Princess Annie (10 page)

“Here, now,” Rafael protested gruffly, when she began to cry. “None of that. What you need now is a warm bath, something to eat and a good night’s sleep.” He was already ushering her toward the castle, and she didn’t want to go because she knew it meant they would have to part.

The great hall was empty and, at the bottom of the staircase, Rafael swatted Annie lightly on the bottom. “Go on,” he ordered, and though his lips were curved into a smile, his eyes expressed some other, darker emotion. “Get to your room. I’ll send a maid up immediately.”

She lingered for a moment, memorizing his face, terribly afraid that this one interlude was all she would ever have of him, wondering how she could go on with her life, knowing what might have been. God in heaven, she’d been better off with her virginal fantasies, never guessing at the things a man and woman could do to bring ecstasy to each other.

“Good night,” she said brokenly. Then she turne and hurried up the stairs and through the dimly lighted passageways to her own chamber.

True to his word, Rafael dispatched a servant right away. Annie was cosseted and fussed over—brandy and hot food were brought to her room and an enormous bathtub was promptly filled with steaming water.

For all those luxuries, Annie was miserable. Like a true gentleman, Rafael had seen that every comfort was provided—she could not doubt that he felt tremendous guilt for the things he’d done to her in that cottage. By now, he was probably in bed with his mistress, appeasing the passions he had not allowed himself to satisfy with Annie.

She had learned a great deal that afternoon; she had seen Rafael’s erection, and felt it against her buttocks and lower back as they rode back from the cottage with Barrett and his detail of men. Lying in the warm, scented water of her tub, Annie closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to have him mount and conquer her. The thought made her breath quicken and her heart race, and inspired an achy throb down below.

She might have died of her unfulfilled wanting, she supposed, if Phaedra hadn’t chosen exactly then to burst into her chambers, uninvited, her eyes alight with mischief and some secret she would almost certainly refuse to reveal.

“The keep is overflowing with gossip,” Phaedra said, in an eager and delighted whisper. “Everyone says that you and Rafael were alone together in the cottage by the lake. Rumor has it that your hair was loose when they found you, and Rafael wasn’t wearing a shirt, and your clothes were mussed and misbuttoned. Tell me precisely what happened—as if I couldn’t guess!”

Annie was mortified that a reputation could be ruined so quickly and wondered how she would ever face people, when everyone knew such intimate things about her. “Nothing happened,” she lied. “We were caught in the rain, that’s all. The cottage was nearby so naturally we took refuge there.”

“Very well, then,” Phaedra responded petulantly, “don’t tell me. Sooner or later, you won’t be able to contain the truth any longer, and it will all spill out!”

Annie considered sinking beneath the surface of her bathwater and drowning herself, but the chances of rescue were too great, with Phaedra right there.
“Nothing happened,”
she said again, hoping there were no angels listening in, and putting a mark by her name in some heavenly ledger. As it was, she was probably going to be ushered straight through Purgatory when she died and handed over to the devil’s own gatekeeper.

Mercifully, Phaedra was consumed by some news of her own, something besides the secret shining in her eyes. She was bursting with excitement. “Felicia brought a dressmaker with her,” she said. “I’m to have the grandest gown in all of Europe!”

Annie was startled out of her own woeful reflections, gaping at Phaedra, openmouthed. Several flustered moments passed before she managed to sputter, “But you said—last night—Phaedra, have you gone mad?”

The princess laughed. “No,” she said, fetching a towel and handing it to Annie. “I’ve simply had a change of heart. It’s going to be a marvelous wedding, Annie, like something out of a fairy tale. I’ll have a glass coach, and six white horses to pull it—”

“Phaedra,”
Annie said, using the towel as a curtain while she stood and then wrapping it around herself and stepping out of the tub. She took her wrapper from the bench in front of the vanity table and slipped behind a screen to put it on. A moment later, she was crossing the room again, laying a hand to the princess’s forehead.

There was no fever, but Annie’s alarm was not assuaged.

Phaedra grasped her hand. “Don’t worry, pet,” she said earnestly. “I shall be happy, I promise.” Her shining eyes lent a certain truth to the declaration.

Still, having just learned how glorious it was to be touched and caressed in the most intimate ways by a man she cared for, Annie was even more of a firm believer in marrying for love. “Have you developed tender sentiments toward Mr. Haslett after all?” she asked hopefully.

“Something like that,” Phaedra said cryptically.

Annie was not reassured, but there was nothing she could do to change matters at the moment. She would, of course, give the situation a great deal of hard thought. There was more to this drastic turnabout than Phaedra was telling, that much she knew by instinct.

“You and I are about the same size,” Phaedra observed, taking both of Annie’s hands in hers and eyeing her frame critically. “Yes. The dress could just as well be fitted to you.”

Again, Annie was flabbergasted, even though she was used to being surprised by her friend. “You want
me
to be fitted for your wedding gown? Phaedra, that is the most incredible suggestion you’ve ever made!”

Phaedra met her gaze then, and Annie saw such pleading, such desperate hope in those familiar eyes, that she was staggered by it.
“Please,
Annie. Say you’ll do this for me. You know I couldn’t bear the boredom of it, standing still for hours and hours—I’d swoon for certain, or be taken with one of my sick headaches!”

Annie swallowed a retort concerning the convenience of said sick headaches, having been caught in this same trap many times before. It was madness to consent, but Phaedra St. James was her most cherished friend—all the others were dull by comparison—and something hidden away in her heart told her this favor was important to her friend.

“All right,” she said ruefully. “I’ll do it.”

CHAPTER 5
 

A
nnie avoided the dining hall the next morning. Even though she had been ravenously hungry from the instant she opened her eyes, she was afraid to encounter Rafael. Her emotions were in turmoil—one moment, she felt the most profound joy; the next, the most pitiful despair—and the echoes of his lovemaking still thrummed and spilled and caught in the deepest reaches of her womanhood. She was absolutely certain that the prince, with his greater knowledge of the world and its ways, would guess these embarrassing secrets at a glance.

The prospect of that encounter being unbearable, Annie had dressed hastily and allowed Phaedra to lead her through endless passages to the other side of the castle.

“This is the solarium,” Phaedra announced, when they stepped into the large, round, sunny room, with its towering windows, flourishing plants, and bare stone walls. “In the old days, the ladies of the keep used to come here to chat and work their embroidery, and sometimes musicians played for their entertainment. Papa had glass put into the windows—they were open before—and there were the most beautiful tapestries for decoration, until Rafael inherited the crown.” The princess paused, a slight frown crinkling her otherwise flawless face. “He said the air was ruining them and gave the lot to the public museum in Moravia.”

Annie turned slowly, admiring the vast, chilly chamber. It was circular, with a high, dome-shaped ceiling and a balcony that stretched all the way around. Imagining the place as it must have been in medieval times, she could almost see the St. James women in their kirtles, smiling and sewing, and hear them chatting and humming under their breaths with the soft notes of a lyre for accompaniment. “What a wonderful room,” she whispered.

Phaedra pointed to the balcony, which loomed at least twenty feet off the cold stone floor. “A long time ago, a princess leaped to her death from up there. The servants claim that her ghost haunts St. James Keep to this day.”

A delicious tremor coursed down Annie’s spine. She would like to make the acquaintance of such a creature, she decided, provided it was well-behaved and not too ugly.

“Now remember, you promised to be fitted in my place,” Phaedra added, in a whisper, as a clatter sounded near the open arch that served as the main doorway. A short, plump woman with gray hair and an unfortunate mole just to the left of her nose bustled in, with two servant girls bumbling at her heels. The first young woman carried an enormous bolt of shimmering white moire, the second a sewing basket overflowing with lace and ribbon and measuring tape. Both looked harried and anxious.

The woman in the lead placed her hands on her ample hips and assessed both Annie and Phaedra with bright, beadlike eyes. “Which one of you is the princess?” she demanded, and from her tone a person might have concluded that there was a beheading scheduled for that sunny, rain-washed morning, instead of a fitting for the most magnificent wedding dress in all of Europe.

“I am,” Phaedra responded coolly, drawing herself up. While there was nothing of the snob in her nature, she did not like to be addressed in too casual a fashion. “This is my friend, Miss Annie Trevarren. She’ll be standing in for me during the fitting. Annie, Miss Augusta Rendennon.”

The new arrival, obviously the seamstress Miss Covington had retained, and a personage of some renown in addition to that, reddened slightly and pursed her lips. She had used none of her purported skill in the making of her own garments, for hers was a plain gray gown, unremarkable in every way. Her high-button shoes were scuffed and the small lace cap perched on the crown of her head had seen better decades. Her eyes were narrow as she studied Annie.

“Hmmm,” she said, her tone and expression ripe with censure.

Annie blushed, both embarrassed and indignant, and would have elbowed Phaedra in the ribs if the princess hadn’t been judicious enough to step out of reach. “I don’t think—” she began lamely.

“Hush!” hissed the dressmaker, walking around Annie in a slow circle now. “Madame is not called upon to think. Yes … yes, I believe you will do, though I dare say I’ll need to make adjustments at the waist.” She reached out and gave Annie’s side a hard pinch. “A bit fleshy, but to tell the truth, men like a woman to be soft in the appropriate places.”

Annie cast a scathing look in Phaedra’s direction, though the heat in her face rose not from this current humiliation, but from memories of the day before, when Rafael had touched and stroked and kissed every inch of said flesh. “Surely if it is to be the princess’s dress, then she should be the one to—”

Phaedra was already flitting toward the door, nimble as some forest nymph vanishing into the trees. Eyes narrowed in warning, she nonetheless blew Annie a farewell kiss. “Miss Rendennon will take care of everything,” she chimed, before vanishing as quickly as any ghost could have done.

Annie’s stomach gave a loud and unmistakable rumble, and Miss Rendennon sighed in a martyrly fashion.

“Barbarians,” she muttered to herself. “Nothing but barbarians.”

One of the maids, having set her bundle of fabric down on a nearby couch, curtseyed to Annie and said, “I could find you something to eat, miss.”

“Eat?” bellowed Miss Rendennon, horrified. “There will be no food within a hundred fathoms of these exquisite goods! Besides, I won’t have the seams bursting.”

Annie’s cheeks burned anew. Perhaps she
was
a bit more voluptuous than Phaedra, but Miss Rendennon made it sound as though she were an oddity, fated to spend the rest of her days touring with circuses. “My dear woman, I hardly think—”

The dressmaker did not allow her to finish, but clapped her hands loudly and ordered one of the maids to fetch sheets to cover the floor, so that the precious moire would be protected, and began taking Annie’s measurements, clucking and muttering and fussing all the while.

Once a large part of the floor had been covered, and Annie had been stripped to her chemise, the length of fabric was unfolded and the process of draping began. Annie stood like St. Joan at the stake, her stomach grumbling, watching dust motes floating in the spears of sunlight stabbing through the windows, and passed the time by plotting revenge against Phaedra.

A tingling sensation on her nape was the first indication that she was being observed, and when Annie raised her eyes, she was startled to see Rafael standing on the balcony, arms braced against the ornate masonry railing, watching her. Although she could not make out his expression, because of distance and shadows, she felt oddly vulnerable, as though she’d been bared for him, like a harem favorite for the sultan.

When Miss Rendennon looked up and saw the prince, her insolent manner changed in an instant. She nodded and beamed. “Good morning, Your Highness,” she said.