Sheremetev whipped a hankie from his pocket and handed it to her. “Shed no precious tear. There many more where came from.”
“But this was my favorite one. With the matching shoes.”
“We will repay you at the earliest convenience, sir. For every bit of your magnanimousness shown to us.” The muscles in Svetlana’s throat constricted as if each word were forced from her.
“No more speak of it. Your lows are mine for shouldering as long as grant me the favor. Women of your rank and beauty no be forced to endure discards of regime that expelling you from splendor of which are accustomed to.” Sheremetev’s eyes cast between the bedecked women, weighing each gilded jewel in turn. “In meantime, have most pleasant evening and look forward next time you are gracing my humble doors. Doctor, you as well.”
Wynn inclined his head. “Good evening to you, sir. Ladies, shall we adjourn?”
A sleek black carriage pulled by two white horses waited for them out front. Settled inside on the opposite bench from the ladies, there wasn’t much room to accommodate his legs and their gowns. Every roll of the wheels brushed Svetlana’s skirts against him. Ana fell promptly asleep.
The interior was dark, shrouding them in the relief of obscurity. As the carriage turned, moonlight faintly caught the beads of Svetlana’s gown. Wynn resisted the urge to reach across the short distance to determine her realness or if she shimmered beyond his reach like the northern lights shifting across the sky during winter.
“I didn’t expect to see you.”
“There was no choice for it.” From the tone of her voice, he knew she sat straight as a rod. “Choice has become an option ill-afforded. For many things.”
Including wardrobes, it seemed. Jealousy pricked its tiny fangs into Wynn’s sense of pride. He would have liked to be the one to obtain suitable attire for her, though he’d scarcely call a sequined gown a garment of necessity during wartime. Then again, she was a princess. She might sleep in a tiara. Whatever the case might be, she’d found benevolence in a near stranger. Certainly, Sheremetev was somewhat Russian nobility himself, and there was something to be said for instant kinship upon meeting another citizen of your homeland while traveling afar, a thread of commonality linking memory and custom unique to that place understood by those who dwell there. Wynn had no such thread to her. His only claim was being present when blood was involved. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
“You’re enchanting tonight,” he said.
“The hour draws too late for enchanting.”
“Bewitching then. It’s close to midnight, which I believe is the proper time for such things, so you can’t fault me there.”
Her gown ruffled against his foot. “If you feel the need to remark on such things, do not sit in expectation of a swoon.”
“From you? Never. It might force you to slacken the rigidity so ingrained. I’d settle for a smile or even a nod. A twitch to acknowledge the compliment.”
“I never asked for a compliment.”
Her reactions were nothing short of a dare. A measure he was happy to supply. “No, but when a man is faced with the truth, he’s forced to confess it, be the recipient willing or not. Truth will out, as they say.”
“Some truths are better left unsaid.”
“Not when they rile you so easily.”
“What do you mean by this rile?” He imagined her fine eyebrows slanting over narrowed eyes.
“To rile, vex, needle. To provoke into reaction.”
“A game then for your own amusement. Tell me, what do other women do? Laugh and bat their lashes behind silken fans, begging for one more compliment?”
“Only the silly ones.”
“Perhaps they are better suited to your game of vexation.”
“I don’t want a silly woman.”
“A challenge for you then, considering all proper ladies are required a decorum of vacuous heads balanced precariously upon tittering laughter as they float about on clouds spun of gossip and boredom.”
“I prefer a challenge.” He leaned forward, eager to make out the delicate lines of her face that masked a temper. “Why else do I find myself so drawn to you?”
“A consummate need for disappointment would be my diagnosis. But then, you are the doctor.”
Wynn laughed, loud and clear. She might not enjoy the game, but he certainly did. A better equipped opponent he’d yet to encounter.
The carriage slowed to a halt and bounced as the driver dropped from his perch to open the door. Ana jerked awake and stared around in confusion.
“Have we arrived at the palace? Why are the torches not lit for us?”
“There is no palace, Mama,” Svetlana said. “This is the church.”
Wynn climbed out before turning to help the ladies.
Ana squinted at the three pointed towers of the church. The gold onion domes gleamed dully against the ink-blotted sky.