Her eyebrows rose. “You do?”
Ilya leaned conspiratorially across the space. “You will be my one and only thigh warmer. Unlike protocol dictates, where we keep them guessing. We’ll throw caution to the wind and let the gossip columns make of it what they may.”
Her lips pursed. “I see.”
“You don’t look pleased.”
“You might like the notoriety, but I am not sure I do.”
“I believe notorious poets are quite acceptable and sell more books.”
“I am titled. That has some responsibility attached.” She pursed her mouth. Definitely not comfortable with the idea.
“You might have a title, but you frequent salons and have actor and artist friends. That is already outside of what your husband would have approved or allowed is my guess.”
“That might be true, but you will leave in a month and I’ll be left with a tarnished reputation perhaps even a scandal.”
There was no way he could tell her, who she would be for him. That as far as he was concerned, she was the last seduction he would undertake. That any scandal would be set right the moment his family business was completed. He had to find another way to convince her.
“Your reputation as a creative will increase, and a scandal is when you are caught red-handed doing what you shouldn’t or being where you shouldn’t. Out in the open we will be careful. I will plan well so it’s still fun but not dangerous. In public we don’t avoid each other. You will accompany me, or we arrange to arrive at the same places.”
“But what about your need for the many?” Her face showed she needed to understand. Of course, she did. She wasn’t a giggly chorus girl or someone who did whatever he said because he was a prince or pouted to get more gifts. She was titled and held her own with the people she associated with.
Yet his hands were tied. Ilya couldn’t tell her what he and Demetri were doing, but he needed to give her reason to trust him. Some part of the truth, another bread crumb was needed.
“It’s not about the many,” he said serious, “but about being seen and reported on.”
“In the columns? You intentionally try and get in the gossip column?” she said, incredulous.
That made him sound as if he were some vain titled idiot who got his pleasure by reading about himself. It was true that he always enjoyed that when it happened, but he’d never deliberately tried to get in them, it just happened because of what he got up to and who he was. Now that he needed to get into them to support his family, it cut through him that she thought him so shallow as to personally need the attention.
His hand touched her knee under the table. “I ask you to trust me, Seraphina, that I am not as shallow as that sounds. That things are not as they appear. This between us is not something I want to give up. I am simply seeking to protect it and to honor your wishes while I fulfil other obligations.”
“Other obligations?” her voice wary. “This sounds all too contrived and convoluted Ilya. There are rules I must live by to be accepted in society long after you are gone. Marriage and family are still possible for me. I will not risk my future options for a month of pleasure.”
He took in a deep breath, chest tight. He understood her position and would never do anything to compromise her. It would be counterintuitive to tell her he had never compromised a single paramour. He had spent his life having liaisons and he knew how to walk those fine lines between notoriety, impropriety, and scandal. Yet it was not something you entered into lightly and he had to give her the choice.
“If you doubt me. If you have changed your mind. Tell me now and I will step away.” His heart pounded hard in his chest. Of all the times he needed to be able to read her face, to know what she was thinking it was now, but her face was unreadable.
As the moments ticked by, he planned how he could flip things if she requested that he withdraw, because he wouldn’t.
Ever.
This was the beginning of his last courtship. She may not know it but right now at the thought of letting her go, he did. She would not have to worry about exposure or scandal because he fully intended on claiming her. He was simply not yet free to tell her…to ask her.
Then, thank all the Christmas angels, a small smile crossed her features and relief flooded him. She picked up an Angel on Horseback.
“I have one requirement and our arrangement stands.”
“Anything.” He would skate the frozen Serpentine naked if she asked it of him.
“I want you to eat a bowl of trifle.” She popped the Angel on Horseback into her mouth and chewed, looking incredibly pleased with herself.
His heart softened. Punished with dessert, he didn’t deserve her. Every other woman he’d known wanted jewels, furs, houses, but not the most beautiful poet sitting across from him.
“There is a darker heart in that beautiful chest of yours than you show, little bird. But I will accept the challenge in the name of love.” Ilya stood feeling lighter than he’d done since all this started and came back with two serves of trifle. “As it is a childhood favorite, I will share the punishment.”
She laughed and put a spoonful in her mouth making sounds of ‘mmmm’.
Ilya took a spoonful and grimaced. Swallowed.
“What do you think?” Her eyes so hopeful that her strategy worked. It was clever and he admired her greatly for it, so he played along, pretending the mundane dessert was unpalatable.
“It’s distasteful,” Ilya screwed up his face, “it lacks sophistication and textural harmony. I am speechless that this is the best that can be served at an epicurean’s Christmas Ball.”
Triumph blazed out of her all-too-alluring face. He imagined future arguments being solved by his offering to eat trifle and her feeling he’d been suitably punished. His heart felt like it would explode with want for that life.
“So, we both have distasteful feelings to manage,” she said, and his heart literally melted in his chest. She was going to trust him even though she disliked the idea. She would trust the rake in whom not even his family chose to put their faith.
Chapter 10
“I am going to find us a place,” Ilya whispered in her ear a couple of hours later.
“A safe place,” she whispered back.
“Don’t dance with anyone,” he growled, holding her gaze in earnest. He’d shooed more men away with scowls and possessive banter than he thought could fit in the room.
“You’d better hurry.” Seraphina looked over the crowd as if he were dismissed. Russia would love her. He wanted to show her all around St Petersburg, take her to court, dance the hopak for her, that dance of Cossacks that was all about demonstrating masculinity, speed, strength, and virility.
Fifteen minutes later he returned, having found the perfect room that looked to have been designed for trysts. He loved a thoughtful host.
Seraphina was not where he left her.
Ilya scanned over the towering wigs looking for her. And there she was, with some fop on the dance floor. His jaw tightened as he made his way through the sea of panniers to the edge of the dance floor. He stepped out from the invisible line that ringed the dancers, stood a little too far out from the edge. Her head turned and their eyes met. Hers creased at the sides as she smiled. Wicked girl to do this on the eve of their tryst.