Princess Annie Page 6

  She wanted desperately for that to be a lie, for infidelity was something she could not forgive.

  “Yes,” he said, in a ragged voice. “I loved Georgiana and she loved me. But that was merely good fortune. We had been pledged to each other as children—we always knew we would marry one day.” Rafael’s eyes darkened to the color of charcoal, and he rose abruptly from the pew. “Phaedra will marry Chandler Haslett,” he said, “and there will be no nonsense in the meantime.”

  Annie was flabbergasted, even though Phaedra had warned her that Rafael would react in just this way. She simply could not fathom such a rigid custom; her own father would never have forced her to marry against her will.

  “Your Highness—”

  “Our interview is over, Miss Trevarren,” Rafael responded, and then he strode out of the chapel, leaving Annie alone with the stained-glass windows, the altar and the hard pews with their high, curved backs.

  She was devastated. She’d been so certain that Rafael would see reason, so sure that his love for his sister would prevail. Now she knew the bitter truth—the prince of Bavia cared most about protocol, about another man’s promise, made long ago. Phaedra’s welfare was obviously a secondary matter to him.

  Annie sat in the chapel for some time, watching colored dust particles dance in the light flowing through the stained glass windows. Then, to put off facing Phaedra with the wretched facts for a little longer, she made the decision to go riding and took herself off to the stables.

  The grooms were busy, swapping stories and playing dice with the soldiers, and Annie did not interrupt them. Instead, moving as quietly as she could, she selected a dapple gray mare, slipped a bridle over the animal’s head and led her out into the sunlight.

  “I’m trusting you to stand here while I go inside and find a saddle,” Annie told the horse, one finger upraised to convey sincerity. “We females must depend upon each other, since men are so unreliable.”

  The mare nickered and tossed her head, as if to agree, and Annie went back inside. Perhaps, she reflected, as she pulled a saddle and blanket off a wooden stand, it had been unfair to say all men were unreliable. Her father wasn’t, although Annie had to admit it sometimes took rather a lot of hectoring on her mother’s part to keep Patrick Trevarren on the straight and narrow. Her grandfather, Brigham Quade, and all her uncles, were trustworthy men, too, insofar as she knew.

  Returning to the stable yard, Annie found the mare waiting obediently, reins dangling.

  Swiftly and skillfully, for Annie had learned to ride before she could recite the alphabet or button her shoes, she saddled the horse, gathered up the reins, and mounted. She threw her thoughts ahead to Crystal Lake as she rode along the keep’s western wall, giving a wide berth to the castle proper.

  Phaedra had been regaling her with tales about the magical lake ever since they’d become friends, a few years before, when they’d arrived in Switzerland almost simultaneously. They’d both been lonely and afraid in those first weeks at school, and Annie had grieved at being separated from her parents and younger sisters.

  Just remembering brought a lump to her throat as she and the mare trotted along. Patrick and Charlotte Trevarren had feared that their eldest daughter was growing up to be an incorrigible hellion, agreeing that Annie needed refinement and the company of other young girls her age. After much discussion, they had decided that boarding school was the best answer.

  They’d been right—Annie could see that in retrospect—but it had been a difficult and painful time for all of them.

  In any case, Annie and Phaedra had soon become devoted friends, and they’d managed to carry on their separate traditions of mischief even at St. Aspasia’s. To their credit, though, Annie reflected with a smile, the good sisters had smoothed away some of their rough edges and taught them to at least pass themselves off as ladies.

  Recalling her own escapade on the parapet, however, and Phaedra’s climb up a ladder to the balcony, Annie wondered if all those classes in feminine deportment had not been a waste of time after all.

  She passed several crofters’ cottages, for the walls of St. James Keep enclosed a small village, as well as the castle itself, and rode into the peach orchard beyond. Since it was early May, there were still blossoms on the trees, and their scent was luscious. Annie’s nerves were soothed; it was as though she had entered some enchanted place where there was only gentleness.

  She was so absorbed in her fancies that she didn’t hear the other horse and rider approaching until they were right beside her. Rafael, mounted on a huge black gelding, leaned down to grip the mare’s bridle and rein her in.

  His face was stiff with fury. “What are you doing, riding out here alone?” he demanded. “How did you get away from the stables without an escort? I left strict orders that no one—no one, Miss Trevarren—was to go riding unaccompanied.”

  Annie raised her chin and willed herself not to cry. “No female you mean,” she pointed out crisply. She couldn’t imagine Mr. Barrett following such a silly rule, or Lucian, and certainly not Rafael himself, even though he was probably in the most danger of all. “I am not used to being held prisoner in the houses I visit, sir.”

  Rafael’s horse grew impatient and began to dance and strain at the bit. He controlled the animal easily, and Annie was affected by the sight in a curiously elemental way that caused her to shift in the saddle. “Perhaps,” the prince countered coldly, “you do not cause disruption in the other houses you visit. You are free to roam within the keep’s walls, Miss Trevarren, but in the future you will do so in the company of a guard.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it again. There was no reasoning with this man. Why attempt it? In the course of helping Phaedra escape St. James Keep and a forced marriage, Annie would be free of the place as well. For the time being, however, she could only hold her tongue and try to follow the rules. It wouldn’t do to arouse suspicion.

  Rafael’s manner softened. “Come,” he said, and a tentative smile was his peace offering. “I’ll show you the lake.”

  Annie had been bracing herself for the disappointment of having to turn back, so Rafael’s invitation came as a pleasant surprise. “Have you spent a lot of time there?” she inquired, riding behind him through the orchard, with blossoms covering the ground and billowing like clouds over their heads.

  The smile Rafael tossed back over one shoulder was almost free of strain. He might have been a carefree young boy, instead of a widower and the prince of a country in the throes of violent change. “There’s a cottage on this side of the water. Barrett and I used to fish for trout there, when we came to Bavia for a holiday, and swim when the weather was warm enough.”

  Rafael’s transformation was incredible; the nearer they drew to Crystal Lake, the more relaxed he seemed. He rode beside Annie through a forest of pine and fir trees, smiling as he told of the time Edmund Barrett had climbed too high and one of the grooms had to fetch a ladder to get him down.

  Here was a man, Annie reflected, who lived in a castle and reigned over a country. He was undoubtedly very wealthy, and yet the things that made him happy were simple ones. Knowing that gave Annie a bereft feeling; she wished she could show Rafael her beloved Puget Sound, with its dense fringes of blue-green trees and the snow-covered mountains dwarfing it all. She wanted to take him to her parents’ island plantation in the South Pacific, too, to walk and run on the pristine white beaches with him, and teach him how to gather coconuts and eat their delicious fruit.

  She wanted something more, as well. The thought of it brought a blush to her face and made her heart beat faster, but even then she knew the dream was not just scandalous, it was impossible.

  Rafael would stay in Bavia, and he would almost certainly die there.

  CHAPTER 4

  The cottage was a small stone structure on the rocky shore of the lake. It sported a sturdy gambrel roof of plain shingles, and the leaded glass windows were framed with weathered white shutters. Weeds and wildflowers grew r
ight up to the walls, and it was plain that no one had used the place in a very long time.

  The prince dismounted first and held the mare’s reins for Annie. Because she was wearing a divided skirt, and she hadn’t expected company on the expedition, she’d ridden astride, and being forced to swing one leg over the saddle, with Rafael looking on, embarrassed her mightily.

  He must have guessed at her dilemma, for he smiled a slight and secret smile, belonging only to him. Annie would have appreciated a few moments to compose herself, but he did not have the good grace to avert his eyes for even that long.

  She turned to look out over the turbulent gray waters of the lake. It did seem enchanted, as Phaedra had always claimed it was. Annie wouldn’t have been surprised to see a mermaid rise out of the ripples to sun herself on one of the large rocks near the shore.

  As far as she could tell, the lake was completely encircled by the dense, fragrant forest. It reminded her of the Puget Sound country, and for a moment she was wildly homesick for Quade’s Harbor and the sprawling tangle of family thriving there.

  “Sometimes I think this is the only peaceful place in all the world,” Rafael said, his voice low and roughened slightly by sorrow.

  Annie was anxious to reassure him. “Oh, no,” she protested, nearly grabbing hold of his arm in her earnest desire to convince him, but catching herself just in time. “There are so many others—the countryside surrounding the town where my grandparents live, in Washington State, has great, towering trees and meadows where sweetbrier grows. And there’s the island—why, it might have been the Garden of Eden, it’s so lovely!”

  Tenderness flickered in Rafael’s eyes as he regarded her, and Annie could not believe he was the same man who fenced with such ruthless determination to win, the very man who would not allow his own sister to choose her husband. “But that’s your world, Annie,” he said. “This”—he gestured toward the keep, rising against the ominously clouded sky, and the troubled lands beyond—“is mine.”

  Annie left the mare to nibble sweet grass and made her way toward the lakeshore. Once again, she was trying not to weep, for Rafael’s words filled her with sadness and frustration.

  “You could leave,” she blurted, watching the lake through a sheen of tears.

  She felt him standing close behind her. “No. And as the daughter of a sea captain, you should understand the reason.”

  Annie dried her eyes on the sleeve of her riding jacket, in what she hoped was a subtle motion, then sucked in a deep and somewhat sniffly breath. “Oh, yes,” she said tartly, not daring to look back at Rafael. “A captain goes down with his ship. And you mean to perish with Bavia. Well, I think that’s insane!”

  Rafael crouched beside her, and still she could not look at him. “Americans generally don’t understand these things,” he said. “It’s a matter of tradition, Annie, and of honor. Though I have many enemies, I also have a number of loyal subjects. I cannot simply abandon them to their fate. I must stand with them.”

  Annie did understand, although she would have preferred it to be otherwise. She looked down at her knotted hands. “I still think you’re mad,” she insisted.

  He chuckled and took her hand. “Come, Annie. I want to show you the inside of the cottage. Besides, in case you’ve failed to notice, it’s about to rain.”

  The closing of his fingers around hers accelerated her heartbeat and caused a warm spill somewhere deep inside. Even though she knew it wasn’t proper, she allowed him to raise her to her feet and lead her toward the little cottage.

  They were still some distance away when the sky opened up and a hard, spattering rain began to fall, flattening the tall grass, slapping the surface of the lake, and drenching their clothes. The mare and gelding nickered and fretted.

  “Go inside!” Rafael shouted, over the roar of the deluge, flinging Annie in the direction of the little house. “I’ll see to the horses.”

  She obeyed without question and was relieved when the door latch worked on the first try. A flash of lightning filled the room with fiery light, followed by a deafening clap of thunder, and Annie dashed to the window to see Rafael struggling to calm the terrified gelding. The mare had already bolted and was just disappearing into the trees.

  Rafael managed to tether the remaining horse to the low branch of a tree, then sprinted toward the cottage.

  Not wanting to be caught watching him, Annie turned quickly from the window and scurried over to the stone fireplace, kneeling on the hearth and hastily arranging a few dry twigs on the grate. The first faltering flame was just beginning to lick at the wood when Rafael burst through the door.

  He was wet to the skin and, without hesitation, or any apparent consideration for Annie’s sensibilities, he hauled his sodden shirt off over his head and tossed it over the back of a chair—one of the few pieces of furniture in the room.

  Annie swallowed and tossed a small log onto the fire. “It’s a good thing there was some wood on hand,” she said, in a voice that was too bright and too brittle.

  Rafael had joined her before the fireplace, and she was alarmed to realize that she felt more heat coming from him than from the blaze she’d just kindled. “There’s always wood,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I come here sometimes to think.”

  She rose slowly, looking around the cottage for the first time since she’d sprung through the door. Apparently, there was only one room, though there was a loft with a ladder on the side opposite the fireplace. A bed, a wooden table with two chairs, and a cookstove comprised the furnishings.

  This was the second time in her life that Annie had been alone in the same room with a man and a bed. She wondered if it was significant that on both occasions that man had been Rafael St. James.

  “You’d better take off some of those clothes,” he said, in the same practical tone he’d used to announce that there was always wood in the cottage. “Ironic if you survived the incident on the parapet only to catch your death after being caught in a rainstorm.”

  Annie removed her riding jacket, as a concession, avoiding his gaze the whole time. Pneumonia or no pneumonia, that was the one and only garment she was willing to shed in his presence. It wasn’t him she was afraid of, though. It was herself, for where this man was concerned, she had no sense whatever and very few inhibitions.

  “I’m sure I’ll be quite all right,” she told him stiffly.

  “Look at me, Annie,” the prince commanded.

  It was difficult to obey. His chest was bare, after all, and Annie had never seen a man in any degree of nakedness before, let alone stripped to the waist. She knew she was blushing as she raised her eyes to meet his.

  “You are safe with me,” he said plainly. “I have no intention of ravishing you.”

  Annie was relieved and, if she were to be entirely honest with herself, somewhat disappointed as well. “You did kiss me yesterday.”

  He smiled, a bit rakishly, Annie thought, at the memory. “Yes,” he said. “I did, didn’t I?” He took a step toward her and she stood as if spellbound, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to move.

  “I imagine one of Mr. Barren’s men will come looking for us, when the mare returns to the stables without me,” Annie said, as a way of reminding the prince, lest he should change his mind about ravishing her, that there was little time.

  A curious expression had come over Rafael’s face—he looked unscrupulously handsome even with his dripping hair—one of bewilderment. “I will be damned,” he whispered, using the reverent tones of one offering a sacred vow and standing very near by then. He reached around to pull the pins from her hair, so that Annie’s own sopping tresses tumbled down her back and over her bodice. “I most surely will.”

  Something had happened, something indefinable had changed, for both of them. Annie was filled with the same ecstatic terror she’d felt while standing on the parapet of the south tower.

  She willed herself to step back, out of Rafael’s reach, but she couldn’t move. Her heart was hammering so ha
rd that she honestly feared it might do irreparable damage to itself, and her breathing was too shallow and too quick.

  Rafael laid his hand to the back of her head, spreading his fingers, burying them in her hair. He frowned and said her name and as simply as that, she was lost. She would have let him do almost anything, and the realization shook her to the very core of her being.

  “One kiss,” he said raggedly, as though making an 68 oath to himself, not Annie. “Just one kiss—I promise.”

  She stared up at Rafael, trusting him, baffled and a little shaken to know the extent of his power over her. She raised her face and his mouth came down on hers, not gently or tentatively like before, but with a pleasant ferocity. A hunger.

  Annie was transported. Mysterious parts of her, parts she’d never dreamed she possessed, were awakening and making themselves known. She ached, and when Rafael’s tongue entered her mouth, she took the thunder and lightning inside herself, into every curve and plain of her body, every secret fold of her soul.

  He continued the kiss, and at the same time he caressed her breast with one hand, causing the nipple to ache beneath her shirtwaist and camisole. She willed him to unbutton her bodice and he did, slowly. Ever so slowly.

  Annie watched his face as Rafael bared her breasts and looked at them with wonder as well as desire; she sensed his reverence and saw it in his eyes, and she wanted him even more than before.

  “You are so incredibly …” Rafael’s words fell away into silence. Holding the small of her back with both hands, he bent and took one of her nipples into his mouth, and she arched against his palms and cried out because the sensation was so glorious.

  He conquered her other breast, drawing on it hard, at the same time bending to lift her into his arms. He suckled her as he crossed the room toward the bed, and Annie couldn’t help the soft, eager sounds she made, though she knew they were wanton.