AWAKENING THE SHY MISS (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

‘S
omeone’s coming.’ Andrew dropped the curtain back in place with a scowl. The coach was slowing. Whoever was out there had ordered the coach to pull over. Evie could hear loud voices outside over the rumble of hooves. She tried to right herself as best she could. Her gown was undone, her chemise ripped, but she’d survived the game. She could not say the same for Andrew. He had a nail scratch down his cheek and he looked less immaculate. She’d made him pay for everything he’d demanded of her. The goal was to survive intact and that meant modesty had to be sacrificed. In some cases, even pride. Her motto had become there was worse he could do and he hadn’t done it. Not yet.

Andrew pointed the tip of his knife at her. ‘Don’t think for a moment about making yourself decent. If it’s highwaymen they’ll not thank you for it. If it’s your Prince, I want him to see what he’s done. This is all his fault. He took from me and now I take from him.’

Andrew lifted the curtain again now that the coach was at a full stop. ‘Maybe he does love you.’ He shot her an appraising look. ‘I can understand that attraction better now after our little game.’ He motioned to the door. ‘We are getting out together, you first, my knife at your throat, so go cautiously and don’t think about blurting anything out. They could very well be your last words. Keep your hands down.’

Her moment was nearly here, Evie reminded herself as he dragged her against him, the blade at her neck, the edge pricking. It was frightening indeed to have one’s skin that close to death, but there was hope just the other side of that door. ‘I’m going to kill him, you know that, don’t you? Unless the sight of you kills him first,’ Andrew growled.

It was the very thing she feared. She’d not wanted to tidy her clothes for herself as much she’d wanted to tidy herself for Dimitri. She didn’t want Dimitri to see her like this, her hair mussed, her clothes torn, her body exposed. He would think the worst. She wanted to protect him from that, from the anger that would come. That anger would be his enemy. It would drive him to foolishness and Andrew would not hesitate. Andrew wanted him dead, but not before he had suffered.

She wanted to spit at him, wanted to fight, but Andrew was not above letting his blade draw blood. It was one of the lessons she’d learned early in the game. She had the cut to prove it. Only a coward would kill in the isolation of the country. Sunlight hit her eyes and she squinted, trying hard to keep her eyes open, not wanting to be blind for a moment. Even so, she heard him before she saw him.

‘Evie!’ Oh, God, that was the voice of her salvation. She wanted to give in to weakness and weep with relief even though Andrew held her a mortal prisoner against him. Dimitri had come for her, to save her from her own foolishness, she saw that now. She never should have left his bed. And now this good man who loved her, who was willing to give up everything for her, might very well end up giving his life. He’d not come expecting danger, only a stubborn woman. But Andrew was armed. To the teeth, it turned out. There was the little gun, the knife, and a larger knife and a larger pistol under the seat. She would go for those weapons the first chance she had. She would not let Dimitri fight alone.

‘Andrew, let her go.’ The command came, regal and loud atop the black stallion.

‘What? Is that all you have to say? Don’t you want to know why we’re together, or what we’ve been doing? Maybe she doesn’t want to come with you now that she’s had a taste of a real Englishman.’ Andrew’s other arm came up, the long pistol a deadly extension of his hand. ‘Shall I shoot him, my dear? Shall he join our little game? It’s more fun with three. Imagine what we could do.

‘Get off that beast of yours, Prince, and face me man to man and I’ll let her go. I was about done with her anyway.’

‘No, Dimitri, don’t get down. He’ll kill you!’ The blade bit and she felt a trickle of blood rise on her neck. The words were worth it. All that mattered was that Dimitri ride away from this, alive and well. He deserved that.

* * *

Dear God, Andrew was going to kill her. The man had gone mad. It became obvious this was going to be over in a matter of seconds. There was no chance to negotiate. Heaven only knew what she’d endured in that coach, and now this. He was trying hard not to imagine what these hours had been like for her, not while she was depending on his cool head and cooler hand. She’d made it this far, she deserved to have him help her the rest of the way. He would have only one shot. His hand closed around his first pistol, lying low against his saddle. There would be no chance to draw it. He would have to shoot from the holster, through the holster. He angled the horse, letting the horse prance. He could make this shot, but his margin for error was slim. If he missed, he risked hitting Evie. The shot would cripple her.

‘Evie, stand still.’ His words were cold and crisp and loud. He’d never been more terrified in his life. The woman he loved was at risk. He could not miss this shot. He squeezed the trigger. There was a breeze past Evie’s skirts. Fabric rippled. Andrew went down in a howl of pain as the bullet took him in the knee. Relief swamped Dimitri. He came off the horse in a fluid motion, drawing another pistol, tossing away the empty one as he advanced. “Evie, get behind me!” He barked when she glanced towards the coach. There were probably weapons inside and his brave girl would want to fight but he needed her safe.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Evie scramble towards the horse, towards safety behind him. Now he could give all of his concentration to Andrew. The coachman on the box began to protest. ‘I don’t take with violence on my stage.’

‘A little too late for that,’ Dimitri growled, his eyes never leaving Andrew. ‘You’ve allowed a woman to be molested in your coach.’ He trained his pistol on Andrew. ‘I should shoot you.’ This next bullet would take him between the eyes. Andrew began to whine, to beg. Dimitri cut him off with harsh words. He was beyond mercy. ‘Stop your snivelling, you coward. I won’t shoot you. I will, however, throw you in this coach with enough money for a doctor and your promise that you’ll never leave Scotland. If I catch you on English soil or near my wife ever again, I will shoot you on sight.’

He didn’t see Andrew’s hand move. A blade flashed on his periphery. Behind him, Evie screamed a single word. ‘Knife!’ Without her warning it would have been too late. All else happened in slow motion. The blade came up. There was no time to think, only to time to act. Dimitri fired his second pistol without hesitation on Evie’s warning. When the roar of the bullet ebbed, Andrew lay dead. But his other thought was: Evie is safe. Andrew could never hurt her again.

She half-ran, half-stumbled to him and he wrapped her in his arms, pulling her away from the scene. He was never letting her go again. He shrugged out of his coat, draping it about her. His brave girl was shaking. ‘Are you all right, Evie? Did he hurt you?’ They were inadequate words. Of course Andrew had hurt her. Her clothes were torn, her hair was tangled. The thin red line of a cut was visible on her neck, another high above her right breast. But he couldn’t bring himself to mouth the words he feared the most: Had Andrew
forced
himself on her?

‘I’m all right.’ She clutched at his shirt, her eyes searching his. She knew what he meant to ask. ‘He didn’t hurt me, not like that. But he would have. He made me play this game...’ She held nothing back, perhaps understanding his need to know. When she finished, he knew one truth. If Andrew were not already dead, he would have been now.

* * *

‘After all that, you still had the presence of mind to save me, Evie.’ He wanted to get her away from here more than ever as if putting miles between this place and Evie would help her forget. He boosted her up into the saddle and settled behind her, taking her deep into the vee of his thighs, letting her feel the press of his muscles around her, strong and alive, a reminder too that she was strong and she was alive. They were alive together. ‘You know, in Kuban, we have a tradition. When you save a life, that life belongs to you. You become responsible for it.’

He kneed the horse forward, back towards Little Westbury, back towards the life that was about to start. ‘Do you have any idea how I felt when I woke up and saw you were gone? That my life was over, Evie. You’re my life now. The life I’ve chosen and I don’t want you to ever run from that again.’

‘I left because I chose you.’ Evie half-turned, to stroke his face with her hand, her eyes shining with tears. ‘I didn’t think giving up a kingdom for me was a good trade.’

‘You’re right. It’s not a good trade. It’s not nearly enough. Not even two kingdoms, three kingdoms, would be enough for you, Evie.’ Sapphire tears glistened, threatening to spill. He wanted to lick them away with his tongue. His Evie should never cry. ‘I just need you to believe it.’

‘I do. You came for me. Not because I told you to, but because you wanted to.’

‘Because I
needed
to, Evie. You are my freedom.’ She smiled at him then—the smile he’d fallen for from the first. He knew he was home. It no longer mattered what the news from Kuban was. He would manage it, whenever it came, with whatever verdict it held. If he had to go back to Kuban and spirit Anna-Maria away, so be it. ‘Did you know, the first thing I noticed about you was your smile? I knew then I was in trouble. Just not how much.’

Evie laughed, facing forward. She snuggled her buttocks deeper against his groin. ‘What’s so funny?’ He would swear she was doing that wiggling bit on purpose.

‘The first thing I noticed about you was your trousers,’ she said coyly.

‘My trousers?’

‘Yes. We all did. Every woman in the assembly room wanted to get into your trousers that night, me most of all.’

‘Well, it looks like your wish came true, soon-to-be-Mrs Petrovich. How long does it take you to make a dress, Evie?’

‘What?’ The question caught her off guard. ‘Three weeks, I think. Maybe less if I don’t have any distractions.’

‘Three weeks? Good. Then you can wear it to your wedding.’

‘Hmm.’ She arched her neck and looked up at him with a considering stare, ready to tease him in return. ‘I like how this story is developing. Who would have thought I’d marry the Prince of Pleats?’

Dimitri laughed and held her tight. Who would have thought indeed? He’d not come to Little Westbury expecting any of this, but it was fast becoming his experience that the unexpected made for the best endings.

* * *

The three weeks leading up to the wedding had been filled with activity and unfortunately a large amount of tradition, which from Evie’s point of view, seemed ironic coming from a man who apparently liked unexpected endings. Dimitri had insisted on having the banns read, just as he’d insisted on a traditional wedding in the Little Westbury church where she and all her family had been christened. She could tolerate those foibles, as she called them. The third foible was less tolerable. He’d also insisted on celibacy before the wedding night, something Evie didn’t understand the reason for, especially now when they were to marry and it could not be considered compromising even if they were caught. But he had insisted and they had stuck to it. Mostly.

It hardly mattered. In less than an hour, she’d be Mrs Petrovich and they could have all the sex they wanted for the rest of their lives. There was a knock on her bedroom door and May poked her head in. ‘Are you ready? The carriage is coming.’ May had made the trip south for her, one reason why she’d even considered tolerating the three-week wait. Even then, May had barely arrived in time.

Evie nodded and smoothed her skirts with a final look in the mirror. The dress was another reason she’d consented to the wait. She wanted a wedding dress of her own design and this one was hers down to the final stitch, with its full skirts that rustled delightfully when she walked. The ecru silk had been specially ordered from London, the deep off-white shade perfect for a harvest wedding. A border of autumn-coloured flowers was embroidered around the hem and the bodice had been a work of art with its matching profusion of flowers. May had helped sew the remaining bit of trim last night.

‘I’m going to be bride. At last.’ Evie sighed.

‘And a very beautiful one, Evie. You’re radiant.’ May reached for the veil lying on the bed, a long sheer confection crowned with a wreath of autumn leaves that matched the dress. She set it on Evie’s head. ‘I wish Claire and Bea could be here. You know they’re happy for you.’ Claire was too far away in Vienna and there was no question of Beatrice travelling at this late stage of pregnancy even if she could be seen in public.

‘It’s enough you’re here. More than enough,’ Evie assured her. May would stand up with her today as her witness. Stefon would stand up with Dimitri. She grabbed her bouquet from the vanity and gave her room one last look, her throat squeezing. Evie Milham would never come back here again. She wondered how Dimitri was handling the morning. It was emotional enough for her and she was surrounded by friends and family for support. Suddenly, she wanted to get to the church, wanted to be next to him so he wouldn’t be alone.

The church was filled to capacity, not being all that large to begin with. Everyone from town must be stuffed inside. She knew her family would be in the front pews; her mother, her sisters and their husbands and Diana’s little baby. She knew too that the aisle would be festooned in a rich ivory ribbon with nosegays of flowers attached at each pew. She’d helped with the decorating yesterday. It was a good thing, or else she wouldn’t have noticed any of that today. As soon as the heavy oak doors of the church were opened and her father took her arm, she had eyes for nothing except the man waiting at the end of the aisle for her.

Dimitri was dressed in an English morning coat of blue superfine with perfectly pressed buff trousers,
with
pleats, she noted. His shirt was starched, white perfection, his cravat a simple, elegant navy blue, his waistcoat a tiny blue-and-white stripe. But no one would mistake him for an Englishman. No one ever would. His dark hair was sleek and immaculate, pulled back in his usual style, and his eyes were on her. She might have walked down the aisle a little too quickly, she might have smiled too broadly. She would not be a solemn bride. A girl had only one wedding day.