He bowed, and her breath caught. There was something so graceful about his movements, almost as if he were a medieval courtier, and she, his princess in a tower.

“It would be my honor,” he said.

That night, when Olivia crawled into bed, she was still smiling.

Yes, love had a great deal to recommend it.

A week later, Harry was sitting at his desk, staring at a blank piece of paper.

Not that he had any intention of writing anything down. But he tended to do his best thinking at his desk, with a piece of paper laid squarely in the middle of his blotter. And so, after he’d lain in his bed, making a remarkably thorough study of his ceiling as he tried in vain to figure out the best way to propose marriage to Olivia, he’d moved here, hoping for inspiration.

It was not striking.

“Harry?”

He looked up, grateful for the interruption. It was Edward, standing in the doorway.

“You’d asked me to remind you when it was time to begin getting ready,” Edward said.

Harry nodded and thanked him. It had been a week since that strange and wonderful afternoon at Rudland House. Sebastian had all but moved in, having declared Harry’s home far more comfortable (and with considerably better food) than his own. Edward was spending more time at home, too, and hadn’t come home drunk even once. And Harry hadn’t had to give one bit of serious thought to Prince Alexei Ivanovich Gomarovsky.

Well, until now. There was that celebration of Russian culture he was committed to attend that evening. But Harry was actually looking forward to it. He liked Russian culture. And the food. He hadn’t had decent Russian food since his grandmother had been alive to scream at the cooks in the Valentine kitchen. He supposed it was unlikely that there would be caviar, but he was hoping, nonetheless.

And of course Olivia would be there.

He was going to ask her to marry him. Tomorrow. He hadn’t yet worked out the details, but he refused to wait any longer. The past week had been bliss and torture, all rolled up into one sunny blond, blue-eyed woman.

She had to have guessed his intentions. He’d been quite obviously courting her all week-all the proper things, like walks in the park and interviews with her family. And many of the improper ones as well-stolen kisses and midnight conversations through open windows.

He was in love. He’d long since recognized it. All that remained was for him to propose.

And for her to accept, but he thought she would. She hadn’t said she loved him, but she wouldn’t have done, would she? It was up to the gentleman to declare himself first, and he had not yet done so.

He was just waiting for the right moment. They needed to be alone. It ought to be in the daytime; he wanted to be able to see her face clearly, to imprint every play of emotion into his memory. He would declare his love for her and ask her to marry him. And then he’d kiss her senseless. Maybe kiss himself senseless as well.

Who knew he was such a romantic?

Harry chuckled to himself as he got up and wandered over to his window. Olivia’s curtains were open, and so was her window. Curious, he pushed his own up and popped his head out into the warm spring air. He waited for a moment, in case she’d heard his window going up, then whistled.

Within seconds she appeared, bright-eyed and cheerful. “Good afternoon!” she called out.

“Were you waiting for me?” he asked.

“Of course not. But if I was to be in my room, I saw no reason not to leave the window open.” She leaned on the ledge, and smiled down at him. “It’s almost time to get ready.”

“What are you wearing?” Good God, he sounded like one of her gossipy friends. But he didn’t care. It was simply too pleasant to gaze up at her to worry over such things.

“My mother was pressing for red velvet, but I wanted something you could see.”

It was ridiculous how much he loved that she eschewed red and green for his benefit.

“Blue, perhaps?” she mused.

“You do look lovely in blue.”

“You’re very complimentary this afternoon.”

He shrugged, still sporting what he was sure must be an exceedingly silly grin. “I’m in an exceedingly good mood.”

“Even though you must spend the evening with Prince Alexei?”

“He will have three hundred guests. Ergo, no time for me.”

She chuckled. “I thought you were beginning to like him better.”

Harry supposed that he was. He still thought the prince was a bit of an ass, but he had fixed Sebastian’s shoulder. Or to be more precise, he’d had his manservant do so. Still, it amounted to the same thing.

And, more important, he had finally accepted defeat and ceased calling upon Olivia.

Unfortunately for Harry, the prince’s infatuation with Olivia had been replaced with a friendly devotion toward Sebastian. Prince Alexei had decided that Seb must be his new best friend and had been calling daily to check on his recuperation. Harry made a point of being in his office during such visits and had been regaling Olivia with the details, as told to him by Sebastian. All in all, it had been quite amusing, and all the more proof that Prince Alexei was mostly harmless.

“Oh, there’s my mother,” Olivia said, twisting to look behind her. “She’s calling me from down the hall. I must go.”

“I shall see you tonight,” Harry said.

She smiled. “I can’t wait.”

Chapter Twenty

By the time Harry arrived at the ambassador’s residence, the ball was in full swing. He couldn’t quite determine what aspects of Russian culture were being celebrated; the music was German and the food was French. But no one seemed to care. The vodka was flowing freely, and the room echoed with peals of laughter.