He smiled, releasing his breath, aware how much her words mattered. He turned his cheek and pressed a kiss into her palm. ‘Dear Lord, Evie, be careful what you say. You’d make a blancmange hard.’ To say nothing of a man already experiencing the stirrings of arousal. He should not let her want him. He had to try and warn her. ‘You know I can’t stay.’ And yet when he looked at Evie, he wished he could. Evie wanted
him
, Dimitri Petrovich the man, not the Prince.
He’d not ever been with a woman who had wanted that man, who looked at him and saw that man. It was wonderful and awful all at once. Women who wanted the Prince were easy to walk away from. They did not offer love in return, just their bodies. But Evie was on the brink of loving him.
‘I know.’ Their eyes locked and he read the unspoken message that passed between them.
I want you for as long as I can have you.
There was some hope here. Perhaps if they both understood the temporary nature of their association, they could find temporary happiness together. Maybe that would be enough.
‘What does wanting me mean, Evie?’ His voice was hoarse with hope and desire. She blushed. She understood what he meant. How far could the wanting go? Was it to be chaste if not pure? Holding hands, exchanging kisses, touches, or was it to be bold and illicit, involving his bed and naked bodies entwined in acts that could not be retracted? His body hoped for the latter while his code of honour knew he had to restrict it to the former. He would not ruin her for his pleasure or even for hers. She would come to hate him for it even if he would be a thousand miles away before she realised it.
She searched his face, perceiving the dilemma behind his words. ‘We’ll figure it out together,’ she whispered, rising up on her tiptoes to press her mouth against his, ‘one kiss at a time.’
Chapter Sixteen
O
ne kiss led to dinner. At Evie’s. With her parents. A bucolic temptation if ever there was one. An English summer dinner surrounded by reminders of what was possible if he turned his back on Kuban, on his family and Anna-Maria. Andrew called such a choice a disaster. Dimitri called it inevitable. He had no choice except to go back but that didn’t stop him from dreaming and this—sitting across from Evie, her father presiding over the table at one end, smiling at her mother at the other end—was
the
dream.
This was life in ordinary time. No royal court to navigate, no bride of convenience waiting in his royal apartments, no
fear
. He was starting to realise that his life was full of fear. Fear for Anna-Maria, for his family if he failed to fulfil his Kubanian-ordained destiny.
He sipped cool white wine from his glass, Evie flashing him a covert smile over the candles as her father went on about his latest book. ‘It will be a legacy to Little Westbury. In this area, we can trace our origins back to the Domesday Book,’ Sir Hollis said proudly. Dimitri liked Sir Hollis Milham. He’d enjoyed their talks the very first day Sir Hollis had visited the site. This was a man whom he could come to respect the more he got to know him. Dimitri understood the pride Sir Hollis felt for his work. He understood the magnitude of such a gift to a community. To understand one’s heritage was an integral part to understanding one’s self. Evie’s mother had beamed at her husband, proud too of what he’d accomplished.
Evie’s mother was a fluttery woman, who tended towards nervousness over the littlest thing in her effort to please, but anyone could see her efforts were honest and well meant even if those efforts bordered on stifling. She’d asked him three times if he had enough vinaigrette for his summer greens. Evie might take after her in looks, but she took after her father in temperament. Sir Hollis Milham was level-headed and quiet, perhaps because her mother wasn’t. Between the two of them, they counterbalanced Isobel Milham perfectly. He learned that Evie had sisters, two of them. Already married. It explained, perhaps, why her parents were content to have her stay with them, unwilling to have their nest emptied entirely.
There could be more evenings like this if you stayed
, whispered the very temptation he’d spent most of the evening trying to avoid. More evenings of cold meats, bread, a salad of sweet summer greens with a tangy raspberry vinaigrette—of which there was apparently an abundance—evenings of listening to Hollis’s insights, being fussed over by Isobel and Evie flirting with him across the table, her eyes promising him pleasure once they were alone. Did she know she did that? He shouldn’t even allow himself to think such traitorous thoughts, shouldn’t allow himself to conjure up such temptations.
To stay meant he had to admit certain truths to himself—one truth in particular: He was falling for Evie Milham. He had to be careful with his words. ‘Falling’ was as close as he’d let his vocabulary get. He didn’t dare describe what he was falling into. He didn’t dare use the word ‘love’. He knew what love was. Knew he should guard against it as much as possible. Loving his family came with duty, it came with fear. A man could only live with so much of that before it crushed him. He’d seen it happen to his father. Love, protection, fear, duty—they were all intertwined. Loving Evie would be more of it, a different version of it. He wasn’t sure he was strong enough. If love had broken his fortress of a father, surely his own odds weren’t any better. And yet, the urge to tempt fate was strong.
‘Sir—’ the housekeeper bustled in, addressing Sir Hollis ‘—Mr Adair is here. Shall I tell him to join you?’
Sir Hollis raised his eyebrows at the surprise. Dimitri wasn’t sure if Sir Hollis thought it a good surprise or a bad one. Dimitri shot Evie a look, but she was as perplexed as her father. ‘It’s quite the night for unexpected guests,’ Sir Hollis joked in friendly tones. ‘Send him out and bring the cheese. He can join us for dessert.’ Then in low tones, he said something to the housekeeper that sounded remarkably like, ‘No seed cakes, though, or the man will never leave.’
Ah
, Dimitri thought.
Not a good surprise.
Sir Hollis Milham didn’t like Andrew Adair as much as everyone else in Little Westbury. Interesting.
The atmosphere around the table changed with Andrew’s arrival. The relaxation seeped away. But Andrew didn’t notice. He was too busy dominating the conversation, full of easy smiles. ‘We had a splendid day at the site today. The visit with Lord Belvoir and his friends was excellent. They were impressed with what we’ve done at the site.’
What
we’ve
done? Dimitri wanted to correct him. Andrew hadn’t spent a single day on his knees in the dirt excavating anything. True, he’d been the one to bring him here and he’d been the one to see to the external arrangements like food and inviting the lords out, but he hadn’t done any actual work on the site. Andrew’s next words, though, were fighting words.
‘I think a few of them would be interested in purchasing some artefacts, especially that bowl you found the other day.’
Dimitri shook his head. ‘We are not selling the artefacts. We’d agreed. Anything from this dig will be displayed in a museum here in Little Westbury.’ True, he didn’t have an actual museum yet, but he had his eye on an empty office space next to the bakery near the village green. It would be one of the last tasks he did before leaving, the final task that would launch Little Westbury into completely taking over the project.
Andrew laughed. ‘It’s easy for you. You’re a prince, you don’t have to think about money. You can give it all away. I don’t know the rest of us can afford to think like that. The dig has to support itself. Surely it won’t hurt to sell some of the items. Don’t you agree, Sir Hollis?’ He flashed Evie’s father a smile, hoping to engage an ally. Dimitri sat back and waited. He already knew what Evie’s father would say.
‘Frankly, I agree with the Prince.’ Sir Hollis did not hesitate to take issue with Andrew. ‘It’s the principle of the matter. A heritage isn’t for sale. It’s one of the few things in this world that should not have a price put on it.’ He winked at his wife. ‘Love would be another.’ Isobel Milham blushed, looking much like her daughter, and Dimitri admired the way Sir Hollis had negotiated Andrew’s question with levity.
Andrew threw up his hands with an easy laugh. ‘Save me from high-minded fools!’ But Dimitri didn’t think it truly was a joke to him. ‘Well, never mind,’ Andrew continued, leaning forward. ‘They might invest anyway. They have deep pockets and we’ll need them when you leave.’ Andrew was speaking directly to him although there were others present. He’d effectively blocked the Milhams out of the conversation. It was entirely disrespectful. ‘I had an idea. I stopped by your pavilion, but your assistant said you’d come here for dinner.’ There was a question of accusation in the statement. ‘I was thinking we might throw a party at the end of September, invite them out again, invite the locals, make it a celebration, a “passing the torch” ceremony, and a farewell party for you. You’re leaving the first of October. It will be perfect.’
Dimitri felt his jaw tighten. He hazarded a glance at Evie to see how she’d taken the mention of a departure date. He’d said nothing concrete to her about exactly when he’d leave, only that he had to be home by February. But Evie had averted her eyes and was concentrating on her hands in her lap.
‘I was thinking Miss Northam could plan it,’ Andrew concluded the lay out of his plan. ‘If she’s invested time in the project, I’m sure her father would follow suit.’
‘No,’ Dimitri put in quickly. It might be sound logic, but he’d already foisted Miss Northam’s uncomfortable company on Evie once. He wasn’t going to do it again, especially after what Evie had shared with him this afternoon. No person like that was going to align herself with his projects if he could help it. What was the point, after all, of an apology, if he made the mistake again?
‘No?’ Andrew was taken aback. ‘Is that a royal edict, Your Highness?’ Dimitri didn’t care for the snide tone of Andrew’s voice, which went far beyond teasing.
‘It is simply, no,’ Dimitri repeated. ‘I think Evie and Lady Milham should plan it.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ It was Evie this time who broke in. ‘I sew gowns and draw patterns.’
Dimitri argued with a smile, ‘I disagree with your assumption that all you’re good for is stitchery and drawing. I think you and your mother are perfectly placed to plan this party. You are a high-ranking local family. People look to you to set the tone.’ He hoped Evie’s level-headedness, though, would balance out her mother’s tendency to overthink things.
‘The Worths do that,’ Evie argued back.
‘They are not in residence currently.’ Dimitri didn’t hesitate and pressed on, laying out his case. ‘Your father is highly thought of when it comes to history and you’ve been helping me. You understand what this project is about. You’re the perfect bridge between Little Westbury and the excavation.’
Evie switched tactics. Good heavens, arguing with her was like arguing with a hydra. ‘That doesn’t mean I can organise a party. Under your criteria, Andrew would be the perfect party organiser. Isn’t Andrew the one who arranges for all the supplies that come out to the site? He already knows how to order for a large group.’
Dimitri gave a loud laugh. ‘He can order potatoes and sausage for a hundred men. That is not the same at all as planning a party. There are decorations to consider, seating arrangements, music, atmosphere.’
Evie opened her mouth for another protest, but it was too late. Dimitri had an ally. He’d thought he might.
Isobel Milham came to life at the mention of music and decorations. ‘Evie, we could do it. We could host it at the villa itself, let people dine in the general’s dining room. We could call it “A Night in a Roman Villa”.’
‘Something Latin would sound better,’ Evie said without realising what she was walking into. ‘“La Nocturna, a Night at a Roman Villa.” We could hang fabrics, damasks and silks.’
Dimitri exchanged a victorious look with Lady Milham. He framed the phrase with a gesture of his hand. ‘“La Nocturna, a Night at a Roman Villa.” I like it. It will be the party of the decade, Evie.’
‘Wait!’ Evie saw too late what had happened. Dimitri nearly laughed at the incredulous expression on her face. ‘I haven’t agreed to anything.’ But she was wavering. Her eyes were dancing, and Dimitri would bet his fortune her mind was starting to see the potential. He was too—the villa’s courtyard, the dining room, a space that must have functioned as a grand salon of sorts at one time. It would be unique and magnificent.
Dimitri laughed. He hadn’t had this much fun talking someone into something in ages and Evie was more than capable. ‘Perhaps this will convince you. The four words every woman loves to hear: Money is no object. You won’t be alone. You’ll have your mother. Stefon will help you. You come up with the lists and Stefon will see it done. My crew will help you set up when the time comes and they’ll clean up afterwards.’
He glanced at Andrew, who’d been minimised in the conversation. ‘I think it’s a fabulous idea, Andrew. A party will build commitment. People will support what they fund, what they feel part of. The project will become theirs. This could be the work of a lifetime for someone, someone like you, Sir Hollis.’ Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Andrew blanch. Andrew had seen himself as the natural successor. But he didn’t want the project in Andrew’s hands alone. Andrew would sell it off piece by piece for personal gain. He saw that now. ‘You can establish a museum with the artefacts, attract other scholars, attract tourists.’ He could see the idea excited Sir Hollis and the man would be well placed to know who those scholars might be. They wouldn’t be men like Lord Belvoir. They would be true scholars like Sir Hollis’s son-in-law, the aspiring Oxford don.
Sir Hollis Milham rose. ‘Why don’t you and Evie take a stroll and talk through some ideas while they’re fresh in your head and I’ll see Andrew out.’ It was all said congenially, but Dimitri understood the undertones. Andrew was being dismissed and he was being given a chance to be alone with Evie. He was starting to wonder who or what Sir Hollis Milham’s remark about love was aimed at. At the time, it had seemed benign. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
‘The observatory would be nice tonight,’ Sir Hollis suggested with a smile. ‘There’s still time to see the Perseids. There’s nothing quite like wishing on shooting stars.’ If only, Dimitri thought, one could take the risk. What happened if his wish came true?