by Princess
To Milan.
He paused in his pacing, eyes ablaze. No one could be allowed to guess what he intended, not Serafina, not even the king. It would only put them in danger.
On May 26, mere days before Serafina’s wedding, Napoleon was scheduled to appear in Milan to receive the Iron Crown of Lombardy.
Darius would be there, too.
He was an able diplomat and a good spy, but when it came to the assassin’s art, he had a gift.
With one true shot of his rifle, he could disable the French war machine and remove the need for Serafina’s marriage to the Russian.
Napoleon Bonaparte must die.
He had no illusions about surviving the mission. Others had tried to assassinate the emperor and all had gone to the gallows or stood before the firing squad.
It didn’t much matter to him. The deed would immortalize him, and a glorious death was better than this life where he could not reach for the one thing that might have saved him— the promise in Serafina’s eyes of a dream beyond anything he had ever experienced.
He only knew he would not fail. One bullet, and he could make the world a safer place for everyone.
One bullet, and Serafina would be free.
“Here I am!” she called gaily, stirring him out of his dark thoughts.
He turned as she emerged from the dressing room with a dazzling smile, a vision in violet silk. His heart clenched.
“Shoes,” he ordered.
She flashed him a mock pout and turned back to get some slippers, then came out again and twirled for him. “How do I look?”
Fighting a smile, he eyed her up, from her slippered toes to her luxurious midnight tresses still loosely tied back with the white ribbon in a bow.
If she was not worth dying for, he did not know what was.
“You’ll do,” he said.
He picked up his waistcoat and cravat, draped them over his arm, and escorted Her Highness out into the hall.
CHAPTER FOUR
His spurred bootheels struck loud with each step, resounding down the marble corridor, while her skirts made an airy rustle as she strode beside him. Darius felt her watching him, and looked down at her with a dry, inquiring expression.
“Why do you always look so serious?”
He heaved a growling sigh and attempted to ignore her, but Serafina would not have it.
“So, Colonel. About these spies. What happens next?”
He glanced over his shoulder, then spoke in a low tone. “Your father and I will select a small band of highly trained men to protect you. They’ll remove you from the palace and keep you guarded until I’ve apprehended the remaining members of Saint-Laurent’s organization.”
“Where will they take me?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“Safe house.”
“What’s that?” she exclaimed.
He reached over and pinched her cheek, amused by her alarm. “Oh, just a pleasant little country house with some ingenious fortifications. You’ll be perfectly safe. Think of it as a holiday,” he suggested. “Rusticating.”
“Rusticating.” She wrinkled her refined nose. “Can my friends come?”
“No. You’ll have to manage without your entourage for a while,” he said rather sarcastically. “You will also have a very limited staff. And no animals.”
She frowned. “I don’t think I like this.”
“It’s not optional.”
“I shall be bored out of my skull.” Suddenly she whirled to him. “Will you be going, Darius?”
He shuddered. “Er, no.”
She stared at him with that intelligent gaze belying her frivolous, darling-of-the-court manner. “You should, Darius. You could use a holiday.”
“I have spies to catch, my lady.”
“Hmm,” she said, eyeing him askance.
When they reached his suite, he found Alec waiting outside the door.
“Good Lord, Colonel, what happened to you?” the fair-haired junior officer cried, seeing his bloodstained shirt.
“Oh, the usual,” he drawled.
He instructed Alec to send a few men of the Royal Guard out to the maze to dispose of the bodies, then ordered him to seek an audience for them immediately with the king. Alec gave him a smart, martial bow in reply, but Darius smirked to see his assistant steal a lovelorn glance at the Jewel of Ascencion.
She gave a haughty sniff and turned away, nose in the air. The lieutenant scurried away.
“He’s harmless.” Darius chuckled, unlocking the door.
“Tell him he can keep his eyes to himself, thank you,” she said primly.
He laughed under his breath. As if she did not love it that every man who saw her was her slave.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back. Shout if anyone approaches you.”
He opened the door slowly and entered his suite, weapon drawn. He was always a target, so there was the chance that his rooms had already been broken into. He took a careful moment to listen and smell the air, stealing silently from room to room until he was sure the suite was clear. Returning to the entrance, he led the princess inside and shut the door behind her.
He had no business bringing her into his rooms, but propriety or no, he thought stubbornly, he wasn’t letting her out of his sight. His Majesty would expect no less of him. Besides, it would only be for a moment, just long enough for him to dig some fresh clothes out of his traveling trunks, unloaded scarcely an hour ago from the ship, and to put them on.
It was dark in his suite. Knowing his window was probably being watched, he didn’t bother to light a glim. He dragged one of his sea chests out into the middle of the floor and opened it while Serafina went exploring his private domain with her light, dancing step over the creaking floor, humming to herself.
Well, she certainly made herself at home, he thought sardonically. For someone who was the target of an abduction plot, she didn’t seem overly concerned.
Because she feels safe with me, trailed the thought through his mind. He ignored his own aching reaction to the realization, pulling out a starchy lawn shirt and fresh cravat.
Quickly he donned them, then opened another trunk to scrounge up a fresh waistcoat and jacket—black, of course. It amused him to play up his sinister role as the king’s cold-blooded assassin, for it kept the courtiers somewhat at bay. Whether it was jealousy or simple prejudice against his Gypsy blood, he only knew they despised and mistrusted him. They called him a calculating adventurer and warned one another that any day now he would turn on the king. Whenever he came home, they baited him, trying to see how far they could push him, for they knew he would uphold the king’s new law against dueling, and he refused to fight under Lazar’s roof.
Buttoning his waistcoat in the dark, he strolled into the next room to find Serafina bathed in moonlight by his large four-poster bed, staring down at his guitar. The instrument lay in its black leather case, which she had opened. When she touched the strings, the fine Spanish guitar breathed a mournful sound.
“What are you doing?” he asked very quietly.
She yanked her hand back. “Nothing.”
He stalked over to her and shut the case, narrowing his eyes at her. “Come on.” He pivoted and walked silently out of the bedroom. She followed. Just as he reached for his jacket, draped over a chair, there came a light scratch at the door.
In two strides, he was by Serafina’s side. Effortlessly he maneuvered her against the wall behind the door and motioned for her to be silent. She nodded, her eyes wide, glistening in the dark like violet quartz.
Soundlessly approaching the door, he laid his hand on the knob. The scratching sounded again.
He unsheathed his dagger.
Heart pounding with dread, Serafina waited, fully tensed, but when Darius opened the door, she found a different kind of danger had come to pounce on her champion now.
“Darling!” said a worldly, tinkling voice.
Instantly Serafina’s eyes narrowed to angry slashes.
Darius murmur
ed a cool, uncomfortable little laugh. “Jules. What a surprise.”
In the wedge of light slanting across the floor, she saw their shadows as Lady Julia Calazzi threw herself into Darius’s arms and began kissing him for all she was worth.
Serafina spied, peeking with one eye through the crack in the door. With one hand, the voluptuous brunette in the wine-red dress was tearing at the clothes Darius had just put on. With the other, Julia held the back of his head, driving him deeper into the ruthless kiss she was giving him.
Ugh, I can’t watch this. Serafina turned away in disgust. She folded her arms over her chest and glared into the dark room. It was bad enough to have to hear it.
“Oo, Santiago, I am starved for you,” the woman moaned between kisses. “Let me in.”
Serafina peered through the crack in the door again to observe Darius’s reaction.
Well, she thought, she had to give him credit. He tried. Of course, he had to know she was spying on him, so perhaps he was minding his manners. He was surprisingly polite as he pried Julia back, but the notorious seductress seemed to think he was only playing hard to get. Plucking at his clothes, she laughed at his protests.
“We can do it in the hall if you want, darling, but I’d prefer your bed. Then you can tie me up again,” she added in a wicked whisper.
Serafina’s brows shot up.
Darius cleared his throat violently. “Er, now’s not a good time,” he started gingerly.
“Why not, darling?”
“Just got in. I have to see the king.”
“Let him wait. I need you first. So badly. So very badly,” she panted, grasping his waist and pressing him with her body, but when Julia pushed Darius against the doorframe right on his bad shoulder, Serafina’s temper snapped.
Looks like it’s my turn to rescue him! she thought, ignoring the inner protest that Darius would be cross if she interfered. She didn’t care. La Divine Julia couldn’t have him tonight, and that was that.
“Did you miss me, darling? I missed you. You know I’m mad for you,” Julia panted, running her jeweled fingers through his hair.
“Husband out of town again?” he asked, beginning to sound irritated.
“He’s dead, darling, haven’t you heard? I am finally free of the old goat!”
“Ah. I see you are heartbroken. My condolences.”
Julia laughed. “You delicious scoundrel! How like you to condole me for the loss of a man you cuckolded! Rest assured, I’ll land on my feet. I always do. Now let me in! We’ll toast his good riddance.”
“Julia, really, I’m in the middle of something—”
She slipped her arms around him again, kissing his neck as he protested. “Oh, you’re so busy, I know, darling. Tell me all about it,” she murmured, laughing.
Serafina edged farther into the room while Darius blocked the woman at the doorway and smoothly ran through half a dozen excuses, flattery and all, to no avail. He never noticed as Serafina made her way silently toward his bedchamber.
When she was there, she stood out of sight, muffling wicked laughter.
“Darius,” she called in her scratchiest, sleepiest, most pampered voice, “come back to bed, my love. I need you!”
In the doorway, Julia’s wheedling and Darius’s charming refusals both abruptly stopped.
At last, Julia gasped as though she had had the wind knocked out of her. “You bastard! Who is she?”
“I—”
He said nothing more. The great lover was quite at a loss, it seemed.
Serafina bit her tongue lightly just to keep from laughing aloud. Oh, revenge was a wonderful thing, she thought, remembering that day she had walked in on the pair in the music room. She had been crushed for a week afterward.
“Have your fun, you ungrateful cur. Use her well!” Julia snarled in a whisper. “And when none of your pretty toys proves willing or able to indulge your perversions, you can come crawling back to me.”
Hmm, perversions? Serafina wondered.
“But I promise you this—I will find out who she is and I will destroy her!”
“Don’t you think perhaps you’re overreacting, my dear?” he asked blandly. “I never made you any promises.”
Serafina heard the slap.
For a moment, she only stood there, stunned, wide-eyed in the dark.
Julia had slapped Darius.
Slapped her brave, noble, wounded knight.
Infuriated, she whirled out of her hiding place and marched toward the door in a wrath of vengeance, but Darius was just closing it. She tried to slip around him, but he grabbed her by the waist.
“Oh, no, you don’t, little wildcat.”
She strained for the doorknob. “Let me go! I’m going after her! How dare she hit you? She hurt your shoulder! I saw her—”
“That, Your Highness, was totally uncalled for,” he growled, holding her fast. “You have just officially made my life hell. You had no business interfering in my—”
“Perversions?”
She heard him suck in his breath swiftly.
“Do you really tie her up? Why?”
“Serafina!”
“Is it fun? Oh, I’ve shocked you.” She laughed with glee.
He released her waist and straightened up to his full height. In the dark, she could just make out the shape of him as he growled a sigh, righted his clothes with a crisp jerk to cravat and jacket, then raked a hand through his hair.
“Your father will be waiting, Your Highness.”
She chuckled at his chagrin.
“You’re very pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” he muttered as he took a handkerchief out of his pocket. He wiped the crimson rouge from Julia’s lips off his face.
“Yes. Here, you missed.” Serafina took the cloth from him, held his chin, and wiped the last smudge of Julia’s rouge off his face, by the corner of his mouth. “As for you, Colonel, I am shocked that you are wooing married ladies.” She gave him back his handkerchief. “For your information, Julia Calazzi is a malicious schemer,” she told him sternly, folding her arms over her chest. “Really, you should show some taste.”
He threw his forelock out of his eyes with an arrogant toss of his head. “Nice body, though, and she’s always willing to try new things.”
Her eyes widened. “Do not say such things to me!” she huffed, blushing.
“You started it,” he muttered. “Anyway, it just so happens that Julia has, shall we say, intimate knowledge of every man in this court. She can be very useful.”
“Oh, so you give her your favors in exchange for information. How mutually cold-blooded! I thought perhaps you were in love with her,” she said, studying her fingernails.
He scoffed.
“Obviously she is in love with you,” she pointed out.
“Women like Julia don’t fall in love.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be too sure. I’d be careful with her if I were you. I’ve seen how she treats her enemies.”
“Well, congratulations. You’re the one she wants to destroy now,” he said sardonically.
“I’m shaking,” she purred at him.
He reached for her wrist, pulling her none too gently toward the door. “Come on, you hellion. What were you going to do to her anyway, smash her a facer?”
“Maybe,” she shot back, flouncing a few steps ahead of him as they set out down the hall, but it was right then she decided, with all the stubbornness she possessed, that if she was in need of a protector for the next few weeks, then, by goodness, she was the Princess Royal and she should have the very best.
Only the great Santiago would do.
She was sure she could persuade Papa of the wisdom of this decision.
Fairly sure.
Yes, she thought fiercely, Papa could get some other man to do his dirty work for a change. Darius was tired, wounded, and worn out. He would never look after himself properly unless he was forced to. With a wound like that, he had no business running about trying to catch spies.
Somebody had to take care of him or he was going to self-destruct. Her mind was made up. Even if she had to twist Papa around her finger, Darius was coming with her.
Somehow she sensed it might well be a matter of survival for both of them.
Julia Calazzi was still shaking by the time she slipped around the corner, down the dimly lit marble hall from Santiago’s suite. Leaning her head back against the wall, she closed her eyes and strove for calm. Her heart pounded with hellish fury.
She knew that scratchy, luxurious voice.
Now that she had realized, belatedly, who was in the room with him, Julia was torn between relief and an even greater alarm. Calling Darius back to bed was just the sort of joke the little witch would enjoy, just to grate on her. But Julia knew full well that Santiago would never lay a hand on the king’s precious baby girl.
There must be some mischief afoot, she decided. Offhand, she could think of any number of possible disasters brewing in the palace that could have brought Santiago rushing home. Philippe Saint-Laurent? Orsini? She knew of them all.
Well, she thought, it comforted her to realize he was probably merely on duty, protecting Her Highness, as always. Yet this thought, too, brought a faint sneer to her face. Why had no one ever protected her?
Over the past several years, Julia Calazzi had staked her claim on the king’s right-hand man, the elusive, the beautiful, blackhearted Santiago. The whole court believed that if anyone could ever snare him, she, La Divine Julia, would be the one.
She did not care that her friends pursued him for the occasional dalliance, for truly, a night in his arms was a harlot’s dream. Their knowing what a fantastic lover he was only enhanced her victory. Though most had enjoyed him, all acknowledged that she was the only one equipped with the wits and treachery to match him, trick for trick.
Only, over time, as she had grown close to him—insofar as anyone could be close to Darius Santiago—Julia had come to realize what no one else saw, a situation which boded very ill for her planned conquest. He was smitten—poor, tragic, laughable fool—with that spoiled, silver-spoon beauty, the king’s daughter.
God, she despised the Princess Royal. Why did everyone act as though that barefooted little heathen was God’s gift to the world?