Princess (17 page)

She gasped and her eyes shot open wide at the hot, wet tug of his mouth. She stared at the black branches far overhead with the indigo sky beyond them. She had never felt such pleasure.

Spurred on by her response, he wrapped his hand around her breast and suckled upon her, his mouth hot and wild. Her eyes drifted closed again. She moaned softly, holding him.

Hungrily, he moved to the other breast, sucking hard.

Suddenly he paused, as though surprised.

She barely had time to wonder why when he groaned aloud and gripped her breast harder, sucking her nipple with fierce, uncontrollable passion. He was inflamed, his hands all over her, stroking her legs, between her legs. He moved up over her and took her mouth with deep, forceful kisses. She was overwhelmed by his passion.

“I tasted you. I tasted your milk,” he whispered fiercely. She did not know if that was possible, but she had no time to wonder, for without warning, he swooped down over her and claimed her mouth.

Driving her lips apart with his kiss, he forced the lingering sweetness of her body’s milk from his tongue onto hers. She cried out with surprise when he pinned her wrists to the forest floor and stared brashly into her eyes.

“You are mine,” he ground out. “You know you are.”

She stared up at him in silence, barely daring to breathe.

He was panting, his onyx eyes flashing like heat lightning. She did not know what he intended, she only knew he was far stronger than she. His hard chest against her, she could feel his rushing pulse.

“You know you are mine,” he whispered again. “Say it.”

Was he asking for permission to deflower her? she thought in alarm. She meant to ease him back to reason with a tactful reminder that she was soon to marry another man—a man who would probably kill her if she came to her wedding night not a virgin—but when she opened her mouth, only one word slipped out. “Yes.”

He stared at her.

She was not sure what she had just done. She could not read him, wasn’t sure if her admission had satisfied him.

He touched her face, stroked her hair, then suddenly bent down and scooped her into a fierce hug. “Angel. I frightened you.”

“No, Darius,” she told him bravely.

He held her for a long moment. “We should go. They’re looking for us.”

Neither of them made any move to get up.

“I shouldn’t have let this happen,” he said.

She gazed at him. “It’s too late now.”

“I am afraid you will regret it.” He avoided her eyes. “You know it can’t last.”

She touched his cheek, turning his face to meet her stare. “I’ll never regret it, Darius. Will you?”

He looked at her for a moment, then slowly shook his head.“No. It’s just that I can’t promise you anything beyond our time here.” He covered her hand with his own. “If you get close to me now, it will hurt when it’s time for us to go.”

She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. “Any amount of time with you is worth the pain to me,” she murmured.

“My fearless Princesa. You continually amaze me,” he said with a soft, sad chuckle as his arms tightened around her.

She looked at him thoughtfully.

“Did you really get rid of my chaperons?”

“Oh, yes, indeed,”

“How?” She braced herself on his chest and gazed down at him. Her hair swung down like a silken veil around him.

“Told Belfort it was too dangerous to send any more staff right now.”

“You lied to my father?” she exclaimed. “You?”

He knit his brow. “I would hardly say I lied. A carriage could easily be followed.”

She laughed in delight. “You lied to Papa so that we could be together!”

“So what if I did?” he retorted.

“Nothing. I always knew you liked me best. Now you have fought the dragons for me.” At his scowl, she gave him a fond squeeze. “You know how I hate having some old dragon-lady looking over my shoulder every second.”

‘I know. I would, too.”

“I owe you one for this, Santiago.”

“Really?” he drawled. His jet-black hair tousled, his mouth beestung with kissing, he eyed her breasts.

Her eyes widened. “Darius, really.” Quickly, she scrambled off him with a heated blush and began buttoning her dress.

Chuckling at her alarm, he pinched her cheek and swept to his feet. As she hurriedly righted her clothes, he turned back to her and offered his hand. She grasped it and jumped up with a smile of undisguised adoration.

They left the woods hand in hand, walking in silence.

Darius captured Jihad in the field while Serafina gathered up her botany tome and her basket of plants. She put her brown kid ankle boots back on without fastening them. Darius insisted that they both could ride the horse, so she soon found herself seated sidesaddle across his lap while he rode astride.

She balanced her basket on her lap as she leaned securely against Darius, savoring the steadying feel of his arm around her waist. Her head resting on his chest, she stared up at him while he guided the horse homeward through the thickening dark.

The horse carried them back through the fields at a stately walk. By the time the lights of the yellow villa came in sight, the gray-pearl dusk had turned into a clear, starry night. When they rode back into the compound, one of the men spotted their movement in the darkness.

“There’s the colonel!”

Half a dozen soldiers came running toward them.

“Colonel!”

“Have you found her?”

“It’s all right,” Darius called as they came presently under the sphere of light from the nearest wrought-iron lantern. “I have found the princess, as you can see.”

Serafina blushed, looking about her, as eyebrows were raised when the soldiers saw the royal protectee seated in their colonel’s lap.

Darius carried on in his curt, businesslike way as if there were nothing one jot unusual about it. “You,” he said sternly to a young private, “go tell the kitchens Her Highness will dine in half an hour.” He gave a few more miscellaneous commands, then ordered the others back to their posts.

She observed his impact on his men with one part admiration, one part amusement. His style of giving orders was certainly different from her father’s. The king’s orders were notoriously sketchy and swift, for he expected or at least hoped that the men around him would use their own brains. Darius was not so optimistic. He expected his orders to be carried out meticulously, unquestioningly, the same manner in which they were given by him.

When the men had scattered to their duties, Darius clucked to Jihad and the horse walked on.

“They will gossip,” she murmured tautly.

“My men are loyal.” He flinched a little to speak the word, then said nothing more, brooding. She knew he was thinking of her father.

She thought of Anatole and did not feel the slightest twinge of guilt. However, it would not do for rumors to get back to the Russian diplomats. “What if they spread tales when we return to Belfort?”

“Who says we are ever going back?” he murmured. “Maybe I’ll kidnap you myself.”

“Would you, please?” she asked wistfully.

He laughed softly, sadly, then shifted both reins into one hand and caressed her shoulder, pulling her closer as they neared the stable. “There, there, little pet. Never worry about my men.”

“You sound very sure.”

“I am sure. Let nothing frighten you.” Fondly he nuzzled her hair. “If there is any unpleasantness, I shall attend to it. Trust me. Hungry?”

“You are changing the subject.”

He gave her a devastating smile as he reined in before the wide, open stable doors. “I’ll see you at dinner, angel. Wear something pretty for me. Preferably low-cut, if you please.”

“You are impossible,” she whispered, smiling in spite of herself.

His dark eyes danced. “I pride myself on it.”

Half an hour later, she sat gazing across the dinner table at Darius, thinking with a contented sigh that he was the handsomest man on the earth, and the bravest, and the cleverest, and the best.

Fresh-scrubbed and dashing in his officer’s uniform, he was seduction incarnate. The shiny gold buttons on his smartly cut scarlet coat were undone, revealing the white satin waistcoat beneath. His white cravat was immaculate as always. He wore black broadcloth breeches, gleaming black boots, and his silver dress sword.

Dim candlelight from the chandelier sculpted his high cheekbones in shadow and kissed his sun-bronzed skin with a soft glow. His lips looked soft and plump, and the dramatic angles of his face had softened, for his mood was sensual and relaxed.

She savored his presence, making sure he ate plenty, and thanking all the pagan gods like the ones sporting in the lush Baroque fresco on the ceiling above her that she had no chaperon.

Sipping her wine, she glanced up again uneasily at the marvelous painting overhead, which depicted the lovers Mars and Venus caught in the golden net fashioned by the jealous husband Vulcan.

She opted not to point it out to Darius. He hadn’t noticed it, staring only at her face and at the plunging neckline of the lilac silk she had worn sheerly to indulge him.

“I adore you, Santiago,” she declared, resting her cheek dreamily in her hand.

He looked up, finished chewing, took a drink of red wine, and crooked a finger at her, wiping his mouth with his linen napkin.

She straightened up in her seat. “What is this—you are summoning me like the sultan?” she exclaimed indignantly.

“I only want to give you a treat, Princesa.” He plucked a strawberry from the centerpiece, dipped it in his wine, then held it out to her with a flash of wickedness in his dark eyes. “Don’t you want it? Come and get it,” he said softly.

“Ooh, a treat for me?” Laughing, she rose from her seat and leaned toward him across the table, reaching for it.

“No, no, you have to come and take it if you want it,” he chided with a devilish smile, coaxing her toward him until she climbed up onto the table and, laughing all the while, crawled slowly toward him on hands and knees across the table, sliding laden silver platters out of the way to clear her path.

“Here comes my dessert,” he taunted.

She giggled. “My, what a large appetite you have!”

“A little closer,” he murmured, holding the strawberry tantalizingly just out of reach of her mouth. She tried to get it and he pulled it away.

“Scoundrel, I want it,” she pouted.

“Come and get it. Hurry. It’s dripping,” he whispered, eyeing the drop of wine that had collected at the strawberry’s tip. “Catch it, Serafina.”

She did. She caught the drop of wine on her tongue, licking the underside of the ripe, red strawberry slowly while he held it for her.

“Very good,” he murmured. “Would you like to bite it?”

She opened her mouth.

He pulled the strawberry back, a gleam in his dark eyes as he looked from it to her. “Ah-ah, you may not have it. Not until I say.” He laid the strawberry against her mouth, caressing her lips with the tip of it, back and forth, until she parted them slightly, staring at him.

She closed her eyes and tasted it with the tip of her tongue, then parted her lips wider and took it halfway into her mouth.

“No biting.” he chided gently.

Eyes closed, she made a sound of impatience, sucking it.

“I don’t think I have ever been so jealous of a piece of fruit before in my life,” he mused as he pulled the strawberry back just a bit, leaving part of it still in her mouth.

She started laughing again. “Is this what they mean by forbidden fruit?”

“You’re dying to eat it, aren’t you?” he whispered.

She nodded slightly, her heart racing with the thrill.

“Serafina, I must confess,” he said, “I am having the most ungentlemanly thoughts.”

She opened her eyes with a teasing gaze and licked her lips richly. “I couldn’t tell.”

“Brat,” he said, as he conceded the strawberry. “You win.”

“As usual.” She claimed her prize, nibbling the strawberry out of his fingers.

Just as she lightly bit his finger, the door opened. The headwaiter’s eyes shot open in shock to find the Princess Royal on her hands and knees on the dining table, eating a strawberry out of her protector’s hand.

She froze, nearly choking as she swallowed her mouthful of strawberry.

There was dead silence.

Not knowing what else to do, she burst out laughing. “Oops!” Wide-eyed, she pushed up into a kneeling position and sat back on her haunches, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Meanwhile, Darius pinned the hapless fellow in a stare only a fool would challenge.

The servant paled as if he had just unwittingly walked into a wolf’s lair.

“Dismissed,” Darius said in deadly tranquility.

The man fled.

“You got us in trouble now!” she whispered as she crept back to her seat.

He sat back in his chair and idly lifted his wine, but the expression in his eyes was shuttered, as if he were making a mental note to take care of something unpleasant.

After dinner, Darius loosened his cravat and wandered outside to smoke.

Serafina went in search of his guitar. She removed it from its black leather case and carried it outside, presenting it to him in shy, wordless request. She knew he hated to play for anyone.

He regarded her skeptically for a moment, shoved his cheroot between his lips, and accepted the instrument. Moving with his customary loose grace, he sat down on the stoop and tuned the strings, head bowed.

Serafina brushed past him, trailing her hand over his good shoulder as she passed. She left the porch and walked out onto the cool, lush grass, to stand gazing up at the half-moon and the million stars.

Around her on the ground, the cicadas’ song was a vibrating resonance. Fireflies pierced the darkness, drifting, vanishing. Above her, now and then, bats flew by, winging their wild paths between clusters of pines. The breeze blew and stilled, however the whim struck it.

She felt strange and light, as if she could float up away into the stars from sheer happiness. The first soft, intimate notes rose behind her from his guitar. She knew better than to turn and watch him play.

His guitar spoke for him. It always had, and tonight the simple melody was sweet and pensive, sometimes shimmering softly like the flight of a hummingbird before a flower, at other times lifting into airy, flowing weightlessness with a rhythm that made her feel as if she were riding a horse made of the galloping wind.