Anna had met him only in passing, but her impression was that the man did not possess a sense of humor.
“Ah, good evening ladies,” said the prince cheerfully. “I am so glad to see you in particular, Miss Sloane.”
Lady Trumbull’s lips curled up in a cat-in-the-creampot smile.
“You see, the colonel and I are hoping you can help us resolve a little disagreement.”
“Da,” added the colonel brusquely. “His Highness thinks the Russian word ‘?????-?????’ means ‘stag’ in English. While I am quite certain it means ‘doe.’ I have been informed that you are familiar with my native language, so perhaps you could confirm that he is wrong.”
“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” Devlin had come up right behind her, and his whisper was only loud enough for her to hear.
The marquess was certainly not lacking in a sly sense of humor, thought Anna, however caustic and cutting it might be.
“Actually, the prince is right, sir,” she answered, trying to ignore the pulsing heat of Devlin’s presence. It felt as if the silk of her gown would burst into flames if he came any closer.
“You must be mistaken,” replied the colonel.
“I don’t claim to be fluent in your language, sir, so that may well be true,” answered Anna diplomatically. “Perhaps there is a Russian-English dictionary in Lord Dunbar’s magnificent library that you might consult for a definitive answer.”
“I shall inquire.” Clicking his heels together, Polianov inclined a curt bow and walked off, not before giving the prince a daggered look.
“Dear me, what a dreadfully serious fellow,” commented Prince Gunther, with a wry grimace. “Please accept my apologies, Miss Sloane. I did not mean to put you in an awkward position.”
“Thank goodness she sent him scampering off to vent his ire on the bookworms and dust motes,” said Devlin loudly. “That grim face and grating voice were ruining my appetite.”
“But not your thirst,” murmured Anna softly.
He grinned and took another swallow of his wine.
“The Russians do have a penchant for melancholy,” said the prince. “Their brooding makes Shakespeare’s Hamlet look like a jolly fellow.”
“By the by, Your Highness,” asked Devlin abruptly. “Is there bad blood between you and the colonel?”
Prince Gunther looked perplexed. “I’ve never met the fellow before. Why do you ask?”
“Idle curiosity,” he answered with a shrug. “His manner seemed decidedly unfriendly. But then, Russians appear to dislike everyone.”
The comment drew a laugh from the prince. “True,” he agreed. Turning to Anna, he offered his arm. “I, other the other hand, do not wish to appear as churlish, so to make amends for subjecting you to such unpleasantness, please allow me to escort you the refreshment table.”
Leaving her mother beaming in delight, Anna walked with him across the room and accepted a flute of champagne. “No doubt you are disappointed that the shooting has been delayed,” she said, to make po
lite conversation.
“I do look forward to seeing Scottish moors, for in hunting circles they are renowned for both their beauty and their sporting challenges,” he replied. “However, I am happy to have a chance to explore Lord Dunbar’s library. It, too, is famous among those of us who appreciate the art of medieval illuminated manuscripts.”
His answer was unexpected. She hadn’t been led to believe that he had the slightest interest in books or art.
Her face must have betrayed a spasm of surprise for he smiled over the rim of his glass. “Most people assume I’m a frivolous fellow because I am an avid sportsman. But I also believe in exercising the mind as well as the body.”
Intriguing. The tiny bubbles of the wine tickled against her tongue. So, she was not the only one who had hidden facets.
“I gather that you, too, have an interest in intellectual pursuits, Miss Sloane?” he went on.
“Yes,” she responded. “I am fascinated by history—”
“And firearms,” interrupted Devlin. He held out his empty glass for a servant to refill. “Perhaps we should invite you to accompany us on the hunt. Are you fond of shooting?”
Only rascally rogues who make a habit of teasing me to distraction.