Seduced by the Prince's Kiss

by Bronwyn Scott

  But Stepan did not relent. ‘What you feel is nothing more than youthful infatuation. It is entirely natural and it will fade. The other night should not have happened. We were both angry, emotions were high and we misappropriated them. You confused your emotions and I should have stopped you. I did not. I am entirely culpable for what happened next. It will not happen again. As for the captain, I ask that you believe me when I say there are things at work here far beyond your knowledge. Please do not meddle in them. Please do not challenge me on this. If you cannot abide my decisions, I will respectfully ask you to leave.’

  Dear heavens. Anna pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling sick. The entrance hall seemed to spin. She’d confessed her very soul to him—an apparently very girlish and immature soul—and he’d ignored her. She had not realised until now how improbable she’d believed such an outcome. Deep down inside, in places where the unequivocal truths of her life lived, she’d never expected such an impersonal response. Stepan, her bulwark, her constancy, had rejected her. Had anything ever hurt more?

  It was the hurt that triggered her suspicion once her stomach stopped churning. The realisation brought her up short. Stepan would never hurt her. This was an absolute truth she’d stake her life on. Viewed through that lens, had anything ever made less sense than what he’d just done? Just said?

  Gradually, reason reasserted itself and with it came one burning question. What was he hiding? More to the point, what was he protecting her from? It must be incredibly dangerous if he was willing to go to these lengths to keep her from it. He was pushing her away with ferocity. Well, she could go to lengths, too. She wouldn’t stop until she knew. And when she did know, she would see that he was protected, too. She would see to it that he wasn’t alone.

  Chapter Ten

  It was hard to protect someone who wasn’t there. It was also more difficult to learn their secrets. She couldn’t very well interrogate Stepan if he was absent for dinner. There was no sign of him later that night either when she’d finally given up and gone to bed. She’d not given up lightly. She’d spent the hours after dinner actively searching for him, but it was as if he’d simply disappeared. What worried her most was that his horse was in the stable and his carriage was in the mews where it belonged.

  Nothing was out of place except him and that created all nature of worry. Wherever he had disappeared to, he hadn’t driven or ridden there. He’d gone on foot. A hundred horrid scenarios ran through her mind as Anna-Maria made ready for bed. Seacrest was remote, as were most estates outside of town. There was nothing around but vast acreage. In Seacrest’s case that vast acreage included the cliffs and the sea.

  Stepan had been angry when he’d stormed out of the entrance hall to parts unknown. It had been daylight when he left, but darkness still fell early this time of year. Had he walked too far to get home in the daylight? Had he stumbled in the darkness and fallen? Had he twisted an ankle? Or had he stepped in a rabbit hole and done worse damage, maybe broken something?

  It was hard to imagine Stepan a victim of such menial accidents or injuries. He was sure-footed and athletic. His days in Kuban had been spent out of doors doing who-knew-what. Even back then she hadn’t really known, she’d been too young to wonder. She remembered him on the journey, though, how nimble he’d been in the mountains when the roads had narrowed to a dangerous path with cliffs on one side and nothing on the other, just a sheer drop into a ribbon of river far below. He and Nikolay had led the horses through, one after another, repeating the hazardous path time and again. Then he’d come for her.

  She’d been petrified. Her father and the others had been already safe on the other side where the path widened again. Stepan had taken her hand, looked her in the eye with that solemn silver gaze and said in his low voice, so much like the one he used right before he kissed her, ‘Anna-Maria, I need twenty steps from you, that’s all it is. Twenty steps to freedom.’ He’d tied a length of rope about her waist and the other end to his, connecting them together. ‘I will not let you fall.’ With nothing more than the certainty of his words, the confidence of his gaze and her steadfast belief that Stepan would keep her on that mountain with nothing but his own weight and the tensile strength of thick Kubanian hemp, she’d crossed the path.

  That Stepan would not mistakenly trip into a rabbit hole and be rendered helpless. So where was he? Wherever it was, he’d come back from it and departed again, this time leaving her a note propped at her plate for breakfast. There was relief and disappointment in that. He was safe. All her worry, thankfully, had been for naught. But he was still gone.

  Anna-Maria opened the note. It contained a mere two lines written in his bold hand followed by instructions. Her lips twitched. The lines weren’t even complete sentences.

  Gone to London on business. Back soon. Take Joseph, the new groom, with you if you go out.

  Business. She was sick of that word. Stepan used it to excuse a variety of absences. She wished she knew what the business was that seemed to be so all-consuming. She might like a piece of such business, something to keep her occupied day and, apparently, night.

  Anna-Maria buttered her toast in thought. The idea of ‘business’ nagged at her. What did her brother and the rest of them think would occupy her days once the waiting was over? Once she’d gone to London? Did they truly think she’d change her mind about marriage and a husband? She didn’t want that, not yet. She wanted to do something meaningful. She knew the men were involved in politics and plots up to their eyeballs despite their dedication to family and wives. Their lives hadn’t ‘ended’ with marriage. Why should it be different for her?

  Did they think she didn’t listen at the dinner table when Dimitri and her father discussed the latest contents of letters that came from Nikolay and the others? She knew Nikolay supported the Union of Salvation, that his father-in-law was attempting to foment a palace rebellion in St Petersburg. She knew that Ruslan had sheltered a woman last August in London, who claimed to be the only surviving member of the royal family after a state coup had seen the summer palace ransacked. Ruslan had gone back to Kuban to see the revolution through. That revolution had freed Anna-Maria and other women like her, entirely. No longer were the archaic marriage laws in place that required her to marry as her family and the Tsar saw fit.

  Anna-Maria chewed her toast. She was sincerely jealous of Ruslan being able to see his work come to fruition, to be able to participate in something so meaningful. She was hungry for it. There was plenty of injustice in the world. She’d seen it on her journey from Kuban, the first time she’d been anywhere other than the annual trek between the family’s palace at the lake and their extravagant home in town. It had made her acutely aware of the privilege she’d received by accident of her birth.

  To be sure, she’d had her own problems growing up: a father who couldn’t stand to look at her and the prospect of a foreign marriage that would take her far from home for ever. But she’d never wanted for anything, for shelter, for clothing, for food. And she had Dimitri. She was not alone, she was not without hope, not like the street waifs in Marseilles who had begged for even the meanest of crumbs and coins from her.

  She’d emptied her pockets to them, each of them tearing at her heart, until Stepan had stepped in, gently disengaging little grubby hands from her skirts, dispersing coins from a leather purse and sending them on their way. She would have taken them all with her. ‘And done what with them?’ Stepan had chuckled. ‘I don’t think Dimitri’s house is big enough for all of them.’ She’d merely looked up at him and replied, ‘But his heart is.’ Stepan had taken her hand and led her back to the ship with a smile. ‘And so is yours, my dear girl. Don’t worry, there will be poor orphans where we’re going, too.’

  Only there hadn’t been. Anna reached for another slice of toast. Little Westbury was a rather affluent part of Sussex and, even if it hadn’t been, it wasn’t a city which made it less attractive to those in need
of help or work. Of course, she assisted Evie with baskets for tenants and they made blankets and socks for the ladies’ charity circle at the church, but those efforts were one step removed. She never knew where her socks went or who her blankets helped.

  One thing was certain: she couldn’t sit here eating toast all day and wishing things were different. Today, she had a whole house to herself. Maybe if she looked hard enough, she’d discover what Stepan’s business was. Some might call it snooping. She preferred to call it exploring. Anna-Maria set aside her napkin and pushed back from the table, ready for her self-assigned adventure. She’d start in the office where Stepan spent most of his time, then the library, then the stables. She had a very long list by the time she settled behind the big desk in the office and opened the first drawer.

  * * *

  By the time she reached the stables, she was losing hope of uncovering anything significant. There had been many disappointments. Desk drawers had been locked or empty and she soon realised the flaw in her plan. This wasn’t Stepan’s house. Desk drawers were locked because the home’s real owner was away. Rooms were devoid of anything connected to Stepan. There were no personal items decorating tables, or books laying half-open where he might have stopped reading. She sat down heavily on a hay bale, dispirited. Her grand idea had come to naught and it was only one o’clock. Even the carriage wasn’t Stepan’s own, but the spare carriage owned by the Worth family. Stepan’s own horse had gone to London with him. Lucky horse.

  The only place left to search that might hold any personal items would be Stepan’s bedroom. A little tremor ran through her, turning her warm and warmer at the thought. Once, she might have thought nothing about poking through Stepan’s private chambers. But now, this new awareness of him intruded, reminding her it was a man’s quarters she contemplated invading—a man who had made her feel very much a woman on two separate occasions. Did all kisses make one feel like they wanted to toss caution to the wind? She had nothing to compare them to. If so, she understood more fully now why young girls were counselled against them. Kisses might encourage a girl to seek out even more foolishness.

  Goodness knew she felt encouraged to want illicit things. When Stepan kissed her, she never wanted it to stop. She wanted to kiss him back, wanted to touch him the way he touched her. She wanted to make him feel like that, too. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, letting her mind conjure up the memories of kissing Stepan. He did enjoy it while they were doing it. It was only afterwards that he got angry. He’d made a little groan in the back of his throat, a hoarse rasp of desire, or so she’d thought. But then, afterwards, he was always so cross, as if he regretted the action. Kissing left him cross and her confused. She preferred not to think about the ‘after’ part. Anna-Maria sighed and refocused her thoughts. It was far more enjoyable to think about ‘during’.

  * * *

  Anna-Maria Petrova was a beautiful woman in general, but especially in this moment. Elias Denning watched her with her head arched back against the wall, her eyes closed, long, dark lashes sweeping her porcelain cheeks. Her skin was so fine, he imagined he could see the blood running beneath it, imagined he could feel the satin of that skin beneath his fingertips. It would bruise easily. He hated to interrupt the interlude. Was she thinking about her Kubanian prince, the one she called by his first name and to whom she showed too much familiarity? Did she cry out his name in the throes of passion? Seeing her in the midst of a pleasant daydream fuelled fantasies of his own. He could make her forget Stepan Shevchenko.

  It was clear she hadn’t heard him ride up. A gentleman would announce his presence. Denning took a final look and coughed discreetly. Whisky-hued eyes flew open and a becoming blush coloured her cheeks. ‘Captain Denning! What an unlooked-for surprise.’ She rose and dusted the strands of straw from her skirts. Then her brow knit. ‘Did Stepan know you were coming?’

  ‘Did’, not ‘does’. Elias smiled. Luck was with him today. Shevchenko was not home. He had Shevchenko’s pretty woman all to himself. How unwise to leave the hen unguarded when a wolf prowled nearby. How interesting also that these two continually used each other’s first names with ease. ‘His Highness is not at home?’ He tried to look startled by the information.

  ‘No, unfortunately not. He was called away suddenly on business in London.’ She was debating what to do with him; he could see the struggle behind those whisky eyes. Another point of interest—what was she hiding or protecting? Why was she wary? Was it because of his earlier misstep at the ball? Or was it something more? Did she not want him to know the prince was gone? He would have to go carefully here and not spook his prey.

  Elias smiled, the charming smile he saved for London when there were people to influence and women to bed. ‘It’s no matter. I came to see you, actually. I enjoyed our talk yesterday and our tour. I had hoped I might reciprocate with a tour my own. I had not expected the weather to be so fine so soon, but since it is, I thought I would brave your sense of hospitality by barging in and ask you to ride with me.’ He gestured to the horses. ‘You do ride? There’s a lovely view of the coast up the headlands a few miles and I have a picnic.’ The mention of a ride and picnic brought a spark to her eye, as he’d hoped. A picnic with a handsome officer on a crisp, clear day would get many a girl’s blood up and he was confident in his charms.

  She smiled, but he divined the internal debate continued. ‘Would you give me a minute to change and to make arrangements for a groom to accompany us?’

  She’d barely spoken the words when a head popped out of a nearby stall. ‘Miss Petrova, I’ll have your horse tacked up and I’ll be ready to go when you are.’ The young groom tugged at his cap respectfully, but Denning detected a hint of distaste in the single-word acknowledgement of his presence: ‘Captain.’

  Denning smiled benevolently, hiding his ill temper. He’d bet a month’s salary the little prick of a groom had been eavesdropping. But he was too pleased at the moment to worry over it. He had his victory twofold. He had the lovely Miss Petrova to himself and he understood the grounds on which she’d conceded. Whatever she wanted to hide or protect, she’d decided it was better done by keeping him away from the house.

  ‘Take all the time you need, Miss Petrova.’ He deliberately ignored the groom. ‘I am in no hurry.’ He could afford to be generous. It would take her twenty minutes to change. No woman he knew could get into a riding habit in less. He didn’t mind. He’d use those twenty minutes to imagine her doing it. He gave her a polite bow and watched her walk towards the house with a subtle swing of her hips, a movement she was likely unaware of which made it all the more enticing. She was a beauty ripe for passion and ripe for plucking and he meant to make good use of that today.

  Shevchenko had left a fetching woman unprotected. He deserved to be punished on the principle alone even if he hadn’t been a prince. But since he was, the victory was twice as sweet. Men who hid behind titles and the luck of their birth were no better than the rest of them who’d not been born as lucky and had to earn their way in the world.

  He’d surmised early the Kubanian prince had secrets. A prince did not give up his homeland without having a reason. He wanted to know that reason. He also wanted to know why a man who could supposedly settle anywhere had chosen to settle in a borrowed house in a place like Shoreham, which wasn’t exactly a social hub. Men who sought obscurity usually had interesting motives for it. Men who sought obscurity while living with a woman who wasn’t his sister made that doubly true. If Shevchenko wouldn’t tell him those secrets, perhaps Miss Petrova would, even if she meant to keep them hidden. Not all secrets were revealed through words.

  He’d ride her across a beautiful stretch of headland, feed her delicacies from his own private stores of food, give her the full sum of his attentions and, when her guard was down and her mind was busy contemplating the heady romance of an officer’s courtship, she would tell him everything.

  Ch
apter Eleven

  A crisp wind blew across the headlands where they picnicked on a warm quilt, cheese and bread spread between them, a groom from Seacrest a discreet distance away, keeping watch. It should have been idyllic, a young woman’s placid courtship fantasy come to life: the picnic, the attractive, solicitous officer, all against the backdrop of the rugged English coastline. It was a veritable painting in the making, yet Anna could not take her ease and enjoy the outing.

  She told herself nothing untoward could possibly happen with the groom watching carefully, an escort hand-chosen by Stepan himself. But even after repeating that rationale in her mind like a mantra, Anna could not let down her guard completely. Her reticence was all Stepan’s fault. He wasn’t even here and he’d managed to ruin what would have been an enjoyable day under other circumstances. Even more impressive was the fact that Stepan had done it with just four words. ‘Stay away from him.’ He hadn’t bothered to explain why and she’d allowed those words to be enough for her to worry over being with the captain.

  ‘More cheese?’ He sliced a hunk from the wheel and passed it to her on the blade of his knife. ‘England is known for its cheese. This is Derby cheese from my home in Derbyshire, as you may have guessed from the name. Each region has a distinct flavour. This one has a port wine taste to it.’

  Anna-Maria tried it, wishing she was more aware of the cheese than the blade it came on. She made the requisite compliment. ‘It’s delicious. Are you a dairyman at heart, Captain?’ She tried for a congenial laugh. She had to relax. It wasn’t fair to judge the man without cause. He’d gone to a good amount of work to arrange all of this.