Dimitri tucked his hands behind his head and stared at the pavilion ceiling. The idea of applying that logic to Evie sat poorly with him. The problem with first kisses was that they raised a protective urge. First kisses implied next kisses, last kisses. He didn’t like thinking of not being the next kiss, the last kiss. He didn’t like thinking of who might be next. Andrew. Would she kiss Andrew the way she’d kissed him? Would she respond to Andrew the way she’d responded to him, with all her heart and body?
You’re being ridiculous. She can’t be a nun for you just because you kissed her first. No, Evie wasn’t meant to be a nun. She was meant for passion and for love. She was meant for a family, a husband and children of her own to lavish her kindness, her smiles, her wit on. He could picture her in a house not that different from her parents’ home, with its wild gardens and hotch-potch architecture, out on the lawn playing with children, laughing, while something delicious baked in the kitchen.
It was too easy to imagine her on the lawns of his summer palace, laughing and playing with children. She would like his summer palace. It wasn’t too big by Kubanian standards. It was surrounded by woods and there was a lake for rowing. She would like his library. But that would be all she’d like about Kuban. She wouldn’t like court, where he spent most of his time. She wouldn’t play those games, wouldn’t know how to and it would destroy her. Even if he was free to do so, he’d never take Evie to Kuban. She would be very much the classic bird in a gilded cage.
Like him.
It was not a fate he would wish on anyone. It was his destiny because he’d chosen it and it was for a good cause: His sister, so much younger than he, so beautiful, so in need of his protection. For her, he would go home and meet the deadline of his thirtieth birthday. For her, he would marry the border sultan’s daughter under the guise of doing his patriotic duty. His marriage would keep the peace. His marriage would ensure Anna-Maria would not have to leave her home.
He conjured up a mental image of his sister, Anna-Maria, thrust into his twelve-year-old arms moments after her birth by a desperate nurse who hadn’t the presence of mind to tell him to leave the room while his mother died. He’d loved his baby sister on sight.
Love was a double-edged sword if ever there was one, making a man powerful in one moment and weak in the next. Even at twelve, he’d felt powerful holding Anna-Maria, buoyed by a surge of protectiveness that had taken up residence in him that day and had never left. But he’d seen his father’s weakness that day too; a man who he’d always looked upon as invincible. His mother’s death had changed his father, nearly broken him. Those had been his first lessons about love. He’d been very careful since then.
To date, he’d never been in love. One could have extraordinary affairs without it, thankfully. Love would not be a commodity in his marriage to the sultan’s daughter. If he was cautious, he might escape this mortal coil without further experience in the pain of love.
He turned to his side, pushing thoughts away. He didn’t want to think about Kuban and the future—quite the piece of sexual dissuasion, that. His erection was nearly gone now and it had taken his mind off Evie—beautiful, innocent, untried Evie, who kissed with great enthusiasm if not experience; Evie, who was sleeping just a few feet away; Evie, who of a certainty would expect love in exchange for any more kisses.
Chapter Nine
She’d kissed Dimitri! It was her first thought upon waking. The second being, he had kissed her in return. She lay quiet, letting herself remember how the evening had ended—his lips on hers, their mouths tangled, their bodies flush up against each other. She’d been hungry for him—it was an entirely new, unfamiliar and delicious sensation. She’d never been with anyone who conjured up such a depth of feeling. She shivered beneath the blankets, her body remembering his touch even now hours later. She remembered every touch, every word. Oh, sweet heavens, had she really said that? Had she told him kissing him was like drinking vodka? She must have. She remembered it far too clearly. Ugh. At the time it had seemed profound, witty even. This morning it just sounded half-cracked.
Evie groaned and reality began to settle. She felt awful. Now that the initial pleasure of waking to a pleasant memory had faded, practicalities set in. There was a dull throbbing behind her eyes and the brightness of the room kept them shut. Her tongue felt thick and the rest of her felt less than fresh. How would she ever face Dimitri like this?
There would be no escaping it. She groaned again, this time for a different reason. She pried her eyes open to confirm it hadn’t been a dream. She had indeed spent the night in Dimitri’s pavilion. How was she to walk out of the tent and explain that to anyone who saw her? She had only the clothes she slept in and none of her toiletries. There was no way her appearance would persuade anyone she hadn’t been here all night. She needed to be more careful with what she wished for.
Evie sighed. She’d best get on with it. The longer she put it off, the worse it would be. With luck, it was still early enough to go to her work station without encountering too many questioning glances. Evie sat up carefully, cautious of her aching head. A small piece of paper lay on the coverlet. It was an effort to reach out for it, but the note made her smile. Bold, flowing black script that matched the tags she spent her days reading, informed her all she needed was laid out on his trunk. It was signed with a big ‘D’ at the bottom. Dimitri. The single initial seemed intimate, an echo of the evening. Below it was a postscript: ‘breakfast will be waiting’.
She glanced over at the trunk. A dress of hers lay out with a small valise packed next to it. She could guess what was inside. He must have asked for those things when he’d sent the note so her parents didn’t worry. Not that they would. They’d been scheduled to play cards at the Ramseys’ last night and would have been out late themselves. They might not have even missed her.
The thought took some of the delight out of the surprise of finding her things here. She’d spent the night alone in the company of a man, an act that was the very definition of scandal, and her parents hadn’t noticed. She knew they loved her. They were good parents who indulged her pursuits, but she knew they’d given up on her. Oh, they’d let her live with them, they would support her, their single, spinster daughter, as long as they lived. But they’d despaired of her ever being more than that. They’d settled. After all, two out of three wasn’t bad. Two girls had married, one decently and one very well. Surely that was respectable enough, especially when the third daughter wasn’t nearly as pretty, wasn’t nearly as witty with her conversation and who had ‘quiet’ skills. She didn’t play the pianoforte at musicales like Diana, or sing like Gwen. Those were portable, public skills that could be demonstrated in polite company wherever one went. Not stitchery, not tapestry patterns, not making clothes. The former were not portable. One did not tote tapestries around to show off to eligible gentlemen. The latter was too much like being involved with trade, too much like work. A gentlewoman didn’t make her own clothes.
Evie swung her legs out of bed and made her way carefully to the valise. She drew out a fresh chemise and stripped out of her clothes to wash. Dimitri’s thoughtfulness had not ended with the clothes. Her own hairbrushes and ribbons had already been laid out on the bureau for her. The thought brought a blush to her face. To do that, he’d crept in here while she was sleeping. The act seemed private, intimate, somehow attached to their kisses of the night before, that their relationship had changed in some way.
She tried not to think about the kiss as she washed. She really had to reorganise her thoughts. She could not go on all day fantasising about that kiss. It might have upended her world, but it had not upended his. She’d have to get used to not thinking about that kiss. It could not be the centre of their relationship. She would only disappoint herself. The kiss had been a moment out of time, the product of a late night as Dimitri had put it and perhaps some vodka—a hypothesis that seemed more believable in morning l
ight. It had been an enjoyable, rash moment, nothing more. And yet, it meant so much more to her. She’d never been kissed, she’d never been taken so much by surprise by her feelings, her body.
She’d been utterly unprepared for what had transpired. And yet she shouldn’t have been. He’d warned her, hadn’t he, in all their previous encounters? In his touch, in his eyes. She’d responded to those—why had she not extended that same expectation to something far more intimate? Now she knew. Now she would know for ever. Evie glanced over at the rumpled bed. Now she knew she’d been right about the kind of man who slept in that bed. Funny, the knowledge didn’t satisfy her. It only served to make her more curious.
She forced herself to redirect her thoughts. She thought instead of all she would have to tell May and Bea: about the note, about the evening, about the washing incident, about the tapestry viewing and tea afterwards. There was so much to share and they’d only been gone a week. And it was all about Dimitri. The thought stayed with her as she tidied the bed, trying to be a good guest. It was Dimitri who had dominated this week, starting with his visit to her home and his invitation to come help at the site. Other than an uneventful and somewhat disappointing curricle drive home, this week most definitively had not been about Andrew. That was another complication to think about later.
She ran a brush through her hair and selected a rosy-pink ribbon that matched the tiny flowers of her dress. She might not be able to hide the fact that she was walking out of the Prince’s tent, but at least she’d look decent doing it. She would wear her hair down today, though, out of a need to hurry. The faint scent of sausage wafted into the room, reminding her that breakfast was waiting. Dimitri Petrovich was waiting.
Chapter Ten
Not just waiting for her, Evie discovered as she stepped out into the sunny morning. He was cooking for her. Dimitri glanced up and gave her a look that bordered on a smoulder. Was he even aware he did that? Sensuality was so effortless for him. ‘Good morning. I’d call you a sleepy head, but it’s still early.’
Now that she was outside, Evie could feel the earliness. The sun was up, but a cool bite still lingered in the air, a reminder that while the afternoons were hot, autumn was coming. August was nearly done. She held out her hands to the flames, the warmth of his little cook fire a welcome contrast.
‘What would you like? Sausage? Bread? There’s smoked salmon left from last night.’ He poked the sausages where they lay on a grill over the fire and laughed. ‘We Russians are frugal, simple people at our core. Breakfast is hearty if not fancy. Most of the time, if it’s not black bread for breakfast, it’s left-overs from dinner the night before.’
‘It all looks delicious.’ Evie took a seat in one of the camp chairs, acutely aware that the food wasn’t the only thing looking delicious. He had been up well in advance of her. He was shaved and dressed in clean work trousers and shirt. But his hair was still loose, falling forward as he turned the sausage. His long hair was fascinating to her. Men in England wore theirs far shorter, but his fell past his shoulders, sleek and dark and free. It gave him a primal look, the appearance of a fierce warrior from long-ago days when men were perhaps less refined creatures.
As if he read her thoughts, he straightened up and pushed his hands through his hair, catching it back in a smooth tail. Instantly, the fierce warrior was gone, replaced by the gentleman. ‘Don’t fuss on my account.’ She had the impression smoothing back his hair was akin to putting on a jacket in a lady’s presence, a means of hiding the masculinity within lest it be too disconcerting for the female mind. But he’d never quite be successful in hiding his maleness entirely. Thank goodness. She liked his hair loose. That was something she could not say to him without a firm understanding of their relationship. What were they to each other? Were they becoming friends? Would they remain only co-workers? Simply two people who shared a love of history and that love had brought them together for a short time?
‘I didn’t put my hair up for you,’ she joked. Dark eyes lingered thoughtfully on her face, taking in all that hair she’d left down, and she swallowed hard. Maybe she should have put it up. Suddenly, loose hair had taken on an unexpected sensuality.
‘But your hair is beautiful, a woman’s crowning glory. It is a shame, I think, to confine such glory to pins and braids, to hide it under hats.’ He filled a plate and passed it to her.
‘My hair is too red,’ she countered.
He shook his head in correction and gave her a smile that filled her to her toes. ‘Corundum. That’s the colour of your hair. It’s a mineral mined in central Russia.’ He stood up. ‘Wait here, I’ll show you.’ He disappeared inside the tent and returned with a small leather pouch. He knelt beside her chair, spilling the contents into his hand. ‘That’s the one I want.’ He held up a rock chunk. The surface revealed a polished variegation of reds and browns that combined to form a soft russet that was at once both hues. ‘This is corundum.’
He put it beside her ear and leaned back to take in the match from a distance. ‘Perfect. I knew it would be.’ Evie laughed. He looked so pleased with himself. Dimitri laughed with her. He slipped all the rocks back into the little bag except for the chunk of corundum. That piece he pressed into her hand and folded her fingers around it. ‘Keep it. So you’ll remember the colour of your hair.’ The moment took on a keen edge, silence overcoming their laughter. She would remember far more than the colour of her hair. She would remember him. She would remember a man with dark eyes who could turn her hot with a glance, who could make her question the assumptions of her world in a touch. A man who could make her burn. Perhaps he knew that.
She would remember too that he was a Russian prince, a man far above her in all ways, station, looks, and experience, as to be a god. Gods belonged on their pedestals, not come to earth for the likes of her.
* * *
‘Well, what do we have here? I swear I heard laughter, although it’s far too early to find anything remotely funny. I say, Evie, you’re out and about early.’
Evie’s gaze darted past Dimitri’s shoulder as Andrew strode into the campsite, his eyes drifting between them with sharp assessment. He looked immaculate but tired, as if it was indeed too early for him to be out of bed. She kept her fist tight around the rock chunk as if it had become a secret she had to protect. Guilt swamped her. She had the unmistakable feeling of having been caught out at something illicit, something that had to be hidden.
Dimitri scrambled to his feet, perhaps sharing her sudden awareness of how this scene might appear to an outsider; he squatting at her side, his hand closed over hers, her hair down. Truly, she ought to have put it up.
‘Whatever is going on, I hope there’s coffee,’ Andrew groused, making himself comfortable in the other chair, but his gaze continued to study them. ‘I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’
‘No coffee. Black tea, strong,’ Dimitri offered, overly cheerful, overly casual as he reached for a spare cup. ‘Black tea is a true Russian drink for breakfast.’ He ignored Andrew’s pointed question.
Andrew took the cup and made a look of disgust. ‘I like your Turkish side better. Coffee. Now, that’s a breakfast drink.’
Dimitri pulled up a nearby crate and sat, unfazed by Andrew’s gruffness. ‘There’s sausage, help yourself. I know you like that.’ Evie had the impression this discussion had taken place before, on the road, in the midst of their fabulous adventures wandering Europe together. She envied Andrew that opportunity. How many dinners had he and Dimitri shared filled with stories of exotic Kuban with its wild steppes and wolves?
‘It’s early, Evie. What are you doing here so soon?’ Andrew took a bite of sausage, his gaze narrowing again with hints of speculation as it passed from Dimitri to her.
This was the type of scrutiny she’d most wanted to avoid. ‘We needed to discuss the cataloguing system,’ she improvised, surprised at how fast the half-truth cam
e to her. She glanced at Dimitri to encourage confirmation.
His eyes met Andrew’s. ‘We had meant to do it last night—’ he made one of his wide gestures ‘—but time got away from us.’ He left the interpretation up to Andrew. Challenge flared briefly in his eyes. Evie knew immediately where this was headed: battle of the seed cakes part two. It was a direction she didn’t entirely understand. These were unlikely candidates to compete over her. She was plain Evie Milham and they were handsome men who could have any woman in any room anywhere.
Evie rose and set aside her plate. ‘Thank you for the breakfast. I must get to work if we are sketching the dining room out of doors today.’
The two men stood. ‘I’ll drive you home tonight, Evie,’ Andrew said quickly, making no effort to disguise the triumphant look he shot at Dimitri. Evie smiled her thanks, still clutching her piece of rock. Whatever the two of them needed to settle, they could do it without her. She had enough to settle on her own, starting with why Dimitri had said such a thing and left it wide open to interpretation. It was almost as if he’d wanted to invite Andrew’s speculation.
* * *
‘What the hell did you mean by that?’ Andrew’s voice was a growl once Evie was out of earshot. ‘We would have talked about it last night but we ran out of time?’
Dimitri met Andrew’s heat with cool detachment. He gathered up the breakfast dishes. ‘I meant exactly that.’
‘But why?’ Andrew pressed. ‘Why did you run out of time?’
‘Why does it matter?’ Dimitri dumped the dishes in a bin to be washed later and wiped his hands on a towel. ‘I thought you didn’t care about Evie Milham. I believe she wasn’t rich enough for your notice? Your words, not mine.’ He was rather surprised Andrew cared that much. Andrew might speak callously, but the man’s word was good. He meant what he said, even if it was sometimes cutting.
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