Vladimir shouldn’t really have been surprised. The Prince’s generosity was renowned. And yet this woman was no more than a simple English peasant.
“Most of the servants’ belongings were taken to the ship yesterday, my lord.”
“And I don’t suppose Anastasia would agree to give up one of her dresses? No, of course she wouldn’t. She was in a pout all evening because I wouldn’t let her carouse in London last night. I think right now she would relish any reason to spite me.”
Vladimir hesitated, but if it was Dimitri’s wish to clothe the wench in finery…no, he couldn’t bring himself to mention that Countess Rothkovna’s clothes had sailed from Russia with them even if she hadn’t. Dimitri might appreciate the subtle revenge of giving awayallof the Countess’s things, since he was undoubtedly through with her after the way she had disappointed him, but Vladimir just couldn’t bring himself to gift this thoroughly disagreeable peasant with such an expensive wardrobe. A more becoming dress was one thing, an exceedingly costly one quite another.
“I will send one of the women to obtain something suitable once the shops open,” Vladimir suggested, but added, “if you think she will be here that long.”
“No, don’t bother. It was just a thought, and the pleasure of ordering that rag thrown away.” Dimitri waved his hand in dismissal. “I’ll call you when she is ready to leave.”
So he was staying in this room with her? His interest was still that piqued? Vladimir hesitated again. He had never put his wishes before the master’s, as he had just done. Yet he did not have to appease the Prince. Dimitri was still in an excellent mood. But Vladimir disliked the woman too much after all the frustration and anxiety she had caused with her stubbornness, even if she had pleased Dimitri in the end. She was being given much too much, in his opinion, as it was. She wouldn’t get any extras thrown in if he could help it.
“As you wish, my lord.”
Vladimir left, closing the door softly, and went down to tell Marusia about this latest quirk of the Prince’s. But she would probably be amused and remind him that Dimitri’s father had also been fascinated by an Englishwoman, enough to marry her. Thank GodthisEnglish wench was not royalty, as the Lady Anne had been.
In the room, Dimitri turned off the lamps that had burned all night, then stretched out on the bed he had left only a few hours ago. Katherine lay on her stomach, her face turned toward him. He brushed the hair back from her cheek for a better view. She didn’t stir.
In sleep, the severe lines of her face were softened, just as they had been in her passion. Dimitri couldn’t forget that passion. Of course it was the drug that had produced it, not him—which was why he wanted her one more time, without the drug controlling her. In part he felt a challenge, a desire to see if he could stimulate the same heights of feeling in her. But perversely, he also felt a need to prove that in reality she could not possibly be as sexy and incredibly sensual as she had been under the influence of the cantharides.
At the moment, however, she needed a few more hours’ sleep to replenish her strength. Having to wait was inconvenient. Patience was not one of his better qualities. But he had nothing else to do this morning before he sailed.
Chapter Eight
As the sun rose higher, the activity in the house increased, for the Prince liked to leave a place as he found it. The Duke of Albemarle’s servants, dismissed yesterday because the Prince liked only his own staff around him, would find nothing amiss when they returned later that day. But in the room on the third floor, all was still quiet.
Vladimir, waiting patiently at the end of the hall to be summoned, assumed Dimitri had fallen asleep. Three hours more he had spent with the woman. He must be asleep. But there was still time before they were due at the docks. He would wait awhile yet before disturbing him.
Dimitri was quite awake, still not the least bit tired. He had surprised himself by his patience, for the morning was moving by at a devilishly slow rate. And he had managed to keep his hands off of Katherine until now. But at last he drew her into his arms and began to caress her awake. She fought against him peevishly.
“Not now, Lucy! Do go away!”
Dimitri smiled, wondering only vaguely who Lucy might be. Katherine had spoken French to him last night because he had first addressed her in French, and she spoke it superbly. But English suited her much better, and the commanding tone she affected was rather amusing. Still, English was not the language he preferred, so he didn’t bother using it.
“Come, Katya, join me,” he coaxed her, his fingers playing with the silky skin of her shoulder. “I grow bored waiting for you to wake.”
Her eyes opened on a level with his, their noses nearly touching. She blinked once, but couldn’t seem to focus clearly. There was no sign of recognition, none of surprise, either, or even of confusion. It was as if she didn’t even see him. But she did. She moved back slowly until she was at arm’s length. All the while her eyes were moving over him, clear down to his toes, then back up again, in a way that was quite unnerving, for Dimitri had the distinct impression that she found him wanting.
Katherine was in fact having difficulty accepting that he was real. Adonis again, had been her first annoying thought. The fairy-tale prince. Her practical eye truly doubted what she was seeing, for reality didn’t create men like this.
“Do you disappear at the stroke of midnight?”
Dimitri burst into delighted laughter. “If you say you have forgotten me so soon, little one, I will be pleased to refresh your memory.”
Katherine flushed with flaming color from the roots of her hair to the cover, which she gripped tightly to her breasts as she sat up. She remembered.
“Oh, God!” she moaned, only to demand quickly, “Why are you still here? You could have at least had the decency to let me deal with my shame alone!”
“But why should you be ashamed at all? You have done nothing wrong.”
“Well I know it,” she agreed bitterly. “The wrong was done to me. And you—oh, God, just go away!”
Her hands slid over her face to cover her eyes. Her shoulders were bent dejectedly. Fretfully she rocked back and forth, giving Dimitri a tantalizing view of her smooth back and a small portion of her derriere.
“You aren’t crying, are you?” he asked casually.
Katherine stilled, but didn’t lower her hands, so that her voice came out in a mumble. “I don’t cry, and why aren’t you leaving?”
