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Prologue
Chapter One They say he killed his first wife.” It was enough to make Lady Olivia Bevelstoke cease stirring her tea. “Who?” she asked, since the truth was, she hadn’t been listening. “Sir Harry Valentine. Your new neighbor.” Olivia took a hard look at Anne Buxton, and then at Mary Cadogan, who was nodding her head in agreement. “You must be joking,” she said, although she knew quite well that Anne would never joke about something like that. Gossip was her lifeblood. “No, he really is your new neighbor,” put in Philomena Waincliff. Olivia took a sip of her tea, mostly so that she would have time to keep her face free of its desired expression, which was a cross between unabashed exasperation and disbelief. “I meant that she must be joking that he killed someone,” she said, with more patience than she was generally given credit for. “Oh.” Philomena picked up a biscuit. “Sorry.” “I know I heard that he killed his fiancée,” Anne insisted. “If he killed someone, he’d be in gaol,” Olivia poi
Chapter One
Chapter Two Olivia dropped to all fours, her heart pounding. He’d seen her. He had definitely seen her. She’d seen it in his eyes, in the sharp twist of his head. Dear God, how would she explain herself? Genteel young ladies did not spy upon their neighbors. They gossiped about them, inspected the cuts of their coats and the quality of their carriages, but they did not, repeat not, spy on them through windows. Even if said neighbor was a possible murderer. Which Olivia still did not believe. That said, however, Sir Harry Valentine was definitely up to something. His behavior this past week was not normal. Not that Olivia could claim knowledge as to what constituted normal for him, but she had two brothers. She knew what men did in their offices and studies. She knew, for example, that most men did not occupy their offices and studies, at least not for ten hours each day, as Sir Harry seemed to. And she knew that when they did happen to go into their offices, it was usually to avoid rel
Chapter Two
Chapter Three Mozart, Mozart, Bach (the elder), more Mozart. Olivia looked down at the program for the annual Smythe-Smith musicale, idly fingering the corner until it grew soft and ragged. It all looked the same as last year, except that there seemed to be a new girl at the cello. Curious. Olivia chewed on the inside of her lip as she considered this. How many Smythe-Smith cousins of the female variety could there be? According to Philomena, who had got it from her elder sister, the Smythe-Smiths had played as a string quartet every year since 1807. And yet the girls performing never managed to age past twenty. There was always another waiting in the wings, it seemed. Poor things. Olivia supposed they were all forced to be musical whether they liked it or not. It wouldn’t do to run out of cellists, and heaven knew, two of the girls hardly looked strong enough to hoist their violins. Musical Instruments I Might Like To Play, Had I Talent By Lady Olivia Bevelstoke Flute Piccolo Tuba
Chapter Three
Chapter Four That had gone well. Harry congratulated himself as he watched Lady Olivia hurry from the room. She wasn’t moving with any great speed, but her shoulders were a bit raised, and she was holding her dress with her hand, lifting the hem. Not by any huge number of inches—the way women did when they needed to run. But she was holding it nonetheless, surely an unconscious gesture, as if her fingers thought they needed to prepare for a race, even if the rest of her was determined to remain calm. She knew he’d seen her spying on him. He’d known that already, of course. If he hadn’t been certain the moment their eyes had met three days earlier, he’d have known shortly thereafter; she had pulled her curtains tight and hadn’t peeked out once since she’d been found out. A clear admission of guilt. A mistake that no professional would ever have made. If Harry had been in her position… Of course, Harry never would have been in her position. He did not enjoy espionage—never had, and the W
Chapter Four
Chapter Five There had to be a way to force the evening to a close. She was a much better actor than Winston. If he could feign a plausible head cold, Olivia decided, surely she could manage plague. Ode to Plague By Olivia Bevelstoke Biblical Bubonic Better than leprosy Well it was. In these circumstances, at least. She needed something not just disgusting; it had to be violently transmissible as well. With history. Hadn’t the plague killed half of Europe a few hundred years ago? Leprosy had never been so efficient. Briefly she considered the ramifications of putting her hand to her neck and murmuring, “Are these boils?” It was tempting. It really was. And Sir Harry, drat the man, looked pleased as punch, as if there were nowhere he’d rather be. But here. Torturing her. “Look at that,” he said conversationally. “Sebastian is dancing with Miss Smythe-Smith.” Olivia searched the room, determinedly not looking at the man next to her, “I am sure she is delighted.” There was a pause,
Chapter Five
Chapter Six Harry had been planning to head home. It was his custom to take an early-morning ride, even in town, and he’d been just about ready to exit the park when he spied Lady Olivia sitting on a bench. He found this sufficiently intriguing to stop and be introduced to her friend, but after a few moments of idle chatter, he decided he didn’t find either one of them sufficiently intriguing to keep him from his work. Especially since Lady Olivia Bevelstoke was the reason he’d fallen so far behind in the first place. She’d ceased spying upon him, that was true, but the damage was done. Every time he sat at his desk, he could feel her eyes upon him, even though he knew very well she’d shut her curtains tight. But clearly, reality had very little to do with the matter, because all he had to do, it seemed, was glance at her window, and he lost an entire hour’s work. It happened thus: He looked at the window, because it was there, and he couldn’t very well never happen to glance upon it u
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven It was worse. “Prince Who?” Harry asked. “Prince Alexei Ivanovich Gomarovsky,” replied Mr. Winthrop, who was Harry’s frequent liaison with the War Office. Winthrop might have had a Christian name, but if so, Harry had not been made aware of it. He was simply Mr. Winthrop, of medium height and medium build, with medium brown hair, and a face that was unremarkable in every way. As far as Harry knew, he never left the War Office building. “We don’t like him,” Winthrop said, with very little inflection. “He makes us nervous.” “What do we think he might do?” “We’re not sure,” he replied, seemingly oblivious to Harry’s sarcasm. “But there are a number of aspects to his visit that place him under suspicion. Foremost of which is his father.” “His father?” “Ivan Alexandrovich Gomarovsky. Now deceased. He was a supporter of Napoleon.” “And the prince still has a position in Russian society?” Harry found that difficult to believe. It had been nine years since the French had marched
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight Reasons Why a Prince Might Pay Attention to Me By Lady Olivia Bevelstoke Ruination Marriage Neither option was particularly appealing. Ruination, for obvious reasons, and marriage for…well, a whole host of reasons. Reasons Why I Would Not Care to Marry a Russian Prince By Lady Olivia Bevelstoke I don’t speak Russian. I can’t even manage French. I don’t want to move to Russia. I hear it’s quite cold there. I would miss my family. And tea. Did they drink tea in Russia? She looked over at Sir Harry, who was still examining the card she’d handed to him. For some reason she thought he would know. He’d traveled widely, or at least as widely as the army would have needed him to, and he did like tea. And her list hadn’t even begun to touch upon the royal aspects of marriage to a prince. The protocol. The formality. It sounded an absolute nightmare. A nightmare in a very cold climate. Quite honestly, she was beginning to think that ruination was the lesser of the two evi
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine They couldn’t remain in the alcove all night, and so with much regret Olivia stood, perfected her posture, then looked over her shoulder at Harry and said, “Once more into the breach, dear friend.” He rose to his feet as well, regarding her with a warm, quizzical expression. “I thought you didn’t like to read.” “I don’t, but for heaven’s sake, it’s Henry the Fifth. Even I couldn’t escape that.” Olivia nearly shuddered, remembering Governess Four, the one who had insisted on doing all the Henrys. Inexplicably, in reverse order. “And I tried. Believe me, I tried.” “Why do I have the feeling that you were not a model student?” he wondered. “I was only trying to make Miranda look good by comparison.” It wasn’t strictly true, but Olivia had not minded that it had been the result of her bad behavior. It wasn’t that she didn’t like learning, she just disliked being told what to learn. Miranda, who had always had her nose in a book, was happy to soak in whatever knowledge the gove
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten Lady Olivia!” Sebastian exclaimed. “I am so sorry. Please accept my apologies. Terribly clumsy of me.” “Of course,” she said, discreetly shaking out one foot, then the next. “It is nothing. Just a spot of champagne.” She smiled up at him, a reassuring it’s-no-trouble-at-all sort of smile. “I’ve heard it is good for the skin.” She’d heard nothing of the sort, but what else could she say? It wasn’t like Sebastian Grey to be so clumsy, and really, it was just a few drops on her slippers. Beside her, however, the prince was seething with anger. She could feel it in his stance. He’d received more of a splashing than she had, although in all fairness, it had all landed on his boots, and hadn’t she heard that some men cleaned their boots with champagne, anyway? Still, whatever Prince Alexei had grunted in Russian, she had a feeling it was not complimentary. “For the skin? Really?” Sebastian asked, giving every appearance of an interest she was quite sure he did not possess. “I’d n
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven All things considered, Harry was ready to call it a decent day’s work. On a normal day, he’d have translated twice what he’d managed for today, possibly more, but he’d been distracted. He’d found himself staring up at Olivia’s window, even though he knew she wasn’t there. This was the day she was supposed to visit the prince. At three in the afternoon. Which meant she’d probably have left home shortly before two. The Russian ambassador’s residence was not very far away, but the earl and countess would not want to risk being late. There was always traffic, or they could break a wheel, or a street urchin might dash into the road…No one with any prudence left their home without allotting extra time for unforeseen delays. Olivia would probably be stuck there for two hours, possibly three; no one knew how to drag these things out like the Russians. Then a half hour to get home, and— Well, she’d be home now, that was for certain. Unless she’d gone back out again, but he hadn’t
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve Sir Harry?” Olivia called out, coming to her feet. She leaned against the sill, peering out past the darkness to his window, where he sat silhouetted against a flickering rectangle of light. He had gone so still, and so suddenly, at that. He started at the sound of her voice, looking up at her window, but not quite at her. “Sorry,” he muttered, and he turned quickly back to the book, searching through the words to find his place. “No, no, don’t be,” she assured him. He really did look a little odd, as if he’d just eaten something that had gone off. “Are you all right?” He looked up at her, and then—it was really quite impossible to describe, or even understand—what happened. His eyes met hers, and even though it was dark, and she couldn’t see the color, that rich, warm chocolate—she still knew it. And she felt it. And then, quite simply, she lost her breath. Just lost it. Her balance, too. She stumbled back into her chair, and sat there for a moment, wondering why her he
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen Five Things I Quite Like About Sir Harry Valentine By Olivia Bevelstoke Smile Wit Eyes Will speak to me through a window Vladimir!” the prince suddenly barked out, rendering Olivia’s accounting one item short. Vladimir immediately crossed the room to Prince Alexei, who issued what certainly sounded like an order in Russian. Vladimir grunted his assent and then added his own incomprehensible stream of words. Olivia looked over at Harry. He was frowning. She supposed she probably was, too. Vladimir made another gruff sound and returned to his corner, and Harry, who had been watching the entire exchange, looked at the prince and said, “He’s very convenient.” Prince Alexei gave him a bored stare. “I do not understand your meaning.” “He comes, he goes, he does whatever you say…” “That is his purpose.” “Well, of course.” Harry let his head tilt very slightly to the side. A shoulderless shrug is what it was, and just is careless in appearance. “I did not say otherwise.” “
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen Harry was in a bad mood. The day had started out perfectly fine, and indeed had promised all sorts of good cheer, until he’d ambled over to Rudland House’s sitting room and come across Prince Alexei Gomarovsky, apparent descendant of Russia’s most famous bachelor poet. Or if not most famous, then famous enough. Then he’d had to watch Olivia fawning over the churl. Then he’d had to sit there and pretend he didn’t understand when the bastard said he wanted to rape her. And then tried to pass the bloody thing off as some nonsense about sky and fog. Then—as he was sitting at home, trying to figure out what to do about the prince’s second statement in Russian, which had been an order to the ever-charming Vladimir to investigate him—he’d received written orders from the War Office to attend that evening’s opening of The Magic Flute, which would have been marvelous, had he been able to watch the stage instead of his new least favorite person, the aforementioned Alexei of Russ
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen By the following morning Olivia was feeling not quite so out of sorts. The light of day and a good night’s rest, it seemed, could do a great deal to restore the spirits, even if she hadn’t come to any grand conclusions. Why I Was Crying Last Night By Olivia Bevelstoke Actually, I wasn’t crying. But it seemed like it. She decided to try it from a different angle. Why I Wasn’t Crying Last Night By Olivia Bevelstoke She sighed. She had no idea. But there was always denial. And so she resolved not to think about it, at least until she’d managed to get some breakfast. She was always more levelheaded on a full stomach. She was halfway through her morning routine, trying to sit still while her maid pinned her hair, when a knock sounded at the door. “Enter!” she called out, then murmured to Sally, “Did you order chocolate?” Sally shook her head, and they both looked up as a maid entered, announcing that Sir Harry was waiting for her in the drawing room. “At this time
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen He didn’t think about what he did. He couldn’t have thought about it, because if he had, he never would have done it. But when she reached out her hand… He took it. It was only then that Harry realized what he had done, and perhaps only then that she realized what she had started, but by then it was far too late. He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed each of them, right at the base, where she would wear a ring. Where she currently wasn’t wearing a ring. Where, in a flash of terrifying imagination, he saw her wearing his ring. It should have been a warning. It should have induced sufficient panic to make him drop her hand, flee the room, the house, her company, forever. But he didn’t. He kept her hand at his lips, unable to part with the touch of her skin. She was warm, soft. Trembling. He looked up, finally, into her eyes. They were wide, gazing at him with trepidation…and trust…and maybe…desire? He couldn’t be sure, because he knew she couldn’t be sure. She wou
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen Olivia’s second coiffure of the day took considerably more time to arrange than the first. Sally, still irritated at having been cut off mid-braid, took one look at Olivia’s hair and had not gone lightly with the “I told you so’s.” And although it went against Olivia’s nature to sit meekly and take such abuse, sit meekly she did, since she couldn’t very well tell Sally that the only reason her hair was falling from its bun in huge messy chunks was because Sir Harry Valentine had had his hands in it. “There,” Sally declared, inserting the final pin with what Olivia deemed unnecessary force. “This will stay in all week if you’re so inclined.” Olivia would not have been surprised had Sally painted her with glue, just to keep every hair in place. “Don’t go out in the rain,” Sally warned. Olivia stood and headed toward the door. “It’s not raining.” “It could.” “But it’s—” Olivia cut herself off. Good heavens, what was she doing, standing there arguing with her maid? Sir Ha
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen Olivia barely had time to catch her breath before she found herself in Rudland House’s small music room with the door closed behind her. And after that, she managed only the “Wh” in What are you doing? before it was perfectly clear what he was doing. His hands were back in her hair, and her back was to the wall, and he was kissing her. Madly, passionately, bone-meltingly kissing her. “Harry!” she gasped, when his lips left hers to nibble on her ear. “I can’t help it,” he said, his words ticklish against her skin. She could hear the smile in his voice. He sounded happy. She felt happy. And more. “You were there,” he said, one of his hands moving down her side, around her back. “You were there, and I had to kiss you, and that’s all there was to it.” Forget the flowery words of Miss Butterworth’s mad baron. That was the most romantic thing Olivia had ever heard. “You exist,” he said, his voice deepening with desire. “Ergo, I need you.” No, that was the most romantic thing
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen That evening, promptly at six, Olivia opened her window, leaned on the sill, and looked out. And there was Harry, leaning on his windowsill, gazing up. He looked utterly delicious, his lips curved into the perfect smile, a little bit boyish, a little bit sly. She liked him like this, happy and relaxed. His dark hair was no longer neatly styled, and she was struck by a sudden urge to touch it, to run her fingers through, to muss it up even more. Good heavens, she must be in love. It should have been a revelation. She should have been struck down with the shock of it. But instead she just felt lovely. Perfectly, fabulously wonderful. Love. Love. LOVE. She tested the word out in her mind, in different pitches and tones. They all sounded splendid. Really, the emotion had a great deal to recommend it. “Good evening,” she said, a silly grin on her face. “Good evening to you.” “Have you been waiting long?” “Just a moment or two. You’re quite fantastically prompt.” “I don’t be
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty By the time Harry arrived at the ambassador’s residence, the ball was in full swing. He couldn’t quite determine what aspects of Russian culture were being celebrated; the music was German and the food was French. But no one seemed to care. The vodka was flowing freely, and the room echoed with peals of laughter. Harry immediately looked for Olivia, but she was nowhere to be seen. He was fairly certain she would have already arrived; her carriage had left her house over an hour before his had departed. But it was a crowded room. He’d find her soon. Sebastian’s shoulder was nearly improved, but he had insisted upon wearing a sling under his coat—the better to attract the women, he’d told Harry. And indeed, it worked. They were mobbed instantly, and Harry was happy to stand back, watching with amusement as Sebastian basked in the worry and concern of London’s fair ladies. Harry noted that Sebastian did not give an accurate depiction of the accident. In fact, all details we
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one Olivia left first. She wasn’t sure how long they had lain there on the divan, trying to regain their sanity, and then, once they were able to breathe normally, it had taken some time to right their appearances. Harry couldn’t get his tie folded with the same crisp precision as his valet had done, and Olivia had found that one handkerchief was not up to the task of… Good heavens, she couldn’t even think the words. She did not regret what she had done. She could never; it was the most wonderful, amazing, spectacular experience of her life. But now she was…sticky. Their departure was also delayed by several stolen kisses, at least two lustful glances that had threatened to send them right back to the divan, and one extremely mischievous pinch on the behind. Olivia was still congratulating herself on that one. But eventually they managed to look respectable enough to rejoin polite society, and it was decided that Olivia would depart first. Harry would follow five minutes
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two Where is she?” That was all Harry managed to get out before he launched himself at the prince. He had followed Vladimir to a room at the back of the house, his panic rising with each step. He knew he was being foolish; this could be a trap. Someone obviously knew he worked for the War Office; how else would Vladimir have known he spoke Russian? He could be walking toward his own execution. But it was a chance he had to take. Still, when he saw the prince standing there, illuminated by a single candle on a bare table, Harry snapped. His fear made him even stronger, and when they both hit the floor, it was with stunning force. “Where is she?” Harry yelled again. “What have you done with her?” “Stop!” Vladimir wedged himself between the two men, pulling them apart. It was only when Harry was standing again, held an arm’s length from the prince, that he realized Alexei had not fought back. The terror in the pit of his stomach grew. The prince looked pale, grim. Frightene
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three Harry sat in silence while Alexei downed his second shot of vodka. He said nothing when he took his third, or even his fourth, which was actually the one he’d originally poured for Harry. But when the prince reached for the bottle for his fifth shot— “Don’t,” Harry snapped. Alexei looked at him with surprise. “I beg your pardon.” “Do not take another drink.” Now the prince appeared merely confused. “You are telling me not to drink?” One of Harry’s hands clenched into a fist, hard and tense. “I am telling you that if we need your assistance in finding Olivia, I don’t want you stumbling and puking down the hallway.” “I can assure you, I never stumble. Or—what is this puke?” “Put the bottle down.” Alexei did not comply. “Put. It. Down.” “I think you forget who I am.” “I never forget anything. You would do well to take note of that.” Alexei merely stared at him. “You make no sense.” Harry stood. “You do not want to provoke me right now.” Alexei regarded him for a momen
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four By the time they reached the ground floor, the feeling had returned to Olivia’s feet, and she didn’t have to lean quite so hard on Harry. But she didn’t let go of his hand. She was still in a panic, heart racing and blood pounding, and she didn’t understand why he was speaking Russian or holding a gun, and she wasn’t sure if she should trust him, and even worse, she didn’t know if she could trust herself, because she feared she might have fallen in love with a mirage, a man who didn’t even exist. But still, she didn’t let go of his hand. It was, in that terrifying moment, the one true thing in her life. “This way,” Vladimir said curtly, leading the way. They were heading to the ambassador’s office, where her parents waited. They still had a way to go, or so Olivia assumed from the silence in the halls. When she could hear the hum of the party, then she would know that she was close. But they were not moving quickly. At every corner, and at the top and bottom of each
Chapter Twenty-four
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