She looked over at Harry. “Do I look presentable?”
He nodded. But then he said, “Sebastian will know.”
Her mouth opened in shock. “What? How?”
Harry gave a one shouldered shrug. There was something elementally male about the gesture, as if to say—a woman might answer your question in exhaustive detail, but this will do for me.
“How will he know?” Olivia repeated.
He gave her another one of those looks. “He just will. But don’t worry, he won’t say anything.”
Olivia looked down at herself. “Do you think the prince will know?”
“What does it matter if the prince knows?” Harry returned, a little snappishly.
“I have my—” She had been about to say that she had her reputation to consider. “Are you jealous?”
He looked at her as if she was slightly deranged. “Of course I’m jealous.”
Her legs started to feel rather liquid, and she sighed. “Really?”
He shook his head, clearly impatient with her sudden dreaminess. “Tell everyone I’ve gone home.”
She blinked, unsure of what he was talking about.
“You don’t want everyone to know what we’ve been doing in here, do you?”
“Er, no.” Said perhaps a little haltingly, since it wasn’t as if she was ashamed. Because she wasn’t. But she did wish for her activities to remain private.
He walked over to the window. “Tell them you saw me off ten minutes ago. You can say that I had matters to attend to at home.”
“You’re going out the window?”
He already had one leg over the sill. “Do you have any better ideas?”
She might, if he gave her a few moments to think about it. “There’s a drop,” she pointed out. “It’s—”
“Don’t forget to shut the window after me.” And he was gone, hopping right out of sight. Olivia rushed over and peered out. Actually, there hadn’t been much of a drop at all. Certainly no more than Priscilla Butterworth had had to deal with when she’d hung out the ground-floor window, and heaven knew Olivia had mocked her for her silliness.
She started to ask Harry if he was all right, but he was already making his way up and over the wall that separated their properties, clearly uninjured by the drop.
And besides, Olivia didn’t have time for any more conversation. She could hear someone coming down the stairs, so she hurried out, just in time to reach the front of the hall at the same time as her mother.
“Did someone scream?” Lady Rudland asked. “What is going on?”
“I have no idea,” Olivia replied. “I was in the washroom. There is a bit of a performance—”
“A performance?”
“In the drawing room.”
“What on earth are you talking about? And why”—her mother reached out and plucked something from her hair—“is there a feather in your hair?”
“I cannot explain,” Olivia said, taking the feather in her hands for later disposal. It must have popped out through the upholstery on one of the pillows. They were all stuffed with feathers, although Olivia had always thought that the quills were removed first.
She was saved from further comment by Huntley, who had come into the hall, looking terribly embarrassed. “My lady,” he said, bowing toward Olivia’s mother. “There has been an accident.”
Olivia scooted around Huntley, hurrying into the drawing room. Sebastian was on the floor, his arm twisted at an unnatural angle. Behind him a vase appeared to have tipped over, leaving shattered glass, cut flowers, and water all over the floor.
“Oh my heavens!” she exclaimed. “What happened?”
“I think he broke his arm,” Edward Valentine told her.
“Where’s Harry?” Sebastian gasped. His teeth were grit together, and he was sweating from the pain.
“He went home,” Olivia told him. “What happened?”
“It was part of the performance,” Edward explained. “Miss Butterworth was on a cliff, and—”
“Who is Miss Butterworth?” Olivia’s mother asked from the doorway.
“I’ll explain later,” Olivia promised. That idiotic novel was going to be the death of someone. She turned back to Sebastian. “Mr. Grey, I think we should call for a surgeon.”
“Vladimir will fix it,” Prince Alexei announced.
Sebastian looked up at Olivia, eyes wide with alarm.
“Mother,” Olivia called out, motioning her to come over. “I think we need the surgeon.”
“Vladimir!” the prince barked, letting loose a stream of Russian.
“Don’t let him touch me,” Sebastian hissed.
“Do not think that you shall go to bed tonight without explaining every last detail,” Lady Rudland murmured in Olivia’s ear.
Olivia gave a nod, grateful that she’d have a bit of time to come up with a plausible explanation. She had a feeling that nothing could top the truth, however. Or at least the truth with a few carefully selected deletions. She was very grateful that Huntley had got caught up in the drama of the afternoon; that, at least, would explain why Lady Rudland had not been informed of her daughter’s many visitors.
“Get Harry,” Sebastian said to Edward. “Now.”
The young man excused himself and ran off with alacrity.
“This is what Vladimir does,” Prince Alexei said, shoving his way close. Vladimir was right next to him, looking down at Sebastian with narrowed, assessing eyes.
“He mends broken arms?” Olivia asked, looking over at him with considerable doubt.
“He does many things,” Alexei replied.
“Your Highness,” Lady Rudland murmured, bobbing a quick curtsy. He was, after all, royalty, and protocol must be observed, regardless of twisted limbs.
“Pereloma ruki u nevo nyet,” Vladimir said.
“He says the arm is not broken,” Alexei said, grabbing hold of Sebastian’s shoulder. Sebastian yelled out with such force that Olivia flinched.
Vladimir said something more, to which Alexei murmured a response that was clearly a question. Vladimir gave a nod, and then, before anyone had a chance to react, both men caught hold of Sebastian, Alexei around his middle and Vladimir at his arm, a bit above the elbow. Vladimir gave a pull and a twist—or maybe it was a twist and a pull. There was a horrific sound of bone on—good Lord, Olivia didn’t know what the bone was on, but it must have been something hideous, because Sebastian let out a blood-curdling cry.
Olivia thought she might be sick.
“Better?” Prince Alexei asked, looking down on his shuddering patient.
Sebastian looked too stunned to speak.
“He is better,” Alexei said confidently. He then said to Sebastian, “It will hurt for several days. Maybe longer. You…ah…how do you say it?”
“Dislocated,” Sebastian whimpered, tentatively moving his fingers.
“Da. The shoulder.”
Olivia shifted her weight to get a better look past Vladimir, who was blocking her view. Sebastian looked awful. His entire body was shaking, he seemed to be breathing too rapidly, and his skin…
“Do you think he looks a bit green?” she asked, of no one in particular.