Page 108 of For the Duke's Eyes Only

“It’s such an honor to meet you, Your Excellency,” she said. Now she could practice her newfound feminine wiles. She fluttered her eyelashes. “His Grace told me about your bravery during the war.”

Petrov puffed out his chest and the many gold and silver medals pinned to his black coat caught the light from the chandeliers.

“I’ve heard many stories about you as well, Lady India. About the unusual color of your eyes. Though I must say the stories were all false.”

“Oh?” She pouted. “I don’t live up to the stories?”

“On the contrary,” said Petrov. “Your beauty far surpasses expectations. I never thought it possible, but your eyes outshine even the Wish Diamond.”

“Do you take an interest in antiquities, Your Excellency?” asked Indy.

“I am a connoisseur of all things of rare and priceless beauty.” His gaze slid across her bosom and Indy suppressed the urge to cover the tops of her breasts with her hands.

Raven cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, but I must go and have a word with Sir Charles.”

“Of course,” said Petrov. When he’d left, the ambassador waved his hand and a servant appeared bearing a tray of small glassed filled with clear liquid. “Would you care to try some superior Russian vodka, Lady India?”

That’s what she was here for. To use her feminine wiles, drink any man under the table, and find the Rosetta Stone. “But of course. I adore vodka.”

“Have you visited Russia?” he asked.

She replied that she had. In Russian.

He smiled the first genuine smile she’d seen on his lips and switched to Russian, praising her accent, as well as her eyes.

Indy followed his lead and swallowed one vodka, and then another, waiting to turn the conversation back to antiquities.

Several hours later, Raven signaled to Indy that it was time to leave for their next engagement at Le Triton’s gaming house.

He’d watched her work with so much pride.

She was a natural.

She knew instinctively how to work a room without appearing to have any aim. He had no doubt she had catalogued everything she saw and heard in the same way she collected artifacts and information on her archaeological expeditions.

She’d had Petrov eating out of her palm and plying her with the superior Russian vodka that Sir Charles had made sure to have on hand for the ambassador.

Raven hadn’t been worried about Indy holding her alcohol. Any other female of his acquaintance would have been falling over drunk after the amount of whisky she’d consumed on their carriage ride from London to Dover.

Even in Paris where people were freer with their emotions, she was like the diva in an Italian opera. All the world was her stage, and men only the bit players.

He wanted to be in her show. He wanted to be in the chorus, his voice the foundation for her soaring high notes.

“It’s not the Russians,” she whispered as he helped her into her velvet cloak.

“What makes you so sure?”

“It’s only a strong feeling, but there was no gloating, no indication that Petrov had anything on his mind except the desire to peer down my bodice.”

She tied purple silk bonnet ribbons into a bow under her chin. He had the strangest sensation that she should be donning a black beaver top hat instead. She had looked quite dashing under the curving brim of a top hat.

“Everything leads to Le Triton,” she whispered.

“He won’t know what hit him,” said Raven.

She took his arm as they waited for their carriage.

She was her own woman.

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