What Happens in London (Bevelstoke #2)(59)

Or how to say it.

“It’s not important,” she finally decided.

He did not speak immediately. When he did, his voice was low, with an edge to it that took her breath away. “If he made you uncomfortable, it is very important to me.”

“He…he…” She kept shaking her head as she spoke, until finally she managed to hold herself still and say, “He just said something about kissing me. It’s nothing really.”

She’d been avoiding looking at Harry, but now she did. He wasn’t moving.

“It’s not the first time a gentleman has done so,” she added. She decided not to mention the part about Vladimir. Frankly, it made her squeamish just to think about it.

“Harry?” she called down.

“I don’t want you seeing him again,” he said in a low voice.

Her first thought was to tell him that he had no authority over her. And indeed, her mouth opened, the words right there on her lips. But then she remembered something he’d said to her. He’d been teasing, or maybe he hadn’t been. Maybe she’d only thought he was teasing when he’d said that she didn’t always think before she spoke.

This time she was going to think.

She didn’t want to see the prince again, either. What was the point in protesting his statement when they both wanted the same thing?

“I don’t know that I will have any choice,” she said. It was true. Short of barricading herself in her room, she had no way of avoiding him.

He looked up, his eyes deadly serious. “Olivia, he is not a nice man.”

“How do you know?”

“I just—” He raked his hand through his hair, letting out what sounded like a frustrated exhale. “I can’t tell you how I know. I mean, I don’t know how I know. It’s a male sort of thing. I can just tell.”

She looked down at him, trying to decipher his words.

He closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing both his hands along his forehead. Finally, he looked up and said, “Don’t you know things about other women that men are too dunce-headed to figure out?”

She nodded. He had a point. Quite a good one, actually.

“Just stay away from him. Promise me.”

“I can’t promise that,” she said, although she wished she could.

“Olivia…”

“I can promise I will try. You know that’s the best I can do.”

He nodded. “Very well.”

There was a hesitant, nervous silence, and then she said, “You should go have that bath. You’re shivering.”

“So are you,” he said softly.

She was. She hadn’t realized it, hadn’t noticed that she was shaking, but now…now that she knew…it seemed to grow worse. And then…even worse…and she thought she might cry, but she had no idea why. It was just there, inside of her. Too much feeling. Too much…

Just too much. It was just too much.

She nodded jerkily. “Good night,” she said, rushing out the word. The tears were there, too close, and she didn’t want him to see them.

“Good night,” he said, but she’d managed to pull down her window before he finished. And then she ran to the bed, and buried her face in her pillow.

But she didn’t cry. Even though now she wanted to.

And she still didn’t know why.



Harry held the blanket close as he trudged back out of his office. He was no longer quite so cold, but he felt awful. His chest had an unsettling, hollow feeling to it, and it seemed to intensify with each breath, sliding up his throat, drawing his shoulders up into a tense, unyielding shrug.

It wasn’t cold, he realized. It was fear.

Prince Alexei had frightened Olivia today. Harry wasn’t sure what exactly he’d done or said, and he knew that she would minimize her feelings if he pressed further about them, but something untoward had occurred. And it would happen again, if the prince was allowed free rein.

Harry moved through the front hall, holding the blanket with his left hand while he used his right to rub the back of his neck. He needed to calm down. He needed to catch his breath and think straight. It would be up to the bath, and then into bed, where he could calmly assess the problem and— His front door began to rattle.

His heart slammed in his chest, and his muscles leaped to readiness, every nerve suddenly poised for a fight. It was late. And he’d been out following mysterious Russians. And…

And he was an idiot. If someone was going to break into his house, he’d not use the bloody front door. Harry stalked over, turned the lock, and pulled it open.

Edward fell in.

Harry stared down at his younger brother with disgust. “Oh, for God’s sake.”

“Harry?” Edward looked up and squinted, and Harry wanted to know who the hell else he was expecting.

“How much have you had to drink?” Harry demanded.

Edward tried to pull himself to his feet, but after a moment gave up and sat right in the center of the hall, blinking as if he weren’t quite sure how he’d got into the position. “What?”

If anything, Harry’s voice grew quieter. And more deadly. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Uhhhh…well…” Edward’s mouth moved, almost as if he were chewing his cud. He probably was, Harry thought with disgust.