Polly and the Prince by Carola Dunn Page A

was something attractive in the idea of a life divided between her work and Kolya, and if he were not her husband, he would not be able to make her stop painting.
    Misinterpreting her silence, Lady John said sadly, “Now you will tell me that it is none of my business and never speak to me again.”
    “Of course I will not. I know that your words are kindly meant. But indeed, Mr. Volkov does not flirt with me, my lady. Or hardly ever,” she added, trying to be honest. “Most of all he is an interesting model, though we talk of a hundred subjects while I paint and I hope I can say he is my friend.”
    “And you are not offended?”
    “Indeed I am not.” Polly touched her hand in reassurance. The subject was dropped and they moved on to another picture.
    Despite her dismissal of Lady John’s warning, Polly was left vaguely uneasy. When the gentlemen joined the ladies, she was quite glad that Kolya stood talking to Ned for long enough to allow Mr. Bevan to take the seat beside her. Not that she had the least expectation that Mr. Volkov meant to rush to her side. She gave Mr. Bevan her attention. Lord John’s friend was plainly a Corinthian. Though not tall he was well muscled, and his coat was cut with an eyeto comfort rather than elegance. His face was engagingly ugly, with a lantern jaw and slightly crooked nose, doubtless the result of an unfortunate encounter at Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon.
    Unwittingly, Mr. Bevan set Polly’s mind at rest with his first words. “At last I have you all to myself, Miss Howard,” he declaimed dramatically. “I have been ready to call Fitz out for monopolizing you since you glided through the door like Mozart’s Queen of the Night and cast your magic spell on my heart.”
    Now that, thought Polly, was flirting. Kolya had never made the slightest attempt to pay her such an extravagant compliment.
    “Surely the Queen of the Night should have black hair, sir?” she suggested.
    “Never!” He cast a half-laughing, half-apologetic glance at Lady Graylin, seated nearby, whose hair was glossy black, then turned back to Polly. “Yours shines like the harvest moon.”
    Lord Fitzsimmons leaned over the back of the sofa and murmured discreetly in his friend’s ear, “Sorry, my boy, but the Queen of the Night’s a bad lot.”
    Mr. Bevan was unabashed. “I tend to sleep through operas,” he told Polly with aplomb. “Ought to stick to mythology and poetry. ‘Queen and goddess, chaste and fair...,’ that’s the ticket.”
    “Huntress,” Fitz advised him. “‘Queen and huntress.’”
    “Dash it, Fitz, does Miss Howard look like one of those ghastly females who chase about the hunting field covered in mud and ruin the sport? Don’t hunt, do you, Miss Howard?” he added as an anxious afterthought.
    “No, I confess to being on the fox’s side. They are beautiful animals.”
    “There you are,” said Bev triumphantly. “‘Queen and goddess, fair and kind.’ That’s how it ought to be written.”
    To her amusement he continued to spout flattering nonsense until the tea tray was brought in. Shortly thereafter Ned announced that they must be on their way. Polly was surprised when both Mr. Bevan and Lord Fitzsimmons begged her permission to call, but as she liked them both she readily granted it.
    It was Kolya, however, who put her cloak around her shoulders. “You have enjoyed self?” he asked, smiling down at her with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.
    “Very much.”
    “It will be late when you come to home tonight. Tomorrow morning you will sleep late.”
    “I shall be up long before eleven.”
    “So I come at usual time?”
    “At the usual time.” She nodded. “I shall finish your portrait in a day or two, if it does not rain.
    Mrs. Howard broke in. “Polly, the carriage is waiting.”
    “Until tomorrow then, Miss Howard.”
    As the carriage rolled homeward, Polly admitted to herself that Kolya’s portrait could have been finished long since,