Princess Annie Read Online Free PDF Page A

and clung to it until Rafael had climbed out to save her.
    Lying there, safe in her bed, Annie couldn’t help feeling a slight thrill at the memory of it. In some ways, being rescued was very romantic—particularly by Rafael St. James.
    She turned onto her side with a sigh, her gaze fixed on the place just inside the door where he’d stood earlier that evening, his hands wounded, his hair and clothing torn and wet with rain. She had loved Rafael since girlhood, but that night, when he’d come to her room, she’d felt a strange new mixture of things.
    Annie’s instincts had urged her to comfort the prince and bind his wounds, but she’d been a little afraid of him, as well as damnably besotted. She had never guessed, until that night, that there were dangerous depths with Rafael, places where dragons breathed fire and dark wings beat and angels of the night held sway.
    She closed her eyes, but she could still see the prince clearly behind her lids, looking just as he had earlier, watching her with that expression of bemused fury.
    Annie shivered. He’d vowed to punish her for nearly getting the pair of them killed, and she had no doubt he’d meant what he said. The question was, what could he actually do? It wasn’t the Middle Ages, after all—he couldn’t consign her to the iron maiden, burn her at the stake, sell her to a band of gypsies or banish her to a nunnery somewhere.
    Furthermore, she reasoned, much heartened, she was a guest at St. James Keep. To treat her with anything less than the utmost courtesy would be unthinkable.
    At least, for most men, it would be, Annie reflected, as her courage began to wane again. The prince of Bavia, however, was not most men. Annie had little knowledge of the politics of that small country, but she did know that the peasants feared Rafael and considered him a ruthless man, just as they had feared his father and his father before that.
    Annie tossed restlessly onto her other side, but Rafael’s image followed, and haunted her dreams and intermittent minutes of wakefulness for the rest of that night.
    The following morning, Rafael was seated in his accustomed place at the head of the table, in the great dining hall, when Annie swept in, wearing a bright yellow dress—the one of fame and fable, no doubt—her coppery blond hair tamed into a neat coronet.
    Rafael’s anger had been tempered somewhat, and as much as he would have liked to feel differently, he couldn’t overlook the fact that Miss Trevarren was by any account an enchanting little baggage.
    The prince hid a smile behind the piece of toasted bread he’d just raised to his lips, glad that no one else had come down to breakfast yet. For a few minutes, anyway, this entertaining, infuriating young woman would be his to watch and wonder at. The quicksilver change in his emotions did not escape his notice; Rafael knew himself well, and already he suspected that, given the chance, Annie might make him behave like a fool.
    His smile, tentative to begin with, faded entirely. Since Georgiana’s death, he’d been numb inside; now, all of the sudden, his emotions were thawing like a mountain stream in spring, and he was having whims and fancies, all of which were painful. He bit into the hard, flavorless bread, chewed and swallowed. By the time Annie had filled a plate at the buffet and turned toward him, he’d summoned up an expression of royal indifference.
    She hesitated for just a moment, at the edge of the rug, and then marched resolutely to the table, carrying her plate.
    Rafael rose, out of habit more than deference, and remained standing until she’d seated herself, with rather a lot of ceremony, at his left.
    “Good morning,” she said and, although she wasn’t looking at him, her shoulders were squared and her chin was high.
    God, but she was a bold little creature, a bright and shining thing. Rafael admired courage above all traits except for honor, and after that came beauty.
    “Good morning,” he