The Princess and the Rogue by Kate Bateman

Author:Kate Bateman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin’s Press

Chapter 23.

Vasili Petrov looked exactly the same. Anya glanced into his pale eyes and felt a wave of fear and loathing. His gaze was cold, as dead as a Siberian winter.

Unlike the others, he was dressed in his military uniform, all gilt braid and pale-blue jacket, exactly as he’d been the day he’d told her Dmitri was dead. His hair and blond mustache were neatly trimmed, and he flashed her a charming, meaningless smile, unaware that she knew he’d just insulted her.

She was reminded of a quote from Shakespeare: “O what may man within him hide, though angel on the outward side.” Vasili hid a heart that was blackened and corrupt. Cruelty simmered beneath the surface, soul-deep.

Desperate to escape, she ducked her head and swirled away, thankful for her concealing mask. She threaded her way through the crowd and found Wolff near the doors to the dining room. He was talking with an elderly gentleman, but when he saw her, he held out his arm in a gesture of welcome and drew her into his side.

The older man sent Anya an indulgent smile and nodded at Wolff. “I’ll keep you informed, Mowbray. And cede the field to this delightful young lady who desires your company.”

He walked away, and Anya turned her body into Wolff’s chest, savoring the sensation of safety. She placed her hands on his shoulders and went up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Petrov is here!”

He sent her an easy, polite smile. She stared at him in confusion.

He bent his head to nuzzle her temple and despite the fact that her heart was still pounding in fright, she felt a traitorous curl of desire ripple through her. His lips skimmed her cheek and his nose brushed the pulse below her ear.

“I can’t hear you with that ear,” he whispered softly. “What did you say? If it was ‘Take me to bed, Sebastien,’ I’m all yours.”

A shiver of longing pebbled her skin even as she felt his muscles tense. With a heavy sense of inevitability, she dropped her arms as she saw Vasili and Prince Trubetskoi advancing on them. She thought she might be sick. God, had Vasili recognized her?

Wolff’s arm snaked around her waist, and she was glad of the support. Her legs felt like water.

But neither Vasili nor the prince flicked her more than a passing glance. Instead, the prince said, “Lord Mowbray? It’s a pleasure to see you again. May I introduce a colleague of mine, Count Petrov? We worked together at Vienna, during the talks.”

Vasili gave a stiff, formal bow. “My compliments on the excellent Russian fare you have provided tonight, my lord. The blini with caviar were most excellent.” He paused and lifted one brow in what Anya supposed was meant to be a friendly tease. “One might almost think you had a Russian helping you plan it.”

Her stomach lurched, but Wolff gave an easy laugh. His hand stroked her back, kneading the tense muscles there. “No. My chef, Lagrasse, is French. But the recipes are authentic.

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