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He heard the car arriving and a cacophony of barking as he was showering.
He emerged, glanced at his watch, and realised he had to dress.
His black tie was hanging immaculately pressed and ready for him.
Ben, he was delighted to have discovered during his search of the room earlier, had not brought evening dress.
This was going to be fun.
* * *
Although he told himself he found Philipa’s intimate weekends excruciating, and the dinners especially akin to torture, he didn’t really. He quite enjoyed sitting very quietly, drinking a great deal of excellent wine, and listening to intelligent well-bred people chatting. It was very much like his life with his father in Russia, until his brother had put an end to his cosy existence. Sure, Philipa’s friends didn’t have quite the same topics of conversation as Sergei’s, but when he’d polished off a couple of bottles of red and a few whiskies, he could find some similarities.
He missed it all. The men arriving with bear hugs for him and presents, pleasantly drunk already, shouting to chauffeurs and dogs, exuberant masters of the universe. He missed the snow falling on the luxurious homes they’d lived in, the complete freedom he had been given to do and say as he pleased. They controlled his world, but he controlled them too, in subtler ways.
This was the first time he had attended a dinner at Barton Combe without being completely confident that he could master this situation as well. He was uncharacteristically…unsure.
Even if put to torture, Aleksey would have stuck to his avowal that Ben Rider had not deliberately timed his entrance into the grand drawing room to draw all eyes to him. Who would in his situation? No, it was entirely coincidental, probably just bad luck, which led him to arrive when all the guests were assembled, drinks in hand, and conversation flowing freely.
All eyes, however, did turn to him.
All talk ceased.
The dubious duo had clearly not wasted their time in Exeter.
Ben’s black tie looked as if he’d had it tailored for him. Perhaps he had. Philipa had unique connections, after all.
Somehow, the bastard had managed to pull it off.
He was exquisite.
Benjamin Rider gave truth to the assertion that God made man in his image.
And the self-effacing pause was beyond perfect.
But then Ben spotted him and came over rapidly, apparently relieved to have found him. Much more satisfactory.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, Benjamin.” Aleksey repressed a grin at the annoyed look he was cast. The man really did hate being called that.
“Lots of people. This is like a huge regimental do!”
“Oh, yes, my wife has many friends.”
“Not your friends as well?”
Fucking hell! Every damn thing I say!Aleksey took two drinks off a passing tray, left his empty one on it and thrust some wine in the annoying one’s direction.
“Did you enjoy your afternoon helping to kill things?” He’d looked it up. Still didn’t make a lick of sense.
Ben, attempting to cope with a slosh of wine on his hand without ruining his new outfit, smiled politely at the jibe but countered, “Yeah. I did. It was pretty cool. Nice people. I hope you weren’t too bored, sir. Here by yourself. Got some rest? Little nap?”
Aleksey drained his glass, silently mulling over this pointed comment.
He summoned the waiter back.
Ben’s glass was now empty too. It appeared they had one thing in common.
