Princess Annie

by Linda Lael Miller

  It shimmered with candlelight and color, and the mirrors on the walls redoubled those things, splashing them back upon the happy dancers. The scene was magical, and Annie would have been transported by it, at least for a few hours, except for the encounter just past. As it was, when Rafael drew her into his arms, her breath caught and the flesh tingled where he touched her.

  Rafael stiffened, almost imperceptibly. “Yes,” he replied ruefully, scanning the crowd with a troubled gaze. “Lieutenant Covington is her brother.”

  Annie could feel word of the episode spreading through the ballroom; it was a buzzing vibration, flowing beneath the sounds of music, ordinary conversation, and the tinkle of crystal glasses touching each other in private toasts. Before she could react to Rafael’s words, however, there was a flurry in the far corner of the room, followed by shocked gasps and murmured protests as Felicia Covington pushed her way through the gathering to reach Rafael.

  Felicia was frighteningly pale when she stood before the prince, putting an end to their dancing, and her brown eyes were glazed with panic, confusion and rage. She did not so much as glance at Annie, who remained at Rafael’s side, her arm linked with his.

  “Is it true, Rafael?” Felicia demanded, as Chandler Haslett came to stand behind her. “Did you have Jeremy arrested like some common sneak thief?”

  Rafael sighed. “Not here, Felicia,” he said softly. “Not now.”

  Felicia seemed unsteady, though Annie had no way of knowing whether it was her agitated state or too many flutes of champagne that had made her so. She felt sorry for Felicia and wanted to offer comfort, but she knew no such gesture would be welcomed, especially from Jeremy Covington’s accuser.

  “You’ve always hated him,” she accused, her voice rising, becoming more and more shrill. “Just the way you’ve hated Lucian!”

  Rafael closed his eyes for a moment. His manner was one of compassion, and no little personal misery, for there was nothing he could say that would soothe his friend’s rising hysteria. “Chandler,” he said, making a request of that one word, and Mr. Haslett nodded, took a gentle hold on Felicia’s arm and started to lead her away.

  She resisted him, though, just long enough to glare at Annie in the same way her brother had done. “You,” she breathed. “It was you who concocted this terrible lie about my brother!”

  Annie stood there in silence and ached, for she had liked Felicia, and hoped that she and the other woman might someday be friends of a sort. Now, of course, there was no chance of that. Doors were closing, lives were changing, countries were falling apart.

  “Come with me, dear,” Chandler said quietly to the overwrought Felicia, and lead her away with a firm gentility that made Annie like him more than she ever had. She valued his friendship and his opinion, and hoped he wouldn’t dislike her after that fateful night. She’d had quite enough acrimony as it was, first from Jeremy Covington, then from his sister.

  Rafael gazed after them for a long moment, then patted Annie’s hand. “I’d better make certain Felicia is all right. Will you save a space for my name on your dance card, Miss Trevarren?”

  Annie could not have refused him and, although she felt a pang of envy over his attentiveness toward Felicia, his chivalrous streak was one of the things she loved most about Rafael. She nodded, and they parted, Rafael following Chandler and Miss Covington out of the ballroom, Annie turning to assess the crowd of strangers.

  She found Phaedra, looking like the princess she was in a gauzy blue dress exactly the color of an April sky, standing on the other side of the room. She was drinking champagne from a flower shaped flute, and her dark hair glowed like jet reflecting firelight.

  Phaedra seemed, to Annie, remarkably unconcerned with the events of the evening. It was possible that she hadn’t heard about Lieutenant Covington’s arrest, though quite unlikely, given the charged atmosphere of the room. Under no circumstances, however, could the princess have missed witnessing Felicia’s outburst—even the music of the small orchestra on the platform had faded to silence during that.

  Annie made her way to her friend’s side and gripped her elbow. “I want to speak with you in private, please,” she said, with cheerful ferocity.

  Phaedra opened her mouth in protest then thought better of the idea and excused herself from the circle of admirers that had gathered around her. There was an irritated expression on her face when she and Annie reached the spacious garden and courtyard just off the ballroom.

  “What is so important,” she demanded, “that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

  Annie folded her arms. “Lieutenant Covington was arrested just a few minutes ago,” she said, trying to moderate her tone of voice and finding it difficult to do.

  Phaedra shrugged. “This is about that tiresome little lizard?” she asked, with airy indifference rather than venom. “Whatever he gets, he’s earned.”

  Annie felt a flush of frustration surge up her bosom to throb in her face. “I quite agree, Phaedra, but that isn’t my point. You obviously know Jeremy Covington, so you must have recognized him that day at the marketplace. And yet you stood on that balcony with Rafael and Mr. Barrett and me, just this morning, and said you didn’t see anyone who had participated.” Annie paused for a few moments, endeavoring to control her rising temper. “Phaedra, why didn’t you say something? Were you protecting Lieutenant Covington?”

  “Protecting him? Annie, what’s gotten into you, that you’d ask a question like that? I was frightened that day—I was terrified, in fact, just like you were! I didn’t mention Jeremy Covington because I didn’t see him!”

  Annie bit her lip, buying time to calm herself, to think. The experience had been horrid, like wandering in a nightmare, and Phaedra had no reason to lie about the events of that day. If Annie had remembered the lieutenant, and she’d been scared half-blind herself, it was probably because she’d looked directly into his face, and because he’d kicked her.

  She put a hand to her forehead and sighed, and Phaedra took a step nearer.

  “It’s a terrible time for all of us,” the princess said gently, touching Annie’s shoulder, “and everyone is overwrought. But we dare not dwell on the sorrows, Annie. We must dance while we can, and look ahead to better days.”

  Annie caught the start of a tear with the tip of one gloved finger and braced herself up by an act of will. “You’re right, of course. This is your engagement ball, and we’ve still got the wedding to look forward to, as well.”

  “Yes,” Phaedra agreed, but her tone was distracted, her expression sad. She gazed off into the starry distance as she spoke, as though she were wishing herself far, far away. “There is still the wedding.”

  When Annie returned to the ball, there was still no sign of Rafael, but she had no shortage of dance partners. By the time the prince entered the grand chamber, with its gleaming marble floors, exquisite chandeliers and mirrored walls, Annie’s feet had been trampled by military officers, cabinet members and aristocrats of every size, shape and description.

  The guests at Phaedra’s engagement ball had much to say to Rafael, and he was waylaid so many times as he made his way across the room that Annie feared he would never reach her. At long last, however, he took her hand and inclined his head slightly in greeting. Although he was smiling slightly, she saw the despair in his eyes.

  “I trust you’ve saved a dance for me,” he said.

  Annie was overcome by emotion as she looked at him, and she could only nod. Too soon, she reflected as he drew her into his arms and they began to waltz, the wedding would be over and she would have to leave Bavia forever. And of course that meant leaving Rafael.

  She let her forehead rest against his shoulder for a moment, while she struggled to regain her equilibrium, and Rafael curved a finger under her chin and lifted it, making her look at him.

  “Would you like to leave, Annie?” he asked. “You’ve had a very difficult evening.”

  His concern was her undoing; she began to cry, and no a
mount of sniffling and wiping of eyes would stem the tide.

  “Perhaps … I should say … good-night …” she babbled.

  Deftly, Rafael maneuvered her through the French doors that led out into the courtyard and garden where she and Phaedra had talked before. He did not stop to converse, however, but simply pulled her along behind him as he strode through shadows and patches of moonlight, past shrubs and statues and marble benches and kissing lovers. Finally, at what seemed like the center of a maze of hedges and rosebushes, they were alone, and Rafael stopped and drew Annie into his arms. He looked down into her watery eyes and she saw wrenching emotions in his face. “I’ve tried to put you out of my mind, Annie, and I’ve failed. I have no right to ask anything of you, and yet I must. I need your comfort, if you’re still willing to give it.”

  Annie didn’t ask what he would give her in return, because she knew the answer. If Rafael made love to her, and then sent her away after Phaedra’s wedding, as she was sure he would do, Annie would have the memories and the magic of their time together. She knew she would never give herself to another man after Rafael.

  She raised her chin and spoke in a firm voice, although her heartbeat was thrumming in her ears and she felt dizzy, as if she might crumple to a heap at his feet like a silly schoolgirl. “Yes,” she said. “I want to give myself to you.”

  Rafael made a despondent, hungry sound as he pulled her closer still and crushed her mouth beneath his own, urging her lips apart, ravaging her with his tongue.

  Annie gave herself up to him willingly, joyously. She had been raised to be independent, and the decision was hers and hers alone—no one else could be blamed or credited for it. She would know the ecstasy of lying with Rafael and, one day soon no doubt, she would know the consequences as well.

  It was Rafael who ended the fevered kiss, gasping as he put his hands to Annie’s waist and set her slightly away from him. “Dear God,” he murmured, and it sounded almost as though he were asking for help, for guidance, for restraint. And most of all, for solace.

  Annie moved to touch him, but he kept her at that small distance.

  “No, Annie,” he said raggedly, “don’t touch me just now or I swear I’ll have you right here, this moment. And that isn’t the way I want it to be.”

  For one wild instant, Annie thought he was going to suggest marriage. Then she realized he would never offer that, no matter what happened between them. For him, time was grinding to a stop and the world was ending. Rafael St. James had no tomorrows to give.

  “How is it to be, then?” Annie managed to ask. She wouldn’t have cared if Rafael had taken her there, in the moonlight, in the fragrant grass, just so long as he did. Where he was concerned, she was frightfully wanton, and she felt no shame for it.

  Rafael released her waist and raised one hand to caress her upturned face. He smoothed her lips with the pad of his thumb, which was surprisingly rough, and bent his head to touch his mouth ever-so-lightly to hers before he replied. “After the ball is over,” he said, “I will bring you to my chamber and I will make proper love to you there, by the fire.”

  “Not too proper, I hope,” Annie said quickly.

  Rafael chuckled with genuine pleasure and shook his head. “What an enigma you are,” he marveled. “I would bet my life that you are a virgin, and yet you have the spirit of a concubine.” The sparkle faded from his eyes. “And dear God, how I will despise myself for this night.”

  Annie took a step toward him and touched her fingers to his mouth. “Don’t, Rafael,” she whispered. “Don’t spoil it. Please. This may be all I ever have, and I want it to be wonderful.”

  He frowned, closing his hand around hers, pausing to kiss her palm before lowering it to his chest, where she felt his heartbeat. “All you will ever have? Annie, you’re so young, and so beautiful—legions of men will want you. You’ll have your choice of them.”

  She concentrated on the pounding of his heart, on the merging, through her skin, of their two pulses, and shook her head. “No, Rafael. For me there can only be one lover, ever, and that is you.”

  He still held her hand, and he raised it to his mouth again, and distractedly brushed his lips across the knuckles. His breath was warm, and it made Annie shiver in some deep and hidden part of herself.

  “Go back to the ball, Annie,” he said, his tone as rough as the pebbles that made up the path beneath their feet.

  She was terrified that he’d changed his mind, that he would withhold what he’d promised. “Rafael—”

  He bent and kissed her, lightly this time, but with passion. “Go back,” he said again, when it was over.

  Annie returned to the ballroom and danced, and drank champagne, and watched Rafael surreptitiously throughout the remainder of the evening. She knew it was madness to want seduction so much, especially in light of all that had gone before and all that still lay ahead, but her desire only grew as the evening passed.

  At midnight, the celebrants made a great circle, and Phaedra and Chandler, the guests of honor, waltzed in its center. Phaedra was smiling and her flawless skin was flushed with excitement and wine. Her future bridegroom, on the other hand, seemed starkly sober, and he couldn’t seem to help casting the occasional glance toward the door.

  The guests applauded when the waltz ended, but as she sought Rafael in the crowd, her gaze caught on Edmund Barrett. The captain of the guard was leaning against one of the mirrored walls, his strong arms folded and, like most everyone else, he was watching Phaedra. The look on his face was grim and sorrowful, however, and as Annie watched, he thrust himself away from the wall and strode out of the ballroom.

  Annie said good-night to the princess, as convention required on such formal occasions, fended off a series of hopeful dancing partners as she crossed the ballroom, and kicked off her slippers when she reached the foyer. Then, carrying the delicate velvet shoes in one hand, she started up the stairs.

  She wondered, as she had been ever since their conversation in the garden, whether or not Rafael had changed his mind about taking her to his room that night. If he didn’t come to claim her as he’d promised, she decided, she would go to him.

  In her own chamber, with the help of Kathleen, Annie got out of her ballgown and then her corset. Wearing only her petticoats and a camisole, she sat wiggling her toes in front of the fire while Kathleen poured hot chocolate into one of the chipped cups.

  “You must have near danced your feet off, miss,” Kathleen commented, with amusement.

  Annie nodded, frowning at the cup. “What a queer mixture of luxury and poverty this place is,” she mused, meaning the palace itself. “Here’s this china, cracked and chipped, and there’s no art on the walls. The floors are bare and I haven’t seen a single ornament of any kind. And yet we drank from crystal Champagne flutes at the ball—they might have been sculpted from giant diamonds, the way they shone in the candlelight—”

  “They’ve always kept the ballroom nice, the St. Jameses have,” Kathleen interrupted, in a fond tone of voice. “It’s the only place they ever entertain anymore, you see. We get dukes and duchesses visiting from England, and even kings and queens from lesser places sometimes. We’ve got to put them someplace, now don’t we?”

  Annie smiled. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose you do.”

  Kathleen sighed and moved to the other side of the room to turn down Annie’s bed. “Cook says we’ve seen the last great ball, this very night,” she said. “It’s crumbling into dust, this way of life.”

  “That’s for the best, I suppose,” Annie agreed, setting aside her cup. “No one could doubt that after what happened in the marketplace, and yet it makes me sad. Without princes and princesses, kings and queens, without palaces and castles, how can there be fairy tales?”

  Kathleen stared at her, pausing in the midst of fluffing Annie’s feather pillow. “Why, miss,” she said, “there aren’t any fairy tales now, are there, except in storybooks?”

  Annie felt a strong desire to break down a
nd weep again, but she didn’t give in to her tears. She’d done enough sniveling for one night and besides, she still had high hopes of spending a wonderful evening with Rafael.

  “I like to think there’s still a little magic in the world,” she said.

  Kathleen looked upon her with a moment’s pitying affection, then excused herself and left the room.

  Annie sat by the fire for a long time, reviewing the evening in her mind. It had begun so badly, with Lieutenant Covington’s arrest and Felicia’s outburst, but the dancing had been wonderful and Rafael had kissed her in the garden….

  She settled back in her chair, sighed and closed her eyes, reliving the interlude, tucking it away with the other memories like a delicate flower pressed between the pages of a book. She dozed and dreamed pleasant dreams full of music and champagne and candlelight. When Annie awakened, however, it was with a start.

  The fire had gone out, and the room was dark, except for a wash of moonlight flowing in through the terrace doors. Rafael had not come for her—or, if he had, there had been no answer when he knocked.

  Annie rose from her chair, her muscles cramped, her motions awkward. Earlier, she’d boasted to herself that she’d go to Rafael if he did not come to collect her, but now it seemed that her courage was faltering. On the other hand, she’d seen the state of the country for herself, not only in the marketplace but on the day they’d arrived at the palace in a storm of curses and stones. The situation was grave, and Rafael was the target of much hatred. Perhaps that night was the only one they would ever have to share.

  She climbed resolutely into bed, stretched out, and wrenched the covers into place, then bolted right out again. She was afraid Rafael would knock at the door, and even more terrified that he would not. Where that man was concerned, Annie had to admit, her behavior was downright irrational.

  The majority of young women from good families guarded their virtue assiduously, surrendering what the nuns at St. Aspasia’s had called their “Precious Purity” only when the man in question was or would soon be their husband. Annie had no doubt whatsoever that she was a fine person, kind and fair-minded and energetic, but when it came to Rafael, she seemed to have no sense.