“Tonight,” she clarified. “Where did you go that you got so wet?”
He glanced down at himself, as if only just then remembering that he was soaked.
How was that possible?
“I went to the opera,” he told her.
“Did you?” She hugged her arms more tightly against her body, and although he could not be sure, it looked as if she moved slightly closer to the window. “I was supposed to attend,” she said. “I wanted to go.”
He moved, too, closer to his window. “Why didn’t you?”
She hesitated, her attention moving from his face for a moment before returning as she said, “If you must know, I knew the prince would be there, and I did not wish to see him.”
Now this was interesting. He moved closer to the window, then—
There was a knock on his door.
“Don’t move,” he ordered, pointing up at her. He shut his window, then strode to the door and opened it.
“Your bath is ready, sir,” his butler announced.
“Thank you. Could you, ah, have them keep it steaming for me? I’ll be a few more minutes.”
“I shall instruct the footmen to keep water on the stove. Will you be requiring a blanket, sir?”
Harry looked down at his hands. Funny, he couldn’t quite feel them properly. “Er, yes. That would be marvelous. Thank you.”
“I will get it at once.”
While the butler went off in search of a blanket, Harry hurried back over to the window and wrenched it open. Olivia now had her back to him. She was sitting on the edge of her windowsill, leaning slightly against the side of the aperture. She had also sought a blanket, he noticed, something soft and powdery blue and— He shook his head. What did her blanket matter? “One more minute,” he called up. “Don’t go.”
Olivia glanced down at the sound of his voice, just in time to see his window close again. She waited another half minute or so, and then he was back, the wood of the window scraping as he pushed it back up.
“Oh, you got a blanket, too,” she said, as if that were something significant.
“Well, I was cold,” he said, also as if that were important.
They were quiet for a long moment, and then he asked, “Why didn’t you want to see the prince?”
Olivia just shook her head. Not because it wasn’t true, but because she didn’t really think she could talk to him about it. Which was strange, because that afternoon, the first thing she’d thought was that she had to tell him about Prince Alexei’s strange behavior. But now, window to window, with him looking up at her with dark, unfathomable eyes, she didn’t know what to say.
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.