Prince Charming (28 page)

With a hard swallow and one backward glance which might have been a painful twinge of conscience, she stepped out onto the balcony and climbed over the edge, peering down. The roof had many levels, turrets poking up against the dark blue sky here and there. It was easily negotiable. She studied the situation quickly and saw that she need only slide down, drop perhaps four feet. Lower, there was a handy platform from which she could continue her descent and escape. Should she?

Never lie to me.

Mateo and the others were safe. Rafael di Fiore was only using her. Her mind was made up.

She was getting the hell out of here.

Over sherry and cigars in the billiard hall that had been the devil’s den of their youth, Rafe resisted his friends’ attempt to get him drunk, knowing Daniela’s innocence. But by the time he pulled himself away, laughing, he wasn’t exactly sober, either.

“Enough, you evil influences on my virtue,” he said, laughing. “I have business to attend to this evening—”

Catcalls thundered around him. At last, he was allowed to leave amid a lewd salute involving pool sticks and humor more befitting a pack of twelve-year-olds. He bade them adieu amid cries of, “Send in the women, send in the whores! The married man has finally gone home!”

Laughing to himself as he trudged down the hall alone, he wondered if they would ever outgrow their antics and sighed to think that these were the men he had entrusted to high positions in government after disbanding the old council. Fortunately, they knew when to be serious. They hadn’t laughed like that in a long time.

Tonight marked a new start, he thought as he nodded to a servant who bowed to him. He climbed the stairs wearily, still trying to absorb the fact that he was married. He hadn’t expected to feel any different, but he did.

Outside the bedroom door, he paused as he laid his hand on the knob. There was no telling what he’d find when he opened the door. She could be sleeping. She could be crying. She could be waiting to hurl a dagger in his chest, for all he knew.

With a smile and a sigh, he started to turn the knob. His smile flattened to a look of displeasure but no real surprise.

Locked.

Wearily, he found the key in his waistcoat pocket and unlocked it, pausing before he went in, half fearful some strange booby trap awaited him. He quickly scanned his memory for some of his favorite practical jokes from boyhood. A bucket of water above the door to dump down on his head? A wire for him to trip over?

She wouldn’t dare.

Bravely, he pushed the door open and peered in. The chamber was dark, the curtains billowing gently over the open doors to the balcony. He squinted his eyes as his gaze moved to the bed. A luminous pile of white satin. He frowned with another disturbing surge of the tender chivalry she aroused in him. Had his poor little bride collapsed in exhaustion without even bothering to undress?

“Daniela?” he said softly, closing the door behind him.

But when he walked to the bed and touched the puff of silk and petticoats, his eyes widened. There was no girl in it.

He whirled, staring around the room. She was gone. Shocked even as he cursed himself for not expecting this, he strode toward the balcony just as the thin little cry reached him from beyond, somewhere in the darkness.

“Heeeelp!”

  
CHAPTER  
ELEVEN

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face as Dani clung with all her strength to the turret that was less than fifteen feet from the balcony.

Her vision had adjusted to the moonlight, and by its blue glow she saw the glint of anger in her husband’s eyes, but his face assumed that maddening look of wry amusement as he rested his hands on the balcony’s railing and regarded her with polite interest.

“Whatever are you doing out there, my dear?”

“Oh, don’t be a beast now,” she pleaded angrily, glancing at the ground God-knew-how-many feet below while she kept her arms wrapped tightly around the small turret. “I’m s-stuck. I’m going to die.”

“Don’t be morbid, Daniela,” he said cheerfully as he stripped off his coat, then swung his leg over the rail. “I am your husband and I shall save you.”

“Be careful!” she said, as it registered in a corner of her brain that this good cheer from him under such circumstances probably meant he was infuriated with her.

“Nonsense, I shall tell our children all about this night,” he continued as he slid with nonchalant grace down the curve of the mansard roof and stood at its edge, considering his next move. “And our children’s children. And our children’s children’s children.” He jumped.

Dani gasped.

He landed, left foot first, with agile grace on the same small, flat perch she had used. She blinked, staring, her heart pounding.

“In fact,” he said as he stepped across a ravine, “I shall have it written into the annals of Ascencion’s history. Better yet, I’ll declare it a holiday. Roof-climbing day, what?”

She suddenly gasped in horror as he teetered on his feet for a moment, laughing.

“You’re drunk!”

Pressing himself flat against the turret as he came around to her, he looked up indignantly. “I am not. That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me, would it? You being a vestal virgin and all. How the devil did you get up there?”

“You lunatic! I cannot believe you’re drunk! You’re going to get us both killed!”

“Tut, tut, my dear, I’ve done much stupider things than this and survived intact. Why did you climb up on that turret? I believe the direction you wanted was down.”

She pursed her mouth. “I was trying to come back.”

“Were you?” He passed a keen glance over her face.

“P-please, Your Highness. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

He grinned up at her suddenly with a twinkle in his eyes that dimmed the stars. “Will you hold me as tightly as you’re holding that turret?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I despise him, God. I despise him.” She heard him laugh. She shot her eyes open. “This is not funny!”

“Ah, right. Here’s what we’re going to do. Give me a moment.” With his much larger stride, he was able to straddle the gap in the roof that had caused her dilemma. He anchored his left foot against the angle of the roof, while his right remained planted on the narrow rim around the turret. Balanced precariously over the distant earth, he reached up his hands for her.

“You’ve got to be joking,” she croaked as he firmly grasped her hips.

“Let go,” he commanded, suddenly no humor in his voice.

“You’ve got nothing to hold on to. You’ll fall! Go back inside!”

“Don’t be frightened, sweetheart,” he coaxed. “Let go. Come with me. Slowly.”

“Rafael.”

“It’s all right. Just let go. I won’t let you fall.”

She closed her eyes at his gentle tone, but even though she was willing to obey, her arms would not come unclamped from the pointy turret. “I can’t.”

“Hush,” he said. “Come. I won’t let you get hurt. You’ve got to trust me, darling.”

She swallowed hard. “A-all right. I’m going to start letting go now.”

“Good. Be still in my arms.”

She knew any sudden movements could upset his balance. Cursing herself for putting them both in this position, she raked her fingers down the roof as his grip around her hips tightened, lowering her, inch by inch. She prayed frantically in her mind.

She could feel the enormous strength in Rafael’s arms, shoulders, and chest as he eased her against him. His movements were slow, careful, and balanced, executed with a grace which she could only conclude had been developed over years of training in fencing, for the whole kingdom knew he was an accomplished swordsman. With his great leg strength he held them both miraculously steadfast over an abyss.

She could do nothing but wait, her heart in her throat, as he pushed off from the rim around the turret and leaned backward, pulling her and himself over the void.

They both fell upon the small flat perch to relative safety. She lay there panting in frightened relief, thanking God countless times in her mind.

“I wonder if that earned me a kiss,” he mused aloud.

She looked at him, her eyes narrowed. He smiled roguishly, a few gold strands of hair falling free against his angular cheek. “No?”

“We’re not inside yet.”

“Can’t blame me for trying,” he remarked. “Must be those little breeches of yours. Really torment a man’s imagination, if you don’t mind my saying.” He lay back on the roof, folding his arms under his head. “Beautiful night. You know, girls have risked their lives trying to get into my bedroom, not out. You are the first. You are indeed the first,” he repeated more softly, his faraway stare fixed on the moon.

She gazed at his profile, his absurdly long lashes, his imperious nose and broad forehead. A wave of shame for her cowardice rose in her. “I’m sorry, Rafael.”

“Well, my little cabbage-head, I suppose you are forgiven.”

“I am?”

“I told you there is only one thing you could do that would anger me.”

“Lie.”

“Yes.”

“Rafael?”

“My mother calls me Rafael, you know.” The moonlight slid across his cheek as he turned to gaze at her. The golden stubble of his day’s beard gave his classically handsome face a rough edge that rather pleased her. He reached out his hand and cupped her face. “You have beautiful eyes. What is it?”

She didn’t pull away, but at his flirting, she utterly forgot what she had meant to say. His thoughtful look turned to a smile.

“I can feel you blushing under my palm,” he murmured, then he pinched her cheek. Judiciously, he pulled his hand back and folded it under his head again.

Dani stared out over the distant sea. “Do you charm all your women this way?”

He paused. She sensed him stiffen as though her softly uttered question stung him, but his tone was dry. “Well, I don’t always rescue them from plunging to their deaths, but generally speaking, yes.”

“This is your system, then.”

“No. I don’t have a system. For seduction, you see, is not a science. It is an art. And you, my dear, are in the hands of a Michelangelo.”

“Are you going to—well, never mind, of course you are. How stupid of me—”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“What, Dani?” he whispered, looking over at her with a slight, wicked smile. “Am I going to seduce you?”

“No! That wasn’t my question!” she gasped in mortified shock.

“What’s on your mind?”

She dropped her gaze, blushing to the roots of her hair, but she had to try to ascertain if he was at all serious about her. “You—you are going to keep your mistress, of course. Ms. Sinclair?”

She knew he was staring at her but she could not bring herself to look at him. Her voice was hollow and strained, her words tumbling out fast in the awkward silence. “Perhaps it would be easier if we just went inside now and got it over with—” she started, but as she shifted to get to her feet, his iron grip wrapped around her waist, and the next thing she knew, she was on her back and he was covering her mouth in kisses. A few strands of his long hair fell forward, brushing her face like silk, and his hand cupped her cheek and caressed her neck, her hair. It was glorious.

Worse, her arms went at once around his neck as if of their own accord and she held him with an indescribable sense of pained joy. Slowly she understood that he desired to part her lips, and slowly she gave way, opening her mouth.

He breathed her name then gave her a deep, slow kiss full of feeling, stroking her tongue with his own. There was nothing in her world in that moment but Rafael. His mouth on hers, his hands on her skin, the rock-hard musculature of his shoulders and back under her palms as she clutched him to her.

Deeper and deeper he kissed her, moving partly atop her, his big body warm and lean. His left forearm pillowed her head, but she felt his right hand wandering down from her neck, exploring her body. He laid his hand on her midriff, and she wondered if he could feel her heartbeat pounding in the core of her.

She felt a small tug on her shirt and realized he was unbuttoning it. She tore her mouth away from his. “Rafael,” she breathed as his hand slipped inside her shirt and cupped her breast. She groaned, arching her head back, eyes closed.