Princess Annie (20 page)

He downed the brandy in one searing gulp, set the crystal snifter on the table, and went about finishing his bath.
One crisis at a time, St. James,
he told himself.
One crisis at a time
.

An hour after his bath, when Rafael descended the main staircase, impeccably groomed, except for want of barbering, and wearing formal clothes, he found only Chandler Haslett and Felicia awaiting him at the dinner table. He was surprisingly disheartened to discover Miss Trevarren absent. Phaedra wasn’t there, either, but common sense told Rafael that his temper needed a little more time to cool before he dealt with his sister.

Chandler seemed preoccupied, though he was pleasant enough, but Felicia was clearly fretful.

“Barrett tells me you intend to assemble the entire Morovian garrison in the morning,” she said to Rafael, after the soup had been served. “Do you think that’s wise? It seems to me that there might well be reprisals …”

Rafael regarded the other man in thoughtful silence for a lengthy interval before remarking, “Barrett is very free with sensitive information. I shall have to speak to him about that.”

Felicia was pale, and an odd, disturbing light gleamed in her brown eyes. Her hand trembled as she gave up the pretense of eating and laid down her soup spoon. “Don’t you dare reprimand Edmund,” she whispered, as if by lowering her voice she could keep Chandler from hearing her. Naturally, her effort only caused him to perk up his ears. “He knows he can trust me, and you should know it, too!”

Because he had been living on army rations and rabbit meat for over a week, Rafael had a special appreciation for palace fare, and he continued to eat. Between sips of wine, he asked moderately, “Is it your brother you’re worried about?”

Felicia’s only sibling, Jeremy Covington, was a lieutenant in the Bavian army, garrisoned in Morovia. She and Jeremy were close, but Jeremy was Lucian’s contemporary, and Rafael had probably never exchanged more than a few words with young Covington.

“Yes,” Felicia said, with unusual bitterness. “I don’t want Jeremy shot by a rebel, just because you insist on lining up every soldier in Morovia for a scolding.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Rafael saw Chandler lean forward in his chair, making no effort to hide his interest.

“A scolding?” Rafael echoed, just as bitterly. “Do you know what those men did, Felicia?”

She flushed. “Yes, of course, I do. But why should
all
the troops be put in danger because of the actions of a few?”

Rafael reached for his wineglass and took another sip, though now the fine sangria flowed untasted over his tongue. “I believe the men are quite capable of protecting themselves,” he said quietly. “Jeremy more than most, since he has risen rather rapidly through the ranks.”

“You could make an exception—”

Rafael cut her off with a shake of his head, and Felicia flung down her napkin, pushed back her chair and dashed from the room. Chandler rose halfway out of his chair either out of deference or habit and frowned at the prince.

“You might have summoned Lieutenant Covington to the palace for a private interview, Rafael,” he suggested quietly.

“No,” Rafael replied. “Every man will be treated in exactly the same way, including my half brother, Lucian.” The subject was closed, and Rafael could see by the resignation in Chandler’s face that he’d made that clear. “Now, tell me—how is Phaedra?”

At dawn, by Rafael’s orders, Annie joined Phaedra, Mr. Barrett and the prince himself on a high balcony, partially hidden by tree branches but affording a clear view of the courtyard and the street in front of the palace. For all of that, Annie did not recognize any of the men she had seen in the marketplace that terrible day. There were several soldiers with hair the same startlingly fair shade as that of the leader, the one who had kicked Annie to the cobblestones from his horse, but to sort them out she would have had to look directly into their faces.

“Perhaps if I saw them up close,” Annie said, gripping the wrought iron railing enclosing the small balcony. “From this distance …”

Rafael hesitated a moment, then turned to his sister. “Phaedra?”

The princess shook her head, and it seemed to Annie that she was leaning toward Mr. Barrett, just a little. Phaedra was trembling visibly, and she was frighteningly pale. “No, Rafael…they look so much alike …”

Rafael and Mr. Barrett exchanged a look.

“Don’t worry,” Mr. Barrett said to the prince. “I’ll find the guilty ones by other means.”

Rafael was watching the soldiers again, his expression pensive. “See that you do. In the meantime, I would like to address the men personally.”

Annie saw Barrett set his jaw and knew he was exercising considerable restraint to keep from issuing a protest. Annie, however, had no such compunction.

“That could be dangerous, Your Highness,” she said. “And foolish in the bargain.”

He turned his head and pinioned her with his pewter gray gaze. “And you are an acknowledged expert on both, aren’t you?”

Annie blushed.

Rafael executed a slight, impudent bow. “Please allow me to run my army as I see fit, Miss Trevarren,” he said. “In the meantime, you and my sister may occupy yourselves with the preparations for tonight’s ball.”

His remark was politely framed, but it stung, as it had surely been intended to do. Annie suppressed an urge to kick His Royal Highness in the shin and instead, performed an absurdly elaborate curtsey. “As you command, sir,” she said, with a pointed emphasis on the final word. “I would not think of disobeying you.”

The prince muttered a curse as Annie rose from the pool of her skirts and swept into the palace. Phaedra followed soon after.

The royal residence was in an uproar, and not only because there were several hundred soldiers rallied just beyond the main gates. The kitchen was buzzing, and there were florists and musicians and maids in the grand ballroom on the first floor, preparing for the great event.

Both Phaedra and Annie were distracted and fretful, but there was much to do and they went their separate ways—Annie to yet another wedding dress fitting with Miss Rendennon, Phaedra to try on an array of gowns sent over from that lady’s fashionable shop. When Annie had finished the interminable session, and escaped to her chamber, she was pleased to find that a selection of elegant frocks awaited her, as well.

She chose a glittering yellow silk, trimmed with golden lace, and it needed only a few simple alterations, performed by one of Miss Rendennon’s assistants, to fit perfectly.

Hours later, when the clatter of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels had been heard in the courtyard for some time, Annie descended the stairs. She had made up her mind to enjoy the ball, although her heart was broken and her illusions were gone. She saw Rafael conversing with a man in the foyer, near the foot of the stairs, and prepared to be cordial as she passed.

When Rafael raised his eyes to her, however, his blond companion turned as well, and Annie found herself staring straight into the face of the man who had led the raid on the marketplace.

CHAPTER 10
 

T
he blond man held Annie’s gaze, a slight smile curving his perfectly formed mouth, almost daring her to confront him. Fear slammed against her heart, then pervaded every part of her, like vile and acrid smoke. Her fingers tightened convulsively on the banister and she stood still as a mouse facing a cobra, unable to move forward or turn and flee back up the stairs.

“Annie?” It was Rafael’s voice, echoing through the pounding haze of terror and shock; she saw him as if through water, mounting the stairs toward her. “In the name of God, what is it?” He put an arm around her waist just when her knees would have given way, and held her upright. “Are you ill?”

Annie looked into his face for a moment, and then past his shoulder. The man was still standing there, his gaze holding a warning now, as well as impudence, one arm curved gracefully around the ornate newel post. Annie felt the bruising force of his boot on her chest again, and heard the screams, the shot, all of it.

And her fear gave way to cold fury.

She pointed one hand. “He was there, at the marketplace,” she said clearly. “He gave the orders.”

Rafael was still supporting her, and she was grateful, because despite the upswell of anger inside her, she doubted she could have stood on her own. “Covington? Are you sure?”

Covington’s face had taken on a gray cast now, though whether from fury or fear Annie could not tell. “Now see here, Rafael,” he protested. “The girl’s lying—”

“He kicked me,” Annie said. “I screamed at him to do something, to stop what was happening, and he pushed me to the ground with his boot. Don’t you believe me?”

“Of course I believe you,” Rafael muttered, annoyed, but the real weight of his anger was directed toward the fair-haired, aristocratic man at the base of the stairs. “Get Mr. Barrett, immediately,” the prince said, to a servant passing through the foyer bearing a tray of crystal glasses.

Covington was sweating, and a muscle ticked convulsively in his right cheek. He shoved one perfectly formed hand through his glimmering hair, and Annie had the odd thought that this man did not seem suited for soldiering. Like Lucian, he resembled a poet or a musician more than a fighting man. And that only went to prove that appearances really were deceiving, for there could be no music and certainly no poetry in a soul as cruel as this one.

“I won’t endure this, Rafael,” he sputtered, loosening the starched collar of his elegant shirt with a hooked finger. “It’s an outrage …”

Rafael left Annie’s side and descended the stairs. “Do not speak to me of outrages, Lieutenant Covington,” he warned, in a low, lethal voice. “I will not countenance that, especially from you.”

Covington’s brown eyes flashed with hatred as he looked past Rafael to Annie. “Have I been pronounced guilty, then, with no trial, by word of this woman?”

The prince did not reply to the question, for Mr. Barrett came striding into the foyer just then, looking unusually grand in his evening clothes. He glanced at Covington and then at Annie, but then all his attention was focused on Rafael.

“What has happened?” he asked.

Rafael, standing at the base of the stairs, gestured toward the lieutenant. “Place this man under military arrest, immediately. Annie—Miss Trevarren has identified him as one of the raiders from the marketplace.”

Barrett blanched and muttered a curse, but then he reached for Covington’s arm. The prisoner wrenched free, straightening his coat and fastening his collar. Although his manner was controlled, it was plain to Annie that he was seething. She thought he would truly have murdered her, with his bare hands, if they’d been alone.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, addressing Barrett, his superior officer, as though he were the lowliest of servants. His gaze sliced upward again, to Annie’s face, before he was led away for questioning. “You will pay for this lie, miss,” he said, “and your alliance with the prince will not save you.”

“Enough!” Rafael rasped. Then, to Barrett, he said, “See that he’s held. I’ll deal with the matter in the morning.”

Barrett nodded and squired Lieutenant Covington out of the palace by way of the front door. Only when they had gone did Annie notice that a crowd had gathered—servants were clustered in the back of the hall, and some of the dancers had left the ballroom to gather on the edge of the foyer.

Rafael made a gesture of polite dismissal and, as if by magic, they were alone again. He held up one hand, and Annie descended the stairs, moving slowly and carefully, to take it.

“I will not let the travesty you witnessed go unpunished,” he promised quietly, when Annie was facing him, her hand enfolded in his. “Justice will be done, Annie.”

Annie believed him, and she had never loved him more, but of course a few words could not undo what had happened to that poor student, or to the merchants whose stalls had been destroyed. Annie’s innocent view of the world was spoiled for all time, and she mourned it. She said nothing, though she suspected the expression in her eyes told Rafael a great deal.

“Come,” he said, pulling her gently in the direction of the ballroom. “After all you’ve put me through, Annie Trevarren, the least you can do is favor me with a dance.”

Annie’s heartbeat accelerated slightly at the prospect. She did not want to love Rafael St. James, but the decision had been made in some other, higher realm where she had no influence whatsoever. The encounter with Lieutenant Covington had left her sorely shaken, too, and she was still afraid.

“You believed me,” she said, as they crossed the salon, moving through crowds of beautifully dressed French, Spanish and Bavian aristocrats, gathered in the eye of the political storm to celebrate the impending marriage of one of their own.

Rafael raised one eyebrow, just slightly. “You are far too honorable to lie about something so important,” he said. “Covington and the others—and I have no doubt that he’ll name his companions—will suffer for what they’ve done, Annie. Whoever fired the shot that killed the student will be brought up on charges of murder.”