Page 77 of The Princess and the Rogue

Vasili hustled her forward. Her legs were shaking so badly, she could barely stagger up the inclined planks, but the weight of the paring knife in the pocket of her jacket gave her courage. At least Vasili hadn’t searched her while she was unconscious. Small mercy.

They reached the deck. Anya slid her hand into her pocket and jerked away from Vasili’s grip.

“Where’s Elizaveta?”

She pulled the kitchen knife from the pocket and brandished it in front of her, painfully aware of how ridiculous a weapon it must appear.

Vasili laughed in genuine amusement. “Truly? You think to threaten me with that?” He reached behind him, pulled a pistol from beneath his jacket, and pointed it directly at her chest. “Drop it.”

With a silent curse, she allowed the pathetic weapon to clatter onto the deck.

Vasili’s gaze flicked to her skirts, at the silvery material visible beneath the oversize jacket. “Now remove that coat.”

Anya shrugged out of Oliver’s jacket. The cool night air raised goose bumps on her skin, but when Vasili’s greedy gaze slithered over her exposed chest, she shuddered in revulsion.

He smirked. “I see you’re dressed for the occasion. How fortunate.” With the gun still trained on her, he used his left hand to open the door set into the space beneath the upper deck. “Into the cabin.”

With no choice but to obey, Anya lifted her chin high and swept inside. She glanced around frantically. A tablefor maps filled the center of the room, with a padded bench built along one wall, but her attention went immediately to the doorway at the far end. Elizaveta, her hands bound in front of her, was seated on a small cot bed.

She stumbled to her feet with a choked cry of relief. “Anya! Oh, God.”

Anya rushed forward. Elizaveta’s hands were crushed awkwardly between them, but Anya caught her friend in her arms for a joyous hug.

“Oh no!” Elizaveta gave a shuddering sob. “I didn’t mean for you to—”

Anya stroked her hair, noting her friend’s reddened eyes and split lip with a wave of anger. Vasili, or one of his men, had struck her too.

“Shh. It’s all right. I’m so glad to see you safe. Did he hurt you?”

“Vasili? He merely hit me a few times to say hello.”

Anya glared over her shoulder at Vasili, who’d stationed himself by the door. She tugged at the leather cord that bound her friend’s wrists. “Untie this at once.”

He shook his head. “Not until after we’re wed.” He sent her a mocking glance. “I’m not having her hit me over the head with anythingthistime. She can be a witness.”

Anya gazed around the cabin for something—anything—to use as a weapon. A spirit lamp hung from the rafters from a bent nail, but it was too high for her to reach. The map on the tabletop had been pinned at the four corners; perhaps she could stab him with one of those little tacks?

Completely at ease, Vasili shrugged out of his greatcoat. “I have a priest ready to marry us,” he said with a chilling smile. “Father Barukov’s come all the way from St. Petersburg.”

Anya’s stomach turned over in dismay. When she’d seen the ship, she’d assumed Vasili meant to take her back to Russia and perform the ceremony there. This was a disaster.

She clutched at her skirts—and felt the hard shape of a glass vial beneath her fingers. Her heart missed a beat. She’d forgotten Lagrasse’s sleeping potion. If only there was some way to make Vasili drink the stuff.

She pasted a conciliatory smile on her face and took a step forward. Vasili eyed her warily.

“Very well,” she said calmly. “I’m not such a fool that I can’t see when I’m beaten.”

Behind her, Elizaveta made a wordless sound of protest, but Anya shook her head.

“It’s true. Nobody’s coming to save us, Elizaveta, and I have no desire to be manhandled any more than I have been already. We might as well make the best of the situation.”

Vasili’s brows rose as he fought incredulity. “You’ll marry me? Without protest?”

Anya gave a delicate shrug. “What good would protesting do? If all those years in the Russian court taught me anything, it’s to be pragmatic. You wouldn’t be my first choice of husband, Petrov, but we need never see one another once this is done. Get your priest. Let’s get this over with.”

Vasili still looked suspicious at her capitulation, but he turned and stepped out onto the deck.

As soon as Anya heard him turn the key in the lock, she rushed over to the bottle of vodka she’d spied on a side table. She tugged the cork out with her teeth, poured two large shots, and divided the meagre contents of the mandrake potion equally between the two glasses.

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