered. “I’m a little drunk, I’m afraid, and can’t be held responsible for my actions.”
“Good Lord!” Paling, she tried to back away from him, but could only flatten herself back against the doorframe. His big, lean body blocked her escape.