Page 31 of The Princess and the Rogue

“Anya Ivanov” was a walking contradiction. Prim and proper one minute, melting passion in his arms the next. Whowasshe? The inquisitive part of his nature, the one that fitted so well with his role of Bow Street investigator, demanded he find out. Knowledge was power, and he wanted every one of her secrets.

She was clearly well educated. No mere peasant would end up as maid to a princess, and her mannerisms and speech all told of an inbred familiarity with thehaute monde.Maybe she came from an old but impoverished Russian family? She could be like Benedict, descended from a proud and ancient lineage, but hampered by a perpetual lack of funds. There were plenty like that in theton. Estates were mismanaged. Fathers developed a fatal propensity for gambling. Anya struck him as someone who’d fallen on hard times.

Yet she was resilient. Instead of bemoaning her reducedcircumstances, as so many other women of his acquaintance might have done, she’d realized that her mental faculties were a valuable asset and found work with his great-aunt.

Seb frowned. His aunt was no miser. Surely she was paid enough to afford a relatively decent lifestyle without the need to engage in whatever “business” had her visiting Haye’s late at night?

Did she yearn for the luxuries she’d once enjoyed with her former employer, the princess? Rich clothes, jewels, expensive perfumes? No. That didn’t fit. That well-worn travel dress of hers was evidence of a frugal nature. The only hint of luxury he’d seen was that fur-lined cape she’d been wearing—the one that made her look like a wintry fairy princess. But she could have been given that by her mistress. Or simply taken it when she realized the woman was dead.

Seb rested his hands on the railing and stared sightlessly at the gaming room below. Women had physical needs, sexual urges, just as men did. She was unmarried. She had no husband or permanent lover. Perhaps she’d been at Haye’s for precisely the same reasonhe’dbeen there? To scratch an itch. He hadn’t heard that Charlotte Haye provided for women as well as for men, but it was possible.

But if shehadbeen there for pleasure, why hadn’t she chosen him? Not only wouldn’t she have had to pay, but he’d offered her the eye-watering sum of five hundred pounds for the pleasure.

Seb shook his head. No, that scenario didn’t fit either.

Perhaps she’d been there to gain some experience in a relatively safe environment? His heart gave a thump as a jolt of desire shot straight to his groin. God, he’d have been only too happy to have provided her with that service. The chemistry between them was extraordinary.He’d never felt anything quite like it. Why was she so reluctant to follow it to its natural conclusion?

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so obsessed with a woman. His dark good looks, courtesy of his Italian mother, meant he’d never had to work too hard for female company. Perhaps it was the mystery, the irresistible challenge of Anya Ivanov, that called to him?

With a slow exhale, he turned his attention to the gaming room below. The scene was familiar, and it filled him with the usual deep sense of accomplishment. He, Alex, and Benedict had made this, created it from nothing and made it a success.

He needed to get down on the floor and show his face. Usually mingling with the guests was no hardship. He was naturally sociable; his charisma and easy wit gave patrons a sense of stability, and his genial hospitality convinced them to play deeper, stay longer, laugh louder. It was good for business.

After the brutal hardship of his years in the Rifles, it was good to be somewhere that catered for the enjoyment of life. To celebrate the simple human pleasures of decent food, excellent wine, diverting entertainment, and convivial company. He was profoundly grateful to have survived. It seemed like he owed it to himself, and to those who hadn’t been so fortunate, to enjoy life to the fullest.

Yet as he watched the assembled crowd, he was seized by a niggling sense of dissatisfaction. Before the war, he’d been just like all those other men down there, chasing an elusive high from a win at the tables or a night of heavy drinking. He’d been single-minded in his pursuit of pleasure.

It seemed like vacuous frippery now. There was more to life than whoring and cards, and thankfully he’d found an outlet for his energies in his work for Bow Street. Hederived a great deal of satisfaction from working to prevent crime, or from catching those responsible.

His older brother, Geoffrey, might have inherited the responsibility of running their late father’s estates, but Seb could live his own life of integrity and worth by helping make the streets of London a safer place. He’d been blessed with a strong body and a keen brain; it only seemed reasonable that he use both in the service of those less fortunate than himself.

But still, professional satisfaction wasn’t the same as personal satisfaction. He’d witnessed the changes in his two friends, Alex and Ben, since they’d both married. There was a steady contentment about them both now, a sense of having found a true purpose in life. They lived to make their wives happy.

Wasthatwhat he was lacking? The reason for his strange dissatisfaction, despite his wealth and outward success? A partner with whom to share it? Seb shook his head. He lacked nothing, except physical release. He was just frustrated, that was all. As soon as the mysterious “Miss Brown” came to her senses—and into his bed—that frustration would be dealt with in the most pleasurable way.

Chapter 15.

Wolff entered her suite without knocking. Anya glanced up from the desk and then swiftly back down, determined to pretend the incendiary encounter on the balcony the previous night had never happened.

It was easier said than done. The knowledge was a humming awareness between them, tugging like an invisible thread. She cleared her throat and willed the heat in her face to subside.

“I’ve been through all these letters. There’s no mention of Petrov or anyone named the Cossack.”

She’d found a mention of her brother, though, a single casual reference in a list of those near Wellington at Waterloo, and her heart had felt like a stone, heavy in her chest.

Wolff shrugged, the movement emphasizing the muscled breadth of his chest beneath his shirt. “It was a long shot, anyway. I have a better plan.” He leaned one shoulder casually against the doorframe. “I’ve been lookingat the club’s members’ list and very few of your countrymen are on it. I want to lure them here so I can watch and listen to them.”

“I thought the plan was for me to avoid my countrymen? Can’t you observe them at atonparty?”

“I want a relaxed setting. A man behaves very differently in a gaming club among his friends than he does at a public ball where ladies are present.”

“There were ladies on the gaming floor last night.”

“There werewomen.None of them were ladies.”

Ah. He meant demimondaines, mistresses. Actresses and whores.

“You won’t be in any danger,” he said. “You’ll stay here, out of sight. Can you suggest some ways to attract them?”

---