“It kind of defeats the purpose of eavesdropping but fine,” She turned back to Will. “This is magnificent. Where did you say your father got this—an exotic temple?”
Charles stepped inside and lit the torches.
“I see you’ve been with us for a while.” Will laughed. “The locals refer to it as the Temple of Indra. Now that’s between you, me and your brother. The fairy stone also known as the Delhi Sapphire.” He held it up so she could inspect it. “Sorry to ruin your surprise.”
Charles grunted disapprovingly.
Sapphira smiled at her brother, hoping to earn his forgiveness.
She’d never seen anything like it. “You’re the best, Chuckie, I mean, Your Highness.” She turned back to Will. “What do the markings mean?”
“Markings, really? Probably the work of the faeries.”
***
Sapphira bent over her desk and retrieved the note she’d written for Francois. She needed him to take her to the village to see the alchemist tonight. She paced to the window and watched the tables being set up in the courtyard below. What would Rochus say about the strange dreams plaguing her? They’d begun a week ago and come every night since. Ever since she’d perused his book without his knowledge.
She dragged her thoughts back to the feast. Where was that blasted chambermaid? She needed her to deliver the note. The chaos of the ball’s preparations would make for perfect cover. Many of the guests were probably already arriving.
She turned at the sound of her door, examining the tall, thin woman who’d just entered her chambers.
“You’re not Lisabetta.”
“No, Yer Highness, I help in the kitchen, but Lisabetta asked me to bring up your tea today. She’s preparin’ for the feast.”
Sapphira shifted. “I suppose everyone is busy, then.”
Straight-faced, the girl nodded and set the plate down. “Aye, the staff have been hard at it all mornin’. Shall I locate your maid to dress you?”
“Yes. But first, tell me, where are you from?”
“Ireland, Ma’am. The name’s Alastríona.”
“Alastríona. You are familiar to me.” Sapphira walked forward to where the woman stood. “I must have seen you around. Not that it matters. Anyway, I require your assistance. Could you have this message delivered to Francois?”
“Aye, I surely can.”
“Oh, and, Alastríona, you do not have permission to open it and no one else but Francois is to receive it. Do you understand?”
“Aye, Yer Highness.”
Sapphira sipped from her tea and tried to relax. If she was caught attempting to slip out without her guards there’d be hell to pay.
After the servant girl had gone, Sapphira walked to her wardrobe, shivering from the draft that blew in. There was something about Alastríona that niggled at the back of her mind.
She looked at each of her garments critically, considering which she would wear. She pulled the green velvet from the armoire.
“Oh, my lady, you mustn’t wear that,” Chloe said, stepping into the room behind her.
“Chloe, there you are.”
“It’s much too plain for such an evening. The red or the gold would be perfect on you.”
Sapphira frowned. Both dresses she suggested were beautiful but impractical for slipping away.
“Do you know if the Graf will be in attendance this evening?”
“Conrad of Württemberg, Your Highness, nephew to King William, has already arrived.”
A wicked smile fully lifted the corners of Sapphira’s mouth. The Graf’s wide chest and large hands brought about thoughts that Mother would have found completely indecent.
“Good. I’ve heard he has plans to court me. If he keeps me out of the Comte’s grubby little hands then I shall marry him on the spot.”
Alastríona returned for only a moment, delivering her message that Francois had agreed to have the carriage ready on time.
Chloe perked up but said nothing.
“Don’t forget my thick mantle.”
“Your Highness?” Chloe said, handing over the dark cloak.
“To keep away the draughts,” she explained and gave a wistful smile, her eyes sparkling. “Don’t fret. I shall be discreet and I will return promptly when finished. After all, I plan to dance with this handsome nephew to the King. Hopefully his babe will be inside me by this time next year.”
Sapphira waited until Chloe’s footsteps died away then walked to the hearth, pushing on a stone. The fireplace ground to an open position revealing a dark, empty passage. It was in that moment that Alastríona returned.
Finger to her lips, Sapphira winked and stepped inside, closing the passage behind her. Taking a deep breath, she began to tread softly down the darkened corridor. She was scared, now that the moment had come, but she refused to let herself think about what would happen if she were caught.
At the end of the hall she stepped out of the passage, her back pressed against a wall, just out of sight. She need only to cross two feet in the open to reach the other passage. She flinched as she heard her own name. She recognized at once the voices of her mother and the Comte. What were those two plotting now? She pushed on a panel to her left and disappeared once again behind the Rococo splendor of the mirrored panel.
“You’re cross. Why don’t you offer for her then? You know I’ve wanted the two of you to wed for this past year. It’s past time she had a husband.”
“I tried but the Prince doesn’t find me worthy of her. He has plans to wed her off to this Graf of Württemberg. Apparently, a foreigner is more desirable than I. Perhaps you could speak to him, he is your son.”
Sapphira bit her lip and focused on the gold, Baccarat chandeliers to keep from screaming. That man was absolutely infuriating. If only one of the chandeliers would fall on his head and end all of her troubles.
“I will speak to him when he returns but if his mind is made up then there is little I can do. Knowing him, he’ll consider Sapphira’s preference over mine.”
He snorted. “Most women her age have no say.”
“I know. I certainly didn’t but most women have not been coddled as she has. It’s made her difficult, to say the least, but she’ll not want to move away. When it comes down to it, she’ll see it our way.”
Sapphira almost snorted. Not bloody likely. Getting away from this Palace would be a treat. The only person she liked was her brother and he was now gone all of the time. As interesting as this conversation was—it was time to meet Francois in the courtyard. She sped through the passage, looking to slip out through the other exit.
SIX
France, Present Day
N ick hung up the phone and pocketed his cell. “I need a drink,” he said, grabbing my arm and toting me along the catamaran as it began to move. “That was the old man—in one of his moods.”
I looked away knowingly. His father’s phone calls always put him on edge.
“I’m to be in Greece next week, ready to help expand the company.”
I stared out at the water, cobalt waves lapping against the boat, as we lazily sailed toward Croisette.
“Two beers, two shots of tequila and a mimosa for the lady,” Nick demanded, of the man behind the bar.
I shook my head and smiled. “Just a water, please.” I turned my attention back to Nick. “This isn’t new. Your father always says that.”
I thought back to the very first time I’d met Nick in France. I’d been so impressed with him then. So confident and worldly, now his antics just seemed childish and narcissistic.
“He’s threatening to disinherit me. We’re going to have to suck it up.”
“We?” I questioned, as the bartender handed me a flute filled with bubbly orange champagne.
“Of course, we! You’re coming with me,” he said, accepting the beers and downing the first one with his usual ferocity.
“Nick, we’ve been through this. I can’t up and move.” I turned to the bartender who’d dropped off the
shots and already walked away to serve another guest. “Excuse me. Could I get that water?”
“Do you expect me to go alone? Find someone else?”
He could be so dramatic. I ignored him and, giving up on the bartender, sipped the mimosa. Neither of us spoke until we dropped anchor minutes later, along the northern shore of Ile Sainte-Marguerite, the largest of the Lérins Islands. A flotilla of yachts dotted the shallow waters.
“Do you want to take a dip in the water?” I asked, thinking about how he couldn’t bother me if we were underwater snorkeling.
“Too cold.”
“Too cold? It’s like 73 degrees and tons of people are in the water.”
“Let’s explore the island first.”
“Since when do you like to explore?” I gave him a suspicious look.
“You question everything, you know that?” he replied, downing his second shot of tequila.
“You drink too much, you know that?” I retorted.
“We’re on holiday. Loosen up.”
Nick was always on holiday. He was a playboy with Daddy’s pocketbook close at hand. No wonder Bexx, Sr. was drawing the line.
“Sophia! Will you hurry up?”
“Geez, Nick. What’s the rush? I thought we were going for a stroll.” I hurried to catch up to him at the top of the hill. “Look, there’s the fortress where the Man in the Iron Mask was imprisoned.”
The bibliophile in me was always bursting with these silly, little facts. Not surprisingly, Nick ignored my comment. He was stewing from the phone call, he hated being ordered about by his father and, even more, he hated when I then refused to be ordered about by him.
We followed the path and it led us through a thick forest of eucalyptus and pine trees. The breeze shifted and I picked up whiffs of sweet honeysuckle. Finally, he stopped at the edge of the cliff. We were just south of the yachts anchored below when he turned to me in a dramatic fashion.
“I need you with me, babe.”
“What are you talking about? I’m right here.”
“What… no, that’s not what I mean. I need you to come to Europe with me.”
This again. “You travel without me all the time. What’s the difference now?”
“I’m with friends when I travel. If I move there, I’ll be living on my own.”
“Oh, Nick.” I didn’t mean to laugh but it slipped out. “You need to stand on your own two feet. You’re heir to one of Europe’s largest shipping fortunes. Besides, you have about a zillion friends in Greece and you’ll be so busy with them and your father’s company that you won’t even notice me.”
“What kind of thing is that to say?”
“I’m sorry, Nick, but it’s true. I’m invisible half of the time and that’s when you aren’t being forced to work. Think about it and you’ll see I’m right. Not to mention I just got a job offer from the university—my dream job.”
“Spare me, you hate that place. You just dropped out. Face it, Sophia, we’re peas in a pod. We belong together.”
I mustered up my dirtiest look. “We’re nothing alike, and while I may be going through a wanderlust phase. I’m only twenty. You on the other hand, need to grow the hell up.”
“You act like an old woman, and that’s really what this is about. An old woman—Gigi.” He uttered her name slowly, and with disgust, as if the very letters tasted of sour milk.
“Sure, to some degree. I also won’t leave Gigi.”
“She’s your great-grandmother, for God’s sake. I barely even see my family.” Nick’s voice was cold. “She’s old—you need your own life.”
I shot him a look of malice. “Gigi raised me, and I won’t abandon her when she has no one left.”
“So, we’ll bring her.”
I tilted my head, pondering the thought. There was no way Gigi would live under the same roof as Nick although, if anyone could knock some manners into him, it was her. I smiled at the thought, which he mistakenly took as encouragement.
“Is that a yes?”
“No, it is not a yes. I’ve already accepted the job.”
“Who cares about that shithole?” I winced. Not that he noticed. “I’ll buy you a ton of stupid, old books and you can fill up a whole wing in our new mansion.” He dropped to one knee, pulling something from his pocket.
Oh, please God, no. I was instantly nauseous.
“Sofa,” he smiled, sweetly, whispering his annoying nickname for me. “Je t'aime de tout mon coeur.”
This wasn’t happening.
“Nick. Stop.”
“I mean it, I love you and I planned to do this anyway but considering the old man’s phone call, well, this is all just falling into place. Say you’ll marry me and move to Greece. You’ll never have to see Betty again. I promise.”
I glanced down. The ring was gaudy with a huge pink diamond and a band that resembled a bow. I looked at my hand where Gigi’s ring sat, pulsating on my finger.
“I can’t.”
Anger flashed in his eyes as he stood and snapped the ring box shut.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
For a moment I expected him to hit me. Then he grabbed me, biting down hard on my lip.
It was a strange reaction and I squirmed to get free.
This only made him grip on to my arms tighter. Then he stepped forward, pushing me to the edge and leaning me out over it.
SEVEN
Blood Moon, Kingdom of Sardinia, 1857
F rancois was late. A cool wind had risen and whipped at the jewels carefully pinned to Sapphira’s braid.
“Good evening, Princess.”
“Oh, good evening, Baron,” Princess Sapphira turned, surprised and disappointed that she’d been found so easily in the courtyard.
“Enjoying the fresh air?”
“Yes. It’s lovely. Have you seen Francois?” she asked, still searching the horizon for her missing servant.
“Who?” the Baron questioned.
“Never mind. It’s not important.”
“Perhaps I should escort you back inside. Your chaperone would not like us being out here alone. It’s not suitable.”
“In a moment. What chaperone do you speak of?”
“The Comte de Chalais.”
“Henri?” Sapphira’s gaze flew to the Baron’s face.
“Is it true you’re betrothed to him? That’s what they say.”
“Of course not. Who are they?”
“Everyone.” He shrugged.
“He is nothing to me or the Prince. He does not belong here. My mother and her advisor allow him at court and I tolerate him. He may hold delusions of being my husband, but I disagree.”
“Of course.” The Baron looked faintly shocked. “I didn’t mean to upset—”
He was coming. Henri, the Comte de Chalais. Sapphira smothered a leap of panic as she caught sight of him in the doorway. He was moving deliberately, almost menacingly, down the stairs. Now, how would she find Francois?
“Good evening, Baron,” Henri said, coming toward them. “I believe it’s a little cool out here. Why don’t you go inside? We’ll be right behind you.”
“Yes, the Baron and I were just going in,” Sapphira said quickly, stepping forward.
Henri blocked her way, his face coming entirely too close. Her heart sped up as he turned back to the other man.
“Go ahead, Baron. We’ll be right in. I need a word with the lady Sapphira. I’m sure you’ll understand.”
The Baron glanced nervously from Sapphira to Henri and then scurried away across the courtyard. Traitor.
Deciding one should never show a mad dog fear, she met his sharp gaze full-on. He was a self-important arse. “You have no right to be irritated. You have no claim on me.”
“Is that so? Your mother disagrees,” he smiled as if he knew a vastly entertaining secret.
“She’s delusional as well, then.”
“Admit it. Our last kiss was rather thrilling. Tell me you don’t fancy the idea of another.”
>
“First and last kiss,” She reminded him. “She should have known the scoundrel would bring that up.”
“You may not realize it, but you force me into a corner. I demand you wed me before you are betrothed to this silly foreigner.”
“I loathe you.”
“I… care about you.”
“No, you don’t. You care about power.”
“Oh, yes. That’s true. I also care about power. We could rule these lands together. Wed me.” He tried to smile. “You could hardly do better. I wish you to come to me freely, but I will force you if I must. You must know there are ways. For instance, if you are with child…”
“I will never agree to marry you, and my brother will never force me.”
“Well, then, I guess your brother will have to be dealt with. Just like your little rat friend, Francois.”
“Francois? What have you done with him?”
His eyes danced now, and Sapphira knew she was a mouse that had been caught by an all too clever cat.
“Whatever do you mean, Princess?” Darkness shifted over his features. “I’ve done nothing with him. I did hear that he would no longer be employed here.”
Sapphira’s stomach churned at the words. She turned and raced for the stone steps that wound down to the carriage. As she groped her way along the wall, she was half-conscious of noises growing closer.
Then she heard it—the sound of Francois’s desperate pleas.
He had a bag over his head and he was being forced into a carriage.
Sapphira turned and ran back through the tunnel to the staircase, tripping on her long skirts in her haste to escape and ran into the straight-faced, Irish girl.
“Alastríona. You scared me.” Sapphira said, wiping the tears from her eyes. It wouldn’t due to appear weak in front of the servants.
“Is somethin’ the matter, Yer Highness, you look right upset. Did Francois stand ye up?”
“Francois is gone.” Sapphira felt a sob break loose. “I caution you, Alastríona, for your own safety, don’t tell anyone you helped me.”
“Aye. I won’t tell a soul. If I may ask why?”
“The Comte, he takes everyone I care about away from me, but I have a plan. The Graf has come for me and I will be his.”
Cruel Fortunes Omnibus: Volumes One to Four Page 4