Even the choral galleries were jammed full. She did not want to wonder what all these haughty aristocrats, courtiers, and ladies truly thought of her.
The pipe organ’s song blared to its crescendo and faded into silence. A hush fell. Elan looked over at Dani and gave her a firm nod.
On cue, Grandfather started down the aisle like an ancient knight advancing relentlessly on an enemy. The organ music resumed with a subdued, stately hymn that sounded like Vivaldi.
Dani kept her gaze fixed on Rafael. Feet planted shoulder length apart, hands clasped behind his back, he stood coolly at the foot of the altar, where, in a sea of flowers, countless priests stood fanned out in a half-circle behind the red-robed Cardinal whom Rafael had imported from Rome, going over the bishop’s head after his refusal to marry them. The candlelight played gorgeously over their rich robes of ruby and garnet, sapphire and gold.
How in the world had he brought all of this together so quickly? she wondered as they walked slowly down the aisle. The man had but to wave his hand and what he desired came to be.
She ceased trying to make herself believe it was real then.
Of course this wasn’t really happening to her. In all likelihood, she thought, keeping her chin high and her walk slow, she was probably still in jail, in solitary confinement, hallucinating all of it.
A third of the way from the altar, she could see her groom more clearly.
Golden, magnificent Rafael.
He was so beautiful her knees went weak.
He was splendidly arrayed in the full-dress uniform of the Royal Cavalry, of which the crown prince was always the honorary commander. He was wearing a black-cinched white coat with shiny gold buttons notched up to his suntanned throat, dark blue breeches, and a jeweled saber. His tawny mane was neatly tamed, but encircling his proud brow was the simply detailed circlet of solid gold that proclaimed his status as master of all the land.
His golden green gaze moved softly, possessively over her, then he held out one white-gloved hand to her as she came closer. She barely noticed her grandfather’s teary-eyed smile as she rested her hand on Rafael’s and went with him to the altar.
The wedding itself was a blur. The only moment that pierced her complete, overwhelmed daze was when she and Rafael knelt, side by side, on the velvet-cushioned prie-dieux to receive the Holy Eucharist. She sneaked a sideward glance at him and spied him praying. His eyes closed, head bowed, sword at his side, he was like a medieval knight consecrating himself for battle.
She looked away quickly, moved to the core by his chivalrous beauty.
Suddenly, after a seeming eternity of prayers, Gospel admonitions that he must be a faithful husband and she an obedient wife, assorted Bible readings, songs, and amens, the wedding was done. Dani could barely even remember saying her vows, she had been so numb throughout. The genial-looking cardinal beamed at them, nodding his permission that Rafael could now kiss the bride.
When he turned to her, the holy knight she had glimpsed vanished. The wicked little smile he sent her was pure rogue. He took a step toward her, mischief in his eyes.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” she breathed. Eyes widening, she pulled back, certain he was going to half-ravish her in front of the thousands of people just because that’s what everyone expected Rafe the Rake to do.
But then, quizzically, his scoundrel’s grin softened to a tender smile of reassurance. Gently, he took the edge of her veil between his fingertips.
“This is the last mask that shall ever hide you from me, my darling wife,” he whispered. Then he lifted the gauzy netting over her head and took her face between his gloved hands.
Dani was aware of every living body in the church leaning forward as Rafael lowered his mouth to hers. But as his lips softly caressed hers with exquisite warmth, she forgot them all, everything.
She did not quite hear the thunderous applause when it broke out, nor the cardinal’s proclamation as she reached for her husband’s shoulders to steady herself, weak and whirling inwardly.
Smiling against her mouth, he went on kissing her. And on and on and on…
The lavish feast that followed took place in the banquet hall of the royal palace with Rafe presiding over the head table. His wineglass dangling between his fingers, he leaned back idly in his chair, sated and at ease after the meal. His mood was expansive. He sloshed the wine in the glass, making it whirl lightly.
Rafael di Fiore: married man,
he mused. As his gaze moved over the heads of his guests at their large circular tables—there were about four hundred of his loyal friends, key nobles, and their wives gathered noisily together—he found himself filled with a deep, pleasing sense of pater familias. All that was lacking now was a row of adorable, obedient, and robustly healthy little Rafaels sitting at his table. That would come soon enough.
“Everyone must be married,” he declared. “I shall make it a law.”
“Then I am moving to China,” Niccolo announced.
Elan smiled. A few of the others laughed. Most had resigned themselves to his marriage to the girl who had plagued them so relentlessly, accepting it with humor once their tempers had cooled.
“What could be better than this?” Rafe went on, musing aloud. “A fine meal. The cool of evening wafting in through the open doors. Laughter from the throats of friends who would gladly lay down their lives for me, and here, at my right hand,” he said, capturing Daniela’s fingers gently, “my sweet and lovely wife.”
At his light touch, Daniela glanced anxiously at him, then immediately dropped her gaze to her untouched plate. She looked like she wanted to bolt for freedom.
He smiled faintly, watching her creamy apricot complexion grow tinged with a light cherry hue. His intrepid bride was visibly flustered but did not move her hand away. Oh, no, he thought in wry approval, her pride forbade it. He turned his hand to stroke hers lightly with his fingertips, listening to the fanciful, gracefully airy melody from the harp, flute, and violin trio who played nearby.
How will she be in bed?
he wondered, watching her, but he could already guess and the knowledge moved him and aroused him intensely.
A trembling ingenue with the soul of a wildcat.
He curled her hand over his fingers and lifted it to his lips. He brushed a lingering kiss over her knuckles and held her nervous gaze. When she peered up at him from under her cinnamon lashes, he gave her a soft, reassuring smile.
“You haven’t touched your plate,” he murmured. She had been visibly overwhelmed all night, startled every time somebody addressed her as
Your Highness.
“Not hungry?”
She wet her lips with a shy flick of her tongue, shook her head. “I…can’t.”
He set down his wineglass and enfolded her small hand between both of his. He leaned toward her, elbows on the table. Holding her hand close to his lips, he studied her face.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” he murmured.
She tried to pull her hand away, scowling lightly. He held it more tightly, his smile widening.
“Don’t make a display of yourself in front of all these people, I beg you,” she whispered.
“What people?” he asked softly. “I only see one person. One…lovely young woman who shines like the silver moon, the princess of all the skies. My wife.” He kissed her hand again.
She looked at him skeptically, then her gaze flicked back nervously to the throng.
“You’ll get used to it, darling,” he said, his tone intimate. “You’ll soon learn to ignore them.”
“How do I get used to you?”
“Well, I wouldn’t want you to get too used to me. I would never want to bore you.” Eyes dancing, he stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “Darling, you and I merely need a little time to get to know each other better. Don’t fear me.”
She lowered her gaze and was very still.
“What is it, Daniela?”
She gave a small shrug.
Rafe stared at her. A wave of protectiveness washed through him the likes of which he had not felt since he was a boy. Her shyness, her painful vulnerability, struck him as unutterably endearing.
“Are you tired?” he asked gently.
She nodded, still blushing, still refusing to meet his gaze.
He reached to caress her cheek. “Why don’t you go up to bed?” he suggested as his heart began to pound.
Slowly, she looked at him and searched his face, new desperation in her remarkable aquamarine eyes. Leaving his hand atop hers, he leaned toward her and kissed her satiny, glowing cheek, ignoring the cheers when he did so, the thunderous clanking of dinner knives on crystal goblets.
“There is nothing to fear,” he whispered into her ear, nuzzling her cheek gently. “I promise.”
She turned to him, her great eyes brimming with bottled turmoil, youthful wretchedness written all over her pale, guileless face. He stared at her, wanting her from the core of his soul. He had been patient; he had been good. Tonight he would claim his reward.
“Very well,” she said barely audibly. She began pushing back from the table, looking anywhere but at him.
He sprang at once from his chair and was behind her in an instant, pulling out her chair from the table, giving her his steadying hand as she rose. She kept her stare riveted to the floor, her cheeks positively crimson as he escorted her from the table and down the few steps from the dais. In the corridor just outside the banquet hall, they stopped. She lifted her chin and searched his eyes with an expression of virginal panic.
“You need some time alone. I understand.” One hand resting in a gallant pose behind his back, he bowed to kiss her hand one last time.
She nodded once and pulled her hand from his grasp.
It was a good thing he had forbidden the court from carrying out the ancient tradition of escorting the royal newlyweds to their bedroom, he thought in tender amusement as he watched her flee from him, her gauzy, pale gold train billowing out behind her. He shook his head to himself, smiling faintly as she hurried down the dim corridor. She’d probably swoon of shame when he merely handed off the blooded sheets to the palace steward, for it was necessary to provide this traditional evidence of the bride’s virginity.
It’s about time, ginger cat,
he thought.
It’s about time.
He had a feeling that tonight he was in for the game of his life.
Shaken to the core of her heart, Dani fled down the hallway, fighting tears. What was he doing to her? Cruel, despicable man! Why must he toy with her when she knew he had only married her for his secret agendas?
“Darling?”
Why was he calling her darling? She’d rather be called a cabbage than that. She did not want to see kindness in his golden green eyes. Why was he making this so hard on her?
She clung to the facts. She knew what she knew about Rafael di Fiore. He was a womanizer, a rakehell with endless appetites, and this marriage was a travesty. Why, just a few nights ago, he’d had her, a total stranger, dragged to his room—brought to him like a midnight snack!
Well, he could do his worst, but his charm was not going to work on her! she thought in a vengeance as she gained the stairs, servants whisking out of her way, showing her the path. He would not succeed in stealing her heart, no matter how tender his gazes, how gentle his words.
Gaining the opulent chamber she had been assigned, she tore free of the bridal gown with a maid’s help. Ripping the tiara out of her hair, fighting her way out of the corset, she finally felt like herself again when she was wearing nothing but a plain chemise. She sent the maids away. At last she could breathe.
She went to the balcony and inhaled deeply of the cool night air. She lifted her fingertips to her temples, her head throbbing.
The last thing she wanted was Rafael di Fiore trying to tell her how
beautiful
she was, she thought with an inward sneer. What a pack of lies! Chloe Sinclair was beautiful, not her.
Forcing a deep breath, she shrugged some of the tension out of her shoulders, gazing out over a splendid view of the city, the elegant mansard roof of the palace sloping gently away from the small balcony.
The celebration in the city was still in full swing, judging by the distant noise and lights, with the occasional fireworks going off. Farther away, she could see the moon’s silvery dazzle upon the sea that embraced their island home.
What a day.
She didn’t know how she had gotten through it, especially those last few moments and the agony of exiting the banquet hall, knowing, to her mortification, that the moment she excused herself from the table, every soul in the room knew where she was going and why.
A grueling day—and the night was still to come.
She looked fearfully over her shoulder at the bed, then she peered at the door.
I am never going to be able to resist him.
He was so beautiful and knew just how to beguile a woman. She wanted him too much…and she was going to wreck his future if she gave in to her desire.
Cad that he was, she couldn’t ruin his life. Not when she had glimpsed his vulnerable side and knew how much he loved Ascencion. She didn’t want to be the reason he lost the one thing he truly cared about.
Not stopping to heed her own scoffing observation that he would no doubt have a key, she padded over swiftly and locked the door.
Turning around, her gaze swept the room and suddenly landed on her riding boots, which had been tucked neatly in the corner with her folded breeches and shirt on the velvet-upholstered chair. She had forbidden the servants to throw her black clothes away. Now she was rather surprised that they had obeyed her.
Before she quite knew what she was doing, Dani was across the room, slipping into the black breeches and shirt. With trembling hands and no idea what she meant to do, driven by sheer survival instinct, she pulled on her riding boots. She felt stronger already, infused with hope that there was some way she could save them both. Her heart pounding wildly, she ran to the open window.