had fired his resolve with new passion.
Now all he had to do was meet with the king, catch the spies, and be on his way to Milan.
Seven weeks ago, when one of his most trusted contacts informed him of the French spies who had infiltrated the palace, Darius had left Moscow at once. He had been forced to cut short his meticulous background investigation of Anatole Tyurinov, but he had already learned more than he needed to know, and there had been no time to lose.
On the voyage back from Russia to Ascencion, he had spent the weeks at sea refining his plans and making peace with his fate.
He knew what he had to do. The king’s hands were tied in this matter, but his own were not.
Serafina would not be the virgin sacrifice to buy them protection from the tyrant Napoleon.
The brute Tyurinov would never get his hands on her.
At the same time, Darius could not allow Napoleon to invade with his superior forces and take Lazar’s throne from him. He had to protect his benefactor, the kingdom, and Serafina all at once. It was an impossible situation, but he had one final bit of Gypsy magic up his sleeve. He need only go to the heart of the problem.
To Milan.
He paused in his pacing, eyes ablaze. No one could be allowed to guess what he intended, not Serafina, not even the king. It would only put them in danger.
On May 26, mere days before Serafina’s wedding, Napoleon was scheduled to appear in Milan to receive the Iron Crown of Lombardy.
Darius would be there, too.
He was an able diplomat and a good spy, but when it came to the assassin’s art, he had a gift.
With one true shot of his rifle, he could disable the French war machine and remove the need for Serafina’s marriage to the Russian.
Napoleon Bonaparte must die.
He had no illusions about surviving the mission. Others had tried to assassinate the emperor and all had gone to the gallows or stood before the firing squad.
It didn’t much matter to him. The deed would immortalize him, and a glorious death was better than this life where he could not reach for the one thing that might have saved him— the promise in Serafina’s eyes of a dream beyond anything he had ever experienced.
He only knew he would not fail. One bullet, and he could make the world a safer place for everyone.
One bullet, and Serafina would be free.
“Here I am!” she called gaily, stirring him out of his dark thoughts.
He turned as she emerged from the dressing room with a dazzling smile, a vision in violet silk. His heart clenched.
“Shoes,” he ordered.
She flashed him a mock pout and turned back to get some slippers, then came out again and twirled for him. “How do I look?”
Fighting a smile, he eyed her up, from her slippered toes to her luxurious midnight tresses still loosely tied back with the white ribbon in a bow.
If she was not worth dying for, he did not know what was.
“You’ll do,” he said.
He picked up his waistcoat and cravat, draped them over his arm, and escorted Her Highness out into the hall.
CHAPTER FOUR
His spurred bootheels struck loud with each step, resounding down the marble corridor, while her skirts made an airy rustle as she strode beside him. Darius felt her watching him, and looked down at her with a dry, inquiring expression.
“Why do you always look so serious?”
He heaved a growling sigh and attempted to ignore her, but Serafina would not have it.
“So, Colonel. About these spies. What happens next?”
He glanced over his shoulder, then spoke in a low tone. “Your father and I will select a small band of highly trained men to protect you. They’ll remove you from the palace and keep you guarded until I’ve apprehended the remaining members of Saint-Laurent’s organization.”
“Where will they take me?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“Safe house.”
“What’s that?” she exclaimed.
He reached over and pinched her cheek, amused by her alarm. “Oh, just a pleasant little country house with some ingenious fortifications.
Now all he had to do was meet with the king, catch the spies, and be on his way to Milan.
Seven weeks ago, when one of his most trusted contacts informed him of the French spies who had infiltrated the palace, Darius had left Moscow at once. He had been forced to cut short his meticulous background investigation of Anatole Tyurinov, but he had already learned more than he needed to know, and there had been no time to lose.
On the voyage back from Russia to Ascencion, he had spent the weeks at sea refining his plans and making peace with his fate.
He knew what he had to do. The king’s hands were tied in this matter, but his own were not.
Serafina would not be the virgin sacrifice to buy them protection from the tyrant Napoleon.
The brute Tyurinov would never get his hands on her.
At the same time, Darius could not allow Napoleon to invade with his superior forces and take Lazar’s throne from him. He had to protect his benefactor, the kingdom, and Serafina all at once. It was an impossible situation, but he had one final bit of Gypsy magic up his sleeve. He need only go to the heart of the problem.
To Milan.
He paused in his pacing, eyes ablaze. No one could be allowed to guess what he intended, not Serafina, not even the king. It would only put them in danger.
On May 26, mere days before Serafina’s wedding, Napoleon was scheduled to appear in Milan to receive the Iron Crown of Lombardy.
Darius would be there, too.
He was an able diplomat and a good spy, but when it came to the assassin’s art, he had a gift.
With one true shot of his rifle, he could disable the French war machine and remove the need for Serafina’s marriage to the Russian.
Napoleon Bonaparte must die.
He had no illusions about surviving the mission. Others had tried to assassinate the emperor and all had gone to the gallows or stood before the firing squad.
It didn’t much matter to him. The deed would immortalize him, and a glorious death was better than this life where he could not reach for the one thing that might have saved him— the promise in Serafina’s eyes of a dream beyond anything he had ever experienced.
He only knew he would not fail. One bullet, and he could make the world a safer place for everyone.
One bullet, and Serafina would be free.
“Here I am!” she called gaily, stirring him out of his dark thoughts.
He turned as she emerged from the dressing room with a dazzling smile, a vision in violet silk. His heart clenched.
“Shoes,” he ordered.
She flashed him a mock pout and turned back to get some slippers, then came out again and twirled for him. “How do I look?”
Fighting a smile, he eyed her up, from her slippered toes to her luxurious midnight tresses still loosely tied back with the white ribbon in a bow.
If she was not worth dying for, he did not know what was.
“You’ll do,” he said.
He picked up his waistcoat and cravat, draped them over his arm, and escorted Her Highness out into the hall.
CHAPTER FOUR
His spurred bootheels struck loud with each step, resounding down the marble corridor, while her skirts made an airy rustle as she strode beside him. Darius felt her watching him, and looked down at her with a dry, inquiring expression.
“Why do you always look so serious?”
He heaved a growling sigh and attempted to ignore her, but Serafina would not have it.
“So, Colonel. About these spies. What happens next?”
He glanced over his shoulder, then spoke in a low tone. “Your father and I will select a small band of highly trained men to protect you. They’ll remove you from the palace and keep you guarded until I’ve apprehended the remaining members of Saint-Laurent’s organization.”
“Where will they take me?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“Safe house.”
“What’s that?” she exclaimed.
He reached over and pinched her cheek, amused by her alarm. “Oh, just a pleasant little country house with some ingenious fortifications.