Page 37 of The Princess and the Rogue

He watched Anya eat another and a wisp of pleasure curled through him at her obvious enjoyment. Her happiness was like a warm cloud around her. He felt his mouth curl in an answering smile.

She finally pursed her lips. “Hmm. Perhaps a tiny bit more salt to balance out the sweetness of the honey? But other than that, perfection, Monsieur Lagrasse. As good as any I tasted in Russia. Thank you.”

Lagrasse let out a relieved breath. “De rien, madame. It is a pleasure to cook for someone ’oo appreciates the skill of an artist like myself.” He sent Seb a superior, chiding glare, apparently forgetting who paid his extortionate salary every month.

“You may leave us,” Seb drawled.

He took another sip of wine as the two men filed out and caught her gaze, making no attempt to hide the sensual hunger he was feeling. “Hold still.”

He rose from his seat, reached across the table, and used his finger to swipe a smudge of honey from the corner of her mouth. She inhaled sharply. He held his finger in front of her lips, silently commanding her to take it into her mouth. Her eyes widened, but she parted her lips and he sent her a simmering smile of approval. Shetook the very tip of his finger into the hot cavern of her mouth and his cock gave an insistent throb as she flicked away the honey like a cat licking cream. His knees almost buckled.

Her chest was rising and falling in sweet agitation, but she never dropped her gaze from his. He found himself falling, drowning in the fathomless blue of her eyes.

Then she pulled back, breaking the spell, and sent him a demure smile, although her voice when it came was rather breathless.

“Blini are extremely popular in my homeland. There’s a whole week, Maslenitsa, every year when we celebrate our love for them. Maslenitsa means ‘butter week.’ The little blini symbolize the sun; by eating them, people consume its warmth and energy.”

Seb sat back down and took a fortifying sip of wine. “Fascinating.”

Color rose to her cheeks as she realized he wasn’t referring to the information, but to her.

Conflicting emotions warred in his chest. He wanted her with a hunger that was breathtaking. Would it be dishonorable to seduce her? Would he be taking advantage of his position? She was supposed to be under his protection—shouldn’t that also mean protecting her from himself?

He’d never felt anything but contempt for men who dallied with their servants. A governess or parlor maid would fear for her job if she refused her master’s advances. He’d never manipulate a woman like that.

But Miss Brown was not his servant. Technically she was an employee of his great-aunt, and heaven knew he had little enough influence over that old battle-ax. Even if he petitioned for Anya to be let go, he doubted Dorothea would listen.

Besides, why should he feel guilty about wanting tosleep with her? She’d said she didn’t have much experience with men, but he doubted she was still a virgin. And while he usually preferred women who knew what they were doing in bed, he’d be more than willing to make an exception for her. The thought of continuing her education left him breathless. He’d start by addressing her woeful lack of experience when it came to kissing—

“I have a favor to ask of you, my lord.”

Seb raised his brows, his pulse pounding in anticipation.

“How may I be of service, Miss Brown?” He could think of any number of wicked ways. God, he couldn’t wait.

“I would like to go out.”

“My pleasure. Wait—what?”

Chapter 18.

“You bought me gloves,” Anya said. She glanced longingly out of the window. The mews yard was in shadow, but it was still relatively early in the evening. “It won’t be dark for at least another hour, and I’ve been stuck inside these past two days. Can’t I take a quick ride in park?”

Wolff opened his mouth, and she spoke quickly to forestall a refusal.

“Hardly anyone will be out at this hour. I won’t be seen.” She sent him an imploring look and swallowed her pride at having to beg. “Please.”

He frowned. “You can’t ride. I don’t own a sidesaddle.”

“I don’t need one. I can ride astride.”

“Not in skirts you can’t.”

“Then lend me some breeches.”

His brows lifted in either shock, disapproval, or interest. “Breeches?” He glanced down at his own athletic frame and his lips twitched in amusement. “I hardly think you’ll fit a pair of mine. Or Mickey’s.”

She held his gaze stubbornly. “Well, you must have astable lad. I’m sure a man who works for Bow Street can improvise at short notice.”

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