Beside her, Alexei nodded. Her mother stepped forward, too, saying, “Perhaps we should—oh!”
Sebastian’s eyes had rolled back, and the next thunk they heard was his head hitting the carpet.
Harry was at the bottom of Rudland House’s front steps when he heard the scream. It was cry of pain, that he knew instantly, and it sounded like a woman.
Olivia.
His heart leaped with terror, and without a word to Edward, he charged up the steps and into the front hall. He didn’t knock, he didn’t even stop running until he skidded into the drawing room, barely able to breathe.
“What the hell happened here?” he gasped. Olivia looked fine. In perfect health, actually. She was standing next to the prince, who was speaking in Russian to Vladimir, who was on his knees, tending to…Sebastian?
Harry looked at his cousin with some concern. He was sitting up, propped against the leg of a chair. His skin was pasty and he was clutching his arm.
The butler was fanning him with the splayed-open copy of Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron.
“Seb?” Harry asked.
Sebastian held up a hand, shaking his head, which Harry took to mean, Don’t mind me.
So he didn’t. “Are you all right?” he asked Olivia. His heart was still racing with terror that she’d been hurt. “I heard a woman scream.”
“Ah, that would have been me,” Sebastian said.
Harry looked down on his cousin, face frozen in disbelief. “You made that noise?”
“It hurt,” Sebastian bit off.
Harry fought not to laugh. “You scream like a leettle girl.”
Sebastian glared at him. “Is there any reason you’re saying that with a German accent?”
“None whatsoever,” Harry replied, little snorts of barely suppressed laughter popping from his mouth.
“Er, Sir Harry,” came Olivia’s voice behind him.
He turned, took one look at her and burst out laughing. For no reason except that he’d been holding it in, and when he saw her he simply couldn’t do it any longer. She seemed to have that effect on many of his emotions lately. And Harry was coming to realize this wasn’t a bad thing at all.
Olivia, however, was not laughing. “May I introduce my mother,” she said weakly, motioning to the older woman next to her.
He sobered instantly. “I’m so sorry, Lady Rudland. I did not see you there.”
“It was quite a scream,” she said dryly. Harry had only seen her up to now from across a room, but up close he could see that she did indeed look quite like her daughter. Her hair had some silver in it, and there were faint lines on her face, but the features were remarkably similar. If Lady Rudland was any indication, Olivia’s beauty would not dim.
“Mother,” Olivia said, “this is Sir Harry Valentine. He has let the house to the south.”
“Yes, I’d heard,” Lady Rudland said. “I am pleased to finally meet you.”
Harry could not tell if he heard a warning in her voice. I know you have been cavorting with my daughter? Or perhaps: Don’t think we will ever let you near her again.
Or maybe he was imagining the whole thing.
“What happened to Sebastian?” Harry asked.
“He dislocated his shoulder,” Olivia explained. “Vladimir fixed it.”
Harry didn’t know whether to be worried or impressed. “Vladimir?”
“Da,” Vladimir said proudly.
“It was…really…quite…” Olivia searched for words. “Remarkable,” she finally decided.
“I might have described it differently,” Sebastian put in.
“You were very brave,” she said, giving him a motherly nod.
“He has done this many times,” Alexei said, motioning to Vladimir. He looked down at Sebastian, who was still sitting on the floor, and said, “You will need—” He made a motion with his hand, then looked at Olivia. “It is for the pain.”
“Laudanum?”
“Yes. That is it.”
“I have some at home,” Harry confirmed. He put his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder.
“Aaaaaah!”
“Oh, sorry. Meant to grab your other shoulder.” Harry looked up at the rest of the room’s inhabitants, most of whom were looking at him as if he were a criminal. “I was trying to be reassuring. You know, pat on the shoulder and all that.”
“Perhaps we should take Seb back,” Edward suggested.
Harry nodded, helping his cousin to his feet. “You’ll stay with us for a few days?”
Sebastian nodded gratefully. As he headed for the door, he turned to Vladimir and said, “Spasibo.”
Vladimir smiled proudly and said that it was an honor to help such a great man.
The prince translated, then added, “I must agree. Your performance was magnificent.”
Harry exchanged an amused glance with Olivia. He couldn’t help it.
But Alexei was not done. “It would be my honor if you would be a guest at the party next week. It is to be at my cousin’s home. The ambassador. A celebration of Russian culture.” He looked back to the rest of the crowd. “You are all invited, of course.” He turned to Harry, and their eyes met. He shrugged, as if to say—even you.
Harry nodded his reply. It seemed he wasn’t to be done with the Russian prince just yet. If Olivia was going, he was going. That was all there was to it.
Lady Rudland thanked the prince for his kind invitation, then turned to Harry and said, “I think Mr. Grey needs to lie down.”
“Of course,” Harry murmured. He said his goodbyes and helped Sebastian to the drawing-room door. Olivia walked alongside, and when they reached the front door, she said, “Will you let me know how he is doing?”
He flashed her a very small, very secret smile. “Be at your window at six in the evening.”
He should have left right then. There were too many people milling about, and Sebastian was clearly in pain, but he could not resist one last look at her face. And in that moment he finally understood what people meant when they said someone’s eyes lit up.
Because when he told her to be at her window at six, she smiled. And when he looked into her eyes, it was as if the whole world was bathed in a soft, happy glow, and all of it, every little bit of good and fun and happiness—it all came from her. From this one woman, standing next to him at her front door in Mayfair.
And that was when he knew. It had happened. It had happened right there, in London.
Harry Valentine had fallen in love.
Chapter Nineteen
That evening, promptly at six, Olivia opened her window, leaned on the sill, and looked out.
And there was Harry, leaning on his windowsill, gazing up. He looked utterly delicious, his lips curved into the perfect smile, a little bit boyish, a little bit sly. She liked him like this, happy and relaxed. His dark hair was no longer neatly styled, and she was struck by a sudden urge to touch it, to run her fingers through, to muss it up even more.
Good heavens, she must be in love.
It should have been a revelation. She should have been struck down with the shock of it. But instead she just felt lovely. Perfectly, fabulously wonderful.
Love. Love. LOVE. She tested the word out in her mind, in different pitches and tones. They all sounded splendid.