Seduced By The Prince’s Kiss
Seduced By The Prince’s Kiss
Bronwyn Scott
Adventure awaits!And it starts with his kiss…Part of Russian Royals of Kuban: Princess Anna-Maria Petrova has known stoic, upstanding Prince Stepan Shevchenko all her life. Or at least she thought she knew him. Because he’s never before looked at her the way he does now, when they're alone together on the West Sussex coast. As if one kiss will unleash all the adventure, passion and pleasure she craves… Does she dare to discover if it’s true…?
Adventure awaits!
And it starts with his kiss...
Part of Russian Royals of Kuban: princess Anna-Maria Petrova has known stoic, upstanding Prince Stepan Shevchenko all her life. Or at least she thought she knew him. Because he’s never before looked at her the way he does now, alone together on the West Sussex coast. As if one kiss will unleash all the adventure, passion, pleasure she craves... Does she dare to discover if it’s true?
Russian Royals of Kuban miniseries
Book 1—Compromised by the Prince’s Touch
Book 2—Innocent in the Prince’s Bed
Book 3—Awakened by the Prince’s Passion
Book 4—Seduced by the Prince’s Kiss
“Scott delivers an absorbing tale with an uncommon hero, bold heroine, elements of foreign intrigue, treachery and passion. The witty byplay between the characters and their tension-filled battle of wills fuels the readers’ desire to turn the pages.”
—RT Book Reviews on Compromised by the Prince’s Touch
“Readers will be captivated by this highly romantic, fairy-tale style story, with its strong heroine and dashing hero. It’s the perfect read that will sweep you away with its fun and uplifting take.”
—RT Book Reviews on Innocent in the Prince’s Bed
BRONWYN SCOTT is a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United States, and the proud mother of three wonderful children—one boy and two girls. When she’s not teaching or writing she enjoys playing the piano, travelling—especially to Florence, Italy—and studying history and foreign languages. Readers can stay in touch on Bronwyn’s website, bronwynnscott.com (http://www.bronwynnscott.com), or at her blog, bronwynswriting.blogspot.com (http://www.bronwynswriting.blogspot.com). She loves to hear from readers.
Also by Bronwyn Scott (#u78262283-3cad-593d-b96d-920cfd1defa6)
Scandal at the Christmas Ball
Wallflowers to Wives miniseries
Unbuttoning the Innocent Miss
Awakening the Shy Miss
Claiming His Defiant Miss
Marrying the Rebellious Miss
Russian Royals of Kuban miniseries
Compromised by the Prince’s Touch
Innocent in the Prince’s Bed
Awakened by the Prince’s Passion
Seduced by the Prince’s Kiss
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Seduced by the Prince’s Kiss
Bronwyn Scott
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07404-9
SEDUCED BY THE PRINCE’S KISS
© 2018 Nikki Poppen
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Scott and all the adventures still to come.
Contents
Cover (#u05cf6a1c-4c24-58e7-b1fb-3e955a64fd83)
Back Cover Text (#u5fc212aa-4c4d-5b94-924d-ec465332ae34)
About the Author (#udc1c1d5f-9bbd-5737-bb3b-3ad109b28ead)
Booklist (#ubb9b8e90-9112-5661-bc3b-e513f7a78bf1)
Title Page (#u75366b8e-e6e4-5a29-a980-346c729c7765)
Copyright (#u9c937fce-a309-5d24-b5a9-48258a4d599f)
Dedication (#u14d7c413-c70e-5164-9a31-2fe063e40dba)
Chapter One (#u350d0eb7-d30b-5af5-8727-037ac851a697)
Chapter Two (#uef50124d-b0c4-50ff-abcf-98244f36e4c9)
Chapter Three (#u0dc7ea2e-46b6-5102-bc01-cf6b2c1ea8f6)
Chapter Four (#u475493d2-dac1-5301-8650-40a61a2ed1a6)
Chapter Five (#u78958249-a1b2-51df-bc42-cc25525d78dc)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u78262283-3cad-593d-b96d-920cfd1defa6)
Shoreham-by-Sea, West Sussex—March 1824
Spring had come again in all its glory: blustering winds, lashing rains and always the peculiar English dampness that conspired to keep a person indoors far beyond the body’s patience for inactivity—at least his body’s. Stepan Shevchenko braced himself against the sea winds buffeting the bluffs. He peered through the eyepiece of his spyglass, searching the empty horizon.
Nothing yet.
He collapsed the spyglass with a frown. Still, it was far better to be out here amongst the elements than inside where he’d been for months. He had little tolerance for the indoors. He craved constant exercise, constant adventure, despite his efforts to tame himself to the more sedate rhythms of an Englishman’s life.
Two springs now he’d spent in Britain and yet in all that time he’d proved only that one could take the man out of Kuban, but one couldn’t take Kuban out of the man. The wildness of Kuban with its mountains and rivers called to the wildness within him, something he buried deep at his most primal self, something he’d been careful to suppress. It had become a secret identity, known only to him and those who knew him best: Nikolay, Ruslan, Illarion and Dimitri. Certainly, no one in London who did business with Prince Stepan Shevchenko would guess at it. To them, he was all that was proper. A boring word for someone whom many thought a boring man.
He preferred it that way. Proper was a very good cover. So good, in fact, he could even hide the wildness from himself. Sometimes, he almost believed the façade. But on days like today, when the wind blew through his hair, and the rain soaked his face, he knew better. He was still wild at heart; always running, always raging.
The horizon shimmered, the emptiness interrupted by the appearance of sails. Stepan smiled and lifted the spyglass again. It must be her—his ship, one of them. Through the eyepiece he sought out the name on the prow; the Lady Frances, a ship well known to be sponsored by Prince Stepan Shevchenko, bringing the latest Kubanian luxuries to London: lacquered trifle boxes with carefully painted scenes of Kubanian life on their lids, delicate birch wood carvings and the ever-entertaining Matryoshka dolls. A sense of tentative gratification rippled through him at the sight of the ship, followed by a clench of anticipation deep in his stomach. He moved his glass to take in the space behind the Lady Frances but the remainder of the horizon was empty.
Wait for it, he counselled himself. Impatience often bred unnecessary worry. He should not be concerned. Not yet. It was a good sign the Lady Frances was here. There was a satisfactory profit in her cargo once the duties were paid and a satisfaction of another sort, the sort that came from surrounding oneself with reminders of home. If he could not go to Kuban, he could bring Kuban to London. It was a type of cure for an odd homesickness for a place he’d not expected to miss, a place that didn’t hold good memories, but haunted him none the less now that he could never go back. But a man did not get rich, not like he had, on importing knick-knacks to decorate ladies’ parlours. No, the Lady Frances wasn’t the real prize. She was merely the decoy.
His anticipation growing, Stepan focused on the empty space left in the Lady Frances’s wake. Wait for it...wait for it...five minutes went by. Then ten. There was movement. His adventurer’s heart leapt. The thrill never got old. Slowly, a second ship came into view. It was here! The Razboynik held the true profit—casks of undiluted vodka straight from Ekaterinador and duty-free, thanks to his ingenuity and specially engineered barrels. Without the vodka there was no profit in it otherwise. No adventure, either, and no cause that justified the risk. For him there must be all three. Stepan reached into his pocket, trading his spyglass for a mirror and flashed a brief signal out across the water. That single flash meant: ‘All is safe, come in from the sea.’
Stepan heard his horse nicker from his picket and felt a presence behind him. He smiled without turning, knowing full well who it would be, his land-crew chief, Joseph Raleigh. ‘I swear, Joe, you can smell a ship a mile out to sea.’ He chuckled as Joseph came up beside him. Stepan passed the young man the spyglass.
‘It’s a beaut, milord.’ Joseph grinned, peering through the eyepiece. ‘What I can smell is profit. The boys are rarin’ to go.’
By ‘boys’, Joseph meant the crew that would gather to unload the Razboynik, all of them adolescents ranging from fourteen to seventeen, all of them orphans figuratively or literally. Growing up, Stepan had been both. Some were from London, gathered up during his visits, others were from the area. There were those in society who, if they knew, might condemn him for employing ‘children’ in illegal work. But these were boys who’d seen hardship, who lived with it every day, boys who’d been reduced to doing far worse than diluting vodka in caves before he’d found them. At their age, these boys needed guidance and help, but they also needed their pride. They wouldn’t take charity.
He knew, he’d been their age and in their situation before, never mind that he’d been raised in a palace and they’d been raised on the streets. Context didn’t prevent one from being lost and rudderless. Like them, he’d been headed towards a life of shiftlessness before he’d been found, a boy not interested in school, only in running wild in the great outdoors. A balanced life needed both freedom and structure. Stepan would pay forward the favour Dimitri had done him if he could. One didn’t need to be poor to need direction. The pitfalls of being an orphan were no respecters of station.
As for the smuggling—well, everyone did it. There wasn’t anyone in Shoreham who wasn’t connected to ‘free trading’ in some way, either as merchants or consumers or employees. That made it a fairly safe ‘industry’. Folks were less likely to turn in their friends and their own suppliers of goods they couldn’t afford by other means. There were the politics of it, too—this was a way to stand up to an unfair government that taxed goods beyond legitimacy. It was a way to stand up to greed, to a system sustained by standing on the backs of those who could least afford to support the weight, while the system ignored those in the most need: widows, children, orphans, broken men home from war and farmers who could no longer afford to farm. To Stepan, smuggling was protest. When the system changed, he would change.
Joseph shut the spyglass and handed it back. ‘Shall we go down, milord?’
Stepan pulled a pouch of coins from his pocket. ‘Make sure everyone who works tonight gets their share. I’ll see you later.’ He would ride down in a moment to meet the Lady Frances at the docks. While he was respectfully and publicly paying the duties on her cargo, the Razboynik would put in unnoticed to the quiet cove below the bluffs. Joseph Raleigh and the land crew would stow the vodka and small packets of spices in the caves. Then, they would spend the week preparing the vodka for transport from Shoreham to London, where Stepan had managed to make Kubanian food, drink and artefacts the latest rage. The women wanted their knick-knacks, the men wanted their vodka.
It was a good arrangement, one that had increased his fortune and satisfied his need for adventure. The arrangement was neat, but not too neat. There was, after all, a margin for risk. Multiple aspects of his ‘business’ could be discovered at any time. The caves where he stored his treasure were not his own. They belonged to the estate of Preston Worth, whose wife, Beatrice, was a friend of Dimitri’s wife. Worth and his family were not always in residence. The man’s work took them to London a good part of the year as it did now and, when it did not, Worth was a civil prevention officer intent on ridding the coast of smugglers while one roosted in his very own nest. The irony of it appealed to Stepan nearly as much as the risk.
Preston wasn’t the only threat. There was always the potential the coastguard would discover his illicit little enterprise. Little or large wouldn’t matter to the King’s men. The penalty for smuggling was still the same: hanging or, if one was lucky, transportation.
Not that Stepan worried about either overmuch. If anything, the penalty for discovery challenged him to be more creative. A good smuggler these days couldn’t rely on simply outrunning the British as one might have done in the past. In the modern era, a good smuggler had to outsmart the soldiers. Thankfully, Stepan was very smart. His new casks with their secret compartments were proof of that. Even if the Razboynik had been stopped, he doubted the excise men would have found anything of concern.
Stepan turned from the bluff and strode to where his horse waited. They would ride to the docks and then the hour back to Little Westbury and the hospitality of Dimitri Petrovich. He didn’t mind the long day in the saddle or even the rain. He had plenty to occupy his thoughts. He was already planning his next delivery. That ship was due next month and would require more thought than this one. The Razboynik was a practice run of sorts to try out the decoy and the new casks. The other ship, the Skorost, carried an enormous vodka cargo along with more spices and precious Russian saffron. The stakes were infinitely higher. Planning excursions kept his mind busy. It was better to think about how to land contraband than to think about other, less feasible things, like the unattainable Anna-Maria Petrova, Dimitri’s vivacious sister.
There was nothing but disappointment and heartbreak down that road. If anything were to come of his fantasies in that direction, transportation and hanging would be the least of his worries. Dimitri would have him drawn and quartered, and that would be after Dimitri had him castrated. He’d always admired Dimitri’s tenacity when it came to protecting his family. Stepan just never wanted that tenacity turned in his direction. He valued Dimitri’s friendship too much, and well, to be frank, he valued certain parts of his anatomy, as well.
Stepan smiled ruefully and swung astride his horse. He had smuggling to soothe his agitated soul. It gave him purpose and a cause. It kept him out of the house a good part of the day and out of Anna-Maria’s energetic orbit. For the sake of all parties concerned, he’d concluded long ago that Anna-Maria was a passion best indulged at a distance.
* * *
She saw him coming the moment he turned down the long drive towards the house. Hmmm. Where had he been this time? Anna-Maria stood carefully to the side of her gauzy white bedroom curtains where no one could see her and pondered her question. She’d made something of a study of Stepan in the long winter months he’d been with them in Little Westbury. It had begun as a way to pass the time until spring, until she could go to London and make her debut. She was nineteen and by rights she should have gone to London last year, but she’d been too new to British shores in her brother’s opinion. This year, she could hardly wait. Finally, her life could begin. Anything would be more exciting than the country.
But until she could go to London, her brother’s friend made an interesting enough subject. There was an air of mystery to his absences. He left mid-morning and returned late each evening just in time for dinner. Anna had entertained the notion of trying to rise with him in the mornings, but the earlier she rose, the earlier he rose, until he was leaving well before his usual mid-morning departures. She’d experimented with that variable for a week before she gave up trying to pace him.
She watched Stepan ride up the drive, so straight in the saddle, his hands and legs moving imperceptibly to guide the big horse. Stepan’s riding was refined. He might not be a cavalry officer like Nikolay, but he rode just as well. She’d grown up watching him ride. Stepan, like the others, had always been in her life, just as her brother had. If her brother acted more like a father to her, his friends acted more like uncles. Nikolay, Illarion and Ruslan were the friendly sort of uncles. Affection came easy to them. They’d been the ones to pull her braids, to tease her, to tickle her and make her laugh. Stepan was more reserved, hardly ever indulging in horseplay even when she was younger. When she was growing up, Dimitri had explained in terms a six-year-old could understand that Stepan didn’t know how to be part of a family. They had to teach him.
If so, Stepan still didn’t know. He’d grown more reserved the last few years, more distant, not only emotionally, but now physically. He and the others had spent most of last year in London at her brother’s town house. She’d missed all of them. Together, they’d been her family, but she’d missed Stepan most. Regardless of how stoic he was, she’d grown used to his presence. He was always there, a fixture she could count on, less mercurial than Illarion, more even-tempered than Nikolay. She’d been excited when Dimitri had told her Stepan was coming for the winter. She thought she’d have Stepan all to herself for nearly four months! But when he’d arrived, he’d been more aloof than ever and had spent many of his days like this one—gone.
The realisation steeped the sense of mystery. What or who drew the stoic Stepan out into the cold and the rain? Below her on the drive, Stepan dismounted and gave the reins to her brother’s groom. Anna smiled. That was her cue. She would greet him and ferret out his secrets; maybe she would even coax a smile from him. Out of all her brother’s friends, Stepan smiled the least and worried the most.
Stepan stood in the entrance hall, unwrapping a muffler as she sailed down the stairs, all air and light teasing. ‘Where have you been? Who have you seen?’
Stepan looked up. She’d startled him. ‘Are you my mother now?’ It was not an unkindly chiding, but it was still chiding. There was no mistaking that he was scolding her.
‘Someone needs to be if you’re going to be out all day and come home soaking wet.’ She took hold of his muffler and finished unwrapping it. ‘Shall I call for a bath?’ She shook out the wet wool, droplets splattering the hardwood floor. Stepan peeled off his greatcoat, making it clear he didn’t want any help. ‘Where’s Tate? Shouldn’t this be the butler’s job, Anna-Maria?’
‘I beat him to it, and it’s Anna, as I’ve told you before,’ she reprimanded him with a smile that she knew made the most of the dimple to the right of her mouth. The few boys in Kuban she’d been allowed to meet had thought her smile was her best quality. She hoped the young gentlemen in London would, too.
Stepan didn’t. Perhaps he didn’t even notice it. ‘Your name is Anna-Maria and has been since the day you were born.’
Anna shrugged and gave a toss of her dark curls. ‘I prefer Anna, it sounds more English.’
He noticed that. His dark eyebrows winged upward at her reasoning. ‘Why ever would you want to be more English?’
She put her hands on her hips and faced him squarely. ‘Perhaps for the same reason you cut your hair.’ In Kuban, he’d worn his hair longer like Nikolay and Illarion. They had kept theirs, but Stepan had cut his immediately upon arrival. It had now grown to the point where he could pull it back as he did today.
‘What would that reason be?’ Stepan’s grey eyes narrowed. He did not like being challenged or forced to reveal anything private.
‘To fit in, of course,’ she answered honestly. Then she grinned. ‘And because it’s more exciting. Anna-Maria is a nun’s name. Anna is more sophisticated.’ She pronounced it with a short A—Ahnnah. It sounded foreign, but not too foreign, she thought.
Stepan gave her censorious look. ‘Being more exciting is hardly what your brother wishes for you.’
She made a face. She knew that all too well. Dimitri, well meaning as he was, would keep her hidden in the country for ever if he had his way.
Stepan made to move past her to the stairs, his wet greatcoat draped over one arm. ‘If you will excuse me, I will go and clean up before supper.’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ She stepped in front of him, her skirts brushing his leg. ‘You’re not going upstairs until I have a smile from you.’ Did she imagine he stepped back? She pressed forward again, her hands playfully gripping the lapels of his jacket. ‘I’ve decided, you must pay a toll,’ she teased.
Stepan’s jaw tightened. ‘What might that be?’
She tried another smile. ‘You must answer my question.’
‘And if I don’t answer?’
‘Then I get to guess.’
‘Very well, you may guess. Quickly, though, I don’t want to catch a chill. A few minutes ago you were concerned about that.’ He was impatient in his barely restrained intolerance.
Anna forged on. She wasn’t oblivious. He was dismissing her, swatting her out of the way as if she were no more than an irritating fly. The sentiment sat poorly with her. She wanted to shock him into paying attention to her, to prove she wasn’t an annoying fly. She said the most outrageous thing she could think of. ‘Were you with your mistress?’
His grey eyes went flinty, his expression stern with reprimand as he removed her hands from his lapels. ‘That is hardly a ladylike guess,’ he scolded.
‘I know you all had them in Kuban. I’m not a child,’ she protested.
‘I know,’ Stepan growled. There was something dangerous in his tone as he made to move around her, but she was entrenched now. This had become about more than goading a smile from him. She would have his acknowledgment and she would have it now. Determined, she countered his move, blocking him at the foot of the stairs.
‘You have to answer. Am I right?’ she challenged, although a piece of her didn’t want to be right.
‘Where I was is none of your business and you’re wrong. I never agreed to answering. That was your rule alone.’ He moved again. This time she let him pass. She wasn’t in a mood to play any more. Anna watched his departing back march up the stairs, shoulders as straight and as unyielding as ever. Her mind worked over its own answer. Did Stepan have a mistress? The others had taken lovers by the scores in Kuban. Their affairs had been legendary. She’d used to overhear them talking with Dimitri late at night when she was supposed to be tucked up in bed, safely out of earshot. None of them would have dared to mention anything of that nature to her directly. But Stepan? If he’d had a mistress, he’d kept it very quiet.
She preferred not having abject proof of such a liaison. Stepan was hers, had always been hers in a way the others had not. Any one of them would have fought for her, but it had been Stepan who had come for her the night they escaped. It had been Stepan who had taken her up before him on his big horse and wrapped his cloak and his arm about her and galloped off into the darkness. She had not been afraid. There was never a need to be afraid when Stepan was with her. He was her constant fixture, always there.
Anna wandered into the library. Not much had changed since Kuban in that regard. Stepan was with her still. The others had married and gone their own ways; Nikolay was in London with his riding school, Illarion and Dove still away on their never-ending honeymoon travels, and Ruslan was who-knew-where. She suspected Stepan knew, though. He was their unofficial adahop, their leader. He knew everything. She stared absently at the fire, her thoughts focused inward. It had not bothered her to lose the others. She’d been happy for them, she’d been swept up in their romances and their weddings. Her dashing ‘uncles’ deserved true love in the new lives they’d fashioned for themselves. But in all fairness, she didn’t feel that charitable towards Stepan. She’d never thought about losing him that way, that one day he’d find someone.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want Stepan to marry and have a family of his own, it was simply that she’d never thought of him doing it, of leaving her. Perhaps he already had. Who did he see in London when he wasn’t here with them? How did he spend his days? His nights? Did a pretty Englishwoman already hold his heart and his attentions? Anna wished she had not spoken those hasty words out loud on the stairs. They’d conjured up a host of new, unsettling thoughts and she couldn’t stop thinking about their implication: one day Stepan would leave her.
Chapter Two (#u78262283-3cad-593d-b96d-920cfd1defa6)
He should leave. It was the one thought Stepan returned to time and again over the excellent roast beef supper that night. He could rent a house of his own—perhaps he could even contact Preston Worth about renting his house with the caves beneath it in Shoreham. Wouldn’t that be convenient, to smuggle vodka from a prevention officer’s own home? The risk-taker in him rather liked the idea. But then, he’d be dining alone and these suppers at Dimitri’s would disappear.
Stepan took another swallow of the wine, an exquisite, full-bodied burgundy, and surveyed the table. These were occasions he loved to hate or was it hated to love? Each night Dimitri and his wife, Evie, served a piece of paradise; warmth and security presented in a delicious, hot meal and comfortable conversation with local guests. Every aspect of the meal was a reminder of what his life would lack without Dimitri. This was not a scene he could replicate on his own. He had no family other than the one Dimitri had adopted him into two decades and one year ago. Ever since he was ten, he’d basked in the borrowed light of Dimitri’s familial glow. To walk away from that was no small thing, but neither was his sanity.
Tonight, dining with the Squire’s family was no exception. Perhaps he even felt that glow more keenly given the direction of his thoughts. While there was a price for leaving, there was also a price for staying: watching Anna-Maria dazzle the table every night, constantly bracing himself for her sudden appearances like the one in the entrance hall today, a feminine ambush of smiles and silk coming down the stairs or popping into a room at any time, conjuring up reasons to spend hours a day away from the house, knowing that Anna-Maria was oblivious to all of it.
Stepan filled his glass again. Why shouldn’t she be oblivious? He was twelve years her senior. He’d known her since she was born. He’d seen her skin her knees. He’d seen her cry when her ‘pet’ frog of one day escaped from his jar. He’d even seen her as a stubborn six-year-old stamp her foot in a temper when Dimitri had refused to spoil her with a porcelain doll. He was privy to the best and the worst of her. He was like a brother to her, or perhaps an uncle just as Nikolay and the others were. Why should she even be aware of how he looked at her now?
Across the table, Anna-Maria was teasing the Squire’s son. Tonight, she shone in a gown of cerulean blue, a simple crystal heart about her neck and her dark hair piled up high—something Evie was letting her practise this winter before going to London. The poor boy smiled and blushed, unable to take his eyes from the radiant creature talking to him and yet not knowing what to do with her.
Oh, mal’chik, Stepan thought, you are in over your head. I have been with the most sophisticated women of the Kubanian court and I am barely afloat. She is captivating, vivacious, passionate in her tempers... She is dangerous and she doesn’t even know it.
As she had been today on the steps, her hands twisted into the lapels of his jacket, her body so close to his that he could feel the heat of her, the light brush of her breasts against him.
Anna-Maria might look upon him as an uncle or brother, but no uncle or brother would ever entertain such thoughts. Stepan took a long swallow of wine, which was getting better with each glass. His awareness of her shamed him. It made a hypocrite of him. He’d always thought of himself as forward-thinking. He’d been one of the first to protest the repressive and archaic laws in Kuban that compelled girls into arranged marriages at young ages without providing them a voice or a choice in the matter. He’d seen girls as young as fifteen wed to men in their fifties. He did reason with himself that this was hardly the same. At thirty-one, he was in his prime like many well-born Englishmen who waited until their thirties to marry and took brides ten to twelve years their junior. But that didn’t make the situation more palatable to Stepan. He knew the general reasoning behind it: the younger the better when it came to producing the next heir and moulding an unformed mind. He refused to assess a woman’s value in the same way he would a brood mare.
Even with these arguments, he hated himself for the attraction. He could not say when his feelings had changed, when he’d become aware of her in the way a man is aware of a woman he desires. He was doubly careful with her now, with Evie and Dimitri, too. What would they think if they knew? Dimitri wanted more for Anna-Maria than an exiled prince.
The Squire reached for the carafe at Dimitri’s informal table—no hovering footmen here. Everyone served themselves. ‘The wine is excellent, Petrovich. Wherever do you get it?’
Dimitri smiled and nodded towards Stepan. ‘Stepan has a connection, a French vintner by the name of Archambeault who ships to him.’
Monsieur Archambeault was otherwise known as Ruslan Pisarev, former Kubanian revolutionary, now a happily married, soon-to-be owner of a small but profitable winery in Burgundy. Dimitri’s eyes met his at the mention of their friend. Ruslan did not want to be found by the world, at least not by his real name. It was one of their secrets, one of the many things that had bound them together over the years. Stepan loved Dimitri as a brother. Dimitri had given him a family when he’d had none, sharing his own father with him, and hope when he’d had even less. Dimitri had given him a reason to seek out the freedom he claimed to want. Without Dimitri, all those things might have remained dreams only.
In return, he’d given Dimitri unquestioning loyalty, ushering the Petrovich family to safety in England and leaving behind the only life he knew—a life full of privilege but lacking in affection. Dimitri had given him so much. He could not repay his friend by coveting his sister, especially when he knew how much Dimitri had given up in the raising of her.
In theory, Stepan wanted all the best for her, too. At a distance, he could embrace the knowledge she was in London having a Season without having to experience it in person. He wouldn’t have to witness her flirting with London’s young beaux the way he had to watch her charm the Squire’s son tonight. He wouldn’t have to watch her dance in the arms of gentlemen with titles more legitimate than the honorific he bore. Yes, it would be best to leave. He wondered if he’d find the discipline to do it. After all, he’d simply be exchanging one type of hell for another, the only difference being that one hell held Anna-Maria in it and the other did not. It was hard to say which one was worse. Perhaps hell didn’t have varying degrees, only varying interpretations.
* * *
There was brandy after the meal and the requisite half hour of polite conversation with the ladies after that while Anna-Maria played the pianoforte. All in all, it was a very satisfactory country evening, the sort that usually filled him with a soft contentment, a domestic denouement of sorts to the adventure of his days. But tonight, Stepan had little to contribute and he was glad to see the Squire’s family go. Anna-Maria shut the door behind them shortly after ten, with a laughing farewell to the Squire’s son and a promise to go riding as soon as the mud cleared. She turned, a beaming smile on her face, her dark eyes dancing with mirth.
‘Be careful with him,’ Stepan said sternly, too sternly. Part of him, the jealous part, wanted to wipe that smile off her face. ‘You will overwhelm him with your boldness.’
‘My boldness?’ Anna-Maria challenged, turning the force of her smile on him. ‘What are you suggesting, Stepan?’ Indeed, what was he suggesting? That she was too easy with her favours? It was hardly what he intended.
‘Nothing, only that he is young and inexperienced.’
‘And I am, too,’ Anna-Maria retorted. ‘Much to my regret.’ She shot a look at her brother. ‘I can’t even go out riding without an escort.’
‘The country is a big place, Anna,’ Dimitri answered wearily. This was an ongoing argument. Dimitri’s gaze met his sister’s in a timeless sibling staredown.
Evie intervened, linking an arm through the younger woman’s. ‘Anna, come and help me check on the baby one last time for the night.’
Stepan followed Dimitri’s gaze up the stairs, watching the two women. Despite his exasperation with his sister, a soft smile played on Dimitri’s face. How many times had that smile been followed by the words, ‘there goes everything I love’?
Not tonight, however. Dimitri sighed. ‘The sooner she gets to London, the better. Perhaps I should have sent her last year even though she’d only just arrived.’
Stepan shook his head, unwilling to let his friend second-guess himself. ‘No, she needed time to adjust, we all did.’
‘I just want her to make intelligent decisions. She’s so vivacious that I worry...’ Dimitri let another sigh communicate all the things he worried about: Anna-Maria running off with the first man who showed her any adventure, Anna-Maria falling in love with the first man to kiss her. Dimitri shrugged as if he could shake off the weight of that worry and fixed his attention on Stepan. ‘You, my friend, were distracted tonight. Is the winter getting to you, too? The walls closing in? Just two months left and it will be better. We can go up to London. The change of scenery will have us appreciating Little Westbury within weeks.’ Dimitri chuckled.
‘Actually,’ Stepan said, ‘I was thinking about not going up to town with you at all. I was thinking I’d stay here, perhaps rent out Preston Worth’s house at Shoreham for a few months.’
Dimitri looked surprised and disappointed. ‘You’d miss Anna’s debut. I am sure she’s counting on you for a few waltzes.’
‘She’ll be surrounded by so many young men, she won’t need me to dance attendance on her.’ He smiled over the pain the realisation caused him. Like the others, she would be launched into a new life. He would be left completely behind.
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ Dimitri argued with a laugh. He clamped a hand on Stepan’s shoulder in fraternal camaraderie. ‘She’ll be surrounded by young fools like herself, champing at the bit for a taste of freedom in the big city. I was counting on you to be the voice of wisdom, to help her keep her head and navigate society with decorum.’
He’d only thought the country was torture. London would be a whole other level of private agony. Hell was proving to be a complicated place. ‘We’ll see,’ Stepan said neutrally. He started up the stairs, but Dimitri wasn’t done talking yet.
‘How’s business? I heard the Lady Frances came in today. I hope there wasn’t trouble?’ Dimitri was still fishing for the reason behind his distraction.
Stepan shook his head. ‘Everything was fine, just a lot of paperwork. Seems like there’s more every time.’
Dimitri gave a snort. ‘In this part of the world, people ignore the paperwork and smuggle it all in.’ He grinned at Stepan. ‘Maybe you should try it some time.’
Stepan gave a non-committal laugh. ‘Maybe.’ West Sussex was a known haven for smugglers with its access to London roads. One could hardly live here and not be aware of smuggling. But Dimitri had no idea how close to home his remark had hit. ‘I’m not sure how Preston Worth would feel about a smuggler renting out his house.’
Dimitri shrugged at the supposed conflict of ethics. ‘It would make winters in the country more interesting.’
Oh, it does, Stepan thought and continued up the stairs before the conversation went any further. Did Dimitri know? Was this his way of feeling out the subject? Stepan had tried very hard to keep the smuggling operation secret. If he was discovered, he alone would bear the consequences. He wanted none of his friends incriminated or used as leverage.
In his room, Stepan undressed and stretched out on the bed, planning his day. Tomorrow, he’d leave early and spend the day overseeing the unloading of the LadyFrances’s cargo at the harbour in Shoreham. Then, on the way home, he’d stop by the caves and see how the spirit distillation was getting on. That should keep him busy and out of the house and away from Anna-Maria until well after supper.
Chapter Three (#u78262283-3cad-593d-b96d-920cfd1defa6)
Ledgers and lading papers might keep him out of the house, but they were not the most entertaining. Stepan pushed back from his desk at the dock warehouse and strode to the window, the room’s one amenity. Below him, the pier was bustling, his men sweating in the cold air as they hauled trunks of cargo from the hold to the warehouse where it would wait for wagons to take it to London. He’d been at the ledgers for hours now. He flexed his cramped hand. His body was begging for physical activity. Perhaps he’d go down and help with the hauling. That would give his muscles something to do.
He’d just decided it when there was a soft, hesitant knock on his door. ‘Come!’ Stepan answered, watching the dark head of his clerk peer around the corner, still hesitant. Oliver Abernathy was a slim, timid young man, one of his rescued boys from London with a good head for numbers.
‘There are gentlemen to see you, milord.’
Stepan glanced at the appointment diary lying open on his desk. ‘They do not have an appointment.’ Not that they needed one with Abernathy letting everyone who stopped by interrupt his work. The boy might be good with numbers, but he was a terrible gatekeeper.
‘One is a military officer, milord,’ Abernathy offered in protest as if being an officer came with the privilege to arrive unannounced.
There seemed no getting around it. By now, the gentlemen would have concluded he was indeed in. ‘Very well, send them in.’ Stepan surveyed the austere office. ‘On second thought, I will come out.’ He took a last wistful look out of the window. He would not be hauling cargo today. He straightened his coat and went to take care of business.
‘Gentlemen! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?’ Stepan strode out of the office, all smiles and bonhomie, taking each man’s hand in turn with a firm grip. The one man in the blue coat of his station, Stepan knew: Carlton Turner, the customs officer. The other, dressed in a red coat, he did not. ‘I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, Captain, is it?’ Stepan said, taking in the man’s uniform and noting the gorget. He noted other things, too, like the tight lines about the man’s mouth, giving it a harsh quality that matched the dark eyes. This was not a kind man. Was the harshness simply from the rigors of military life or something else, deeper? Darker?
‘Your Highness, may I introduce you to Captain Denning? Captain Denning, this is Prince Shevchenko, lately of Kuban. That’s his ship you’ve been admiring this morning.’ Turner made the necessary introductions. ‘Your Highness, the captain has been assigned to Shoreham on business and I wanted him to meet some of the key importers he’ll need to work with.’
Stepan did not miss Turner’s deft positioning of the conversation and was immediately on alert. He didn’t mind Carlton Turner. Turner was a stuffy man, always a stickler for protocol, but reasonable beneath the fussiness. Stepan knew how to deal with him. As long as things were shipshape on the surface, Turner didn’t bother to probe deeper. But the man had been around a while; he knew the limitations of his authority. Captain Denning didn’t give the first impression of sharing that understanding.
‘I find business goes well with venison pie and ale this time of day,’ Stepan offered with a gesture towards the door. ‘May I invite you both to dine with me? It’s just past noon and I’m famished. The tavern up the street isn’t fancy, but the owner’s wife is a good cook.’ If circumstances were throwing him together with this Captain Denning, he needed to know more about this newcomer and decide if the captain posed a threat.
Food meant small talk and a chance to size one another up. Stepan kept the captain talking through the flaky venison pie. The man was from Derbyshire in the East Midlands, the younger son of a baron. He’d served against Napoleon in his late teens. But those were just facts. Context was everything and Turner was providing it.
Turner joined the conversation, clapping Denning on the shoulder. ‘He was relentless, keeping his troops on the field and holding ground against all odds in Spain.’ Turner’s tone suggested the comment was meant as an accolade, but the sharp glint in his eye when he met Stepan’s gaze suggested the remark was meant as more. A caution, perhaps? Until he knew otherwise, Stepan would take it as one. This was a man to whom the goal was all, the price of attaining the goal negligible.
Denning was ambitious and desperately so. Military work was slow these days with no war to fight. Consequently, advancement was, too. There was little opportunity to prove oneself, yet Denning held on to his commission when others had given up and sold out. Here was a tenacious, canny man who would stop at nothing to achieve his goal.
Stepan could have dealt with that. He understood officers, his friend Nikolay having been one in Kuban. But that was not the sum of Denning. The captain was more than determined. He was also cold. His determination sprang from ruthlessness, not relentlessness as Turner had couched it. The difference was there at the corners of his eyes where faint, early lines fanned out; there were lines, too, at the grooves at the sides of his mouth. This was an exacting man who drove those around him as hard as he drove himself. Perhaps an admirable quality in an officer on the battlefield, but a dangerous quality, as well.
Another round of ale came and the plates were cleared. ‘Tell me how I can be of service to you, Captain.’ Stepan gave permission for the conversation to move towards business now that they’d eaten.
‘A complement of my men and I will be staying at the barracks on New Barn Lane in order to investigate reports of smuggling and act accordingly should anything be found.’ Denning sat back on the bench, leaning against the wall with satisfaction. ‘I hope you and the other upstanding importers in the area will join with us.’ He gave a cold smile. ‘It’s hardly fair that you pay a legitimate tax on your goods when others do not. Everyone should be accountable to the same rules and I am here to enforce that accountability.’
Except when those taxes are unnecessarily high, Stepan thought.
What wasn’t fair was the government placing high taxes on goods and making trade in them prohibitive to all but a small wealthy class who could afford the fees. That wasn’t free trade in his mind. Trade, the right to do business and make a livelihood should be open to all, not just the prosperous. Outwardly, Stepan gave a cordial smile. There would be time enough to alienate the captain, he thought wryly. ‘Enforce? That sounds like a very menacing word.’ He’d lived under a Tsar who’d also used that word, to his detriment. That Tsar was now dead, shot on the front lawn of his palace by his constituents.
‘Of course, compliance would be preferred,’ Turner broke in. ‘If you were to hear of anything, we’d want to know.’
Stepan gave a neutral smile, aware the captain was watching him. ‘I’ll help in any way I am able.’ It was not entirely untrue. He would just not be very able.
Then the captain fired his real salvo. ‘Good. If you see or hear of anything I should be aware of, send word to the barracks. I understand Shoreham is a popular landing point because of its access to the London roads. We will be redoubling land patrols, which I think is the best way to catch any activity, and we’ll continue to co-ordinate with the navy to patrol the coastline from the water. With luck, we’ll have the rotters cleared out by May.’ Enforce indeed. The captain was only a step away from martial law.
‘Best of luck with that, Captain,’ Stepan replied in all honesty. ‘Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I have ledgers calling my name.’ He made the polite noises of leaving and maintained a sense of affability until he was back in his office. Only then did he let his thoughts run over all he’d learned. The captain had an unenviable task, not only for himself, but for the town, as well. Shoreham would not respond positively to the captain’s methods.
Smuggling in Shoreham had existed for centuries. It was unlikely the captain was going to curb it in a couple months. But Derbyshire, further inland, wasn’t known for its smuggling routes. What did a land man like Denning know about the culture of smuggling? To root out the ‘rotters’, as Denning put it, would require rooting out whole villages. But that didn’t mean Denning’s efforts could be disregarded. When Stepan met with Joseph Raleigh tonight at the caves, they had some planning to do along with their distilling. If Denning was going to impart information about his troop’s movements, Stepan was certainly going to make good use of it. It was going to be a late night.
* * *
What in the world kept a man out this late when he’d already spent the entire day at the docks? The question haunted Anna-Maria with increasing intensity as the hours after supper dragged by. She’d tried to prompt some insight out of her brother as the family had relaxed by the fire, but if Dimitri knew anything, he was close-mouthed about it. Her father had merely glanced up from the newspapers after her third attempt and fixed her with a censorious stare. ‘A man’s business is his own. A woman respects his privacy,’ he said in that scolding tone Anna-Maria knew too well. The man had spent his life reprimanding her when he bothered to notice her at all.
Evie had softened the harsh words with a smile. ‘Don’t worry about Stepan, my dear. He knows his way home and so does his horse.’
Anna didn’t bother to correct Evie’s assumption, although it did make her feel a bit guilty. Truth be told, she was not as worried over Stepan’s lateness as she was curious about the reason for it. If the others shared concern or curiosity about Stepan’s prolonged absence tonight, they didn’t show it. They gave up the vigil at half past nine, leaving Anna-Maria with her book.
* * *
It was well after eleven when Anna heard Stepan’s horse in the drive. Hurriedly, she sat and picked up the book she’d laid aside an hour ago in favour of pacing the front parlour. Pacing kept her awake. If she read, she might fall asleep and miss his return, miss her chance to badger him about his whereabouts. And he would win. She would not give him the satisfaction of outlasting her.
Anna selected a random page in the middle of the text and pretended to read. This had become a competition when he hadn’t come home for supper and Evie had held the meal for him, proof that she and Dimitri had not known he’d be so late despite their lack of concern over it. Anna gave her skirts a final fluff as footfalls sounded in the hall. She counted in her head: one, two, three steps until he’d pass the doorway to the sitting room. On cue, Anna lifted her head with slow surprise as if she was only just now aware of his presence. She managed a polite smile. ‘Oh, you’re home.’
Stepan leaned against the door frame, looking somewhat less stoic than usual. His hair was damp and tousled from night-riding, his greatcoat undone, and his eyes were...softer...instead of their usual hard granite. Tonight, they were like quicksilver moonbeams. ‘You waited up for me, Anna-Maria.’ He smiled. He never smiled unless provoked to it. And he smelled faintly of alcohol.
That’s when she knew. ‘Stepan Shevchenko, you’re foxed!’ Anna rose in chagrin. She’d waited up for him and he’d been out drinking and who knew what else!
‘I wouldn’t say “foxed” exactly, Anna-Maria. More like “a trifle disguised”, as our friends the English would say,’ He gave her a wide grin. ‘I’ve been drinking with the customs officer and his friend, Captain Denning. You should see the shape I left them in.’
‘Well, they didn’t have an hour’s ride in the dark,’ Anna chided. But she was secretly mollified. He’d spent the day at Shoreham, doing paperwork regarding his shipment of Kubanian knick-knacks and drinking with customs officers. Still, it didn’t explain where he went every day. ‘I suppose this means you’ll be at home tomorrow, then,’ Anna said with sweet nonchalance. Ships didn’t come in all the time and neither did paperwork. Surely he’d taken care of all those administrative loose ends today with the hours he’d put in.
‘Oh, no.’ Stepan pushed off the door frame. His body language said he was heading upstairs. Leaving her. ‘I’ve got to arrange for the cargo to go to the London shops and the private buyers. I’ll be busy for days yet. You’ll be lucky to see me at dinner.’
Something inside her deflated. Dinner was more exciting when Stepan was there to talk politics with her brother and father. It diverted her father’s attention away from her. ‘Men have all the fun.’ She pouted. ‘I’m bored, too, you know. I’d like to get out of the house for hours.’ An idea struck and she brightened. ‘Take me with you. I have a fair hand. I can record items for you and I love seeing all the pretty things that come in.’
Stepan shook his head. ‘The docks are no place for a young lady. Dimitri and your father would never allow it, especially with your debut coming up so soon. Besides, you can look at the pretty things right here at home.’ He reached inside his coat pocket and brought out a brown paper–wrapped package.
She took the package with delight. For a moment, she forgot to be mad at him. ‘For me?’ She unwrapped it and lifted out the small trifle box with its carefully painted lid. It was done in ice blues and lavenders, depicting a snowy Russian lake scene. She smiled. ‘It reminds me of the lake at our winter home.’ She seldom thought of Kuban fondly. Her life there had been...mixed, not all of it pleasant. There were plenty of bad memories to go with the good. But most of the good memories centred on the Petrovich winter estate. She put the box down on a side table and looked up at Stepan. He was so very tall up close. ‘Do you remember the ice-skating parties? How we would drink hot chocolate from the samovar on the lake bank? The deer that would come down to the edge of the ice?’ In her enthusiasm, she reached for Stepan’s hands and drew him out to the centre of the room with her. ‘Do you remember how you used to spin me?’
She was twirling now, taking him with her in her whirlwind of a circle. ‘We’d lean outwards and throw our heads to the sky as we spun!’ Anna laughed, tossing her head back.
‘Hush, Anna! You’ll wake the house,’ Stepan scolded, tugging at his hands. She let go, her smile fading.
‘You used to be more fun, Stepan. At least slightly. I wouldn’t go as far as to say you’ve ever been a load of fun.’ She could scold, too.
‘We all used to be a lot of things.’ Stepan bent his dark head in a stern, deferential nod, part reprimand, part apology. ‘I beg your pardon. It was not my intention to ruin your fun. Goodnight, Anna-Maria.’ He squared his shoulders and walked past her, out of the room.
Anna stomped her foot on the carpet where no one could hear. She hated when she did that, when she drove him off in her stubbornness because she had to have the last word. She spied the box and snatched it up. ‘Stepan,’ she called softly, stopping him on the stairs. She waited until he turned and she had his full attention. ‘Thank you for the gift, it’s lovely. I’m sorry.’ She wanted to say more. She was sorry for running him off, for always challenging him. ‘I don’t know why I do it,’ she lied. She knew. She did it to needle him, to jar him out of his stoic reserve in hopes of seeing what lay beneath all of that, although why it should matter so much to her, she didn’t know.
Stepan nodded. ‘It’s nothing more than winter megrims, Anna-Maria. We’ve all been indoors too long.’
Not you, she wanted to argue, but she caught herself in time. Arguing would get her nothing. ‘You’re sure I can’t come with you tomorrow? Father and Dimitri won’t mind if they know you’re there to protect me.’ She didn’t think that was entirely true, but Stepan could persuade them if he wanted to.
That was the problem. He didn’t want to. He all but ignored her request, his voice quiet and strict as he continued up the stairs. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea, Anna-Maria.’ So much for getting him out of his stoic reserve.
Anna crossed her arms. Fine. She’d come up with a better idea, anyway. He hadn’t said she couldn’t come, just that she couldn’t go with him. He’d said nothing about following along behind. A plan took shape. It would be easy enough to do. Evie and Dimitri were taking the baby over to Claire and Jonathon Lashley’s for a day of visiting. Her father was going along, too. They would leave in the morning. She’d have the day to herself. It would be the perfect opportunity for a little unsupervised adventure.
* * *
At least it would have been, if Stepan was actually where he’d said he’d be, Anna reflected sourly late the next morning. She was damp and cold after a rather soggy ride to the Shoreham docks, only to discover Stepan was not there. No one, apparently, had seen him yet and no one was expecting to. She stood in the shipping offices, shaking droplets from her wool riding habit and feeling foolish while she gathered her thoughts. She needed a contingency. She was reluctant to simply turn around and go home. She didn’t relish the thought of another hour of riding in the drizzle, but neither could she simply go on standing in the middle of the offices while Stepan’s clerk pitied her, his thoughts written plainly on his homely face about the sort of woman who came to the docks alone. It was embarrassing, really.
Anna was regretting her inability to follow Stepan directly. She’d not been able to leave when he’d left—which had been at sun-up. But she’d thought nothing of it at the time. He was going to the docks. She could simply follow later after Evie and Dimitri had left. But now, she had no idea where he was. She looked about the little waiting room. There wasn’t much, just a stove, a chair, the counter where the clerk worked, guarding the door to Stepan’s private office, and a loudly ticking wall clock. She flashed the clerk a smile. ‘I’ll wait a bit, if you don’t mind?’ It wasn’t really a question. She pulled the chair towards the stove. She could warm up and, with luck, Stepan would come striding through the door at any moment.
The heat felt good as she ran through possible explanations as to why Stepan wasn’t here yet even though he’d had a three-hour head start. Perhaps he’d had a delivery to make? Perhaps it was nothing so benign. Perhaps his horse had thrown a shoe and he was holed up at a smithy somewhere along the road. Even worse, maybe he’d gone home and even now was sitting comfortably in front of the fire, warm and dry. There was some irony in that, while she was cold and cross and still faced an hour’s ride home. Or perhaps he’d not told her the truth last night. He’d never intended to come to the docks today. The latter was seeming more likely as the minutes ticked by.
* * *
When she’d been there the better part of an hour, she had to admit he wasn’t coming. It did pique her curiosity, though. If he wasn’t here, where had he gone and why couldn’t he tell her about it?
She rose and the clerk eyed her from his ledgers with wary suspicion.
‘Could you possibly check his schedule diary? Perhaps I could meet him at whatever appointment he has?’ Anna asked sweetly, dazzling him with a smile that made the poor clerk blush.
He cleared his throat. ‘Mister Shevchenko is a private man, miss. I do not keep his calendar for him.’ There was a polite reprimand for her nosiness.
Would tears work? Anna wondered. They used to work a charm on Dimitri. They’d never worked on her father. ‘It’s just that I’ve ridden so far,’ she dissembled, looking down at her hands. ‘I would hate to turn back without seeing him.’
‘Oh, now, miss, don’t cry!’ The clerk sounded genuinely horrified. ‘Perhaps I could take a peep at his calendar, after all.’ He bustled away and returned shortly, wringing his hands. Bad news, then, Anna thought. ‘I am sorry, miss, there are no appointments in his diary today. As I said before, we are not expecting him.’
No appointments he wanted any record of, at any rate. Now she really did have to leave, there was no point in delaying. A glance out the window affirmed the drizzle had stopped. If she was lucky, the ride home would only be cold, but she had plenty to think about. Stepan had a secret. Was it a secret lover as she’d rashly guessed? Or something else? A little smile played on her lips as she walked back to her horse. Whatever Stepan was hiding, he didn’t want anyone knowing about it. Except that now, someone did know and that someone was her. For once, she had some leverage on him.
Chapter Four (#u78262283-3cad-593d-b96d-920cfd1defa6)
‘You lied.’
Stepan stopped in his tired, muddy tracks, the words cutting through the preoccupation of his thoughts. A lamp flared to life in the front parlour revealing Anna-Maria bent over the flame as she replaced the glass chimney, affirmation that he had not escaped. When he’d ridden up, the house had been dark and he’d known a moment’s relief. He wouldn’t have to face her, wouldn’t have to disappoint her, wouldn’t have to be tempted by her. Last night had been rather disastrous, in that regard. On top of the ale he’d drunk at lunch with the officers there had been the vodka sampling he’d done in caves when he’d visited the boys, all of which had induced him to sentimentality. He’d given her that silly box. Her eyes had gone soft and his body had gone hard.
‘What, per se, have I lied about?’ It was late, later than it had been last night. She should be abed, yet if he was honest there’d been disappointment mixed with his relief when he’d seen the dark house. A perverse part of him liked sparring with her. It was all he could have of her, this rather odd guilty pleasure.
She came towards him. ‘You lied about where you were today.’ She paused, letting her eyes rake his appearance. ‘You were not at the shipping office. In fact, Mr Abernathy informed me you had never planned to be there today. Your appointment diary was empty.’ She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes blazing with grim satisfaction. She was waiting for his rebuttal. More than that, she was waiting for his explanation.
But she’d left herself open to a rather healthy counter-offensive. Stepan arched his eyebrow. ‘You went into Shoreham alone after I warned you about the docks last night?’ There was so much to be appalled with he wasn’t sure where to start. Did he start with the fact she’d ‘followed’ him when that could have exposed the entire operation? Or that she’d taken such a risk in travelling alone? That Abernathy had gone into his office and looked in his diary? He’d thought his young clerk was above reproach. ‘What did you bribe Abernathy with to sneak into my office?’ Stepan asked. ‘I’ll have to have words with him, perhaps dock his pay so that he learns his lesson.’
‘No!’ Anna cried. ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ she begged.
‘Oh? What exactly compelled him to look in his employer’s diary?’ Abernathy knew better. ‘You didn’t offer him money, did you?’ Stepan hoped not. If Abernathy could be bribed, it boded ill for the whole scheme. He would have to let the young man go.
A vice tightened in his chest. Please don’t let it have been for money. He didn’t want to believe he couldn’t take the street out of the boys.
‘No.’ Anna-Maria shook her head. ‘I have no money, you know that.’ He heard the resentment in her voice. Money meant freedom. He knew it better than anyone. ‘I just...’ She looked away from his stern gaze.
‘You just what?’ Stepan pressed, the vice in his chest easing a bit. He’d still have to talk to Abernathy about this breach, especially with Captain Denning in town. They couldn’t afford traitors, even small ones.
‘I smiled at him a bit. When that didn’t work, I sat in the waiting room for an hour hoping you’d come in.’ Anna-Maria bit her lip and gave a relenting sigh. ‘Then I got impatient. I might have used tears,’ she admitted with a quick rejoinder, ‘but it’s your fault. I never would have needed to do it if you’d been there in the first place. You told me you were doing accounts.’ She was tenacious in her anger. Heaven help a husband if he ever ran afoul of her.
At least it had taken Abernathy an hour to succumb. That did say something about the boy’s resolution. ‘Since when do I answer to you, miss, about my whereabouts?’
She gave him a long look that swept him from head to toe and lingered on his boots. ‘Since you can’t admit where you’ve been and come home with wet sand on your boots.’ Her gaze caught his. ‘That’s not the mud of Little Westbury.’ She stepped close to him, too close. He could smell the scents of lemon and lavender on her and she could smell him. She reached up on her tiptoes and sniffed near his ear. ‘Wind and salt, Stepan? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d been to the seashore.’
She cocked her head, her sharp mind assimilating the information. ‘You were in Shoreham today, just not at the office,’ she accused with an authority that rivalled a barrister, ‘which leads me to conclude you were indeed with a woman.’ Anna-Maria gave a toss of her head. ‘You’re having an affair.’
‘It is not your business, Anna-Maria,’ Stepan warned. Did the minx not know when to stop? No gently bred young girl called out an older man on his private affairs. No gently bred girl was supposed to know about such things and, if she did, she was to pretend she did not. But Anna-Maria was all dark-haired defiance as she stood with her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing. He’d have liked to scold her and say defiance did not become her, but it did. She was magnificent in her accusations and he was a powder keg primed to explode after three and a half months under the same roof with her. A woman could not provoke a man thusly without consequences.
He stalked her, encroaching on her space as she did his, making her aware of him with every step, of his height, of the piercing intensity of his gaze. There would be gentlemen in London who would make her aware of much more if she wasn’t careful.
Anna-Maria took a step backwards, her eyes glinting, but wary now. Good. She should be wary. A man aroused was a dangerous creature. Her back was to the wall and she could retreat no further. Stepan rested an arm above her head, his gaze intent on her face. ‘This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To jar me out of what you call my complacency? To break my stoic reserve?’ His eyes lingered on her mouth, ‘Well, now you’ve done it, my sweet girl, and there is a price to pay for waking the sleeping dog.’ Anna-Maria’s gaze dropped. ‘Are you prepared to pay it?’ He would be toyed with no longer.
He captured her mouth in a hard kiss meant to demonstrate his point, but Anna-Maria wasn’t ready to admit defeat. Her mouth moved beneath his, opening in answer to his press. Her body moved against his. He intensified the kiss, his hand at her neck, keeping her close, as he claimed deep access to her mouth, his tongue testing and tasting her. What a heady elixir it was to drink of her naïve boldness, the innocent curiosity waking in his arms.
He had not expected it to go this far. He’d expected her to be frightened long before his body roused, but her curiosity was fast outpacing his ability to keep his body in check. Soon, the masculine hardness of his response would be in evidence. Perhaps it would be for the best that she encounter all the consequences of her behaviour. This was not a harmless game she played. She gave a sudden gasp. The moment he felt her hesitate, he stopped. He pulled back from their embrace, creating much-needed space between them.
Her eyes were wild and questioning, her hair had come down from its pins and her lips were puffy. She looked precisely like what she was: a beautiful woman halfway seduced. If Dimitri were to walk in at this moment there would be no explanation other than the truth: that he’d kissed Anna-Maria up against the sitting-room wall. Never mind he’d felt prompted to do so after months of provocation or that he’d done it out of some misguided notion of teaching her the finer points of dealing with gentlemen. Stepan didn’t think those arguments would go far with Dimitri.
Anna-Maria smoothed her hands over her skirt. He gave her time to gather her shaken composure. That was his second mistake. The first had been giving in to her game. He saw that now. Whatever advantage he might have gained in his ambush was lost when she raised her head and met his gaze. ‘Why did you do that? What did you think to prove?’
He should have pressed his advantage when he’d had the chance. ‘You’ve been flirting with me.’ He waved a hand when she tried to protest. ‘Admit it, Anna-Maria, you’ve been cutting your teeth on me all winter and why not?’ Stepan growled. ‘There’s very little appropriate male society to practise on in these parts.’ He was rewarded with a slight flush creeping up her cheeks. The little minx didn’t like being caught out. ‘Be warned, Anna-Maria, I am no green ham-handed boy like the Squire’s son, willing to be led about by the nose because a pretty girl smiled my way. Neither am I a dissipated gentleman with finer clothes than manners who would not have stopped this evening.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Is this your way of saying I should be thanking you for the experience?’ She was far too saucy for a girl who’d just been delivered her comeuppance.
‘It’s my way of alerting you to the lesson that desire is power—a sword to be wielded, a currency that can be bartered by any man or woman. Be careful, Anna-Maria, you are a beautiful woman and a susceptible one. You are not fully aware of the weapon you possess in your face alone.’ To say nothing of her body, of the passion that coursed through her.
Stepan’s hands fisted at his sides. He was deuced uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation. This was why young girls needed their mothers. Mothers were supposed to teach those lessons, not nominal uncles. Least of all him. What did he know of family? Of mothers and daughters and preparation for marriage? He knew nothing even of fathers and sons. His own father had decided he wasn’t worth raising well before he’d reached adulthood.
Anna-Maria gave him a wry smile. ‘I think there might be a compliment in there somewhere for me. I will pretend there is. I will pretend you called me beautiful and that my beauty wasn’t an insult or a plague to be protected against as my father suggests.’ She laughed harshly. ‘Would you prefer it if I went around veiled so that I would not be a Jezebel enticing men to their doom?’
‘I was being honest.’ Which, apparently, he couldn’t be without having his words come back to haunt him. He’d not meant to imply she was to blame for a lack of male self-control. Nor had he meant to align himself with the cruel opinions of her father. He owed the old man a debt of gratitude. The man had been nothing but gracious to him, treating him as a second son, yet Stepan could not condone the way the man treated his daughter. He’d had the nagging suspicion over the years that if Anna had been born male her mother’s death would have been forgiven.
‘I thought we’d left such old-fashioned nonsense behind us in Kuban,’ Anna-Maria argued. ‘I thought you believed a woman should have the same freedoms in society a man had?’
‘I do,’ Stepan protested.
‘Unless that woman is me?’ She pierced him with a stare. He knew impending defeat when he heard it. He wasn’t going to win this.
‘You should talk to Evie about these things.’ He stepped back, looking to retreat the field.
‘Evie doesn’t know about “these things”,’ Anna-Maria snapped. ‘How could she? She has two parents who raised her. She’s lived the entirety of her life in Little Westbury surrounded by safety and love. Her parents saw to it, her friends saw to it and now my brother sees to it. Their child will grow up with the same.’
‘Lower your voice,’ Stepan cautioned. ‘You’ll wake the house.’ The warning was inadequate and frankly a non sequitur. He chose not to address the wistful envy behind her words. It was an envy he knew well. How many times had he held Dimitri’s infant son and thought the same? Dimitri’s boy would grow up never knowing a lack of affection, never doubting his worth, his acceptance.
Anna-Maria did not heed his request. She was angry now and she was exacting revenge for his madness over the kiss. ‘Evie is not like us. She knows nothing of being raised without parents, without a family, of being looked upon as an inconvenient nuisance by one’s own father.’
‘You had Dimitri,’ Stepan reminded her. He would not tolerate his friend being maligned. At twelve, Dimitri had taken on the responsibility of caring for a newborn and he’d never laid down that burden. Nor did he like the reminder of those painful similarities between them.
‘But for the single variable of my brother, both of us would have been entirely alone,’ Anna-Maria said sharply. ‘Why won’t you admit that we’re more alike than the others? That we’re both lost souls, surrounded by people who have found theirs.’
‘You are not lost, Anna-Maria,’ Stepan countered argumentatively even as the words caught him by surprise. Was that how she saw herself? He’d not once thought the vivacious Anna-Maria, the beloved centre of her brother’s life, a girl who had everything, felt lost. The very image of Anna-Maria being lost cut at him. He and the others had joined Dimitri in that fight years ago to protect Anna-Maria from the cruelties of their world, from the hurt of a father who did not acknowledge her existence because her life had stolen the life of the woman he loved. For her to feel lost implied their efforts had been for naught, that the fight had been lost along with her—a fight for which Stepan had fought harder than the others because he knew first-hand what awaited her if they were not victorious. He had a twelve-year head start on her. He already knew what it was to grow up empty, passed from nanny to nanny, tutor to tutor, valet to valet, growing up with the trappings of wealth and physical security, but not real security—the security of knowing one had love and a family and a place where one would always belong.
‘Don’t be a selfish bore, Stepan. You’re not the only one who gets to be lost.’ Anna-Maria huffed and pushed past him. ‘It’s late and I’m going to bed. You can stay down here and wallow in your “lostness” or whatever else it is you spend your time doing.’
He wanted to shout after her that if he was staying up it was her fault. He’d planned to come home and seek his own bed, but she’d been lying in wait, baiting him. His honour would not allow her to bear all the blame for his detour. A real gentleman accepted his own complicity in such things. He was as much to blame for his own wakefulness as she was. He’d been fighting the urge to kiss her for weeks. Tonight had supplied an exigence and an excuse for his behaviour. Now, that kiss would always be between them.
Stepan helped himself to brandy in a decanter at the sideboard and poked the fire Anna-Maria had forgotten to bank. He took a chair and rested his boots on the fender of the fireplace. Tonight’s incident and yesterday’s meeting with Captain Denning were further proof he needed to move out. Leasing Preston Worth’s home in Shoreham was looking like a better option by the minute. He’d sent a message to London two days ago after he’d mentioned the idea to Dimitri. With luck, he might hear back tomorrow. Distance wouldn’t erase the kiss, but distance could mitigate it.
Stepan sighed and took a long swallow. Even brandy couldn’t sweeten the taste of regret. He should not have done it. He’d kissed his best friend’s sister! What the hell was wrong with him? Yet in those moments, she’d not been Dimitri’s sister, but a woman of her own identity and free will. She’d kissed him back with a wildness that matched his own. Perhaps that was the real source of his guilt. He ought to fully regret what he’d done and he didn’t. There. He admitted it. He did not entirely regret it.
With any other woman, he’d be asking himself the question of what next? Now that they’d opened negotiations, so to speak, what was his next overture? But this was Anna-Maria. She was not one of Kuban’s sophisticated women of the court. The question of what next was moot. There was no ‘what next’ beyond moving to Seacrest, moving away from her and the temptation that there might be another kiss, that he might be tempted to create a ‘what next’ scenario. One kiss could change everything, but only if he let it. He wouldn’t let it.
He drained his glass, his conscience mocking him.
You could kiss her a thousand times and it wouldn’t change a thing. You have nothing to offer her. She is love and light. What do you know of those things? She’ll want a family once her wildness settles. How can you expect to be a better father than your own when you have nothing to go on? She’ll want you mind, body and soul until she realises how dark those places are, that you can’t be saved. Then the regret will be all hers. You can only disappoint a woman like Anna-Maria—a woman who wants more than your meaningless title, your ill-gotten wealth and a few nights of pleasure from a man who isn’t capable of anything more.
For all those reasons, and for other reasons like his loyalty to Dimitri, he needed to leave. Tomorrow would be nothing short of torture. It would be full of waiting, and it was unfortunately imperative he do that waiting here: waiting for the letter from Preston; waiting to hear word from Joseph Raleigh that the ankers of vodka were ready to move to London. He would do better to worry about those ankers than Anna-Maria.
Denning’s men were still arriving, still settling in. Major routes would be watched first. It was too bad Denning couldn’t have waited another month to establish his diligence. Stepan would have preferred the Skorost coming in without the coastguard and the army on alert, but at least it would give him something to think about. Tomorrow, he could keep his mind busy planning how to handle his ship’s arrival.
* * *
The morning got off to a decent start. He’d been able to bury himself in Dimitri’s study, but Evie had other plans for his afternoon. After lunch, she cornered him into partnering Anna-Maria for dancing lessons in the front parlour, saying simply, ‘you’re the best at the waltz.’ Now, all the furniture was pushed back and Evie sat ready at the pianoforte. She smiled at Stepan. ‘It will be all the rage in London. Anna needs practice.’
‘She should dance with Dimitri, then. He’s a fine waltzer,’ Stepan tried to demure, casting a raised-eyebrow plea in Dimitri’s direction where he sat on the sofa pushed against the wall and played with the baby.
Dimitri looked up with a grin, his finger caught in the baby’s tiny grip. ‘I’m busy, as you can see. Besides, I’m not sure sisters and brothers want to waltz together.’ He made a face. Anna-Maria laughed. But Stepan did not. He didn’t find the allusion to the less platonic aspects of the waltz funny in the least given what had transpired in this very room last night. It went without saying that those elements of the dance would be on his mind today.
Anna-Maria swept forward, mischief in her eye as she took his hands and tugged him to the centre of the room. ‘Of course he’ll do it. Stepan thinks lessons are very important, don’t you, Stepan?’ Her eyes flashed, agate and sharp. She was still exacting revenge for last night. She put her hand at his shoulder and held her other one up. ‘Now, where does this hand go, exactly?’
Stepan made a low growl and grabbed her hand. ‘In mine, like this.’ She moved close against him and he readjusted her away from his body, flashing her a dangerous stare. ‘There must be space between us or the matrons at Almack’s will never give you vouchers. Remember, when you waltz, more than your dress and your dancing ability are on display. Your morals are on display, as well.’ He sounded like a prig. He liked to waltz, loved the feeling of flying. But he could not afford such a luxury with Anna-Maria in his arms. It would tempt him too far.
She pouted. ‘What’s the fun in that, then? I thought the waltz was supposed to be scandalous. You make it sound like a nun’s dance.’ Stepan threw another look at Dimitri, hoping his friend might have changed his mind about helping. Dimitri only shrugged and jostled the baby, tapping his toe as Evie began to play.
The fates were toying with him. This was what he deserved for last night: an afternoon in hell, waltzing Anna-Maria and her pointed remarks around the front parlour as his best friend watched, oblivious to his agony. It would have been better if Anna-Maria had been a horrid dancer, if she’d stepped on his toes or tripped on her hem. It would have been better still if holding her in the dance didn’t trigger memories of holding her last night, if every time he passed the wall, he didn’t think of what they’d done there. Last night might very well have ruined this room for him for ever. Anna-Maria’s secret smile every time they sailed past said she knew it, too.
Salvation came in the form of Tate bearing the post far too late into the afternoon to make a difference. The damage of dancing was done. Anna-Maria was looking flushed with victory as they came to a whirling halt. ‘A note for you, milord,’ He passed the salver to Dimitri and then to him. ‘And one for you as well, milord Stepan.’
Stepan broke it open—it was from London. He scanned it quickly, a smile taking his face.
Anna-Maria was on tiptoes looking over his shoulder. He shifted the paper away while Dimitri scolded, ‘Anna! Let the poor man have his privacy.’
‘Why? It’s clearly good news,’ Anna-Maria teased with a smile directed at Stepan.
‘It is good news.’ Stepan announced to them all, ‘Preston Worth has written. I am able to lease his house in Shoreham until August. Effective immediately.’
‘August!’ Anna-Maria cried in disbelief. ‘You don’t even need a house for that long. You have to be in London for my debut.’
‘I am afraid business will keep me from the Season this year,’ Stepan said truthfully. With Captain Denning in town, he could hardly leave the boys unchaperoned and unprotected.
Anna-Maria looked at him, stormy eyes condemning his decision. He felt like a cad. His relief was coming at her expense. ‘Come now, my dear, there will be hundreds of young men to dance with you. I will not be missed, you’ll see.’ He glanced out the window, gauging the remnants of daylight. There was an hour or two left. He could make Shoreham before too much darkness had settled in if he left soon.
‘No, I won’t hear of it.’ Evie left her spot at the pianoforte, guessing at his plans before he spoke them. ‘You are not leaving tonight. We will have a farewell dinner and you can set out in the morning. It’s only fair to the servants at Seacrest who likely just got word of your coming today. They need time to put their best foot forward. They can’t have a prince descending on them without notice.’
Evie was right, of course. It wasn’t fair. Stepan relented. He’d endured this long; he could endure one more night. He smiled at Evie. ‘One last night of your hospitality, then, before I am out from underfoot and you can get your lives back to normal. No doubt I’ve overstayed my welcome.’
Evie stood on tiptoe to reach his cheek with an affectionate kiss. ‘Never, Stepan. All of Dimitri’s friends are welcome here for as long as they like.’ But not all of Dimitri’s friends were infatuated with his sister. Stepan suspected that would change his welcome drastically if Dimitri knew.
Chapter Five (#u78262283-3cad-593d-b96d-920cfd1defa6)
Anna-Maria poked at her peas, pushing them around the plate. The first day after Stepan left had been bad. Things had gone downhill since then. The house was too quiet. There were no sudden openings of the front door due to an unannounced return from parts unknown, no chance of catching sight of him riding down the drive, so straight, so irritatingly perfect, no energising spats to look forward to. Worst of all, there were no bone-jarring kisses. She’d done nothing but think about that kiss since he’d ridden out. It had been wild and arousing in ways unlooked for and it had been her first. Did he realise that? Had that played a part in how quickly he’d departed? Had his leaving been her fault? Had she pushed him to it as certainly as she was pushing her peas now?
A fork clattered against china from across the table. ‘Damn it, girl, will you stop sulking and eat your dinner?’ Her father glowered. Anna-Maria gave her peas another shove just to be perverse.
‘You’ll hardly catch a husband with manners like that.’ Her father huffed. ‘You’ll shame us all in London.’
‘I don’t want to catch a husband, not right away at any rate.’ Anna-Maria tossed her head and slid a defiant glance in Dimitri’s direction. ‘I want to dance until dawn and drink champagne. I want to live a little bit. Besides, who cares if I push my peas around tonight, there’s no one to see, there’s no entertainment for miles. I’ve been stuck out in the middle of nowhere...’ She bit her lip as Evie looked down at her plate. She’d gone too far with her remark. Little Westbury was Evie’s home, her parents were here, her friends and her husband’s work. Evie had never made her feel anything but welcome.
Her father pointed his spoon at her. ‘You are an ungrateful wretch,’ he said, ‘all the sacrifices that have been made for you—’
‘Father, that’s enough,’ Dimitri broke in, soft-voiced but stern with the authority of the head of the household. Always, he had been the peacemaker. No wonder he and Evie were so well suited. Evie was a peacemaker, too. Not like her. Sometimes, Anna-Maria thought she required drama to make life interesting. Not for the first time, she wished she were a little more like her brother who thrived in the seclusion of country life.
‘I am sorry, Evie. I didn’t mean...’ Anna-Maria apologised.
Evie dismissed her efforts with a polite shake of her head. ‘No offence taken. You are young and vivacious, it’s only natural you’d want to surround yourself with activity.’ Evie glanced at Dimitri. ‘We could all use an outing. Why don’t we plan something? Maybe a day with Liam and May before they go back to town?’
Anna-Maria liked May, she was one of Evie’s more scandalous friends, having had a mad affair with her husband before they married. May had, in fact, been younger than Anna was now when it had occurred. But, a day spent talking about babies wasn’t exactly the sort of outing Anna had in mind. She wet her lips, a plan forming. ‘Why don’t we go to Shoreham and see how Stepan is settling in?’ Anna looked over at Evie. ‘We could take him some of Cook’s bread and the lemon biscuits he likes so much and we could advise him on the house. He doesn’t have anyone to help him run such a large place. The servants will run roughshod over him,’ she argued shamelessly. There was nothing Evie liked as much as rectifying a domestic crisis.
‘I don’t know.’ Dimitri seemed dubious. ‘It’s a long way for the baby,’
‘It’s only an hour, maybe two, by carriage, but your carriage is equipped with every luxury,’ Anna argued. ‘We’ll all take turns holding the baby and he’ll sleep most of the way.’
‘That settles it.’ Evie decided the issue with a smile at Dimitri. ‘We’ll go and see how Stepan is getting on.’ She rose. ‘Anna and I will go and talk about what to take with us, while you two enjoy your after-dinner port.’ She beamed at her father-in-law as if he hadn’t tried to disrupt her dinner with a fight.
‘You are too generous with him,’ Anna chided once they were alone in the sitting room. Evie had the baby at her feet and her ever-present needlework in her hands—the perfect picture of domestic bliss.
‘Nonsense. He is a broken man. He has suffered much in his lifetime and he deserves our consolation.’ Evie flashed her a brief smile as she threaded her needle. ‘As do you, my dear. He has suffered, but how he treats you is inexcusable. Dimitri and I are both aware of it.’
‘I killed the woman he loved.’ Anna-Maria shrugged as if the fact meant nothing to her. She should be immune to it by now. After nineteen years of hearing the story, of being reminded her mother died giving birth to her, it shouldn’t affect her.
‘You were a baby. You had no control over that.’ Evie bit off the thread and gave her a considering glance. ‘You’re missing Stepan.’
‘As we all are.’ Anna fussed with her own stitching, a simple handkerchief. The house seemed empty without him. Even being absent so much, he’d managed to stamp the house with his presence. His coat was gone from where it usually hung on the hooks by the front door. Dimitri’s boots looked forlorn where they stood alone without Stepan’s beside them. Anna had slipped into his room, thinking it would help her loneliness. It hadn’t. The room he’d occupied looked positively sterile now that he’d gone, the bedcovers pristine and unwrinkled, the bureau uncluttered by personal effects. It was as if he’d never been there at all.
Evie gave her a sharp look when she was too silent too long. ‘Are you certain this trip to Shoreham is only about helping him set up house?’
Anna’s hand stilled. Evie went on. ‘I watched you waltzing with him the other day.’ Anna froze completely. The other day. The day after the kiss. What had Evie divined? What was there to see? That somehow, at some time, her relationship to Stepan had taken on an edge that she could hardly define? ‘Are you sure your request doesn’t have anything to do with the New Barn barracks being full again?’ She gave Anna a conspiratorial wink. ‘Dimitri tells me a Captain Denning has come to Shoreham with a company of men to catch smugglers. There will be assemblies and plenty of men to dance with while the countryside waits for spring.’ Evie cocked her head. ‘Perhaps they would be more interesting to practise on than the Squire’s son before London? Consider it a trial run.’
Anna smiled in relief and grabbed at Evie’s line of reasoning. ‘The garrison does have its own appeal.’ It wasn’t the only appeal, however, but she could hardly give voice to those other reasons. She could hardly explain them to herself, not when so much suddenly lay unresolved between her and Stepan. With a single kiss, the world had upended itself. She only knew that she wanted to be near Stepan, whether he needed her or not. Where that need had sprung from she wasn’t sure. The kiss had done more than jar him out of his complacency. It had somehow jarred her out of hers—a complacency that had been content to study him through windowpanes and at the distance of a dinner table, a complacency that was content to needle him. Now that she’d got a response, she was no longer content in mere needling. The rock had been turned over and instead of solving the intrigue, it had merely increased it.
Evie leaned forward. ‘I’ll see if I can persuade Dimitri to let you stay on in Shoreham, to help Stepan with the house.’
Anna shook her head, pessimistically. Her hopes faded. ‘How will we ever do that? He won’t even let me go riding without a proper escort, let alone live with a man.’ It was a poor choice of words. It said far too much about how her view of Stepan had changed in the last week.
The comment earned her another sharp look from Evie. ‘But that man is Stepan. It’s not as if you’re living with a stranger. He’s practically family,’ Evie argued.
Not really family, though. One did not kiss family like that, Anna thought. Over the course of the winter, he’d gone from being a childhood fixture to a curious mystery, to being a flesh-and-blood man with deep-seated emotions he strove to hide, along with an ability to shatter one’s world with a single kiss. She should want to run from that intensity, but she found she only wanted to run towards it, to see where it led.
Evie was too deep in her plans to notice her misstep. ‘You can take Mrs Batten, our housekeeper. She has a sister in Shoreham. She’ll enjoy the chance to visit. I’m sure the Worths have their own housekeeper, so this will free up plenty of time for Mrs Batten to keep an eye on you. She’ll be able to give you household management instruction, too. I’m sure Stepan wouldn’t mind the assistance, or the company if he’s as busy as he says he’ll be.’ Evie laughed. ‘Men don’t know how much they take a hot meal for granted at the end of a long day until it’s not there for them.’
‘Of course.’ Anna nodded and gave her attention to her embroidery. She was starting to doubt her eagerness to go to Shoreham. Mrs Batten was highly capable and a moral termagant to boot. And then there was the issue of just how ‘glad’ Stepan would be to see her, especially when Evie apprised him of the plan for her to stay more permanently—hot meals at the end of the day notwithstanding.
* * *
In the end, Dimitri’s carriage went home from Shoreham one occupant short of what it had come with. Anna-Maria stood on the steps of Seacrest with Stepan waving them off, a curious loneliness rising in her stomach when the carriage was out of sight. It was silly, really. Dimitri and home were just an hour away. She could ride over whenever she liked, yet, as dusk settled, home might have been a thousand miles away. Stepan had not been glad to see them, at least not her. He’d been cold and stand-offish since their arrival. He and Dimitri had closeted themselves away, leaving her and Evie and the redoubtable Mrs Batten to their own devices. Those devices had involved meeting with the household staff—a staff far more elaborate than the five servants who helped Evie at home. They’d drawn up lists for foodstuffs and a weekly menu of meals. They’d gone over the linens and found most things to be in order. Preston’s wife ran a good house, anything that needing shoring up was due only to Stepan’s abrupt arrival.
‘Regretting your decision to stay already?’ It was the first direct comment Stepan had made to her all day. It seemed he was intent on ignoring not only the kiss, but her, too.
She shook her head. ‘No, I’m just thinking of other times I watched Dimitri drive away,’ Of the time he didn’t come back. He’d sent a letter instead informing her of his decision to give up his title, his life, and stay in England to marry the daughter of a baronet. Stepan had been with her then. Dimitri had entrusted Stepan and Ruslan with the details of their quiet departure from Kuban. Only that departure had not been so quiet. Nikolay had been arrested and Illarion would have been next. Stepan had suddenly found himself not only with one young girl and an old man to whisk off to safety, but also a gravely wounded cavalry officer and a poet wanted for libel. Stepan had never faltered no matter how difficult the duty.
Stepan sighed. ‘They all drive away one way or another.’ He must be thinking of the others: of Illarion, Ruslan and Nikolay. He missed them, she realised. He was always so strong, so stoic, it was hard to imagine he had softer feelings, as well. But she knew better now, didn’t she? Now that he’d kissed her. That kiss had exposed him to her as much as it had exposed her. He did feel, he did yearn, he did hurt. Beneath his hard shell, Stepan Shevchenko was human after all. Such a realisation should have made him less heroic to her, but in fact it did not. It only increased the mystery of him, a stark reminder of how much she didn’t know and how much there was yet to know.
Stepan gestured towards the open door. Somewhere deep inside, a servant was lighting the lamps. A warm glow beckoned through the dusk. ‘Come, Anna-Maria. Dinner will be on the table soon and we can discuss exactly what you’ve got yourself into.’
* * *
Did she understand that by extension whatever she’d got herself into she’d got him into, as well? Stepan poured himself another glass of wine, studying Anna-Maria in the candlelight of the dining table: the glossy dark waves of her hair, the fine line of her nose, the soft curve of her jaw, the stubborn point of her chin. She was a beautiful woman, empirically, a quality heightened when she smiled, putting the sensuality of her mouth on full display. She was smiling now as she motioned to his nearly untouched plate.
‘Do you not care for the venison pie?’
He’d only taken a few bites. ‘No, on the contrary, it’s quite delicious.’ It was the best meal he’d had since he’d left Dimitri’s and he knew it was thanks to Evie and Anna-Maria, who’d given Cook instructions and direction. He’d been too busy with the ships to pay attention to the house. As a result, he’d eaten cold meat and bread since he’d left Dimitri’s, or eaten at the tavern. But he wasn’t going to admit that to Anna-Maria. It would only give her justification for staying. He took a bite to pacify her. ‘Why are you really here, Anna-Maria?’
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/bronwyn-scott/seduced-by-the-prince-s-kiss/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Bronwyn Scott
Adventure awaits!And it starts with his kiss…Part of Russian Royals of Kuban: Princess Anna-Maria Petrova has known stoic, upstanding Prince Stepan Shevchenko all her life. Or at least she thought she knew him. Because he’s never before looked at her the way he does now, when they're alone together on the West Sussex coast. As if one kiss will unleash all the adventure, passion and pleasure she craves… Does she dare to discover if it’s true…?
Adventure awaits!
And it starts with his kiss...
Part of Russian Royals of Kuban: princess Anna-Maria Petrova has known stoic, upstanding Prince Stepan Shevchenko all her life. Or at least she thought she knew him. Because he’s never before looked at her the way he does now, alone together on the West Sussex coast. As if one kiss will unleash all the adventure, passion, pleasure she craves... Does she dare to discover if it’s true?
Russian Royals of Kuban miniseries
Book 1—Compromised by the Prince’s Touch
Book 2—Innocent in the Prince’s Bed
Book 3—Awakened by the Prince’s Passion
Book 4—Seduced by the Prince’s Kiss
“Scott delivers an absorbing tale with an uncommon hero, bold heroine, elements of foreign intrigue, treachery and passion. The witty byplay between the characters and their tension-filled battle of wills fuels the readers’ desire to turn the pages.”
—RT Book Reviews on Compromised by the Prince’s Touch
“Readers will be captivated by this highly romantic, fairy-tale style story, with its strong heroine and dashing hero. It’s the perfect read that will sweep you away with its fun and uplifting take.”
—RT Book Reviews on Innocent in the Prince’s Bed
BRONWYN SCOTT is a communications instructor at Pierce College in the United States, and the proud mother of three wonderful children—one boy and two girls. When she’s not teaching or writing she enjoys playing the piano, travelling—especially to Florence, Italy—and studying history and foreign languages. Readers can stay in touch on Bronwyn’s website, bronwynnscott.com (http://www.bronwynnscott.com), or at her blog, bronwynswriting.blogspot.com (http://www.bronwynswriting.blogspot.com). She loves to hear from readers.
Also by Bronwyn Scott (#u78262283-3cad-593d-b96d-920cfd1defa6)
Scandal at the Christmas Ball
Wallflowers to Wives miniseries
Unbuttoning the Innocent Miss
Awakening the Shy Miss
Claiming His Defiant Miss
Marrying the Rebellious Miss
Russian Royals of Kuban miniseries
Compromised by the Prince’s Touch
Innocent in the Prince’s Bed
Awakened by the Prince’s Passion
Seduced by the Prince’s Kiss
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Seduced by the Prince’s Kiss
Bronwyn Scott
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07404-9
SEDUCED BY THE PRINCE’S KISS
© 2018 Nikki Poppen
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Scott and all the adventures still to come.
Contents
Cover (#u05cf6a1c-4c24-58e7-b1fb-3e955a64fd83)
Back Cover Text (#u5fc212aa-4c4d-5b94-924d-ec465332ae34)
About the Author (#udc1c1d5f-9bbd-5737-bb3b-3ad109b28ead)
Booklist (#ubb9b8e90-9112-5661-bc3b-e513f7a78bf1)
Title Page (#u75366b8e-e6e4-5a29-a980-346c729c7765)
Copyright (#u9c937fce-a309-5d24-b5a9-48258a4d599f)
Dedication (#u14d7c413-c70e-5164-9a31-2fe063e40dba)
Chapter One (#u350d0eb7-d30b-5af5-8727-037ac851a697)
Chapter Two (#uef50124d-b0c4-50ff-abcf-98244f36e4c9)
Chapter Three (#u0dc7ea2e-46b6-5102-bc01-cf6b2c1ea8f6)
Chapter Four (#u475493d2-dac1-5301-8650-40a61a2ed1a6)
Chapter Five (#u78958249-a1b2-51df-bc42-cc25525d78dc)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u78262283-3cad-593d-b96d-920cfd1defa6)
Shoreham-by-Sea, West Sussex—March 1824
Spring had come again in all its glory: blustering winds, lashing rains and always the peculiar English dampness that conspired to keep a person indoors far beyond the body’s patience for inactivity—at least his body’s. Stepan Shevchenko braced himself against the sea winds buffeting the bluffs. He peered through the eyepiece of his spyglass, searching the empty horizon.
Nothing yet.
He collapsed the spyglass with a frown. Still, it was far better to be out here amongst the elements than inside where he’d been for months. He had little tolerance for the indoors. He craved constant exercise, constant adventure, despite his efforts to tame himself to the more sedate rhythms of an Englishman’s life.
Two springs now he’d spent in Britain and yet in all that time he’d proved only that one could take the man out of Kuban, but one couldn’t take Kuban out of the man. The wildness of Kuban with its mountains and rivers called to the wildness within him, something he buried deep at his most primal self, something he’d been careful to suppress. It had become a secret identity, known only to him and those who knew him best: Nikolay, Ruslan, Illarion and Dimitri. Certainly, no one in London who did business with Prince Stepan Shevchenko would guess at it. To them, he was all that was proper. A boring word for someone whom many thought a boring man.
He preferred it that way. Proper was a very good cover. So good, in fact, he could even hide the wildness from himself. Sometimes, he almost believed the façade. But on days like today, when the wind blew through his hair, and the rain soaked his face, he knew better. He was still wild at heart; always running, always raging.
The horizon shimmered, the emptiness interrupted by the appearance of sails. Stepan smiled and lifted the spyglass again. It must be her—his ship, one of them. Through the eyepiece he sought out the name on the prow; the Lady Frances, a ship well known to be sponsored by Prince Stepan Shevchenko, bringing the latest Kubanian luxuries to London: lacquered trifle boxes with carefully painted scenes of Kubanian life on their lids, delicate birch wood carvings and the ever-entertaining Matryoshka dolls. A sense of tentative gratification rippled through him at the sight of the ship, followed by a clench of anticipation deep in his stomach. He moved his glass to take in the space behind the Lady Frances but the remainder of the horizon was empty.
Wait for it, he counselled himself. Impatience often bred unnecessary worry. He should not be concerned. Not yet. It was a good sign the Lady Frances was here. There was a satisfactory profit in her cargo once the duties were paid and a satisfaction of another sort, the sort that came from surrounding oneself with reminders of home. If he could not go to Kuban, he could bring Kuban to London. It was a type of cure for an odd homesickness for a place he’d not expected to miss, a place that didn’t hold good memories, but haunted him none the less now that he could never go back. But a man did not get rich, not like he had, on importing knick-knacks to decorate ladies’ parlours. No, the Lady Frances wasn’t the real prize. She was merely the decoy.
His anticipation growing, Stepan focused on the empty space left in the Lady Frances’s wake. Wait for it...wait for it...five minutes went by. Then ten. There was movement. His adventurer’s heart leapt. The thrill never got old. Slowly, a second ship came into view. It was here! The Razboynik held the true profit—casks of undiluted vodka straight from Ekaterinador and duty-free, thanks to his ingenuity and specially engineered barrels. Without the vodka there was no profit in it otherwise. No adventure, either, and no cause that justified the risk. For him there must be all three. Stepan reached into his pocket, trading his spyglass for a mirror and flashed a brief signal out across the water. That single flash meant: ‘All is safe, come in from the sea.’
Stepan heard his horse nicker from his picket and felt a presence behind him. He smiled without turning, knowing full well who it would be, his land-crew chief, Joseph Raleigh. ‘I swear, Joe, you can smell a ship a mile out to sea.’ He chuckled as Joseph came up beside him. Stepan passed the young man the spyglass.
‘It’s a beaut, milord.’ Joseph grinned, peering through the eyepiece. ‘What I can smell is profit. The boys are rarin’ to go.’
By ‘boys’, Joseph meant the crew that would gather to unload the Razboynik, all of them adolescents ranging from fourteen to seventeen, all of them orphans figuratively or literally. Growing up, Stepan had been both. Some were from London, gathered up during his visits, others were from the area. There were those in society who, if they knew, might condemn him for employing ‘children’ in illegal work. But these were boys who’d seen hardship, who lived with it every day, boys who’d been reduced to doing far worse than diluting vodka in caves before he’d found them. At their age, these boys needed guidance and help, but they also needed their pride. They wouldn’t take charity.
He knew, he’d been their age and in their situation before, never mind that he’d been raised in a palace and they’d been raised on the streets. Context didn’t prevent one from being lost and rudderless. Like them, he’d been headed towards a life of shiftlessness before he’d been found, a boy not interested in school, only in running wild in the great outdoors. A balanced life needed both freedom and structure. Stepan would pay forward the favour Dimitri had done him if he could. One didn’t need to be poor to need direction. The pitfalls of being an orphan were no respecters of station.
As for the smuggling—well, everyone did it. There wasn’t anyone in Shoreham who wasn’t connected to ‘free trading’ in some way, either as merchants or consumers or employees. That made it a fairly safe ‘industry’. Folks were less likely to turn in their friends and their own suppliers of goods they couldn’t afford by other means. There were the politics of it, too—this was a way to stand up to an unfair government that taxed goods beyond legitimacy. It was a way to stand up to greed, to a system sustained by standing on the backs of those who could least afford to support the weight, while the system ignored those in the most need: widows, children, orphans, broken men home from war and farmers who could no longer afford to farm. To Stepan, smuggling was protest. When the system changed, he would change.
Joseph shut the spyglass and handed it back. ‘Shall we go down, milord?’
Stepan pulled a pouch of coins from his pocket. ‘Make sure everyone who works tonight gets their share. I’ll see you later.’ He would ride down in a moment to meet the Lady Frances at the docks. While he was respectfully and publicly paying the duties on her cargo, the Razboynik would put in unnoticed to the quiet cove below the bluffs. Joseph Raleigh and the land crew would stow the vodka and small packets of spices in the caves. Then, they would spend the week preparing the vodka for transport from Shoreham to London, where Stepan had managed to make Kubanian food, drink and artefacts the latest rage. The women wanted their knick-knacks, the men wanted their vodka.
It was a good arrangement, one that had increased his fortune and satisfied his need for adventure. The arrangement was neat, but not too neat. There was, after all, a margin for risk. Multiple aspects of his ‘business’ could be discovered at any time. The caves where he stored his treasure were not his own. They belonged to the estate of Preston Worth, whose wife, Beatrice, was a friend of Dimitri’s wife. Worth and his family were not always in residence. The man’s work took them to London a good part of the year as it did now and, when it did not, Worth was a civil prevention officer intent on ridding the coast of smugglers while one roosted in his very own nest. The irony of it appealed to Stepan nearly as much as the risk.
Preston wasn’t the only threat. There was always the potential the coastguard would discover his illicit little enterprise. Little or large wouldn’t matter to the King’s men. The penalty for smuggling was still the same: hanging or, if one was lucky, transportation.
Not that Stepan worried about either overmuch. If anything, the penalty for discovery challenged him to be more creative. A good smuggler these days couldn’t rely on simply outrunning the British as one might have done in the past. In the modern era, a good smuggler had to outsmart the soldiers. Thankfully, Stepan was very smart. His new casks with their secret compartments were proof of that. Even if the Razboynik had been stopped, he doubted the excise men would have found anything of concern.
Stepan turned from the bluff and strode to where his horse waited. They would ride to the docks and then the hour back to Little Westbury and the hospitality of Dimitri Petrovich. He didn’t mind the long day in the saddle or even the rain. He had plenty to occupy his thoughts. He was already planning his next delivery. That ship was due next month and would require more thought than this one. The Razboynik was a practice run of sorts to try out the decoy and the new casks. The other ship, the Skorost, carried an enormous vodka cargo along with more spices and precious Russian saffron. The stakes were infinitely higher. Planning excursions kept his mind busy. It was better to think about how to land contraband than to think about other, less feasible things, like the unattainable Anna-Maria Petrova, Dimitri’s vivacious sister.
There was nothing but disappointment and heartbreak down that road. If anything were to come of his fantasies in that direction, transportation and hanging would be the least of his worries. Dimitri would have him drawn and quartered, and that would be after Dimitri had him castrated. He’d always admired Dimitri’s tenacity when it came to protecting his family. Stepan just never wanted that tenacity turned in his direction. He valued Dimitri’s friendship too much, and well, to be frank, he valued certain parts of his anatomy, as well.
Stepan smiled ruefully and swung astride his horse. He had smuggling to soothe his agitated soul. It gave him purpose and a cause. It kept him out of the house a good part of the day and out of Anna-Maria’s energetic orbit. For the sake of all parties concerned, he’d concluded long ago that Anna-Maria was a passion best indulged at a distance.
* * *
She saw him coming the moment he turned down the long drive towards the house. Hmmm. Where had he been this time? Anna-Maria stood carefully to the side of her gauzy white bedroom curtains where no one could see her and pondered her question. She’d made something of a study of Stepan in the long winter months he’d been with them in Little Westbury. It had begun as a way to pass the time until spring, until she could go to London and make her debut. She was nineteen and by rights she should have gone to London last year, but she’d been too new to British shores in her brother’s opinion. This year, she could hardly wait. Finally, her life could begin. Anything would be more exciting than the country.
But until she could go to London, her brother’s friend made an interesting enough subject. There was an air of mystery to his absences. He left mid-morning and returned late each evening just in time for dinner. Anna had entertained the notion of trying to rise with him in the mornings, but the earlier she rose, the earlier he rose, until he was leaving well before his usual mid-morning departures. She’d experimented with that variable for a week before she gave up trying to pace him.
She watched Stepan ride up the drive, so straight in the saddle, his hands and legs moving imperceptibly to guide the big horse. Stepan’s riding was refined. He might not be a cavalry officer like Nikolay, but he rode just as well. She’d grown up watching him ride. Stepan, like the others, had always been in her life, just as her brother had. If her brother acted more like a father to her, his friends acted more like uncles. Nikolay, Illarion and Ruslan were the friendly sort of uncles. Affection came easy to them. They’d been the ones to pull her braids, to tease her, to tickle her and make her laugh. Stepan was more reserved, hardly ever indulging in horseplay even when she was younger. When she was growing up, Dimitri had explained in terms a six-year-old could understand that Stepan didn’t know how to be part of a family. They had to teach him.
If so, Stepan still didn’t know. He’d grown more reserved the last few years, more distant, not only emotionally, but now physically. He and the others had spent most of last year in London at her brother’s town house. She’d missed all of them. Together, they’d been her family, but she’d missed Stepan most. Regardless of how stoic he was, she’d grown used to his presence. He was always there, a fixture she could count on, less mercurial than Illarion, more even-tempered than Nikolay. She’d been excited when Dimitri had told her Stepan was coming for the winter. She thought she’d have Stepan all to herself for nearly four months! But when he’d arrived, he’d been more aloof than ever and had spent many of his days like this one—gone.
The realisation steeped the sense of mystery. What or who drew the stoic Stepan out into the cold and the rain? Below her on the drive, Stepan dismounted and gave the reins to her brother’s groom. Anna smiled. That was her cue. She would greet him and ferret out his secrets; maybe she would even coax a smile from him. Out of all her brother’s friends, Stepan smiled the least and worried the most.
Stepan stood in the entrance hall, unwrapping a muffler as she sailed down the stairs, all air and light teasing. ‘Where have you been? Who have you seen?’
Stepan looked up. She’d startled him. ‘Are you my mother now?’ It was not an unkindly chiding, but it was still chiding. There was no mistaking that he was scolding her.
‘Someone needs to be if you’re going to be out all day and come home soaking wet.’ She took hold of his muffler and finished unwrapping it. ‘Shall I call for a bath?’ She shook out the wet wool, droplets splattering the hardwood floor. Stepan peeled off his greatcoat, making it clear he didn’t want any help. ‘Where’s Tate? Shouldn’t this be the butler’s job, Anna-Maria?’
‘I beat him to it, and it’s Anna, as I’ve told you before,’ she reprimanded him with a smile that she knew made the most of the dimple to the right of her mouth. The few boys in Kuban she’d been allowed to meet had thought her smile was her best quality. She hoped the young gentlemen in London would, too.
Stepan didn’t. Perhaps he didn’t even notice it. ‘Your name is Anna-Maria and has been since the day you were born.’
Anna shrugged and gave a toss of her dark curls. ‘I prefer Anna, it sounds more English.’
He noticed that. His dark eyebrows winged upward at her reasoning. ‘Why ever would you want to be more English?’
She put her hands on her hips and faced him squarely. ‘Perhaps for the same reason you cut your hair.’ In Kuban, he’d worn his hair longer like Nikolay and Illarion. They had kept theirs, but Stepan had cut his immediately upon arrival. It had now grown to the point where he could pull it back as he did today.
‘What would that reason be?’ Stepan’s grey eyes narrowed. He did not like being challenged or forced to reveal anything private.
‘To fit in, of course,’ she answered honestly. Then she grinned. ‘And because it’s more exciting. Anna-Maria is a nun’s name. Anna is more sophisticated.’ She pronounced it with a short A—Ahnnah. It sounded foreign, but not too foreign, she thought.
Stepan gave her censorious look. ‘Being more exciting is hardly what your brother wishes for you.’
She made a face. She knew that all too well. Dimitri, well meaning as he was, would keep her hidden in the country for ever if he had his way.
Stepan made to move past her to the stairs, his wet greatcoat draped over one arm. ‘If you will excuse me, I will go and clean up before supper.’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ She stepped in front of him, her skirts brushing his leg. ‘You’re not going upstairs until I have a smile from you.’ Did she imagine he stepped back? She pressed forward again, her hands playfully gripping the lapels of his jacket. ‘I’ve decided, you must pay a toll,’ she teased.
Stepan’s jaw tightened. ‘What might that be?’
She tried another smile. ‘You must answer my question.’
‘And if I don’t answer?’
‘Then I get to guess.’
‘Very well, you may guess. Quickly, though, I don’t want to catch a chill. A few minutes ago you were concerned about that.’ He was impatient in his barely restrained intolerance.
Anna forged on. She wasn’t oblivious. He was dismissing her, swatting her out of the way as if she were no more than an irritating fly. The sentiment sat poorly with her. She wanted to shock him into paying attention to her, to prove she wasn’t an annoying fly. She said the most outrageous thing she could think of. ‘Were you with your mistress?’
His grey eyes went flinty, his expression stern with reprimand as he removed her hands from his lapels. ‘That is hardly a ladylike guess,’ he scolded.
‘I know you all had them in Kuban. I’m not a child,’ she protested.
‘I know,’ Stepan growled. There was something dangerous in his tone as he made to move around her, but she was entrenched now. This had become about more than goading a smile from him. She would have his acknowledgment and she would have it now. Determined, she countered his move, blocking him at the foot of the stairs.
‘You have to answer. Am I right?’ she challenged, although a piece of her didn’t want to be right.
‘Where I was is none of your business and you’re wrong. I never agreed to answering. That was your rule alone.’ He moved again. This time she let him pass. She wasn’t in a mood to play any more. Anna watched his departing back march up the stairs, shoulders as straight and as unyielding as ever. Her mind worked over its own answer. Did Stepan have a mistress? The others had taken lovers by the scores in Kuban. Their affairs had been legendary. She’d used to overhear them talking with Dimitri late at night when she was supposed to be tucked up in bed, safely out of earshot. None of them would have dared to mention anything of that nature to her directly. But Stepan? If he’d had a mistress, he’d kept it very quiet.
She preferred not having abject proof of such a liaison. Stepan was hers, had always been hers in a way the others had not. Any one of them would have fought for her, but it had been Stepan who had come for her the night they escaped. It had been Stepan who had taken her up before him on his big horse and wrapped his cloak and his arm about her and galloped off into the darkness. She had not been afraid. There was never a need to be afraid when Stepan was with her. He was her constant fixture, always there.
Anna wandered into the library. Not much had changed since Kuban in that regard. Stepan was with her still. The others had married and gone their own ways; Nikolay was in London with his riding school, Illarion and Dove still away on their never-ending honeymoon travels, and Ruslan was who-knew-where. She suspected Stepan knew, though. He was their unofficial adahop, their leader. He knew everything. She stared absently at the fire, her thoughts focused inward. It had not bothered her to lose the others. She’d been happy for them, she’d been swept up in their romances and their weddings. Her dashing ‘uncles’ deserved true love in the new lives they’d fashioned for themselves. But in all fairness, she didn’t feel that charitable towards Stepan. She’d never thought about losing him that way, that one day he’d find someone.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want Stepan to marry and have a family of his own, it was simply that she’d never thought of him doing it, of leaving her. Perhaps he already had. Who did he see in London when he wasn’t here with them? How did he spend his days? His nights? Did a pretty Englishwoman already hold his heart and his attentions? Anna wished she had not spoken those hasty words out loud on the stairs. They’d conjured up a host of new, unsettling thoughts and she couldn’t stop thinking about their implication: one day Stepan would leave her.
Chapter Two (#u78262283-3cad-593d-b96d-920cfd1defa6)
He should leave. It was the one thought Stepan returned to time and again over the excellent roast beef supper that night. He could rent a house of his own—perhaps he could even contact Preston Worth about renting his house with the caves beneath it in Shoreham. Wouldn’t that be convenient, to smuggle vodka from a prevention officer’s own home? The risk-taker in him rather liked the idea. But then, he’d be dining alone and these suppers at Dimitri’s would disappear.
Stepan took another swallow of the wine, an exquisite, full-bodied burgundy, and surveyed the table. These were occasions he loved to hate or was it hated to love? Each night Dimitri and his wife, Evie, served a piece of paradise; warmth and security presented in a delicious, hot meal and comfortable conversation with local guests. Every aspect of the meal was a reminder of what his life would lack without Dimitri. This was not a scene he could replicate on his own. He had no family other than the one Dimitri had adopted him into two decades and one year ago. Ever since he was ten, he’d basked in the borrowed light of Dimitri’s familial glow. To walk away from that was no small thing, but neither was his sanity.
Tonight, dining with the Squire’s family was no exception. Perhaps he even felt that glow more keenly given the direction of his thoughts. While there was a price for leaving, there was also a price for staying: watching Anna-Maria dazzle the table every night, constantly bracing himself for her sudden appearances like the one in the entrance hall today, a feminine ambush of smiles and silk coming down the stairs or popping into a room at any time, conjuring up reasons to spend hours a day away from the house, knowing that Anna-Maria was oblivious to all of it.
Stepan filled his glass again. Why shouldn’t she be oblivious? He was twelve years her senior. He’d known her since she was born. He’d seen her skin her knees. He’d seen her cry when her ‘pet’ frog of one day escaped from his jar. He’d even seen her as a stubborn six-year-old stamp her foot in a temper when Dimitri had refused to spoil her with a porcelain doll. He was privy to the best and the worst of her. He was like a brother to her, or perhaps an uncle just as Nikolay and the others were. Why should she even be aware of how he looked at her now?
Across the table, Anna-Maria was teasing the Squire’s son. Tonight, she shone in a gown of cerulean blue, a simple crystal heart about her neck and her dark hair piled up high—something Evie was letting her practise this winter before going to London. The poor boy smiled and blushed, unable to take his eyes from the radiant creature talking to him and yet not knowing what to do with her.
Oh, mal’chik, Stepan thought, you are in over your head. I have been with the most sophisticated women of the Kubanian court and I am barely afloat. She is captivating, vivacious, passionate in her tempers... She is dangerous and she doesn’t even know it.
As she had been today on the steps, her hands twisted into the lapels of his jacket, her body so close to his that he could feel the heat of her, the light brush of her breasts against him.
Anna-Maria might look upon him as an uncle or brother, but no uncle or brother would ever entertain such thoughts. Stepan took a long swallow of wine, which was getting better with each glass. His awareness of her shamed him. It made a hypocrite of him. He’d always thought of himself as forward-thinking. He’d been one of the first to protest the repressive and archaic laws in Kuban that compelled girls into arranged marriages at young ages without providing them a voice or a choice in the matter. He’d seen girls as young as fifteen wed to men in their fifties. He did reason with himself that this was hardly the same. At thirty-one, he was in his prime like many well-born Englishmen who waited until their thirties to marry and took brides ten to twelve years their junior. But that didn’t make the situation more palatable to Stepan. He knew the general reasoning behind it: the younger the better when it came to producing the next heir and moulding an unformed mind. He refused to assess a woman’s value in the same way he would a brood mare.
Even with these arguments, he hated himself for the attraction. He could not say when his feelings had changed, when he’d become aware of her in the way a man is aware of a woman he desires. He was doubly careful with her now, with Evie and Dimitri, too. What would they think if they knew? Dimitri wanted more for Anna-Maria than an exiled prince.
The Squire reached for the carafe at Dimitri’s informal table—no hovering footmen here. Everyone served themselves. ‘The wine is excellent, Petrovich. Wherever do you get it?’
Dimitri smiled and nodded towards Stepan. ‘Stepan has a connection, a French vintner by the name of Archambeault who ships to him.’
Monsieur Archambeault was otherwise known as Ruslan Pisarev, former Kubanian revolutionary, now a happily married, soon-to-be owner of a small but profitable winery in Burgundy. Dimitri’s eyes met his at the mention of their friend. Ruslan did not want to be found by the world, at least not by his real name. It was one of their secrets, one of the many things that had bound them together over the years. Stepan loved Dimitri as a brother. Dimitri had given him a family when he’d had none, sharing his own father with him, and hope when he’d had even less. Dimitri had given him a reason to seek out the freedom he claimed to want. Without Dimitri, all those things might have remained dreams only.
In return, he’d given Dimitri unquestioning loyalty, ushering the Petrovich family to safety in England and leaving behind the only life he knew—a life full of privilege but lacking in affection. Dimitri had given him so much. He could not repay his friend by coveting his sister, especially when he knew how much Dimitri had given up in the raising of her.
In theory, Stepan wanted all the best for her, too. At a distance, he could embrace the knowledge she was in London having a Season without having to experience it in person. He wouldn’t have to witness her flirting with London’s young beaux the way he had to watch her charm the Squire’s son tonight. He wouldn’t have to watch her dance in the arms of gentlemen with titles more legitimate than the honorific he bore. Yes, it would be best to leave. He wondered if he’d find the discipline to do it. After all, he’d simply be exchanging one type of hell for another, the only difference being that one hell held Anna-Maria in it and the other did not. It was hard to say which one was worse. Perhaps hell didn’t have varying degrees, only varying interpretations.
* * *
There was brandy after the meal and the requisite half hour of polite conversation with the ladies after that while Anna-Maria played the pianoforte. All in all, it was a very satisfactory country evening, the sort that usually filled him with a soft contentment, a domestic denouement of sorts to the adventure of his days. But tonight, Stepan had little to contribute and he was glad to see the Squire’s family go. Anna-Maria shut the door behind them shortly after ten, with a laughing farewell to the Squire’s son and a promise to go riding as soon as the mud cleared. She turned, a beaming smile on her face, her dark eyes dancing with mirth.
‘Be careful with him,’ Stepan said sternly, too sternly. Part of him, the jealous part, wanted to wipe that smile off her face. ‘You will overwhelm him with your boldness.’
‘My boldness?’ Anna-Maria challenged, turning the force of her smile on him. ‘What are you suggesting, Stepan?’ Indeed, what was he suggesting? That she was too easy with her favours? It was hardly what he intended.
‘Nothing, only that he is young and inexperienced.’
‘And I am, too,’ Anna-Maria retorted. ‘Much to my regret.’ She shot a look at her brother. ‘I can’t even go out riding without an escort.’
‘The country is a big place, Anna,’ Dimitri answered wearily. This was an ongoing argument. Dimitri’s gaze met his sister’s in a timeless sibling staredown.
Evie intervened, linking an arm through the younger woman’s. ‘Anna, come and help me check on the baby one last time for the night.’
Stepan followed Dimitri’s gaze up the stairs, watching the two women. Despite his exasperation with his sister, a soft smile played on Dimitri’s face. How many times had that smile been followed by the words, ‘there goes everything I love’?
Not tonight, however. Dimitri sighed. ‘The sooner she gets to London, the better. Perhaps I should have sent her last year even though she’d only just arrived.’
Stepan shook his head, unwilling to let his friend second-guess himself. ‘No, she needed time to adjust, we all did.’
‘I just want her to make intelligent decisions. She’s so vivacious that I worry...’ Dimitri let another sigh communicate all the things he worried about: Anna-Maria running off with the first man who showed her any adventure, Anna-Maria falling in love with the first man to kiss her. Dimitri shrugged as if he could shake off the weight of that worry and fixed his attention on Stepan. ‘You, my friend, were distracted tonight. Is the winter getting to you, too? The walls closing in? Just two months left and it will be better. We can go up to London. The change of scenery will have us appreciating Little Westbury within weeks.’ Dimitri chuckled.
‘Actually,’ Stepan said, ‘I was thinking about not going up to town with you at all. I was thinking I’d stay here, perhaps rent out Preston Worth’s house at Shoreham for a few months.’
Dimitri looked surprised and disappointed. ‘You’d miss Anna’s debut. I am sure she’s counting on you for a few waltzes.’
‘She’ll be surrounded by so many young men, she won’t need me to dance attendance on her.’ He smiled over the pain the realisation caused him. Like the others, she would be launched into a new life. He would be left completely behind.
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ Dimitri argued with a laugh. He clamped a hand on Stepan’s shoulder in fraternal camaraderie. ‘She’ll be surrounded by young fools like herself, champing at the bit for a taste of freedom in the big city. I was counting on you to be the voice of wisdom, to help her keep her head and navigate society with decorum.’
He’d only thought the country was torture. London would be a whole other level of private agony. Hell was proving to be a complicated place. ‘We’ll see,’ Stepan said neutrally. He started up the stairs, but Dimitri wasn’t done talking yet.
‘How’s business? I heard the Lady Frances came in today. I hope there wasn’t trouble?’ Dimitri was still fishing for the reason behind his distraction.
Stepan shook his head. ‘Everything was fine, just a lot of paperwork. Seems like there’s more every time.’
Dimitri gave a snort. ‘In this part of the world, people ignore the paperwork and smuggle it all in.’ He grinned at Stepan. ‘Maybe you should try it some time.’
Stepan gave a non-committal laugh. ‘Maybe.’ West Sussex was a known haven for smugglers with its access to London roads. One could hardly live here and not be aware of smuggling. But Dimitri had no idea how close to home his remark had hit. ‘I’m not sure how Preston Worth would feel about a smuggler renting out his house.’
Dimitri shrugged at the supposed conflict of ethics. ‘It would make winters in the country more interesting.’
Oh, it does, Stepan thought and continued up the stairs before the conversation went any further. Did Dimitri know? Was this his way of feeling out the subject? Stepan had tried very hard to keep the smuggling operation secret. If he was discovered, he alone would bear the consequences. He wanted none of his friends incriminated or used as leverage.
In his room, Stepan undressed and stretched out on the bed, planning his day. Tomorrow, he’d leave early and spend the day overseeing the unloading of the LadyFrances’s cargo at the harbour in Shoreham. Then, on the way home, he’d stop by the caves and see how the spirit distillation was getting on. That should keep him busy and out of the house and away from Anna-Maria until well after supper.
Chapter Three (#u78262283-3cad-593d-b96d-920cfd1defa6)
Ledgers and lading papers might keep him out of the house, but they were not the most entertaining. Stepan pushed back from his desk at the dock warehouse and strode to the window, the room’s one amenity. Below him, the pier was bustling, his men sweating in the cold air as they hauled trunks of cargo from the hold to the warehouse where it would wait for wagons to take it to London. He’d been at the ledgers for hours now. He flexed his cramped hand. His body was begging for physical activity. Perhaps he’d go down and help with the hauling. That would give his muscles something to do.
He’d just decided it when there was a soft, hesitant knock on his door. ‘Come!’ Stepan answered, watching the dark head of his clerk peer around the corner, still hesitant. Oliver Abernathy was a slim, timid young man, one of his rescued boys from London with a good head for numbers.
‘There are gentlemen to see you, milord.’
Stepan glanced at the appointment diary lying open on his desk. ‘They do not have an appointment.’ Not that they needed one with Abernathy letting everyone who stopped by interrupt his work. The boy might be good with numbers, but he was a terrible gatekeeper.
‘One is a military officer, milord,’ Abernathy offered in protest as if being an officer came with the privilege to arrive unannounced.
There seemed no getting around it. By now, the gentlemen would have concluded he was indeed in. ‘Very well, send them in.’ Stepan surveyed the austere office. ‘On second thought, I will come out.’ He took a last wistful look out of the window. He would not be hauling cargo today. He straightened his coat and went to take care of business.
‘Gentlemen! To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?’ Stepan strode out of the office, all smiles and bonhomie, taking each man’s hand in turn with a firm grip. The one man in the blue coat of his station, Stepan knew: Carlton Turner, the customs officer. The other, dressed in a red coat, he did not. ‘I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, Captain, is it?’ Stepan said, taking in the man’s uniform and noting the gorget. He noted other things, too, like the tight lines about the man’s mouth, giving it a harsh quality that matched the dark eyes. This was not a kind man. Was the harshness simply from the rigors of military life or something else, deeper? Darker?
‘Your Highness, may I introduce you to Captain Denning? Captain Denning, this is Prince Shevchenko, lately of Kuban. That’s his ship you’ve been admiring this morning.’ Turner made the necessary introductions. ‘Your Highness, the captain has been assigned to Shoreham on business and I wanted him to meet some of the key importers he’ll need to work with.’
Stepan did not miss Turner’s deft positioning of the conversation and was immediately on alert. He didn’t mind Carlton Turner. Turner was a stuffy man, always a stickler for protocol, but reasonable beneath the fussiness. Stepan knew how to deal with him. As long as things were shipshape on the surface, Turner didn’t bother to probe deeper. But the man had been around a while; he knew the limitations of his authority. Captain Denning didn’t give the first impression of sharing that understanding.
‘I find business goes well with venison pie and ale this time of day,’ Stepan offered with a gesture towards the door. ‘May I invite you both to dine with me? It’s just past noon and I’m famished. The tavern up the street isn’t fancy, but the owner’s wife is a good cook.’ If circumstances were throwing him together with this Captain Denning, he needed to know more about this newcomer and decide if the captain posed a threat.
Food meant small talk and a chance to size one another up. Stepan kept the captain talking through the flaky venison pie. The man was from Derbyshire in the East Midlands, the younger son of a baron. He’d served against Napoleon in his late teens. But those were just facts. Context was everything and Turner was providing it.
Turner joined the conversation, clapping Denning on the shoulder. ‘He was relentless, keeping his troops on the field and holding ground against all odds in Spain.’ Turner’s tone suggested the comment was meant as an accolade, but the sharp glint in his eye when he met Stepan’s gaze suggested the remark was meant as more. A caution, perhaps? Until he knew otherwise, Stepan would take it as one. This was a man to whom the goal was all, the price of attaining the goal negligible.
Denning was ambitious and desperately so. Military work was slow these days with no war to fight. Consequently, advancement was, too. There was little opportunity to prove oneself, yet Denning held on to his commission when others had given up and sold out. Here was a tenacious, canny man who would stop at nothing to achieve his goal.
Stepan could have dealt with that. He understood officers, his friend Nikolay having been one in Kuban. But that was not the sum of Denning. The captain was more than determined. He was also cold. His determination sprang from ruthlessness, not relentlessness as Turner had couched it. The difference was there at the corners of his eyes where faint, early lines fanned out; there were lines, too, at the grooves at the sides of his mouth. This was an exacting man who drove those around him as hard as he drove himself. Perhaps an admirable quality in an officer on the battlefield, but a dangerous quality, as well.
Another round of ale came and the plates were cleared. ‘Tell me how I can be of service to you, Captain.’ Stepan gave permission for the conversation to move towards business now that they’d eaten.
‘A complement of my men and I will be staying at the barracks on New Barn Lane in order to investigate reports of smuggling and act accordingly should anything be found.’ Denning sat back on the bench, leaning against the wall with satisfaction. ‘I hope you and the other upstanding importers in the area will join with us.’ He gave a cold smile. ‘It’s hardly fair that you pay a legitimate tax on your goods when others do not. Everyone should be accountable to the same rules and I am here to enforce that accountability.’
Except when those taxes are unnecessarily high, Stepan thought.
What wasn’t fair was the government placing high taxes on goods and making trade in them prohibitive to all but a small wealthy class who could afford the fees. That wasn’t free trade in his mind. Trade, the right to do business and make a livelihood should be open to all, not just the prosperous. Outwardly, Stepan gave a cordial smile. There would be time enough to alienate the captain, he thought wryly. ‘Enforce? That sounds like a very menacing word.’ He’d lived under a Tsar who’d also used that word, to his detriment. That Tsar was now dead, shot on the front lawn of his palace by his constituents.
‘Of course, compliance would be preferred,’ Turner broke in. ‘If you were to hear of anything, we’d want to know.’
Stepan gave a neutral smile, aware the captain was watching him. ‘I’ll help in any way I am able.’ It was not entirely untrue. He would just not be very able.
Then the captain fired his real salvo. ‘Good. If you see or hear of anything I should be aware of, send word to the barracks. I understand Shoreham is a popular landing point because of its access to the London roads. We will be redoubling land patrols, which I think is the best way to catch any activity, and we’ll continue to co-ordinate with the navy to patrol the coastline from the water. With luck, we’ll have the rotters cleared out by May.’ Enforce indeed. The captain was only a step away from martial law.
‘Best of luck with that, Captain,’ Stepan replied in all honesty. ‘Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I have ledgers calling my name.’ He made the polite noises of leaving and maintained a sense of affability until he was back in his office. Only then did he let his thoughts run over all he’d learned. The captain had an unenviable task, not only for himself, but for the town, as well. Shoreham would not respond positively to the captain’s methods.
Smuggling in Shoreham had existed for centuries. It was unlikely the captain was going to curb it in a couple months. But Derbyshire, further inland, wasn’t known for its smuggling routes. What did a land man like Denning know about the culture of smuggling? To root out the ‘rotters’, as Denning put it, would require rooting out whole villages. But that didn’t mean Denning’s efforts could be disregarded. When Stepan met with Joseph Raleigh tonight at the caves, they had some planning to do along with their distilling. If Denning was going to impart information about his troop’s movements, Stepan was certainly going to make good use of it. It was going to be a late night.
* * *
What in the world kept a man out this late when he’d already spent the entire day at the docks? The question haunted Anna-Maria with increasing intensity as the hours after supper dragged by. She’d tried to prompt some insight out of her brother as the family had relaxed by the fire, but if Dimitri knew anything, he was close-mouthed about it. Her father had merely glanced up from the newspapers after her third attempt and fixed her with a censorious stare. ‘A man’s business is his own. A woman respects his privacy,’ he said in that scolding tone Anna-Maria knew too well. The man had spent his life reprimanding her when he bothered to notice her at all.
Evie had softened the harsh words with a smile. ‘Don’t worry about Stepan, my dear. He knows his way home and so does his horse.’
Anna didn’t bother to correct Evie’s assumption, although it did make her feel a bit guilty. Truth be told, she was not as worried over Stepan’s lateness as she was curious about the reason for it. If the others shared concern or curiosity about Stepan’s prolonged absence tonight, they didn’t show it. They gave up the vigil at half past nine, leaving Anna-Maria with her book.
* * *
It was well after eleven when Anna heard Stepan’s horse in the drive. Hurriedly, she sat and picked up the book she’d laid aside an hour ago in favour of pacing the front parlour. Pacing kept her awake. If she read, she might fall asleep and miss his return, miss her chance to badger him about his whereabouts. And he would win. She would not give him the satisfaction of outlasting her.
Anna selected a random page in the middle of the text and pretended to read. This had become a competition when he hadn’t come home for supper and Evie had held the meal for him, proof that she and Dimitri had not known he’d be so late despite their lack of concern over it. Anna gave her skirts a final fluff as footfalls sounded in the hall. She counted in her head: one, two, three steps until he’d pass the doorway to the sitting room. On cue, Anna lifted her head with slow surprise as if she was only just now aware of his presence. She managed a polite smile. ‘Oh, you’re home.’
Stepan leaned against the door frame, looking somewhat less stoic than usual. His hair was damp and tousled from night-riding, his greatcoat undone, and his eyes were...softer...instead of their usual hard granite. Tonight, they were like quicksilver moonbeams. ‘You waited up for me, Anna-Maria.’ He smiled. He never smiled unless provoked to it. And he smelled faintly of alcohol.
That’s when she knew. ‘Stepan Shevchenko, you’re foxed!’ Anna rose in chagrin. She’d waited up for him and he’d been out drinking and who knew what else!
‘I wouldn’t say “foxed” exactly, Anna-Maria. More like “a trifle disguised”, as our friends the English would say,’ He gave her a wide grin. ‘I’ve been drinking with the customs officer and his friend, Captain Denning. You should see the shape I left them in.’
‘Well, they didn’t have an hour’s ride in the dark,’ Anna chided. But she was secretly mollified. He’d spent the day at Shoreham, doing paperwork regarding his shipment of Kubanian knick-knacks and drinking with customs officers. Still, it didn’t explain where he went every day. ‘I suppose this means you’ll be at home tomorrow, then,’ Anna said with sweet nonchalance. Ships didn’t come in all the time and neither did paperwork. Surely he’d taken care of all those administrative loose ends today with the hours he’d put in.
‘Oh, no.’ Stepan pushed off the door frame. His body language said he was heading upstairs. Leaving her. ‘I’ve got to arrange for the cargo to go to the London shops and the private buyers. I’ll be busy for days yet. You’ll be lucky to see me at dinner.’
Something inside her deflated. Dinner was more exciting when Stepan was there to talk politics with her brother and father. It diverted her father’s attention away from her. ‘Men have all the fun.’ She pouted. ‘I’m bored, too, you know. I’d like to get out of the house for hours.’ An idea struck and she brightened. ‘Take me with you. I have a fair hand. I can record items for you and I love seeing all the pretty things that come in.’
Stepan shook his head. ‘The docks are no place for a young lady. Dimitri and your father would never allow it, especially with your debut coming up so soon. Besides, you can look at the pretty things right here at home.’ He reached inside his coat pocket and brought out a brown paper–wrapped package.
She took the package with delight. For a moment, she forgot to be mad at him. ‘For me?’ She unwrapped it and lifted out the small trifle box with its carefully painted lid. It was done in ice blues and lavenders, depicting a snowy Russian lake scene. She smiled. ‘It reminds me of the lake at our winter home.’ She seldom thought of Kuban fondly. Her life there had been...mixed, not all of it pleasant. There were plenty of bad memories to go with the good. But most of the good memories centred on the Petrovich winter estate. She put the box down on a side table and looked up at Stepan. He was so very tall up close. ‘Do you remember the ice-skating parties? How we would drink hot chocolate from the samovar on the lake bank? The deer that would come down to the edge of the ice?’ In her enthusiasm, she reached for Stepan’s hands and drew him out to the centre of the room with her. ‘Do you remember how you used to spin me?’
She was twirling now, taking him with her in her whirlwind of a circle. ‘We’d lean outwards and throw our heads to the sky as we spun!’ Anna laughed, tossing her head back.
‘Hush, Anna! You’ll wake the house,’ Stepan scolded, tugging at his hands. She let go, her smile fading.
‘You used to be more fun, Stepan. At least slightly. I wouldn’t go as far as to say you’ve ever been a load of fun.’ She could scold, too.
‘We all used to be a lot of things.’ Stepan bent his dark head in a stern, deferential nod, part reprimand, part apology. ‘I beg your pardon. It was not my intention to ruin your fun. Goodnight, Anna-Maria.’ He squared his shoulders and walked past her, out of the room.
Anna stomped her foot on the carpet where no one could hear. She hated when she did that, when she drove him off in her stubbornness because she had to have the last word. She spied the box and snatched it up. ‘Stepan,’ she called softly, stopping him on the stairs. She waited until he turned and she had his full attention. ‘Thank you for the gift, it’s lovely. I’m sorry.’ She wanted to say more. She was sorry for running him off, for always challenging him. ‘I don’t know why I do it,’ she lied. She knew. She did it to needle him, to jar him out of his stoic reserve in hopes of seeing what lay beneath all of that, although why it should matter so much to her, she didn’t know.
Stepan nodded. ‘It’s nothing more than winter megrims, Anna-Maria. We’ve all been indoors too long.’
Not you, she wanted to argue, but she caught herself in time. Arguing would get her nothing. ‘You’re sure I can’t come with you tomorrow? Father and Dimitri won’t mind if they know you’re there to protect me.’ She didn’t think that was entirely true, but Stepan could persuade them if he wanted to.
That was the problem. He didn’t want to. He all but ignored her request, his voice quiet and strict as he continued up the stairs. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea, Anna-Maria.’ So much for getting him out of his stoic reserve.
Anna crossed her arms. Fine. She’d come up with a better idea, anyway. He hadn’t said she couldn’t come, just that she couldn’t go with him. He’d said nothing about following along behind. A plan took shape. It would be easy enough to do. Evie and Dimitri were taking the baby over to Claire and Jonathon Lashley’s for a day of visiting. Her father was going along, too. They would leave in the morning. She’d have the day to herself. It would be the perfect opportunity for a little unsupervised adventure.
* * *
At least it would have been, if Stepan was actually where he’d said he’d be, Anna reflected sourly late the next morning. She was damp and cold after a rather soggy ride to the Shoreham docks, only to discover Stepan was not there. No one, apparently, had seen him yet and no one was expecting to. She stood in the shipping offices, shaking droplets from her wool riding habit and feeling foolish while she gathered her thoughts. She needed a contingency. She was reluctant to simply turn around and go home. She didn’t relish the thought of another hour of riding in the drizzle, but neither could she simply go on standing in the middle of the offices while Stepan’s clerk pitied her, his thoughts written plainly on his homely face about the sort of woman who came to the docks alone. It was embarrassing, really.
Anna was regretting her inability to follow Stepan directly. She’d not been able to leave when he’d left—which had been at sun-up. But she’d thought nothing of it at the time. He was going to the docks. She could simply follow later after Evie and Dimitri had left. But now, she had no idea where he was. She looked about the little waiting room. There wasn’t much, just a stove, a chair, the counter where the clerk worked, guarding the door to Stepan’s private office, and a loudly ticking wall clock. She flashed the clerk a smile. ‘I’ll wait a bit, if you don’t mind?’ It wasn’t really a question. She pulled the chair towards the stove. She could warm up and, with luck, Stepan would come striding through the door at any moment.
The heat felt good as she ran through possible explanations as to why Stepan wasn’t here yet even though he’d had a three-hour head start. Perhaps he’d had a delivery to make? Perhaps it was nothing so benign. Perhaps his horse had thrown a shoe and he was holed up at a smithy somewhere along the road. Even worse, maybe he’d gone home and even now was sitting comfortably in front of the fire, warm and dry. There was some irony in that, while she was cold and cross and still faced an hour’s ride home. Or perhaps he’d not told her the truth last night. He’d never intended to come to the docks today. The latter was seeming more likely as the minutes ticked by.
* * *
When she’d been there the better part of an hour, she had to admit he wasn’t coming. It did pique her curiosity, though. If he wasn’t here, where had he gone and why couldn’t he tell her about it?
She rose and the clerk eyed her from his ledgers with wary suspicion.
‘Could you possibly check his schedule diary? Perhaps I could meet him at whatever appointment he has?’ Anna asked sweetly, dazzling him with a smile that made the poor clerk blush.
He cleared his throat. ‘Mister Shevchenko is a private man, miss. I do not keep his calendar for him.’ There was a polite reprimand for her nosiness.
Would tears work? Anna wondered. They used to work a charm on Dimitri. They’d never worked on her father. ‘It’s just that I’ve ridden so far,’ she dissembled, looking down at her hands. ‘I would hate to turn back without seeing him.’
‘Oh, now, miss, don’t cry!’ The clerk sounded genuinely horrified. ‘Perhaps I could take a peep at his calendar, after all.’ He bustled away and returned shortly, wringing his hands. Bad news, then, Anna thought. ‘I am sorry, miss, there are no appointments in his diary today. As I said before, we are not expecting him.’
No appointments he wanted any record of, at any rate. Now she really did have to leave, there was no point in delaying. A glance out the window affirmed the drizzle had stopped. If she was lucky, the ride home would only be cold, but she had plenty to think about. Stepan had a secret. Was it a secret lover as she’d rashly guessed? Or something else? A little smile played on her lips as she walked back to her horse. Whatever Stepan was hiding, he didn’t want anyone knowing about it. Except that now, someone did know and that someone was her. For once, she had some leverage on him.
Chapter Four (#u78262283-3cad-593d-b96d-920cfd1defa6)
‘You lied.’
Stepan stopped in his tired, muddy tracks, the words cutting through the preoccupation of his thoughts. A lamp flared to life in the front parlour revealing Anna-Maria bent over the flame as she replaced the glass chimney, affirmation that he had not escaped. When he’d ridden up, the house had been dark and he’d known a moment’s relief. He wouldn’t have to face her, wouldn’t have to disappoint her, wouldn’t have to be tempted by her. Last night had been rather disastrous, in that regard. On top of the ale he’d drunk at lunch with the officers there had been the vodka sampling he’d done in caves when he’d visited the boys, all of which had induced him to sentimentality. He’d given her that silly box. Her eyes had gone soft and his body had gone hard.
‘What, per se, have I lied about?’ It was late, later than it had been last night. She should be abed, yet if he was honest there’d been disappointment mixed with his relief when he’d seen the dark house. A perverse part of him liked sparring with her. It was all he could have of her, this rather odd guilty pleasure.
She came towards him. ‘You lied about where you were today.’ She paused, letting her eyes rake his appearance. ‘You were not at the shipping office. In fact, Mr Abernathy informed me you had never planned to be there today. Your appointment diary was empty.’ She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes blazing with grim satisfaction. She was waiting for his rebuttal. More than that, she was waiting for his explanation.
But she’d left herself open to a rather healthy counter-offensive. Stepan arched his eyebrow. ‘You went into Shoreham alone after I warned you about the docks last night?’ There was so much to be appalled with he wasn’t sure where to start. Did he start with the fact she’d ‘followed’ him when that could have exposed the entire operation? Or that she’d taken such a risk in travelling alone? That Abernathy had gone into his office and looked in his diary? He’d thought his young clerk was above reproach. ‘What did you bribe Abernathy with to sneak into my office?’ Stepan asked. ‘I’ll have to have words with him, perhaps dock his pay so that he learns his lesson.’
‘No!’ Anna cried. ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ she begged.
‘Oh? What exactly compelled him to look in his employer’s diary?’ Abernathy knew better. ‘You didn’t offer him money, did you?’ Stepan hoped not. If Abernathy could be bribed, it boded ill for the whole scheme. He would have to let the young man go.
A vice tightened in his chest. Please don’t let it have been for money. He didn’t want to believe he couldn’t take the street out of the boys.
‘No.’ Anna-Maria shook her head. ‘I have no money, you know that.’ He heard the resentment in her voice. Money meant freedom. He knew it better than anyone. ‘I just...’ She looked away from his stern gaze.
‘You just what?’ Stepan pressed, the vice in his chest easing a bit. He’d still have to talk to Abernathy about this breach, especially with Captain Denning in town. They couldn’t afford traitors, even small ones.
‘I smiled at him a bit. When that didn’t work, I sat in the waiting room for an hour hoping you’d come in.’ Anna-Maria bit her lip and gave a relenting sigh. ‘Then I got impatient. I might have used tears,’ she admitted with a quick rejoinder, ‘but it’s your fault. I never would have needed to do it if you’d been there in the first place. You told me you were doing accounts.’ She was tenacious in her anger. Heaven help a husband if he ever ran afoul of her.
At least it had taken Abernathy an hour to succumb. That did say something about the boy’s resolution. ‘Since when do I answer to you, miss, about my whereabouts?’
She gave him a long look that swept him from head to toe and lingered on his boots. ‘Since you can’t admit where you’ve been and come home with wet sand on your boots.’ Her gaze caught his. ‘That’s not the mud of Little Westbury.’ She stepped close to him, too close. He could smell the scents of lemon and lavender on her and she could smell him. She reached up on her tiptoes and sniffed near his ear. ‘Wind and salt, Stepan? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d been to the seashore.’
She cocked her head, her sharp mind assimilating the information. ‘You were in Shoreham today, just not at the office,’ she accused with an authority that rivalled a barrister, ‘which leads me to conclude you were indeed with a woman.’ Anna-Maria gave a toss of her head. ‘You’re having an affair.’
‘It is not your business, Anna-Maria,’ Stepan warned. Did the minx not know when to stop? No gently bred young girl called out an older man on his private affairs. No gently bred girl was supposed to know about such things and, if she did, she was to pretend she did not. But Anna-Maria was all dark-haired defiance as she stood with her hands on her hips, her eyes flashing. He’d have liked to scold her and say defiance did not become her, but it did. She was magnificent in her accusations and he was a powder keg primed to explode after three and a half months under the same roof with her. A woman could not provoke a man thusly without consequences.
He stalked her, encroaching on her space as she did his, making her aware of him with every step, of his height, of the piercing intensity of his gaze. There would be gentlemen in London who would make her aware of much more if she wasn’t careful.
Anna-Maria took a step backwards, her eyes glinting, but wary now. Good. She should be wary. A man aroused was a dangerous creature. Her back was to the wall and she could retreat no further. Stepan rested an arm above her head, his gaze intent on her face. ‘This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To jar me out of what you call my complacency? To break my stoic reserve?’ His eyes lingered on her mouth, ‘Well, now you’ve done it, my sweet girl, and there is a price to pay for waking the sleeping dog.’ Anna-Maria’s gaze dropped. ‘Are you prepared to pay it?’ He would be toyed with no longer.
He captured her mouth in a hard kiss meant to demonstrate his point, but Anna-Maria wasn’t ready to admit defeat. Her mouth moved beneath his, opening in answer to his press. Her body moved against his. He intensified the kiss, his hand at her neck, keeping her close, as he claimed deep access to her mouth, his tongue testing and tasting her. What a heady elixir it was to drink of her naïve boldness, the innocent curiosity waking in his arms.
He had not expected it to go this far. He’d expected her to be frightened long before his body roused, but her curiosity was fast outpacing his ability to keep his body in check. Soon, the masculine hardness of his response would be in evidence. Perhaps it would be for the best that she encounter all the consequences of her behaviour. This was not a harmless game she played. She gave a sudden gasp. The moment he felt her hesitate, he stopped. He pulled back from their embrace, creating much-needed space between them.
Her eyes were wild and questioning, her hair had come down from its pins and her lips were puffy. She looked precisely like what she was: a beautiful woman halfway seduced. If Dimitri were to walk in at this moment there would be no explanation other than the truth: that he’d kissed Anna-Maria up against the sitting-room wall. Never mind he’d felt prompted to do so after months of provocation or that he’d done it out of some misguided notion of teaching her the finer points of dealing with gentlemen. Stepan didn’t think those arguments would go far with Dimitri.
Anna-Maria smoothed her hands over her skirt. He gave her time to gather her shaken composure. That was his second mistake. The first had been giving in to her game. He saw that now. Whatever advantage he might have gained in his ambush was lost when she raised her head and met his gaze. ‘Why did you do that? What did you think to prove?’
He should have pressed his advantage when he’d had the chance. ‘You’ve been flirting with me.’ He waved a hand when she tried to protest. ‘Admit it, Anna-Maria, you’ve been cutting your teeth on me all winter and why not?’ Stepan growled. ‘There’s very little appropriate male society to practise on in these parts.’ He was rewarded with a slight flush creeping up her cheeks. The little minx didn’t like being caught out. ‘Be warned, Anna-Maria, I am no green ham-handed boy like the Squire’s son, willing to be led about by the nose because a pretty girl smiled my way. Neither am I a dissipated gentleman with finer clothes than manners who would not have stopped this evening.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Is this your way of saying I should be thanking you for the experience?’ She was far too saucy for a girl who’d just been delivered her comeuppance.
‘It’s my way of alerting you to the lesson that desire is power—a sword to be wielded, a currency that can be bartered by any man or woman. Be careful, Anna-Maria, you are a beautiful woman and a susceptible one. You are not fully aware of the weapon you possess in your face alone.’ To say nothing of her body, of the passion that coursed through her.
Stepan’s hands fisted at his sides. He was deuced uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation. This was why young girls needed their mothers. Mothers were supposed to teach those lessons, not nominal uncles. Least of all him. What did he know of family? Of mothers and daughters and preparation for marriage? He knew nothing even of fathers and sons. His own father had decided he wasn’t worth raising well before he’d reached adulthood.
Anna-Maria gave him a wry smile. ‘I think there might be a compliment in there somewhere for me. I will pretend there is. I will pretend you called me beautiful and that my beauty wasn’t an insult or a plague to be protected against as my father suggests.’ She laughed harshly. ‘Would you prefer it if I went around veiled so that I would not be a Jezebel enticing men to their doom?’
‘I was being honest.’ Which, apparently, he couldn’t be without having his words come back to haunt him. He’d not meant to imply she was to blame for a lack of male self-control. Nor had he meant to align himself with the cruel opinions of her father. He owed the old man a debt of gratitude. The man had been nothing but gracious to him, treating him as a second son, yet Stepan could not condone the way the man treated his daughter. He’d had the nagging suspicion over the years that if Anna had been born male her mother’s death would have been forgiven.
‘I thought we’d left such old-fashioned nonsense behind us in Kuban,’ Anna-Maria argued. ‘I thought you believed a woman should have the same freedoms in society a man had?’
‘I do,’ Stepan protested.
‘Unless that woman is me?’ She pierced him with a stare. He knew impending defeat when he heard it. He wasn’t going to win this.
‘You should talk to Evie about these things.’ He stepped back, looking to retreat the field.
‘Evie doesn’t know about “these things”,’ Anna-Maria snapped. ‘How could she? She has two parents who raised her. She’s lived the entirety of her life in Little Westbury surrounded by safety and love. Her parents saw to it, her friends saw to it and now my brother sees to it. Their child will grow up with the same.’
‘Lower your voice,’ Stepan cautioned. ‘You’ll wake the house.’ The warning was inadequate and frankly a non sequitur. He chose not to address the wistful envy behind her words. It was an envy he knew well. How many times had he held Dimitri’s infant son and thought the same? Dimitri’s boy would grow up never knowing a lack of affection, never doubting his worth, his acceptance.
Anna-Maria did not heed his request. She was angry now and she was exacting revenge for his madness over the kiss. ‘Evie is not like us. She knows nothing of being raised without parents, without a family, of being looked upon as an inconvenient nuisance by one’s own father.’
‘You had Dimitri,’ Stepan reminded her. He would not tolerate his friend being maligned. At twelve, Dimitri had taken on the responsibility of caring for a newborn and he’d never laid down that burden. Nor did he like the reminder of those painful similarities between them.
‘But for the single variable of my brother, both of us would have been entirely alone,’ Anna-Maria said sharply. ‘Why won’t you admit that we’re more alike than the others? That we’re both lost souls, surrounded by people who have found theirs.’
‘You are not lost, Anna-Maria,’ Stepan countered argumentatively even as the words caught him by surprise. Was that how she saw herself? He’d not once thought the vivacious Anna-Maria, the beloved centre of her brother’s life, a girl who had everything, felt lost. The very image of Anna-Maria being lost cut at him. He and the others had joined Dimitri in that fight years ago to protect Anna-Maria from the cruelties of their world, from the hurt of a father who did not acknowledge her existence because her life had stolen the life of the woman he loved. For her to feel lost implied their efforts had been for naught, that the fight had been lost along with her—a fight for which Stepan had fought harder than the others because he knew first-hand what awaited her if they were not victorious. He had a twelve-year head start on her. He already knew what it was to grow up empty, passed from nanny to nanny, tutor to tutor, valet to valet, growing up with the trappings of wealth and physical security, but not real security—the security of knowing one had love and a family and a place where one would always belong.
‘Don’t be a selfish bore, Stepan. You’re not the only one who gets to be lost.’ Anna-Maria huffed and pushed past him. ‘It’s late and I’m going to bed. You can stay down here and wallow in your “lostness” or whatever else it is you spend your time doing.’
He wanted to shout after her that if he was staying up it was her fault. He’d planned to come home and seek his own bed, but she’d been lying in wait, baiting him. His honour would not allow her to bear all the blame for his detour. A real gentleman accepted his own complicity in such things. He was as much to blame for his own wakefulness as she was. He’d been fighting the urge to kiss her for weeks. Tonight had supplied an exigence and an excuse for his behaviour. Now, that kiss would always be between them.
Stepan helped himself to brandy in a decanter at the sideboard and poked the fire Anna-Maria had forgotten to bank. He took a chair and rested his boots on the fender of the fireplace. Tonight’s incident and yesterday’s meeting with Captain Denning were further proof he needed to move out. Leasing Preston Worth’s home in Shoreham was looking like a better option by the minute. He’d sent a message to London two days ago after he’d mentioned the idea to Dimitri. With luck, he might hear back tomorrow. Distance wouldn’t erase the kiss, but distance could mitigate it.
Stepan sighed and took a long swallow. Even brandy couldn’t sweeten the taste of regret. He should not have done it. He’d kissed his best friend’s sister! What the hell was wrong with him? Yet in those moments, she’d not been Dimitri’s sister, but a woman of her own identity and free will. She’d kissed him back with a wildness that matched his own. Perhaps that was the real source of his guilt. He ought to fully regret what he’d done and he didn’t. There. He admitted it. He did not entirely regret it.
With any other woman, he’d be asking himself the question of what next? Now that they’d opened negotiations, so to speak, what was his next overture? But this was Anna-Maria. She was not one of Kuban’s sophisticated women of the court. The question of what next was moot. There was no ‘what next’ beyond moving to Seacrest, moving away from her and the temptation that there might be another kiss, that he might be tempted to create a ‘what next’ scenario. One kiss could change everything, but only if he let it. He wouldn’t let it.
He drained his glass, his conscience mocking him.
You could kiss her a thousand times and it wouldn’t change a thing. You have nothing to offer her. She is love and light. What do you know of those things? She’ll want a family once her wildness settles. How can you expect to be a better father than your own when you have nothing to go on? She’ll want you mind, body and soul until she realises how dark those places are, that you can’t be saved. Then the regret will be all hers. You can only disappoint a woman like Anna-Maria—a woman who wants more than your meaningless title, your ill-gotten wealth and a few nights of pleasure from a man who isn’t capable of anything more.
For all those reasons, and for other reasons like his loyalty to Dimitri, he needed to leave. Tomorrow would be nothing short of torture. It would be full of waiting, and it was unfortunately imperative he do that waiting here: waiting for the letter from Preston; waiting to hear word from Joseph Raleigh that the ankers of vodka were ready to move to London. He would do better to worry about those ankers than Anna-Maria.
Denning’s men were still arriving, still settling in. Major routes would be watched first. It was too bad Denning couldn’t have waited another month to establish his diligence. Stepan would have preferred the Skorost coming in without the coastguard and the army on alert, but at least it would give him something to think about. Tomorrow, he could keep his mind busy planning how to handle his ship’s arrival.
* * *
The morning got off to a decent start. He’d been able to bury himself in Dimitri’s study, but Evie had other plans for his afternoon. After lunch, she cornered him into partnering Anna-Maria for dancing lessons in the front parlour, saying simply, ‘you’re the best at the waltz.’ Now, all the furniture was pushed back and Evie sat ready at the pianoforte. She smiled at Stepan. ‘It will be all the rage in London. Anna needs practice.’
‘She should dance with Dimitri, then. He’s a fine waltzer,’ Stepan tried to demure, casting a raised-eyebrow plea in Dimitri’s direction where he sat on the sofa pushed against the wall and played with the baby.
Dimitri looked up with a grin, his finger caught in the baby’s tiny grip. ‘I’m busy, as you can see. Besides, I’m not sure sisters and brothers want to waltz together.’ He made a face. Anna-Maria laughed. But Stepan did not. He didn’t find the allusion to the less platonic aspects of the waltz funny in the least given what had transpired in this very room last night. It went without saying that those elements of the dance would be on his mind today.
Anna-Maria swept forward, mischief in her eye as she took his hands and tugged him to the centre of the room. ‘Of course he’ll do it. Stepan thinks lessons are very important, don’t you, Stepan?’ Her eyes flashed, agate and sharp. She was still exacting revenge for last night. She put her hand at his shoulder and held her other one up. ‘Now, where does this hand go, exactly?’
Stepan made a low growl and grabbed her hand. ‘In mine, like this.’ She moved close against him and he readjusted her away from his body, flashing her a dangerous stare. ‘There must be space between us or the matrons at Almack’s will never give you vouchers. Remember, when you waltz, more than your dress and your dancing ability are on display. Your morals are on display, as well.’ He sounded like a prig. He liked to waltz, loved the feeling of flying. But he could not afford such a luxury with Anna-Maria in his arms. It would tempt him too far.
She pouted. ‘What’s the fun in that, then? I thought the waltz was supposed to be scandalous. You make it sound like a nun’s dance.’ Stepan threw another look at Dimitri, hoping his friend might have changed his mind about helping. Dimitri only shrugged and jostled the baby, tapping his toe as Evie began to play.
The fates were toying with him. This was what he deserved for last night: an afternoon in hell, waltzing Anna-Maria and her pointed remarks around the front parlour as his best friend watched, oblivious to his agony. It would have been better if Anna-Maria had been a horrid dancer, if she’d stepped on his toes or tripped on her hem. It would have been better still if holding her in the dance didn’t trigger memories of holding her last night, if every time he passed the wall, he didn’t think of what they’d done there. Last night might very well have ruined this room for him for ever. Anna-Maria’s secret smile every time they sailed past said she knew it, too.
Salvation came in the form of Tate bearing the post far too late into the afternoon to make a difference. The damage of dancing was done. Anna-Maria was looking flushed with victory as they came to a whirling halt. ‘A note for you, milord,’ He passed the salver to Dimitri and then to him. ‘And one for you as well, milord Stepan.’
Stepan broke it open—it was from London. He scanned it quickly, a smile taking his face.
Anna-Maria was on tiptoes looking over his shoulder. He shifted the paper away while Dimitri scolded, ‘Anna! Let the poor man have his privacy.’
‘Why? It’s clearly good news,’ Anna-Maria teased with a smile directed at Stepan.
‘It is good news.’ Stepan announced to them all, ‘Preston Worth has written. I am able to lease his house in Shoreham until August. Effective immediately.’
‘August!’ Anna-Maria cried in disbelief. ‘You don’t even need a house for that long. You have to be in London for my debut.’
‘I am afraid business will keep me from the Season this year,’ Stepan said truthfully. With Captain Denning in town, he could hardly leave the boys unchaperoned and unprotected.
Anna-Maria looked at him, stormy eyes condemning his decision. He felt like a cad. His relief was coming at her expense. ‘Come now, my dear, there will be hundreds of young men to dance with you. I will not be missed, you’ll see.’ He glanced out the window, gauging the remnants of daylight. There was an hour or two left. He could make Shoreham before too much darkness had settled in if he left soon.
‘No, I won’t hear of it.’ Evie left her spot at the pianoforte, guessing at his plans before he spoke them. ‘You are not leaving tonight. We will have a farewell dinner and you can set out in the morning. It’s only fair to the servants at Seacrest who likely just got word of your coming today. They need time to put their best foot forward. They can’t have a prince descending on them without notice.’
Evie was right, of course. It wasn’t fair. Stepan relented. He’d endured this long; he could endure one more night. He smiled at Evie. ‘One last night of your hospitality, then, before I am out from underfoot and you can get your lives back to normal. No doubt I’ve overstayed my welcome.’
Evie stood on tiptoe to reach his cheek with an affectionate kiss. ‘Never, Stepan. All of Dimitri’s friends are welcome here for as long as they like.’ But not all of Dimitri’s friends were infatuated with his sister. Stepan suspected that would change his welcome drastically if Dimitri knew.
Chapter Five (#u78262283-3cad-593d-b96d-920cfd1defa6)
Anna-Maria poked at her peas, pushing them around the plate. The first day after Stepan left had been bad. Things had gone downhill since then. The house was too quiet. There were no sudden openings of the front door due to an unannounced return from parts unknown, no chance of catching sight of him riding down the drive, so straight, so irritatingly perfect, no energising spats to look forward to. Worst of all, there were no bone-jarring kisses. She’d done nothing but think about that kiss since he’d ridden out. It had been wild and arousing in ways unlooked for and it had been her first. Did he realise that? Had that played a part in how quickly he’d departed? Had his leaving been her fault? Had she pushed him to it as certainly as she was pushing her peas now?
A fork clattered against china from across the table. ‘Damn it, girl, will you stop sulking and eat your dinner?’ Her father glowered. Anna-Maria gave her peas another shove just to be perverse.
‘You’ll hardly catch a husband with manners like that.’ Her father huffed. ‘You’ll shame us all in London.’
‘I don’t want to catch a husband, not right away at any rate.’ Anna-Maria tossed her head and slid a defiant glance in Dimitri’s direction. ‘I want to dance until dawn and drink champagne. I want to live a little bit. Besides, who cares if I push my peas around tonight, there’s no one to see, there’s no entertainment for miles. I’ve been stuck out in the middle of nowhere...’ She bit her lip as Evie looked down at her plate. She’d gone too far with her remark. Little Westbury was Evie’s home, her parents were here, her friends and her husband’s work. Evie had never made her feel anything but welcome.
Her father pointed his spoon at her. ‘You are an ungrateful wretch,’ he said, ‘all the sacrifices that have been made for you—’
‘Father, that’s enough,’ Dimitri broke in, soft-voiced but stern with the authority of the head of the household. Always, he had been the peacemaker. No wonder he and Evie were so well suited. Evie was a peacemaker, too. Not like her. Sometimes, Anna-Maria thought she required drama to make life interesting. Not for the first time, she wished she were a little more like her brother who thrived in the seclusion of country life.
‘I am sorry, Evie. I didn’t mean...’ Anna-Maria apologised.
Evie dismissed her efforts with a polite shake of her head. ‘No offence taken. You are young and vivacious, it’s only natural you’d want to surround yourself with activity.’ Evie glanced at Dimitri. ‘We could all use an outing. Why don’t we plan something? Maybe a day with Liam and May before they go back to town?’
Anna-Maria liked May, she was one of Evie’s more scandalous friends, having had a mad affair with her husband before they married. May had, in fact, been younger than Anna was now when it had occurred. But, a day spent talking about babies wasn’t exactly the sort of outing Anna had in mind. She wet her lips, a plan forming. ‘Why don’t we go to Shoreham and see how Stepan is settling in?’ Anna looked over at Evie. ‘We could take him some of Cook’s bread and the lemon biscuits he likes so much and we could advise him on the house. He doesn’t have anyone to help him run such a large place. The servants will run roughshod over him,’ she argued shamelessly. There was nothing Evie liked as much as rectifying a domestic crisis.
‘I don’t know.’ Dimitri seemed dubious. ‘It’s a long way for the baby,’
‘It’s only an hour, maybe two, by carriage, but your carriage is equipped with every luxury,’ Anna argued. ‘We’ll all take turns holding the baby and he’ll sleep most of the way.’
‘That settles it.’ Evie decided the issue with a smile at Dimitri. ‘We’ll go and see how Stepan is getting on.’ She rose. ‘Anna and I will go and talk about what to take with us, while you two enjoy your after-dinner port.’ She beamed at her father-in-law as if he hadn’t tried to disrupt her dinner with a fight.
‘You are too generous with him,’ Anna chided once they were alone in the sitting room. Evie had the baby at her feet and her ever-present needlework in her hands—the perfect picture of domestic bliss.
‘Nonsense. He is a broken man. He has suffered much in his lifetime and he deserves our consolation.’ Evie flashed her a brief smile as she threaded her needle. ‘As do you, my dear. He has suffered, but how he treats you is inexcusable. Dimitri and I are both aware of it.’
‘I killed the woman he loved.’ Anna-Maria shrugged as if the fact meant nothing to her. She should be immune to it by now. After nineteen years of hearing the story, of being reminded her mother died giving birth to her, it shouldn’t affect her.
‘You were a baby. You had no control over that.’ Evie bit off the thread and gave her a considering glance. ‘You’re missing Stepan.’
‘As we all are.’ Anna fussed with her own stitching, a simple handkerchief. The house seemed empty without him. Even being absent so much, he’d managed to stamp the house with his presence. His coat was gone from where it usually hung on the hooks by the front door. Dimitri’s boots looked forlorn where they stood alone without Stepan’s beside them. Anna had slipped into his room, thinking it would help her loneliness. It hadn’t. The room he’d occupied looked positively sterile now that he’d gone, the bedcovers pristine and unwrinkled, the bureau uncluttered by personal effects. It was as if he’d never been there at all.
Evie gave her a sharp look when she was too silent too long. ‘Are you certain this trip to Shoreham is only about helping him set up house?’
Anna’s hand stilled. Evie went on. ‘I watched you waltzing with him the other day.’ Anna froze completely. The other day. The day after the kiss. What had Evie divined? What was there to see? That somehow, at some time, her relationship to Stepan had taken on an edge that she could hardly define? ‘Are you sure your request doesn’t have anything to do with the New Barn barracks being full again?’ She gave Anna a conspiratorial wink. ‘Dimitri tells me a Captain Denning has come to Shoreham with a company of men to catch smugglers. There will be assemblies and plenty of men to dance with while the countryside waits for spring.’ Evie cocked her head. ‘Perhaps they would be more interesting to practise on than the Squire’s son before London? Consider it a trial run.’
Anna smiled in relief and grabbed at Evie’s line of reasoning. ‘The garrison does have its own appeal.’ It wasn’t the only appeal, however, but she could hardly give voice to those other reasons. She could hardly explain them to herself, not when so much suddenly lay unresolved between her and Stepan. With a single kiss, the world had upended itself. She only knew that she wanted to be near Stepan, whether he needed her or not. Where that need had sprung from she wasn’t sure. The kiss had done more than jar him out of his complacency. It had somehow jarred her out of hers—a complacency that had been content to study him through windowpanes and at the distance of a dinner table, a complacency that was content to needle him. Now that she’d got a response, she was no longer content in mere needling. The rock had been turned over and instead of solving the intrigue, it had merely increased it.
Evie leaned forward. ‘I’ll see if I can persuade Dimitri to let you stay on in Shoreham, to help Stepan with the house.’
Anna shook her head, pessimistically. Her hopes faded. ‘How will we ever do that? He won’t even let me go riding without a proper escort, let alone live with a man.’ It was a poor choice of words. It said far too much about how her view of Stepan had changed in the last week.
The comment earned her another sharp look from Evie. ‘But that man is Stepan. It’s not as if you’re living with a stranger. He’s practically family,’ Evie argued.
Not really family, though. One did not kiss family like that, Anna thought. Over the course of the winter, he’d gone from being a childhood fixture to a curious mystery, to being a flesh-and-blood man with deep-seated emotions he strove to hide, along with an ability to shatter one’s world with a single kiss. She should want to run from that intensity, but she found she only wanted to run towards it, to see where it led.
Evie was too deep in her plans to notice her misstep. ‘You can take Mrs Batten, our housekeeper. She has a sister in Shoreham. She’ll enjoy the chance to visit. I’m sure the Worths have their own housekeeper, so this will free up plenty of time for Mrs Batten to keep an eye on you. She’ll be able to give you household management instruction, too. I’m sure Stepan wouldn’t mind the assistance, or the company if he’s as busy as he says he’ll be.’ Evie laughed. ‘Men don’t know how much they take a hot meal for granted at the end of a long day until it’s not there for them.’
‘Of course.’ Anna nodded and gave her attention to her embroidery. She was starting to doubt her eagerness to go to Shoreham. Mrs Batten was highly capable and a moral termagant to boot. And then there was the issue of just how ‘glad’ Stepan would be to see her, especially when Evie apprised him of the plan for her to stay more permanently—hot meals at the end of the day notwithstanding.
* * *
In the end, Dimitri’s carriage went home from Shoreham one occupant short of what it had come with. Anna-Maria stood on the steps of Seacrest with Stepan waving them off, a curious loneliness rising in her stomach when the carriage was out of sight. It was silly, really. Dimitri and home were just an hour away. She could ride over whenever she liked, yet, as dusk settled, home might have been a thousand miles away. Stepan had not been glad to see them, at least not her. He’d been cold and stand-offish since their arrival. He and Dimitri had closeted themselves away, leaving her and Evie and the redoubtable Mrs Batten to their own devices. Those devices had involved meeting with the household staff—a staff far more elaborate than the five servants who helped Evie at home. They’d drawn up lists for foodstuffs and a weekly menu of meals. They’d gone over the linens and found most things to be in order. Preston’s wife ran a good house, anything that needing shoring up was due only to Stepan’s abrupt arrival.
‘Regretting your decision to stay already?’ It was the first direct comment Stepan had made to her all day. It seemed he was intent on ignoring not only the kiss, but her, too.
She shook her head. ‘No, I’m just thinking of other times I watched Dimitri drive away,’ Of the time he didn’t come back. He’d sent a letter instead informing her of his decision to give up his title, his life, and stay in England to marry the daughter of a baronet. Stepan had been with her then. Dimitri had entrusted Stepan and Ruslan with the details of their quiet departure from Kuban. Only that departure had not been so quiet. Nikolay had been arrested and Illarion would have been next. Stepan had suddenly found himself not only with one young girl and an old man to whisk off to safety, but also a gravely wounded cavalry officer and a poet wanted for libel. Stepan had never faltered no matter how difficult the duty.
Stepan sighed. ‘They all drive away one way or another.’ He must be thinking of the others: of Illarion, Ruslan and Nikolay. He missed them, she realised. He was always so strong, so stoic, it was hard to imagine he had softer feelings, as well. But she knew better now, didn’t she? Now that he’d kissed her. That kiss had exposed him to her as much as it had exposed her. He did feel, he did yearn, he did hurt. Beneath his hard shell, Stepan Shevchenko was human after all. Such a realisation should have made him less heroic to her, but in fact it did not. It only increased the mystery of him, a stark reminder of how much she didn’t know and how much there was yet to know.
Stepan gestured towards the open door. Somewhere deep inside, a servant was lighting the lamps. A warm glow beckoned through the dusk. ‘Come, Anna-Maria. Dinner will be on the table soon and we can discuss exactly what you’ve got yourself into.’
* * *
Did she understand that by extension whatever she’d got herself into she’d got him into, as well? Stepan poured himself another glass of wine, studying Anna-Maria in the candlelight of the dining table: the glossy dark waves of her hair, the fine line of her nose, the soft curve of her jaw, the stubborn point of her chin. She was a beautiful woman, empirically, a quality heightened when she smiled, putting the sensuality of her mouth on full display. She was smiling now as she motioned to his nearly untouched plate.
‘Do you not care for the venison pie?’
He’d only taken a few bites. ‘No, on the contrary, it’s quite delicious.’ It was the best meal he’d had since he’d left Dimitri’s and he knew it was thanks to Evie and Anna-Maria, who’d given Cook instructions and direction. He’d been too busy with the ships to pay attention to the house. As a result, he’d eaten cold meat and bread since he’d left Dimitri’s, or eaten at the tavern. But he wasn’t going to admit that to Anna-Maria. It would only give her justification for staying. He took a bite to pacify her. ‘Why are you really here, Anna-Maria?’
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/bronwyn-scott/seduced-by-the-prince-s-kiss/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Bronwyn Scott
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
Отзывы: Пока нет Добавить отзыв
О книге: Adventure awaits!And it starts with his kiss…Part of Russian Royals of Kuban: Princess Anna-Maria Petrova has known stoic, upstanding Prince Stepan Shevchenko all her life. Or at least she thought she knew him. Because he’s never before looked at her the way he does now, when they′re alone together on the West Sussex coast. As if one kiss will unleash all the adventure, passion and pleasure she craves… Does she dare to discover if it’s true…?