Princess (8 page)

Quickly he donned them, then opened another trunk to scrounge up a fresh waistcoat and jacket—black, of course. It amused him to play up his sinister role as the king’s cold-blooded assassin, for it kept the courtiers somewhat at bay. Whether it was jealousy or simple prejudice against his Gypsy blood, he only knew they despised and mistrusted him. They called him a calculating adventurer and warned one another that any day now he would turn on the king. Whenever he came home, they baited him, trying to see how far they could push him, for they knew he would uphold the king’s new law against dueling, and he refused to fight under Lazar’s roof.

Buttoning his waistcoat in the dark, he strolled into the next room to find Serafina bathed in moonlight by his large four-poster bed, staring down at his guitar. The instrument lay in its black leather case, which she had opened. When she touched the strings, the fine Spanish guitar breathed a mournful sound.

“What are you doing?” he asked very quietly.

She yanked her hand back. “Nothing.”

He stalked over to her and shut the case, narrowing his eyes at her. “Come on.” He pivoted and walked silently out of the bedroom. She followed. Just as he reached for his jacket, draped over a chair, there came a light scratch at the door.

In two strides, he was by Serafina’s side. Effortlessly he maneuvered her against the wall behind the door and motioned for her to be silent. She nodded, her eyes wide, glistening in the dark like violet quartz.

Soundlessly approaching the door, he laid his hand on the knob. The scratching sounded again.

He unsheathed his dagger.

Heart pounding with dread, Serafina waited, fully tensed, but when Darius opened the door, she found a different kind of danger had come to pounce on her champion now.

“Darling!” said a worldly, tinkling voice.

Instantly Serafina’s eyes narrowed to angry slashes.

Darius murmured a cool, uncomfortable little laugh. “Jules. What a surprise.”

In the wedge of light slanting across the floor, she saw their shadows as Lady Julia Calazzi threw herself into Darius’s arms and began kissing him for all she was worth.

Serafina spied, peeking with one eye through the crack in the door. With one hand, the voluptuous brunette in the wine-red dress was tearing at the clothes Darius had just put on. With the other, Julia held the back of his head, driving him deeper into the ruthless kiss she was giving him.

Ugh, I can’t watch this.
Serafina turned away in disgust. She folded her arms over her chest and glared into the dark room. It was bad enough to have to hear it.

“Oo, Santiago, I am starved for you,” the woman moaned between kisses. “Let me in.”

Serafina peered through the crack in the door again to observe Darius’s reaction.

Well, she thought, she had to give him credit. He tried. Of course, he had to know she was spying on him, so perhaps he was minding his manners. He was surprisingly polite as he pried Julia back, but the notorious seductress seemed to think he was only playing hard to get. Plucking at his clothes, she laughed at his protests.

“We can do it in the hall if you want, darling, but I’d prefer your bed. Then you can tie me up again,” she added in a wicked whisper.

Serafina’s brows shot up.

Darius cleared his throat violently. “Er, now’s not a good time,” he started gingerly.

“Why not, darling?”

“Just got in. I have to see the king.”

“Let him wait. I need you first. So badly. So very badly,” she panted, grasping his waist and pressing him with her body, but when Julia pushed Darius against the doorframe right on his bad shoulder, Serafina’s temper snapped.

Looks like it’s my turn to rescue him!
she thought, ignoring the inner protest that Darius would be cross if she interfered. She didn’t care. La Divine Julia couldn’t have him tonight, and that was that.

“Did you miss me, darling? I missed you. You know I’m mad for you,” Julia panted, running her jeweled fingers through his hair.

“Husband out of town again?” he asked, beginning to sound irritated.

“He’s dead, darling, haven’t you heard? I am finally free of the old goat!”

“Ah. I see you are heartbroken. My condolences.”

Julia laughed. “You delicious scoundrel! How like you to condole me for the loss of a man you cuckolded! Rest assured, I’ll land on my feet. I always do. Now let me in! We’ll toast his good riddance.”

“Julia, really, I’m in the middle of something—”

She slipped her arms around him again, kissing his neck as he protested. “Oh, you’re so busy, I know, darling. Tell me all about it,” she murmured, laughing.

Serafina edged farther into the room while Darius blocked the woman at the doorway and smoothly ran through half a dozen excuses, flattery and all, to no avail. He never noticed as Serafina made her way silently toward his bedchamber.

When she was there, she stood out of sight, muffling wicked laughter.

“Darius,” she called in her scratchiest, sleepiest, most pampered voice, “come back to bed, my love. I
need
you!”

In the doorway, Julia’s wheedling and Darius’s charming refusals both abruptly stopped.

At last, Julia gasped as though she had had the wind knocked out of her. “You
bastard
! Who is she?”

“I—”

He said nothing more. The great lover was quite at a loss, it seemed.

Serafina bit her tongue lightly just to keep from laughing aloud. Oh, revenge was a wonderful thing, she thought, remembering that day she had walked in on the pair in the music room. She had been crushed for a week afterward.

“Have your fun, you ungrateful cur. Use her well!” Julia snarled in a whisper. “And when none of your pretty toys proves willing or able to indulge your perversions, you can come crawling back to me.”

Hmm, perversions?
Serafina wondered.

“But I promise you this—I will find out who she is and I will
destroy
her!”

“Don’t you think perhaps you’re overreacting, my dear?” he asked blandly. “I never made you any promises.”

Serafina heard the slap.

For a moment, she only stood there, stunned, wide-eyed in the dark.

Julia had slapped Darius.

Slapped
her brave, noble, wounded knight.

Infuriated, she whirled out of her hiding place and marched toward the door in a wrath of vengeance, but Darius was just closing it. She tried to slip around him, but he grabbed her by the waist.

“Oh, no, you don’t, little wildcat.”

She strained for the doorknob. “Let me go! I’m going after her! How dare she hit you? She hurt your shoulder! I saw her—”

“That, Your Highness, was totally uncalled for,” he growled, holding her fast. “You have just officially made my life hell. You had no business interfering in my—”

“Perversions?”

She heard him suck in his breath swiftly.

“Do you really tie her up? Why?”

“Serafina!”

“Is it fun? Oh, I’ve shocked you.” She laughed with glee.

He released her waist and straightened up to his full height. In the dark, she could just make out the shape of him as he growled a sigh, righted his clothes with a crisp jerk to cravat and jacket, then raked a hand through his hair.

“Your father will be waiting, Your Highness.”

She chuckled at his chagrin.

“You’re very pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” he muttered as he took a handkerchief out of his pocket. He wiped the crimson rouge from Julia’s lips off his face.

“Yes. Here, you missed.” Serafina took the cloth from him, held his chin, and wiped the last smudge of Julia’s rouge off his face, by the corner of his mouth. “As for you, Colonel, I am shocked that you are wooing married ladies.” She gave him back his handkerchief. “For your information, Julia Calazzi is a malicious schemer,” she told him sternly, folding her arms over her chest. “Really, you should show some taste.”

He threw his forelock out of his eyes with an arrogant toss of his head. “Nice body, though, and she’s always willing to try new things.”

Her eyes widened. “Do not say such things to me!” she huffed, blushing.

“You started it,” he muttered. “Anyway, it just so happens that Julia has, shall we say, intimate knowledge of every man in this court. She can be very useful.”

“Oh, so you give her your favors in exchange for information. How mutually cold-blooded! I thought perhaps you were in love with her,” she said, studying her fingernails.

He scoffed.

“Obviously she is in love with you,” she pointed out.

“Women like Julia don’t fall in love.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be too sure. I’d be careful with her if I were you. I’ve seen how she treats her enemies.”

“Well, congratulations. You’re the one she wants to destroy now,” he said sardonically.

“I’m shaking,” she purred at him.

He reached for her wrist, pulling her none too gently toward the door. “Come on, you hellion. What were you going to do to her anyway, smash her a facer?”

“Maybe,” she shot back, flouncing a few steps ahead of him as they set out down the hall, but it was right then she decided, with all the stubbornness she possessed, that if she was in need of a protector for the next few weeks, then, by goodness, she was the Princess Royal and she should have the very best.

Only the great Santiago would do.

She was sure she could persuade Papa of the wisdom of this decision.

Fairly sure.

Yes, she thought fiercely, Papa could get some other man to do his dirty work for a change. Darius was tired, wounded, and worn out. He would never look after himself properly unless he was forced to. With a wound like that, he had no business running about trying to catch spies. Somebody had to take care of him or he was going to self-destruct. Her mind was made up. Even if she had to twist Papa around her finger, Darius was coming with her.

Somehow she sensed it might well be a matter of survival for both of them.

Julia Calazzi was still shaking by the time she slipped around the corner, down the dimly lit marble hall from Santiago’s suite. Leaning her head back against the wall, she closed her eyes and strove for calm. Her heart pounded with hellish fury.

She knew that scratchy, luxurious voice.

Now that she had realized, belatedly, who was in the room with him, Julia was torn between relief and an even greater alarm. Calling Darius back to bed was just the sort of joke the little witch would enjoy, just to grate on her. But Julia knew full well that Santiago would never lay a hand on the king’s precious baby girl.

There must be some mischief afoot, she decided. Offhand, she could think of any number of possible disasters brewing in the palace that could have brought Santiago rushing home. Philippe Saint-Laurent? Orsini? She knew of them all.

Well, she thought, it comforted her to realize he was probably merely on duty, protecting Her Highness, as always. Yet this thought, too, brought a faint sneer to her face. Why had no one ever protected
her
?

Over the past several years, Julia Calazzi had staked her claim on the king’s right-hand man, the elusive, the beautiful, blackhearted Santiago. The whole court believed that if anyone could ever snare him, she, La Divine Julia, would be the one.

She did not care that her friends pursued him for the occasional dalliance, for truly, a night in his arms was a harlot’s dream. Their knowing what a fantastic lover he was only enhanced her victory. Though most had enjoyed him, all acknowledged that she was the only one equipped with the wits and treachery to match him, trick for trick.

Only, over time, as she had grown close to him—insofar as anyone could be close to Darius Santiago—Julia had come to realize what no one else saw, a situation which boded very ill for her planned conquest. He was smitten—poor, tragic, laughable fool—with that spoiled, silver-spoon beauty, the king’s daughter.

God, she despised the Princess Royal. Why did everyone act as though that barefooted little heathen was God’s gift to the world?

Still angry, Julia winced at the prick of her nails digging into her palm. She opened her fist and looked down at her hand, still red from the slap she had dealt him.

That had been unwise, she mused, flexing and clenching her jeweled hand in thought. She could hardly afford to alienate him—literally, could not afford it. Her face hardened as she recalled for the thousandth time the tedious burden of her financial situation.

Her husband had died leaving her nothing but debts from his witless investments, but Julia vowed to herself that as soon as she could cast her snare around Santiago’s neck, her worries would be over.

That Darius was rich was little known because he did not believe in ostentatious display. Not only did he have the ear of the king and countless international personages, but his political maneuverings and his own ship-and-trade firm had served in building his massive fortune. Even lesser known was that, with his father’s death, he had become
Count
Darius Santiago, with vast holdings and vineyards in Andalusia.

Not even the king knew of this. The one thing Julia had been unable to learn was why Darius refused to claim his title.

She only knew that when he was her husband, she would force him to. Otherwise, well, what would people say? she thought. La Divine Julia, marrying a commoner?

At a sound down the hall, she peeked around the corner and saw the door to his room open. He came out. She ducked back, spying on him as he glanced one way down the hall, then the other, his movements graceful and silent as a wild panther’s. Julia crept forward again and watched.

Staring at him from halfway down the hall, she could feel his riveting magnetism. His jet-black hair gleamed in the dim glow of the wall sconces. Her gaze ran hungrily over him.

God, she missed him in her bed. As a lover, he had the hands of a guitarist and the soul of a poet. She had once known every inch of his hard, gorgeous body, but his attitude toward her had changed perceptibly after Her Royal Perfection had walked in on them making love that day in the music room. Since then, his gallantry toward her had seemed rather forced, Julia thought with a touch of anxiety. Sometimes he even seemed to be avoiding her.