Prince Charming (19 page)

For the first time, she wondered if he had been deeply hurt by the traitorous woman. Had he loved her? There was no question in her mind that he must have been humiliated by his all-too-public blunder. She thought of his countless women and his careless disregard for them, hiding behind his impregnable wall of charm.

“Honesty, Daniela. Can you give me that?”

“Yes, Prince Rafael,” she said faintly, her heart pounding as it sunk into her mind that she was getting in far, far over her head this time. “Yes, I can.”

“Then we have an agreement?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes, it appears that we do.”

“Good,” he said smoothly, revealing no reaction. “I will send servants to care for you and a physician to tend the wound on your arm.”

“Thank you,” she replied in a ridiculously calm tone.

Walking over to her, he slid a small key out of his waistcoat pocket and reached for her hands, unlocking her manacles. He took them off her and shoved them away, then examined her wrists, his thumbs gently caressing the chafed, pale skin.

He lifted his gaze from her wrists and looked into her eyes in silence.

For a second, he held her wide-eyed stare, looking every bit as awed as she was by the enormity of their decision. Then he quickly veiled the stark emotion in his eyes and released her hands, turning away.

“Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment to take you to the palace.”

“As you wish, my lord,” she breathed, her heart pounding at the mad recklessness of it all. Her mind in a whirl, she lowered her head and listened to his soft footfalls as he crossed the stone floor.
God, what have I done? I don’t want to be a wife and I can’t be a mother!

Too late now.

There was a pause.

“Daniela.”

She looked up, her face ashen.

One hand on the latch, Rafael searched her eyes from across the chamber. “I will take care of you,” he said. Then he opened the door and went out.

  
CHAPTER  
EIGHT

He took her home with him like some bedraggled stray cat he had found in an alley, bringing her not to his pleasure dome but to the Palazzo Reale. Prince Rafael was making some kind of statement by taking up house there, Dani believed, but she wasn’t sure what his message to Ascencion was.

When they arrived at the massive, sprawling rectangle of golden brick with its mansard roofs and elegantly carved windows, he led her by the hand through the gilded maze of soaring marble halls into the finest private block of the palace, where the royal apartments were located.

On the third floor, he installed her in a huge, airy suite decorated in rose-plush velvet. It had a sitting room graced with a milk-white fireplace mantel carved with swans and a balcony off the bedchamber with a distant view of Belfort.

He left her in the care of a mild-tempered old physician to tend her gunshot wound belatedly, along with a battalion of busybody maids in starched caps and aprons to wait on her. The maids took one look at her in her grimy black clothes and immediately began drawing a bath. Others prevailed upon her to tell them what she wanted to eat, anything at all, as though they feared she might blow away with a gust of wind if they didn’t fatten her up for His Highness on the instant.

Tomorrow, Rafael had told her, the royal couturiere, who had made her reputation dressing his sister, the ravishing Princess Serafina, would spend the day with her to create a wedding gown as rapidly as possible, for the madman wanted the wedding to take place in three days’ time! The dressmakers must also begin work, he had said, on the extensive wardrobe she would need for her new life as crown princess. Then he had left her in the hands of the servants, laughing as she angrily backed away from the doctor and servants poking and prodding at her.

By the time they had finished with her in their quest to turn her from a tomboy into a princess, her arm was freshly bandaged, her skin was scrubbed with rose-scented soap, her hair was washed and combed rather violently through. She had nothing to wear but the pristine white cotton shift and the paisley silk dressing gown they had given her. She had eaten a prodigious amount of food, served to her on shining silver platters.

Between courses, they let her send word to Maria and Grandfather about what had happened to her, for they had surely worried enough. Once the message had been sent off, Dani felt much better, but by three in the afternoon she was exhausted from her long ordeal.

Gazing out from the balcony, she nibbled a piece of chocolate almond biscotti and finished a cup of coffee sweetened with as much sugar as she pleased—luxury upon luxury—then dragged herself back inside and slid into the huge bed, curling up under the crisply cool linen sheet.

She doubted she would get any sleep in spite of her fatigue, for the butterflies in her stomach would not stop their ceaseless fluttering, nor could she stop thinking about her wedding and the intimate rite that would follow—her deflowerment by Prince Rafael. What would it be like? Would he kiss her whole body? She buried her heated face in her pillow with a whirling sensation in her heart and a tickle low in her belly. She curled up more tightly under the sheet as a surge of fear routed her desire, because kissing, she knew, was not where it ended.

Would it hurt dreadfully? How would she find the strength to force herself to submit to the painful, disgusting, and terrible invasion of his body in hers—especially when she knew it could well lead to her death in childbirth, just as it had for her mother?

Yet she had given him her word. She would have to let him do it to her.

What mattered, she told herself, was that she had managed to save the Gabbianos. Besides, if she survived the ordeal of the birthing, perhaps as crown princess she could do good things for Ascencion, like rid the kingdom of corrupt swine like Count Bulbati, who had driven her to crime in the first place. What King Lazar and Queen Allegra were going to say about their son’s choice of brides filled her with dread. She supposed she would have to cross those bridges when she came to them. At the moment, she was exhausted.

Gazing down at the patterns of sunlight on the pretty Persian carpet, lulled by the afternoon sun, and worn out by her ordeal of a night in jail, gradually she fell asleep.

When she awoke it was morning.

She sat up suddenly in surprise, abruptly remembering her new world. She rubbed her eyes and was staring about her in amazement when suddenly the door opened and the stout, matronly head maid peered in.

“Oh! Good morning, your ladyship. Just in time for breakfast! There is a gift here in the next room for you. Would you like to see it now?”

“For me?”

A smile wreathed the plump woman’s face and she nodded encouragingly. Dani slid out of the enormous canopied bed and padded lightly toward the maid, who held the door open with her body. Warily, Dani peeked past her into the next room, then gasped.

Eyes wide, she walked into the sitting room, which had been transformed while she slept into a fantasy garden. It was filled with countless bouquets of flowers. She walked dazedly into the room, intoxicated by the delicate floral perfumes. Roses wrapped in sprigs of baby’s breath starred the room—scarlet, pink, peach, and white; there were regal orchids of deep purple, camellias with succulent snow-white petals, curly snapdragons and the praying hands of demure lilies, resplendent blue irises and bunches of daisies, yellow and white, and a voluptuous red hibiscus blossom alone in a slim crystalline vase, a mysterious and strangely erotic bloom. Lifting the card gently from the nearest arrangement—two dozen pink roses, delicate buds mixed in with unfurled blossoms in all their summery glory—she inquired to see who had sent her such a stunning gift. All it said was
R
.

“R!”
she exclaimed softly, casting a breathless glance at the maids as her face turned as pink as the roses.

The women smiled, glancing at one another.

“R,”
she whispered again to herself. Exceeding generosity from a man who was only using her, she thought, and suddenly an impish giggle bubbled up from the depths of her heart and escaped her lips. Startled, she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the joyous, girly sound.

“Come, my lady. You are due for another feeding,” the head maid chided. “You’re as thin as a twig!”

Dani smiled, feeling foolish but too happy to care. “It was awfully nice of him to send me the flowers, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes, miss,” the maids agreed, hiding their smiles.

“I wonder why he did that.” She danced back into the bedchamber and let them put her dressing gown on her, giving herself over to their will.

Maybe he was reaching out to her through this lovely gesture, she thought in sparkling wonder. Perhaps there was more sincerity in his offer of marriage than she had dared to hope before. Maybe he had sensed that she was not the kind of person who would ever lie to him. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Someone he could trust.

She was no great beauty, but she was unquestionably loyal to those she loved.

The brisk uniformed women herded her back into bed as a younger maid brought in an elegant silver tray and served her breakfast. Within moments the couturiere sailed in and introduced herself while her assistants and seamstresses began setting up for the full display of gowns and fabrics in every shade of the rainbow.

Dani ate breakfast sitting up in her sprawling bed, with the sharp-eyed couturiere sitting in a chair nearby, explaining various gowns and fabrics to her while she consumed a leisurely feast and cheerfully decided that robbing Prince Rafael had been the best mistake of her life.

They took a break for lunch, by which time she was bored senseless of hearing about silks and satins, muslins and velvets, laces and taffetas, and especially of hearing the mantua-maker complain that she had only forty-eight hours left to concoct a wedding gown worthy of a royal bride.

Dani kept glancing at the door, hoping in spite of herself for a visit from
R
so she could ask him if the
R
stood for rake, rogue, or Rafael. In any case, she was sure he knew what looked well on a woman and she would not have minded hearing his opinions on some of the gowns the couturiere had suggested.

To her own surprise, she was quite looking forward to his meaningless flirting and teasing mischief, but he never showed. She began to worry that there had been some mistake. Had he forgotten about her? Would the wardens come to throw her back in the jail?

Surely this was all too good to be true. Maybe he had changed his mind—or rather, come to his senses. As the sun strolled across the sky into afternoon, Dani learned she was not allowed to leave her suite. Wearing her first new mint-green day dress, which the seamstresses had brought ready-made and had efficiently tailored to fit her so she would at least have something to wear, she only got as far as the hallway before her keepers herded her gently back into her flower-crowded rooms, but not before she glimpsed the Royal Guardsmen posted in the corridor outside her apartment.

Whether they were there to protect her or make sure she didn’t escape, she was not sure, but as the day wore on and her nervous boredom escalated, she began to wonder if she was still a prisoner after all. Troubled, she walked out and stood on the balcony, frowning as she gazed out over the royal park toward the city and the distant sea. A few minutes later, one of the maids came looking for her and announced with a teasing sparkle in her eyes that her ladyship had a visitor.

Rafael?
she wondered as her heart skipped a beat. She spun around and hurried back through the bedchamber to the sitting room, feeling her cheeks flood with heat. She felt his combustible presence resonating through the pink-and-gilded suite, heard his deep, pleasing voice from the other room as he briefly questioned her servants, making sure all her desires had been met. The butterflies in her belly promptly came back even before she entered the room.

When she stepped into the doorway, she saw him standing on the other side of the room, inspecting one of the bouquets he had sent her. His back was to her, his hands clasped behind him, his tall, elegantly athletic form flattered by the flawless blue cutaway coat and buff linen pantaloons he was wearing. His dark gold hair was drawn back in the usual queue, which arrowed neatly down between his wide shoulders.