‘I hope the storm didn’t inconvenience you,’ Andrew began. ‘I came as soon as I could. I was still in town when the weather changed. There was nothing I could do.’
‘It was no trouble. I was well taken care of.’
‘Oh, I am sure you were. He’s a dab hand with the ladies.’ She did not care for Andrew’s tone. He cleared his throat. ‘About that, Evie. You and Dimitri are getting on fabulously. I love that two of my friends have found a friendship of their own. But I would caution you. You don’t know him all that well.’
Evie looked at her hands, decidedly uncomfortable. ‘What is there to know? He is your friend after all.’ Perhaps Andrew needed a reminder that friends didn’t throw friends under carriage wheels. True friends were loyal. ‘I am sure I can trust your judgement.’ She was certain Andrew would never bring a scoundrel into their midst and turn him loose on the unsuspecting, staid population of Little Westbury. That was what he was implying wasn’t it? That Dimitri Petrovich, who cooked her breakfast and saw to her every need, was indeed a scoundrel? But that Dimitri Petrovich had also lain naked with her and declared himself a rogue. Maybe Andrew wasn’t wrong? There was no rule that stated rogues couldn’t be likeable.
‘He is a fine friend for any man,’ Andrew acceded. ‘But for a woman it is different. He’s a foreigner. His ways are not our ways.’
‘I haven’t your experience travelling the world. I’m afraid you’ll have to explain.’ The remark was acerbic. Old Evie, not the Evie who had indulged herself this afternoon, would have said the line with a note of deference. But New Evie was spoiling for a fight. If he was going to malign his friend, he’d have to be more specific. She wasn’t going to sell out Dimitri for a vague reference.
‘It’s hardly the sort of thing a gentleman talks about with a lady.’ Andrew gave her a quelling glance. He transferred the reins into one hand, his face softening as he touched her on the arm. ‘I don’t want to see you hurt, Evie. Dimitri could hurt you and not even realise it.’ He shook his head. ‘He’s a
prince
, Evie. He has palaces and servants and untold wealth. He is used to having anything, anyone he wants, when he wants them. He’s not like us.’
‘Don’t you think he could be, though?’ It was the first time he’d ever touched her voluntarily, the first time he’d ever shown such regard, and yet her concern for Dimitri overrode those attentions. What had Dimitri said today—that she had a perfect life?
Andrew gave a laugh, not an entirely kind one. ‘He’s a prince. Why would he want to be like us?’
Evie shrugged, part of her feeling a little silly for having said the words out loud, but she wouldn’t back down. ‘I think he’s a man who is not entirely happy with who he has become.’ It was the best she could do without repeating all Dimitri had shared with her. It felt like a betrayal to blurt all that out to Andrew. Besides, it might call into question
how
she knew.
‘Do you know him so well, then?’ Andrew’s tone was sharp as they pulled up to Evie’s home.
‘Probably not.’ She was going to have to concede the argument before she incriminated herself and Dimitri.
Andrew’s smile softened at her concession. ‘Of course you don’t. How could you? You’ve known him for a handful of weeks and spoken to him on only a few occasions.’ He jumped down and came around to her side. ‘Beware, Evie, it’s part of his charm. He has a way of binding people to him quicker than is prudent. It’s easy to fall for him.’ Her cheeks started to burn. Is that what she was doing? Falling for the Prince?
He swung her down, his hands lingering at her waist, his eyes on her face, his voice gentle. ‘He’ll leave, Evie. He has no choice. He has to go home, where he belongs. He’ll leave and we’ll still be here.’ Much was implied in that statement; that Dimitri was the interloper; that somehow she and Andrew were in this together and would be left behind
together
to a quiet life in Little Westbury. His thoughts mirrored the ones she’d had so closely, she ought to be trembling with delight. Why wasn’t she?
Empirically, all the reasons to do some trembling were there: his touch, his gaze, his confession, his concern. It was a picture-perfect moment and the best she could muster was warm gratitude. She managed a smile and a demure downcasting of her gaze. ‘I can handle myself with D—the Prince,’ she hurriedly corrected. ‘I appreciate your concern, truly I do. Thank you for the ride home.’ She stepped back. It was time to say goodbye. Anyone looking out the window might misunderstand the nature of their conversation. While that might not have bothered her a few weeks ago, it inexplicably did now.
Andrew gave her wide smile. ‘I should be thanking you, Evie.’ He gestured to a leather portfolio under the seat. ‘Your drawings are exquisite and I know it’s an extra effort for you. I’ve acquired quite the collection of your work now.’
He stepped forward, trying to capitalise on the compliment, but she backed up once more, uncomfortable with the nearness. Thankfully, he did not press his point or his distance again, but she was aware that he watched her go in and that he didn’t drive off until she was well inside. Was Andrew declaring himself at last? It seemed a cruel bit of irony to think he’d finally found his interest in her at a time when her attentions were engaged elsewhere. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t celebrate such a momentous step forward towards her dream?
Chapter Fourteen
W
hat the hell was wrong with her? Andrew chirped to the horses. He had a few miles to go to make his next meeting. He’d not planned on going back for Evie this afternoon, but he’d forgotten the portfolio with the drawings and it had added an hour to his day. It had been worth it. He thought about the small artefacts hidden beneath the seat: the emerald-studded comb and the ladies’ matching hair clips Dimitri had dug up later. The usually bustling site had been deserted when he’d arrived, a perfect opportunity to get his hands on a few items that might appeal to the man he was meeting today, if he could ever get there.
The storm would provide a convenient alibi. Surely it would be easy enough to believe a few artefacts had gone missing amid the wind, mud and overturned boxes. He was counting on the artefacts to make up for his tardiness, a little something to soften his customer’s disposition.
If not, that would be twice today he’d failed to soften someone’s disposition, the first being Evie’s. Usually, he was quite good at disposition softening. But Evie had not swooned at his attentions. It was rather odd given that Evie was supposed to be interested in him, something he’d taken as matter of fact long before Dimitri had pointed it out. He’d not lied to Dimitri. His interest in Evie could only go so far. He had bigger ambitions for himself than marriage to a baronet’s daughter could provide for.
He needed a rich bride with a big dowry. Restoring his grandfather’s estate was just the beginning. He didn’t love history as much as he loved the money history could make. A gentleman might dabble in historical pursuits and make money respectably if one knew the right outlets. There might also be greatness associated with it in the form of a title. Recovering special artefacts might be one way to attract royal attention. He was banking on it. In the meanwhile, there were some potentially lucrative black markets to pursue with his artefacts as well.
Andrew slowed the horses and swore under his breath at the muddy road. He wouldn’t risk the horses just to be on time, he wasn’t rich enough yet to afford new teams whenever he felt like it. But he would be. Pairing up with Dimitri Petrovich had been one of his more brilliant ideas, even if he did find the Prince a prosing, ethical bore. Once he’d seen how much money the Prince had made with some of their excavation projects by selling artefacts to museums he’d seen his way clear. He wouldn’t limit himself to museums.
The outskirts of the little town where their meeting was to be held came into view. It was an obscure place to meet, but his customer preferred it that way. No witnesses. Andrew pulled into the yard of the tavern, a dingy-looking place, but this would take no more than a few minutes. He checked the pocket pistol he carried, just in case—a habit, he told himself, from the Grand Tour when a gentleman couldn’t be too careful—it had nothing at all to do with the disreputable nature of his business. After all, the man he was doing business with was a reputable publisher in London. There was nothing illegal about what he was doing. He was just doing it without permission.
Andrew took the portfolio out from under the seat. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He would make sure Evie’s name was mentioned too as the illustrator. This dig was as much his as it was the Prince’s. He was the one who’d suggested the idea, who had brought the Prince here. He had just as much right to take credit for the effort and for disposing of the dig’s products as he saw fit.
Inside, the tavern was dark. He scanned the room, letting his eyes adjust. He found his man sitting in the back at a private table, although most tables were ‘private’ this time of day given that men were still at work and the rainstorm had probably cut down on traffic. Andrew straightened his shoulders and adjusted his coat. This was important. He had to seal this deal. He pasted on his best business smile. It was show time.
* * *
A half an hour later he walked out of the tavern two hundred pounds richer. The man had indeed been impressed with the hair clips and comb. He’d also been interested in purchasing a few more items. That’s where Evie’s drawings came in handy. Andrew could use them as a purchaser’s catalogue of sorts. Interested buyers could look through them and make an offer. Later, when he was done with the drawings, the publisher had offered to buy them. In fact, the man had already paid him an advance on a book containing those drawings and the descriptions that went with them. All Andrew had to do was write an introduction about the project.
Just the thought put a spring in his step. A book was the key to respectability and to a genteel lecture circuit. All the great explorers put out books about their journeys. Books would lead to talks, only he wouldn’t give talks to common folks in assembly rooms. He’d talk to people who mattered. He leapt up into the carriage seat, already imagining the great nobles he’d present his findings to—lords who would fund larger projects like the men coming out to the site tomorrow.
Archaeology was a lot like mining actually, only he was digging for artefacts instead of gold. England’s history was rich. There must be millions of things beneath the surface waiting to be discovered. And he would discover them, just as soon as Dimitri was gone. He was growing impatient to have the site to himself. Of course, it would be easier with Evie on his side. He’d need to find a way to keep her on it. He needed her drawings until he had enough for the book and she would know how to manage all the cataloguing.
Evie’s interest in Dimitri was becoming something of a concern. Andrew didn’t need Dimitri convincing her that archaeology was something a community should participate in since it ran contrary to his own plans. She’d been rather adamant in her defence of the Prince today. Such fire had surprised him actually. Evie was usually subdued in her opinions. It made him wonder what had transpired to make her so willing to defend Dimitri. What could Dimitri have said or done to inspire such a show in Evie? He worried most about the latter. Was Dimitri seducing Evie? Giving her false hopes? Normally, he wouldn’t care. Dimitri could seduce whomever he liked. But he needed Evie to be on his side. And really, what could Dimitri be thinking? It was hardly honourable for Dimitri to toy with her affections. The man could offer Evie nothing and he knew it.
But Evie didn’t. It would be so easy for a man like Dimitri to turn her head. Unless there was someone else who could turn it back. Evie was ultimately a practical girl. Perhaps it was time to ‘help’ her understand Dimitri’s limits before things went too far. If she knew what he knew about the Prince, she might be a little less inclined to champion him. Dimitri could use some reminders too, in the guise of friendly advice. Dimitri needed to know it was not acceptable to receive a woman in his pavilion wearing only his robe, nor was it acceptable to cook her breakfast so early in the morning. That scene in particular still niggled at him. Something wasn’t quite right there.
Perhaps too it was time for him to start moving a supposed courtship forward before it was too late. Clearly, it would take more effort than he’d given it today. If a touch at the waist, a lingering look into her eyes, a soft show of concern wasn’t enough to hold Evie’s attention, perhaps a kiss would be, and if that wasn’t enough, he could always make her promises he didn’t intend to keep.
* * *
Dimitri spared yet another glance for the cataloguing department, busy under the restrung canvas. It was the twentieth or so glance he’d ‘spared’ that direction all morning, although it could quite possibly be more. It was entirely possible that he’d lost count. The point was, he’d been looking a lot, looking so much, in fact, that he’d nearly crunched a bowl beneath his foot, and not just any bowl, but a bowl a thousand years old and broken neatly into two large pieces, a bowl that could be easily glued together. Such ‘complete’ finds were rare and they were impressive.
At first, he told himself he was checking on the canvas, to make sure that the rigging was tied tightly after yesterday’s debacle of a horse running through the area and tearing everything down. But after the fifth glance and the fact that there was only a light breeze that wouldn’t challenge even the poorest rigging, he had to acknowledge the truth: he was watching
Evie
. Today, she wore her usual wide white apron over a plain, durable dress to shield it from ink and dirt as she and a few others dug out their work from the residue of the storm. Her hair was done up in a tight bun. There was nothing about her reminiscent of the temptress she’d been yesterday in his pavilion. She was like a secret.
His
secret. He smiled at the thought, liking the notion of having the privilege to know the real Evie. Liking even more the notion that she’d given that secret into his care. He would cherish it, he would protect it.
He couldn’t help wishing her hair was loose as it had been in the tent, surrounding her like an autumn halo. Even now, his hands twitched at the memory of her hair, wet and soft beneath his fingers. Other parts of his body twitched too at the memory. His robe had smelled of her after she’d left, all lemon and lavender, a soft womanly scent. It had tormented him most of the night. He hadn’t slept well. Not merely because of the reminders of her presence in his tent—a place she’d spent too much time recently between dinner and the storm—but because of what it all meant, or didn’t mean.
Dimitri hefted a large chunk of rock into a wheelbarrow and motioned that it be taken away. He brushed his gloved hands on his trousers and pushed back his hair, starting to sweat as the day approached noon. He wasn’t in the market for a relationship, certainly not one that transcended a physical liaison. He would be going home soon. Yet, despite that understanding, she’d drawn him; the quiet beauty of her face, the intelligence of her blue eyes that veiled hotter depths, the quality of her conversation, which was thoughtful, and at times unguarded—that was when she was at her best. He wanted more of those times. Part of him looked forward to each day to see if there would be another glimpse—could he provoke another glimpse? What could he do or say that might give him one more look into that part of Evie? Why did she guard it? What other secrets did she hold? It was somewhat comforting to understand the roots of his attraction. But that didn’t resolve it. He feared nothing would. It was the wrong time, the wrong place in his life to have met Evie.
He looked up towards her one more time and she waved to him, gesturing for him to come over. Dimitri put down his shovel, hurrying across the distance.
‘How is everything?’ he asked, surveying the neat, organised domain of cataloguing. After Evie’s morning efforts, it hardly looked as if the place had been hit by a storm just a day before.
‘The comb and the hair clips are missing.’ Evie didn’t mince words. ‘I’ve been through the collection twice. They aren’t here.’ She waved a hand to indicate the workspace. ‘They must have fallen out of a box when the crates tipped over yesterday, they could have been dragged some distance by the horse, or buried by churned-up mud. They’re tiny, easily displaced.’ She shook her head, despairing. ‘I can’t find them. I feel like it’s my fault, but I was careful. I don’t know how it could have happened. They were wrapped in cloth, protected and packed away. It would have been unlikely they’d have got loose.’
‘They’ll turn up.’ He wanted to console her, but looking at the workspace, he wasn’t sure they would. ‘Nothing else is missing? Nothing else from the same box?’ He thought it strange, if the box had tipped over, if the contents had come loose and been trampled or spread around, that nothing else in that box had suffered.
‘No. The box is quite intact,’ Evie confirmed.
A suspicion born of experience began to take shape. Theft, perhaps. It happened often enough. He’d seen it on several of his digs. A worker, not part of his usual crew, would pocket a small artefact thinking no one would notice a small item gone missing amid hundreds of others. This was bolder, however. The hair clips and comb were more significant than a pottery shard. It did, however, make motives clear. Someone taking them would be looking to make money. That could be almost anyone. Plenty of the English labourers might be tempted to take something. The sum it would bring would be worth five years’ salary to some.
Dimitri kept his thoughts to himself. ‘Theft’ was a dangerous word. He would not throw it around without proof. He also didn’t want to start a panic or create a negative impression of the work that went on here, especially not with Andrew’s lords coming out tomorrow. He pushed a hand through his hair. He wished Andrew hadn’t invited the men without his permission. He’d have to be the Prince tomorrow, have to play the part of the aristocrat. Evie hadn’t looked thrilled about the visit either when Andrew had mentioned it. Well, that made two of them.
He smiled at Evie. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll find them.’ In the meanwhile, he would take precautions to make sure if there was a thief, the man wouldn’t be able to take anything of worth. He had a man on his crew for just this reason who created excellent replicas, a very useful talent to have when it came to stopping thievery, if indeed that was what had happened. This problem was solved easily. Too bad other difficulties weren’t solved with the same efficiency. How did one solve a problem like Evie Milham when the only solution that presented itself was suddenly quite unsatisfactory? It was the dilemma that had faced mankind since time immemorial: how did one manage to have one’s cake and eat it too?