AWAKENING THE SHY MISS (8 page)

Chapter Ten

N
ot just waiting for her, Evie discovered as she stepped out into the sunny morning. He was
cooking
for her. Dimitri glanced up and gave her a look that bordered on a smoulder. Was he even aware he did that? Sensuality was so effortless for him. ‘Good morning. I’d call you a sleepy head, but it’s still early.’

Now that she was outside, Evie could feel the earliness. The sun was up, but a cool bite still lingered in the air, a reminder that while the afternoons were hot, autumn was coming. August was nearly done. She held out her hands to the flames, the warmth of his little cook fire a welcome contrast.

‘What would you like? Sausage? Bread? There’s smoked salmon left from last night.’ He poked the sausages where they lay on a grill over the fire and laughed. ‘We Russians are frugal, simple people at our core. Breakfast is hearty if not fancy. Most of the time, if it’s not black bread for breakfast, it’s left-overs from dinner the night before.’

‘It all looks delicious.’ Evie took a seat in one of the camp chairs, acutely aware that the food wasn’t the only thing looking delicious. He had been up well in advance of her. He was shaved and dressed in clean work trousers and shirt. But his hair was still loose, falling forward as he turned the sausage. His long hair was fascinating to her. Men in England wore theirs far shorter, but his fell past his shoulders, sleek and dark and free. It gave him a primal look, the appearance of a fierce warrior from long-ago days when men were perhaps less refined creatures.

As if he read her thoughts, he straightened up and pushed his hands through his hair, catching it back in a smooth tail. Instantly, the fierce warrior was gone, replaced by the gentleman. ‘Don’t fuss on my account.’ She had the impression smoothing back his hair was akin to putting on a jacket in a lady’s presence, a means of hiding the masculinity within lest it be too disconcerting for the female mind. But he’d never quite be successful in hiding his maleness entirely. Thank goodness. She liked his hair loose
.
That was something she could not say to him without a firm understanding of their relationship. What were they to each other? Were they becoming friends? Would they remain only co-workers? Simply two people who shared a love of history and that love had brought them together for a short time?

‘I didn’t put my hair up for you,’ she joked. Dark eyes lingered thoughtfully on her face, taking in all that hair she’d left down, and she swallowed hard. Maybe she should have put it up. Suddenly, loose hair had taken on an unexpected sensuality.

‘But your hair is beautiful, a woman’s crowning glory. It is a shame, I think, to confine such glory to pins and braids, to hide it under hats.’ He filled a plate and passed it to her.

‘My hair is too red,’ she countered.

He shook his head in correction and gave her a smile that filled her to her toes. ‘Corundum. That’s the colour of your hair. It’s a mineral mined in central Russia.’ He stood up. ‘Wait here, I’ll show you.’ He disappeared inside the tent and returned with a small leather pouch. He knelt beside her chair, spilling the contents into his hand. ‘That’s the one I want.’ He held up a rock chunk. The surface revealed a polished variegation of reds and browns that combined to form a soft russet that was at once both hues. ‘This is corundum.’

He put it beside her ear and leaned back to take in the match from a distance. ‘Perfect. I knew it would be.’ Evie laughed. He looked so pleased with himself. Dimitri laughed with her. He slipped all the rocks back into the little bag except for the chunk of corundum. That piece he pressed into her hand and folded her fingers around it. ‘Keep it. So you’ll remember the colour of your hair.’ The moment took on a keen edge, silence overcoming their laughter. She would remember far more than the colour of her hair. She would remember him. She would remember a man with dark eyes who could turn her hot with a glance, who could make her question the assumptions of her world in a touch. A man who could make her burn. Perhaps he knew that.

She would remember too that he was a Russian prince, a man far above her in all ways, station, looks, and experience, as to be a god. Gods belonged on their pedestals, not come to earth for the likes of her.

* * *

‘Well, what do we have here? I swear I heard laughter, although it’s far too early to find anything remotely funny. I say, Evie, you’re out and about early.’

Evie’s gaze darted past Dimitri’s shoulder as Andrew strode into the campsite, his eyes drifting between them with sharp assessment. He looked immaculate but tired, as if it was indeed too early for him to be out of bed. She kept her fist tight around the rock chunk as if it had become a secret she had to protect. Guilt swamped her. She had the unmistakable feeling of having been caught out at something illicit, something that had to be hidden.

Dimitri scrambled to his feet, perhaps sharing her sudden awareness of how this scene might appear to an outsider; he squatting at her side, his hand closed over hers, her hair down. Truly, she ought to have put it up.

‘Whatever is going on, I hope there’s coffee,’ Andrew groused, making himself comfortable in the other chair, but his gaze continued to study them. ‘I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’

‘No coffee. Black tea, strong,’ Dimitri offered, overly cheerful, overly casual as he reached for a spare cup. ‘Black tea is a true Russian drink for breakfast.’ He ignored Andrew’s pointed question.

Andrew took the cup and made a look of disgust. ‘I like your Turkish side better. Coffee. Now, that’s a breakfast drink.’

Dimitri pulled up a nearby crate and sat, unfazed by Andrew’s gruffness. ‘There’s sausage, help yourself. I know you like that.’ Evie had the impression this discussion had taken place before, on the road, in the midst of their fabulous adventures wandering Europe together. She envied Andrew that opportunity. How many dinners had he and Dimitri shared filled with stories of exotic Kuban with its wild steppes and wolves?

‘It’s early, Evie. What are you doing here so soon?’ Andrew took a bite of sausage, his gaze narrowing again with hints of speculation as it passed from Dimitri to her.

This was the type of scrutiny she’d most wanted to avoid. ‘We needed to discuss the cataloguing system,’ she improvised, surprised at how fast the half-truth came to her. She glanced at Dimitri to encourage confirmation.

His eyes met Andrew’s. ‘We had meant to do it last night—’ he made one of his wide gestures ‘—but time got away from us.’ He left the interpretation up to Andrew. Challenge flared briefly in his eyes. Evie knew immediately where this was headed: battle of the seed cakes part two. It was a direction she didn’t entirely understand. These were unlikely candidates to compete over her. She was plain Evie Milham and they were handsome men who could have any woman in any room anywhere.

Evie rose and set aside her plate. ‘Thank you for the breakfast. I must get to work if we are sketching the dining room out of doors today.’

The two men stood. ‘I’ll drive you home tonight, Evie,’ Andrew said quickly, making no effort to disguise the triumphant look he shot at Dimitri. Evie smiled her thanks, still clutching her piece of rock. Whatever the two of them needed to settle, they could do it without her. She had enough to settle on her own, starting with why Dimitri had said such a thing and left it wide open to interpretation. It was almost as if he’d wanted to invite Andrew’s speculation.

* * *

‘What the hell did you mean by that?’ Andrew’s voice was a growl once Evie was out of earshot. ‘We would have talked about it last night but we ran out of time?’

Dimitri met Andrew’s heat with cool detachment. He gathered up the breakfast dishes. ‘I meant exactly that.’

‘But
why
?’ Andrew pressed. ‘
Why
did you run out of time?’

‘Why does it matter?’ Dimitri dumped the dishes in a bin to be washed later and wiped his hands on a towel. ‘I thought you didn’t care about Evie Milham. I believe she wasn’t rich enough for your notice? Your words, not mine.’ He
was
rather surprised Andrew cared that much. Andrew might speak callously, but the man’s word was good. He meant what he said, even if it was sometimes cutting.

‘I care if she’s being taken advantage of.’ Andrew stepped forward. ‘I am her neighbour, her long-time acquaintance, if not friend. I will not stand by and let her be seduced.’

Dimitri chuckled. ‘You have a very active imagination if you can get that much out of a single comment.’ He had no intention of telling Andrew why they ran out of time; that he’d been too busy spinning tales of Kuban so he could watch her face become dreamy in the candlelight, so he could watch her mind come to life behind those blue eyes.

He added as censure, ‘I don’t think the nature of your speculations do you or her any credit, by the way.’ Never mind that Andrew’s conjectures might be warranted in this case. He had kept Evie out too late, had put her to bed in his bed with all its silk and pillows, and that was after he had kissed her. Never mind she’d slept alone and fully clothed in his bed. Never mind that the kiss had kept him up half the night and had left him with no clearer answers this morning about the intensity of his response to Evie’s untutored kiss.

Andrew put a hand on his forearm, his grip strong, his voice serious and low. ‘Don’t mess around with Evie. A man like you could never make her happy. You should know that better than anyone. She thinks you’re a prince. How do you think she’d feel if she knew you were nothing more than a high-class sod sold to the highest bidder—your words, not mine.’

‘Are you threatening me?’ Dimitri threw off Andrew’s hand. He’d been among the royal court long enough to recognise veiled blackmail when he heard it. He never should have told Andrew that juicy little secret. Back then, the revelation had been too new, too fresh, and their friendship had been new and fresh too when they couldn’t see the flaws of the other, only the commonalities.

‘Only if the truth is threatening,’ Andrew responded, his face hard. He took a step back and his expression softened. It was like watching a master thespian at work. More often these days, he wondered how much of Andrew was an act and, if it was, what lurked beneath the surface of that carefully crafted veneer? What did Andrew need to hide? The man had the perfect life in his grasp, a life Dimitri would trade his own for.

Andrew held out his hands in apologetic surrender. ‘I am sorry, old chap. I didn’t mean to pick a quarrel. I just don’t want to see Evie hurt.’ He shook his head, but his sincerity did not ring true, not when he’d been thoroughly denouncing any interest in Evie just a few days ago. ‘England is not Kuban, it’s not even the Continent, where a woman of a certain age might sit alone with a man. Our rules are stricter, especially when it comes to young, virginal women. I don’t want to see her or you forced to the altar for a marriage neither wants.’

Andrew pushed a hand through his blond hair, his brow knitted in a fairly good facsimile of consternation. ‘Good Lord, just think of what would happen? You would lose everything, your title, your home, your wealth, and that’s not even including what would happen to your country, your family, your beloved sister.’ Andrew shook his head to indicate the consequences were beyond his comprehension. He stepped forward once more, placing a congenial hand on his arm this time. ‘Can you just imagine what a disaster that would be for you?’

Dimitri
could
imagine it and while it would be a disaster, that wasn’t the first word that came to mind. ‘Disaster’ wasn’t precisely what he’d been thinking when Evie had walked out that morning, all fresh and sharp in that white muslin with the pink flowers, her hair down. He’d been speared by an errant thought: what if it could be like this every morning? Waking up with a lovely woman—no, not any lovely woman,
that
lovely woman. Waking up with Evie, sharing a simple breakfast before heading out to excavate, to discuss the site with her and what they had found or might find? And then Evie had smiled at him and he hadn’t thought at all. She’d stolen his breath with her wide smile, her natural beauty as lovely in the morning as it had been in the candlelight.

She’d looked at him with genuine delight this morning and he’d been reminded of how she’d watched him wash. Had that been the look on her face then too? She’d had plenty of time to retreat, but she hadn’t. Evie might be quiet, but she was curious too and bold as she’d demonstrated last night. He had no doubt now there was passion within her, waiting to be unleashed. He’d tasted a bit of that last night. Envy stabbed, sudden and unlooked for. He didn’t want Andrew to be the one to pick up where he’d left off in making that discovery. He wanted to be the one to take her on that journey.

It had been the devil’s own temptation to kiss her on the mouth, to see where a kiss and midnight vodka could lead. She’d been intoxicating in the candlelight, her soft words igniting him, prompting him to take advantage. One kiss had led to where he’d known it would and then to more exquisite liberties he’d fought hard not to take. He could give her nothing beyond those moments. Perhaps it had been that knowledge which had given him the will power last night to end it. Andrew was right about one thing: he knew better than to lead her on. And himself. Evie wasn’t the only one he’d be fooling.

Chapter Eleven

S
he was leading them on. Evie looked at her letter to Bea and May with disgust. It read like a romance. She knew better. Would they? Evie re-read the letter again. She’d given herself a three-day cooling period before she’d put her ideas to paper to avoid any misleading embellishment and yet it still seemed to be there behind her words.

She sighed and set the letter aside. Even the bare facts painted a certain picture replete with dinner on silken pillows, a night spent in a silk-clad bed and a hand-cooked breakfast over an open fire. She hadn’t even got to the part about the corundum. She glanced at the chunk sitting on her vanity. Her mind could still feel the warm intimacy of his hand when it had closed around hers. The memory was too personal. Maybe she’d leave that part out as she had the kisses.

Evie leaned out the open window of her room, letting the cool late evening air bathe her face. As vibrant as those images in her letter were, she knew with certainty the conclusion those images drew was preposterous. Dimitri was
not
courting her and he definitely wasn’t seducing her. Was he? Surely not. He’d been the one to pull away from the kisses and he hadn’t started them. But he’d also been the one to press the corundum into her hand and look at her so sincerely her heart had nearly stopped.

Regardless of his intentions, she could no longer deny that for whatever reason there was a slide towards intimacy between them, a closeness that had sprung up perhaps because of the work at the site, a closeness that might have sprung up anyway even if they hadn’t shared an evening. Common interest bound people together. Look what it had done for her and Andrew. For the first time ever, she had his attention.

She should include that in her letter as well. It was a startling omission given that Andrew had driven her home every evening that week since he’d come upon her and Dimitri at breakfast. What did it mean that she’d forgotten to include such a detail? What did it mean that she’d found herself kissing Dimitri of her own volition, initiating it even, when she’d had her heart set on Andrew for years? It was a rather significant development in the grand scheme of her hopes. Just a few weeks ago, she’d been angling for just such an occurrence. She had his attention, but what was she doing with it?

Evie rested her head on her hands and stared up at the stars. She
could
imagine Bea and May reading about that development and nodding sagely to one another, concluding that their plan must have worked. Andrew had merely needed a chance to see Evie in her element and the presence of another male to move him to action. Evie smiled to herself as she pictured her two friends tucked away together in a cosy parlour stitching baby items and talking over her news.

From her friends’ point of view, it would be all that simple. But Evie knew it wasn’t. She did not intend, nor had she ever intended, to use Dimitri as a foil for Andrew. Neither had she intended to be attracted to Dimitri Petrovich, but she was. The attraction of him was too potent to be denied. She’d be lying to herself if she said she felt nothing for him. She’d be lying too if she limited that attraction to just his extraordinary looks. This attraction was rather multifaceted when she dissected it. She liked talking to him, liked his enthusiasm for his work, for history. She liked his enthusiasm for
her
. He praised her work, thanked her for her effort, enquired about her comfort. In short, he noticed her in ways people had not noticed her for a long time. As a consequence, it was hard to ignore him, hard to thrust him back up on the pedestal he belonged on. He kept climbing down and putting himself in her way.

But the attraction was uncomfortable for them. In the three days since he’d given her the corundum, they’d been careful with each other, limiting their interactions to their morning and evening discussions about the site. Those had been brief and she sensed Dimitri was deliberately keeping himself in check, holding himself back from her. She had only two answers for such a behaviour. Either he was embarrassed that he had kissed her and feared inviting another incident, or he’d liked kissing her and was too much of a gentleman to engage in such an activity again. She didn’t need to be a genius to know there was nothing he could offer her. No matter how he tried to forget it, he was a prince—that alone made him unattainable. He’d leave and go back to his kingdom. Evie laughed a little at that, playing with words. Prince Impossible—that was Dimitri Petrovich.

Maybe that was another layer of her attraction. He was safe. She could expect nothing from him and she’d known it from the start. He would leave, he would require nothing from her; not her heart, not her soul, not even her affections. He couldn’t hurt her. She could only hurt herself where Dimitri was concerned and that was something she could control.

Evie yawned. The long days at the excavation site made sleep easy in the evenings. She would add the part about Andrew tomorrow before she sent the letter. Tonight, there was one more task she wanted to do before she went to bed.

Evie pulled out the drawing tablet where she sketched her patterns and her box of embroidery silks. She wasn’t quite done with the pattern yet and she still had to map it on thin tracing paper, but it was coming along. She wanted to make Dimitri a piece of needlework depicting Kuban in exchange for the corundum. It would be something he could hang in his pavilion wherever he went and, selfishly, maybe it would be like sending a piece of herself along on his journeys. He would look at it and remember Evie Milham of Little Westbury, who had come to life for a short while.

She’d based the drawing on his descriptions and tonight she wanted to check her colours. Evie laid out a vibrant cerulean blue, a rich dark brown, a deep forest-green and an emerald-green and then rummaged for a red. She discarded them one by one. This one was too orange. That one was too pink. The third one might be right. She studied it, unable to make a determination. Evie turned towards the mirror on her dressing table, holding the little skein next to her hair and then next to the chunk of rock. Ah, victory! The match was perfect. She’d found corundum. She smiled, feeling silly and pretty all at once, remembering the brush of Dimitri’s hand at her ear as he’d held up the rock, the close of his hand around hers. But the remembrance only served to bring her thoughts full circle.

If he’s not seducing you or courting you, what is he doing
? came the naughty little thought. Evie piled the threads back into her box, trying to ignore the question, but it wouldn’t go away and she couldn’t answer it. She didn’t know what Dimitri was doing. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps she was reading too much into it because she was so intent on winning Andrew’s attentions. Not everyone thought about romance. Not everything between a man and a woman had to have romantic overtones.

Maybe the better question to ask was, what was she doing? Was she developing another impossible infatuation? First, Andrew, and now that he wasn’t so unattainable, she’d turned her attentions to a prince. A prince of all people! If anyone was unattainable, it was he. After all, he would be leaving at some point in the near future. She couldn’t hold him even if she somehow managed to catch him.

He wouldn’t be here for ever. When the excavation was done, he’d move on and she’d still be here. Both thoughts made her sad. She had to remember Andrew would be staying behind too. He’d made it no secret in London this past spring that he was home to stay and home to marry. It was time he picked up the reins of his grandfather’s estate. A few months ago, the news had alternately thrilled and panicked her to no end. Tonight, it was starting to feel like a consolation prize: she and Andrew left behind together while Dimitri Petrovich pitched his pavilion in a new, exotic location.

Evie climbed into bed and blew out the light with a determined breath. She needed to focus on the successes of the week. Andrew was driving her home and tomorrow he’d even offered to pick her up in the morning. They had twenty minutes each way to converse. In those twenty minutes, she had all of his attention. During those drives, he told her his plans for his grandfather’s estate: plans for crops, plans for the gardens, for redoing the inside of the house, which hadn’t been decorated for sixty years since his grandmother had come there as a bride. He’d smiled at her when he’d said that, his blue eyes twinkling with intimate implications. His bride would have the pleasure of doing the house to her tastes.

Was she supposed to have read something more personal into that message? Had he meant to imply she might consider herself in the role of being that bride? Why didn’t that bring a certain thrill to her stomach? Why hadn’t that made it into her letter? Surely, such a disclosure meant she was attaining not only his attentions, but his affections too. Why wasn’t the realisation of that goal more exciting to her when it was what she’d wanted so much? It was one more thing she’d have to ask Bea and May before she closed her letter.

A gust of wind blew open the window and she got out of bed to latch it, leaning out once more to smell the air. They’d have some wet weather by tomorrow afternoon for certain. The scent of burgeoning rain was on the air and perhaps more. There was a summer storm coming.

* * *

Thunder rumbled, closer now than it had been half an hour ago. Dimitri pushed his hand through his hair and cast a frustrated glance overhead to the sky. They wouldn’t get much work done this afternoon with the storm moving in. Ominous grey clouds had loomed all day in portent. Rain,
heavy
rain, was imminent but he was prepared. He’d sent the English work crews home after lunch. There were only his men left now and they were busily covering up key parts of the site with tarps, something that was becoming a struggle as the wind came up. Dimitri was eager to see the tarps secured. There was nothing more damaging to excavations than mud, the usual result of dust, dirt and water. There’d been a flash flood in Herculaneum that had nearly destroyed weeks of work.

A fat drop of water fell on his nose followed by another as the skies officially announced their opening. Dimitri strode across to help settle a tarp over the carefully dug-out mosaic floor of the dining room. They were close now to verifying the authenticity of the villa as Lucius Artorius’s. He secured his end of the tarp with a firm rock and then added another. Not a moment too soon. Lightning flashed in the sky, followed by an immediate boom of thunder. There were shouts as the loud noise took his men by surprise, a horse whinnied in fright over the sound of men, its fear loud enough to rival nature’s brontide, loud enough to draw Dimitri’s attention.

He shaded his eyes from the rain drops and searched the site for the horse—it was probably one of the horses used to pull the wagons. He couldn’t see it at once, but he could hear it. Hooves pounded, generating thunder of their own. Dimitri turned in a circle, trying to sight the sound. He found it; the heavy draft horse had got loose from the rope corral and was plunging through the site, scared and heedless.

Dimitri scanned ahead, gauging the horse’s trajectory, and caught the movement of a muslin skirt, a glint of corundum hair—Evie! His heart was in his throat. Good Lord, what was she still doing here? Why hadn’t she gone home with the rest of the English? New fear gripped him. The horse was headed for the cataloguing department, for
her
. It wasn’t concern for the precious, fragile artefacts that gripped him, but concern for Evie.
She
was in the horse’s path and oblivious.

‘Evie!’ he shouted futilely and began to run. He hoped to cut off the horse, hoped he could turn the crazed animal from his path towards the open space beyond the canvas. He shouted her name as he ran, waving his arms, but it was no use. All of her attention was fixed on securing the papers and boxes beneath the billowing canvas. If the horse reached the workspace, he’d tear right through it, not caring if Evie stood in his way. One strike from those hooves would finish a grown man. Even if she escaped the horse, there would be collateral danger in the form of falling boxes and overturned tables left in the horse’s wake. Dimitri ran faster, vaulting half-walls and altering his path, no longer concerned about swerving the horse. He had to get Evie out of there.

He closed in on the workspace, coming from the left as the horse came on the right. ‘Evie! Evie! Run!’ Surely she could hear the horse by now, even over the wind.

She looked up, saw him and then as if in slow motion, turned to look behind her, back at him and then down at something on the table. Her face was pale, her body paralysed with indecision. ‘Evie, run!’ he called again, but she reached for a stack of drawings instead, determined to save the work.

It was a race between him and the horse, Evie the prize. Running wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t make it in time by foot. He needed to fly. At the last moment, he launched himself the remaining distance, taking Evie to the ground, pushing her out of the way of the horse, covering her with his body as they landed in the newborn mud, filthy and safe. An upturned table just feet from them emphasised how close their call with true disaster had been as the horse ran past.

‘Evie, are you all right?’ Dimitri pushed to his feet and offered her a hand, drawing her up out of the muck. They were both covered in it. He raised a hand to wipe a clump of mud from her cheek, only to make it worse. His hand was muddy too, courtesy of his rather ignoble leap. He was talking in a rush, all of his words running in relief to have her safe, unharmed and only dirty. ‘We’ll get you cleaned up. Let’s get you to the pavilion, there’s hot tea and water and towels.’

His own hands were starting to shake as he refused to let go of her arm. She was pale, so pale. She looked as if she might faint if he let her go. Despite his protests to get to the pavilion, he just stood there and wrapped her in his arms. If he could just hold her, perhaps he could steady the both of them. The pavilion seemed miles away at the moment.

‘I’m fine. I’m fine,’ she repeated, her words muffled against his shoulder. He could feel her hands dig into his back through his shirt. Unhurt, but not unshaken. He heard the tremor in her voice. ‘But the work...’ she murmured against him. ‘The day’s drawings are ruined. I’ll have to do them again.’