It would have been far easier to slink back into the crowd. The effort was worth it, though. He bent over her hand, lips brushing knuckles, chocolate eyes holding hers. Heat spread warm and slow through her. He made her feel like the only woman in the room when he looked at her that way. Perhaps that was the difference between a prince and other men.
‘Evie?’ His accent feathered the ends of his words, making his speech exotic. ‘Is that short for something?’ He was giving her a chance to recover from Andrew’s slight, and elegantly so.
‘Evaine.’
His warm eyes lit in recognition. The pool of warmth in her stomach deepened. ‘Ah, the aunt of Sir Lancelot in your Camelot legends.’
The Prince smiled appreciably. Melting was complete. No wonder good English mothers warned their daughters about the influence of foreign men. This was a man who could sweep a woman off her feet without lifting his arms, a reminder that he had her melting and he didn’t even mean to. She knew the hand kissing, the direct gaze, were all just politeness. Heaven help a woman when he applied himself. Evie had to fight back images of what that application might look like, what form it might take.
‘You know your literature.’ Evie nodded her approval. She seldom met a gentleman who was well schooled enough to know the origins of her name. In these parts, if it wasn’t about a hound or a horse, gentlemen were surprisingly lacking in their education no matter how many years they had spent at Eton. Evie shot a covert glance in Andrew’s direction. She was still digesting the revelation that Andrew had an interest in archaeology and history. She’d definitely classified him as the hound-and-horse sort. He certainly wasn’t the repentant sort. Even with the Prince’s implicit scold over his lack of manners, Andrew had done nothing to make amends.
‘I’m a great follower of the Arthur legends,’ the Prince offered by way of explanation. He was patient as if he didn’t have an entire room of far more attractive women waiting to meet him. But Andrew wasn’t nearly as relaxed. He was edgy and anxious beside her, eager to get on with the socialising.
‘You should visit the Milhams some time, then.’ Andrew’s tone was brisk. ‘Evie’s father is our local historian.’ He said ‘local’ with a hint of distaste as if that explained why her father hadn’t been included in the initial investors in the site, all men from London with further-reaching historical interests.
The Prince looked at her with encouragement, as if he’d like to hear more. Evie took the opening to elaborate. ‘Yes, we have a tapestry that is somewhat noteworthy.’
Andrew was smiling now too, but his was a gesture meant to silence, not to encourage. ‘Later, Evie. If you tell him about it now, there won’t be anything to reveal when he sees it.’ Andrew’s hand went to the Prince’s arm, his face wearing another smile, this one meant to cajole. ‘Besides, we have people to meet, Dimitri.’ The message could not have been clearer. While people stood by, suitably enthralled by the royal presence among them, Andrew called the Prince by his first name. Andrew had risen above the country commonness of Little Westbury; risen above her. Evie suddenly felt very small, very burdensome, as if she was a child who’d forced her unwanted self into the company of adults. Perhaps melting wasn’t a bad idea after all.
The Prince stood his ground long enough to politely take his leave. ‘I shall look forward to the tapestry, Miss Milham.’ She thought she saw an apology in his eyes for the abruptness of their meeting. But surely he understood Andrew’s need to move on as well. Once again she’d miscalculated. She should have anticipated the evening’s demands on Andrew’s time.
‘I look forward to it.’ Evie dipped another curtsy and watched them move away, the pair immediately engulfed by the other guests craving their attention. She was alone again after a brief moment in the sun of Andrew’s attention. In some ways it felt worse now that she’d had a taste of that attention, what it felt like to stand beside him.
She had to stop the self-pity! She was being ridiculous. What had she expected? That somehow Andrew would take her up with them? Include her in his rounds tonight? Why shouldn’t the Prince and Andrew be popular and sought after? They made a handsome pair of males, the Prince with his dark hair and warm eyes; Andrew with his golden, English good looks.
Evie smiled softly to herself, her mind already justifying Andrew’s behaviour. This was a big night for him. He had a lot on his mind, there were people for the Prince to meet. It was no wonder Andrew didn’t want to stand around talking about tapestries or exchanging pleasantries with someone who wasn’t important to his cause this evening. She was selfish to want to keep him all to herself. She had made her first overture, she had to be content with that. And she was. Claire and Beatrice and May would be proud of her. She’d not accepted the first opportunity to be defeated. She’d gone to the stage instead and put herself forward. That in itself was a big step—one of many she’d have to take in this quest to capture Andrew’s affections.
Even if Andrew’s behaviour had bordered on rude, she understood the reasons for it and he had noticed her in the end. She had to take baby steps. She had to get Andrew’s attentions first, then his affections would follow. As her father was fond of saying, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Evie drifted to the perimeter of the assembly hall now that the evening’s goals had been met. She needed to celebrate her victories, not wallow in her defeats.
The night had been a success! Dimitri Petrovich, Prince of Kuban, allowed himself the rare private luxury of slouching into one of Andrew’s comfortably shabby overstuffed chairs. People had been interested in his project and in him. He didn’t fool himself. Interest in the latter was usually a strong recommendation for interest in the former. Being a prince had its merits even if it came with inordinate amounts of fawning. But the cause was worth it.
He pulled at his cravat and let out a sigh. ‘Ah, that feels better.’ Interest was a good sign. It meant the funds would come. Right now, the funds to start the project were all his, but eventually he would want to turn this project over to the people of Little Westbury and they would need to support it. For now, his mind could confidently race ahead to getting the project underway and all the next steps that would entail. There were arrangements to make, men to hire. But all that would keep for tomorrow. Tonight had been a start.
Not a finish. Dimitri pushed the thought away immediately and without tolerance. He wouldn’t allow himself to dwell on what else this evening was; the beginning of the end. This was the last project, his final foray abroad before he had to return to Kuban and take his place at court as all loyal, royal Kubanian males did when they turned thirty. He’d known this day would come. He’d been raised for it, but knowing its imminence didn’t make it any easier to accept. To give up this world and all its riches now, when there was so much more to learn, seemed a great tragedy. But not yet. There were still a few months. There was still time and he would be damned if he’d let the future pollute the present.
He turned his attention to Andrew at the sideboard preparing brandies. ‘You, my friend, were rude this evening.’ It would be far better to occupy his thoughts with more immediate issues. Andrew usually behaved with good manners. Not so tonight.
‘Rude?’ Andrew laughed and handed him a brandy before taking the seat opposite and settling in. A cool evening breeze drifted in from the open French doors of the study, a perfect late summer night. ‘To whom? I was charming to everyone who matters.’
Dimitri cocked an eyebrow and engaged in good-humoured debate. ‘The pretty girl doesn’t matter? That’s not like you, Andrew. I thought pretty girls were your specialty.’ Pretty, rich girls. But Dimitri was too
