Page 21 of The Princess and the Rogue

“What’s yourrealname?”

The girl gave a resigned huff. “Anya.”

“Anya,” he echoed, rolling the word around his mouth experimentally. “Excellent. Progress. You’re Russian?” That would explain the accent he’d detected back at Haye’s. Russian mixed with a hint of French. Intriguing.

“Yes.”

“Anya what?”

“My family name’s not important.”

He raised his brows. “Considering those men were apparently trying to kidnap you, I’d say it was of rather vital importance, wouldn’t you?”

She scowled at his sarcasm. “Anya—Ivanov.”

He didn’t miss her minute hesitation. Ivanov was oneof the most common family names in Russia, the equivalent of Smith or Brown in England. She wasstilllying to him, the little charlatan.

“Who would want to kidnap you? Do you owe someone money?”

“It’s nothing like that.” The dowager sighed. “Anya used to be personal maid to the Princess Denisova. The princess took her own life in Paris last year, but there are those in St. Petersburg who refuse to believe she’s dead. Since poor Anya was a witness to her mistress’s final hours, they wish to question her about it.”

“So why don’t they just call on her?”

“Anya refuses to speak of it, and I fully understand her reluctance to reopen such painful wounds. The Princess Denisova is gone. There’s no more to say.” The dowager nodded decisively. “I was taking her to Everleigh to escape those who would bedevil and distress her. But it appears they were more determined than we anticipated.”

A thoughtful look came into his aunt’s face, which gave Seb pause. He’d witnessed that same calculating expression before. It usually preceded Dorothea giving someone a scathing set down or making a startling pronouncement sure to offend.

“Hmm. The more I think about it, the more it makes perfect sense.”

“What does?” he asked warily.

“Well, clearly Anya needs more protection than a feeble old woman and a handful of servants can provide at Everleigh. She needs someone used to dealing with rogues and scoundrels. You must protect her, Sebastien. Take her back to the Tricorn with you.”

“What? No!” Seb said, at precisely the same moment the girl said, “Absolutely not!”

“I can’t let you carry on to Everleigh unescorted,” Seb protested.

The dowager waved her hand. “Oh, pish. I can’t imagine I’ll be held uptwicein one evening. John is barely hurt, and I have lots of servants to coddle me when I get there.” She turned to the girl. “You’ll be vulnerable in the country, now they know you’re with me. Sebastien is the best there is. You can stay with him, under his protection, until those seeking you give up and go home.”

“Now wait just a minute—” Seb said.

The dowager sent him a wide smile, the faux-innocence of which fooled him not a bit. Dorothea was meddling, curse her, and he could only guess at her motives.

She wasn’t matchmaking, that was for certain. She wouldn’t foist someone of the lower classes at him as a potential wife, however beautiful she might be. Even before he’d been made an earl, he’d been expected to choose some talentless twit from thetonif he ever wanted to marry. Which he most assuredly did not.

Did she mean the girl for his mistress? He doubted it. Dorothea seemed genuinely fond of her. He couldn’t believe she’d willingly offer her up for ruination. Seb frowned, completely confused.

“You’ve been on your own at the Tricorn since Alex and Benedict found themselves wives,” the duchess continued reasonably. She turned to Anya. “He was only saying the other week how boring it was. You can host her in one of their old suites, Sebastien. You’ll barely notice she’s there.” Her rheumy eyes sparkled with devilry.

“A gentleman’s club is no place for a lady.”

Since when had he ever been concerned with propriety? Talk about the devil quoting scripture.

“She’s not a lady. She’s a lady’scompanion. And really, is now the time to be quibbling over social niceties? Our lives were in mortal danger tonight.”Dorothea set her jaw and a militant light came into her eyes. “You wouldn’t deny me this one request, Sebastien, would you?”

Ugh. Seb felt himself caught, pinned like an insect on a naturalist’s board. He cast around for another argument, but the girl spoke up.

“The men are dead or gone, ma’am. There’s no reason for us to change our plans.”

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