Prince Charming (9 page)

Indeed, no matter what threat they faced, they had always been strongest when the whole family pulled together.
A thought to keep in mind when he chose his bride.

This time, Rafe took his seat at the foot of the table with a grave and troubled countenance. He murmured a stiff apology for his outburst to the members of the cabinet.

Lazar cleared his throat. “My son and I have reached a compromise. His Highness has agreed to select one of the young ladies whom we’ve approved by the time I get back. The wedding will take place then. I see no need to rush him into a decision now. After all, choosing in too great haste may result in a decision he might later regret. In any event, the prince has many other matters to occupy his mind presently, as I’m sure you will agree.”

They muttered grudging assent.

Rafe met his father’s hard but encouraging glance from down the long table.

The time was at hand—the time to prove they had all underestimated him. He looked down at his cousin’s notes, his heart pounding. He skimmed the page, feeling like a schoolboy before the headmaster, dreading to give the wrong answer. He took a deep breath and lifted his chin.

“Very well, my lords,” he said a trifle nervously. “Where do you wish to begin?”

Don Arturo sent him a keen, pointed look. “Where do
you
wish to begin, Your Highness?”

Rafe stared blankly at him for a second.

Those first seconds of full monarchal authority were like taking a huge, green-broke racehorse out for a run in the spring, pure power exploding under him, barely under his control. It was thrilling, dizzying, intoxicating. But years of merciless drills in a hundred different subjects had prepared him for this moment, and his training took over.

When he spoke next, his voice was firm, commanding: “Let us start with this matter of the drought. What is the status of the city’s water reserves? And give me an estimate on how quickly we can build more irrigation canals to supply the lowland wheat farms.”

The minister of agriculture raised his finger and offered a reply.

Rafe listened intently, willing back his equilibrium. From the corner of his eye, he saw his father lower his head and smile.

  
CHAPTER  
FOUR

Dani awoke with the morning light filtering softly through her bed’s threadbare canopy of muslin, which served as insect netting. The light brought into focus the muted, faded tones of the old furniture and the drab stucco walls. She winced faintly at the flaming pain in her arm, closing her eyes again as the pain brought back the night of scant sleep she had passed.

Riding to the village last night and telling the Widow Gabbiano what had happened to her boys had been one of the hardest things Dani had ever had to do. Between her fear for the boys, the throbbing in her wounded arm, and her feverish memory of every word she’d exchanged with Prince Rafael, she had barely gotten the rest she would need for the day ahead.

Today she would make everything ready, and tonight the Masked Rider would effect a daring rescue.

Knowing Mrs. Gabbiano would arrive soon for their foray into the great city, Dani sat up with a huge yawn, eyes watering, then dragged herself out of bed. Even before she could bother checking her gunshot wound, she needed coffee. Wrapping her dressing gown over her cotton night shift, she made her way downstairs, mentally blessing Maria when she smelled the aroma of coffee permeating the first floor.

A good, strong cup of coffee, that’s all she asked from life, she thought as she sat down at the table where the small cup waited for her on the saucer, steaming in the cool air of morning.

The window in the kitchen was open, admitting the fresh, delicate breeze. It carried to her the distant scent of the sea and the pungent smell of the wild mint that grew amid the weeds around the courtyard. The minty flavor of the air reminded her of
him
—that wicked candy man with his peppermints and his sweet, lying mouth and his golden mane, warm butterscotch blond.

She scowled faintly and took another sip of coffee. She wished she had not told him about her philosophy of independence. What an oddball he must think her. Yet it had been important to remove the look of pity she had seen in his eyes, even if only to replace it with male bafflement.

Her thoughts drifted to his invitation to the ball. Knowing she would be busy breaking her friends out of jail, of course she had been forced to refuse. Last night, she had been too dazzled by his looks and charm and his kindness to Grandfather to be properly suspicious, but by the clear light of morning, his flattering desire that she join him for his birthday celebration struck her as odd, indeed.

Offering to send a carriage for her? He’d made no mention of chaperonage. Had he really suggested that he would hand her over to one of his glamorous women to dress her for the party? Good Lord! With his reputation, one had to question the motive behind his seeming generosity.

But then she shrugged off her suspicions as ludicrous. He was used to the fairest flowers of the ton, diamonds of the first water. A man like that would not want a red-headed, tomboy misfit like her—thank God. Such a smooth-talking devil with his angel face and smoky green eyes would be nigh impossible to resist.

Just then, the door that led to the kitchen garden outside opened and Grandfather walked in. Dani looked up, surprised to find him up and about so early.

“Good morning, my dear!” he said cheerfully.

She smiled at him, overjoyed to see he was lucid today, at least for now. “How are you feeling, Grandfather?”

“Capital, my dear, capital!” he said, his lined face etched with a smile, his raspy voice stronger than usual. “I was just strolling a bit in the morning air and thinking about Prince Rafael. What a fine young man, eh, Dani?”

She glanced skeptically at him, then decided not to contradict him. He looked happy, and if Prince Rafael was responsible for the smile on Grandfather’s face, she would not be the one to break his illusions. They had so few visitors.

“Why don’t you get him to court you?” he teased.

“Grandfather.”

He chuckled, patting her on the head. “And why not? You are cross with him because he’s not a man you can boss around like you do the rest of us. But that doesn’t mean he would not take good care of you.”

“I can take care of myself, as you well know.” She sent him a reproachful look and sipped her coffee. “And I’m sure I don’t boss anyone around.”

He chuckled and wandered back outside.

When he was gone, Dani took her coffee up to her bedroom and finished it as she dressed for her trip into the city in her nicest frock, a demure round gown of flower-printed white cotton. Its short puff sleeves did not cover the fresh bandages that she had wrapped around her injured right arm above her elbow. So, groaning because of the heat, she reluctantly donned a rather frayed and faded long-sleeved spencer of figured blue silk. After Maria helped her plait her hair and coil it on the crown of her head, she was ready to go, but for her bonnet and gloves.

She spent a few minutes stowing all the equipment she would need for tonight’s rescue in a large sack, when she heard Mrs. Gabbiano arrive in her cart. Quickly, Dani checked the contents of the sack one more time. Cradled securely in her black riding breeches and shirt were the three clay-mortar bombs she had made last night, each as big as her fist. There was a flint to light them with, a large coil of hemp rope, her rapier wrapped in old rags, and her spurred riding boots. Finally, she placed the infamous black satin mask in the sack and closed it.

She put on her bonnet, stood before the mirror tying the ribbons under her chin, then slipped on her gloves and went downstairs, carrying the sack with her.

She greeted the tough old peasant woman, Mrs. Gabbiano; Maria walked outside with them. The two older women exchanged worried murmurs while Dani placed the sack in Mrs. Gabbiano’s heavy-wheeled wagon. She loaded her horse’s saddle in next to it and finally tied her skittish, liver-bay gelding to the back of the cart.

After all her efforts, her wounded arm was pounding by the time she climbed up onto the driver’s seat beside the stout, black-veiled widow. She felt a little light-headed with pain.

“Mateo’s friend, Paolo, will have his fishing boat ready and waiting to take the boys and me to the mainland tonight,” Mrs. Gabbiano grunted the moment they were off.

Dani nodded, aching to think that she must part with them, especially the rascally little Gianni, and Mateo, who had been her closest friend for a decade. She did not speak of her sorrow. “I have the explosives ready. As long as the wardens will let me into the jail to visit the boys with you, then I can smuggle these bombs in to them. They’ll be out in no time.”

“I hope you’re right, my lady,” the woman muttered as she slapped the reins over the dapple-gray draft horse’s back. Dani fell silent, knowing that Mrs. Gabbiano blamed her for her sons’ arrest, though she would never say so.

Traveling north on the King’s Road toward the city, they had not gone far when they met a rider coming the opposite way.

Dani’s heart sank as she recognized the fat body of Count Bulbati bulging over both sides of the horse’s back. The poor animal labored to trot under the man’s bulk. Bulbati looked ridiculous as usual in his frilly finery.

“Should we stop?” Mrs. Gabbiano asked under her breath.

“Drive on. Maybe he’s in a hurry somewhere and won’t have time to chat.”

“More than likely he’s on his way to see you,” she grumbled.

“Lady Daniela! Well met, my fair neighbor!” the unctuous count called, bouncing dangerously astride his horse as he pulled the animal to a halt.

“Good morning, my lord. As you can see, I am in a great hurry—”

“I shall ride alongside you, then, my lady, for I have come to assure myself of your security!” True to his word, Count Bulbati yanked his horse’s head around, cursing and bullying the long-suffering chestnut into walking beside their cart. He patted the greasy sweat from his round face. He had small brown eyes with a shrewd, mean-spirited expression and thick, rubbery lips that Dani could not bear to look at, for he was always licking them when he was around her, as though anticipating a dainty feast.

“My security?” she asked, trying heroically to keep the tedium from her expression and her voice.

“Lady Daniela, I heard that there were soldiers searching your property last night and that at last those vile highwaymen who have been plaguing us these six months were arrested!” He paused, peering over at Mrs. Gabbiano in distaste. “Oh, it’s the mother of that wolf pack. My good woman, you certainly went wrong somewhere raising those sons of yours. Their thieving has embarrassed the whole county!”

And what of your thieving, you corrupt swine?
Dani nearly blurted out, but she refrained, knowing he would only make her life miserable if she provoked him. “On the contrary, my lord,” she said in a stinging tone, “bandits or no, those boys—if they are guilty, which has yet to be proven in a court of law—have brought honor to our county. Everyone knows that they only take from the rich and share the proceeds with the poor.”

“If you were one of the rich, my lady, I daresay you wouldn’t find them half so gallant. I heard the leader remains at large. I wonder who the Masked Rider really is,” he said, sending her a piercing sideward glance.

She shivered, a chill running down her spine. There had been moments in the past when she sensed that Count Bulbati had figured out her game and was merely toying with her, angling her into some unknown predicament until he had her right where he wanted her.

“Well,” she said stiffly, “I’m sure you are very kind to check on me, but Grandfather and I are fine—”

“I heard Prince Rafael was there,” he interrupted, leering at her in challenge.

She looked at him coolly, loathing him. She could feel the sordid innuendo in his words. “That is correct. His Highness commanded the unit.”

Bulbati leaned toward her, his saddle squeaking for mercy under the shift in weight. “Did that rogue make improper advances toward you, my lady?”