Seduced by the Prince's Kiss

by Bronwyn Scott

  They were sleeping down here? Good Lord, he hadn’t known. He thought about the cave’s damp walls and would have liked to have disagreed with Joseph’s claim to comfort. Instead, he made a mental note to make enquiries with local fishermen who might be able to take in a good worker or two in exchange for room and board. He knew too well from his own experience that a young man had his pride. He’d been Joseph’s age not that long ago. Joseph and the others wouldn’t want charity; they’d want to work for their board. In the meanwhile, he would send down extra blankets and pillows and a hot meal. And he’d make arrangements for Joseph to sleep with the grooms up in the stable. It couldn’t be permanent, but it would do for a while. Stepan reached in his pocket for some money. ‘Since you’re working day and night now to guard our goods, you should have pallets. This should cover it.’ He was careful to word his gift in such a way the boys wouldn’t look upon it as a handout. ‘Let me know if there’s anything else the boys need. Clothes, shoes. Anything at all.’ He felt a sense of satisfaction as Joseph tucked the money away with a nod. Perhaps this was also how a father felt when he was able to provide for his child. He would never know. Along with not being a husband, a father was the other thing he’d never be.

  * * *

  Elias Denning slammed the report down on his desk, hard. The thunk of paper against wood was not nearly as satisfying as driving his fist into something. An image of Stepan Shevchenko’s face loomed briefly in his mind as the perfect fit for his fist. He’d not liked having his interlude with the lovely Anna-Maria Petrova interrupted by a man who treated him as if he were a callow youth brought to heel instead of a military man with real authority, authority more real than Shevchenko’s honorific title. Nothing had happened; the lady had been genuinely faint. But perhaps something could have happened after she recovered. He hadn’t been above turning the situation to his advantage.

  He had not liked Shevchenko from the first. The man thought to call himself a prince... Of what? The man had no country, at least no country that would acknowledge him, from what Denning understood. Here in England, the man was no better than a merchant importer. Denning despised having to cultivate an acquaintance with this foreigner, this immigrant. That’s what he was, all he was, without his title. Denning heard the accent beneath the man’s well-spoken English. How dared Shevchenko go about giving himself airs, acting the equal of an Englishman? Where had Russia been at Waterloo? Russia had been burned and bleeding from Napoleon. It had been Englishmen who’d won the day for all of Europe. And now, Shevchenko was here, parading himself among them, forcing good men to acknowledge him and his pretty whore. Miss Petrova? He wondered if there was anything of the innocent miss about her. He’d been on the verge of discovering the secrets behind those cognac eyes and lithe body in the inn yard until Shevchenko had intruded.

  In other circumstances, he would have dealt with Shevchenko and then screwed the hell out of Miss Petrova for good measure. She would be brilliant bed sport, complicit or otherwise, with a body like that. But the mission required he stand there and nod his apologies. His success here, and his impending promotion, depended on establishing relationships with men like Shevchenko who relied on trade for their livelihood. His mission was proving more impossible the more he learned about it.

  Denning eyed the report with distaste, proof of his first failure although no one would blame him for it. A smuggling gang had moved a significant amount of spirits and spice packets the night of the assembly. While he’d been dancing and flirting with the lovely Anna-Maria, the smugglers had gone about their business and on the main roads no less. Of course, that last was speculation. No one had seen them, but the speed at which the goods had reached London seemed to indicate they could not have lingered overlong on muddy back roads and, perhaps on a more interesting note, this excursion had been planned.

  This was the part Denning didn’t like. He sensed rather strongly that the speed of this run suggested someone had waited purposely for the night of the assembly in order to use the dance as a cover for their movement. That someone had deliberately sought to make a fool out of him in front of the whole town. There were a hundred awful speculations to draw from that assumption. What if the whole town knew? What if everyone had been in on it from the mayor on down? What if everyone who’d shaken his hand and looked him in the eye had actually been laughing behind his back the whole time? Such an insult to a military officer was not to be tolerated.

  Shoreham needed to be punished, immediately. Even if his assumptions were incorrect, a swift and strong punishment would not go amiss in setting the right tone. Shoreham needed to understand who was in charge now and it wasn’t the mayor. It was him, Captain Elias Denning, and no one would laugh at his expense again.

  ‘Lieutenant!’ Denning bellowed, giving his disappointment full vent.

  ‘Yes, sir!’ A ruddy-cheeked young man rushed into the room with a stiff salute. That’s what Denning liked, a show of prompt respect.

  ‘I need a meeting with my officers called for ten o’clock this morning, then I want to meet with the city’s leading merchants and importers at one o’clock to apprise them of certain developments.’ That would include Stepan Shevchenko. He would take a little private pleasure in having the upper hand this time as he delivered his edicts. The importers might squirm a bit at the punishment he had to mete out, but it would be over all the sooner if they came forward and informed on those who were skirting the law and stealing their legitimate profits. ‘Also, Lieutenant, I’ll need a list of every known smuggling gang working out of Shoreham.’ It was going to be a busy day. He had a port to blockade, checkpoints along the major roads to set up and a mayor to divest of authority, and he was just getting started.

  Chapter Nine

  The worst was happening right in front of him and he had to sit at the table and pretend it didn’t matter. But it did and not just to him, but to every other man at the table with him. Stepan glanced covertly at each face, all of them wealthy importers that relied on the ‘free trade’ of the coast for their real money. All of them were pretending, as he was, that Captain Denning’s blockade of the Shoreham harbour was of little consequence, that this meeting was informational and that was all.

  Stepan shifted in his seat. Of course, Denning wasn’t calling it a blockade. A blockade suggested militant action and a warlike atmosphere. Denning was calling it ‘floating customs’ and dressing up the prospect of excise men boarding boats to ‘clear’ them and collect payment while they were still at sea, with words like ‘efficiency’, ‘expediency’ and ‘personalisation’. No one would have to wait on a harried customs officer when they put into port and had other better things to do than paperwork.

  Stepan wasn’t fooled and he doubted any of the others at the table were either. ‘Clearing’ was another phrase for searching the boats, for poking bayonets into packaging and dipping them into barrels on the hunt for items that were being smuggled in illegally. ‘It will save you time and money, gentlemen.’ Denning wrapped up his exposition with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The men responded with smiles of the same. It was all very civilised on the surface. But everyone knew what had really happened. The British military, in the form of Captain Denning, had declared war on Shoreham smuggling.

  An example was to be made of them. There were other smuggling communities up and down the Sussex–Kent coast, but Shoreham was one of the most vibrant due to its location to London. If Denning could shut down Shoreham, it would send a strong message to other less well-situated organisations that the risk wasn’t worth it. It would also earn Denning a promotion, something that was difficult to come by in times of peace.

  Stepan studied the captain afresh. His earlier assumptions over their lunch in the tavern had been spot on. Denning was coldly ambitious. The lack of a war wouldn’t stop him. But it had slowed him down. Captain was a middling rank and Denning was thirty, if not slightly older. He’d spent a lot of time a
s captain. Perhaps too much. The army was for young men. Men didn’t stay in the military for life unless they had no better options. Sons of noblemen sold their commissions when it was time to marry and settle down. The men who didn’t... Well, that told its own story. Suffice it to say, Captain Denning would be relentless.

  ‘Gentlemen, if there are not any further questions, we have some unpleasant business to move on to.’ Denning took a chair at the head of the long table. ‘It has come to my attention that the night of the assembly, a shipment of spirits and spices was smuggled through our roads to London without paying the proper duties. This is an insult to each and every one of you who pay your taxes honourably. If you have any knowledge of who was responsible for it, or any knowledge of similar activities, I would be most obliged to hear it.’ He was attempting to divide and conquer them. Fortunately, Stepan had not bragged to anyone about his ‘side’ business. But it did concern him that he did not know if he could trust the gentlemen at the table. Would these men have his back or, as the last one come to town and a foreigner, would they turn against him first? With the Skorost at sea and no way to reach her, it was a damnable time to test the hypothesis. The meeting concluded and the room began to empty.

  ‘Your Highness, might I have a word?’ Denning stopped him before Stepan could escape.

  ‘Of course. How may I be of service?’ It was his courtier’s voice, the tone he saved for life in the Kubanian court where every movement and every word was dissected for hidden meaning and intention. The trick was to always appear amenable.

  ‘I would like permission to call on Miss Petrova—your cousin, was it? Forgive me, I am not clear about the connection between you, only that it seems you are the one I should apply to.’ Stepan did not miss the deep-seated question beneath the manners. Denning was testing him.

  ‘She is not my cousin. There is no blood relation, but she is like a sister to me.’ The words sounded awkward after last night’s carriage ride. There’d been nothing sisterly about that. ‘Her brother is my best friend. She offered to keep house for me while I am here.’

  Denning fingered a quill idly. ‘That is very noble of you. I don’t have sisters, but I imagine I would appreciate such sentiment in a friend if I did. Do you? Have sisters?’

  ‘I have no one, Captain,’ Stepan said tersely. It would be best to let the captain know from the start he was alone, that there was no leverage to be gained in that direction. But he was as uncomfortable with the small talk as he was with the idea of Denning calling on Anna-Maria.

  ‘Except Miss Petrova and her brother.’ Denning looked up from his attentions on the quill, his dark eyes sly. ‘Perhaps when I call, you and I can speak privately.’ It wasn’t really a question. ‘We have much in common, your Highness. Both of us are men away from home, in a foreign place. We are outsiders.’ He gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘Perhaps you a bit less than me in that you’ve been in Shoreham longer. I hear you just leased the Seacrest estate mere weeks ago.’

  Stepan wanted nothing in common with this man, but he had to temper his anger and direct it towards the right reasons. This man was his enemy and would be even without the man’s interest in Anna-Maria. He could not let jealousy refocus his anger or his priorities. He had to protect the smuggling ring. His largest shipment to date was due to arrive. He was counting on that money for the boys, for the cause. So many were counting on it, not just for the money but for their futures. ‘Yes, Seacrest belongs to a friend, Preston Worth, who is in London.’

  Stepan was gratified with a flicker of recognition in the captain’s eyes. ‘Yes, Worth is a civil prevention officer. He was involved in the Cabot Roan situation a couple of years back.’ Denning made a tsking noise. ‘Too bad how that ended. I would have shot the bastard on sight. A trial was too good for the likes of Roan.’ The captain straightened and scooped up his hat, preparing to leave. ‘Good day, your Highness. I’ll call tomorrow at one. I find Miss Petrova to be quite a singular young lady.’

  Stepan had been afraid of that. The last thing he needed was his enemy in his house, a man who would see his enterprise brought down, calling on the woman he...carried a torch for...a woman he had rather intense feelings for, even if he had to keep them hidden most of the time.

  He had to be careful with his words there. Naming those feelings made them real, naming made him acknowledge them. He’d best be cautious what he called them. Infatuation and torch-carrying he could handle. After all, to carry a torch for someone implied a certain level of hopelessness, that those feelings were not reciprocated, that the situation was over before it had ever truly begun. Hopelessness in relationships, impossibilities in relationships—he could cope with those. He’d been coping with those all his life. They were standard operating procedure. What wasn’t ‘standard’ was the hopefulness that sparked when he kissed her, how that precious flame burned when her body answered him, the way it pressed against him, wanting more. And by God, he wanted to give her more. But that would only destroy both of them in the end. Anna-Maria was young and impetuous. She might think she wanted more from him, but she didn’t really know him, she only thought she did. Once she knew the truth of him, she would regret her decision. He had to prevent that from happening. To that end, he had to make those decisions for both of them.

  * * *

  A man was calling on her, an attractive officer in a red coat with polished brass buttons and a gleaming gorget, and Anna could not find the willpower to concentrate on his conversation. She could, however, summon enough apparent concentration to be aware of even the slightest movement Stepan made. He could shift infinitesimally in his chair and she would notice. How ironic that the one man in the room who didn’t want her attention was the only one who could claim it.

  Captain Denning was saying something about the Shoreham cliffs and the Ice Age, trying to appear educated, which he might truly be. She didn’t know. She should know. He’d done his singular best to engage her in conversation since his arrival. He’d brought chocolates and had obviously taken great care with his appearance. He wanted her attention, something Stepan had made very clear he did not. It had been two days since the incident in the carriage and Stepan wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, much the same way he’d wanted to pretend their kiss in Dimitri’s sitting room hadn’t happened.

  Just as he had at Dimitri’s, Stepan now chose to make himself absent except for this visit from the captain. He’d been gone each morning when she went downstairs for breakfast and he came home long after dinner each evening. She shouldn’t be surprised. This was what Stepan had always done. Only now, he was glowering at the captain as if he could stare the man out of the room. That decided it. If Stepan wanted him to go, she definitely wanted the captain to stay. She’d been wanting a little society, a little excitement, and here Captain Denning was, wanting to give all of that to her.

  ‘Have you seen the rest of the house, Captain? It’s quite magnificent. I would be glad to give you a tour,’ she offered when the captain had finished his exposition on chalk cliffs. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a tic start in Stepan’s cheek. Well, tic away. If he was going to pretend their hot kisses in a carriage hadn’t happened, she would, too. She must flirt where she was wanted.

  ‘A tour would be lovely—starting with the veranda. That view looks breathtaking.’ The captain smiled and rose, offering his arm. He made no attempt to invite Stepan and neither did she. The captain held the door open for her and she felt the weight of Stepan’s surly stare as she stepped through. It served him right. If he was going to ignore her, she would ignore him.

  Only it was much harder to do in practice than it was in theory. By the time they’d finished the tour and the captain reluctantly took his leave, having run out of reasons to stay, Anna had to admit that simply leaving the room had not been enough to banish Stepan. He’d remained a fixture in her thoughts throughout the tour. She might have been justified in her decision to desert him,
but Stepan would be angry and she would have to pay.

  She didn’t have to wait. The front door was barely closed when Stepan laid down his edict through gritted teeth. ‘I don’t want that man in this house again. Stay away from him. Is that clear?’

  Anna whirled to face him. ‘I didn’t invite him.’

  ‘You’re encouraging him. He’ll want to come back,’ Stepan growled.

  ‘I was polite. I did not encourage him.’ Her temper flared.

  ‘The hell you didn’t. You offered him a tour of the house.’

  ‘That is a perfectly fine substitute for strolling the gardens when the weather is inclement. In case you haven’t noticed, spring hasn’t exactly arrived. I could hardly show him the roses that aren’t in bloom. The wind off the veranda nearly blew us away as it was. But we couldn’t remain in the drawing room with you looking daggers at him.’ She paused and regrouped. She’d done nothing wrong. She didn’t need to defend herself. She ought to be the one asking the questions. ‘Why don’t you like Captain Denning? You hardly know him.’

  ‘It’s none of your business, Anna-Maria. I just don’t want him here and I don’t want him around you.’

  She crossed her arms. ‘You can’t have it both ways, Stepan. You can’t kiss me senseless one night and then treat me like a little girl the next. It’s not fair to me. I’ve been sheltered and protected too long. I am done with that, unless you give me a very good reason not to be.’

  A storm lit Stepan’s eyes, turning them a dusky quicksilver. ‘This is not about kisses, Anna-Maria.’

  She borrowed his words, her own voice low and provocative as she gave a sultry drawl. ‘The hell it isn’t. You’ve kissed me twice now and run away both times.’ Anna met his gaze with a challenging stare of her own. ‘Are you afraid of me, Stepan? Are you afraid of how I make you feel? Because I’m afraid of how you make me feel: hot and cold, warm at my core, yet my body shivers when you touch me, it begs for more. No one has ever affected me like that. I didn’t know people could affect each other that way.’ She was out on a limb now, feeling fully exposed, but she wanted to expose him, too, and maybe the best way to draw him out was to draw herself out, as well. Maybe, if he could see he wasn’t alone in the confusion of these new and surprising feelings, he would relent.