“They had better catch her this time!” Adriano burst out. “And when they do, I hope you are not thinking of letting the little bitch off the hook, Rafe. She’s a menace!”
“She’s a marvel,” he replied in a low voice that went unheard in their raucous outpouring of burned vanity. The purest kiss he’d ever tasted.
His own pride smarted along with theirs, but Rafe did not know what to think. Daniela Chiaramonte was a puzzle he urgently needed to solve. She enraged, confounded, baffled him—yet she had wrung from him a great deal of grudging respect, for the girl had nerve the likes of which he had rarely run across in either sex. And to think, until he had tasted her tonight, she had never been kissed….
Why, she must think him the greatest damned fool of them all, panting after her like a dog, he thought with a scowl. She probably thought him an utter joke. It would not stand! The girl needed to be put in her place.
“Who is she, Rafe?” asked the scholarly Viscount Elan Berelli, the most prudent and sensible of his friends.
My nemesis, he thought in wry annoyance. “A Chiaramonte. Her name is Daniela.”
Elan furrowed his brow and pushed his spectacles up higher onto the bridge of his nose. “Chiaramonte? Wasn’t there a Marquis Chiaramonte who ruined himself with drink and gambling when we were boys?”
“I wonder if that was her father,” Rafe said with a frown.
Just then, there was a sudden brisk knock at the door.
Tomas answered it.
A lieutenant of the Royal Guard saluted, short of breath in his haste. “Your Highness, the fires are out and the riot has been averted. They have been taken.”
Rafe stepped toward him eagerly. “All of them?”
“The little child escaped us.”
“But the Masked Rider?”
“In custody, sir.”
Hearty sounds of satisfaction broke out in the room, as if the young lords’ favorite horse had just come from behind to win the derby. Rafe glanced uneasily at his friends, disturbed by the rising savagery in their tones as they urged on one another’s anger.
“Let’s go get her!” Federico bayed like a hound on the hunt.
“Settle down,” Rafe sharply commanded, then turned back to the lieutenant. “Tell your men well done. Forget the child. He’s of no consequence.”
“Shall we interrogate the prisoners, Your Highness?”
“Leave that to me. Advise your men that I don’t want these prisoners abused…and confine the Masked Rider in solitary for the night.”
“Rafe!” Adriano hissed in protest. “Don’t give her preferential treatment!”
He turned to his friend, lowering his voice. “Am I to let her spend the night with the thugs of the kingdom as her bunk mates? There won’t be anything left of her by morning. For God’s sakes, she’s a virgin.”
“A virgin? Throw her to us, then!” Niccolo cried with a drunken laugh, slapping his thigh at his own jest.
Rafe stared at him, then looked at the others, feeling as though he were seeing them for the first time. He thought of Daniela’s innocent eyes of clear aquamarine. The louder they crowed for her blood, the more urgent grew his deep-seated impulse to protect her, intensifying to an almost panicked need, especially now that Elan had reminded him of that minor scandal a dozen or so years ago, which he suspected had been the ruin of Daniela’s father—and her family fortunes.
He was annoyed as hell at the girl, but whatever she might have done to him or them, she was young and valiant and beautiful—and the note in their voices was ugly.
“We’ll teach her a lesson she’ll never forget!”
“You’ll not touch her,” Rafe said in steely quiet, glaring at them.
Some of them stopped laughing abruptly. Others wore sudden, sobered looks of surprise at his curt rebuke.
Warily, he turned back to the lieutenant. “Have the Masked Rider brought to the interrogation chamber at seven tomorrow morning—provided she left that part of the jail intact?” he added dryly.
“Only the west wall was damaged, Your Highness. The masons have already inspected it and said it can be easily repaired.”
“Well, that’s refreshing. You have your orders.”
“Yes, Sire!” the man clipped out, saluting.
Rafe nodded his dismissal, tamping down the urge to have Daniela brought from the rough and dangerous jail immediately. It would be begging for trouble to go too softly on her. Besides, by holding her there overnight, at least he could be sure she wouldn’t escape again, nor could his enraged companions get at her. He hoped that when the liquor wore off, their tempers would cool. As for Lady Daniela, it was going to be a long night for his little friend alone in the dark, wondering and agonizing over her fate, but by morning perhaps she’d be more compliant.
He looked over to find Adriano shaking his head at him in disgust. “I can’t believe you’re taking her side over ours.”
“I haven’t taken any sides yet. It’s for the courts to decide.”
“I know you. You’re going to find some way to let her off the hook, because you can’t resist a tolerable-looking female. Don’t get caught up in whatever lies she may have told you—she’s a criminal, Rafe! She’s a thief! We’ve been here before, don’t you remember?”
“Watch it,” he growled, unwilling to admit that Adriano had hit his fears precisely on the mark. It would be all too easy for that girl with her big, innocent eyes and soft, vulnerable mouth to take advantage of him—and yet the fact that he could not predict her next move or control her fiery will excited him intensely.
“Don’t you see how she’s already started manipulating you? If you help this little wench, she’s just going to take you for whatever she can get. Just like Jul—”
“Do not speak that name in my hearing,” he warned fiercely, cutting Adriano off just as the door opened and Don Arturo burst into the room, followed by several of the other old counselors.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Rafe muttered under his breath. “What are you hags doing here?”
“There are fires and a riot in the city tonight, Your Highness!” the prime minister announced, marching over to him with the air of a man clearly prepared to take charge. “We thought you should know—if you’re not too busy entertaining yourself!”
“The fires are out and the riot has already been put down,” Rafe said with elaborate patience, ignoring the insult with stalwart diplomacy. “Return to your homes.”
“I should think not!” he exclaimed in self-righteous indignation. “Your Highness, you have been in power mere hours and have no experience with political crisis. The cabinet will manage everything from here on in. His Majesty would expect no less of us. Run along and enjoy your party. After all, it is your birthday,” he added under his breath, glancing at the other old dons.
They scoffed knowingly.
“My lord, he’s going to let that filthy bandit woman off the hook, even though she robbed us all and gave away our gold!” Adriano whined to the prime minister. “Can you talk reason to him?”
Don Arturo looked up at Rafe shrewdly. “Yes, I heard the Masked Rider was captured. A female, you say?”
“A Chiaramonte,” Rafe warned softly. “Don’t any of you see that everything she’s done has benefited other people? I saw her house, her dress. She didn’t spend a cent of that gold on herself, and I daresay you all could spare it.”
“The law does not care for motive and circumstance, Your Highness,” said Don Arturo, pouncing on this new development with a fighting gleam in his eyes that said he would take any reason to combat Rafe now that the king had gone. “It is your duty, as I’m sure you are aware, to hang this lawbreaker.”
“I know my duty,” he said in a low, stoic tone. He also knew that his father’s counselors were just waiting for him to make one wrong move so they could take power from him before he wrecked the kingdom for his father.
Just then, Orlando joined them, slipping into the room with a grave nod to the men, th
en he sent Rafe a questioning look. Orlando was family: The presence of at least one sure ally bolstered Rafe’s confidence.
“Gentlemen,” he said, lifting his chin, “rest assured that when I have heard all the facts, I will decide Lady Daniela’s fate. Until then, I am hardly going to send a lynch mob after her. You all just need to calm down,” he added in annoyance.
“Calm down, while justice is being trampled underfoot?”
“That is a gross exaggeration.”
“I think not!” The prime minister drew himself up to his diminutive height. “If you fail to uphold the law yet again, Your Highness, do not count on me as your ally!”
Rafe absorbed this and was silent for a long moment, staring at the floor. “Don Arturo, you disappoint me.” He lifted his sober gaze to the prime minister’s face. “I had hoped you could rise above your personal grudge against me for the good of Ascencion, but I see now you still blame me for your nephew’s death. I know he was like a son to you, but I wasn’t the one who killed him.”
A stunned silence dropped upon the room.
Even Rafe’s wilder companions looked shocked. Giorgio di Sansevero had been a friend to them all, and his name was too painful to mention.
Everyone was staring at Rafe.
Don Arturo trembled with ire. “You were there. You could have saved him, but you didn’t, and to my thinking, it’s the same as if you were the one who cut him down in cold blood. You knew as well as anyone that dueling was against the law, but you didn’t stop him. No. Instead, you were his second,” he said bitterly.
“He was my friend. I could not refuse his request.”
“He would be alive here today if you had done your duty. He was a boy,” the man wrenched out.
“As was I.”
“You could have stopped him. He looked up to you like they all do!”
“I tried to stop him. Giorgio wanted blood and I wasn’t about to tell him how to live his life.”
“Dueling is against the law!” he cried again in anguish. “You ignored the law then, and it seems that you will ignore it now! Who will have to die this time for your entertainment?”
“How dare you?” Rafe bellowed, taking a step toward him.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Orlando broke in smoothly, pushing his way between them. He gave Rafe a hard look, then turned to Don Arturo. “Let us behave like civilized men.”
The duke’s interruption diverted some of the angry tension that vibrated in the room. He looked around at the others. “My dear Don Arturo, His Majesty left Prince Rafael in governance of Ascencion for a reason. Of course His Highness knows his duty. There is no question of that. For duty’s sake, loyalty’s, indeed, for his very pride’s sake I have no doubt that my cousin will serve justice. When this woman has been condemned to death, the people will rest content that he is as trustworthy a leader as King Lazar himself.”
Rafe looked over at him in bafflement. “Are you daft? The people love the Masked Rider. If I hang that girl, they’ll hate me even more.”
Orlando looked taken aback, then smiled patiently. Rafe felt his anger climbing at his cousin’s easy manner. Rafe liked Orlando, but kin or no, he could never quite bring himself to trust the man.
“If you don’t hang her, Rafe, who’s going to mind your authority?” Orlando asked reasonably. “I really don’t see that you have any choice.”
“I damned well do have a choice,” he said forcefully. “I am the prince regent, am I not? A fact you all seem determined to forget.” With a look of disgust, he turned away from them, racking his brain.
Hang Daniela? he thought as the reality of it sank in. He would sooner smash some priceless Hellenistic vase or burn the Mona Lisa. How could he destroy someone so young, so much better, finer of spirit than himself? He had wanted to wrap her sweet skin in silk and cover her body in kisses, but now he must send her to the executioner. He flinched at the thought. He was the supreme judicial authority on Ascencion in his father’s absence and he alone had the power to save her. Yet they were right. Who would respect his authority if he let her go?
He would continue to be naught but a joke in the eyes of the world, playing the fool again for a woman. Besides, what kind of precedent would it set for future criminal cases if he pardoned her? Ah, ginger cat, what a bind you have put me in now.
“Leave me,” he murmured, needing time alone to think. “All of you.”
“Your Highness—” Don Arturo began.
“Goddamn it, I will be obeyed,” he uttered low, in fury. Out of all patience with their defiance, he whirled around to face them, his voice a whip. He took a step toward them in regal wrath. “Get out of my house, all of you!” he thundered as they scrambled toward the door as though a lion had been unleashed in the room. “Elan, go downstairs and tell that damned orchestra to put their instruments away. Get these people out of here! The party is over. It’s over. Do you hear me, you useless, lazy bastards?” he shouted at his friends. “The party is over!”
Rafe stood in place, his chest heaving.
They were gone in a moment and he was alone.
He raked his hand through his hair, noticing that it shook slightly with fury and, if he was honest, with a trace of fear. He felt woefully inadequate for the burdens now resting on his shoulders. Riots. Fires. Droughts.
Courtiers rallying against him. Friends who were suddenly transformed to barbaric strangers—or had they always been that way and he too lulled by pleasure and music and boredom to notice?
Shaken, disappointed in everyone he knew, including himself, he walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a small glass of whiskey. He tossed it back and felt it burn a fiery path down to his belly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then his grim gaze fell upon the tray where the portraits of the five princesses were arrayed. His friends had been making witless jokes all evening about them.
He stared at their meaningless faces.
Daniela Chiaramonte must obviously hang. No doubt.
He had felt this bullheaded, disastrous need to save a damsel in distress once before. He would merely ignore it, he resolved, for he knew his own idiotic chivalry was not to be trusted. Daniela was not the sort of woman one dared rescue. She would probably slice his hand off if he reached out to help her. No. He would let her go to the gallows just as he should have let Julia go to debtor’s prison all those years ago. She had brought it on herself. Adriano was right. They were both thieves.
With a sudden, strangled growl of pain, he struck out, sweeping the five princesses off the tabletop. The frames went crashing to the floor. He looked up from their scattered, vacant smiles and met his own tempestuous glare in the elegant mirror.
I need answer to no one, she had said, so wild and free with the starlight on her hair. It is merely the choice I have made.
Rafe dropped his chin almost to his chest. Now he, too, must choose.
Dani huddled in total blackness on a moth-eaten pallet on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. With her forehead resting on her bent knees, she hadn’t realized she had finally dozed off until the lock banged in the iron door of her windowless cell.
The clanging noise roused her instantly, still half-immersed in her longing dream about the beautiful water dancing in Rafael’s fountain in front of the pleasure dome. In her dream, she had been unable to get to it, though she was straining on her knees, crawling, weeping for it in helpless frustration, aching for that towering silvery plume of sweet water. It was just out of reach, for the chain around her ankle had stopped her a few feet short of it, but all she longed for was to plunge her mouth and hands into it to slake her agonizing thirst.
The dream fled as she woke, but the thirst remained.
She clambered to her feet as the guards unbolted her cell. Quickly she put her black mask on again because she didn’t want them to see the fear written all over her face. When the door swung slowly back, she threw up an arm to shield her eyes against the morning light. Blinded, she felt huge h
ands seize her arm, unchain her ankles only, then yank her out of the cell.
“Where are you taking me?” she rasped, her throat dry and thick.
“Shut up.” The warden shoved her ahead of him down the dank stone corridor.
She stumbled toward the light, chains clanking. Soldiers and other wardens materialized out of the gloom. Dizzy and weak, she was aware of a corridor, slashes of shadow and sun striping the flagstone floor, six uniformed guards marching her to some unknown place, sunlight gleaming on their bayonets.
She heard the soldiers’ boots striking the flagstones sharply, but the sound of their brisk, snapping strides could not drown out the chanting and roaring of a distant mob. She listened, knowing the mob had something to do with her, but she couldn’t make out their words.
“Bring in the prisoner.”
The yeoman of the tower lowered his ceremonial battle axe, stood aside and opened the massive door at the end of the jail’s long corridor.
The guards shoved Dani into a dim, stuffy chamber. She tripped, landing on her knees with a strangled curse. From behind the black mask, her glance swept the room.
It appeared to be an interrogation chamber or audience room of some kind, and was lined with more of the prince’s heavily armed Royal Guards, posted every ten feet around the perimeter.
There were high windows and a vast fireplace, the hearth empty. Against the longer wall ahead was a rough wooden throne on a raised stone dais, and on it sat the unmoving figure of a man.
The hairs on her nape bristled: She knew him.
The hazy light from the high windows fell behind him so only the prince’s immense silhouette was clearly visible in the gloom of the hot chamber. Elbows on the chair’s arms, fingers steepled in thought before his face, he did not need to move or even speak to make the imperial power of his presence felt. The aura of authority around him was palpable, eloquent in the expansive planes of his shoulders and his hard-lined jaw, edged with sun. His gaze was like a physical weight and in his stillness, he was as dangerous as a rogue lion in the shadows, idly flicking its tail, silent, keenly watching.
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