“On land, perhaps. On a ship, the decks will be slippery and—”
Her eyes flew to his. “Look, Alexandrov, either I have the freedom of this ship, as you promised me, or I might as well remain locked in my cabin. Which is it to be?”
Hands on hips, chin thrust out, she was prepared for battle, perhaps even hoping for one. Dimitri grinned, not about to oblige her.
“By all means go and get wet. But when you return, I would like to speak with you.”
“What about?”
“When you return, Katya.”
His gaze returned to his papers. She was dismissed summarily, subject closed. Katherine gritted her teeth and stalked away.
“‘When you return, Katya,’” she mimicked in a furious undertone as she stomped up the stairs. “You don’t need to know ahead of time, Katya. No, then you might be able to prepare yourself, and that wouldn’t do, would it? Worry about it instead. What the devil is he up to now?”
The rain hitting her in the face captured her full attention the moment she stepped on deck, and Dimitri’s arrogance was temporarily forgotten. Katherine moved to the railing, gripped it, and stared out at the turbulence of sea and sky, nature at its primal best. And she had almost missed it. Even now she could see the sun peeking through the clouds in the far-off distance as it descended toward the horizon. The ship would soon leave the storm behind.
But for now she could enjoy what she would never dream of indulging in at home: being wind-tossed and soaked without running for cover, without worrying about a ruined bonnet or dress or who might see her. It was a childish pleasure but so exhilarating that she felt like laughing, and did when she tried to catch rain in her cupped palms to drink and succeeded, and when the wind played lecher with her skirts.
Her spirits were still high when the cooler winds of approaching evening finally forced her to go below. And she was undisturbed when she neared Dimitri’s door, still open, and recalled that he wanted to see her. She had kept him waiting for nearly two hours. If doing so had managed to annoy him, the advantage would now be hers.
“Did you still wish to speak to me, Alexandrov?” Katherine inquired pleasantly.
Dimitri was still seated behind his desk. At the sound of her voice, he tossed a quill down and leaned back in his chair to glance at her. That she looked like something a cat might drag home didn’t seem to surprise him. Hair wet and stringy, a few strands stuck to her brow and cheek, her dress transparent and clinging—watered-silk took on a more exact meaning—with a puddle forming at her feet.
If his expression didn’t show his annoyance, his voice did, though not for the reason Katherine was expecting. “Must you still be so impersonal when you address me? My friends and family call me Mitya.”
“That’s nice.”
She could hear his sigh clear across the room. “Come in, Katya.”
“No, I don’t think I ought to,” she continued with the same irritating nonchalance. “I wouldn’t want to drip all over your floor.”
A sneeze ruined the effect she was striving for, and if she had bothered to make eye contact, she would have seen Dimitri’s returning humor. “So a little rain doesn’t hurt? Go and change your clothes, Katya.”
“I will, just as soon as you tell me—”
“Change first.”
She started to insist he get his talk over, but clamped her mouth shut instead. What was the use? She had played this scene already. And as he had earlier, he again had managed to prod her into exasperation. But this time—this time she slammed his door shut before marching away. She wanted to have the pleasure of pounding on it when she returned. Blasted door. What the devil was he doing leaving it open anyway?
“So that he could stop you, Katherine, which he did. What kind of freedom is it if you can’t go on deck, can’t even go to the dining salon, without his knowing about it?”
Good Lord, now she had his every motive revolving around her, when it was more than likely that he was just hot and trying to catch some of the cooling breeze that wafted down the corridor. After all, he was from Russia, the land of eternal winter. What was cool to her would be warm to him.
“Deluded, that’s what you are, Katherine, when you know very well you’re not that important to him. He probably doesn’t give you a thought once you’re not around. Why should he? And his door won’t be open every time. And even if it is, he wouldn’t stop you every time.”
As reasonable as that sounded, it didn’t relieve even half her exasperation in being treated like a child; and that’s what he had done, dismissing her summarily as though she were a child or a servant, ordering her to change, as if she didn’t have the sense to do so without his telling her to.
Katherine slammed her own door shut and immediately attacked the buttons on her bodice, the task made difficult because of the wet material. She would have given her eyeteeth to have Lucy present for just one minute, and the fact that she didn’t made her all the madder.
She kicked her dress away once it fell to the floor, then followed and kicked it again just for good measure. Shoes, petticoats, and the rest of her underclothes dropped into the same pile before she realized that it was too dark in the room now to find new clothes in her trunk. She stubbed her foot trying to reach the washstand to grab a towel. More fuel for the fire.
“Your talk had just better be essential, my high and mighty prince, that’s all I have to say.” Her voice was a comfort in the gloom and a hot spur once she got a candle lit. “Keeping me in suspense might be your idea of—”
“Do you always talk to yourself, Katya?”
Katherine froze. Her eyes closed, her fingers tightened on the towel she held around her, and her mind balked.He’s not there. He’s not. He wouldn’t dare. She wouldn’t turn around to look, even when she heard his footsteps moving up behind her.Grant me just one favor, Lord, please. Put some clothes on me. One small miracle.
