Chiaramontes, was about to be presented as though to a queen to this creature who had crawled out of heaven knew what London gutter.
Dani looked around in distaste, trying to get out of the way, but curiosity kept her in the line. She had never seen a genuine scarlet woman before.
Chloe Sinclair appeared somewhere between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. Her delicate face was flawless, her hair the gold of bright new coins. She had sky-blue eyes and a perfect little beauty mark just above the corner of her mouth. Her skin’s milky whiteness was enhanced by her gown of white silk, but the round, spectacularly lowcut neckline made the traits of her person which had no doubt attracted Rafe the Rake’s interest embarrassingly obvious. Dani fought the urge to whisk the shawl from her shoulders and cover Chloe Sinclair’s large bosoms with it.
Glancing around, she could see that though many of the guests were bedazzled by Ms. Sinclair’s glamorous beauty and fame, a few others here and there looked as appalled as Dani felt.
Really, what was His Highness thinking, appointing a woman of the theater as his hostess? Lord knew how many other representatives from the finest families he had offended with this schoolboyish slap in the face to propriety.
When her turn came, Chloe Sinclair greeted her, her Italian stilted by a clipped British accent. Dani’s opinion of Rafael sunk lower when she came close enough to see the burning light of narcissism gleaming in the actress’s blue eyes. She seemed drunk on vanity, basking shamelessly in her position as Prince Rafael’s hostess. It was all Dani could do to make herself spare the actress a dismissive nod. Ms. Sinclair seemed instantly offended by Dani’s lack of enthusiasm toward her. Her wanton-looking mouth stiffened, but Dani looked away and walked on in disdain.
She decided not to waste one more moment indulging her lurid curiosity about the prince’s private affairs. Somewhere inside this menagerie of vice, a little boy was waiting for her to rescue him.
She began weaving her way uncertainly through the crowd toward the edge of the gilded ballroom. She passed an absurd fountain spewing arcs of wine from the mouths of silver fishes. She rounded clusters of chatting guests, the women in lavish gowns in every color of the rainbow, though most of the men wore black. A few of the wilder guests were bizarrely arrayed in costumes as though it were Carnevale.
Staring every which way, she dodged footmen carrying trays of wineglasses and lovely antipasti—little pieces of smoked swordfish garnished with the orange pulp of sea urchins, sweet cheeses, snails and caviar, and baby octopus, pink as coral, marinated in pungent lemon. There were fruits—candied figs and apricots, peaches in wine, wheel-shaped slices of oranges covered in sugar-fuzz, garnished with the sweet mint that grew wild on Ascencion.
A footman paused to offer her a thimbleful of his cordials, a sticky-sweet blackberry liqueur, but she didn’t dare imbibe, and though the exotic delicacies tempted her, she was too nervous over her mission to eat a thing.
She passed one of the young lords of Rafael’s entourage who had cornered a woman against a pillar, smiling as he fed her an oyster from the half-shell, stroking her throat as she tilted her head back to swallow it, her eyes closed.
A whisper of sensuality slid through Dani’s veins at the sight of the lovers, but she quickly lowered her gaze and hurried by, hearing him murmuring to the woman that oysters were an aphrodisiac.
Blushing intensely, she stole guilty glances at the other young lords of the prince’s inner circle. They stood nearby, edgy and sleek, like fierce birds of prey. Intense and jaded, they monitored the crowd. Dani could not help but notice among them the sullen and gorgeous Adriano di Tadzio, whose dark, seductive beauty put most of the women in the room to shame.
She winced at the memory of the night she had robbed him as the
Dani looked around in distaste, trying to get out of the way, but curiosity kept her in the line. She had never seen a genuine scarlet woman before.
Chloe Sinclair appeared somewhere between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. Her delicate face was flawless, her hair the gold of bright new coins. She had sky-blue eyes and a perfect little beauty mark just above the corner of her mouth. Her skin’s milky whiteness was enhanced by her gown of white silk, but the round, spectacularly lowcut neckline made the traits of her person which had no doubt attracted Rafe the Rake’s interest embarrassingly obvious. Dani fought the urge to whisk the shawl from her shoulders and cover Chloe Sinclair’s large bosoms with it.
Glancing around, she could see that though many of the guests were bedazzled by Ms. Sinclair’s glamorous beauty and fame, a few others here and there looked as appalled as Dani felt.
Really, what was His Highness thinking, appointing a woman of the theater as his hostess? Lord knew how many other representatives from the finest families he had offended with this schoolboyish slap in the face to propriety.
When her turn came, Chloe Sinclair greeted her, her Italian stilted by a clipped British accent. Dani’s opinion of Rafael sunk lower when she came close enough to see the burning light of narcissism gleaming in the actress’s blue eyes. She seemed drunk on vanity, basking shamelessly in her position as Prince Rafael’s hostess. It was all Dani could do to make herself spare the actress a dismissive nod. Ms. Sinclair seemed instantly offended by Dani’s lack of enthusiasm toward her. Her wanton-looking mouth stiffened, but Dani looked away and walked on in disdain.
She decided not to waste one more moment indulging her lurid curiosity about the prince’s private affairs. Somewhere inside this menagerie of vice, a little boy was waiting for her to rescue him.
She began weaving her way uncertainly through the crowd toward the edge of the gilded ballroom. She passed an absurd fountain spewing arcs of wine from the mouths of silver fishes. She rounded clusters of chatting guests, the women in lavish gowns in every color of the rainbow, though most of the men wore black. A few of the wilder guests were bizarrely arrayed in costumes as though it were Carnevale.
Staring every which way, she dodged footmen carrying trays of wineglasses and lovely antipasti—little pieces of smoked swordfish garnished with the orange pulp of sea urchins, sweet cheeses, snails and caviar, and baby octopus, pink as coral, marinated in pungent lemon. There were fruits—candied figs and apricots, peaches in wine, wheel-shaped slices of oranges covered in sugar-fuzz, garnished with the sweet mint that grew wild on Ascencion.
A footman paused to offer her a thimbleful of his cordials, a sticky-sweet blackberry liqueur, but she didn’t dare imbibe, and though the exotic delicacies tempted her, she was too nervous over her mission to eat a thing.
She passed one of the young lords of Rafael’s entourage who had cornered a woman against a pillar, smiling as he fed her an oyster from the half-shell, stroking her throat as she tilted her head back to swallow it, her eyes closed.
A whisper of sensuality slid through Dani’s veins at the sight of the lovers, but she quickly lowered her gaze and hurried by, hearing him murmuring to the woman that oysters were an aphrodisiac.
Blushing intensely, she stole guilty glances at the other young lords of the prince’s inner circle. They stood nearby, edgy and sleek, like fierce birds of prey. Intense and jaded, they monitored the crowd. Dani could not help but notice among them the sullen and gorgeous Adriano di Tadzio, whose dark, seductive beauty put most of the women in the room to shame.
She winced at the memory of the night she had robbed him as the
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