A Kiss at Midnight

He needed to put on a smile and charm her at dinner. Dance with her once, and then again. And tomorrow, at the ball, he should open the dance with her on his arm.

They were to be married within the month following the betrothal ball . . . if all went well. Of course it would go well.

There was no problem with his breeches anymore. He glanced down and smoothed a wrinkle in his cutaway, then walked down the steps.

But he still had this night, this last night.

He would go to dinner for a few courses, and then he would make some excuse to come back up, back to Kate.

A small smile curled his lips.

He had plans.

The moment Wick caught sight of him coming down the stairs he pulled the door to the drawing room shut behind him. “Where in the bloody hell have you been? The princess arrived a good hour ago and you should have been here to greet her,” he said in a furious undertone. “Her uncle was visibly displeased.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel said.

“Prince Dimitri doesn’t seem to be a hothead, but it was a clear affront when you didn’t appear, you lugheaded idiot.”

“I will apologize.”

Wick narrowed his eyes at him. “Aren’t you going to ask what your future wife looks like?”

Gabriel considered that, and shook his head.

Wick said something under his breath, and then: “Prince Dimitri and his niece both speak fluent English, by the way. You will be joined by the Princess Sophonisba. Princess Maria-Therese will stay in her rooms this evening.”

“Bloody hell, Aunt Sophonisba is joining us?” Gabriel said with dismay.

“She’s painted her eyes so heavily that she won’t be able to see her dinner,” Wick said. “She’s in there swilling brandy.” Then he lowered his voice. “Just what have you done with Kate?”

“She’s in my chamber, reading. Only reading.”

“I never imagined you’d do something like this,” Wick said, his voice tight with rage. “If you weren’t my brother, I’d leave this house.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Gabriel said between clenched teeth. “For Christ’s sake, Wick, do you think I’d take her virginity? Do you think I’m that sort of man?”

“Keep your voice down. Anyone might descend that stair,” he snapped. “If not, what the hell is she doing in your chamber?”

Gabriel raised his right hand rather blindly and pulled on a glove. “She’s reading. I told you. Just reading.”

Wick stared at him. “Damn it.”

“I did it,” Gabriel said, conversationally. “I met the woman, the only woman for me. I met her, and now . . . I’m going to meet my wife.”

Wick made a sudden movement. “No.”

“That’s the way life is, Wick,” Gabriel said, pulling on his other glove. “It’s not always fair. You should be the first to know that. In case you’re wondering, Kate understands why I must marry Tatiana. She just spent seven years working like an indentured servant for her stepmother, as far as I can see, because she could not countenance leaving the servants and tenants on her father’s estate to her stepmother’s mercies.”

“Then marry her. Bring her servants here and we’ll add them to the crew.”

“We can scarcely feed the lion,” Gabriel said, straightening his rapier. “Don’t treat me like a lovelorn maiden, Wick. I need to marry a woman with bags of money, and that’s what I’m planning to do.”

“We can manage,” Wick said. “Don’t go through with it.”

“How would I support all of them? Who would buy Sophonisba’s brandy, the lion’s beef, the candles, the coal we need to get through the winter?”

“The tenant farms—” Wick began.

Gabriel shook his head. “I’ve spent hours going over the books. In time, the farms will be profitable. But they’ve been neglected. The cottages leak, the steeple in the village church apparently collapsed last year. For all I know, the children are hungry. Not only that, but if I break the engagement, then I’d have to pay a forfeit. I need three dowries, not just one.”

Wick’s comment was short but heartfelt.

“I’ll forget about Kate in time.” He looked Wick straight in the eyes as he said it.

He would never forget her.

Wick knew it too. “I’ve never said how much I appreciate the honor of being your brother,” he said now.

Gabriel quirked a smile. “The feeling is mutual.”

He had barely walked into the drawing room when the doors behind him opened again and Wick’s voice boomed out. “Her Royal Highness, the Princess Tatiana. His Royal Highness, the Prince Dimitri.”

Gabriel squared his shoulders and turned to face his future.

Tatiana was poised in the doorway. She wore an exquisite gown of cream silk, embroidered all over with sprigs of flowers. Her eyes were large and dewy; her lips were a perfect rose pink. She was like a sweet drink of strawberries and cream, her skin a perfect milk, her dark curls satiny.

Gabriel advanced and gave his best court bow. She curtsied with all the grace of a member of the French court. He kissed her hand and she smiled at him, a bit shyly but very sweetly.

If the clouds had opened up and a booming voice had said, This is your bride , he wouldn’t have been surprised.

Tatiana was eminently beddable. Demure though she was, her low décolletage displayed her status as a desirable woman. She had no need for “bosom friends.” She was everything Kate was not: beddable, biddable, and rich.

He had vaguely expected to hate her, and he couldn’t even do that. It took only a quick glance to see that she was very nice. She would never shout at him like a little shrew; it wasn’t in her.

Her uncle Dimitri was smiling broadly and rocking back and forth on his heels. “I’ve been to this castle,” he announced, in a thick accent. “I visited as a lad, when Lord Fitzclarence had the castle. Told my brother that the castle was worth having to come to England.”

The damned castle, Gabriel thought, even as he bowed again and smiled.

“Expected I’d see you this afternoon,” Dimitri said, giving Gabriel a shrewd glance.

“I apologize,” Gabriel said. “I wasn’t aware of your arrival.”

“This little girl is the apple of her father’s eye,” Dimitri announced.

A tiny sound escaped Tatiana’s lips; she was pink with embarrassment.

Gabriel bowed again and gave her a reassuring smile.

“I have to say my piece, chicken,” Dimitri said. “We’re from the Kingdom of Kuban, Your Highness. Don’t suppose you’ve heard much of it.”

“I have not,” Gabriel said, “but—”

Dimitri interrupted him. “My brother helped settle Cossacks next to the Sea of Azov. So we haven’t been princeling about for generations.”

Gabriel nodded respectfully. Over his shoulder, Wick was motioning that he should begin the procession to the dining room.

“What I’m getting to,” Dimitri said, “is that her father didn’t want her pushed into this marriage. If Tatiana likes you, she stays. If she doesn’t, we’ll be leaving, dowry and all, and none of this talk of broken betrothals.” His smile showed his teeth, and all of a sudden Gabriel saw, for just a flash, a Cossack warrior behind the man in blue velvet.