What Happens in London

“Read it to me.”

Score one to the prince. Harry would have been only slightly more surprised if the prince had come over and kissed him square on the lips.

“I don’t think you’ll enjoy it,” Harry said.

“Do you like it?”

“Not really,” Harry replied with a shake of his head. It wasn’t precisely true; he very much enjoyed listening to Olivia read it aloud. Or reading it aloud to Olivia. But somehow he doubted the words would share the same magic when shared with Prince Alexei Gomarovsky of Russia.

The prince lifted his chin, tilting his face ever so slightly to the side. It was as if he were posing for a portrait, Harry realized. The man spent his whole life holding himself as if he were posing for a portrait.

Harry might have felt sorry for him if he weren’t such an ass.

“If Lady Olivia is reading it,” the prince said, “then I want to do so, as well.”

Harry paused, digesting that. He supposed he could sacrifice Miss Butterworth for the sake of Anglo-Russian relations. He shut the book and held it out.

“No. You read it to me.”

Harry decided to obey. It was such a bizarre request he couldn’t bring himself to say no. Also, Vladimir had taken two steps in his direction and begun to growl.

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Harry said, once again settling down with the book. “I assume you would like to begin at the beginning?”

Alexei answered with a single, regal nod.

Harry turned back to the opening. “It was a dark and windy night,” he read, “and Miss Priscilla Butterworth was certain that at any moment the rain would begin, pouring down from the heavens in sheets and streams, dousing all that lay within her purview.” He looked up. “‘Purview’ is not used correctly, by the way.”

“What are these ‘sheets’?”

Harry looked back down at the words. “Er, just an expression. Rather like raining cats and dogs.”

“This I find stupid.”

Harry shrugged. He’d never been fond of the idiom himself. “Shall I continue?”

Again the nod.

“She was, of course, shielded from the weather in her tiny chamber, but the window-”

“Mr. Sebastian Grey,” came the butler’s voice.

Harry looked up from the book with some surprise. “Here to see Lady Olivia?” he asked.

“Here to see you,” the butler informed him, sounding vaguely put out by the whole thing.

“Ah. Well. Show him in, then.”

Sebastian entered a moment later, already halfway through his sentence: “-told me to find you here. I must say, it’s very convenient.” He stopped short and blinked a few times, staring at the prince with surprise. “Your Highness,” he said, bowing.

“My cousin,” Harry said.

“I recall,” Alexei said icily. “Clumsy with champagne.”

“So dreadful of me,” Sebastian said, settling into a chair. “I’m an absolute dunce, you know. Spilled wine on the Chancellor of the Exchequer just last week.”

Harry was fairly certain that Sebastian had never had cause to be in the same room as the Chancellor of the Exchequer, much less close enough to hurl wine on his boots.

But this he kept to himself.

“What are you fine gentlemen doing this afternoon?” Sebastian asked.

“Is it afternoon?” Harry inquired.

“Only just.”

“Sir Harry is reading to me,” the prince said.

Sebastian looked at Harry with unconcealed interest.

“He speaks the truth,” Harry said, holding up Miss Butterworth.

“Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron,” Sebastian said approvingly. “Excellent choice.”

“You have read this?” Alexei asked.

“It’s not as good as Miss Davenport and the Dark Marquis, of course, but worlds better than Miss Sainsbury and the Mysterious Colonel.”

Harry found himself rendered speechless.

“I’m reading Miss Truesdale and the Silent Gentleman right now.”

“Silent?” Harry echoed.

“There is a noticeable lack of dialogue,” Sebastian confirmed.

“Why are you here?” the prince asked bluntly.

Sebastian turned to him with a sunny expression, as if he did not notice that the prince quite palpably detested him. “Needed to speak with my cousin, of course.” He settled into his seat, looking for all the world as if he expected to be there all day. “But it can wait.”

Harry had no ready response to that. Neither, apparently, did the prince.

“Go on,” Sebastian urged.

Harry had no idea what he was talking about.

“With the book. I thought I might give it a listen. I haven’t read it in ages.”

“You’re going to sit here while I read aloud to you?” Harry asked dubiously.

“And to Prince Alexei,” Sebastian reminded him. He closed his eyes. “Don’t mind me. It helps to picture the scene.”

Harry had not thought that anything could bring about a sense of kinship with the prince, but as they exchanged glances it was clear that both of them thought Sebastian was insane.

Harry cleared his throat, backed up to the beginning of the sentence, and read: “She was, of course, shielded from the weather in her tiny chamber, but the window casings rattled with such noise that there would be no way she would find slumber this evening.”

Harry looked up. The prince was listening intently, despite the bored expression on his face. Sebastian was completely enrapt.

Either that or asleep.

“Huddled on her thin, cold bed, she could not help but recall all of the events that had led her to this bleak spot, on this bleak night. But this, dear reader, is not where our story begins.”

Sebastian’s eyes popped open. “You’re only on the first page?”

Harry quirked a brow. “Did you expect that His Highness and I had been meeting each evening, conducting secret reading sessions?”

“Give me the book,” Sebastian said, reaching out and snatching it from Harry’s hands. “You recite dreadfully.”

Harry turned to the prince. “I have little training.”

“It was a dark and windy night,” Sebastian began, and Harry had to admit he did bring a great deal of drama to it. Even Vladimir was leaning forward to listen, and he didn’t speak English.

“-Miss Priscilla Butterworth was certain that at any moment the rain would begin, pouring down from the heavens in sheets and streams, dousing all that lay within her purview.”

Dear God, it almost sounded like a sermon. Sebastian had clearly missed his calling.

“‘Purview’ is not used correctly,” Prince Alexei said.

Sebastian looked up, his eyes flashing with irritation. “Of course it is.”

Alexei jabbed a finger in Harry’s direction. “He said it is not.”

“It’s not,” Harry said with a shrug.

“What’s wrong with it?” Sebastian demanded.

“It implies that what she sees is under her power or control.”

“How do you know it’s not?”