What Happens in London (Bevelstoke #2)(54)

Harry was not sure who the prince was speaking to but decided to answer nonetheless. “There were many nights when I would have killed for a hot beverage.”

“I expect there were many nights when you killed, anyway,” the prince returned.

Harry gave him a cool look. “I was armed at various times with a saber, a rifle, and bayonet. I killed frequently.”

The prince met his stare with equal measure. “You sound as if you enjoyed it.”

“Never,” Harry said curtly.

One corner of the prince’s mouth curved very slightly. “Evil is sometimes necessary for good to flower, da?”

Harry acknowledged this with a single nod.

The prince took a sip of his tea, even though Harry had not yet been served. “Do you fence, Sir Harry?”

“Only passably.” This was true. They hadn’t had a proper fencing master at Hesslewhite. As a result, Harry’s sword skills were far more military than competitive. He was mediocre at the parry, but he knew how to go in for the kill.

“Here is that extra cup,” Olivia announced, taking it from the maid, who had just returned. “Sir Harry, you take yours without sugar, do you not?”

“You remember,” he murmured.

She smiled at him, a happy, earnest thing that floated across him like a warm breeze. He felt himself smiling back, unbidden, unfeigned. She looked at him, and he at her, and for one breathtaking moment they were alone in the room.

But then she turned away, murmuring something about tea. She busied herself fixing his cup, and he found that he was transfixed by her hands, lovely and elegant, and yet somehow not quite graceful. He liked that. Every goddess needed imperfections.

She looked up again and saw that he had been watching her. She smiled again, and then he had to do the same, and—

And then the damned prince had to go and open his mouth.





Chapter Thirteen




Five Things I Quite Like About Sir Harry Valentine By Olivia Bevelstoke



Smile

Wit

Eyes

Will speak to me through a window



Vladimir!” the prince suddenly barked out, rendering Olivia’s accounting one item short.

Vladimir immediately crossed the room to Prince Alexei, who issued what certainly sounded like an order in Russian. Vladimir grunted his assent and then added his own incomprehensible stream of words.

Olivia looked over at Harry. He was frowning. She supposed she probably was, too.

Vladimir made another gruff sound and returned to his corner, and Harry, who had been watching the entire exchange, looked at the prince and said, “He’s very convenient.”

Prince Alexei gave him a bored stare. “I do not understand your meaning.”

“He comes, he goes, he does whatever you say…”

“That is his purpose.”

“Well, of course.” Harry let his head tilt very slightly to the side. A shoulderless shrug is what it was, and just is careless in appearance. “I did not say otherwise.”

“It is necessary for those of royal status to travel with attendants.”

“I fully agree,” Harry replied, but his agreeable tone only seemed to needle the prince further.

“Here is your tea,” Olivia cut in, holding a cup out for Harry. He took it, thanking her quietly before taking a sip.

“I take mine the same way as Sir Harry,” she said, to no one in particular. “I used to take sugar, but I’ve found I’ve lost the taste for it.”

Harry looked at her with a curious expression. Olivia was not surprised; she could not recall the last time she’d made such dull conversation. But surely he realized that she had no choice.

She took a deep breath, trying to navigate the undercurrents of the conversation. The two men detested each other, that much was clear, but she’d been in rooms with people who hated each other before. It wasn’t usually quite this palpable.

And while she’d like to think that it was all for jealousy over her, she could not help but feel there was something else afoot.

“I have not been outside yet today,” she said, since the weather was always a dependable conversational distraction. “Is it warm?”

“I think it will rain,” the prince said.

“Oh well, that is England for you, isn’t it? If it isn’t raining, it’s pouring. And if it isn’t pouring…”

But the prince had already removed his attention to his rival. “Where is your home, Sir Harry?”

“Lately, next door,” Harry said cheerfully.

“I thought that English aristocrats have grand homes in the country.”

“They do,” Harry replied affably. “Of course, I am not an aristocrat.”

“How is the tea?” Olivia asked, a touch desperately.

Both men grunted an answer. Neither was more than one syllable. And neither syllable was particularly intelligible.

“But you are called Sir,” Prince Alexei said.

“True,” Harry replied, not looking at all concerned by his lack of status. “But it does not make me an aristocrat.”

Prince Alexei’s lips curved ever so slightly.

“Baronets are not considered part of the aristocracy,” Olivia explained, giving Harry an apologetic look. It really was rude of the prince to hammer on about Harry’s lower rank, but one did have to make allowances for cultural differences.