Page 24 of The Princess and the Rogue

Anya frowned as she heard the key turn in the lock, then snorted in amusement. He clearly trusted her as little as she trusted him. No matter. For now, she rather appreciated the extra security. Where did he think she would go, anyway? She couldn’t risk endangering Elizaveta by returning to Covent Garden.

She made quick work of stripping off her damp gown; she’d learned to undress herself without Elizaveta’s assistance months ago. Shivering a little, she tugged the pins from her hair and slipped between the welcoming sheets on the large four-poster bed.

It galled her that she needed to accept Wolff’s protection. She didn’t like to be beholden to anyone, but it would only be for a short time. She would hide here for a week or two until Vasili returned to Russia, and then she’d return to her normal life.

Would Wolff expect payment for his hospitality? Anya frowned into the darkness. She could sell one of her few remaining diamonds if absolutely necessary. But as he’d said at the brothel, he already had plenty of money. He didn’t need more.

Would he exact payment for his protection in some other form? A curl of something that wasn’t exactly fear twisted in her stomach. The way he’d looked at her, as if he wanted to gobble her up, made her shiver. His opinion of her was ridiculously low. He thought she was a whore, a woman who would stoop to swindling an old woman. And yet, back at the brothel, he’d made no secret of the fact that he desired her.

No doubt she would discover his terms in the morning.

Chapter 12.

Anya awoke to an unfamiliar room. The previous occupant—Benedict, Wolff had called him—had left no personal belongings. Only a faint tang of some masculine scent remained. She donned the dirty lavender-grey dress with a grimace of distaste and for one wistful moment, allowed herself to remember what it had been like to go shopping in Paris, able to buy whatever she wanted without considering the cost.

She’d had dresses in every shade of the rainbow and for every possible occasion, from velvet pelisses to sheer-as-a-whisper evening gowns designed to bring a man to his knees. She’d rarely worn a single dress more than once, let alone for six months straight.

She shook her head. She’d been a spoiled child, with no concept of hard work nor the value of money. Now, she knew the cost of a loaf of bread to the nearest penny.

Her new bedroom was certainly more luxurious than her sparse lodgings in Covent Garden. She’d had to sell one of her precious diamonds to pay for six months’ rentupfront, and although the rooms had been furnished, the pieces were practical rather than attractive.

The giant footman, Mickey, brought a tray of breakfast and a reminder that “his lordship” would see her in his study at ten. She sent him a sunny smile and watched his thick neck flush in embarrassment. Clearly the man was less confident with women than his master.

She found Wolff downstairs, seated behind an imposing leather-topped desk in a book-lined library. Her heartrate increased in anticipation of a confrontation, and she tried not to notice how the charcoal grey of his jacket and the white of his shirt were the perfect foils for his tanned skin and dark eyes.

He did not stand when she entered the room, as a gentleman would for someone he considered a lady, and Anya smiled inwardly at the subtle snub. He waved her to the seat opposite him, and she braced herself for an interrogation.

“Miss Brown—”

“Ivanov.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t believe your name is Ivanov any more than it is Brown. I don’t know why you feel the need for continued secrecy, but you’ll tell me eventually. Until then, I’m going to call you Miss Brown because it’s easier to say.”

He raised his brows, challenging her to object, or to confess, but she kept her lips firmly closed. He shrugged.

“When did you start to work for the dowager duchess, Miss Brown, and why have I never seen you at her house?”

“I entered her employ in September last year, Mr. Wolff,” she countered, echoing his tone. “And I can only assume your visits never happened to coincide with mine.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw at her pert answer, but she refused to be the one to break eye contact. She would not be cowed.

“It’s ‘my lord,’” he said silkily. “I’m an earl.”

At the brothel, he’d told her to call him Sebastien. Clearly that privilege had been withdrawn. She opened her mouth to reply, but he forestalled her.

“There are very few people whose welfare I care about, Miss Brown, but my great-aunt happens to be one of them. I don’t appreciate you putting her at risk, even by association. You have endangered her by your refusal to talk to the people who want to investigate Princess Denisova’s death. Which is a perfectly reasonable request, especially if she died in suspicious circumstances.”

“They weren’t suspicious. She’d just received news that her brother had been killed at Waterloo. She was distraught. So much so that she jumped off a bridge into the Seine.”

His eyes narrowed. “You sound more angry than upset.”

“Of course I’m angry. I loved her like a sister.” Anya bit her lip and took a calming breath. “I do not wish to discuss it further. With anyone.”

“Very well. But if I’m to protect you, even for a few days, I need to know who you’re trying to avoid.”

She saw no reason not to tell him. “His name is Count Vasili Petrov. He’s a guest of the Russian Ambassador, Count Lieven.”

“I’ve met Petrov.”

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