After her father’s death, Dmitri had done the refusing. Now he was gone too.
Pain and grief balled inside her, but Anya pushed them away. She had to be practical, for Elizaveta’s sake. She pinched off another piece of bread, inserted another diamond, and swallowed it down.
Concealing a selection of gemstones inside their clothes was an expedient thing to do, considering the volatile situation outside. It was a long way from Paris to St. Petersburg. Two women alone would be an easy target for would-be thieves. If Anya’s baggage was stolen,they’d have the jewels sewn into the hem of her cloak. And if her cloak was stolen too—well, then the diamonds she’d just swallowed would be a last resort.
With bleak humor, she wondered how long it would take for the gems to work their way through her body. A few days, probably. How horrified her former tutors would be to know she’d been called on to make such an obscene calculation.
Elizaveta finished stitching a small pearl choker into the lining of a walking dress and picked up the mangled baguette. “That’s quite enough. You’ll make yourself sick if you have any more.” She scooped the remaining loose jewels into a reticule and folded the newly weighted garments over her arm. “I’ll go make us some tea.”
Tea, in Elizaveta’s opinion, was the answer to everything.
After she left, Anya sat listening to the heartbreakingly normal sounds of the street outside. Carts rattled, birds sang. Tradesmen haggled. How could the world carry on as if nothing had happened? How was it possible to feel so alone amongst hundreds of thousands of people? The ache in her chest intensified. Thank God for Elizaveta. Without her dear friend, she’d be truly alone in this world.
Footsteps echoed on the stairs, too heavy to be Elizaveta returning with a tea tray. Anya frowned. Another visit from General Di Borgo? She stood and started for the door, but it opened after only the briefest of knocks. Her skirts swirled around her ankles as she came to an abrupt stop.
“Count Petrov!” she managed. “This is… unexpected.”
It definitely wasn’t “a pleasure.”
Back in Russia they said:In a foreign country you are glad to see even the crow from your own land. But thatwasn’t true. She wasn’t glad to see Vasili Petrov, at all. If she’d had her wish, she’d never have set eyes on him again.
Back in St. Petersburg, they called him handsome, with his pale blond hair and cool blue eyes, but Anya had known him since childhood. He was sly and vindictive, always jockeying for position. A preening peacock who bragged of his female conquests and his luck at the gaming tables with equal pride. She narrowed her eyes. He was neat as a pin, pure military perfection in his powder-blue uniform edged with gold braid. Unlike General di Borgo, whose head had still been bandaged beneath his battered hat, Vasili didn’t look as if he’d been anywhere near a battlefield.
“Have you just arrived in Paris?” she asked. “Were you at the battle in Belgium?”
Vasili removed his pristine white gloves, tugging at the tip of each finger before folding them carefully in his palm. “Alas, no. We arrived a few hours after the French retreat. It was all over by then.”
A wave of indignant fury welled up inside her. Why should a bastard like Vasili be spared, and good, brave men like Dmitri die?
Vasili slapped his gloves against his thigh and his pale gaze roved over her as if he were inspecting her for flaws. “I heard about the death of your brother. You have my condolences, Princess.”
His stiff, emotionless tone was an insult. Howdarehe? Dmitri was a hero who’d died serving his country, whereas Vasili—
He took a step toward her. Anya swallowed a gasp of astonishment as he dropped to one knee and caught her hand in his. She tried to pull away, but he had a firm grip on her fingers.
“Princess Anastasia—Anya—” he murmured. “WithDmitri gone, you need a protector. A husband. Please, do me the honor of—”
Anya shook her head in horrified disbelief. “Don’t be ridiculous! I’m going back to St. Petersburg. On my own. I don’t need anyone’s protection.”
Vasili’s fingers tightened painfully on her knuckles. “No, Princess. You’re going to marry me.”
Chapter 2.
Anya quelled a spurt of incredulous anger. “I most certainly will not. My father denied your suit three years ago. As did my brother, when you persisted. You want my dowry, Vasili. You have no regard formeat all.”
A cynical smile curved the corners of his mouth beneath his blond mustache. She’d always disliked men with mustaches.
“I don’t deny it,” he said coolly. “Why should I apologize for being ambitious? We’ll make a good team, you and I. You’re intelligent, for a woman. You know how to run a household, order servants. You’ll make an excellent hostess.” His gaze swept her features and a greedy, lecherous look kindled in his expression which made her skin crawl.
“You know full well you’re beautiful. Admit it, you loved having all the boys panting after you at court, didn’t you? And this ice princess facade? I’ll melt it. Bedding you will be no hardship at all.”
Anya snatched her hand away from his. Her expression must have shown her disdain because he raised an amused brow.
“What’s the matter? I’ll make you like it.”
She sent a panicked glance at the door. Where was Elizaveta?
Vasili was watching her closely. In a sudden move, he stood, pulled her to her feet, and yanked her hard against his chest. Anya cried out and tried to pull away, but he caught her wrists in his fists, like manacles.
