AWAKENING THE SHY MISS (9 page)

‘Don’t think about it. It’s ink and paper.’ Most women he knew wouldn’t have spared a thought for the work when they stood in the rain covered in mud. ‘Everything can be retrieved,’ he assured her, trying to move her away towards shelter. He wanted her safe and dry, away from the wind and falling objects and racing horses, away from startling lightning and thunder. ‘The artefacts have survived centuries in the dirt, they’ll survive a little more weather.’ Most of them were sealed in crates already anyway. The only ones not truly secure were the ones being sorted today. They were packed carefully enough in straw to perhaps even survive a wild horse. But the two of them needed to get inside. The rain was pounding and they were soaked through. Dimitri put a strong arm about her, urging her to follow his lead, which she did reluctantly.

Evie was still protesting when they stepped inside the dry sanctuary of his pavilion. ‘We can’t just leave everything!’

‘Yes, we can. It’s a storm out there and it’s not exactly safe for humans.’ He heard the irritability in his own tone. ‘Perhaps you are oblivious to the thunder and the lightning, but I am not. I have no desire to be fried.’ One never knew with lightning, where it would strike next or even when. Out in the open, flat plain, they were exposed, prime targets even if the odds were in their favour.

He draped a robe around Evie’s shoulders. ‘Here, get dry and put this on. I’ll make some tea.’ He gave her a gentle push towards his private chamber.

‘What about you?’ She sounded mollified now, penitent even.

‘I’ll survive a little longer. It’s not the first time I’ve been caught in a sudden storm.’ He’d been caught in worse, like the time the Kuban river had flooded and he’d had to ford it with a caravan. But today had been a special kind of fear when he’d looked over and seen Evie nearly trapped by the whirling dervish of a canvas.

He started the little cook stove, trying to keep his mind off what was happening just feet away behind the curtain: Evie slipping out of her wet dress, wet chemise, her nakedness covered by nothing except his robe. Her hair would be wet, a loose russet flame. She would look decadent.

‘All right, your turn. I can take over the tea from here.’ The words drew his eyes up from the fire. Evie stood before him, dressed in his robe, a paisley silk trimmed in a wide band of black satin. Even knowing she’d look decadent, even having a pre-existing picture in his mind, was not enough to protect him against the jolt of white heat that went through him, as sizzling as any bolt of lightning. This was what he’d been trying to avoid all week since he’d kissed her. He’d held himself apart, determined to act honourably, determined he wouldn’t suffer another lapse in judgement. It didn’t seem to matter. Temptation was as determined to find him as he was to avoid it.

The robe was belted tightly at the waist, which only served to emphasise the full swell of her breasts above and the curve of her waist below. Did Evie have any idea how provocative she looked? No, of course not. If anything, she was self-conscious of the overlong sleeves she had to push up, the length of the robe she had to be careful not to trip over. But she was provocative none the less. The vee of the robe begged for a man’s hand to part it, to slip inside the silk barrier and possess the bounty within. Perhaps even to do more, to part the robe and reveal all of her.

His groin tightened, giving him another reason to get out of his wet trousers before Evie got a look. The storm wouldn’t last more than a few hours. That was the nature of summer storms. They blew in fast and strong, determined to make trouble. This one was proving to be no different.

Chapter Twelve

T
he trouble with robes was that they made one think about what was underneath them, which was most likely nothing. Evie wrapped her hands around the thick ceramic mug, letting the heat of the tea warm her. Thinking about the tea, about being warm and dry, was definitely preferable to thinking about the man seated across from her on silken pillows in nothing more than a robe—a robe that showed off an expanse of bare chest now that he’d had a chance to change too.

No, not ‘preferable’, Evie amended. It wasn’t ‘more preferable’ to think about being warm and dry, it was merely more decent. Who wouldn’t want to think about a nearly naked handsome man? She could hear May’s words in her head: how many times did a man like that come to the remote corners of West Sussex? May would tell her not to waste the opportunity. More to the point, hadn’t that been her own exact advice to Claire? Hadn’t she advised Claire that if Jonathon didn’t kiss her, she should kiss him?

Evie felt her cheeks heat and she hastily dropped her eyes. When had staring become kissing? Is that what she wanted? More kisses? Did she want more than kissing? And he might too. Wasn’t that the issue they’d been dancing around all week with their careful manners and avoidance?

Evie shifted on the pillows, tucking the long robe beneath her. Maybe she didn’t want to know what Dimitri’s intentions were, given that there were probably no intentions at all. Perhaps it would be best to remember the potential than to test it and find it was an illusion.

The silence was starting to stretch towards awkwardness. She needed to hold a conversation with
him
instead of her thoughts. She could talk to them all night, and she probably would, alone in her bed. ‘Tell me about your life in Kuban. What’s it like to be a prince?’

It seemed like a fairly innocuous question, not all that different from what she would ask at a dinner party. What gentleman didn’t want to talk about himself? But Dimitri was reluctant to answer. She thought there was a glimpse of sadness in his eyes, a shadow of resignation on his face. ‘There are two Kubans actually,’ he began. ‘There is the Kuban I told you of, the land itself with its mountains and rivers. That land is beautiful and wild. Then there is the kingdom of Kuban, high in the mountains. That is my Kuban.’

‘Where you will be King some day?’ Evie sipped at her tea.

He surprised her with a shake of his head. ‘Oh, no, I will never be King. Our peerage doesn’t work that way. In Kuban, I’m more like your royal dukes here. I’m related to the royal house, but I’m not in direct line.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Thank goodness. I content myself with that piece of knowledge every day. I remind myself to be thankful for small graces that have spared me the throne.’ He arched a dark eyebrow. ‘Does that disappoint you?’

Evie understood the question at once. He was really asking if
he
disappointed her. Was she somehow offended by his lack of royal ambition? Evie cocked her head and studied him, sensing the challenge in the question. He was testing her. But to what? To agree or to disagree? These sorts of games were beyond her. She could do nothing but speak her thoughts. ‘It pleases me more than it surprises me. Most men I know are hungry for ambition. They’d want to be King even if they didn’t have the talent for it.’

‘Most women I know want to be Queen.’ The words were said cynically and Evie saw the hard truth behind them. This man who was intelligent and well travelled, who was handsome and engaging, was seldom taken on those merits.

‘No wonder you like life on the road.’ How sad, not only for him but for others that no one looked past his title to see the man within who devoted his life to the preservation of history. They were missing the man for the Prince. In truth, she couldn’t imagine this vibrant nomad of a man chained to a throne. She was glad he wouldn’t be. ‘Kingship is hard work, leading a country, deciding its fate.’ Evie made a face. ‘It’s thankless work too, I suspect. Few kings in history have been appreciated in their time or even after. Historians aren’t always kind. I think we forget that kings are merely men and sometimes we expect them to be more.’ She paused. ‘I would not want to be King.’

‘Life at court can be...stifling,’ Dimitri confided. His eyes were on her, softer now, the sadness lifting. ‘Your viewpoint is very, ah, refreshing. What about you, Evie? Is life in West Sussex all you’d hoped?’

She laughed. ‘It can be. But it can also be...stifling.’

Dimitri looked quizzical as if he didn’t quite believe the truth of it. Evie rushed to explain. ‘It’s beautiful here, of course, in a bucolic sort of way and the sea is just a few miles off where it’s more rugged when you get bored of farmland and rolling hills. But, nothing changes. Everything remains the same. Neighbours have been neighbours for generations. Their children grow up together as their grandfathers did and even their great-grandfathers before them. Everyone knows everyone. There aren’t many surprises.’ She gave Dimitri a glance over the rim of her mug. ‘Until you came along.’

He chuckled. ‘Now I better understand my appeal with the female half of the Little Westbury population. I thought it might have been my good looks,’ he joked. ‘I see now that it is merely the presence of a stranger, any stranger.’ He inclined his head. ‘Thank you for so humbly enlightening me.’

She laughed, too caught up in the teasing fun of being with him to rethink the words. ‘Stop it, you know your looks have quite a lot to do with it. I doubt women would turn out for just any archaeological talk.’

His voice dropped, low and sensual, the atmosphere between them crackling with something electric and unexplored. ‘Is that why you came? To listen or to look? Did you come to see the handsome Prince of Kuban?’ There was a hint of derision in his tone, derision for himself, and she did not understand it. Neither did she understand it when he looked at her like that—all dark smoke and smoulder in his gaze. She
did
understand its general intent, of course, even a woman destined for spinsterhood recognised desire when she saw it, she simply didn’t believe it. How was it conceivable that it be aimed at her? Suddenly it was too much. What did he want from her? What did she want for herself? This limbo of uncertainty was pure purgatory.

‘Please don’t do that.’ She couldn’t bear it if he was toying with her. She was enjoying his company far too much, especially after having been denied it for a few days. She knew intuitively he was being himself in these moments, not the polite façade she’d seen all week.

‘Do what?’ He leaned close, his knuckles skimming her jaw in a light caress for which there was no other explanation but the most improbable.

‘Act as though you’re seducing me.’ She clapped her hand over her mouth. She could hardly believe she’d let that thought escape. Surely he would laugh at her now. But he didn’t laugh.

His hand sifted the wet strands of her hair. ‘Maybe it’s not an act. Why do you find it so hard to believe? Why do you doubt your appeal, Evie? You’re quite beautiful when you allow it.’

‘I don’t doubt myself,’ she countered, instinctively defensive.

‘No?’ he argued with a smile. ‘Maybe “doubt” isn’t the right word. Perhaps the word I want is “hide”. You like to hide. I saw it the first night, in your hairstyle, your gown.’

‘My gown?’ Evie interrupted.

‘Yes, the hem of your gown was where the gorgeous embroidery was, not up around the bodice where everyone would see. You, Evie Milham, specialise in being discreet.’

‘I specialise in
knowing
myself. I don’t like being the centre of attention.’ Just like now. She wasn’t sure what to make of the undivided attention of his dark gaze and it made her uncomfortable. She wasn’t sure what came next, what
would
come next. His hand was still in her hair.

‘And in all that self-knowing, Evie, do you think you’re not capable of rousing a man?’ His brow knit, as if he found the very question perplexing, an unbelievable hypothesis. ‘You rouse
me
, Evie. Very much.’ He drew his knuckles gently down her cheek, their heads close together. She could feel heat coming off him. ‘Tell me, Evie, should I act on that attraction? Would you like it if I did? No, never mind, it’s a useless question.’ The pad of his thumb ran across her lips, raising a shiver of delight on her skin. Never had she been touched like this. ‘I already know you would. You are made for passion, did you know
that
about yourself?’ His hand dropped to the column of her neck, his fingers over the hard beat of her pulse. ‘Let me show you. Let me show you what you were made for, let me show you what you do to me.’

She licked her lips. Their faces, their mouths, inches apart. Evie had never been any good at lying even when her pride was at stake. There was only one possible answer she could give him. ‘Yes.’

He moved into her then, his hand cradling her jaw, his mouth taking full possession of hers, and it was as delicious as she remembered. Perhaps sin was always delicious and Dimitri did not disappoint. She gave herself over to him, her mouth open, her body willing and warm against him, honest in its hunger, proving their first kiss had not been entirely driven by the external factors of a late night and drink and a surge of boldness on her part. This was his kiss, this time
he’d
started it. She could no longer doubt the attraction. Her tongue answered his, exploring and tasting on its own with a frankness she did not question.

Nor did she question it when he pressed her back against the silk cushions, his body covering her, her hands busy at his shoulders, her arms wrapping around his neck, her robe escaping the confines of its sash in her efforts to be close to him. She was aware of his warm hands parting the loose vee of her robe, of her body exposed. She heard his breath snag with desire as his palms ran over the contours of her body. She knew that her response spurred him on, that he revelled in the gasps that escaped her, that the arch of her body answered his caress. She had power too in these moments. This was not his seduction alone.

‘Evie, you
are
beautiful.’ He began to move down her, his mouth and hands making a slow trail, each kiss burning hotter than the last. He kissed her breasts, his tongue flicking over the peaks of her nipples until a moan escaped her and her body arched up, begging for more, more of him, more of his magical mouth. Had anything ever felt so exquisite? But it was just the beginning. A thrill of excitement ran through her, her body recognising he had no intentions of stopping.

He moved to her navel, feathering it with a kiss before journeying lower, his hands framing her hips, fingers wide-set where they spanned her belly. His mouth graced the nest between her legs with a kiss, an appeal. He was asking for entrance into her most sacred core. Evie shifted beneath him, instinctively parting her thighs, instinctively granting access. She was well past the point of denying him anything.

He kissed the inside of her thigh, his thumb running the length of her, parting her with a wicked caress. His touch made her tremble, but it was nothing except mere preparation for the real onslaught that came next; the descent of his mouth, the flick of his tongue, not just once to tantalise, but twice, thrice, and more until she was oblivious to anything but the sensations of pleasure washing over her. She was aware her hands had locked themselves in his hair, to steady herself, to keep him there, heaven forbid he leave her now when her body throbbed, when it looked for release, torn between wanting this to end and wanting this to last for ever.

How much pleasure could one body take? She was going to splinter, positively break apart at this rate and in the next moment she did, her body rearing up, thrusting against his mouth as she came apart with a pleasure so raw, so wild, she couldn’t help but cry out, couldn’t help but let it take all of her.

It was a while before she could move again, think again, aware that Dimitri lay sated between her thighs, unmoving as well, the silence punctuated by the returning rhythm of his breathing. When reason did come, it was with one thought: This experience was both complete and incomplete. She was not meant to be alone in this. An idea came to her, surely she could reciprocate in kind. She moved a hand down her body and rested it on his head. After a while, she spoke. ‘I think pleasure is best when shared. Come lay down beside me.’

The words brought him up from between her legs, his hair falling around his shoulders like an ancient warrior, his eyes dark and glittering as they searched her face. She let her expression reflect her intentions, gratified when a slow, wicked smile took his mouth. He understood that she meant it.

He stretched out his long body beside her, his words an invitation to access what lay beneath the loose robe he wore. ‘Touch me, Evie.’

Oh, sweet heavens, yes. It was exactly what she wanted to do. She wanted to touch him. She slid her hand beneath his robe, pushing it aside, revealing the muscled expanse of chest she’d caught glimpses of in his workman’s shirt. He was a feast for her eyes, for her hands, the planes of muscles an atlas leading her ever downward to the hot male core of him until her hand wrapped about the thick centre of him, feeling his heat, his hardness. She ran her hand up to his apex and down to his base, taking in the contradictions of him.

He covered her hand with his where she grasped him. ‘Stroke me.’ Together, they moved up and down, once, twice, and then she was on her own. She experimented, finding her own rhythm in the journey of her hand up and down his length again and again.

His head was thrown back, his neck arched to expose the taut cords of his neck as he moaned with pleasure, his eyes closed as he lost himself. She was losing herself in this too. There was potency in knowing one could render such a man powerless, but more than that there was a kind of joy in knowing she could bring him this release, this pleasure. She felt his body gather itself, heard the gathering in his moans.

‘Evie.’ The single hoarse word was meant as a warning, a caution to let go her hold on him, but Evie held on, her eyes meeting his as they shared this intimacy together—but as wonderful as the moment was, it raised more questions than it answered. Not just for her, but for him too. She saw it in his gaze too when he looked at her, the relief of his release still fresh on his face. This afternoon they had opened a beautiful, horrible Pandora’s box that could not be shut. Until now she had not realised there were two sides to pleasure.