The kiss lasted a long time, during which Annie’s very bones seemed to melt. Her breasts swelled, their tips straining against her cotton shirt, and something coiled, tight and sweet and warm, deep in her abdomen.
At last, Rafael raised his head and looked into her eyes. She was still trapped between his strong arms, and she had no desire to be rescued.
“Leave now, if you’re feeling timid, for if you stay, I shall ravish you. And I’ll take my time at it, like before.”
A tremor went through Annie, for the things she’d felt in Rafael’s arms before had been ferociously, sometimes frighteningly, pleasurable. Time and again, the passion had been so great that it seemed to part soul from body, and even in her ecstasy, Annie had feared she would not find her way back to herself. Rafael would arouse terrible needs in her and she knew he’d meant what he said moments before; she’d suffer sweet agonies of wanting before he appeased her.
She began unbuttoning her shirt. “When have I ever been timid?” she asked.
Rafael made a low, strangled sound, and then, while Annie still leaned against the door of his bedchamber, he finished undressing her. When her boots and breeches and shirt had all been tossed aside—she’d worn nothing beneath them—he spent a long time just looking at her.
Finally, fumbling just a little, he unbraided her hair and combed it with his fingers. Although Annie was naked and completely at Rafael’s mercy, both physically and emotionally, she felt like a goddess. She knew that even at the height of her yearning, when she would plead for the release only Rafael could give, when his power over her would seem absolute, he would worship her with his body.
He kissed her again, falling to her with a groan the way a starving man might fall to food, and she opened his robe and embraced him, spreading her fingers against the muscles girding his back. She felt hard sinew flex beneath her palms, and Rafael groaned again, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth, where it met and battled her own.
Presently, Rafael scooped Annie into his arms and carried her across the floor to his bed. It stood on a dais, but he mounted the steps with ease and flung her onto the mattress.
Annie knew that a part of Rafael was furious because she’d made him want her so desperately, and that there was an element of punishment in making her wait for her deliverance. She didn’t care as long as she could hold Rafael, caress him, and finally woo him deep inside her.
She raised her arms to him and he shed his robe and stretched out beside her on the vast bed.
Once again, they kissed, deeply, their tongues and limbs entangled. There were interludes of tenderness, of almost unbearable beauty, followed by fierce, fevered battles that set them rolling from side to side. Annie heard a clock strike in the distance, and then heard it again later through a pounding delirium of desire, but Rafael was still stoking the flames within her, even then. Much more time would pass, she knew, before he allowed her the fulfillment she craved; he meant to make her fight, and finally plead, for that.
The small rituals he put her through, over and over, nearly drove her mad. First, he kissed and caressed the arches of her feet, then the insteps, progressing with exquisite slowness to her calves, the backs of her knees, her inner thighs, her belly and breasts, the insides of her elbows, her neck and earlobes. Then, because she was whimpering, he would make his way back down her body until he’d reached the moist, aching delta between her legs.
He toyed with her, not once but many times, and finally burrowed through to kiss her there, tease her with his tongue, and finally suckle. Always, always, he knew when she was about to explode with gratification, however. He invariably withdrew just short of that moment, and left Annie trembling and frantic.
They had been engaged in this methodical battle for more than two hours, by the chimes of the clock, when Rafael finally mounted Annie. Her entire body was slick with perspiration, tendrils of her hair clinging to her cheeks and her temples and her nape, but at least she had the comfort of knowing that he was no better off.
She felt Rafael’s damp flesh quiver against her own as he struggled to control his desire. “Annie,” he whispered. With this final word, he entered her but, although the thrust was powerful, and made Annie’s nerves scream with expectation, he stopped just halfway and held himself there.
Annie was about to lose her mind; she clutched at Rafael, planning to force him into her to the hilt, as she had done the night before. But he was ready for her, muscles clenched, and she could not move him.
She arched slightly, raising glistening breasts to him, silently begging him to reach into her depths and assuage her primitive, violent need.
Rafael remained where he was, and incredibly his member seemed to grow even larger and harder, pressing against the walls of her femininity as if to burst them. Promising ecstasy and giving only torment.
Annie made an incoherent sound, and without plunging deeper or withdrawing, Rafael bent his head and took suckle at one of her reaching nipples. Presently, the muscles in his arms and chest visibly corded as he struggled to retain control, he treated her other breast to the same delicious plundering.
Annie’s mind reeled and her body buckled and writhed, but still Rafael did not take her.
Finally, in desperation, she began to gasp out words, senseless ones at first. She painted a mental picture in which their positions were reversed, and Rafael was at her mercy, and told him all the scandalous things she wanted to do to him.
At long last, his control snapped. He delved into her, with a raspy warrior’s cry, and she rose to meet and receive him. Annie matched every sleek, powerful surge of Rafael’s body with a graceful arch of her own and their pace increased until that final moment when all the walls came down and they met as one soul. The result was an endless, shattering, cataclysmic firestorm, unchaining emotions and sensations that had never been named.
When it was over, they clung to each other, and finally slept.
At dawn, Rafael awakened to find Annie curled in his arms. As always, with this woman, his emotions were mixed. He would be damned for the worst kind of liar if he pretended, even for a moment, that he hadn’t reveled in taking her. He knew, too, that to speak of honor again would make him a hypocrite—he could no more resist Annie than his next breath. For all of that, however, Rafael wished, for her sake, that she had never heard or uttered his name, let alone come to Bavia and offered up both her heart and her body as a sacrifice.
It was hopeless, and such a damnable waste.
She awakened as he was thinking these thoughts, and raised herself on one elbow to look into his face. She touched his lower lip with the tip of her index finger and as easily as that set his blood blazing.
He was hard and heavy in an instant, and with a muffled groan, he poised himself above her. She made a crooning sound, and shifted beneath him, opening her legs to receive him.
Rafael set his teeth and thrust himself inside her—just far enough to entice them both in the direction of madness. A long time later, when Annie’s nails had raked his back, when she’d cursed and threatened and finally begged, he took her completely. In that one frantic motion of his hips, Rafael became both conqueror and captive.
Appeased again, Annie slept when it was over, but Rafael could not afford the luxury. He rose, used a copious amount of tepid water, and donned his clothes. When he came out of the small dressing room reserved for that purpose, he was startled and then furious to find Lucian standing just inside the door, watching Annie sleep.
Lucian met Rafael’s gaze and smiled. “As much as you’d like to kill me right now,” he said, in a quiet voice, “you won’t lay a hand on me. You won’t even raise your voice, will you, because that might frighten your luscious little bedmate.”
“Get out,” Rafael said, very softly.
Lucian uttered a long-suffering sigh, and Annie made a murmuring sound and shifted in her sleep. “I suppose I should be grateful to you for teaching Annie the pleasures of the flesh,” he confided. “She’ll want a
lover when you’re gone. Still, just thinking of her thrashing in your bed makes me feel as though I’ve just been gutted.”
Rafael maintained his temper; Lucian could have had only one purpose in entering the chamber uninvited—to goad his elder brother into some rash and foolish action. “You have stepped over the line,” the prince said, folding his arms, “and I will not play your games. Do not delude yourself, Lucian: while it is true that I am reluctant to box your ears in Annie’s presence, I can be pushed only so far. And while you are relatively safe, here in this room, at this moment, there are many other rooms in St. James Keep and there will be many more moments when I might have my revenge.”
Lucian cast a sorrowful look in the direction of the bed, where Annie still slept, and spoke with less bravado than before. “I must speak with you, Rafael. It has nothing to do with Annie or my aversion to soldiering.”
Rafael saw something in Lucian’s bearing that wasn’t typical of him. Sincerity. He gestured toward the door, and when Lucian went out, Rafael followed him into the empty passageway.
“What is it?” Rafael demanded, keeping his voice low.
Lucian looked in both directions. “There is a plot underway,” he replied. “The rebels plan to infiltrate the castle and take Covington and his men back to Morovia. They mean to execute them, one by one, in the courtyard, next to the market.” He paused and sighed. “Do not ask me how I know this, Rafael, for I won’t tell you.”
Rafael frowned, his arms folded. He couldn’t help feeling skeptical—Lucian had few scruples and he thrived on trickery—but he was certainly intrigued. “And how do these rebels intend to get past our gates?” he asked.
The look in Lucian’s eyes was earnest, which was no indication of guilelessness or truth-telling. “The answer is as old as time, Rafael: You have enemies within these walls. People you trust are contriving, even now, to deceive and destroy you.”
“Which people?”
Lucian smiled ruefully. “Ah,” he said. “Therein, as the Bard said, lies the rub.”
Rafael already knew he had foes within the keep’s walls; it would have been naive to believe everyone wished him well. That didn’t worry him.
What did trouble Rafael was the approaching wedding. All sorts of people would be passing in and out of the gates over a period of at least a week. The rebels would have no need of a Trojan horse—they could enter in merchants’ wagons and guests’ carriages. Some of them probably even had bona fide invitations.
“I see I’ve set you thinking,” Lucian said, resting his hand briefly upon Rafael’s shoulder. “There is one more thing I would bid you to consider.”
Rafael said nothing, but simply waited.
“If you find this information helpful,” Lucian went on, “perhaps you will be moved to release me from your damnable army.”
Rafael wasn’t really listening; he would speak to Chandler and Phaedra about eloping, he decided. If they agreed, he could call off the formal wedding, send Annie out of Bavia once and for all, and concentrate on the tasks at hand.
“… sleeping with Barrett.”
The tail end of Lucian’s sentence snagged Rafael’s attention on a sharp hook. “What?”
“I said, Phaedra has been sneaking off to the lake cottage, among other places, and meeting Barrett.” He cast a meaningful glance at the closed door of Rafael’s bedchamber. “Seems to be the season for deflowering virgins.”
Rafael clasped his brother’s shirt in both hands and thrust him against the opposite wall. “Barrett and Phaedra?” he demanded, giving Lucian a hard shake. “Think twice before you lie to me, Brother.”
“I’m telling the truth,” Lucian spat, struggling to free himself and failing. “Ask your good friend, if you don’t believe me!”
Rafael freed Lucian with a contemptuous motion, but he had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Barrett had told him, after all, that he cared for Phaedra. Rafael had warned the other man off and, having no reason to believe that his sister returned Barrett’s affections, he’d put the matter out of his mind.
“Damn!” he whispered, shoving a hand through his hair. Barrett had been moody as hell of late, but Rafael had attributed that to the stress inherent in the man’s work. Now he wondered.
Lucian moved a few strides down the passageway before speaking again. “Well?” he asked, spreading his arms. “Am I out of the army? May I sleep in my quarters again and wear my own clothes?”
“Yes,” Rafael answered distractedly, gesturing in dismissal. “But don’t burn your uniform. After the wedding, I’ll decide whether your discharge is permanent or not.”
The erstwhile soldier did not wait, but vanished around a corner, beyond which lay his old room.
Before Rafael could return to his chambers, awaken Annie and send her back where she belonged, a maid appeared with an armload of linens and a generous smile.
“Good morning, Your Highness,” she said, with a quick, polished curtsey.
Rafael nodded. “Good morning, Evelyn.” He maneuvered her away from his door and pointed her in the direction from which she’d come. “Save that for later, if you would,” he said, indicating the sheets and towels.
Evelyn blushed, for it wasn’t the first time she’d politely steered away from the prince’s door early in the day. “Yes, sir,” she said. “I’ll just make up another room. Lots of company coming, with the wedding.”
Yes, Rafael thought, in silent agreement. And if he didn’t keep his mind on the business at hand, it wouldn’t be old friends occupying the castle’s many beds, but conquering rebels. He imagined Annie as part of the victor’s spoils and felt a renewed sense of desperation.
He moved through the passageways between his chambers and his study by memory, blinded by his thoughts. By God, if Barrett truly had bedded Phaedra, he reflected, he would kill the bastard with his bare hands.
The hypocrisy of that wasn’t lost on Rafael—even then Annie was curled up, naked and warm, in his bed. Still, Annie wasn’t pledged to another man, and she sure as hell wasn’t his sister.
Rafael had been in his study less than five minutes—he’d just taken his rapier down from the wall, in fact—when Barrett appeared. Rafael pressed the tip of the blade to his friend’s throat, then lowered the weapon to his side.
“I expected better of you,” he said.
Barrett’s eyes revealed the truth even before the confession passed his lips. “I cherish Phaedra. In point of fact, I would die for her. If you must uphold that fool’s code of yours, then run me through and get it over with.” He paused thoughtfully, a comical, pained expression taking shape on his face. “I’m not sure it wouldn’t be a mercy, given the agonies of loving that particular woman.”
Rafael could have told his friend something about agony, but he didn’t. In the first place, he did not wish to discuss his ill-advised attachment to Annie Trevarren, and, in the second, that wasn’t the issue in question. “How the devil did this happen? Phaedra is committed to another man, as you well know, and by God she will still marry him if he’ll have her!”
Barrett brought an apple from the pocket of his tunic and started to peel it with a small, pearl-handled knife. Rafael skewered the piece of fruit with the point of his rapier, took it off the blade, and polished it against the front of his shirt while he awaited a reply.
“Don’t worry,” Barrett said, with a weariness of spirit to match Rafael’s. “Phaedra plans to go through with the wedding. I’m a commoner, remember? Fine for dalliances, but not quite suitable as a husband.”
Rafael felt relief, but not because he didn’t think Barrett was worthy to take Phaedra to wife—his sister would have to do a great deal of growing up before she could appreciate, or deserve, a man of that caliber. He put up the rapier and bit into the appropriated apple.
“Did she actually say that?” he asked, chewing.
Barrett collapsed into a chair, gazing through the window behind Rafael’s desk. It was still quite dark out, though it wa
s well past dawn—the sky was overcast, promising rain. “She didn’t have to,” he replied, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger and sighing in a melancholy fashion. “Just kill me now,” he finished. “Put me out of my misery.”
Rafael paused in his apple-chewing, long enough to mutter disgustedly, “God, Barrett, you are such a horse’s ass. The capitol is in ruins, we’re probably going to be up to our balls in rebels before a fortnight’s gone by, and you’re sniveling because some benevolent angel has seen fit to spare you from spending the rest of your life with my sister!”
Barrett did not retreat. In fact, there was an openly mutinous glint in his eye as he pondered the remains of the apple Rafael was eating. “Do you want to know the worst of it?” he demanded.
“No,” Rafael replied. “But I fear you’re determined to tell me.”
“I told Haslett exactly what’s been going on, in rather unchivalrous detail.”
Rafael dropped the apple core and did not bother to retrieve it. “What?”
Barrett laughed hoarsely, but the sound was devoid of humor. “I thought he’d set Phaedra free or challenge me to a duel or something. Instead, he just patted my shoulder and said these things happen, that in the long run, they don’t mean much.”
“Good God,” Rafael marveled.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” Barrett asked. “The idea of Phaedra marrying another man makes me want to jump from a tower window, and here’s Haslett, telling me it doesn’t matter that his future wife and I have been ripping off each other’s clothes every time we got the opportunity!”
Rafael closed his eyes against the inevitable images. “Great Zeus, Barrett, this is my sister we’re talking about! If you don’t exercise a little tact here, you won’t have to jump from a tower window because I’ll throw you out of one myself.”
“I’m sorry,” Barrett said, with an utter lack of conviction. “Well? What is the royal decree, Your Highness?” When they were boys, Rafael recalled with a shadow of a smile, Barrett had often addressed him as “Your High-Ass.” “Shall I resign and leave the castle, or join Covington’s band in the dungeons?”
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