Gaelen Foley - Ascension 02

by Princess

  “I’m not a headache,” she said miserably, and just when she thought she had never been more humiliated in her life, Anatole stepped into her doorway, his rugged face hardened with rage, his sapphire eyes bright and angry as the sun glinting off ice.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” the king demanded.

  Anatole ignored him, staring at Serafina. “So, it’s true.”

  “This is a family matter, sir, begone!” Papa reiterated, stepping toward him in indignation.

  “Anatole, please, leave us,” the queen said in forced calm.

  “This concerns me, does it not?” he flung back at them.

  Then Anatole pinned her in his brutish stare, frankly taking in the wanton sight of her flushed skin and tousled bed with a look of derision and angry lust. From the shadows by the wall, she could feel Darius’s killer instinct taking shape, homing in on him.

  “I have had a servant watching your door at nights, my lady, for I knew you were too rich a beauty to be pure,” he said coldly. “The only question was who your lovers were and how many were their number. You’ve proved me right. What a boon, that I did not marry you.” He spoke a name at her in Russian that needed no translation.

  Darius’s reaction was immediate, but Papa intercepted him and slammed him against the wall again, less roughly. Darius winced, giving the king a rather dirty sideward glance.

  Anatole stared at Darius like he wanted to maul him. “You, sir, are a dead man.”

  “Ah, get in line,” Darius growled.

  Anatole looked at the king. “I spit on this island. I will toast Napoleon when he crushes the lot of you.”

  “Napoleon is dead!” Serafina shouted at him triumphantly through her tears. She pointed to her champion. “Darius shot him!”

  Everyone looked at Darius in shock.

  For a moment, there was utter silence. He lifted his gaze and nonchalantly blew his forelock out of his eyes.

  “Actually,” he said, “I missed.”

  One could have heard the specks of dust drifting through the air, such a silence descended.

  Nearly choking on her shock, Serafina turned and gaped at him, not sure she had heard him correctly. “Pardon me?”

  The king snorted in contempt, shook his head, and stamped out of the room, shoving past Anatole. The Russian followed him out a moment later, chuckling coldly to himself.

  Again, silence.

  Head down, Darius stood leaning against the wall where her father had shoved him.

  Serafina sat back in shock against the headboard, the sheets clutched to her chest.

  Her mother rose, pushing up from the arms of the chair. She smoothed her skirts and walked, head high, to the door. Serafina watched her, her heart pounding.

  For a moment, the queen stood in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob.

  “Darius,” she said with quiet composure.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I am shocked and disappointed in you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Mama!” Serafina cried, knowing the soft-spoken indictment from her mother would hurt him worst of all.

  “And you,” she said sharply, turning to Serafina, “I cannot think what to say to you. Once more you care for nothing but getting your way. You’ve made a fool of your father and Prince Tyurinov, as well. Now what will Ascencion do? We must go to war. If anything happens to Rafael . . .” She seemed unable to finish the thought.

  “Is he all you care about?” she cried, as her mother folded her hands under her bosom and lifted her chin. “What about me? What about Darius? Don’t you care what he has been through?”

  “If you wanted each other, this was not the way to go about it. You both at least could have been a bit more discreet.” The queen looked from Darius to Serafina, then picked up her skirts and left.

  “Oh, God!” Serafina wrenched out. She dropped her face into both hands, then looked over anxiously at Darius.

  He was still standing in exactly the same place where Papa had left him. He was slumped against the wall, head back, eyes closed.

  She stared at him.

  “You missed?” she shouted all of a sudden, pushing up onto her knees on the bed, clutching the sheet to her bosom. He looked over at her. She pointed at him furiously, jabbing the air. “You didn’t mention that little detail, Santiago!”

  “Oops,” he said lightly, his scarred lips curving in a half-smile of razor sarcasm. “Still love me, darling?”

  Incredulous, she stared at him, trying to comprehend. No apology? No explanation? No excuses?

  “You tricked me!” she wailed. “You lied to me again!”

  “I didn’t lie. You didn’t ask. It’s not my fault you assumed what you wanted to assume.”

  “Not your fault?” she gasped. “You—you took my virginity under false pretenses, and now the blood of my people will be on my hands!”

  “You wanted it. We both wanted it.”

  She gaped in utter astonishment. “You have no remorse.”

  “Are you so innocent?”

  She eyed him warily. “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, Serafina. Do you think I’m stupid? That was an awfully convenient interruption.”

  Her grip tightened on the sheets as she clutched them to her body. Her heart began to pound anew.

  With a cold, mocking half-smile, he shook his head at her slowly. “That’s my Princesa. She always gets her way.”

  “What are you accusing me of?” she cried, but she already knew she was guilty.

  “Wouldn’t you rather just admit it?”

  “I admit nothing!”

  The crescent-moon scar on his mouth became a twist of contempt. “You left the bed twenty minutes ago, angel.”

  “Darius,” she whispered as her mouth went dry.

  “Nice maneuver, Serafina. The minute I let my guard down, you make your move. I have taught you well, haven’t I? You’ve ruined me,” he said.

  “Ruined you? I have not!” she forced out, eyes wide.

  “In the span of a few minutes, you’ve just destroyed everything I’ve worked for and built for twenty years.”

  “What have I destroyed, your lies? Oh, how shall you live without your lies?” she shouted. “The truth is all that’s come out here! You made this necessary, Darius, because the only way to get you to be honest is to force you into it! You’ll lie about anything if you can get away with it! You have to be caught in the act!”

  “So you would trap me?” he shouted furiously. “Play God with my life? And how dare you mistrust me? If I lie, I’ve got damned good reasons. How dare you assume I would seduce you and walk out on you?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, you’ve never done that to a woman before!”

  “That’s not who I am with you.”

  “Who are you, Darius? Because I’d really like to know.”

  “You didn’t even give me a chance to do the right thing!”

  “Give you the chance? I gave you three years! You continually dodged me and evaded me and pushed me away, so why should I have expected this time to be any different? I didn’t want to lose you again!”

  “Well, guess what?” His taut smile was ice as he picked up his shirt. “You just have. Wife,” he added in searing insolence.

  He slung his shirt over his shoulder, strode across her room, and walked out the regular door instead of the secret one, and he slammed it behind him.

  Surrender. I won’t hurt you, he thought bitterly, echoing her words in his mind.

  Darius strode down the hall, simmering, nay, bleeding inwardly. How many years had he devoted to protecting that damned, devious, infuriating little Queen of Sheba? How many mad risks had he taken, how many pints of blood had he shed?

  He could not recall ever having been so hurt in all his adult life, for the truth was clear. It was not the fact that she had just trapped him in marriage. That scared the hell out of him, but it wasn’t the part that hurt. The hurt came from knowing
that an ordinary mortal capable of missing a shot was not good enough for her. The moment he admitted to failure, she had turned on him in repulsion. For all her talk of surrender and trust, the truth was clear: His Princesa had only wanted a champion.

  He should have known. Worthless. Worthless.

  What the hell was he going to do with a wife? he thought in disgust. But what other possibility had he been thinking of, taking her maidenhead?

  All he had known was that he had to have her. The very thought of it made him want her again, in the midst of disaster. Irritated at his sheer, mindless appetite for her, he went into his suite, where he washed and dressed in fresh clothing after his extended misadventure. Finally, opening the hidden safe behind a landscape painting, he retrieved the report he’d written for Lazar in Moscow. He locked the safe again and crossed to the door.

  One hand on the doorknob, he glanced back at the room, wondering if he’d ever be back. Without ceremony, he pulled the door shut behind him.

  As he neared the main corridor, he felt the presence of dozens of people in the salons and galleries ahead. His stomach in knots, he braced himself, certain the scandal was already afoot.

  It was a moment of destiny, he knew. There he was: the scapegoat in black, walking alone down the hall, past whispering clusters of ladies in pastel silks and dandies in loud-colored satin waistcoats who snickered as he passed. He heard what they were saying, and it cut him to the bone, but he kept his chin high on his walk of shame, staring straight ahead.

  “Always knew he’d do something like this . . .”

  “Bet he’s been planning it for years.”

  “They should’ve realized. You can take the boy off the streets, but you can’t take the streets out of the boy.”

  “How could he do this after all Their Majesties have done for him?”

  “Poor, reckless child. She’s thrown herself away!”

  And then, the most vicious cut of all: “Heavens, you sleep with Santiago, but you don’t marry him.”

  At the far end of this tunnel of malice, a voluptuous figure emerged.

  Darius’s heart sank lower, but relentlessly he kept going as Julia Calazzi tried to block his path.

  He stopped when she stood directly in front of him. She stared up at him for a long moment with a look of pure hatred.

  Suddenly her jeweled hand flashed as she slapped him, hard. He was vaguely aware of laughter and applause in the salon and along the hall.

  Slowly, he turned his face to her, his cheek red and stinging, murder in his eyes.

  “I will never forgive you for this,” she hissed. “You will be sorry. And that, my love, is a promise.”

  She brushed past him and quickly walked away, high heels clicking on the marble.

  Darius checked a tooth with his tongue, rubbed his cheek, then heaved a quiet sigh and forced himself onward.

  To his relief, he went the rest of the way to the king’s office without encountering the crown prince. If that young hothead called him out for seducing his sister, he did not know what he would do. One hand on the door to Lazar’s office, he paused and steeled himself. He opened the door and went in as he had ten thousand times before.

  Lazar stood at the window, his back to him, his arms folded over his chest.

  “It’s on the desk,” he said in a deep, flat tone.

  Darius watched him warily and stepped closer. Just as he’d expected, the king and the archbishop had already signed a special license and had it waiting for him. He picked it up.

  “Now get out.” His voice was curt like a whip. “I’ve decided I don’t want to hear more of your lies today.”

  Darius clenched his jaw and looked at the ceiling. “Sir, there is more to this than you presently know.”

  “I’m sure there is. And you probably have a very good reason for keeping me in the dark like a damned old fool. But at the moment all I can think is that I trusted you and you betrayed me.”

  “Sir!”

  The king held up one hand, still facing out the window. “I don’t want to hear it, Santiago. What you’ve done, dishonoring my daughter, is inexcusable. I know you do not care for her as I would want a husband to love her and cherish her. I know that all you have for women is a bitter mix of lust and control and contempt. But that headstrong little hellion chose you, and now she’s just going to have to live with her choice. So, get out, and take her with you. I will call for you when and if I ever feel prepared to hear you out.”

  Lazar’s words pierced him mortally, but as Darius bowed his head, anger followed in the wake of pain.

  “How dare you?” he heard himself utter. His heart was pounding.

  Lazar turned around, one eyebrow arched high. “I beg your pardon?” he said with cold, regal condescension.

  “How dare you?” he forced out, trembling now.

  Lazar narrowed his eyes on him. “You forget yourself, my boy.”

  “No, it is you who forget me, Lazar. You forget everything I’ve done for you. I’ve dedicated my whole life to this kingdom and to your family. Have I ever asked for one thing for myself? Sometimes I am hard-pressed to wonder if I hold any significance to you other than the ways in which I can be useful—and don’t tell me I don’t love her!” he burst out, trembling as he fought to contain his outrage. “Was it you they tortured in Milan for her, you they humiliated? No, sir, you were here in your soft life, being wooed by that—that Russian animal!”

  Lazar stared at him, seemingly stunned by his rare display of emotion.

  Darius quickly regained his composure and tossed the leather-bound document on the massive mahogany desk. “I suggest you read this, Your Majesty,” he said crisply. “It is the report I wrote in Moscow, on your orders. The one I had risked my life for, gathering information. The one you ignored. Take a look and find out exactly what kind of model husband you elected for your daughter.” He pivoted and began walking toward the door, then paused. “By the way,” he said, turning in aloof nonchalance, “the attack will come on the west shore. The French are waiting for Villeneuve to finish with Nelson. Then they’ll strike.”

  “So you say. How do I know that is not a lie, too?” Lazar challenged.

  Amazed and hurt, Darius shook his head. “The hell with you, Lazar. When you need someone to win your war for you, don’t come knocking on my door. I quit.”

  He pivoted on his heel and began walking away in disgust.

  “You think I can’t manage without you, you arrogant little prick? God knows what all you’ve done behind my back! I’ve been fighting battles since before you were born!” the king bellowed after him.

  Darius flicked a dismissive wave over his shoulder like an obscene gesture as he stalked out, not bothering even to close the door behind him.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  In the guest wing of the palace, the outraged Anatole screamed his fury at the ambassador while he moved about his suite, preparing to kick the dust of Ascencion off his shoes.

  In other parts of Belfort, his huge entourage of Russian nobles were angrily packing their things, their servants and the parade troops loading countless traveling trunks onto wagons to be brought to the docks. Their ship would soon set sail for Russia.

  Inside the cathedral on the main city square, the flowers wilted on the altar, the orchestras’ musicians put their instruments away, and the children’s choirs were returned to their schools in their angel costumes, wings drooping.

  Throughout the city, the invited guests gasped to hear the news of the Great Cancellation, while the poor feasted on the lavish dishes that had been prepared for the highest nobility of the land. Crews of workers began the tedious job of taking down the decorations for the royal wedding that was not to be.

  Somewhere, Serafina was sure, Napoleon was rubbing his hands like a greedy villain.

  Els seemed to be the only person who was not appalled at Serafina. As they said their goodbyes, the redhead offered to attend her, but as much as Serafina would have liked her friend’s
solace, it was going to be blasted uneasy in their home for a while, and she did not wish to place Els in the exceedingly uncomfortable position of arbitrator between warring husband and wife.

  With the guilt-stricken Pia to attend her, Serafina climbed into the carriage with the shades pulled down to hide her face from the jeering crowd outside the palace gates. Darius rode Jihad and barked orders now and then at Alec and at the other Royal Guardsmen, who, out of loyalty to Darius, had insisted upon providing protection for them, in light of Tyurinov’s death threat.

  She clutched her reticule tightly in her lap, twisting the ribbons nervously as, once more, the cavalcade rolled away from the gleaming palace and through the great gates. She could not imagine what her fate held now, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to try.

  Julia Calazzi felt her whole world spiraling downward in a sickening spin of rage and hate and fear. Walking quickly down the hall toward the guest wing, however, she struggled to thrust her emotions aside, for she needed to focus all her wits on the task ahead.

  As if losing Santiago to the princess were not a shattering enough blow, her midday meal had been interrupted when she was served with papers notifying her that she was being sued. Her largest creditor had forwarded an account of her delinquency to the civil courts.

  She knew she had to act immediately, before the others followed suit.

  Her financial crisis loomed. Word of the scandal was spreading like wildfire. When the shop owners in town and the rest of her creditors heard about it, they would realize at once that Santiago’s money was not forthcoming to satisfy her debts. With the illusory promise that she would soon be his wife, she had strung them along for months on the strength of his name and occasional, meager payments to keep them from her door.