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.
Rafael, wearing a white shirt and dark breeches, nodded an acknowledgment but did not speak. Annie willed herself to look away, but she found that she could only stand there, aching with passion and with pride, remembering that she’d made a fool of herself for this man only the day before. And wanting with all her heart to do the same thing over again.
The prince remained where he was, without speaking, and Annie couldn’t guess who was more undone by his presence—herself or Miss Augusta Rendennon. Alternately murmuring and twittering, the formidable dressmaker bungled her way through the rest of the fitting. She finally undraped the glimmering fabric and left Annie standing in the middle of the floor in her chemise.
One of the maids had the presence of mind to hand Annie her gown, and she fairly leaped into it, being careful not to raise her eyes to the place Rafael had occupied on the balcony, telling herself that he would certainly have gone by now. As prince of Bavia, he surely could not waste his time standing about on balconies, watching dress fittings.
Annie had no more reached this comforting conclusion when she heard the sound of boot heels clicking on a stone staircase. In a sidelong glance, she saw Rafael crossing the chamber floor, his expression pensive.
Still only half-dressed, Annie clutched the bodice of her gown closed and stared stupidly as he approached. He came to a graceful stop a few feet in front of her.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, in a distracted undertone.
Annie felt accused somehow, as if she’d been caught pilfering in the counting house, and her irritation was profound. Did Rafael think she’d enjoyed standing still as a statue, for upward of an hour, while Miss Augusta Rendennon pricked her with pins and muttered comments?
She executed a brief and slightly mocking curtsey, her eyes flashing with indignation. “It seems that Phaedra had better things to do this morning than being fitted for her wedding gown,” she said. She swallowed as some of her bravado deserted her.
The sudden flash of his smile startled Annie, and she blinked, as dazzled as if she’d glimpsed the center of the sun. By the time she could see clearly again, Rafael’s face had turned solemn.
“There is to be a ball this Saturday evening,” he said, as though the upcoming event were a funeral instead of a celebration. “At the palace in Morovia. Both you and Phaedra will be wanting proper gowns, I suppose.”
Annie was buttoning her dress, a spring green garment of soft, whispery cotton. She couldn’t help smiling at the prospect of a visit to the royal palace and a gala in the bargain. “Phaedra’s engagement ball—how wonderful!”
Rafael sighed. “Yes. Wonderful,” he said glumly.
She tilted her head to one side, watching him with curiosity. “You don’t want to go?”
“It isn’t that,” he replied, his gaze leaving Annie’s face to scan the balconies and the shadowy heights of the ceiling. “Morovia is a dangerous place, for members of the St. James family, at any rate. And to the people of Bavia, the palace symbolizes seven hundred years of excess and abuse.” When Rafael met her eyes again, he seemed to regret what he’d confided. “Don’t worry, Annie. We’ll all be perfectly safe—Barrett and his men will see to that.”
Before Annie could assure him that she wasn’t at all fearful, for herself at least, he raised one hand and brushed the backs of his fingers lightly over her cheek. His mouth curved into a brief and somehow sorrowful smile, and then, in a low voice, he spoke again.
“I’m sorry about yesterday, love.”
Annie averted her eyes. She trembled with the effort of keeping herself from shouting that she didn’t want him to be sorry, that she had always loved him and always
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.
Rafael, wearing a white shirt and dark breeches, nodded an acknowledgment but did not speak. Annie willed herself to look away, but she found that she could only stand there, aching with passion and with pride, remembering that she’d made a fool of herself for this man only the day before. And wanting with all her heart to do the same thing over again.
The prince remained where he was, without speaking, and Annie couldn’t guess who was more undone by his presence—herself or Miss Augusta Rendennon. Alternately murmuring and twittering, the formidable dressmaker bungled her way through the rest of the fitting. She finally undraped the glimmering fabric and left Annie standing in the middle of the floor in her chemise.
One of the maids had the presence of mind to hand Annie her gown, and she fairly leaped into it, being careful not to raise her eyes to the place Rafael had occupied on the balcony, telling herself that he would certainly have gone by now. As prince of Bavia, he surely could not waste his time standing about on balconies, watching dress fittings.
Annie had no more reached this comforting conclusion when she heard the sound of boot heels clicking on a stone staircase. In a sidelong glance, she saw Rafael crossing the chamber floor, his expression pensive.
Still only half-dressed, Annie clutched the bodice of her gown closed and stared stupidly as he approached. He came to a graceful stop a few feet in front of her.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, in a distracted undertone.
Annie felt accused somehow, as if she’d been caught pilfering in the counting house, and her irritation was profound. Did Rafael think she’d enjoyed standing still as a statue, for upward of an hour, while Miss Augusta Rendennon pricked her with pins and muttered comments?
She executed a brief and slightly mocking curtsey, her eyes flashing with indignation. “It seems that Phaedra had better things to do this morning than being fitted for her wedding gown,” she said. She swallowed as some of her bravado deserted her.
The sudden flash of his smile startled Annie, and she blinked, as dazzled as if she’d glimpsed the center of the sun. By the time she could see clearly again, Rafael’s face had turned solemn.
“There is to be a ball this Saturday evening,” he said, as though the upcoming event were a funeral instead of a celebration. “At the palace in Morovia. Both you and Phaedra will be wanting proper gowns, I suppose.”
Annie was buttoning her dress, a spring green garment of soft, whispery cotton. She couldn’t help smiling at the prospect of a visit to the royal palace and a gala in the bargain. “Phaedra’s engagement ball—how wonderful!”
Rafael sighed. “Yes. Wonderful,” he said glumly.
She tilted her head to one side, watching him with curiosity. “You don’t want to go?”
“It isn’t that,” he replied, his gaze leaving Annie’s face to scan the balconies and the shadowy heights of the ceiling. “Morovia is a dangerous place, for members of the St. James family, at any rate. And to the people of Bavia, the palace symbolizes seven hundred years of excess and abuse.” When Rafael met her eyes again, he seemed to regret what he’d confided. “Don’t worry, Annie. We’ll all be perfectly safe—Barrett and his men will see to that.”
Before Annie could assure him that she wasn’t at all fearful, for herself at least, he raised one hand and brushed the backs of his fingers lightly over her cheek. His mouth curved into a brief and somehow sorrowful smile, and then, in a low voice, he spoke again.
“I’m sorry about yesterday, love.”
Annie averted her eyes. She trembled with the effort of keeping herself from shouting that she didn’t want him to be sorry, that she had always loved him and always
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