“You don’t need to carry me. I’ll be fine.” Cynda’s pulse accelerated with each step as Dimitri’s warmth seeped into her, creating rivulets of fire in her veins. His dark hair brushed her hand where she had it thrown over his shoulder, the strands soft yet as noticeable as flames.
This was not a good idea.
“You are injured.” Dimitri kept a steady pace through the garden.
Cynda released an exasperated breath. He was too unnerving. Especially with flashes of her dreams invading her mind. Already, her breasts swelled above the constraints of the corset. She would do better to remember his previous arrogance. “Won’t you contaminate yourself by touching a servant?”
He paused at that and glanced down at her, his face hidden in the night shadows. For several long moments, he said nothing, and Cynda swallowed the lump in her suddenly dry throat.
“This is an extraordinary incident.” Without another word, he resumed walking.
You can say that again. Cynda sighed and tried to peer ahead. “Where are you going?”
“The doctor has a cottage near the baths.”
“I don’t need a doctor. It’s just a sprain.”
He ignored her. Typical male.
“It’s the middle of the night.” Couldn’t this hunk understand she didn’t want to do this? Maybe if she punched him. She grimaced. Then he would probably drop her, and she would break her back. This being in the past stuff sucked rotten eggs.
“His job is to assist the guests.”
“But I’m not a guest.” A point he had made quite clear not so long ago.
“But you are hurt.” He paused before a small cottage and kicked at the door.
Cynda closed her eyes and bit back a frustrated scream. This was just getting better and better. Why did she have to be such a klutz?
The door opened to reveal an older man, obviously awakened from his sleep as he was still tying the belt of his dressing gown. “Yes?” He blinked once, then stood back, holding open the door. “This way.”
Dimitri carried Cynda inside and placed her on a chair indicated by the doctor. At the loss of Dimitri’s touch, Cynda wanted to cry out in dismay. Stupid girl. Wasn’t this what she had wanted?
“What have we here?” The doctor stood before Cynda, looking down at her as if she were a young child.
“I slipped and twisted my ankle,” she replied. “It’s nothing, really. I just need to put some ice on it and keep it elevated for a while, and it’ll be fine.”
The doctor lifted one eyebrow, his gaze intent on Cynda. She grimaced. Was she not supposed to know that stuff? How did folks handle sprained ankles in 1889?
“Let’s see for ourselves.” He pushed up her skirt just the minimal distance to expose her foot and removed the shoe from her already swelling foot. As he probed her ankle, she winced and jerked away. Instead of giving up, he continued to examine it until, apparently satisfied, he straightened.
“I have to agree—a twisted ankle. Ice will bring down the swelling, and you will need to keep it propped up for a week.”
“A week?” Cynda couldn’t keep the panic from her voice as she bolted upright. “I just started today. The Major will fire me if I’m off a week.” Then what would she do for money and a place to live?
“I will ensure he understands the situation.” The doctor smiled for the first time. “I’m Dr. Ziegler. I don’t believe we have met.”
“Cynda Madison. I just arrived today.” And what a day it had been, too. To her surprise, tears welled in her eyes.
Dr. Ziegler touched her shoulder. “I’m sure it’s been difficult adjusting.”
She gave him a wry smile. “You have no idea.” Was it just this morning that she had been walking home from the Historical Society and stupidly entered the ruins of The Chesterfield? It felt like years ago.
“I’ll check on you later in the week.” The doctor looked toward Dimitri as if seeing him clearly for the first time. “Your Highness, this is a surprise.”
Dimitri bowed slightly. “I was nearby when I heard Miss Madison cry out.”
Dr. Ziegler stood a little straighter. “Very good of you to look after her. I’ll have someone take Miss Madison to her room. You needn’t bother to stay.”
“I’ll take her.” Dimitri offered a smile that changed his entire expression, making Cynda’s heart skip a beat. God, he really was gorgeous.
“It’s late, and I must return to the hotel,” he continued. “It would be impractical to disturb someone else.”
“I do not wish to impose on you, Your Highness.”
“It is no bother.” Before the doctor could object further, Dimitri approached Cynda and scooped her into his arms again.
She grabbed his neck, her eyes wide in surprise. Why was he suddenly being a nice guy? She would have expected him to get rid of her as fast as possible. “Are you sure?” she whispered.
His gaze fastened on her face as if searching her soul. “Allow me to assist you, Miss Madison.”
How could she respond to that? She gave him a brief smile and nodded at the doctor as they left the office.
“I’ll come by tomorrow,” Dr. Ziegler said as he stood in the doorway.
“Thank you.” Cynda barely had time to give him a quick wave before Dimitri entered the night, his stride as brisk as before. “My room is on the second floor over the west wing,” she told him.
“Very well.”
Cynda resisted the urge to lean her head against his shoulder. He held her with firmness and no apparent effort—as if she were as petite as she had always longed to be. But she knew better.
When he reached the bottom of the narrow stairs leading up to the servants’ rooms, she grasped the edge of the door frame to stop him from taking the steps. “Put me down.” She met his gaze. “I’m not going to have you kill us both by carrying me up those stairs. If you’ll help me, I think I can climb them.”
Dimitri lowered her slowly to her feet, and Cynda inhaled sharply when she tried to put weight on her sore ankle.
He seized her arms, a frown on his brow. “Are you certain?”
The concern in his voice made her pause and stare at him. Did he honestly care about her well-being?
“I can do this.” She smiled, then eased from his hold and grasped his arm for balance. Using that and her other hand against the wall, she could hop up the steps.
They had only taken two stairs when Dimitri slid his arm from her hold and wrapped it around her waist, nestling her against his side. “I think this will work better.”
Better for whom? His closeness threatened to steal her breath away, and she needed all she could get right now. To maintain her balance, she put her arm around his waist, then gave a jerky nod, not trusting herself to speak.
This method did make her upward trek easier—at least externally. Internally, her hormones were jitterbugging the entire way. His crisp masculine scent teased her, and his muscles moved against her with each step. She wasn’t sure she was going to survive this. She glanced up the steps. Just a little farther.
Relieved to finally reach the top step, she removed her arm too soon, only to lose what little balance she had. She wavered, but Dimitri caught her close before she could do more than teeter.
Crushed against his chest, Cynda could only stare up at him. Talking . . . breathing was out of the question. A rapid pounding filled her head. Was it her pulse or his?
Dimitri’s eyes darkened to pewter as he looked at her. He didn’t release her, and for several long moments, they stood that way in silence. His gaze dropped to her lips, and Cynda swallowed to ease her constricted throat. Was it her too-tight corset or his hold that stole her breath?
The precise clip of heels on the stairs broke the spell, and Dimitri released Cynda, both of them turning to see Miss Sparrow join them.
“Miss Madison, Dr. Ziegler notified me that you’ve been injured.”
“I fell and twisted my ankle.” Cynda grimaced. “I feel like an idiot.”
“What’s done is done.” Miss Sparrow led the way down the hall. “If you would be so kind as to bring her, Your Highness.”
Was Miss Sparrow giving orders to a prince? Cynda blinked, then gasped as Dimitri once again lifted her close to his chest. Heat warmed her cheeks, and she didn’t dare look at him. Surely he could see the effect he had on her. She felt certain she wore a banner across her forehead that read “severe case of lust.”
Miss Sparrow opened the door to Cynda’s room, then stood back to allow Dimitri to pass through. As they entered, a young woman sitting on the other bed dropped her jaw and the brush in her hand.
“Land’s sake,” she exclaimed.
Dimitri ignored her and lowered Cynda to her bed, then stood back. He gave a precise bow. “I hope your recovery is swift, Miss Madison.”
“Thank you, Di—Your Highness.” Cynda glanced at him, only to find his expression veiled. Without another word, he left the room, pausing only to bow slightly toward Miss Sparrow.
Cynda released her pent-up breath with a sigh and lay back on her pillow, closing her eyes. Well, she had met her prince all right. And fought with him and had him carry her to bed. What more could a girl ask for?
“Come, Miss Madison, let’s remove your clothing before you wrinkle it.” Miss Sparrow approached the bed, all efficiency. “Miss Sullivan, if you will assist us.”
As the other girl joined them, she gave Cynda a shy smile. Cynda returned it. The girl was the epitome of the petite sweet nothing Cynda had always envied, with dark eyes and dark chestnut hair falling halfway down her back.
“Miss Madison, this is Molly Sullivan, your roommate. I expect she will be of great help to you in the next few days.” Miss Sparrow planted her hands on her hips. “Now then. Your apron, please.”
Cynda grimaced. And this was only day one of her visit to the past.
At one time, Cynda had thought lying around with nothing to do sounded heavenly, but by the second day of her confinement, she was ready to scream with boredom. She had already read the books Miss Sparrow loaned her, including the latest by Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Which Cynda had read in sixth grade.
She had asked for a pair of crutches, but Miss Sparrow had refused. However, she had relented slightly by the third day and allowed Cynda to be taken in a stretcher-like chair to the bathhouse to soak her injured ankle.
“How do you feel today?” Molly breezed into the small room at the bathhouse where Cynda sat soaking her foot. A maid at The Chesterfield, she worked from early morning until late afternoon, but her evenings were usually free. “How is your ankle?”
Without waiting for an answer, she crossed over to the pool and lifted the towel over Cynda’s soaking foot. “It still looks awful.”
“Thanks, Molly.” Cynda wiggled her toes, then winced. Her ankle was still swollen and painful, no matter how she wished it otherwise. “I can’t wait to walk again.”
Molly rolled her eyes. “You say that now. Wait until you’re serving the vittles again.”
“I’m just so bored.” Cynda didn’t remember the last time she had had nothing to do. As it was, she ached to draw. “Is it possible to get some paper and a pencil?”
Molly’s eyes widened. “I don’t know. I’ll have to ask Miss Sparrow.”
“If you would, I’d be eternally grateful.”
With a grin, Molly turned back to the entrance. “Never know when I might need someone to be eternally grateful to me.”
Before she could step through, she collided with a man entering and drew back with a gasp. Alexi made a sweeping bow before her. “I beg your pardon.”
“Land’s sake,” she said, frozen in place.
“I’ve come to check on the invalid.” Alexi gazed past Molly to Cynda and smiled. “I presume that is permitted.” He trained his smile on Molly. “As long as you chaperone us.”
“I . . . ah . . . yes.” Molly staggered backward, and Alexi entered the room with a flourish. Pausing by Cynda, he held out a large basket of fruit—apples, pears, even oranges.
“May I offer my own personal remedy for swift recovery?” he said.
“Thank you.” Cynda returned his grin as she took it, still surprised to see him. Of all the people in the hotel, Alexi Karakov was the last one she would have expected to visit her. Fortunately, he looked enough like his devastating brother that she could pretend Dimitri had come to call.
As if.
“What brings you here, Your Highness?”
“When Dimitri mentioned you were injured and that he was to blame, I felt I should assure myself you were given good care.”
“He said he was to blame?” Impossible. Dimitri would never take the blame for her carelessness. “I’m sure you misunderstood.”
“Perhaps.” Alexi didn’t press the point. Instead, he leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “But it does give me an excuse to see you again. We have had to endure a silly girl as our waitress in your absence.”
Cynda doubted Miss Sparrow would allow any “silly” girls on the staff. “I’m sure she’s very efficient.”
“She fawned all over Dimitri.” Alexi released an overly dramatic sigh. “Which, of course, he hates.”
No doubt Dimitri hated anything outside of his small royal world. Cynda bit back a grin. “I’ll do my best to heal faster.”
“See that you do.” The twinkle in Alexi’s eyes belied the order in his voice. He suddenly glanced at Molly, who still stood beside the entrance. “Did I interrupt? Forgive me.”
“It was nothing important.” Cynda waved at Molly. “Don’t worry about it, Molly. If Miss Sparrow comes by, I’ll ask her myself about the paper.”
“Paper?” Alexi asked.
“I am losing my mind from boredom.” Cynda absently readjusted the fruit in the basket to a better arrangement for painting, then caught herself. “Molly was going to try to find me some paper and pencils so I could draw.”
“Do you draw?”
“I used to . . . before I came here.” Not that it paid the bills.
“Excellent.” Alexi straightened, enthusiasm bubbling. “I will see you supplied within the hour.” He dashed to the doorway, pausing only long enough for a short bow, then vanished from the room.
“My goodness,” Molly said, her eyes wide. “He is certainly . . . energetic.”
“He is that.” Cynda liked him. He was so completely opposite from his dour brother. Opposite enough to kill Dimitri? No. It had to be someone else.
But who?
Dimitri ducked into his suite and closed the door behind him. No tap followed at the door, and he eased a sigh of relief, loosening his tie from around his throat. Thank God, he had managed to lose Mrs. Harrington and her too many, too eligible daughters.
Tossing his tie on a nearby chair, he followed it with his coat. The day was too hot for formal attire. His collar had been heavily starched at the beginning of the day—now it sagged around his throat much like he wanted to sag into a chair.
He crossed to the balcony doors and stood in the opening, eager to catch what little breeze passed by. He had barely spent a week at The Chesterfield, and he was ready to leave. True, he had known what to expect from previous visits when he had accompanied Grandmère here, but the reality of evading husband-hunting females was wearisome. Would they be so eager to marry him if he were a poor, average man?
He ran his fingers through his hair. They were all the same no matter where he went.
Except for Cynda Madison.
She was completely different from any woman he had met—much too forward for a servant, yet intelligent, quick-witted and far too attractive for his peace of mind. Though she had approached him as many other women had in the past, she hadn’t flirted but had spoken directly. She had spoken his name as if she knew him, her voice reaching . . . something . . . deep inside him.
His attempt to evade her company had been disastrous. Instead, he had ended up even closer to her. He rubbed his hand against his chest, still surprised that her warmth hadn’t burned an imprint into his skin.
The door to the suite opened behind him, and he turned to see Alexi enter. His brother also tugged off his tie and removed his coat as he approached. “Are you afraid to go out?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.
Dimitri grimaced. “There are far too many single women at this resort.”
“I’ll be glad to take care of them for you.” Alexi grinned. “Maybe they’ll settle for the second son even if I won’t be king.”
That might be true but he also showed little discrimination in his choices and some women would be only too happy to become the wife of a prince. Alexi still needed to marry well as befitted his position.
“None of the women here are for us. You know that.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy them.” Alexi crossed to the bar and poured himself a drink. “I especially like Miss Madison. Did you know she is an accomplished artist?”
Dimitri’s gut knotted at the mention of the servant’s name. “And how did you learn that information?”
“I knew you wouldn’t visit her while she’s incapacitated, so I did two days ago. I found her some drawing supplies, and she’s produced some excellent sketches for me, much better than most. I’m impressed.” Alexi watched Dimitri for several long moments, then tossed back the contents of the glass.
“You’ve visited her? In her room?” Sudden anger made Dimitri’s voice sharp. “I would think even you knew better than that.”
Alexi set the glass carefully on the bar. “It was at the bathhouse, we were both fully clothed, and we were chaperoned. I am not a fool, brother.” He came to stand before Dimitri, his expression defiant. “I like her. I look forward to when she once again serves at our table.”
He disappeared into the adjoining room, and Dimitri groaned. Miss Madison was far more intelligent than most women of their acquaintance. If she intended to trap Alexi in marriage, she would, and his brother would fall willingly. He was too easily swayed by a pretty face.
With reluctance, Dimitri donned his tie and coat. He would have to visit Miss Madison himself and ensure she understood his brother was not to be trifled with. A member of the Karakov royal family would never marry a commoner.
Yet he found himself strangely disquieted as he made his way toward her room in the west wing. Now that he had broken his vow to see Miss Madison again only when she served his meals, an uncharacteristic eagerness rose within him. He scowled and walked even faster.
It wasn’t until he reached the end of the hallway that he realized he should take some token on his visit. Spying one of the vases of fresh flowers that adorned many of the tables in the resort, he plucked out a perfect daisy. It reminded him of Miss Madison—beautiful and resilient despite its commonness.
Not allowing himself to question that thought, he hurried the remainder of the way. He hesitated by the steps leading up to her room, disgusted with his impetuousness. It would not be proper to visit her in her room. Perhaps he could ask Miss Sparrow to arrange something.
Before he could turn away, Miss Sullivan, the maid who shared Miss Madison’s room, descended the stairs. Her eyes widened at spotting him, and she dropped a curtsey. “Your Highness.”
Ah, here was a solution. “I would like to speak with Miss Madison. Can you arrange that?”
“She is at the bathhouse again, Your Highness. Miss Sparrow insists she go twice a day to soak her ankle.”
“Very good. “Dimitri headed down the west wing toward the bathhouse. At least there, some rules of propriety could be observed. The place was constantly filled with people.
Outside the bathhouse, he paused and drew in a deep breath. Ridiculous. He was going to be king of his country. One woman should have no effect on him.
Dimitri stepped inside, then froze at spotting Miss Madison. She was bent over a pad of paper propped against her bent knee, her hand moving quickly, her blond hair loose, falling past her shoulders, covering her face, and her figure clothed in a blouse and skirt. A towel dangled over the edge of the pool, covering her bare foot.
She looked up, and her eyes widened in surprise. At once, she overturned the paper on her lap. “Di—Your Highness, what are you doing here?”
Dimitri hesitated. How should he broach this? “I wanted to see how you are progressing.”
“Very well, thank you.” Her response was very formal for a woman who hadn’t hesitated to say what she thought before. She motioned toward her ankle, soaking in the spring water. “I’m hoping to return to work within a couple of days. The swelling is down, and the bruising is fading.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Realizing he still clutched the daisy in his fist, he presented it to her.
Her face lit up, and the smile she gave him made his breath catch. “Thank you so much. How did you know I loved daisies?”
“I . . . it reminded me of you.” Dimitri stopped suddenly. He hadn’t intended to say that.
Her cheeks grew pink, and she bent over the flower so he couldn’t see her expression. “Thank you for taking the time to visit. I appreciate it.” The sincerity in her voice made him hesitate.
“I understand my brother has been to see you,” he said finally.
Her smile appeared again as she met his gaze. “Yes, he’s been very kind.”
Her expression appeared innocent, but Dimitri had met other women who had appeared equally innocent in the past. “He said you are a competent artist.”
“I have some talent in that area.” A question flickered in her eyes. “He’s been very supportive.”
“I noticed you were drawing as I entered.” Dimitri stepped closer to her side. “May I see?”
To his surprise, her cheeks flushed again. “I . . . I’d rather not.”
“I insist.” Why should she hesitate? As a rule, women liked to display their work.
Though obviously reluctant, she picked up the pad of paper. “It’s not much. I was just sketching a picture of”—she stopped and gazed at him, an emotion deep in her gaze that he could not name—”of Alexi.”
Ah, this would give him the opening he needed. “Please.” He took the pad from her hand and examined the sketch. The face staring back at him was familiar, very familiar. Yes, it could be Alexi, yet . . . He frowned. If he did not know better, he would think the sketch was of himself.
And it was very good. He had assumed Alexi had exaggerated about her talent as most women dabbled with painting, but she truly did possess the skills of an artist. He glanced away to find her watching him intently. “Very good.” He returned the pad, suddenly aware of their close proximity.
Her breasts swayed slightly when she reached for the pad, and he realized she wore no corset beneath her clothing. Her wide eyes drew a man closer, and her full parted lips begged for a kiss. For a moment, he was tempted to do just that.
Inhaling deeply, Dimitri backed toward the door. He had to leave. “I look forward to your recovery, Miss Madison.”
“You can call me Cynda if you like.” She grinned. “This Miss stuff gets tedious, doesn’t it?”
He didn’t dare allow such familiarity. “Miss Madison,” he repeated with a nod of his head. He turned for the doorway.
“Wait, Dimitri.”
At her call, he looked back. She had her hand extended as if to stop him, to pull him back to her. A rush of desire surged through him, surprising him. He found he wanted to return to her side. “I . . . I need to warn you,” she said quickly.
Her words surprised him. Warn him?
“I think someone is going to try to kill you.”
He laughed. Kill him? “I sincerely doubt that. My country is at peace. I have no enemies, especially here. I could not be safer.”
“But—”
His amusement vanished at her continued seriousness. “Have you heard something?”
“No, but you’re in danger.”
Her concern was real, and he reexamined her words. Who would want to harm him? As he had said, he had no enemies. “You have nothing to fear. I am quite safe.”
He bowed slightly. “Good day, Miss Madison.” He stepped into the wide hall, then paused outside her room.
Why should she fear for him? Odd. He could honestly say no other woman had approached him in that manner.
Forcing himself to walk away, he grimaced. Yet the danger was very, very real.
From Miss Madison herself.