His eyes softened and she hated him for instinctively knowing she’d lost her courage. That she’d taken that leap with him, been burned, and now, like some wounded thing, shied away at any unexpected movement.
He inclined his head. “Perhaps at a more opportune time.” Then he turned and walked to the door, the bell rang discordant as he opened it and left.
He walked across the street to his motorcar. Glanced her way before starting the engine and leaving. Leaving her wondering if the pain in her chest was there because he was gone or because he had come.
It will get better with exposure, she reassured herself.
Yet two days later, at a picnic arranged at Hyde Park, she saw him promenading along the path with a woman she understood to be his sister. Seph made her excuses, citing a sudden migraine and fled. Marching off in god knew what direction just to get away. Walked until she found herself on entirely the wrong side of the park and had to hail a cab to get home.
Naturally, he would be here at the Easton’s Ball.
“You will have to face him sometime, Seph,” Marsden said as he scanned the crowd looking for his evening’s entertainment.
Seraphina scowled as she watched a procession enter the ball room to be announced. ‘A Prince Vladimir Demetri Petroski, A Princess Georgina Petroski, A Prince Vladimir Ilya Petroski, and a Princess Tatiana Petroski.’ They were a veritable blaze of handsomeness and beauty as they stood on the threshold, and heads turned. London had forgiven their charade marking it down to Russian exuberance given that the betrothal went ahead as planned. Every hostess in town wanted them to attend their functions now.
“Have you seen St Alban?” her heart felt as if there was a little bird trapped inside, madly fluttering its wings and circling the four chambers looking for an exit.
“I believe he’s talking with the Prime Minister over the other side.” A world away. What was the use of having a fiancé when he wasn’t there to rescue you from your heart’s desire?
Her gaze darted back to the glowing Petroskis. Of course, their gazes caught, hers and Ilya’s. She broke contact by stepping behind Marsden.
“You’re a veritable coward Seph.” Marsden stepped forward and she was back in Ilya’s line of sight and yes, he was heading straight for them.
“I don’t care. I’m not wearing my iron breastplate and my heart is still recuperating from the last dalliance. Don’t men know you need a few lifetimes to recover from these things.”
“Well, you might feel better just facing him and getting it over with. I’ll come along later and shovel your bleeding heart back under your rib cage if he eviscerates it, but in my experience declarations of love only eviscerate undergarments.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I am not available for declarations of ardor…I am engaged. Besides more happened than a pretext at being the betrothed prince.”
Marsden raised his eyes in that ‘do tell’ look of his.
Seph rolled her eyes as she scanned for an exit.
She had been assaulted with the details of their scheme at Christmas by every tongue in every parlor she’d visited over the last two days. Everyone was talking about how romantic it all was. It had evolved into a charade to allow the betrothed couple to get to know each other in secret. And, well the younger brother was what he was. London loved a rake and he was forgiven.
But what of her heart?
Her sensibilities?
They had been crushed.
Ilya had made good pace from across the room. For a moment she considered staying, facing Ilya with Marsden by her side, but the thought made her suddenly feel ill.
Courage be damned, she needed to survive intact.
Seph turned and blindly headed deeper into the house. It was not beneath her to find a cupboard to squeeze into and hide.
Chapter 23
“Marsden. Keep an eye on my sister.” Ilya’s gaze followed Seraphina as she made yet another hasty retreat from him. A bundle of vermillion silk and golden hair hurrying down the corridor.
“Demetri’s here, sounds like he’s got her covered. Besides, I have just spotted the Dolton twins, you know how I like them.”
“Tatiana needs more than one set of eyes on her. Dance with her. She likes that. Show her how dangerous you are, she likes shiny things. But,” Ilya raised a finger between them and held Marsden’s gaze, “don’t you touch her.” The finger dropped to point, his thumb raised like a pistol, “I’ll kill you. My brother will kill you. Every man in St Petersburg will kill you.”
Marsden rolled his eyes. “You are spoiling a potentially decadent evening; those girls fight over me in the most delicious ways.”
“I’m trusting you to be brotherly.” The weight of it shimmered in the space between them. Marsden gave a single nod.
“She’s not my sort.”
“She’d better not be. Remember what I told you happens to men in Russia, horses and genitals!”
Ilya followed Seraphina, strode down the corridor that led deeper into the house. There was no sight of her, no flashes of vermillion silk. He checked each room as he went, first listening and then stealthily opening. It was bad form to compromise a couple if you found them in flagrante delicto; weddings were forced for less.
Murmurs and soft whispers in the shadowed darkness of a reading nook, a card game for high stakes with cigar smoke fogging the ceiling in the study, checkers in the library but no Seraphina. At the end of the corridor he looked through the window, across the patio and then through the fogged glass in the conservatory…movement. Nothing of what he saw was clear and yet instinctively he knew it was her.
A few moments later he stepped into the greenhouse. Tall palms, ferns and soft broad-leafed plants filled the two-story, steel-framed, glass greenhouse. Moonlight filtered in from above. Old style gas lamps scattered throughout, gave an orange glow. The hostess, understanding the need for guests to wander, had candles placed in glass containers bordering the pathways snaking through lush tropical foliage creating a fairy tale trail to wander.
Ilya moved quickly and quietly around the space, scouted it out, making sure they were alone. Then doubled back to the entrance and closed the door. A garden spade resting against the wall served as a makeshift lock when he wedged it against the door. He needed some uninterrupted time with his stubborn quarry.
Seraphina was at the far end looking through a pane of clear glass. The lawn and gardens on the other side were washed silver by moonlight. Except for the blaze of warm illumination coming from the ballroom. That glow lit the evergreen pines and the lush branches of the poplars in warm hues.
Ilya stood behind her. His reflection discernable in the glass as they shared the view.
“Go away.” She didn’t turn.
He reached out and rested his hands on her shoulders, leaned down till he could inhale the warm air around her; the silkiness of a stray lock of hair tickled his face. “Stop running Seraphina.” His lips nuzzled the soft coolness of her ear.
“I am done Ilya. There is nothing between us.” She moved her head aside but didn’t step away. That was good.
His heart squeezed tight at the hurt sitting deep behind those words. Hurt he had wrought. He’d seen it at the bookshop, her uncontrollable shaking telling him of how deeply he had hurt her. And not just the minor wound inflicted because a liaison ended too early for one of the parties involved. No, a cut to the core.