You’ll be perfectly safe. Think of it as a holiday,” he suggested. “Rusticating.”
“Rusticating.” She wrinkled her refined nose. “Can my friends come?”
“No. You’ll have to manage without your entourage for a while,” he said rather sarcastically. “You will also have a very limited staff. And no animals.”
She frowned. “I don’t think I like this.”
“It’s not optional.”
“I shall be bored out of my skull.” Suddenly she whirled to him. “Will you be going, Darius?”
He shuddered. “Er, no.”
She stared at him with that intelligent gaze belying her frivolous, darling-of-the-court manner. “You should, Darius. You could use a holiday.”
“I have spies to catch, my lady.”
“Hmm,” she said, eyeing him askance.
When they reached his suite, he found Alec waiting outside the door.
“Good Lord, Colonel, what happened to you?” the fair-haired junior officer cried, seeing his bloodstained shirt.
“Oh, the usual,” he drawled.
He instructed Alec to send a few men of the Royal Guard out to the maze to dispose of the bodies, then ordered him to seek an audience for them immediately with the king. Alec gave him a smart, martial bow in reply, but Darius smirked to see his assistant steal a lovelorn glance at the Jewel of Ascencion.
She gave a haughty sniff and turned away, nose in the air. The lieutenant scurried away.
“He’s harmless.” Darius chuckled, unlocking the door.
“Tell him he can keep his eyes to himself, thank you,” she said primly.
He laughed under his breath. As if she did not love it that every man who saw her was her slave.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back. Shout if anyone approaches you.”
He opened the door slowly and entered his suite, weapon drawn. He was always a target, so there was the chance that his rooms had already been broken into. He took a careful moment to listen and smell the air, stealing silently from room to room until he was sure the suite was clear. Returning to the entrance, he led the princess inside and shut the door behind her.
He had no business bringing her into his rooms, but propriety or no, he thought stubbornly, he wasn’t letting her out of his sight. His Majesty would expect no less of him. Besides, it would only be for a moment, just long enough for him to dig some fresh clothes out of his traveling trunks, unloaded scarcely an hour ago from the ship, and to put them on.
It was dark in his suite. Knowing his window was probably being watched, he didn’t bother to light a glim. He dragged one of his sea chests out into the middle of the floor and opened it while Serafina went exploring his private domain with her light, dancing step over the creaking floor, humming to herself.
Well, she certainly made herself at home, he thought sardonically. For someone who was the target of an abduction plot, she didn’t seem overly concerned.
Because she feels safe with me, trailed the thought through his mind. He ignored his own aching reaction to the realization, pulling out a starchy lawn shirt and fresh cravat.
Quickly he donned them, then opened another trunk to scrounge up a fresh waistcoat and jacket—black, of course. It amused him to play up his sinister role as the king’s cold-blooded assassin, for it kept the courtiers somewhat at bay. Whether it was jealousy or simple prejudice against his Gypsy blood, he only knew they despised and mistrusted him. They called him a calculating adventurer and warned one another that any day now he would turn on the king. Whenever he came home, they baited him, trying to see how far they could push him, for they knew he would uphold the king’s new law against dueling, and he refused to fight under Lazar’s roof.
Buttoning his waistcoat in the dark, he strolled into the next room to find Serafina bathed in moonlight by his large four-poster bed, staring down at his guitar. The instrument lay in its black leather case, which she had opened. When she touched the strings,
“Rusticating.” She wrinkled her refined nose. “Can my friends come?”
“No. You’ll have to manage without your entourage for a while,” he said rather sarcastically. “You will also have a very limited staff. And no animals.”
She frowned. “I don’t think I like this.”
“It’s not optional.”
“I shall be bored out of my skull.” Suddenly she whirled to him. “Will you be going, Darius?”
He shuddered. “Er, no.”
She stared at him with that intelligent gaze belying her frivolous, darling-of-the-court manner. “You should, Darius. You could use a holiday.”
“I have spies to catch, my lady.”
“Hmm,” she said, eyeing him askance.
When they reached his suite, he found Alec waiting outside the door.
“Good Lord, Colonel, what happened to you?” the fair-haired junior officer cried, seeing his bloodstained shirt.
“Oh, the usual,” he drawled.
He instructed Alec to send a few men of the Royal Guard out to the maze to dispose of the bodies, then ordered him to seek an audience for them immediately with the king. Alec gave him a smart, martial bow in reply, but Darius smirked to see his assistant steal a lovelorn glance at the Jewel of Ascencion.
She gave a haughty sniff and turned away, nose in the air. The lieutenant scurried away.
“He’s harmless.” Darius chuckled, unlocking the door.
“Tell him he can keep his eyes to himself, thank you,” she said primly.
He laughed under his breath. As if she did not love it that every man who saw her was her slave.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back. Shout if anyone approaches you.”
He opened the door slowly and entered his suite, weapon drawn. He was always a target, so there was the chance that his rooms had already been broken into. He took a careful moment to listen and smell the air, stealing silently from room to room until he was sure the suite was clear. Returning to the entrance, he led the princess inside and shut the door behind her.
He had no business bringing her into his rooms, but propriety or no, he thought stubbornly, he wasn’t letting her out of his sight. His Majesty would expect no less of him. Besides, it would only be for a moment, just long enough for him to dig some fresh clothes out of his traveling trunks, unloaded scarcely an hour ago from the ship, and to put them on.
It was dark in his suite. Knowing his window was probably being watched, he didn’t bother to light a glim. He dragged one of his sea chests out into the middle of the floor and opened it while Serafina went exploring his private domain with her light, dancing step over the creaking floor, humming to herself.
Well, she certainly made herself at home, he thought sardonically. For someone who was the target of an abduction plot, she didn’t seem overly concerned.
Because she feels safe with me, trailed the thought through his mind. He ignored his own aching reaction to the realization, pulling out a starchy lawn shirt and fresh cravat.
Quickly he donned them, then opened another trunk to scrounge up a fresh waistcoat and jacket—black, of course. It amused him to play up his sinister role as the king’s cold-blooded assassin, for it kept the courtiers somewhat at bay. Whether it was jealousy or simple prejudice against his Gypsy blood, he only knew they despised and mistrusted him. They called him a calculating adventurer and warned one another that any day now he would turn on the king. Whenever he came home, they baited him, trying to see how far they could push him, for they knew he would uphold the king’s new law against dueling, and he refused to fight under Lazar’s roof.
Buttoning his waistcoat in the dark, he strolled into the next room to find Serafina bathed in moonlight by his large four-poster bed, staring down at his guitar. The instrument lay in its black leather case, which she had opened. When she touched the strings,
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