Seduced By The Prince’s Kiss. Bronwyn Scott
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her with a porcelain doll. He was privy to the best and the worst of her. He was like a brother to her, or perhaps an uncle just as Nikolay and the others were. Why should she even be aware of how he looked at her now?
Across the table, Anna-Maria was teasing the Squire’s son. Tonight, she shone in a gown of cerulean blue, a simple crystal heart about her neck and her dark hair piled up high—something Evie was letting her practise this winter before going to London. The poor boy smiled and blushed, unable to take his eyes from the radiant creature talking to him and yet not knowing what to do with her.
Oh, mal’chik, Stepan thought, you are in over your head. I have been with the most sophisticated women of the Kubanian court and I am barely afloat. She is captivating, vivacious, passionate in her tempers... She is dangerous and she doesn’t even know it.
As she had been today on the steps, her hands twisted into the lapels of his jacket, her body so close to his that he could feel the heat of her, the light brush of her breasts against him.
Anna-Maria might look upon him as an uncle or brother, but no uncle or brother would ever entertain such thoughts. Stepan took a long swallow of wine, which was getting better with each glass. His awareness of her shamed him. It made a hypocrite of him. He’d always thought of himself as forward-thinking. He’d been one of the first to protest the repressive and archaic laws in Kuban that compelled girls into arranged marriages at young ages without providing them a voice or a choice in the matter. He’d seen girls as young as fifteen wed to men in their fifties. He did reason with himself that this was hardly the same. At thirty-one, he was in his prime like many well-born Englishmen who waited until their thirties to marry and took brides ten to twelve years their junior. But that didn’t make the situation more palatable to Stepan. He knew the general reasoning behind it: the younger the better when it came to producing the next heir and moulding an unformed mind. He refused to assess a woman’s value in the same way he would a brood mare.
Even with these arguments, he hated himself for the attraction. He could not say when his feelings had changed, when he’d become aware of her in the way a man is aware of a woman he desires. He was doubly careful with her now, with Evie and Dimitri, too. What would they think if they knew? Dimitri wanted more for Anna-Maria than an exiled prince.
The Squire reached for the carafe at Dimitri’s informal table—no hovering footmen here. Everyone served themselves. ‘The wine is excellent, Petrovich. Wherever do you get it?’
Dimitri smiled and nodded towards Stepan. ‘Stepan has a connection, a French vintner by the name of Archambeault who ships to him.’
Monsieur Archambeault was otherwise known as Ruslan Pisarev, former Kubanian revolutionary, now a happily married, soon-to-be owner of a small but profitable winery in Burgundy. Dimitri’s eyes met his at the mention of their friend. Ruslan did not want to be found by the world, at least not by his real name. It was one of their secrets, one of the many things that had bound them together over the years. Stepan loved Dimitri as a brother. Dimitri had given him a family when he’d had none, sharing his own father with him, and hope when he’d had even less. Dimitri had given him a reason to seek out the freedom he claimed to want. Without Dimitri, all those things might have remained dreams only.
In return, he’d given Dimitri unquestioning loyalty, ushering the Petrovich family to safety in England and leaving behind the only life he knew—a life full of privilege but lacking in affection. Dimitri had given him so much. He could not repay his friend by coveting his sister, especially when he knew how much Dimitri had given up in the raising of her.
In theory, Stepan wanted all the best for her, too. At a distance, he could embrace the knowledge she was in London having a Season without having to experience it in person. He wouldn’t have to witness her flirting with London’s young beaux the way he had to watch her charm the Squire’s son tonight. He wouldn’t have to watch her dance in the arms of gentlemen with titles more legitimate than the honorific he bore. Yes, it would be best to leave. He wondered if he’d find the discipline to do it. After all, he’d simply be exchanging one type of hell for another, the only difference being that one hell held Anna-Maria in it and the other did not. It was hard to say which one was worse. Perhaps hell didn’t have varying degrees, only varying interpretations.
* * *
There was brandy after the meal and the requisite half hour of polite conversation with the ladies after that while Anna-Maria played the pianoforte. All in all, it was a very satisfactory country evening, the sort that usually filled him with a soft contentment, a domestic denouement of sorts to the adventure of his days. But tonight, Stepan had little to contribute and he was glad to see the Squire’s family go. Anna-Maria shut the door behind them shortly after ten, with a laughing farewell to the Squire’s son and a promise to go riding as soon as the mud cleared. She turned, a beaming smile on her face, her dark eyes dancing with mirth.
‘Be careful with him,’ Stepan said sternly, too sternly. Part of him, the jealous part, wanted to wipe that smile off her face. ‘You will overwhelm him with your boldness.’
‘My boldness?’ Anna-Maria challenged, turning the force of her smile on him. ‘What are you suggesting, Stepan?’ Indeed, what was he suggesting? That she was too easy with her favours? It was hardly what he intended.
‘Nothing, only that he is young and inexperienced.’
‘And I am, too,’ Anna-Maria retorted. ‘Much to my regret.’ She shot a look at her brother. ‘I can’t even go out riding without an escort.’
‘The country is a big place, Anna,’ Dimitri answered wearily. This was an ongoing argument. Dimitri’s gaze met his sister’s in a timeless sibling staredown.
Evie intervened, linking an arm through the younger woman’s. ‘Anna, come and help me check on the baby one last time for the night.’
Stepan followed Dimitri’s gaze up the stairs, watching the two women. Despite his exasperation with his sister, a soft smile played on Dimitri’s face. How many times had that smile been followed by the words, ‘there goes everything I love’?
Not tonight, however. Dimitri sighed. ‘The sooner she gets to London, the better. Perhaps I should have sent her last year even though she’d only just arrived.’
Stepan shook his head, unwilling to let his friend second-guess himself. ‘No, she needed time to adjust, we all did.’
‘I just want her to make intelligent decisions. She’s so vivacious that I worry...’ Dimitri let another sigh communicate all the things he worried about: Anna-Maria running off with the first man who showed her any adventure, Anna-Maria falling in love with the first man to kiss her. Dimitri shrugged as if he could shake off the weight of that worry and fixed his attention on Stepan. ‘You, my friend, were distracted tonight. Is the winter getting to you, too? The walls closing in? Just two months left and it will be better. We can go up to London. The change of scenery will have us appreciating Little Westbury within weeks.’ Dimitri chuckled.
‘Actually,’ Stepan said, ‘I was thinking about not going up to town with you at all. I was thinking I’d stay here, perhaps rent out Preston Worth’s house at Shoreham for a few months.’
Dimitri looked surprised and disappointed. ‘You’d miss Anna’s debut. I am sure she’s counting on you for a few waltzes.’
‘She’ll be surrounded by so many young men, she won’t need me to dance attendance on her.’ He smiled over the pain the realisation caused him. Like the others, she would be launched into a new life. He would be left completely behind.
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ Dimitri argued with a laugh. He clamped a hand on Stepan’s shoulder in fraternal camaraderie. ‘She’ll be surrounded by young fools like herself, champing at the bit for a taste of freedom in the big city. I was counting on you to be the voice of wisdom, to help her keep her head and navigate society with decorum.’
He’d only thought the country was torture. London would be a whole other level of private agony. Hell was proving to be a complicated place. ‘We’ll see,’