Dimitri poured another glass. He played out in his mind how that scene would go. Nikolay would rise to his feet, pumping a fist in the air, probably voicing a few treasonous profanities before launching into a speech about how the court made whores of their royal sons by forcing these marriages, followed up by a personal plea that Dimitri break the contract and refuse Ayfer.
At which point, before Nikolay could get entirely worked up, Stepan would interject with a pointedly lazy drawl, ‘And do what? Leave Kuban for ever? Turn his back on wealth and security? It is easy to speak of rebellion when it costs you nothing, Nikolay. But you are asking Dimitri to give up everything. You haven’t the faintest clue what that even means.’ The two would want to fight. Stepan and Nikolay had been fighting as long as Dimitri had known them and that was almost twenty years.
Ruslan would intervene, the inveterate peacemaker. He’d been the voice of reason between those two since he was ten. Dimitri could hear him taking Stepan’s argument to its logical conclusion. ‘It is unfortunate, but there is nothing for it. You must give up the English girl. You must honour the contract and marry Ayfer. The good of the many must always precede the good of the few. In time, you’ll see it is for your own good too. Your whole life is in Kuban.’
Yulian would simply drink his vodka and glare his not-so-hidden resentment at his second cousin. Dimitri knew what Yulian would think—that he was a disgrace to the family. Yulian resented the fact that Dimitri had left for this Grand Tour of sorts throughout Europe. But Dimitri had wanted one more adventure, one more taste of freedom. Yulian believed he should have stayed and married Ayfer immediately, not waited. It was what Yulian would have done. Yulian was eager to prove himself to Kuban, eager to be a leader at court. There was some irony that the most eager among them was the one who didn’t have vast plans already established for their future. Dimitri wished he was more eager to do his duty. It would make life simpler. Sometimes, Yulian’s patriotic devotion shamed him.
Those were his options. Nothing new. Nothing he hadn’t already thought of. Either he returned to Kuban and used his marriage to ensure peace on the border or throw it all away and stay for Evie, even knowing that he risked something larger than his family’s pride, larger than his sister’s future: the peace of a nation. Put that way, the choice seemed obvious. What honourable man risked all of that for a woman? Only the most self-serving scoundrel. He could not be that man. It was going to be a long, empty night.
Chapter Twenty-One
E
vie couldn’t stop smiling. It was making it difficult to focus on work and she needed to get these drawings done, but she’d spent more time covertly tracing her lips, tracing Dimitri’s kisses on those lips, than she had drawing the latest artefact, a lovely bowl that had been found in two pieces and repaired. It would be a fabulous addition to the display she’d planned for the gala.
‘You look like the cat who got the cream. What has you all smiles? Did we turn up a fabulous artefact today?’ Andrew teased, startling her into nearly blotting the drawing. She hadn’t even heard him approach. He took up his customary hitched-leg pose at the table.
‘Is it that late already?’ Surely the day wasn’t over. She wasn’t ready to leave, but she needed to place an order for the gala at the stationer’s. Andrew could take her on the way home.
‘Almost.’ Andrew grinned, looking golden and well turned out in pale tan trousers and an expensively made tight-fitted blue coat of summer weight superfine. He was in a cheery mood. He cocked his head, taking in her paper. That’s when she noticed it. Evie gasped.
‘Andrew, what’s wrong with your face? Your jaw is bruised.’ He looked like he’d been in a fight. That seemed preposterous. Gentlemen didn’t... Then she remembered how the evening had ended, with Dimitri driving her home and Andrew waiting there for her. Well, ostensibly he’d come to talk history with her father, but Evie suspected otherwise.
‘Oh, this?’ Andrew gingerly touched his jaw. ‘This beauty is courtesy of the Prince, a royal shiner.’ He laughed carefully as if the movement hurt. Evie winced. It probably did.
‘I’ll be ready to go in a minute.’ Evie rose and put her things away. The drawing would have to wait. She didn’t dare look for excuses to linger in the hope of seeing Dimitri, not if her suspicions were right. They’d fought over her and that couldn’t mean anything good, except that Dimitri had got the better end of things. She’d seen him this morning. He’d looked tired, but he hadn’t been sporting bruises. ‘Perhaps you can drop me by the stationer’s? I have invitations to order for the gala.’
Andrew managed another smile. ‘I’ll drop you anywhere you like, Evie. I am entirely at your disposal.’
* * *
Oh, what a difference a month made
, Evie thought during the short drive into the village. Once upon a time not so long ago, she would have basked in the glow of Andrew’s smile. Now, if it hadn’t been for the chance to ride into Little Westbury and manage the invitations for Dimitri, she would have chosen to stay behind at the site.
In that other world, she would have been thrilled to drive into town with Andrew. Everyone would see them together. Women always noticed when Andrew was around. She used to notice when Andrew was around too. She could tell the exact moment he walked into a room, but she hadn’t in a while. Everything had unfolded the way May had hinted it would if another man was involved. Apparently, men found a woman more appealing if another showed interest in her. But if that was what it took, she was doubly glad she’d let Andrew go. She didn’t want to be a prize. Being with Dimitri, she’d learned she was so much more than that.
They pulled up outside the stationer’s and Andrew helped her down. ‘You look pretty today, Evie. Is that a new bonnet?’
‘I re-trimmed it, so, yes, it’s sort of new.’ Evie touched the wide blue ribbons. She’d forgotten which bonnet it was. When she’d dressed this morning, she’d only thought about getting out to the site as quickly as possible.
‘It brings out your eyes.’ Andrew offered her his arm. It was a lovely compliment, one that showed he’d paid attention to the little details of her—the colour of her eyes, whether or not he’d seen the bonnet before. But it fell short when measured against other more intimate compliments.
You’d make a blancmange hard, Evie
.
The little bell over the stationer’s jingled and she was glad to have something else to focus on beside hard blancmange. Evie smiled at Andrew, standing patiently beside her. ‘Let’s look at samples. You can help me decide between white and ecru.’
* * *
Was there a difference? White, onion, oyster, ivory, pearl, eggshell, alabaster—it was all the same to him. Andrew tried to hide his impatience. Evie was being nice, wanting to include him in the process, Evie was always being nice. Look where it had got her. Now, she was stuck planning Dimitri’s party. When he’d suggested the party, he’d never intended that to happen. He’d hoped to use the party as a chance to lure Cecilia Northam to town. She’d be a fine prospective bride.
Evie didn’t even want to plan the party, but she was being nice. He hated all that niceness, except when that niceness worked for him and it was working splendidly for him. That was why he had to be patient. He needed that niceness to keep her working for him. He needed those drawings and, shortly, he’d need more. That was why he’d driven into Little Westbury with her, why he drove her home every night, why he hadn’t dared to spend an evening with the luscious and willing Lady Fairfield five miles from here in case anyone caught wind of his old affair heating up again.
Think about the money
. He had been paid well for the first instalment of her drawings. He’d be paid well too for the sale of some artefacts to another dealer if he could get his hands on them. That was where the real money was.
‘Do you like the ivory or the alabaster?’ Evie held up two samples.
‘Ivory.’ Andrew smiled. ‘I think it offers a hint of elegance and a sense of the antique.’
Just order the damn invitations.
‘When did you say the gala was?’
‘Two weeks from tomorrow.’ Evie handed the sample to the stationer and gave the information.
Two weeks was perfect. Andrew began to feel a little more charitable. The gala would be the ideal evening for something to go missing. There would be too many people around to pin it on any one person. Andrew found one more smile to cover his boredom. ‘Tell me, Evie, what other grand items has the Prince uncovered?’ He was going to need more than pretty combs and spearheads if he was going to make money. It was always good to think optimistically. If he was going to pull off a heist, he wanted to make it a good one.
‘There’s a bowl. It was found nearly whole.’ Evie signed the bill. ‘Now you can take me home.’
‘So soon?’ Andrew cajoled. ‘How about a short walk first, the leaves are beginning to turn.’
‘I have a lot to do,’ Evie prevaricated. This was new. Evie didn’t want to spend time with him? Further proof his suspicions were more than that. He’d have to test that hypothesis.
‘You’ve changed, Evie,’ Andrew said, leading them out to the perimeter of the village where a stand of trees offered early autumn colour. ‘Once, a walk with me anywhere would have made your day. Now, you barely have time for me,’ he teased, trying to sound hurt.
‘I haven’t changed.’ Evie smiled. Of course she’d smile. She couldn’t imagine hurting anyone’s feelings. She held up her ink-stained hand. ‘I’m still Evie Milham, still drawing, still sewing.’
Still diddling the Prince behind your back
, Andrew thought uncharitably.
Andrew shook his head, playing the sincere friend-cum-suitor. ‘It’s more than that. This started when you met the Prince.’ He dropped his voice and manoeuvred them into the trees. ‘I hope he has not exerted undue influence over you, Evie. He’s a very charismatic man. He’s been all over the world, he’s seen many things,
done
many things.’ He imbued a sense of scandal into that word. He hoped the other implications were clear too: that she was a simple country girl who had taken a few turns in London which had been just short of disasters, whose head was easily turned, a girl too naïve for a man like Dimitri.
‘You think I could never appeal to a man like him?’ She sounded insulted, but Andrew didn’t care. All of it was true. He was doing her a favour by warning her off.
‘That’s not what I said,’ Andrew argued sternly, although it was in part exactly what he’d meant. ‘Women are playthings to men like him. He is powerful. People exist to serve him.’
‘I disagree. You have it backwards.’ What? She dared to argue with him? Oh, he wanted to hear this. Dimitri must be phenomenal in bed if he had inspired such gumption in Evie Milham. ‘He serves others. This whole excavation was his service to a community. If you think otherwise, you don’t understand him at all.’
Andrew pasted on a look of exasperation. ‘Evie, do you want to know how I got this bruise? I got it on the way home last night for defending your honour. I challenged his treatment of you and he swung at me.’ Andrew covered her hand where it lay on his sleeve with his other one. ‘He has not been careful of you and perhaps you’ve been too blinded by his looks, his manners, his attention, to notice. It’s my job, as your friend, to notice on your behalf. He should not be alone with you and he has been on several occasions.’ He could tell she didn’t like him holding her hand. Her fingers were tense, looking for the first opportunity to pull away. He hated that she didn’t like his touch. He would show her. He could touch a woman as well as any prince. In those jealous moments he wanted to ruin Dimitri and he had the power to do it. He wanted to ruin Evie too, wanted her to pay for loving a prince.
He dropped his voice. ‘Evie, he will leave. He does not care what kind of reputation he leaves behind for you. But you have to live here. He has secrets, Evie. There are things he has not told you.’
‘Such as? I believe you’ve indicated as much before, but not with any real evidence. We all have secrets.’ Evie was a cool customer today. ‘Why are you doing this? I thought you were his friend.’
Andrew rubbed a thumb over her knuckles, his eyes locking on hers. ‘I am your friend and I’d like to be more. Do you really think I stopped by your house to talk history with your father? Have you asked yourself why I was there last night? Why I was willing to take a fist to the jaw for you?’
Now he had her on the run. There was a look of panic in her eyes. She was starting to notice how far removed they were from anyone else. How alone. ‘I have to get back.’ Evie tried to pull away, but Andrew held her hand tight.
‘Not yet, Evie,’ he pleaded. ‘I want my answer. May I court you? Will you come to the gala with me? I would be proud to have you on my arm, to lead you out on the dance floor, to show everyone that the Prince has not corrupted you, that you are still respectable Evie Milham, who knows the value of one good Englishman.’ He did not give her a chance to refuse. Andrew bent his head to capture her mouth, his kiss hard and brutal in its intensity.
She was shoving at him. He didn’t care. He would have her remember her place. When he drew back, she wiped a hand across her mouth. Rage rocketed through him. ‘It’s true, then, that you’ve been with him,’ he accused. ‘How could you, Evie? You’ve given him everything and he will give you nothing. He won’t marry you, Evie. He can’t.’
That did not get the shock value he’d hoped for. Instead, Evie said calmly, ‘I know all about his sister and the rules that say he has to return.’ So Dimitri had told her, or rather he’d told her half of the truth.
Andrew smirked. ‘There’s more than a sister involved. Ask him what his duty is, Evie.’ He pushed past her, leaving her alone. The bitch could walk home for all he cared. She’d thrown her lot in with the Prince and she was going to be disappointed. More than that, she was going to be ruined. He was sure Cecilia Northam would absolutely find the information that Evie Milham had bedded the Prince positively delicious. Even if it wasn’t true. It didn’t matter if she’d actually done the deed. It only mattered if people believed it.