Page 59 of The Princess and the Rogue

“Perhaps therewassome evidence, and he managed to hide it before he was killed?” he said.

“If he did, I can’t imagine where you’d look for it. If it was hidden in his belongings wherever he was staying the night before the battle, it’s been looted or destroyed by now.”

Seb pulled out the chair behind his desk and sat, striving for some semblance of normalcy. “So. Petrov knows where you are.”

She leaned back against the closed door and her slender shoulders sagged in defeat. “Yes.”

“You can’t keep on hiding forever. And I have a business to run. I can’t drop everything to be your personal bodyguard twenty-four hours a day.”

She sent him an irritated glare. “Nobody’s asking you to.”

He ignored that. “It’s time to put an end to your little farce. Princess Denisova must be resurrected. You can be introduced to thetonas the protégéof my great-aunt. Nobody will dare contradict the Dread Dowager Duchess.”

“What? No! How will that keep me safe from Vasili?”

“You’ll be more difficult to reach if you’re surrounded by members of theton. Society will shield you, just as it shields every unmarried young woman from the unwanted attentions of men. You’ll have a chaperone. Constant companions. You’ll have to face Petrov, but it will be in full view of a hundred witnesses. You can deny you were ever betrothed.”

Her skin paled. “He’ll be furious.”

“What can he do in a room full of people? He’s too conscious of his own social standing to make an ugly scene. I know men like him. How he appears in public is very important to him.”

She shook her head. Several wisps of straw still clung to the strands, blending in with her honey-coloredhair. She looked like a rumpled dairymaid. One he still wanted to tumble, damn it.

“He’s relentless,” she said wearily. “He’ll try something.”

“We’ll make it clear you’re under Bow Street’s protection.”

An odd expression flitted over her face, one Seb couldn’t identify. It almost looked like hope. Eagerness. “So I would remain here?”

“No. You’ll stay with Dorothea. Alex, Benedict, and I will take it in turns to guard you there.”

“Oh.” She seemed almost disappointed, but he must have been mistaken. She was probably regretting she ever let a rogue like him anywhere near her royal personage.

Of course she’d refused him. He wasn’t good enough for her. He hadn’t been good enough for the likes of Julia Cowes a decade ago, and even though he’d made a fortune and gained a title on his own merit since then, he was still no fit mate fora bloody princess.

She needed to go and marry some charming European aristocrat—one with a spotless reputation who didn’t go around propositioning strangers in brothels and getting into fistfights—and end up as queen of some balmy Mediterranean principality.

Seb drummed his fingers on the leather desktop, imagining and discarding ways out of the ridiculous situation. “If Petrov thinks you have incriminating documents, perhaps we take can advantage of that. We can set a trap for him.”

“How?”

“We’ll force his hand. He’ll get desperate and make a mistake—he’ll try to get to you, or try to get the evidence back. And when he does, we’ll be ready.”

“I don’t want to meet him. Either in a ballroom or a back alley. He’s dangerous.”

Seb narrowed his eyes. “Do you think I’m not?”

She had the grace to flush and look away, and he nodded, mollified. “I protect what’s mine.”

She gave him that haughty look he’d come to detest. “I’m not yours, Lord Mowbray.”

“Yes, Princess.” He drawled the title like an insult, a deliberate bastardization of the term of endearment. “For now, you are.”

He lifted his brows, just daring her to argue, but she wisely held her tongue. He cast what he hoped was a scathing glance at her boy’s attire. The sight of her slim legs and the hint of her breasts beneath the fabric made him want to throw her over his shoulder, carry her upstairs, and lose himself inside of her, princess or not.

Damn her.

“I’ll have Mickey bring you a valise. Pack your things. We’ll leave for Dorothea’s house in thirty minutes.”

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