He swept her into the early steps of the dance, his mouth close at her ear, letting it wash over him. ‘I love you, Evie.’ He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply the clean lavender fragrance of her.
She looked up at him with fierce blue eyes. ‘I love you too, don’t ever forget it.’
‘I want to tell you a secret, Evie,’ he murmured. ‘This is the best night of my life.’ It was. The chains were gone, chains he hadn’t even known he carried. His father’s bittersweet view of love, while understandable, had coloured his own views far more than he’d realised. He’d had to throw off those chains and the limits they shackled him to in order to find his own understanding: love was powerful. Love could free a man.
A movement at the dais where the orchestra played caught his eye. A man mounted the steps. On closer scrutiny, he could see who it was. What was Andrew doing up there? Worry began to hatch. The music came to a stop as the waltz ended. Andrew had something in his hand. With his other hand, he gestured for attention. What was the man doing? Dimitri feared ‘the grand gesture’ Andrew was so fond of making. He felt Evie’s hand tighten on his arm and protectiveness surged. The man had tried to hurt Evie and here he was pretending to be the golden boy in front of his neighbours—neighbours who didn’t guess what a bastard the man was at heart, that he’d left a woman to walk home alone at dark after forcing attentions on her.
The crowd silenced and Andrew’s voice filled the room. ‘Good evening, everyone. Welcome to our celebration, and I mean “our” in the most encompassing sense. This is Little Westbury’s night. Tonight we celebrate the excavation, a project that has lain dormant in our community for too long, but has now come to life.’ There was applause and Andrew waited for it to die down before continuing. ‘I can think of no better way to crown that celebration than with the unveiling of this book that chronicles the early work on our site.’ He held up the item he carried in his hand, reading off the title in gilt letters on a green leather background, ‘The Life of General Lucius Artorious: A Sussex Excavation, complete with illustrations by a local artist.’ He held the book open to reveal a very fine drawing of a goblet. Dimitri did not miss the self-satisfied glance of smugness he tossed their way.
What the hell? Next to him, Evie stifled a horrified gasp. There was so much wrong with this presentation, Dimitri’s mind raced to take in the implications. Andrew had stolen his work and claimed it. ‘How did he get his hands on your drawings?’ It was obvious to him who the ‘local artist’ was.
Evie was trembling. ‘I gave them to him. I had no idea. He said he wanted a keepsake.’
Around them, more applause broke out, no one aware of the little drama playing out in front of them. To the people gathered here, this was indeed a perfect capstone to an evening designed to honour the excavation. They saw nothing wrong with had happened. It never occurred to them Andrew had stolen work that did not rightfully belong to him.
‘Why would he do this?’ Evie’s eyes were wide with betrayal, her face mirroring the shock he felt in his gut.
‘Revenge,’ Dimitri growled. Evie’s pain was worse to bear than his own. Andrew hadn’t just done this to him, he’d done it to Evie, Evie, who had given so selflessly of her time and skill to help with all of this. This was not Andrew Adair’s excavation, it was his. He alone had the privilege to write about it. He alone had the obligation to defend it, to defend Evie. ‘I will make this right.’
Dimitri moved through the crowd. He would put a stop to this with all the royal finesse he possessed. Being in public wouldn’t protect Andrew tonight. It was time to expose a traitor. He was starting to suspect a man who would steal another man’s work wouldn’t stop there. He had found his thief. He stepped up on the dais to join Andrew, throwing the guests a charismatic smile. He was enjoying the fact already that Andrew was off balance.
Andrew had not expected this. He’d expected anger, he’d been planning to offset an outburst as if he thought Dimitri would rush the stage and do violence. Andrew should have thought like a prince. A prince would never engage in a public brawl.
Dimitri quieted the crowd. ‘What an evening! Andrew is too modest. I think under these circumstances we can expose the real name of our illustrator. We are all friends here; we don’t need to hide. Our illustrator is none other than our own Miss Evaine Milham. She has given generously of her time and talents and deserves to be acknowledged for it. Her beautiful drawings have brought our shards and pieces to life, some of which you’ve had a chance to view tonight.’ He was gratified at the oohs and ahs that went up, the applause that met his announcement.
‘Secondly, to cap off the evening, we encourage you to continue enjoy dancing, and to wander over to our special display cases containing some of the best items in our collection. There, you can see the fruits of your labour because this project has taken all of us.’ He shot a glance at Andrew. ‘Let me tell you what you’ll find in the case. First, we have a hair brush and mirror most likely used by the general’s wife. Secondly, we have a bowl, which was found in two pieces. We have glued it back together and if you look carefully, you can see the seam where it shattered. Finally, we have a pottery goblet, which bears the general’s personal insignia on the bottom, which, of course, as any good collector knows, is one way to tell a piece is authentic.’ He turned to the orchestra and gave the signal for music. It was time to return his guests to the dancing. Beside him, Andrew looked pale.
‘You look ill—too many seed cakes?’ Dimitri joked, trying to keep his tone light, trying not to give away his anger. He wanted Andrew flummoxed. He wanted Andrew thinking he actually approved of his actions. There was nothing better for foiling revenge than to simply not be angry over it. It was hard, especially when he really wanted to haul Andrew outside and thrash him in a most unprincely fashion. This man was no longer his friend and he disliked pretending otherwise. ‘Walk with me.’ He had Andrew by the arm, giving him no choice. They strolled over to the display tables, Evie coming to link her arm with his. He rather wished she hadn’t. He worried Andrew in his desperation might become violent. But she had a right to see a thief brought to justice. Andrew had stolen from her as surely as he’d stolen from him.
‘These are beautiful. Signs of life, Evie and I call them,’ Dimitri said casually, watching Andrew’s face go chalky. It was time. He clapped a hand on Andrew’s shoulder. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t notice?’ His voice was low for Andrew alone. ‘You stole from me. However, beyond the first item you took, everything else were reproductions only. I sincerely hope you didn’t sell them to discerning buyers. They will not be pleased if they discover you’ve been passing off replicas. People who buy on the black market aren’t known for their scruples.’ Dimitri didn’t think it was possible for Andrew to get any whiter, but he managed it, his jaw tightening, his eyes fierce in their desperation. ‘I might have tolerated the crime against me, but not Evie. She liked you once upon a time and you used her quite sorely.
‘Well, enough said.’ He offered Andrew a smile and forced a final note of bonhomie into his tone. ‘You might need a head start. I hope you take it. Out of remembrance of the good times we once had, I don’t want to see your throat slit in an alley.’ He made a small nod with his head as if he were merely finished with a conversation instead of having offered Andrew an ultimatum. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have guests to see to.’
He turned away from Andrew, his hand at Evie’s back, a most dismissive gesture and a most dangerous one. It nearly proved fatal.
‘No, I don’t think I will excuse you.’ Andrew’s voice was menacing. ‘Turn around, Prince Dimitri Petrovich, and face me like a man.’ Dimitri turned. Andrew’s eyes flickered downward towards his hand. Dimitri’s heart pounded. This was what he had feared. In Andrew’s hand was a small, palm-sized gun, perfect for roués and gamblers who found themselves in sticky situations. The gun was aimed at Evie’s stomach. ‘A gut shot is a terrible way to die
. One lingers long enough to really hurt, to know their life is slipping away and no one can do anything about it. There’s a little relief at the end. You go numb right before the world goes dark. That’s how you know it’s nearly over.’
Andrew grinned. ‘How does it feel to have your life stripped out from under? That’s what you have done to me. You’ve signed my death warrant and you know it. Now, give me the artefacts and we’ll all live.’
‘You should shoot me instead if that’s how you feel.’ It seemed surreal they could have this discussion and no one was any wiser, but the room was loud, the gun was small and they were supposed to be friends. No one saw what they didn’t expect to see.
Andrew sneered. ‘Your kingdom for a whore? Is she really worth it? Must be incredible in bed.’ His eyes flicked over Evie. ‘I never would have guessed it, my dear. But back to business, Prince. You have until the count of three. One—’
Dimitri didn’t wait. Decisiveness was the best offensive weapon at anyone’s disposal. Strike fast, strike hard. Always fight like you mean it. Men like Andrew bargained on fear working in their favour. He stepped forward rapidly, his body between Andrew and Evie, his foot coming down hard on Andrew’s instep, his hand closing around Andrew’s wrist, knocking the gun away. With his other leg, he brought his knee up into Andrew’s groin. Andrew groaned and doubled over. Dimitri motioned to two footmen. ‘Mr Adair isn’t quite himself. Please show him out.’
Evie was reeling. Dimitri had her, though. She could feel his arm around her, could hear his words at her ear. ‘Don’t faint now, Evie. It’s over. You’re safe.’
He had saved her. Andrew had pulled a gun on her. She could barely grasp the events of the last two minutes, could barely sort them out. Then Dimitri had stepped in front of the gun. He could have been killed, although he’d not acted like it for a moment. She had been horrified, frozen, in fact. But he had been swift, decisive, and the next moment Andrew had been doubled over. She started to sway and Dimitri picked her up, his voice warm. ‘Well, that’s certainly one way to get you into my bed.’
She felt better outside, better still when they were safely inside the pavilion, away from the ballroom and its noise. The pavilion was dark and softly lit. Dimitri pressed a glass of vodka into her hand with a command. ‘Drink.’
‘Andrew pulled a gun on me.’ Disbelief was the only way she could handle the shock. Andrew, her neighbour, her girlish infatuation, had threatened to kill her. ‘You could have been killed, Dimitri.’ That part too was surreal. She didn’t think there was enough vodka in the world to soften that reality. ‘I meant to thank you for what you did; getting on that stage and standing up for me tonight, but now I have so much more to thank you for and “thank you” seems entirely inadequate.’ But it did reassure her she was doing the right thing in letting him go. He’d already given his life twice for her—tonight in a more physical sense. But one didn’t have to die to give up one’s life and he’d been ready to give up the life he knew for her and live a new one. It was too much. ‘There are no words, Dimitri.’
‘There don’t have to be.’ He leaned towards her, his own hands shaking as he reached for her. For the first time, she was aware of the toll the evening had taken on him. He’d been so sure, so confident when he’d strode on stage, when he’d confronted Andrew and disarmed him, when he’d swept her up into his arms and carried her away to peace and safety. One could easily forget he was only a man, a very mortal man. It was her turn to comfort him, her turn to be strong for him. He needed to know she was all right.
She covered his shaking hands. ‘I am safe,’ she murmured. ‘We are safe.’ Then she kissed him, slow and hard, to show him they were alive, to show him how much she loved him. There was so much love she wanted to show him.
Evie gave his lips a last kiss and slid to her knees in front of him, her hands working the fall of his evening trousers until he was free and hard in her hand. She let a wicked smile take her lips as she looked up at him. ‘I am going to put my mouth on you, do you think you’d like that?’ she whispered, her own breath catching in anticipation, then her lips were there, at the base of his shaft, kissing it gently where it rose from his dark tangle. She licked up his length, trailing her tongue along its ridge, delighting in the moaned plea that escaped him; mercy and pleasure and celebration mixed together.
His pleasure drove her to greater lengths. She closed her mouth over the tender head of him, her tongue probing the tiny weeping slit at its summit with wicked strokes. She felt him rise beneath her, felt his hands grasp for purchase in her hair, his hips press forward as he arched. She felt his body gather, rushing to its conclusion. She pulled back at the last and took him in hand. She loved this—watching him pulse, watching his body wrack in pleasure and knowing she’d had a part in it. This was life at its finest.
Except when he was kissing her.
Or caressing her breasts.
Or undressing her.
His hands were at the laces of her gown, the russet creation falling to the floor, forgotten in passion’s wake. His recovery time, impressively immediate. Her mouth work had served to encourage rampant passion, perhaps fuelled by the realisation that Andrew’s threat had passed and they were both indeed alive and well.
‘I’ll be ready by the time I get you out of all these clothes,’ he growled, nipping at her ear. ‘I’ve never understood why women wear so many clothes.’ So many clothes or not, they were all vanquished in relatively short order. Her underskirts and chemise joining her gown in an ever more frantic undressing. Desire rose, her own hands pushing at his dark evening jacket, tugging at white shirttails and patterned waistcoat. She wanted him naked as soon as possible. He kissed her hard as he ripped his arms from his shirtsleeves, throwing the shirt aside, her own hands busy with his trousers.
It had become a foregone conclusion that they weren’t going to make it to the bed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The divan was as far as they could go for now, the limits of their perseverance. She knew this in her bones, in the heated core of herself. They were both rough in their need, craving each other with a new intensity. She bit his lip and he gave a fierce growl, dancing her backwards to the divan. This coming together would be fast, furious, a celebration and a secret farewell. She opened her thighs to him, dragging him down, her body urging him onward. She was already wet with wanting. He was pulsing and hard at her entrance and he did not wait for further invitation.
She welcomed the roughness, the wildness of him. Her nails raked his back and she arched up into him, fierce in her own passion. He thrust hard and she moaned, feeling climax approaching fast and sure. This would be over in moments. He thrust again, his mouth close to her ear, his voice harsh with his own desire. ‘Say it, Evie.’
His next thrust didn’t come. She shoved her hips upwards to coax him. She tugged at him. ‘What are you waiting for?’ Her body was frantic as it hovered on the edge of pleasure satisfied, the treat of shattering denied.
‘I’m waiting for you.’ His muscles were taut as he braced above her. ‘Say it, Evie. Say we’ll build a life together, one day at a time.’
Or she’d never climax with him again. ‘You don’t fight fair.’ Her body was already hating her hesitation.
He gave a hoarse laugh. ‘Not true. All is fair in love and war, and, Evie, I mean to win.’
Her resistance crumbled at that and she gave him the words he wanted, the words she wanted and in the moment they might have been true. ‘Then, yes. Now, would you please claim your victory?’ He grinned and her legs went about him, holding him close as he took them the rest of the way to pleasure not for the last time that night.
She gave herself over to the pleasure. Dawn seemed a long way off and what she had to do seemed a long way off too. There were times in the long night when she thought perhaps sex would indeed hold the morning at bay. They moved to his dec
adent bed, and she took him astride, her breasts brushing his chest as she moved on him, wanting to remember the feel of him, the look of him as joy swamped him.
But they were mere mortals. There was indeed a point of exhaustion and they reached it there in the dark in each other’s arms.
* * *
Then there was light. And reality. She allowed herself the luxury of watching him sleep, this beautiful man who had saved her, not just from Andrew, but from a life of oblivion, of being a shell of a human. Now it was her turn to save him. Everyone needed a champion, maybe the strongest needed them the most. Today, she would be his hero.
She rose quietly and dressed, leaving a soft wrapped package on the vanity, a note folded on top. He would understand. He was a prince, he was used to putting others first, she assured herself. He would come to appreciate her choice and he would understand the necessity for it. ‘All’s fair in love and war,’ she whispered, blowing him a goodbye kiss and disappearing through the curtain before she could think better of it, before her courage gave out.
At the inn, the coach was waiting. She checked to see that her trunk had arrived and was already strapped on. Fussing over details, checking the schedule, were distractors. They kept her mind in the present, kept it from wandering back to images of a sleeping man.
‘Miss, you need to board if you’re coming. It’s time,’ the coachman said, roughly, irritated at the delay. He and the horses were eager to be off. She took one last look down the road. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t coming back. She was merely going for a visit to see May and Beatrice. Little Westbury would still be here. But he wouldn’t be. When she came back everything would be different.
AWAKENING THE SHY MISS Page 21
