LITMIR.BIZ

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      Stepan gave a neutral smile, aware the captain was watching him. ‘I’ll help in any way I am able.’ It was not entirely untrue. He would just not be very able.

      Then the captain fired his real salvo. ‘Good. If you see or hear of anything I should be aware of, send word to the barracks. I understand Shoreham is a popular landing point because of its access to the London roads. We will be redoubling land patrols, which I think is the best way to catch any activity, and we’ll continue to co-ordinate with the navy to patrol the coastline from the water. With luck, we’ll have the rotters cleared out by May.’ Enforce indeed. The captain was only a step away from martial law.

      ‘Best of luck with that, Captain,’ Stepan replied in all honesty. ‘Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I have ledgers calling my name.’ He made the polite noises of leaving and maintained a sense of affability until he was back in his office. Only then did he let his thoughts run over all he’d learned. The captain had an unenviable task, not only for himself, but for the town, as well. Shoreham would not respond positively to the captain’s methods.

      Smuggling in Shoreham had existed for centuries. It was unlikely the captain was going to curb it in a couple months. But Derbyshire, further inland, wasn’t known for its smuggling routes. What did a land man like Denning know about the culture of smuggling? To root out the ‘rotters’, as Denning put it, would require rooting out whole villages. But that didn’t mean Denning’s efforts could be disregarded. When Stepan met with Joseph Raleigh tonight at the caves, they had some planning to do along with their distilling. If Denning was going to impart information about his troop’s movements, Stepan was certainly going to make good use of it. It was going to be a late night.

      * * *

      What in the world kept a man out this late when he’d already spent the entire day at the docks? The question haunted Anna-Maria with increasing intensity as the hours after supper dragged by. She’d tried to prompt some insight out of her brother as the family had relaxed by the fire, but if Dimitri knew anything, he was close-mouthed about it. Her father had merely glanced up from the newspapers after her third attempt and fixed her with a censorious stare. ‘A man’s business is his own. A woman respects his privacy,’ he said in that scolding tone Anna-Maria knew too well. The man had spent his life reprimanding her when he bothered to notice her at all.

      Evie had softened the harsh words with a smile. ‘Don’t worry about Stepan, my dear. He knows his way home and so does his horse.’

      Anna didn’t bother to correct Evie’s assumption, although it did make her feel a bit guilty. Truth be told, she was not as worried over Stepan’s lateness as she was curious about the reason for it. If the others shared concern or curiosity about Stepan’s prolonged absence tonight, they didn’t show it. They gave up the vigil at half past nine, leaving Anna-Maria with her book.

      * * *

      It was well after eleven when Anna heard Stepan’s horse in the drive. Hurriedly, she sat and picked up the book she’d laid aside an hour ago in favour of pacing the front parlour. Pacing kept her awake. If she read, she might fall asleep and miss his return, miss her chance to badger him about his whereabouts. And he would win. She would not give him the satisfaction of outlasting her.

      Anna selected a random page in the middle of the text and pretended to read. This had become a competition when he hadn’t come home for supper and Evie had held the meal for him, proof that she and Dimitri had not known he’d be so late despite their lack of concern over it. Anna gave her skirts a final fluff as footfalls sounded in the hall. She counted in her head: one, two, three steps until he’d pass the doorway to the sitting room. On cue, Anna lifted her head with slow surprise as if she was only just now aware of his presence. She managed a polite smile. ‘Oh, you’re home.’

      Stepan leaned against the door frame, looking somewhat less stoic than usual. His hair was damp and tousled from night-riding, his greatcoat undone, and his eyes were...softer...instead of their usual hard granite. Tonight, they were like quicksilver moonbeams. ‘You waited up for me, Anna-Maria.’ He smiled. He never smiled unless provoked to it. And he smelled faintly of alcohol.

      That’s when she knew. ‘Stepan Shevchenko, you’re foxed!’ Anna rose in chagrin. She’d waited up for him and he’d been out drinking and who knew what else!

      ‘I wouldn’t say “foxed” exactly, Anna-Maria. More like “a trifle disguised”, as our friends the English would say,’ He gave her a wide grin. ‘I’ve been drinking with the customs officer and his friend, Captain Denning. You should see the shape I left them in.’

      ‘Well, they didn’t have an hour’s ride in the dark,’ Anna chided. But she was secretly mollified. He’d spent the day at Shoreham, doing paperwork regarding his shipment of Kubanian knick-knacks and drinking with customs officers. Still, it didn’t explain where he went every day. ‘I suppose this means you’ll be at home tomorrow, then,’ Anna said with sweet nonchalance. Ships didn’t come in all the time and neither did paperwork. Surely he’d taken care of all those administrative loose ends today with the hours he’d put in.

      ‘Oh, no.’ Stepan pushed off the door frame. His body language said he was heading upstairs. Leaving her. ‘I’ve got to arrange for the cargo to go to the London shops and the private buyers. I’ll be busy for days yet. You’ll be lucky to see me at dinner.’

      Something inside her deflated. Dinner was more exciting when Stepan was there to talk politics with her brother and father. It diverted her father’s attention away from her. ‘Men have all the fun.’ She pouted. ‘I’m bored, too, you know. I’d like to get out of the house for hours.’ An idea struck and she brightened. ‘Take me with you. I have a fair hand. I can record items for you and I love seeing all the pretty things that come in.’

      Stepan shook his head. ‘The docks are no place for a young lady. Dimitri and your father would never allow it, especially with your debut coming up so soon. Besides, you can look at the pretty things right here at home.’ He reached inside his coat pocket and brought out a brown paper–wrapped package.

      She took the package with delight. For a moment, she forgot to be mad at him. ‘For me?’ She unwrapped it and lifted out the small trifle box with its carefully painted lid. It was done in ice blues and lavenders, depicting a snowy Russian lake scene. She smiled. ‘It reminds me of the lake at our winter home.’ She seldom thought of Kuban fondly. Her life there had been...mixed, not all of it pleasant. There were plenty of bad memories to go with the good. But most of the good memories centred on the Petrovich winter estate. She put the box down on a side table and looked up at Stepan. He was so very tall up close. ‘Do you remember the ice-skating parties? How we would drink hot chocolate from the samovar on the lake bank? The deer that would come down to the edge of the ice?’ In her enthusiasm, she reached for Stepan’s hands and drew him out to the centre of the room with her. ‘Do you remember how you used to spin me?’

      She was twirling now, taking him with her in her whirlwind of a circle. ‘We’d lean outwards and throw our heads to the sky as we spun!’ Anna laughed, tossing her head back.

      ‘Hush, Anna! You’ll wake the house,’ Stepan scolded, tugging at his hands. She let go, her smile fading.

      ‘You used to be more fun, Stepan. At least slightly. I wouldn’t go as far as to say you’ve ever been a load of fun.’ She could scold, too.

      ‘We all used to be a lot of things.’ Stepan bent his dark head in a stern, deferential nod, part reprimand, part apology. ‘I beg your pardon. It was not my intention to ruin your fun. Goodnight, Anna-Maria.’ He squared his shoulders and walked past her, out of the room.

      Anna stomped her foot on the carpet where no one could hear. She hated when she did that, when she drove him off in her stubbornness because she had to have the last word. She spied the box and snatched it up. ‘Stepan,’ she called softly, stopping him on the stairs. She waited until he turned and she had his full attention. ‘Thank you for the gift, it’s lovely. I’m sorry.’ She wanted to say more. She was sorry for running him off, for always challenging him.

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