distracted curse. “I’m sorry, Annie,” he said, and then he turned and strode away, leaving her to stare after him in wonder.
Her captivity had ended and, at the same time, it had only begun. The effects of Rafael’s kiss reverberated through her body while his words echoed in her mind. I’m sorry, Annie ….
When she could move again, Annie hurried deeper into the garden, one hand over her mouth, crying softly. All around, roses thrived, vibrant red ones, perfuming the air, courting the bees like concubines, but she took no pleasure in their brazen beauty or their scent. Rafael had made everything so much worse by kissing her—he’d awakened her to sensations she hadn’t imagined, given her a glimpse of what it would mean to live out a lifetime without him.
Intrepid as she was, she couldn’t bear the prospect.
Sinking onto the grass, which was fragrant and somewhat overgrown in that forgotten place, Annie wept in earnest. She was hiccoughing, and utterly spent, when she felt hands grip her shoulders and looked up to see Lucian’s face.
He raised her to her feet and drew her gently into his arms, and she didn’t resist. She needed, at that moment, to be held.
“Crying over Rafael?” he scolded, in a low and tender voice. “Don’t waste your tears, Annie. He’s not worth it.”
Annie rested her forehead against Lucian’s shoulder as she would have done if he’d been a wall or a tree with a sturdy trunk. He’d changed his shirt since the fencing match, but he still smelled faintly of his exertions, and for all her misgivings, Annie found his presence comforting.
She made several false starts before she finally managed to reply. “What makes you think I was crying over him?”
Lucian chuckled and put his hands on her shoulders again. His smile had a hard edge to it and was no longer reassuring. “Women are always shedding tears over my brother. Georgiana, Felicia, and countless others.”
Annie swallowed and retreated a step. Georgiana’s name had caught in her heart like a fishhook, but not because she was jealous. “He adored Georgiana,” she insisted, in a whisper. “Everyone knows that.”
“Oh, yes,” Lucian retorted, with disgust. “He adored her, all right. I don’t believe he mentioned that to any of his mistresses, though.”
Annie twisted out of Lucian’s grasp. Rafael’s love for Georgiana had been legendary, and Annie wouldn’t see it tarnished. “You’re lying.”
“Ask Felicia,” Lucian said moderately. “Miss Covington will arrive shortly—she wouldn’t dare ignore a summons from Rafael, even now.”
Fresh pain speared Annie; it was as though she’d been run through with one of the gleaming rapiers Lucian and Rafael had wielded only a little while before. Still, she straightened her spine, took a deep breath, and released it slowly. Looking Lucian directly in the face, she said, “Of course I won’t ask Miss Covington anything of the sort. Her association with the prince is none of my concern.”
Although Lucian was smiling, something hateful and hard lingered in his eyes, like splinters of steel. He had the decency, at least, not to remind her that he’d found her on her knees in the grass, weeping as though she would never stop, when she’d been with Rafael just a short time before.
“This is not a fairy tale,” he said. “And my brother, prince or not, doesn’t ride a white charger. If you allow yourself to love him, Annie, he will destroy you.”
Annie had no doubt of the truth in Lucian’s words, despite their cruelty, but it was already too late to turn back. She nodded and looked away, and Lucian, after a few moments of hesitation, left the garden.
Annie was crossing the great hall, intent on splashing her face with cold water and hiding out in her room until her eyes were no longer puffy and red-rimmed, when Phaedra came racing down the main staircase, her hair flying behind her like an ebony banner. Her face was alight with an unsettling
E.L. Blaisdell, Nica Curt