Dimitri copped out, playing it safe by claiming business matters for the next few days, leaving Cynda to work on his portrait alone. She didn’t really need him there as often now. Her memory filled in the details of his physique, the pride in his posture.
But she continued to dine with him and his family . . . Sophie insisted. The elderly lady wasn’t about to lose her favorite storyteller, and to be truthful, Cynda enjoyed the meals. It made her feel part of a family again, which she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
If only she didn’t long to touch Dimitri every time they shared a room. It was torture to sit across from him at the small intimate table and make casual chitchat while her hormones screamed for action and her heart threatened to pound right out of her chest. She tried not to look at him, but found it nearly impossible. Her gaze would drift to his where she would find an answering passion stoked in his eyes.
Cynda told herself several times all the reasons why she shouldn’t get involved with the prince—she was leaving soon, he was marrying someone else, he was royalty, she wasn’t and wasn’t likely to be. But nothing helped. Plain and simple, she wanted this arrogant but kind-hearted prince.
He was so different from what she had first imagined him to be. Yes, he was proud, but he had been taught that at a young age. He cared about his family and tried to do what was right—at least his opinion of right—for them. And he suffered from insecurities about his pending role as king, which only endeared him to her more.
Perching on the edge of Sophie’s bed, Cynda forced herself to concentrate on the pages before her. Jeez, did her reading sound as distracted as she felt? Though Alexi had left immediately after dinner, Dimitri lingered, sprawled in an overstuffed chair, his dark gaze always upon her. How was she supposed to concentrate?
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Sophie touched Cynda’s arm, but addressed both her and Dimitri. “I took the liberty of arranging costumes for you two for the ball.”
Cynda started. The ball? Tomorrow night? “I hadn’t planned on attending,” she murmured, not daring to look at Dimitri.
“You must attend. I insist.” Signs of the imperious queen she had once been showed. “Dimitri will take you. After all, he is sponsoring you.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” As much as Cynda would love an evening with Dimitri, she didn’t dare.
“It is an excellent idea.” Sophie glanced at her grandson. “Don’t you agree?”
Dimitri hesitated before replying. “Cynda does deserve some entertainment. She has been working hard.”
“It is settled.” Sophie leaned back against her pillows, a satisfied smile on her lips. “I will have the costumes delivered to you tomorrow.”
Cynda’s pulse skipped a few beats. “What are they?”
“Ah.” Sophie lifted a finger, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “That is my secret. But I do want you to come see me before you leave for the ball.” She sighed. “I remember when I could dance all night. You must do it for me now.”
“I haven’t danced in . . . forever.” High school maybe? Cynda dared a sidelong glance at Dimitri and found him watching her intently. Did he dread taking her or, like her, look forward to it with nervous anticipation?
“I am certain you will be an excellent dancer,” he said.
Cynda lowered her gaze before he could see her longing for him. She had to remember he was not the man for her. Surely she could survive a simple dance and keep her hormones under control.
Maybe.
Cynda was engrossed in detailing the trim on Dimitri’s jacket. He would have to pose for her some more so she could get it exactly right.
The sound of a knock at her door penetrated slowly, and she whirled around, wiping her hands on her apron as she answered it. Rupert stood there, his arms filled with a long blue gown, his expression exasperated.
“I’ve been knocking for five minutes,” he said.
“Sorry. I was working.” She held open the door to let him in.
“Where should I put this?”
She directed him to a nearby chair. After he placed the gown there, he pulled a box out from under his arm and handed it to her.
“The Grand Duchess said this was to go with it.” He gave her an impish grin.
Cynda resisted the urge to peek, not wanting Rupert there to view her reaction. “Thank you, Rupert.” She tipped him generously.
The money disappeared into his pocket in one smooth gesture. “Thank you.” He started to leave, then paused before the half-completed portrait. “Hey, that’s good.”
She laughed. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
A flush crept up his neck. “Well, some folks were saying that the prince . . . that you and he . . . that you weren’t really painting a portrait.”
Cynda didn’t need much imagination to conceive the stories being circulated throughout the hotel. “Well, as you can see, I am painting his portrait.” She fixed him with a stem glare. “Perhaps you can set some of these folks straight.”
The bellhop swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat before he produced a wobbly grin. “I can do that.” He almost ran from the room.
She sighed. Perhaps she shouldn’t attend the ball with Dimitri if this kind of talk was going around.
Straightening, she shook her head and laughed. Just listen to yourself. She was beginning to sound as though she belonged in this time period. People liked to gossip. If they wanted to gossip about her and Dimitri, let them. When she presented her finished portrait, they would all see they were wrong.
She approached the chair and set the box upon it so as to examine the dress. It shimmered in a royal blue color, the flared sleeves trimmed with gold embroidery and the skirt long and full. The front had laces crisscrossing up the bodice, and the waist was a slight vee-shape forming the bottom of the laces.
What was she supposed to be? A princess? Stroking the silky material, she sighed. It was beautiful. She couldn’t wait to try it on. Would it fit?
She peeked in the box next and found a silky gold chemise lying on top, evidently to wear with the dress. Beneath it lay a shimmering pair of gold-colored shoes. How could Sophie . . . or even Rupert know her size?
Cynda shook her head. She would clean up and dress first, then try the shoes and see how they fit.
The dress fit as if tailored for her, the neckline curving low to reveal just the tops of her breasts, the lacing allowing some of her chemise to show through while producing impressive cleavage. The skirt skimmed over her hips and grazed the floor, the fullness of it moving with her.
She felt beautiful.
The box also contained a circlet of matching blue cloth, caught in a roll and wound with gold strips, obviously meant for her head. She left her hair long after brushing it until it shone, then placed the crown on her head.
Now for the shoes. She slid one on with trepidation and put her weight on it gingerly. It fit well, again as if designed for her. After sliding into the mate, she walked across the room, enjoying the sensuous feel of the dress molding to her torso and caressing her hips. What would it be like to dance in this?
She would soon find out.
The final addition was a mask, blue to match her dress and trimmed with gold. Thank goodness she could see through it just fine.
A sharp rap at the door made her catch her breath in a gasp. Releasing it slowly, she went to answer it.
Dimitri stood there looking more untamed than she had ever seen him. He wore a plain white shirt, the cuffs rolled up, and over it a jerkin of dark forest green. A wide belt encircled his waist with a sword hanging in a scabbard. His muscular legs were encased in form-fitting pants of a gray-green color, and dark green boots rose to mid-thigh. A black mask covered his eyes.
If looking at him hadn’t revealed his costume identity, the large bow he held in one hand and quiver of arrows thrown over one shoulder would have given it away. Cynda laughed. “You’re Robin Hood.”
He bowed, a twinkle in his gray eyes. “At your service, Maid Marian.”
She glanced down at the dress. “Oh, so that’s who I am.” She grinned. “Sophie is a very devious woman.”
“I never doubted that for a moment.” His gaze lingered on her, his eyes darkening to the pewter she loved so well. “You’re beautiful.”
Cynda had to swallow to ease the growing tightness in her throat before she could reply. “Thank you.”
He smiled, melting her bones, and extended his arm. “Shall we visit Grandmère before we depart for the ball?”
Sophie clapped her hands when they entered her room. “You are magnificent together. I knew you would be.”
“Excellent choice, Grandmère.” Dimitri presented a regal bow.
Following suit, Cynda dropped into a curtsey, the movement of the dress around her making her feel as though she did this all the time.
“Thank you, Sophie,” she added.
Sophie leaned back against her pillows. “I doubt I will be awake when you return tonight, but tomorrow, I insist on hearing everything. Who dressed in what costume, the orchestra, the dances.”
“I’m certain we can make arrangements to bring you down to the ball,” Dimitri said. “Dr. Ziegler does have the stretcher available.”
“Thank you, my dear, but I would only fall asleep after an hour. Better I stay here and imagine how grand it is.” She patted her cheek. “Now give me a kiss and go on.”
Dimitri kissed her cheek lightly.
When Sophie glanced at Cynda and raised her eyebrows, Cynda hurried to kiss the paper-thin cheek herself. “Rest well, Sophie,” she murmured.
“Have fun,” the elderly woman said.
Dimitri paused in the main room to set the bow and quiver by a chair.
“Hey, that’s cheating.” Cynda grinned at him. She had been wondering how he would manage to dance while hanging on to a bow as long as he was tall.
“It may be more authentic, but it’s also a nuisance.” He winked at her. “Grandmère has seen the image she wanted to see.” Taking her arm, he opened the door. “And we shall have an evening unencumbered.”
The faint strains of music greeted them as they drew near the ballroom, and dancing started in Cynda’s stomach as her nerves jitterbugged. Would she make a complete fool of herself? It had been ages since she had been dancing, and that hadn’t been close to anything these folks were likely to do.
She hesitated. Maybe she should turn around before it was too late.
As if sensing her thoughts, Dimitri lifted her hand to his lips, the touch of his mouth affecting her nerves in a different manner. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his eyes dark beneath his mask. “I won’t desert you.”
Her smile was shaky. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Tightening his hold on her arm, he led her inside the elegant ballroom. Always before, it had appeared forlorn and empty when Cynda had passed it, but not tonight. Gaslight candelabras stood around the edges of the room, providing a softened light. An orchestra occupied a platform at one end, blending from one tune into the next.
Though it was early in the evening, many people filled the room, dressed in a vast array of costumes. Evidently, this time period went all out for Halloween.
Cynda cringed, remembering the year she had merely put her hair in a ponytail and declared she was Barbie. These folks knew how to party.
Pausing by the first of several tables laden with food and drink, Dimitri motioned toward a mammoth bowl of punch. “Are you thirsty?”
“Not yet.” She couldn’t look away from the elegance and the costumes. Though she easily recognized some of the hotel residents, she was willing to suspend disbelief and imagine them as their characters. Apollo walked by, followed by a milk maid and Caesar. And was that Miss Sparrow dressed as Athena?
Cynda swung around to smile at Dimitri. “This is incredible.”
His gaze didn’t leave her. “Yes, it is.”
Her cheeks grew warm, the touch of his eyes almost as potent as a physical touch. She dropped her gaze. She didn’t dare give in to the yearning to touch him, the longing to be with him. He had made his position on that quite clear.
Several couples moved to the center of the room as the orchestra launched into a lively tune. Dimitri extended his hand. “Shall we dance?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know all the steps.”
He closed his hand over hers. “I will teach you.” At once, the arrogant future king was in control as he pulled her onto the floor.
Despite her initial rush of panic, Cynda discovered he was a good teacher or the dances weren’t as difficult as she thought. Though she made many a misstep, she enjoyed it all, and Dimitri was a great partner.
Midway through the evening, she noticed several of the older women watching her with Dimitri. Cynda didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what they were thinking. Their sour expressions said it all. She tugged Dimitri off the dance floor to the side.
He immediately fetched them glasses of punch, and Cynda downed hers gratefully. “I believe we’re the center of some discussion,” she said quietly.
When Dimitri raised his eyebrow, she motioned toward the gossips along the wall. “Why don’t you ask some of the other women to dance? It might calm them down,” she added.
He looked offended at her suggestion. “But I promised not to desert you.”
“I’m over my initial nervousness. I’ll be fine.” At the moment, she just wanted to sit down. Her feet were already swelling within the beautiful slippers. “Go on, Dimitri. You have an image to maintain. I don’t.”
His princely mask slid into place, and he gave her a formal bow. “As you wish.” Turning, he approached a young woman standing nearby and soon led her onto the floor.
Cynda sighed. She was a fool. What did it matter what the old biddies said? It didn’t matter . . . to her. But it did to Dimitri. Someone so aware of status and rank as he would hate being the center of gossip. Though Cynda doubted he could avoid it as a prince.
His new dancing partner smiled at him, all charm and grace, and Cynda turned away, not wanting to watch. These women knew how the game was played. Too bad Cynda didn’t know how to be anyone but herself.
Unable to find an empty chair, Cynda leaned against a pillar and closed her eyes. The night was wonderful, like being a part of a fairy tale. She scrunched her toes in her shoes. Would it all end at midnight when she once again turned into a simple artist?
Opening her eyes, she immediately sought out Dimitri on the dance floor. He had changed partners, and this woman played the coquette even better than the first one. If she bats her eyes any harder, she’ll fly away.
“Cynda?”
She started, then smiled as she recognized Alexi in a musketeer costume. “You look very dashing, Alexi.”
He bowed low with a sweep of his plumed hat. “Many thanks.” Straightening, he extended his arm. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”
When she hesitated, he produced a charming grin. “As a friend?”
“I would love to dance with a friend.” She took his arm and entered the floor. As the night grew later, the orchestra played many more waltzes—the one dance Cynda did know—and this was one.
Keeping one hand on her waist, he held the other high as he whirled across the floor, his movements as smooth and elegant as Dimitri’s.
“You’re a very good dancer,” Cynda said. “No wonder all the women fall at your feet.”
“Except you.” He said the words with good humor, but Cynda watched him closely until she spotted Dimitri waltzing behind his brother, an attractive brunette in his arms.
Her chest tightened, but she tried to ignore it. After all, she had told him to dance.
“My brother is a very good dancer as well,” Alexi said abruptly.
Cynda forced her gaze back to his face. “Yes, he is.”
“Has he mentioned that he is betrothed to a childhood friend of ours?” Though Alexi spoke casually, Cynda sensed an undercurrent of emotion in his voice, almost a warning.
“As a matter of fact, he has.” She struggled to keep her tone even despite her inner turmoil. If only that fact could stop her from wanting Dimitri. She waited until he met her gaze. “Don’t worry, Alexi. He’s in no danger from me. I’m leaving in December, and you’ll never see me again.”
Alexi frowned. “That isn’t what I want.”
“What do you want?” Better to be direct. Would she get a direct answer?
He hesitated, his expression solemn, and turned to look at Dimitri. “I want what he has.”
Cynda’s heart skipped a beat Alexi wanted the kingdom? To take Dimitri’s place? “And you would do whatever it takes to get it?” she suggested softly.
Alexi stopped in mid-motion and stared at her as if he had never seen her before. “Of course not. Despite what you may think of me, Cynda, I have as much honor and pride as my brother.”
“I didn’t mean—”
He didn’t let her finish, but escorted her off the floor and left her after a brief bow.
Well, she had blown that. But she had to know. Alexi’s denial had been passionate. Would something happen to make him misdirect that passion in the future?
Before she could move away, an older man bowed before her. He wore a black cloak that covered his head and body, giving her no clue to his identity. When he offered his arm, she grimaced, but took it. After all, Dimitri was dancing with every woman in the room.
Another waltz played, and he guided her through the steps, not nearly as polished as the princes. “Who are you supposed to be?” Cynda asked. His silence unnerved her.
“Death.” He gave her a leering grin that she recognized at once. He was the man Dimitri had punched.
She stiffened and tried to pull free, but he only tightened his hold, pulling her closer. “You’re going to come with me,” he said quietly, menace in his voice.
“Oh, am I?” Obviously, he didn’t know who he was dealing with. “Then what?” Her heart pounded rapidly, but she remained calm.
“There are others who feel as I do, that these foreigners should go back where they came from.” Again, he presented his repulsive grin. “I believe that prince of yours will come after you and we’ll have him.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “What do you plan to do to him?”
“You don’t need to worry about that. You’ll be busy.” His gaze dropped to her cleavage.
Cynda shuddered. Monet would rise from his grave before she allowed this man to follow through with his plan. She inhaled to scream, then froze as a sharp point pressed against her abdomen. The man held a small knife, using their bodies to hide it.
“I wouldn’t do that.” He danced toward the doors. “Come with me now.”
Swallowing, she complied. Was this man the one who would kill Dimitri? Would she be an unwitting accomplice?
She had to do something.
But what?