Princess (12 page)

He craved her.

He feared her.

Obviously she had some kind of designs on him, as her insistence on his coming here with her showed. Perhaps she was thinking of a fling before her wedding, he thought a trifle bitterly. Another rich girl’s adventure with the boy from the streets.

He lowered his head. The thought that she might want something like that from him hurt, but as he gazed at her, sleeping there like an angel, he couldn’t believe it of her.

When they finally arrived at the villa, Darius gathered her into his arms and carried her inside. He stepped over the threshold and went up the stairs, his cut shoulder aching slightly under her slim weight. He found the best bedroom and laid her on the bed. She didn’t wake.

He pulled the light cover over her and stared down at her pale, lovely face in the dark, stroking her hair softly for a moment. His heart clenched.
Why me? Why the hell are you
fixed on me when the whole world is in love with you?

He shook his head to himself, at a loss.

She stirred a little, turning her delicate, heart-shaped face, then stilled, one hand loosely curled near her cheek on the pillow.

He leaned down and kissed her smooth forehead, then left without making a sound.

CHAPTER SIX

Serafina’s eyes fluttered open to a pale pink room suffused with golden light.

She lay quite still, hovering between waking and sleep in that moment where there was no future and no past, and all was bliss. A fresh, summery mountain breeze blew in through the open window, stirring a few strands of her hair to tickle her cheek. She merely lay there, soaking in the wonderful light and the feeling of soul-deep calm.

She heard her maid’s voice outside and realized the coach must have arrived bearing those household staff members Darius deemed trustworthy, along with the supply wagons carrying the rest of her luggage and the soldiers’ provisions for their extended stay.

Darius.

She gave a slow, luxurious stretch and folded her arms under her head, smiling up at the ceiling like a satisfied lover, a bride waking after her wedding night.

Vaguely she recalled him carrying her into the villa and placing her gently on this bed. She was still garbed in her traveling gown.

Too bad he didn’t undress me,
she thought wryly. On second thought, if the greatest lover in the kingdom ever decided to take her clothes off her, she had blasted well better be awake to enjoy it.

Don’t even joke about it,
she chided herself, a shadow falling across her sunny mood as she thought of her husband-to-be.

Anatole had already warned her about his rules and expectations, and she knew he would be on the lookout for any interest she showed in another man, however innocent. It seemed that the fact she had refused all marriage proposals for the three years since her debut had led him to conclude she was a vain coquette who enjoyed the limelight and thrived on male flattery.

He had dared to say to her that she needed taming. Oh, he had been very frank about his conclusions, rudely questioning her morals, nearly hinting that he doubted her chastity.

Papa would have put him through a wall if he had heard Anatole speaking to her that way, she thought. Her brother, Prince Rafael, would have called him out. What Darius would have done to him, she didn’t dare imagine.

Fortunately, she had been alone with him, a chaperon walking several yards behind. She had swallowed the blazing retorts she could have given him, striving at least to make a show of obedience. Her country needed his armies, she had told herself over and over. Bearing the general’s arrogance was a small price to pay to protect Papa. How could Anatole know, after all, that the real reason she had been holding out for so long was that she had been waiting in vain for her Spanish knight to come to his senses?

Obviously,
she
was the one who needed to come to her senses, she thought with a scowl.

Restlessly, she got up from the bed and pushed these thoughts away, pleased with her own resiliency after last night’s ordeals. Perhaps it was the mountain air, but she could not remember the last time she had slept so peacefully.

She glanced about at her surroundings. The villa was not a grand place, she gathered, if this room was any indication. The plaster on the walls was wavy, a spider had built a palatial web in the corner, and everything was dusty. Beneath her stockinged feet, the floorboards creaked noisily as she walked toward the vanity, fearing to see what sort of tangle her hair was in without its hundred strokes the night before.

She paused to gaze down at the colorful but faded tapestry rug arranged on the floor spanning the foot of the bed. It depicted a fantasy of eternal spring, a celebration of life, with youths and maidens dancing around a maypole, and the world in flower around them.

Loosening her dress with an absent expression, she was gazing down wistfully at the pastoral idyll when suddenly a low-toned Spanish voice broke into her thoughts.

Glancing, wide-eyed, toward the window, she tiptoed over and edged one corner of the sheer white curtain aside, peeking down at Darius. She clenched a handful of the gauzy curtain, feeling giddy.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,
she thought with a sinking, inward little sigh.

The color of his complexion was glorious, golden-bronze in the morning light, while his jet-black hair was slicked back, still slightly damp from his morning ablutions, she presumed. She indulged herself in a leisurely study of the lean, elegant length of him from this safe distance.

His muscled build was sleek, elegant, and superbly athletic, not bulky and herculean like Anatole’s. His arms were powerful in pristine white shirtsleeves, his waist flat in the snug black waistcoat. Her eye followed the sinuous curve of his back, then slid downward appreciatively to the charming curves of his backside.

The palace ladies were right, she decided with a private smile. Every inch of him was quite perfect.

He stood with his assistant on the steps leading down from the porch. As Alec scribbled down every word he uttered, Darius squinted against the sun and watched his squad at their tasks with a critical eye. In his right hand he held his sword, point in the dust. He was twirling it idly with a flick of his nimble, thief’s fingers, while in his left he held a cup of coffee.

Presently he took a sip, then lifted his sword and propped it jauntily over his shoulder, scanning the men present, she supposed, for someone worthy of practicing against him. Though he was an acknowledged master of the dagger, the sword, guns, cannons, cavalry, and even some oriental weapons with names she couldn’t pronounce, daily training was fundamental to his spartan credo.

Well, she thought, as his physician, she did not intend to allow him any swordplay for at least three days until his gash had had a decent interval to begin healing.

She spun away lightly from the window and hurried to freshen up and dress, eager to go to him.

Located about twenty miles from the royal palace and the capital city of Belfort, the D’Este Villa had been built in the Baroque period, fallen into ruin, then was restored thirty years ago in the violent period of upheaval during the king’s youth in exile, when Genoa had ruled Ascencion with an iron fist.

Behind its fortified wall, the five-hundred-acre property was designed for self-sufficiency. There was a garrison with a barracks and a small magazine and a stable that housed fifty horses. Chicken coops, sheds for goats and sheep, and a stocked pond kept the kitchen supplied.

After laying the sleeping princess in her bed, Darius had spent the night getting rained on and carrying out a hundred necessary tasks overseeing the process of turning the country villa once more into an army camp. He made sure the horses were stabled, the armaments and powder kegs properly stored in the magazine. He’d held a brief meeting with his squadron, assigning men to their posts in the four quadrants of the property, dispensing other orders.

Overnight, one of the two wagons carrying his men’s provisions arrived, reporting that the other had become stuck in the mud miles down the road. He sent a contingent out to dislodge it, and when it arrived, he found it was also carrying the four savage guard dogs he had ordered. The wild barking of the animals gave him a headache, born partly from hunger. He marveled that the noise didn’t bring Serafina out to look around, but hers was the slumber of the innocents.

Finally, he had inspected the wall, walking the entire perimeter to make sure all areas were in good repair. By the time the rain stopped and the sun rose amid the morning’s fog, he’d turned the initial chaos into a well-oiled military machine.

Now he was exhausted, but he still had to organize his head-quarters in the villa’s little library. He had maps of the local terrain to review as well as correspondence to catch up on and the books of his own small ship-and-trade firm to balance, and the ongoing headache from his worthless inherited holdings in Spain to be answered.

His shoulder hurt. He was half-starved but breakfast wasn’t ready yet, so he stood on the wooden porch, smoked a final cheroot, and took satisfaction in watching the order he had created, each man under his command doing exactly what he should be doing, exactly when he should be doing it.

It was a sight he would have liked to have thrown in his father’s face.

He went into the musty little library that was to be his office and found his aide unrolling the maps for his review, efficiently weighing the scrolled edges with paperweights.

The boy was a godsend.

Alec glanced dubiously at his haggard commanding officer. “Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes, sir. Shall I have the servant bring it in here?”

Darius growled wordlessly.

“Coffee?”

He nodded and dropped wearily into the wooden chair behind the desk. He stared down at the maps, bleary-eyed, then put his wire-rimmed reading spectacles on to read over his paperwork, while the younger man hastened out of the room to fetch coffee. Alec had scarcely closed the door, however, when Darius heard a warm, scratchy voice in the hall.

“Good morning, Lieutenant! Where is the Colonel, please?”

An instant cascade of thrills rushed through his weary body, bringing a surge of new life. He whipped off his spectacles just as Serafina burst triumphantly into the room.

Alec peered in worriedly behind her. “Her Highness—uh— sir—”

Darius let out a sigh. “Never mind, Alec,” he said. “That will be all.”

Alec glanced curiously from Serafina to him. Darius regarded the princess as she blithely shepherded Alec out of the library, closed the door behind him, then turned and leaned against the closed door, both hands behind her. She grinned at him.

“May I help you?” he asked dryly.

She let out an irrepressible laugh as if he’d said something marvelously witty, then ran across the room to him, skipped around the desk, and threw her arms around him, planting a kiss on his cheek with a loud smack.

“Good morning, Darius!” She squeezed him about the neck.

“Good, you’re awake.” He pulled aside but not entirely away, scowling. “We must review security procedures.”

“Nonsense, we must have breakfast.” She loosened her hold around his neck but kept her arms draped around him as she smiled prettily at him. “Come and eat with me. Breakfast is almost ready.”

His mouth watered. “I have work to do.”

“Don’t work, play with me. You’re on holiday!”

“On the contrary, Your Highness, I’m in hell.”

She knitted her brows at him. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.” She released his neck and rose. She hopped up and sat on the desk, right on the maps. Planting both hands behind her, she leaned back across the desk, using her body to block him from his paperwork. “Tell you what. I’ll help you with your work, then you can finish all the sooner and play with me.”

He looked up at her and found her smiling innocently at him. She crossed her ankles and swung her slippered feet.

I really don’t have a prayer with this girl,
he thought.

“How is your shoulder feeling today?”

“Fine, Your Highness.”

“No, no, no, don’t call me that.” She wagged a finger at him. “I’m not the princess here.”

“Oh? Who might you be?”

“I’m not sure yet. No one in particular. I’ll let you know when I find out.”

He abruptly yawned. He covered his mouth, eyes watering. “Pardon me.”

Suddenly she gave him an appalled look. “You haven’t been to bed yet, have you? Darius!” she cried. “Go. This instant!”

He regarded her dully.

When he made no move to obey, she sprang off the desk and came around to his side, pulling on his hand. “Come on.”

He didn’t budge.

“I’m putting you to bed!”

He let out a furious growl and yanked his hand away to rake it through his hair. “Don’t say such things to me.” He rested his elbows on his desk and glowered at her as he rubbed his throbbing temples.

“Why not? You put me to bed last night, didn’t you?”

He shot her a haughty look, then sat back, sullen, in his chair.

“Oh, Darius, my fierce one,” she said with her sweet, soothing laugh. She touched his face, trying to make him look at her, but he jerked his chin away, scowling.

She lowered her hand, gazing at him while he stewed. Studying him intently, she rested one juicy hip against his desk, her slim arms folded under her breasts. “You’re very handsome when you scowl.”

He gave her a dirty look.

Laughing softly, she reached out and gently smoothed his hair out of his eyes. “You need to learn to relax—”

He grabbed her wrist and forced her hand away. “Stop touching me, for God’s sake! Why are you always touching me? What are you trying to do to me?”

She stared at him with a look of surprise that swiftly turned to hurt. “I only meant to be friendly.”

“Well, don’t!” He looked away, heart pounding. He shoved his fingers through his hair in agitation, then got up roughly from the chair, crossing the library toward the door. He opened the door and held it for her, though she hadn’t moved from the desk. His soldierly stare bored straight ahead. “If you please, Your Highness, we have security procedures to review.”