with it no heat. Even in his coat, John was shivering from the chill that rose from the stone.
But Tatiana was of a hardier race, and though her muslin gown was insubstantial, she never noticed that she had left her shawl behind. She stood bare-armed in the middle of the room and gestured around, proposing to make the cavern a romantic wonderworld via a crimson silk ceiling drape and a fountain of champagne.
She spoke with that gallant optimism that never failed to charm John. But he was a realist, and could calculate to a shilling or so how much a ceiling of silk would cost. "At this rate, your highness, there will be little profit left for your school."
"I was hoping," she said, giving him a sidelong glance, "to meet that friend of yours, and persuade him to give me a good price on French champagne."
"No!" John shut his eyes, hoping to blot out the picture of Tatiana bargaining with a bloodthirsty South Coast smuggler. That she would probably win the negotiations did not make the vision more appealing. "Princess, please. Let me take care of getting you the champagne. Consider it my contribution."
Tatiana looked ready to argue the point, so he added, " Part of my contribution."
"But I did so hope to meet Shem the—what do you call him?"
"Shem the Shark. No. No. Devlyn would have my head if he knew I'd even mentioned knowing that one."
"Oh, if you insist."
She shrugged, conceding him the point. And for a moment he almost believed she was the one doing him a favor. Then he reminded himself how much champagne for three hundred—and a fountain—would likely cost him, and forced himself to interrupt her description of the planned school building. "Just a moment, if you please. In return for the champagne, I hope you will grant me a small concession."
"Anything!"
Her promise was rash but sincere, and so he said, "I would appreciate it if you would invite a Mrs. Ada Rush to your ball. Of Bincombe. And her husband, of course. And any guest she might have staying with her this summer."
"Mrs. Rush." She scuffed her slipper on the marble dance floor and considered this. Then she looked back up at him, a wicked light in her eyes. "When did you start pursuing married women?"
Annoyed, he said, "I'm not pursuing anyone. It's merely a business proposition I mean to make."
"Certainly not with the Rushes. They don't collect art. She collects earbobs, as I recall, and he has quite a variety of cows. But they are not known for their art acumen."
John had never been deceived by the princess's frivolous manner. He had stopped underestimating her the day she got him a royal commission with a single offhand remark. In an earlier century, this woman might have made herself a tyrant like her ancestor Catherine the Great. So, though he generally guarded the truth jealously, he revealed a bit of it to her. "It's the guest."
"I thought as much." From the curve of her mouth, he could tell what else she was thinking, and she didn't disappoint him. "A lady guest?"
"As a matter of fact, yes."
She smiled sweetly. "I really ought to have her name to put on the invitation, John."
Reluctantly he said, "A Miss Seton."
"Miss Seton. Jessica Seton? Oh, good. I met her in London. Very pretty. Blonde, you know. They call her the Golden Girl, though she's not such a girl anymore. An heiress too, I hear."
John didn't travel in the same circles as heiresses, but he knew enough about society to take note of this. A pretty heiress and still a Miss? The two were usually mutually exclusive. "It's only a bit of her inheritance I'm interested in—the artistic part."
Tatiana made a disappointed face. "Do you think of nothing but your art?"
"Very seldom. Will you invite them or no?"
"Well, of course I will. I shall even mention your name—"
He cut off her sentence with an upraised hand. "I'd prefer the invitation came from you."
"You don't want it known that this graciousness is at your behest?"
"Just so. I want no one to know."
"No one? Not even
But Tatiana was of a hardier race, and though her muslin gown was insubstantial, she never noticed that she had left her shawl behind. She stood bare-armed in the middle of the room and gestured around, proposing to make the cavern a romantic wonderworld via a crimson silk ceiling drape and a fountain of champagne.
She spoke with that gallant optimism that never failed to charm John. But he was a realist, and could calculate to a shilling or so how much a ceiling of silk would cost. "At this rate, your highness, there will be little profit left for your school."
"I was hoping," she said, giving him a sidelong glance, "to meet that friend of yours, and persuade him to give me a good price on French champagne."
"No!" John shut his eyes, hoping to blot out the picture of Tatiana bargaining with a bloodthirsty South Coast smuggler. That she would probably win the negotiations did not make the vision more appealing. "Princess, please. Let me take care of getting you the champagne. Consider it my contribution."
Tatiana looked ready to argue the point, so he added, " Part of my contribution."
"But I did so hope to meet Shem the—what do you call him?"
"Shem the Shark. No. No. Devlyn would have my head if he knew I'd even mentioned knowing that one."
"Oh, if you insist."
She shrugged, conceding him the point. And for a moment he almost believed she was the one doing him a favor. Then he reminded himself how much champagne for three hundred—and a fountain—would likely cost him, and forced himself to interrupt her description of the planned school building. "Just a moment, if you please. In return for the champagne, I hope you will grant me a small concession."
"Anything!"
Her promise was rash but sincere, and so he said, "I would appreciate it if you would invite a Mrs. Ada Rush to your ball. Of Bincombe. And her husband, of course. And any guest she might have staying with her this summer."
"Mrs. Rush." She scuffed her slipper on the marble dance floor and considered this. Then she looked back up at him, a wicked light in her eyes. "When did you start pursuing married women?"
Annoyed, he said, "I'm not pursuing anyone. It's merely a business proposition I mean to make."
"Certainly not with the Rushes. They don't collect art. She collects earbobs, as I recall, and he has quite a variety of cows. But they are not known for their art acumen."
John had never been deceived by the princess's frivolous manner. He had stopped underestimating her the day she got him a royal commission with a single offhand remark. In an earlier century, this woman might have made herself a tyrant like her ancestor Catherine the Great. So, though he generally guarded the truth jealously, he revealed a bit of it to her. "It's the guest."
"I thought as much." From the curve of her mouth, he could tell what else she was thinking, and she didn't disappoint him. "A lady guest?"
"As a matter of fact, yes."
She smiled sweetly. "I really ought to have her name to put on the invitation, John."
Reluctantly he said, "A Miss Seton."
"Miss Seton. Jessica Seton? Oh, good. I met her in London. Very pretty. Blonde, you know. They call her the Golden Girl, though she's not such a girl anymore. An heiress too, I hear."
John didn't travel in the same circles as heiresses, but he knew enough about society to take note of this. A pretty heiress and still a Miss? The two were usually mutually exclusive. "It's only a bit of her inheritance I'm interested in—the artistic part."
Tatiana made a disappointed face. "Do you think of nothing but your art?"
"Very seldom. Will you invite them or no?"
"Well, of course I will. I shall even mention your name—"
He cut off her sentence with an upraised hand. "I'd prefer the invitation came from you."
"You don't want it known that this graciousness is at your behest?"
"Just so. I want no one to know."
"No one? Not even
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