biased.’
Dimitri looked closer. The work was exquisitely done, meticulous and clean. ‘I don’t think he’s biased at all.’ An idea came to him. He could use someone with a decent artistic eye at the site.
They strolled the perimeter of the room, he asking questions and Evie answering, each answer a revelation. Evie Milham might appear to be somewhat quiet and unassuming, but beneath that exterior, there was much of her waiting to be unwrapped, waiting to be discovered. She was knowledgeable about history, able to answer his questions with impressive intellect; she could replicate medieval tapestries with an expert’s skill; she was sensitive to others’ feelings, perhaps too much so.
Did she make a habit of casting herself in the subordinate role in conversation? He’d seen it at the assembly. She’d put herself forward when Andrew had failed to introduce her, but the moment she perceived she was an interloper, she’d withdrawn, content to defer to the wishes of others. But today he’d applied considerable skill in drawing her out, in making her an equal in the discussion, and she had blossomed. He could not remember enjoying a conversation this much. There was no pressure to perform, to be the Prince. He had only to be himself.
They passed out into the gardens off the gallery and into the sun. There was more order to these gardens than the ones in front of the house, probably because these gardens were designed to show off statuary. Most of the statuary were broken. There wasn’t a whole statue among them, but that only reinforced their authenticity. ‘Shards my father has picked up over a lifetime,’ Evie explained with a rueful smile. ‘These are from Italy, from his Grand Tour twenty-eight years ago.’ She gestured to a twin set of partial busts.
Dimitri made noises of suitable impressment. He was more interested in how the sun caught Evie’s hair, the auburn flame of it flickering in the smooth brown depths. The statues couldn’t compete. Her hair was beautiful, even coiled in a tight braid that wound neatly about her head. He imagined for a moment undoing that braid and combing his fingers through it. Undone, her hair would be long, and straight, the smoothness of it falling through his fingers like Chinese silk. It made him wonder what Evie Milham would be like undone in other ways. What other secrets lay beneath her unassuming exterior? What would she reveal to the man who uncovered those secrets? What would she discover about herself? He felt a flicker of regret that he couldn’t be that man.
‘Miss.’ The housekeeper caught up to them on the gravel path, breaking his attention on Evie’s hair. The woman was huffing from the exertion. ‘Mr Adair is here, shall I send him out?’
Evie’s face split into a smile. ‘He can join us. Please, bring some lemonade and the little cakes Cook baked this morning, if it’s not too much trouble. The lemon seed are his favourite.’
Evie’s gaze moved to a point over his shoulder, her smile widening, lighting up her whole face. Dimitri didn’t need to turn to know it was Andrew striding down the path. A fierce little spark of competitive maleness lit in him. He wanted that smile for himself, not for Andrew, who didn’t want it, and didn’t appreciate it. His friend’s boldness bordered on arrogant. Andrew hadn’t waited for permission to join them. He’d assumed he’d be welcomed and the presumption was irrationally annoying. Why did he care if Andrew joined them?
They sat for lemonade and cakes at a table under a shade tree and Dimitri knew why he cared. Evie, who had become relaxed during their tour of the gallery, had suddenly become self-conscious and tense, too eager to please: Was the lemonade sweet enough? The cakes fresh enough? The whole while, Andrew took the demure obsequiousness as his due, oblivious to Evie’s efforts once more.
‘I must get the recipe from your cook.’ Dimitri reached for another lemon seed cake, easily his fourth. ‘These are delicious.’
‘Too simple for the court of Kuban, though.’ Andrew threw out the thoughtless insult and helped himself to a fifth cake. ‘Can you imagine these plain little things on a tea tray along with those frosted delicacies of yours?’ Andrew glanced over at Evie, the first real look he’d given her since he arrived. ‘You haven’t seen a tea until you’ve had tea Kubanian style.’
Dimitri watched Evie brighten at the comment directed at her, willing to overlook the insult delivered to the cakes Andrew claimed to prefer and which she’d especially thought of serving on his behalf. Didn’t she see the comment wasn’t for her benefit, but for Andrew’s? This was a chance for Andrew to show off. His suspicion was confirmed when Andrew launched into a detailed description of the one time he’d experienced a Kubanian tea at Dimitri’s apartments in Naples where they’d met.
Evie listened, enrapt. Dimitri wanted to kick Andrew. Andrew had adopted quite the superior attitude since they’d arrived in Sussex. It was not something that had stood out to him in their travels.
‘Is that how you met? Over tea?’ Evie turned her attention his direction, playing the polite hostess who recognised one guest had dominated the conversation for too long. ‘I had no idea Andrew had made it as far as Kuban.’
‘He didn’t,’ Dimitri put in quickly. Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted to disabuse her of the notion that Andrew had been to the remote Russian kingdom in the steppes. In fact, Andrew had not strayed from the conventional path that made up every Englishman’s Grand Tour. ‘We met in Naples. I was hosting a gathering for expatriates around Europe to celebrate work I’d completed at Herculaneum. My team and I had uncovered a mosaic destroyed by the eruption of Vesuvius. We spent that spring restoring it.’
‘Wonderful stuff. What the Prince was doing in Herculaneum rekindled my love for ancient history.’ Andrew leaned forward, ready to take up the reins of conversation again.
Evie smiled. ‘My father would enjoy hearing about your experiences.’
Andrew cut her off with a wave of his hand. ‘Ancient history, Evie, not medieval. There’s quite a difference. Centuries, in fact.’ His tone bordered on patronising as he laughed. Was Evie going to sit there and let his remark go unchallenged? Of course she was. She wasn’t going to pick an argument with the object of her affections.
Dimitri couldn’t help himself. After all, Andrew wasn’t the object of his affections. ‘I think she knows the difference, Andrew. Miss Milham and I were having the most enjoyable afternoon. She showed me the Arthur tapestry and some that she’s done as well. Miss Milham is very talented and exceedingly knowledgeable on several subjects.’
Andrew’s gaze fixed on him, sharp with curiosity. ‘Ah, the tapestry. I remember now. I had wondered why you’d come.’
Dimitri heard the veiled slander—that Evie alone couldn’t possibly be attraction enough. He hoped Evie hadn’t heard it. It would hurt her. Perhaps it was remarks like that which had led to her self-consciousness. Such remarks were nothing to him, but she had not cut her social teeth in a royal court. He met Andrew’s gaze with his own, unwavering, his sense of protectiveness rising instinctively on Evie’s behalf. ‘Well, then you have your answer. I am still looking for mine. What exactly brings you here this afternoon?’
* * *
What had just happened? Evie glanced from Andrew to Dimitri. Were they fighting over her? It was too preposterous to believe; the golden-haired Andrew Adair and a Russian prince, sparring over her while they sipped lemonade in the garden. It was ridiculous in the extreme and yet she wasn’t sure what else to make of it. Oh, how she wished Beatrice and May were here! They would know for certain.
‘More lemonade?’ Evie groped for something to say that would relieve the tension. She was not equipped to handle such a situation. She passed around the dwindling tray of cakes to give herself something to
