Christmas with a Czar by Emily Murdoch

3

The first yawn was easy to stifle, the second almost managed to escape, but the third forced Anne to raise her hand. Not a single person at Prinny’s ball noticed – but then, they were all engaged in meaningless conversations without her.

It was a challenge, not allowing her boredom to show, but then no one was particularly interested in whether she was entertained or not, and she did not think anyone would blame her for feeling so tired of it all.

A pair of elderly gentlemen walked past her, inclining their heads, and she returned the curtsy, using the movement downwards to hide another yawn.

The same old people going round and round the room, ensuring they could be seen and at the same time, look at everyone else.

It was just like the first time her father had brought her here, when she had been presented. A decade ago, now. It was a challenge to remember a time when she was not out in society, it was so long ago – and yet while outside these four walls, the world has made progress, things have changed, fashions altered, St. James was exactly the same.

Anne’s gaze moved around the room. Yes, the same dances that were popular ten, almost twenty years ago. A quadrille, perhaps the most boring dance that was ever conceived. The food was the same, no new recipes or exciting spices there.

Even the fashions were the same! Everyone knew Prinny liked his ladies in a slightly older style, and so to please him, everyone kept their oldest gown and brought it out whenever they returned to town.

Anne smiled sadly. It was a time bubble, a moment of history stuck in amber, and it was all in the aid of making one man feel special.

What was worse, the conversation was the same recycled nonsense.

Sir Thomas nudged her. “You are supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

“How?” Anne whispered. “I am so excessively bored!”

“Now then, really,” her father chided under his breath, his smile never disappearing. “How many people are desperate to be here, at St. James’ Court, and at Christmas!”

Anne looked at her father closely, and for the first time, realised that he was really quite an old man. His whiskers were grey, his hair thinning on top, and a slight stoop appearing in his shoulders.

He had become an old man, and she had not even noticed.

“I would be more than happy to exchange places with them,” she whispered instead, “so I can return home, to Romney, and enjoy a quiet Christmas at home.”

Sir Thomas sighed as he shook his head. “I hope little Meredith will not be so troublesome when she is grown.”

The thought of Meredith at her first ball made Anne smile, finally. “She is nothing like me, thank goodness. Now, I am going to sit over here and – ”

“You will do no such thing,” her father said firmly. “You promised me you would take part in this ball, Annika.”

Anne hesitated. She had promised, but she had made that promise when she had thought Maxim – the Czar, she must not be so informal this evening – would be here. Not that she had expected anything more than a pleasant greeting, she reminded herself hastily. He was so entertaining to speak to. She felt truly alive, young even, when conversing with him.

Maxim would have relieved her boredom, making the ball almost tolerable, but he was nowhere to be seen.

She had considered asking a footman where he was, but she had been forward enough in public for one day. She had been wild enough to even ask who he was in the first place.

“It is not down to me whether I dance or not,” she reminded her father quietly. “I have to wait to be asked, and if that does not occur…”

“You could make yourself a little presentable,” he replied, a touch of distress in his voice. “Really, Anne, you put so little effort into your appearance these days.”

Anne took a deep breath, giving herself time to control her impulse to speak harshly to a gentleman who only wished her to be happy, albeit in a very specific way. She would not be getting married anytime soon, and the sooner he learned to accept that, the happier her father would be.

She always was impulsive. That side of her nature had landed her in trouble before, but even after rescuing herself from it – or being rescued – she could not help but be impulsive.

“Father, there are many young and eligible ladies here tonight,” she said, forgetting to lower her voice, “and the gentlemen here will likely as not ask them to dance, not me. I am bored, Father. Why do I not just return to – ”

“Ahem,” came a voice behind them.

Anne and her father whirled around, Anne’s cheeks red. If she had had any idea she was being overheard, she would never have spoken so, but as it was, she need not have concerned herself.

The woman who had interrupted them was seated behind them, a serious young lady with a book on her knee. Her spectacles were pushed to the end of her nose, and she had a stern look on her face.

Anne relaxed. This was not a woman who would spread gossip about the scandalous thing which Sir Thomas’ daughter dared to speak.

“I do apologise,” the young lady said quietly. “I did not intend to overhear you, but as I do not enjoy dancing whatsoever, I found a nook for myself and therefore did hear you. Miss Mariah Wynn.”

Anne curtsied, and as her father bowed, he said, “Sir Thomas Marsh and his daughter, Anne. Are you any relation to Edward, Viscount Wynn?”

Miss Wynn’s face distorted for the briefest of moments that Anne thought if she had blinked at the same time, she would have missed it. There was a story there.

“My adoptive brother,” Miss Wynn said stiffly. “Miss Marsh, there is a small library down the corridor. Turn left, along until a right turn and then fourth door on the right. All are welcome to visit, and I can personally recommend it.”

Relief washed over Anne. At least, a respite from this tiresome ball.

“I forbid you from going,” Sir Thomas said quietly, able to see his daughter’s thoughts immediately.

Anne smiled wanly. “Do you remember what happened the last time you attempted to forbid me from doing something?”

Her father hesitated, and then nodded.

“Thank you, Miss Wynn,” Anne began, but she had already disappeared back into her book.

Squeezing her father’s arm and reassuring him that she would not return to their rooms too late, Anne carefully navigated her way around the dancers in the centre of the room, and slipped through the door into the quiet corridor behind.

It was cool and calm, precisely what she needed. Turning left, she tried to remember Miss Wynn’s instructions. Was it a right turn and third door on the left, or a left turn and third door on the right?

After meandering down a corridor that looked exactly the same as any others, Anne opened a door and gasped.

There was no library in this room. On the contrary, it was a bed chamber – and inside it was Maxim, half naked.

* * *

Maxim looked up at the intrusion and could not help but smile. What did Miss Anne Marsh think she was doing, walking into a gentleman’s bed chamber – and at St. James’ Court, too!

The gossips of society would have a field day if they caught her.

There was no embarrassment. Maxim had travelled on the road too long to be interested about who saw him in only his breeches, and he had nothing to be ashamed of.

Anne, on the other hand, looked absolutely mortified.

“Come on in, Miss Marsh,” he said in a low voice.

It was a joke, really. He knew enough that any self-respecting English lady would never allow herself to be found in such a compromising position.

Joke or not, Anne stepped forward and closed the door behind her, leaning against it as though for support.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, before turning to look back at the two shirts laid out on the bed he was choosing between.

It was only when he turned his back that self-consciousness rose over him. It was not that he minded being looked at, exactly, but it was more that he knew that she, Miss Anne Marsh, was the one doing the looking.

Did she like what she saw?

Maxim pushed the thought away. He could not think like that. Still, her presence felt right, not intrusive at all. As though she should have been there the whole time.

Glancing around, Anne’s cheeks were pink but she was clearly determined not to allow her embarrassment to overwhelm her, and his respect for her grew.

“I feel strange needing to ask this question,” he said nonchalantly, picking up one of the shirts to inspect it, “but what is a respectable lady like yourself doing in here, Annika?”

She gasped. “What – why do you call me that?”

Maxim shrugged, picking up the second shirt. “‘Tis a common enough version of Anne from my country. You do not like it?”

“No, it is not that, it’s…that is what my family calls me.”

Heat grew in Maxim’s stomach as he considered the shirts. “Well, now I know that, I shall always call you by such a name. But that does not answer my question.”

“I thought it was a library,” she said, her voice a little unsure.

“A library?” Maxim repeated. “Well, I suppose you can read something in here if you wish, but you might find other things more to your liking.”

He turned away, berating himself for allowing his tongue to get the better of him. What did he think he was doing? He could not allow Annika to get the wrong idea.

He compared the two shirts to the two cravats also laid out on his bed, and tried to focus on getting dressed.

How did she have such an effect on him? He could feel his body getting ready for her, desperate for her touch, as though she was the one who was barely dressed. The wild thought took flight, his imagination serving up delectable images of Annika, dressed in nothing but a –

“Do you not have a valet for that?”

Maxim jumped. She was much closer than he realized. “I had to leave all my servants behind in Russia, I am afraid.”

Annika moved to the left so she appeared in his line of sight. Her face was curious. “Why did you have to leave Russia?”

He swallowed. Ignoring the question completely, he said instead, “You will have to tell me which you think works best.”

She hesitated, but to Maxim’s surprise moved closer, her cheeks still a little pink. Every second was an internal battle not to reach out and touch her.

Here they stood: both of them beside the bed, her cheeks pink, and his torso utterly naked. Just one swift movement, and they could both be on the bed.

“This shirt,” she said, a little breathlessly, “and the blue cravat.”

Maxim could not help but smile. He had the same effect on her that she had on him, then.

If only she was a servant girl, he could put a little silver in her palm and enjoy her – but she was a gentlewoman, and he should treat her that way, or he would get them both in trouble.

It was on the tip of his tongue to instruct her to leave before someone caught them, but then she spoke.

“Why, what medals!” Her eyes had caught sight of the trio of medals by the side of his bed. “Are they all yours?”

Maxim’s smile was forced. Telling her this would be strange, crossing some line. He had not told anyone else the meaning of those medals – but Annika was different, somehow.

“The very left was my father’s,” he said gruffly. “The central one, my brother’s. He…died last year. And the very right, my own. Earned through battle, though I will not say who with for this is an English court with English sensibilities. Just pieces of metal, really.”

He had thought his emotions had been forced down well, but one look at Annika told him he had not hidden his feelings as well as he thought.

“You miss them,” she said simply. “And your country, and your home, I think.”

Maxim nodded, not trusting his voice. Clearing his throat with a cough, he said, “Perhaps I am just here for a pension from the Regent. Perhaps I am no Czar at all.”

Annika smiled. “Perhaps.”

Her fingers reached out for the medals at the same time as his and the moment was electric. Something connected them more deeply than any other connection he had ever experienced. It was like nothing he had ever experienced.

Maxim’s eyes met hers, and he read in those eyes everything he needed to know. Acting on impulse, knowing he may regret it in the morning, he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips.

She had not expected it and she almost gasped in his mouth – but instead of resisting, as he had expected, she moved into his arms and wove her fingers in his hair.

Maxim’s body came truly alive for the first time in months. Her lips on his, his arms around her, the passion they shared – Annika was eager for him, for his kiss, and it was incredible.

Who knows what would have happened if at that moment, the door had not opened and a footman had entered.