Princess (10 page)

Lazar turned to him. “What brings you back early? I thought you’d be escorting Tyurinov’s party from Moscow.”

Serafina cast Darius a wary look. He cleared his throat.

“Sir,” he said delicately, “perhaps you’d better sit down.”

Lazar lifted his chin as his dark, penetrating eyes narrowed. “Oh, hell. What now?” He walked wearily around to his desk, pausing to look out the wide bow window with a sigh.

While he stood for a moment peering out at the darkened landscape, his back to them, Darius and Serafina glared at each other.

Stop fighting me!
she mouthed at him.

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head in warning threat. They both snapped back forward again with innocent looks when the king turned around, pulled out the chair, sat, and rubbed his eyes for a moment with the heels of his hands. “All right. Hit me.”

“French spies have infiltrated the palace and tried to abduct Her Highness tonight, about an hour and a half ago.”

Lazar stared at him incredulously, then his weathered face darkened with storm. He turned to his daughter. “Are you all right?” he asked fiercely.

“I’m fine,” she replied, then her gaze slid sideward to Darius. “Thanks to Santiago.”

“What happened?” Lazar asked in a murderous tone.

Darius recounted a sanitized version of the night’s events. At every second, he was wholly aware of the elegant young woman beside him, her pose stiff, chin high, her proud gaze down.

When Darius was through with the report, Lazar looked at Serafina. She didn’t move, but she swallowed hard. Without a word, her father rose, walked around his desk, and bent down to give her a huge hug.

Darius stood there, uncomfortable with the display of affection. “Sir, Her Highness should be taken to the D’Este Villa and guarded. In the meantime, I will eradicate the remaining members of Saint-Laurent’s ring—”

“In a moment, lad,” the king murmured. “First let me see to my daughter.”

Serafina suddenly hugged him back and began crying again.

Darius turned away, stifling a sigh. Oh, she was her daddy’s girl, all right. He would never get used to her instant, spontaneous expressions of whatever she happened to be feeling. He wanted to be disgusted with her and with her softhearted father, who would unfailingly set the pressures of the world aside for his brood, but Darius found he was most disgusted with himself.

Simple, human touch, he thought. Of course. That’s what she had needed when she was crying before in the little courtyard. He had known it, but he had been unable to give it to her, afraid to risk it. Afraid that if he held her, he would kiss her, and if he kissed her, he would touch her and please her until she invited him inside her. Then he could never hold back. He would take her, give her every inch of himself. Gladly, he would drown himself in her and let the consequences be damned.

Oh, he must
not
be assigned to guard her, he thought feverishly, for she didn’t try to disguise her desire for him any more than she hid her tears.

Take whatever you want from me.
What a thing to say! Shaken, he took a few steps away, leaving father and daughter in privacy. He heard Lazar talking softly to her but he couldn’t make out all the words, nor did he want to.

He could scarcely remember now what lies and excuses he had spouted at her, but there was no way to tell her the pathetic truth about why he had refused her too-tempting suggestion. Even his urgency to go snuff out Napoleon was just his own excuse to himself, he admitted, for he could safely afford up to a week’s delay.

The real reason was because he knew exactly what would happen. She would pet him and dote on him and lull him with her softness, her gentleness, her caring and tenderness, until he lowered his guard and opened himself to her, and when she really knew him—when she looked inside of him through the eyes of a woman, not a child, and saw that he was nothing— she would stop idolizing him and, oh, God, if that happened, it were better if he’d never been born.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he heard Lazar ask her gently at last.

Behind him, he heard her sniffle.

“Yes. I’m better now, Papa. Honestly. Just hearing him describe it again . . . I’m sorry.”

Darius kept pacing at a respectful distance, but when he heard his name mentioned, he paused.

“Papa, Darius was so brave. You should have seen him. If he hadn’t been there . . . But he was, just as he always is! And he had this enormous cut and he didn’t even mention it! He just wanted to make sure I was unharmed. He is the best, bravest, noblest person
ever
.”

He couldn’t breathe for a moment. Her words went clean through him like a silver blade, forcing the air out of his lungs. Heart pounding, he stole a glance at the royal pair.

“I know he is, my dear.”

Serafina was staring up at the king earnestly. Darius knew all too well the effect of those eyes. “Please, Papa, I know you must send men to guard me, but please let Darius come with me. I’ll be frightened out of my wits every second unless he’s there.”

Half turned away, his head lowered, Darius held his breath, waiting for the king’s reply.

“Of course, kitten,” Lazar said gently, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “I wouldn’t dream of trusting you to anyone else.”

And there it was.

Darius was very still, elated, agonized, humbled.

How could he protest after such a heartfelt plea? He could not. Once more, she conquered with softness, and he feared her because her single weapon was the only one he could not use or wield or even comprehend. Against it, he had no defense, no past experience to draw upon. He couldn’t fight it. He could only run and keep running, even when he wanted with all his heart to be caught and forced to surrender.

A few minutes later, he had his orders.

He put up a show of protest strictly out of pride. “Sir, anyone can guard her. Once she’s removed from the palace, the danger to her is very small. Who are you going to get to catch the spies?”

“I don’t know. Orsini, maybe.”

“Orsini.” Darius rolled his eyes. “Fat pig. He’ll fumble it.”

“He’s not that bad. I can’t use you,” the king said reasonably, visibly amused at his assessment. “They know you’re here, obviously. They’ll be expecting you. I’ve got to put someone on them they’ll never suspect. Besides, you got rid of Saint-Laurent, who was the most dangerous of them, from what you’ve said.”

“And if they send more men?”

“Exactly my point,” Lazar agreed. “If they try to follow her, you’re the man I want in command to fight them off.”

“They won’t live long enough to follow her if you let me go after them. Orsini!” he scoffed.

“You don’t seem to understand.” Lazar clapped him on the arm and gave him a fatherly look. He glanced toward Serafina, then lowered his voice. “Am I to send Orsini with her? Do you take my meaning?”

Darius abruptly shut his mouth, realizing.

“One day, you’ll have children, Dare, and when you do, for your sanity’s sake, pray you never have beautiful daughters,” Lazar said. “You are the only man in the kingdom that I know I can trust with her.”

Darius absorbed this and felt a bit sick.

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled, crestfallen, feeling the noose tighten. Well, he thought in defeat, he would merely have to ignore her the whole time. Treat her coldly. Shut her out.

Hell, he was an expert at that by now.

He noticed Serafina watching him, then the king leaned toward him. “And when we find these French bastards,” he added, “you and I will personally tear their bloody throats out. They go after my daughter, they’ve crossed the line.” He looked away so she could not see his face, his eyes blazing with fury. “By God, I shall go mad with rage. My
daughter
.”

“Sir, remember, now, it’s just politics. It’s not personal,” Darius warned, as if he himself had not slashed Philippe Saint-Laurent to ribbons for the same reason less than an hour ago. “Anyway, she’s her father’s daughter, a real fighter, and she’s all right. She kept a cool head. She handled herself in a manner most worthy of her line.”

“Aye. That’s my girl.” Lazar nodded and glanced at Serafina, his lips pursed in a thin line. “You watch out for her.”

“With my life, sir.”

The king gave a single, hard nod. Their brief consultation concluded, Darius took leave of them to make all the necessary preparations, starting with finding and briefing Orsini, the current head of security. Before he left the room, he bowed to the princess in the expected courtesy.

“Thank you,” she said meaningfully with a deep gaze into his eyes. She seemed careful not to gloat.

“Your servant, my lady,” he said coolly, but unseen by the king, he made certain to give her the hardest, meanest look he could contrive.

“
Look at him.
You are so lucky,” Els sighed as she stared hungrily at Darius. Her real name was Elisabetta but nobody called her that. She was a tall, leggy redhead of twenty-two with green eyes and no morals, but Serafina adored her flair for the outrageous. “He radiates pure
sex
,” Els added in a scandalous whisper.

Scarcely an hour had passed and already the unmarked coach waited under the porte cochere to whisk Serafina away into hiding. She stood under the Roman arches in the warmly lit side foyer saying goodbye to her two best friends, while Darius stood a short distance away conversing quietly with her mother and father.

He had given her stern orders not to tell anyone what had happened in the maze, nor where they were going, but she wished she could have unburdened her heart to her friends about her ordeal tonight.

“I can’t believe your parents trust him. He is so barbaric,” Cara said, watching Darius in mingled terror and fascination. At nineteen, Cara, a petite, blue-eyed blond, was the youngest and most staid of the inseparable trio.

After what had happened tonight, Serafina was hugely relieved that her attempt to matchmake between Cara and Philippe Saint-Laurent had failed.

Philippe had shown an interest in Cara, but after allowing the Frenchman to escort her on a turn through the garden, the petite blond had reported back to Serafina and Els that she found Philippe too forward, arrogant, and smooth-talking.

Presently, Cara turned to Serafina with a worried gaze. “Do you mean to say your mother isn’t even sending a chaperon?”

Serafina tore her stare from Darius. “Well, the hour’s so late. Mama said in the morning she’s going to find someone for me, but my father told her not to worry about it.”

“Not to worry?” Cara cried, her blue eyes widening.

“They trust Darius. He used to be my guard—it just makes sense. Besides, if they implied they doubted his almighty honor, he would be mortally insulted.”

“I know Their Majesties trust him, but darling,” Cara said in distress, “what will people say?”

“Oh, who cares what people say about anything?” the feisty Els remarked, absently fixing her sleeve. “People are stupid.”

Serafina ignored her. “No one is going to know. Mama will say I am going to visit my elderly Aunt Isabelle, who is too old and frail to travel down to town for the wedding.”

“But surely your mother could send one of her ladies-in-waiting,” Cara suggested.

“Darius won’t have it. He says no one can be trusted until the enemies in our midst are unmasked. Besides, he said those women would only be a distraction to his men.”

“To his men! Ha. To him, he means—because he’s slept with them all!” Els whispered wickedly, her green eyes sparkling.

“He has not!” Serafina retorted. “It’s just more unnecessary people to protect. Look, it’s almost time to go,” she said more softly. “Are you sure we are all smoothed out, then? I don’t want to go away with bad feelings still between us—”

“Of course we are!” both girls chimed, and they both hugged her.

She hugged them back, glad to make peace after their quarrel in the ballroom hours ago. She was still shaken by the realization that perhaps they were no more true friends to her than the rest of her coterie, who valued her chiefly, she knew, because proximity to royalty boosted their own status. She had asked the girls to come to Moscow with her to bolster her courage for the first few months in her new home, but at once they had given her excuses.

“We’re both so sorry. We just can’t do it,” Cara explained earnestly. “I can’t leave my family.”

“It’s my health,” Els said hastily. “I always get sick in the cold. I would die under all that snow—unless I had a man like your Anatole to keep me warm,” she teased.

“You’re welcome to him,” Serafina replied dryly. “Well, never mind. It was just an idea. No hard feelings.”

“Are you sure?” Els asked prettily.

“I’m sure.”

“I don’t see what fault anyway you find with that golden god you are marrying,” Els told her. “He’s perfect. Besides, he’s rich, famous . . .”

“He’ll be away at war most of the time,” Cara offered helpfully.

“She’s right,” Els said, then paused. “But if you really don’t fancy him . . . I think you may have found your solution.”

“What do you mean?” Serafina asked.

“After you are married, take him,” she said carefully, glancing at Darius, “for your lover.”

Serafina turned pale.

Els laughed. “Why not?” she whispered. “It’s the obvious solution. You must have a lover, of course. All truly elegant women have lovers.”

Serafina recovered her composure abruptly. “I’m afraid Russia is not like Italy, darling. The men there are too uncivilized for modern marriages.”

She had been warned by Anatole himself.

“Simple. Then you’ll just have to sneak.”

Serafina burst out in shocked, appalled laughter. “You are so wicked! Oh, Els! How shall I live without you?” She gave her a big hug.

“Serafina!” her mother called suddenly.

“Coming!” she answered. She looked back at them in distress. “Don’t forget to stop by and visit Kwee-Kwee, and give Bianca some catnip. Write to me!”

“Where will you be if we need you?” Cara asked earnestly.

Serafina almost blurted it out, unused to hiding anything from her friends, but she saw a disturbing flicker of something in Cara’s blue eyes that reminded her of Darius’s warning. “Some country hovel. I don’t really know where.”