Seduced By The Prince’s Kiss. Bronwyn Scott
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a family, of being looked upon as an inconvenient nuisance by one’s own father.’
‘You had Dimitri,’ Stepan reminded her. He would not tolerate his friend being maligned. At twelve, Dimitri had taken on the responsibility of caring for a newborn and he’d never laid down that burden. Nor did he like the reminder of those painful similarities between them.
‘But for the single variable of my brother, both of us would have been entirely alone,’ Anna-Maria said sharply. ‘Why won’t you admit that we’re more alike than the others? That we’re both lost souls, surrounded by people who have found theirs.’
‘You are not lost, Anna-Maria,’ Stepan countered argumentatively even as the words caught him by surprise. Was that how she saw herself? He’d not once thought the vivacious Anna-Maria, the beloved centre of her brother’s life, a girl who had everything, felt lost. The very image of Anna-Maria being lost cut at him. He and the others had joined Dimitri in that fight years ago to protect Anna-Maria from the cruelties of their world, from the hurt of a father who did not acknowledge her existence because her life had stolen the life of the woman he loved. For her to feel lost implied their efforts had been for naught, that the fight had been lost along with her—a fight for which Stepan had fought harder than the others because he knew first-hand what awaited her if they were not victorious. He had a twelve-year head start on her. He already knew what it was to grow up empty, passed from nanny to nanny, tutor to tutor, valet to valet, growing up with the trappings of wealth and physical security, but not real security—the security of knowing one had love and a family and a place where one would always belong.
‘Don’t be a selfish bore, Stepan. You’re not the only one who gets to be lost.’ Anna-Maria huffed and pushed past him. ‘It’s late and I’m going to bed. You can stay down here and wallow in your “lostness” or whatever else it is you spend your time doing.’
He wanted to shout after her that if he was staying up it was her fault. He’d planned to come home and seek his own bed, but she’d been lying in wait, baiting him. His honour would not allow her to bear all the blame for his detour. A real gentleman accepted his own complicity in such things. He was as much to blame for his own wakefulness as she was. He’d been fighting the urge to kiss her for weeks. Tonight had supplied an exigence and an excuse for his behaviour. Now, that kiss would always be between them.
Stepan helped himself to brandy in a decanter at the sideboard and poked the fire Anna-Maria had forgotten to bank. He took a chair and rested his boots on the fender of the fireplace. Tonight’s incident and yesterday’s meeting with Captain Denning were further proof he needed to move out. Leasing Preston Worth’s home in Shoreham was looking like a better option by the minute. He’d sent a message to London two days ago after he’d mentioned the idea to Dimitri. With luck, he might hear back tomorrow. Distance wouldn’t erase the kiss, but distance could mitigate it.
Stepan sighed and took a long swallow. Even brandy couldn’t sweeten the taste of regret. He should not have done it. He’d kissed his best friend’s sister! What the hell was wrong with him? Yet in those moments, she’d not been Dimitri’s sister, but a woman of her own identity and free will. She’d kissed him back with a wildness that matched his own. Perhaps that was the real source of his guilt. He ought to fully regret what he’d done and he didn’t. There. He admitted it. He did not entirely regret it.
With any other woman, he’d be asking himself the question of what next? Now that they’d opened negotiations, so to speak, what was his next overture? But this was Anna-Maria. She was not one of Kuban’s sophisticated women of the court. The question of what next was moot. There was no ‘what next’ beyond moving to Seacrest, moving away from her and the temptation that there might be another kiss, that he might be tempted to create a ‘what next’ scenario. One kiss could change everything, but only if he let it. He wouldn’t let it.
He drained his glass, his conscience mocking him.
You could kiss her a thousand times and it wouldn’t change a thing. You have nothing to offer her. She is love and light. What do you know of those things? She’ll want a family once her wildness settles. How can you expect to be a better father than your own when you have nothing to go on? She’ll want you mind, body and soul until she realises how dark those places are, that you can’t be saved. Then the regret will be all hers. You can only disappoint a woman like Anna-Maria—a woman who wants more than your meaningless title, your ill-gotten wealth and a few nights of pleasure from a man who isn’t capable of anything more.
For all those reasons, and for other reasons like his loyalty to Dimitri, he needed to leave. Tomorrow would be nothing short of torture. It would be full of waiting, and it was unfortunately imperative he do that waiting here: waiting for the letter from Preston; waiting to hear word from Joseph Raleigh that the ankers of vodka were ready to move to London. He would do better to worry about those ankers than Anna-Maria.
Denning’s men were still arriving, still settling in. Major routes would be watched first. It was too bad Denning couldn’t have waited another month to establish his diligence. Stepan would have preferred the Skorost coming in without the coastguard and the army on alert, but at least it would give him something to think about. Tomorrow, he could keep his mind busy planning how to handle his ship’s arrival.
* * *
The morning got off to a decent start. He’d been able to bury himself in Dimitri’s study, but Evie had other plans for his afternoon. After lunch, she cornered him into partnering Anna-Maria for dancing lessons in the front parlour, saying simply, ‘you’re the best at the waltz.’ Now, all the furniture was pushed back and Evie sat ready at the pianoforte. She smiled at Stepan. ‘It will be all the rage in London. Anna needs practice.’
‘She should dance with Dimitri, then. He’s a fine waltzer,’ Stepan tried to demure, casting a raised-eyebrow plea in Dimitri’s direction where he sat on the sofa pushed against the wall and played with the baby.
Dimitri looked up with a grin, his finger caught in the baby’s tiny grip. ‘I’m busy, as you can see. Besides, I’m not sure sisters and brothers want to waltz together.’ He made a face. Anna-Maria laughed. But Stepan did not. He didn’t find the allusion to the less platonic aspects of the waltz funny in the least given what had transpired in this very room last night. It went without saying that those elements of the dance would be on his mind today.
Anna-Maria swept forward, mischief in her eye as she took his hands and tugged him to the centre of the room. ‘Of course he’ll do it. Stepan thinks lessons are very important, don’t you, Stepan?’ Her eyes flashed, agate and sharp. She was still exacting revenge for last night. She put her hand at his shoulder and held her other one up. ‘Now, where does this hand go, exactly?’
Stepan made a low growl and grabbed her hand. ‘In mine, like this.’ She moved close against him and he readjusted her away from his body, flashing her a dangerous stare. ‘There must be space between us or the matrons at Almack’s will never give you vouchers. Remember, when you waltz, more than your dress and your dancing ability are on display. Your morals are on display, as well.’ He sounded like a prig. He liked to waltz, loved the feeling of flying. But he could not afford such a luxury with Anna-Maria in his arms. It would tempt him too far.
She pouted. ‘What’s the fun in that, then? I thought the waltz was supposed to be scandalous. You make it sound like a nun’s dance.’ Stepan threw another look at Dimitri, hoping his friend might have changed his mind about helping. Dimitri only shrugged and jostled the baby, tapping his toe as Evie began to play.
The fates were toying with him. This was what he deserved for last night: an afternoon in hell, waltzing Anna-Maria and her pointed remarks around the front parlour as his best friend watched, oblivious to his agony. It would have been better if Anna-Maria had been a horrid dancer, if she’d stepped on his toes or tripped on her hem. It would have been better still if holding her in the dance didn’t trigger memories of holding her last night, if every time he passed the wall, he didn’t think of what they’d done there. Last night might very well have ruined this room for him for ever. Anna-Maria’s secret smile every time they