She shook her head briefly and turned away, her heart pounding. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach. She had known. Oh, she had known he was too good to be true.
“I’m afraid there’s more,” Orlando said gently, opening the document box.
In sudden revulsion, she half-feared it contained bribe money to make her agree to give Rafael up, the final insult to her pride, but when he nodded for her to look inside, instead she saw five small portraits of young women. “Who are they?”
“These are the young ladies from among whom the prince was ordered to choose his bride.” He went on to describe briefly the bargain King Lazar had struck with his son, giving him the helm of Ascencion during his absence in exchange for Rafael’s promise to settle on one of the girls in the portraits. “This is the main reason I believe Rafe will be disinherited if he marries you,” Orlando said soberly. “He didn’t like his father ordering him to marry—taking away his freedom. Nor did his pride like it that these girls had already been selected without anyone consulting him. You see, I fear he is marrying you as a slap in the face to the king.”
“Oh, God,” she whispered in horrified shock. She lowered her head and shut her eyes, hating herself in that moment for her provincial naïveté.
What a stupid fool she was, walking right into that rake’s silky trap. How could she have thought that a golden god like Prince Rafael would want a scrawny red-headed tomboy like her—a criminal—when he had nearly half a dozen princesses to choose from for his wife and Chloe Sinclair for his lover? How could she have failed to see at once that his sole intention was to shock the world and infuriate His Majesty?
He had only been pretending last night, she realized. God, what a fool she had been, playing right into his hands! She shuddered at the thought of the liberties she had allowed him to take with her person, all against her better judgment. She had trusted him last night, body and soul, and he had been toying with her all along, the same way he had been toying with her the night of the ball when he had ordered his friends to procure her for his lecherous amusement.
What a hypocrite he was, extracting her promise of honesty in the jail when, meanwhile, he had been standing there lying to her about his own true motives.
I hate him, she thought. She suddenly missed Mateo desperately, her one true steady friend. She missed Grandpapa and she wanted to go home.
“I have no doubt that in the king’s eyes, Rafe’s marrying you will be the last straw,” Orlando went on. “The throne will go to Leo. What will become of Rafe, I don’t know. What will become of Ascencion, however, that is the real question.”
Dani lifted her head, opening her eyes again. She crossed her arms over her chest, roiling with terrible hurt and fury as she stared out over the city. “If Rafael is such a despicable cad that he would do this to his father and to me, why do you want to see him ascend to the throne anyway? Maybe he doesn’t deserve it.”
“He has been trained all his life to be king. He’s not incompetent, he just lacks maturity. Hopefully, that will come in time. Besides, the only option is Prince Leo, who is but ten years old. A minor on the throne jeopardizes the stability of a country.”
She closed her eyes, struggling to think over the chaos of her emotions. “I don’t know what I am to do, Your Grace. I can’t simply refuse him. My friends are still in custody. If I go back on my word, Rafael will be furious. God knows, I don’t want to marry such a cad or bring down King Lazar’s fury on myself, but if I refuse him now, he could still send the Gabbiano brothers to the gallows. Even when they move to Naples, they will be watched, at least for a time.”
“That’s true. Well,” he said, drawing a deep breath, “considering that the wedding is to take place tomorrow, maybe it is too late to call it off. Perhaps our only hope at this point is to procure an annulment when the king and queen return.”
She glanced at him uncertainly.
“Do you understand what is required to obtain an annulment?” he asked in a delicate tone.
She shook her head.
“It means you must not…yield yourself to him. If the prince gets you with child…well, there is nothing more dismal than a king’s unwanted bastard,” he said in a low, rather bitter voice.
“I understand.” She looked away. That much of it was cause for relief, she thought, staring with a downward, dispirited gaze at her hands lying limply on the railing. Vulnerable hurt throbbed in her, but at least now she needn’t worry about dying in childbirth.
A few moments passed in silence. Dani glanced over her shoulder toward the hallway to see if Rafael had come back yet from his tête-à-tête with Chloe Sinclair. It would not do for him to see Orlando and her together, lest he suspect something.
“I confess, I didn’t know what to expect from a female highwayman,” the Florentine duke remarked. She looked over and found Orlando watching her. “Perhaps by law you should have gone to the gallows,” he murmured as he reached out and brushed his knuckle down the curve of her cheek. “Still, you are quite a find.”
She pulled away with a scarlet blush, confused by his improper caress.
“Give him up when the time comes, and I’ll make it my business to protect you from the king and queen’s wrath. Your willingness to lay no claim on Rafael will help me bargain with Their Majesties for your freedom. I can see to it that you are granted immunity for your crimes. If, at that time, you are still pure, well…”—he gave her a cool, enigmatic smile—“perhaps you and I can reach an arrangement of our own.”
“Don’t be indecent,” she forced out, shocked by his proposition. “When Rafael and I are married, you will be my kinsman, too.”
He slid her a dark, knowing smile, locked the document box, and walked away.
“How can you think to attach yourself to that scrawny little country wench?” Chloe spat, her blue eyes narrowed and cold. She paced back and forth across the salon, her gauzy gown swirling around her legs. “Do you really think she can satisfy you? Well, let me tell you, loverboy, the thrill will soon wear off! She’s just like the rest of them. She’s going to bore you out of your skull, and you’re going to come crawling back to me—but when you do, all you’re going to get is a door slammed in your face! Do you think I need you? I can have any man that I want!”
Rafe sighed.
“I can!” she shouted, taking another enraged step toward him. “Anyone! Nic, Orlando, even the king if I want him!”
“For God’s sake, have a little decency,” he muttered, unimpressed by her threats.
She trilled a brutal, nervous laugh. “Does that scare you, Rafie? Afraid I’ll have more fun in your papa’s bed? I’m sure I would. He’s still as virile as a stallion. The king is a real man, not like you.”
“And in thirty years of marriage, he has never once cheated on my mother. Pretty as you are, Chloe, I don’t think he’s going to break his record for you.”
She sneered at him. “You little mama’s boy. I should seduce him just to spite you. I’d wager he needs a good lay, because the queen’s nothing but a tired old hag.”
She would insult his mother now? he thought, checking his anger. “Ah, what a shame you think so, for Her Majesty has such a high opinion of you,” he said lightly.
His sarcasm flustered Chloe only for a heartbeat. “I know your mother hates me. She hates every woman who tries to get near you.”
He shrugged. “She’s merely a superior judge of character.”
“And you’re still tied to her apron strings! Maybe I’ll take Orlando instead. What do you say to that?” she flung at him.
“Sleep with the gardener if it soothes your vanity, my dear, I’m sure I don’t give a damn. It’s not as though you were chaste when I met you.”
“Bastard!” she hissed, but to Rafe’s surprise, she still didn’t throw her dalliance with Adriano in his face.
He knew something had been going on between his old boyhood friend and his mistress for some time, not that he particularly cared. He’d have to be blind
not to notice. At nearly every social event, Chloe and Adriano could be found snickering together, making nasty remarks about people to each other behind their hands. The stunning pair were inseparable, constantly clinging to each other, doting on each other in a way that appeared mere abundant affection, but which Rafe had rather indifferently assumed was more.
“Maybe I will,” she went on. “Your cousin is so handsome and I hear he really knows how to satisfy a woman—”
“Frankly, I don’t care whom you take to your bed, so long as you understand that you are no longer welcome in mine,” he said sharply, out of patience with her.
She flinched, then fell silent, staring at him in reproach.
“You’ll bore of her,” she promised bitterly, then turned her back on him and walked over to the striped couch, where she sat. She crossed her arms under her sumptuous breasts, exhibiting them to best advantage, and glared straight ahead with a furious pout on her pretty lips, ignoring Rafe—or pretending to ignore him.
He stood by the window rubbing his temples. All her screaming had given him a headache, or perhaps it had been the sheer savagery of her attack.
You’ll bore of her. Hell, maybe she was right, for all he knew. Half an hour ago, when Chloe had stopped him in the hall and stiffly asked to talk to him, he had walked into the salon full of resolution to end his affair with her before marrying Daniela.
But from the moment he’d stepped into the room, he had received an education on why and how exactly Chloe Sinclair alone had managed to hold him for four months. The reason, he had discovered, was that she knew exactly what to say and do to maneuver him however she liked. Though her manipulation was transparent, the fears she wielded against him were real. From the moment he had shut the door, she had played on his self-doubt like a spoiled child banging on the same key of a harpsichord, over and over again.
She’s using you. It’s obvious. You don’t even know her. She’d promise you anything to save her neck—and gain a crown for good measure! You’re so stupid, Rafe! You can’t trust her. What makes you think this girl is any different from the others? You’ll be bored of her in a fortnight.
Maybe Chloe was right. He was already deep in the redhead’s power. He marveled, chilled now to think of the things he had revealed to her last night about his deepest fears. She could use any of that against him. Maybe he had thrown himself into this rashly and too fast. How could he ever really trust his own judgment when he had blundered so often in the past?
But he had made public his intention to marry Daniela. He had declared it before the council, and marry her he would. To back out now would be to lose face entirely.
He looked over, jarred from his tangled thoughts, when he heard a sniffle. His heart sank, seeing that Chloe had started to cry.
She lowered her head and rested her fingers on the bridge of her nose, two teardrops spilling in unison down her cheeks, on cue. “Why do you make me say such ugly things? I hate you. I love you. I only want to make you happy.”
He stared at her, knowing he was being manipulated by the tears, but helpless all the same. He couldn’t stand to see a woman cry—and Chloe knew it. She probably even believed that she loved him, but he had long since known that the only person in Chloe’s world was Chloe. Still, he felt miserably sorry for hurting her.
When she sobbed again, he walked over to her, crouched down next to the couch where she sat, and wordlessly handed her his monogrammed handkerchief.
She took it and dabbed at her tears.
God, what am I doing? he wondered heavily, suppressing a sigh. He thought of Dani and was afraid.
He lifted his lashes and coolly studied his mistress.
With her endless appetites and bewildering mood swings, Chloe Sinclair was a self-avowed bitch, but at least they were used to each other. She knew not to expect too much from him, and God knew they were compatible in bed. Maybe it was too soon to sever ties with her. After all, as long as Chloe got what she wanted, easy things like fine presents and lots of attention, she didn’t give him any grief. She didn’t shake him, trip up his defenses.
Gingerly, he rested his hand on her thigh and caressed her comfortingly. “Don’t cry, sugar-sweet,” he murmured. “Everything will be all right.”
She sniffled prettily and eyed him askance, sulking. “I’m not important to you. You don’t care about me.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“You wouldn’t marry her if you loved me!” she said, fresh tears rising to glimmer in her large blue eyes.
“I have a duty to my family and to Ascencion,” he said softly. “You know that. It’s all a matter of bloodlines. I told you that my father was hounding me to choose a wife.”
“But what’s so great about her?”
The pleading insecurity in her big blue eyes took him aback. He knew Chloe had not felt threatened in the slightest by the five princesses in the portraits. But when it came to Daniela, she pouted and lowered her head, a long, graceful swath of golden hair falling forward to veil her rosy cheek. “Are you in love with her, Rafe?”
It was a question he didn’t know how to answer, but he had no desire to reignite her fury. “Sweetheart, I’ve only known her for a few days,” he replied evasively.
She huffed a bit but did not explode. Slowly he exhaled with relief.
His answer felt like a shameful betrayal of Dani and left him feeling even more like a heel, but his adolescent impulses rebelled against the surge of guilt.
Hang it all, society recognized his right as a wealthy male to keep a mistress if he chose. Daniela surely knew that, too. Every man of fashion had a lady on the side. Only the Rock of Ascencion was the model husband, and everyone knew Rafe the Rake wasn’t the man his father was.
“Listen,” he said, caressing her thigh again lightly, “we don’t need to make a decision about each other here and now. Maybe we should think about it for a few days.”
Head down, her sapphire gaze slid askance to his. He saw her calculating what she might be able to get out of him for this.
He continued petting her and spoke soothingly. “You go back to your townhouse and just relax for a few days. Pamper yourself a little and see your friends while I get through this wedding, all right? I’ll come and see you soon.”
“Promise?”
Guiltily, he nodded.
Then she sighed and gave him a melting look. “All right. You know I can deny you nothing. But first…” She slipped her arms around his neck, nuzzling his cheek. “Oh, Rafe,” she breathed into his ear, causing him to shiver, “let’s make love. Right now. I miss you, Rafe. I need you. I never got to give you your birthday present.”
His whole being protested when she kissed him, parting his lips with her tongue. He tensed, too much a gentleman to brush her off, but determined to extricate himself from her clutches without rousing another temper tantrum or more tears.
She sighed, ending the kiss, then lay back against the couch’s cushions, toying with the ribbons on her dress, frisky invitation in her eyes. “Play with me, Rafie.”
Shaking himself out of a stare, he forced a smile of regret. “You could tempt a saint, sugar-sweet. Unfortunately, I’m scheduled for a couple more meetings this afternoon.” He glanced at the clock, but didn’t deign to tell her that the promise he’d made was to escort Dani to the docks to say goodbye to the Gabbiano brothers. He was already late.
“We’ll be quick.”
“Cherie, there are some pleasures I refuse to rush,” he whispered.
“You incorrigible charmer, I think you are just putting me off.” She gazed at him with wistful adoration in her eyes. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Rafe.”
He stared at her, realizing that he wasn’t all that hurt…which was just another proof, perhaps, that he had known better from the start than to let himself truly care about the spoiled, cosseted beauty.
Perhaps he had chosen her deliberately because she posed no threat to his defenses, unlike certain redheads of his acquain
tance. For the life of him, he could not imagine Dani ever saying deliberately cruel things to anyone. The thought brought another severe wave of self-disappointment washing through him and filled him with the need to get away from his mistress at once.
Suavely bending to kiss her hand, he took his leave of Chloe and left the salon.
Late, damn it, he thought, hurrying down the marbled hall. That was all he needed—for his bride to hate him, too.
A short while later, he stood apart from her and her lowly devotees on the wooden docks, tapping his riding crop against his boot, irritated and impatient with the long hug she was giving that dullard giant whom she called Rocco.
Dani’s cool, distant courtesy toward him when he had arrived to take her down to the port to say goodbye to her precious Gabbiano brothers had told him, loud and clear, that she knew he had met in private with Chloe. She did not speak a word about it, however, merely giving him the cold shoulder.
He didn’t even have the heart to try to charm his way back into her good graces, he merely bore her silent rancor glumly. With every passing moment, he grew angrier at himself for not having had the mettle to break it off with Chloe. His bride looked utterly lovely in her new cerulean-blue walking gown, he thought, gazing longingly at her. She had on a charming bonnet with a couple of the pink roses he’d sent pinned to the brim, and her short gloves were white.
Next, she hugged the bespectacled middle brother, then bent down and hugged the freckled child Gianni for quite a long time. After him, she embraced their widowed mother, who had chosen to go with the boys.
Watching their tearful goodbyes made him feel like an ogre for sentencing them to this. He pulled his candy tin out of his pocket and took a peppermint, sucking it as he sulked. If nothing else, it kept his mouth busy to prevent him from shouting out, All right, all right, they can stay!
His merciful impulse was promptly quashed, however, when his wife-to-be released the child and turned to her lifelong devotee, the noble Signore Mateo.
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