Page 82 of The Princess and the Rogue

“Delighted to meet you, Prince Denisov. I’m sure you have a great deal to discuss with your sister. May I suggest we all adjourn to somewhere more comfortable?”

Anya pulled out of her brother’s embrace but kept hold of his hand, as if she couldn’t bear to let go of him. Seb suppressed a growl.

“That is an excellent idea.” She turned to her brother. “But I’m afraid I might have to wait a little while for an explanation.”

Seb frowned. Anya’s words were slurred, her movements slow and uncoordinated. Had the blow to her jaw given her a concussion? He took a concerned step toward her. “Why?” Fear made his tone harsher than he intended. “What’s the matter?”

Anya sent him an apologetic smile. Her pupils were huge, her face rather flushed. “Because I’ve had a dose of Lagrasse’s potion. And I think it’s finally—”

She didn’t finish the sentence. Her eyes fluttered closed. Seb caught her reflexively as she collapsed in his arms.

He sent a panicked look over at the woman in the corner, who was presumably her kidnapped friend, Elizaveta. “What did she do?” he demanded.

“She tricked Petrov into drinking some kind of sleeping potion. In the vodka.”

“Christ,” Seb breathed, appalled. “How much did she have?”

“Half the little bottle. Petrov drank the other half.”

“Bloody hell.” Panic seared his insides. He lifted Anya’s slim body and cradled her against his chest. She weighed next to nothing. “I’m taking her back to the Tricorn.”

Her brother made no objection. He tugged the clerical robe over his head to reveal a plain shirt and black breeches and sent the elderly priest an apologetic look. “Reverend Father, I do apologize for stealing your robes and knocking you down. But it was for a worthy cause.”

The priest grumbled something at him in Russian, but then he made the sign of the cross in front of his face, so Seb assumed all was forgiven. He hoped the blessing extended to Anya too. He carried her through the shattered remnants of the door.

Alex and Ben stood aside to make room, and he caught Benedict’s eye. “Someone should stay here and deal with that.” He gestured at Petrov’s body on the floor.

“Well,I’mnot doing it. I left Georgie back at the ball with no explanation at all. She thinks I’m getting a drink. She’ll throttle me if I don’t get back soon.”

“Same,” Alex muttered. “Emmy hates it when I go on adventures without her.”

Seb let out an irritated exhale. “Fine. You two go back to the ball and claim your wives. Tell Dorothea that Anya is safe, but needs to recover at the Tricorn.”

He turned to address the ancient priest, who’d draped a handkerchief over Petrov’s lifeless face. “Father, I’ll leave you to deal with your countryman. You may take him back to Russia or arrange for a burial here, at your discretion. Count Petrov is no longer of interest to His Majesty’s government.”

He had no idea how much the old man understood, but at that moment, he didn’t particularly care. He needed to get Anya back to the Tricorn as quickly as possible. Hestrode out of the cabin and down the gangplank, taking care not to jostle her any more than necessary. Her shallow breathing and flushed cheeks worried him more than he cared to admit, and his stomach churned in panic. She was so small. What if she’d taken a fatal dose?

Realizing he’d have to surrender his precious burden in order to mount Eclipse, he gently transferred her into her brother’s arms and vaulted into the saddle, then beckoned for Denisov to pass her back up to him. He settled her across his lap, her head tucked in the crook of his arm, and tightened his hold protectively.

Ben, Alex, and the friend all descended the gangplank.

“Perhaps you should transport the princess back to the Tricorn in the carriage?” Alex suggested, pointing to the nondescript hack still waiting outside the dockside tavern. “That way, Prince Denisov can ride with you.” His eyes sparkled with devilry; he’d correctly guessed Seb’s unwillingness to share Anya, even with her own brother.

Seb scowled down at him. “It’ll take too long. She needs to be in bed. The prince can take your horse.”

Alex lifted his brows. “And what about me?”

“You take the carriage.” Seb tipped his chin toward Anya’s friend. “Miss Ivanova needs to be escorted back to Grosvenor Square. We left her fiancéat the ball.”

Alex sighed in reluctant assent, and Benedict nodded. “I’ll ride behind you, Alex.”

Alex surrendered his horse, a handsome bay named Cadiz, to the prince, who mounted with all the ease of a man accustomed to the saddle. Seb’s stomach clenched as he recalled Anya, in her stable boy’s clothes, mounting in just such an effortless way. He waited with barely concealed impatience as Denisov tied a handkerchief around his forearm to staunch the flow of blood from his bullet wound.

“Come on,” Seb said. “Let’s go.”

The ride back to the Tricorn seemed endless. Seb spurred Eclipse as fast as he dared through the darkened streets, willing Anya to wake, but she remained distressingly still in his arms. He swallowed a rare feeling of helplessness.

He found himself remembering the first time she’d shared a horse with him, back on Hounslow Heath. He’d tensed in exquisite agony when her small hands had grasped his waist, dangerously close to the betraying bulge in his breeches. She’d been so prickly then, so full of life.

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