Princess Annie by Linda Lael Miller Page A

would, and her heart was pounding so hard that she was certain he would hear it. She said nothing, not daring to speak.
    Rafael cupped his hand under her chin and made her look at him. “Somewhere on this weary earth,” he said quietly, his pewter eyes full of mirth and mourning, “there walks a man so fortunate that even the angels must envy him. One day soon, he will put a golden band on your finger, Annie Trevarren, and take you to his bed with all the blessings of heaven. When you give yourself up to his love, my sweet, nothing in the past will matter any longer.”
    Annie was about to blurt out that her time alone with him, in the cottage by the lake, would always matter, that there would be no other man for her, ever, when she heard slow, mocking applause from the balcony.
    Both Annie and Rafael looked up at the same moment and saw Lucian standing high above their heads, clapping.
    He smiled and let his hands fall to his sides.
    “An excellent performance, Brother,” he said. “Very poetic, with just the right touch of drama.”
    Annie shifted her gaze back to Rafael’s face, just in time to see him clench his jaw.
    “Enough,” Rafael said simply and quietly. Still, the word carried to the balcony and struck Lucian with visible impact, like a stone from a slingshot.
    Lucian recovered in an instant. His smile returned, at once chilling and cordial, and he leaned against the balcony railing with the same easy grace Rafael had shown earlier. “So the rumors are true,” he said, with acidic cheer. “You’ve had your way with yet another lovely wayfarer. And now you’re telling her the tragic truth—that nothing can come of the episode, however pleasurable it was, because you are fated to die a grand and noble death. Brilliant, Rafael. Nothing less than brilliant.”
    “Lucian,” Rafael said hoarsely. “I’m warning you. Stop this, now.”
    Undaunted, the younger brother descended the same stairway Rafael had used and entered the great chamber. “Did you believe him, beautiful Annie?” he asked in a soft, sly voice. “If so, you mustn’t berate yourself. You certainly aren’t the first.”
    Rafael did not immediately respond, and yet the room seemed to pulse with tension and fury. Looking on, Annie felt genuine fear, as well as outrage toward Lucian, for she recognized violence in the prince and knew that he could barely restrain it.
    Lucian went recklessly on, ignoring his brother, concentrating on Annie. “You must be more discreet in the future, Miss Trevarren,” he said, “or at least give up the pretense of being a lady.”
    It was then that Rafael sprung, his hands closing around Lucian’s throat.
    Annie screamed, certain that there would be a murder, and Lucian freed himself, temporarily, by flinging his arms upward and breaking Rafael’s hold. Only an instant later, however, Rafael landed a punch in the middle of Lucian’s stomach, driving the breath from his lungs in an audible rush.
    Rafael hurled Lucian down and straddled him, once again pressing his thumbs deep into his brother’s windpipe. Lucian, his eyes bright with angry disbelief and humiliation, was turning purple for lack of air. Nevertheless, his hatred was palpable.
    Annie made an effort to pull Rafael off, only to be pushed away with such force that she nearly fell. God only knew what would have happened if Edmund Barrett hadn’t dashed into the room just then, followed by two of his men. Breaking Rafael’s hold on Lucian, Barrett dragged him back off of his brother.
    Rafael struggled, strong as a panther, but Barrett, gripping the prince’s arms from behind, had gained the advantage. Barrett’s men hoisted Lucian to his feet and, at a nod from their captain, one of them led him, stumbling, from the chamber. Rafael freed himself with a violent shrug, but did not pursue his retreating brother.
    “Good God, Rafael,” Barrett growled, having apparently forgotten, as the prince had, that Annie was there, “isn’t it