Rafe narrowed his eyes and scrutinized the pair together, searching for signs of a more-than-friendly affection. Daniela took Mateo’s arm and together they turned away, walking to the edge of the dock, apparently deep in some urgent conversation.
Rafe’s temples throbbed. Then he noticed the little scamp Gianni grinning at him, and scowled as the child waved. He forced himself to pace back toward the coach to wait, shocked down to his glossy bootheels to discover that he hadn’t even married the chit and already he was turning into a jealous husband.
“I need you to do this for me, Mateo,” Dani pleaded, staring up into her friend’s stormy dark eyes. “You’re the only one I can trust.”
“You know I will, but why get involved with these people?” he asked angrily, the wind riffling through his thick curls. “I will come back the moment I can and rescue you.”
“How many years have I been telling you that I can take care of myself?” she whispered, then glanced warily over her shoulder at her royal fiancé. Rafael’s broad back was to her as he stalked toward the coach, the evening sun gilding his dark-gold hair. She turned back to Mateo. “Furthermore, you will not come back here. You know if they catch you here again, you’ll hang! Use your head. Your mother and brothers need you.”
He stared at her sorrowfully, then hung his head. “I failed you. It’s my fault you were caught and now you’re forced to submit to him! It’s a disgrace—”
“I’ll be fine, Mateo. I can hold him at bay until the king and queen return. If you really want to help me, do as I’m asking—go to Florence and learn what you can about this Duke Orlando di Cambio.”
“Why do you want to know about him?”
“He says he wants to help me, and that if I cooperate, my marriage to Rafael can be dissolved when the king and queen come back, but there’s something about him I just don’t trust. He’s as slick as oil and he walks around the palace as if he owns it. Now, will you do this for me or are you going to be a mule?”
He sighed, shaking his head. “You know I’ll do it.”
“Good. But be careful. I don’t know the extent of Orlando’s power in Florence. He seems possibly dangerous.”
“I’ll be glad to spy on him for you—if the prince’s guards will let me out of their sight.”
“Tell them you’re going to look for work,” she suggested.
He nodded his assent.
Inwardly, she blessed her saints, for although half of her purpose was to learn more about the mysterious Orlando, the other half was to give Mateo some useful mission to stop him from attempting to come back and rescue her, in his usual misguided bravery.
“The nobles of Florence ought to know Orlando. You might try talking to their servants. I was able to learn, also, that he owns a shipping enterprise with docks and warehouses at the mouth of the Arno River at Pisa.”
Just then the ship’s bell clanged, summoning him. A few of the Royal Guards approached to escort him to the boat. Dani and Mateo stared at each other in distress.
“Mateo.” She winced. “I’ll miss you.” Overwhelmed with sorrow at the hard goodbye, she moved to embrace him, but he held up his hand, looking away.
“No. If I hold you, I’ll never be able to let you go. Besides, he’d probably blow my head off,” he muttered, jerking a nod toward the land where Rafael waited, pacing, head down.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say.
“For what? Being born a duke’s daughter? That wasn’t your fault.” Clenching his hat in his hands, he squinted toward the horizon. “Go to your prince, Dani, but never forget he doesn’t deserve you any more than I do. I doubt there will be any annulment.”
“Mateo, he’s only using me.”
He gazed at her. “I don’t think so.” With that, he gave her a kiss on the forehead, turned around, and slowly walked up the gangplank, his shoulders squared.
The sailors drew it up after he was aboard, and soon the ship set sail.
Dani was still standing on the docks alone after the frigate had disappeared from sight. She kept her paisley shawl wrapped around her, though the evening air was balmy. She had not felt so alone since childhood.
She heard footfalls nearing her. The docks’ boards creaked as Rafael approached.
She did not turn to him. He came and stood behind her, offering the warmth of his body and a comforting caress on her arms. She would have liked nothing better than to turn in his arms and cry her eyes out, but instead her posture stiffened with the still-fresh wounds from all that Orlando had revealed to her.
Her temporary bridegroom was an amoral cad, but she would not wreck his life for him. Nor would he weaken her, with all his practiced sweetness.
She had never needed anyone. She never would.
Rafael wrapped his arms more snugly around her waist and lowered his chin to her shoulder. “How are you doing?” he murmured.
“I’m fine,” she said in a low, prickly tone, wishing he would not be kind to her.
“They’ll be all right,” he whispered tenderly, giving her a caring squeeze around her waist. “We’ll make sure of it.”
Gathering her composure, she turned around and gazed up into his green-gold eyes, so full of gentle concern as he frowned down at her, his thick, golden eyebrows knit.
“That Mateo…” he said with a taut nod, his jaw slightly clenched, as though he were forcing himself to admit it. “He seems like a good man.”
She stared up at him. He cleared his throat and glanced away, giving his cravat an embarrassed tug. His admission was a final, unsought generosity that she had never expected in a thousand years. It cut straight to her heart, and she hated him for being able to weaken her so.
“Yes,” she forced out in reproach, “he is a prince among men.” She brushed past him and stalked to the coach, shaking. Taking her seat inside the vehicle, she saw him standing where she had left him, looking baffled by her curt reply.
Tilting his head, he sent her a questioning, hurt glance. She dropped her gaze to her lap, her shoulders bunching up defensively. She felt wretched all of a sudden to know she had been mean to him. It was unlike her, but he made her feel so vulnerable, so confused and lost.
Sliding his hands into his pockets, Rafael seemed to shrug off her remark to himself, like a man accustomed to moody women. Furtively, she watched him as he came walking toward her.
He really was the most excellent looking man, she thought bitterly. Her gaze traveled up his muscular legs in dark blue pantaloons to his lean waist and broad shoulders. Peeking from behind her bonnet’s brim at his classical face and gorgeous lips, she could recall exactly the taste of his peppermint kiss.
Her body tensed and she tore her gaze away.
He sat down wearily across from her in the coach and signaled the driver with a knock on the wood. They heard the coachman urge the team. The harnesses jangled and the vehicle rolled into motion.
A tense moment of silence passed between them.
“Is there something bothering you?” His tone was ginger.
She glared out the window. “No.”
“Dani,” he said, gently chiding.
“I want to go home,” she said with a pitiful catch in her voice. She could feel him gazing at her, but she refused to look at him.
“Your home is with me now.”
“It is not!” she burst out. “There are people who are counting on me! I have a duty to take care of them! I haven’t checked in on them in days. I haven’t seen my grandfather or Maria—”
“Dani,” he murmured soothingly. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He took her hands and held them in his own. “You are to be my wife, the crown princess. Your duty is to me now and to Ascencion. I’ve already sent a staff of the best nurses in the kingdom to help Maria with your grandfather.”
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he needs me!”
“Darling, hush now, everything’s going to be all right. I
venture to say this is just a case of prewedding nerves.”
She looked away from his gentle yet troubled gaze, realizing she was being churlish. For some reason—pride, perhaps—she could not bring herself to ask about Chloe Sinclair. Rafael probably didn’t even know he was doing anything wrong; like Orlando had said, he was like a lovable, wayward child. There was no use making the coming days any more unpleasant than they were already going to be.
“We’ll get through this,” he told her. “You’re not going back on your word, are you?”
“It is madness, Rafael. You do know that, don’t you? You should not be marrying me. What is your father going to say?”
“‘Congratulations,’ I should think.”
She rolled her eyes at his nonchalant smile. His gaze was veiled, mysterious, and his green-gold eyes were as full of intelligence as any she’d ever seen—not childlike innocence.
Just like Orlando, this man had tricks up his sleeve, she thought. She decided the two of them were equally awful.
“My father doesn’t run my life, Dani,” he remarked as he released her hands and sat back again, crossing his ankle over his opposite knee and lounging against the Moroccan leather squabs. Bracing his elbow on the window ledge, he watched the landscape rolling by and spoke in a musing tone. “Oh, he may be a bit peeved at first, granted, but when he knows that the future of Ascencion is safe, he’ll forget all his fury. Mark my words.”
“And how do you intend to assure him of that?”
“By siring a son on you, of course.”
She gasped and stared at him, but said not a word—she dared not. Nor could she think how she was possibly going to resist on her wedding night, less than twenty-four hours away, when this wicked, fallen angel came to her bed…offering heaven.
CHAPTER
TEN
“You have lost your mind. Do you know that?”
Hours before his wedding, Rafe stood before the mirror, giving his cravat a tug; then he checked the cut of his striped waistcoat in the mirror. “Most definitely,” he agreed. His mood was buoyant. It was a fine, clear day and soon he would marry the girl that he, not his father, had chosen.
He had taken his life in hand.
Arms folded over his chest, Adriano was leaning by the mirror, still staring at him. “Rafe.”
Rafe ignored him and nodded to his valet. The man held up his gleaming white coat so that Rafe could slip his arms into the sleeves. He shrugged it on.
“Excellent, Your Highness,” his valet murmured, straightening it on him.
Rafe nodded, inspected himself in the mirror, and flicked a thread off the gold epaulet.
“Your dress sword, sir.”
Rafe accepted the long silver blade, sliding it into the jeweled sheath at his hip
According to the reports brought to him every half hour, his little bride’s progress was coming along more slowly, her ladyship fighting and balking every step of the way. By the sound of it, her final transformation from bandit to bride was proving a difficult one, painful for everyone involved.
“Rafe,” Adriano said again, cutting into his thoughts. “Tell me you’re not really going to go through with this.”
Rafe flashed him a grin.
Adriano glared. “What about Chloe?”
Rafe clapped him suddenly on the arm, blithely deciding on the instant that he wouldn’t be needing Chloe after all. Dani was really all that he required. “I’ve got a smasher of an idea, di Tadzio. You can have her.”
Adriano stared blankly at him. “What?”
“You seem to have an inordinate interest in the woman. She’s all yours. A hint—don’t fall for the tears. She weeps at the drop of a hat. That’s what the theaters pay her for. I think she fancies Orlando a bit, though. Be warned.”
“It’s not like that between Chloe and me,” he said flatly.
Selecting a cologne from his expensive collection, Rafe gave a chiding laugh. “You flirt with her. I’ve seen you. Don’t misunderstand—I don’t mind in the slightest. I give you my blessing. Frankly, I thought you had already indulged—not your fault, of course. Chloe can make herself hard to resist, I know,” he said easily, waving off Adriano’s protest. Suddenly sensing danger for his shy little bride, Rafe turned to him. “You know Chloe is angry about my marriage.”
“Of course. I just came from her townhouse. She is distraught.”
Rafe’s gaze hardened. “Keep her on a leash for me, di Tadzio, will you? I mean it. I don’t want her mauling Daniela.”
“Rafe.” Adriano stood and met him eye to eye. “Don’t go through with this. God, what’s happened to you? You used to be so amusing. For weeks you’ve been a bore.”
“Tell me how you really feel, di Tadzio,” he said, chuckling as he walked away.
“Chloe loves you!” Adriano exclaimed, following him. “Marry one of your father’s broodmares if you must, but she’s the one you belong with. Yes, she and I spend a lot of time together, but all she talks about is you. ‘Tell me about Rafe when you were boys.’ ‘Will Rafe like this gown?’ If I take her out to a café, ‘We must bring Rafe here!’ ‘Do you really think Rafe cares for me?’”
Rafe rolled his eyes.
“Frankly, I think you’re making a big mistake.”
“A mistake?” He grabbed Adriano by the arm and pulled him over to the balcony, thrusting the French doors open wider. “Look.”
Below them in the sunshine, a cheering throng sprawled as far as the eye could see. “A royal wedding. The Masked Rider, no less! You’re missing the whole point, di Tadzio. Look at them down there. They’re eating this up!”
Adriano’s gaze moved slowly over the throng. “I see you learned something from your years of chasing actresses,” he said softly. “You’ve become quite the showman.”
“You witless ornament, you understand nothing!” Angrily, Rafe turned Adriano to face him, shoving him by the shoulder. “If Chloe was under the delusion that I was going to marry her, she’s the one who’s out of her mind. Daniela Chiaramonte was born and bred to be queen, and you can tell Chloe I said so.”
Adrian looked at him in cool hauteur for a moment. “I’ll do that, Your Highness.”
Something about Adriano’s insolent stare infuriated him. “You really ought to try her, di Tadzio. She’s even better on her back than she is on stage.” He kept going. “What’s the matter? Afraid she’s too much woman for you?”
Adriano muttered a foul epithet at him and left the room. Rafe stared after him, his anger ablaze, then he noticed Elan’s glance slide from the slammed door to him.
“What?” he snapped.
Elan’s face assumed its most diplomatic look. “Your Highness, Adriano is…how shall I say? Ah, never mind.”
“You think he’s right? Is that it?” he demanded, shoving aside a vague, uneasy flicker of recognition. Some things were better left ignored. Still, he was angry at himself for yelling at so fragile a creature. God forbid that he had just set Adriano off again on one of his ghastly suicide threats.
“No, nothing like that.” Elan came toward him with a fresh glass of wine, which he gave to Rafe. “For my part, I think this is the best move you’ve made.”
Placated somewhat, Rafe took a drink, then nodded. “Damned right it is. She’s my choice. She’s what Ascencion needs. She’s tough. She’s beautiful and good, and above all, she’s loyal.” He was determined to believe in her. At least he was trying. “She’s what I need, and if my father doesn’t like it, he can leave the bloody throne to Leo for all I care.”
Elan lifted his glass, regarding Rafe in amusement. “To the bride.”
“The Masked Rider. Let’s pray her virgin blood is the only type shed tonight,” he muttered under his breath.
They clinked glasses and drank.
Dear God, prayed Dani, her face white behind her gauzy veil, please don’t let me fall flat on my face getting out of the coach. Don’t let me make a fool of myself, that’s all I ask.
The spl
endid state carriage, drawn by six white horses, floated to a halt in front of the cathedral amid a sea of seething humanity that stretched in every direction as far as the eye could see. The Royal Guard in full dress uniform held the roaring crowd at bay along the wide steps. Dani held on to her grandfather’s arm for dear life. His Grace, the Duke of Chiaramonte, looked terribly dignified with his heavy white mustache and his newly cleaned and pressed military uniform. He was humming tunelessly under his breath in his gentle, raspy tenor, but he seemed lucid enough.
“Didn’t I tell you you should get Prince Rafael to woo you?” the old man said with a sidelong grin.
“Grandfather.”
“Must have been my telling him about your talents, Dani, mark my word,” he said with a wink. “How many young ladies out there can stand astride a galloping horse’s back?”
“Oh, Grandfather.”
Her composure was stretched thin from a whole day of being poked and prodded and fussed over by the snobbish royal couturiere and the hairdressers and various experts in protocol. She had fought the torturers every step of the way, but by the time they were through with her, she had to admit she would do her temporary husband no discredit.
Crowning her carefully curled hair and securing her veil in place was a tiara of glistening brilliants formed into rosebuds. It was the richest thing she had ever seen. Her gown was a masterpiece of elegant splendor. A long train of shimmering gold satin lamé, embroidered at the bottom with seashells and flowers representing Ascencion, flowed back luxuriously over her shoulders, secured in front between her breasts by a jeweled brooch depicting the lion rampant of the royal house. Her white satin petticoat had creamy Brussels lace over it and rows of folds trimmed with gold ribbon. Her long gloves and slippers were of white satin.
The perfume of the pale roses in her nosegay filled her nostrils, every inch of her skin was kissed by the pearly silk chemise she wore beneath the heavy gown, and her ears rang with the wild pealing cadence of the cathedral’s bells, the slamming boom of the cannons, and the crowd’s ceaseless cheering.
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