The Prince and I by Karen Hawkins Page A

lied.
    His brows lowered. “But you are not dead, and so do not have a grave.”
    She laughed. “It is an old saying. Supposedly when you shiver for no reason, it’s because someone has walked over the place you are to be buried.”
    “That sounds most unpleasant. I do not like this saying.” Max looked down at her, reveling in having her close once again and, in a way, under his control. She’d fled from him twice already. He would not permit her to do so again. “Where do we go from here? I will take you.”
    Her lips thinned, and she looked far from pleased. He’d seen her glance at the clock, an impatient set to her chin. Ah, she wishes to be rid of me. She is planning something, this intriguing woman.
    “So many odd sayings you English have. My grandmother is Romany. They have much better sayings than this one of yours about the grave and goose.”
    “Oh?” she answered absently, her gaze on one of the doors leading into the ballroom.
    “ Da . May mishto les o thud katar I gurumni kai. It meanssomething like . . . it is easier to milk a cow that does not move.”
    She shot him an amused look, her mouth quirking with humor. “That’s certainly practical.”
    I like seeing that smile. Her mouth, full and lush, teased him and made him think of kissing her. Which I shall do again, dorogaya moya . And soon.
    She looked once again toward the door, so he asked, “Are you expecting someone?”
    She turned a wide, innocent gaze on him. “Och no. I was merely looking at all the beautiful gowns.”
    More beautiful lips had never lied so much. Max traced a lazy circle on the back of her hand where it rested on his arm. “I find I am thirsty. Would you like a beverage, as well? A sherry or some lemonade?”
    A flicker of irritation crossed her face, but she quickly hid it. “I would like some lemonade, please. In fact”—she withdrew her hand from his arm—“I’ll wait here while you fetch it.”
    “There is no need.” He nodded to Orlov, who stood across the room. Orlov said something to Demidor, who glanced to where Tata Natasha sat in a large chair, scowling at everyone, looking like a disgruntled queen trying to decide which of her court deserved to die first. Though Demidor was a rugged soldier, there was unease in his glance as he left Orlov and moved closer to the grand duchess.
    His responsibility reassigned, Orlov made his way through the crowd to Max.
    “One of my men comes. He will fetch refreshmentsso we can continue our conversation uninterrupted. Ah, here he is now. Orlov, her ladyship will have a lemonade.”
    “ Da , General. Would you like something, as well?”
    “Some of Lord Loudan’s whiskey will do. According to him, there is none better in all of Scotland. For some reason he has forgotten to place a decanter on the refreshment table, but I suspect you will find some in his private library.”
    “I shall fetch it.” Orlov grinned, his teeth gleaming in his black beard. “And I daresay Demidor and Pahlen will wish for a glass or two, themselves.”
    “It is a party and the earl wishes to impress us, so we shall let him, da ?”
    “Very good, General.” Chuckling, Orlov left.
    “Well done, Your Highness.” Murian was smiling.
    “It is Max to you. Only Max.” He bent closer to her ear. “Murian, why are you here? I can see you are—”
    A noise arose from the door, a woman’s raised voice, another joining it. The voices were shrill, excited, and even frightened.
    Guests turned and merged on the newcomers, so Max couldn’t see what was happening, but like the wind, people nearby began to exclaim, repeating what they’d heard, and soon phrases swept their way.
    It was robbery . . . the thieves stole her jewels . . . the jewels of both . . . a handsome youth with a bow and arrow . . . but polite . . . with a band of men . . . like Robin Hood—
    Max blinked. Like Robin Hood ? He turned to Murian,a question on his lips . . . but she was no longer at his