The Princess and the Rogue

by Kate Bateman

  She placed her empty tumbler carefully on the rug. In the most subservient move of her life, she prowled toward him on hands and knees, like a cat. When she neared his chair, he sat back like a king on his throne, hands resting loosely on the arms, and widened his legs in unmistakable invitation for her to come between them.

  Anya stood, holding his gaze, even though her knees trembled. She stepped between his thighs and placed her hands on the back of his chair, one on either side of his head. Her face was inches from his own. She could see the fine grain of his skin, the dark stubble on his jaw, the tiny laugh lines at the corner of his eyes. The scent of him filled her nose, a hint of vodka mixed with a woodsy, masculine fragrance and a tang of leather and horse.

  Her stomach swooped in excitement, but she sent him her most superior ice-princess look to remind him who was in charge. “This seems like me kissing you,” she taunted softly.

  He lifted his head and pressed his mouth to hers.

  His lips were soft, unhurried. Anya closed her eyes and kissed him back, clinging, shaping, exploring the contours of his mouth. Her tongue snaked out and encountered his, and she gasped, then did it again, wanting to taste.

  The world fell away and clicked into place at the same time. His tongue darted over and under hers in a way that made her light-headed and his muffled groan was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard. His hands found the curve of her hips. He tugged her closer, then slid them around to her bottom, and Anya squirmed in delight as he squeezed her through the fabric of her breeches.

  She was hot, hotter than the fire, melting like an icicle under his hands. Desperate, she grasped his hair in her fists and bent her knees, straddling him in the chair. A jolt of shock rocked her as her core nestled over the solid bulge of his arousal.

  She pulled back and stared down at him. Both of them were panting. He stared right back at her, his gaze so open, so direct, she felt the connection all the way down to her soul. He was hard and hot beneath her, indecently close. Only a few layers of cloth separated them. She wanted them gone.

  His fingers tightened on her bottom, and he lifted his hips to press himself even closer to the center of her body.

  “That’s where I want to be,” he rasped, and his low growl vibrated from his chest into hers. “Right there. Inside you.” His heavy-lidded gaze studied her for a long moment—and then he shook his head with an almost disbelieving sigh. “But not tonight.”

  Anya blinked. “What?”

  His lips twitched, even though his humor seemed self-directed. “Oh, we will finish this, Miss Brown, I promise you.” He rolled his hips again and a tremor crackled through her body like summer lightning. “But I have rules too.”

  “Rules?” she parroted, like an imbecile.

  “You’re drunk,” he said softly. “And as tempted as I am, I refuse to take advantage of you in this state.” His dark gaze held hers as he slid her off his lap and pulled her gently to her feet. He stood, holding her against his body for a moment as she swayed.

  “When I take a woman to bed, I want her sober.” His eyes burned into hers with erotic intent. “So she remembers all the wicked things we do.”

  Before Anya could protest, he bent down and swept her into his arms, cradling her against the hard wall of his chest.

  She bit back a moan of disappointment. He was refusing her? Unfair! She might be a little tipsy, but she wasn’t drunk. Still, it had a certain neat symmetry. She’d turned him down at Charlotte’s, after all.

  The stupid man had clearly made up his mind to be noble. She closed her eyes as he carried her into the hall and up the curving staircase to her rooms. He jiggled her in his arms and managed to open the door, then strode through to her bedroom and deposited her gently on the bed.

  Anya glared up at him. “I’m really not drunk.”

  “You’re not entirely sober either,” he countered, with irritating logic. “And whatever else you can say about me, I’ve never slept with a woman who didn’t know exactly what she was doing.” He bent and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning, Miss Brown.”

  Anya let out a groan of utter frustration as the door clicked closed behind him.

  Chapter 20.

  Anya woke with a pounding head and uncomfortable memories of the night before. Kissing Wolff had been glorious, but she shouldn’t have let down her guard. What if she’d let her secret slip?

  When she asked Mickey about his whereabouts, she learned he’d gone out, but had left her a note:

  Several Russians from the delegation will be attending the club tonight, including Prince Trubetskoi. My colleague hasn’t found a Russian speaker to mingle with the guests, so I have a request: Will you do it? You can wear a mask to hide your face. I shall expect your answer when I return.

  Anya frowned down at the paper. Venturing out in a crowd would be a risk, certainly, but she was desperate to escape the confines of the living quarters again, even for a few hours. There was little chance of anyone recognizing her if she did as Wolff suggested and dressed as a masked courtesan. Most men, in her experience, only saw what they expected to see. Especially when it came to women.

  And perhaps doing her captor a favor would be no bad thing. If he was in her debt, he might be persuaded to do something for her in return.

  A short while later a knock sounded at the door, and she turned to see Mickey ushering in the elegantly clad figure of Charlotte Haye.

  “Charlotte! What are you doing here?”

  Charlotte returned her hug and stepped back with a wide smile. “I’ve come to see how you’re holding up, of course. And don’t worry. Elizaveta told me you’re concerned about meeting that brute Count Petrov again. I made certain nobody was watching the house or following me. I even changed carriages three times and went all the way to Limehouse and back, just in case. It was quite the adventure!”

  She held Anya at arm’s length and studied her through narrowed eyes. “I do hope you don’t mind me coming. We’ve all been dying of curiosity.”

  “Not at all! I’ve been in dire need of female company. And you’ve come at a most opportune time. I need help dressing like one of your girls.”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened in scandalized interest. “And why is that? Please tell me you’ve changed your mind about seducing Lord Mowbray?”

  Anya felt heat rushing to her cheeks. “No! At least, I don’t think I have.”

  Charlotte sent her an amused look. “That doesn’t sound like a definite no. What’s going on?”

  “Mowbray is letting me visit the Tricorn’s gaming floor tonight. But since the only women who attend are … less than respectable … that’s what I need to be.”

  Charlotte gave a crow of delight. “How marvelous! I’ve been itching to get my hands on you and your far-too-practical wardrobe for months! Show me to your bedroom. I can’t wait to get started.”

  A little dazed, Anya led her up the stairs and into her set of rooms. Charlotte looked around approvingly, and when Anya showed her the gowns Wolff had provided, she gasped in delight.

  “Mowbray bought you these?” she breathed, wide-eyed. “Darling, you’re going to look ravishing! Now strip.”

  Anya did as she was told.

  The evening gown Charlotte selected was a superb example of the dressmaker’s art: watered silk, with tiny puff sleeves and a neckline that left Anya’s shoulders scandalously bare. The provocative color changed from peacock blue to kingfisher green in the light, and the material made a satisfying swish, like a whispered secret, whenever she moved.

  The front was cut so low, it almost showed her nipples, and Anya resisted the urge to try to cover herself. An ingenious built-in corset held everything in place and would—hopefully—avoid disaster.

  “Who would have guessed you were hiding a bosom under there!” Charlotte teased.

  As a princess, Anya had clothes that had always been of the highest quality, but they had, by and large, been quite demure. This dress was neither of t
hose things. It was a daring, silent statement that proclaimed the wearer a powerful, confident woman. And Wolff had chosen it for her. Was that how he saw her? It was hard not to be flattered.

  “Never underestimate the importance of clothes in a woman’s arsenal,” Charlotte said, her tone serious. “In the right setting, satins and silks can render you as invulnerable as armor. Knowing you look good, that you have the power to bring grown men to their knees, is a valuable asset.”

  She gave a mischievous smile and led Anya to the dressing table so she could brush her hair. “Sensible men can be persuaded to do a great many foolish things when under the influence of a revealing bodice and a trim waist. I once persuaded the Chevalier d’Anveau to buy me a matched curricle and pair, thanks to a particularly well-cut décolletage.”

  Anya smiled. Charlotte’s opinion on the importance of fashion was rather similar to Wolff’s.

  She sat still as Charlotte pinned her hair into an elegant upswept style and added the blue ostrich feather plume that had come along with the dress. To Anya’s eye, she looked underdressed without a tiara on her head and a glittering necklace at her throat, but still, it had been a long time since she’d made such an effort over her appearance.

  Since she’d felt so attractive.

  A teal-colored opera mask would cover her from forehead to nose, and her worry dissipated at the anonymity it would provide.

  Charlotte opened her reticule and extracted a pot of rouge, which she dabbed sparingly onto Anya’s lips and cheeks, then stood back to admire her handiwork.

  “Perfect! You’ll break hearts tonight, Madame Incognito. I guarantee it.” She collapsed gracefully onto the side of the bed. “So, tell me everything. Has Wolff kissed you again?”

  Anya fought a guilty flush. “What do you mean, again?”

  Charlotte sent her a chiding look. “He kissed you that night at my house. Don’t think I didn’t notice, young lady! The atmosphere in that room was crackling. He didn’t take his eyes off you the entire time. Until you looked at him, and then he looked away. The whole thing was vastly entertaining. Better than watching an opera.”

  Anya sighed. “Yes. He did kiss me that night. And he’s kissed me again since then.”

  So very thoroughly.

  “And you enjoyed it,” Charlotte predicted, with a gleeful bounce upon the bed.

  “Yes. Very much.” Anya couldn’t stop the smile that sneaked across her lips at the memory.

  Charlotte tilted her head. “You naughty girl! Are you going to take him as your lover? He wants you, I’m certain of it. And that’s not all. I’ve seen all the ways men look at women—with lust, with pride, with covetousness, with hopeless longing. He looks at you with more than just desire. There’s something else there, something real. Something rare.”

  “I’m very tempted,” Anya confessed. “But I’ve never taken a lover. I always assumed I’d wait until I found someone to marry, but I’m twenty-two now, and the chances of that happening are growing more and more remote. Perhaps I ought to see what all the fuss is about?”

  The girls at Haye’s had tried on countless occasions to explain to her that women could experience just as much pleasure as men, provided one’s partner was skilled enough. Anya was beginning to think it was time she discovered the truth for herself.

  “It’s just like riding a horse,” Charlotte said with a wry smile. “You need a little practice until you learn how to control your mount, but you’ll quickly gain confidence and discover the right positions. And then—it’s marvelous. Think of how much you like riding a horse; the breathless thrill of a fast gallop, the swoop of excitement as you clear a fence. Good sex is even better.”

  Anya considered her words. There was no question that she desired Wolff. Her body crackled to life whenever he was near. Along with his confidence in his own abilities, and the fact that he clearly desired her too, he was the perfect candidate if she wanted to take a lover.

  A pang of guilt seized her. Neither Charlotte nor Wolff knew she was a princess, however. Would they treat her any differently if they knew?

  Charlotte’s advice would probably remain the same, even if she discovered her secret. She fully believed in a woman taking control of her own pleasure, whatever her station in life.

  But Anya doubted Wolff would see her in the same light, as a potential bed partner, if he knew her background. He’d probably balk at deflowering an aristocratic virgin, no matter how willing that virgin was. It was shamefully dishonest not to tell him, but she’d come to a decision; she wanted him.

  “Do you think a man can sleep with a woman without feeling anything for her other than physical attraction?” she asked.

  Charlotte met her eyes. “Honestly? Yes, I do. For many men it’s just scratching an itch with the nearest available body. Women, on the other hand, need their mind made love to, not just their limbs.”

  She folded her hands in her lap. “One of my theories is that men love with their eyes, while we women love with all of our senses. We like to have our brains stimulated by clever conversation and witty repartee. We like to hear a man’s laugh, to have our stomach tighten when we catch a whiff of his cologne, to feel the prickles of his jaw.” She gave a laughing sigh. “Men, in general, just need a pair of breasts shoved in their face and they’re raring to go.”

  Anya chuckled and glanced down at her own exposed décolletage. “In that case, I’d say I’m perfectly attired for a successful seduction.”

  Charlotte stood and caught Anya’s hands in her own. “Bravo! It’s your decision, my darling. Do whatever makes you happy.” She pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. “I must be getting home. The girls will be wondering where I am. Good luck with whatever you decide.”

  Chapter 21.

  Anya heard Wolff’s return an hour or so later, and the tempo of her pulse increased. She heard the door to the adjacent suite open and close, and waited an extra half hour to give him time to get dressed for the evening. Then she slipped on her shoes, collected her mask, and made her way along the hall to his chamber, excitement warring with nerves in her chest.

  He opened the door—clearly expecting Mickey because his gaze swiftly readjusted downward about eight inches to her face. And then his eyes swept the rest of her, and Anya held her breath. His chocolate-brown gaze seemed to devour every inch of her, and her skin heated in response.

  He smiled, a lazy smile that caused his cheek to crease into that almost-but-not-quite dimple, and her heart gave an irregular kick. He was so full of vitality, so ludicrously handsome, that she felt momentarily dizzy. The stark black and white of his formal evening clothes made him look both commanding and slightly wicked. Like Lucifer on his best behavior.

  “You look exquisite, Miss Brown.”

  Anya dropped him a pert little curtsey. “Why, thank you. Charlotte came and gave me some help to get ready. We both approve of your choice.”

  She peered around his body, trying to sneak a glimpse of his rooms, but he placed both hands on the doorframe and leaned forward, denying her entry to what he obviously considered his private, inner sanctum.

  The move only increased her desire to see it.

  He leaned close enough for her to catch a faint whiff of cologne and warm skin, but she ignored the traitorous clenching of her stomach.

  “I take it, from your outfit, that you’ve decided to lend me your assistance this evening.”

  “That’s what I wish to discuss with you.” Anya ducked neatly beneath his outstretched arm and slipped past him into his room. He turned with a muttered curse, and she bit back a smile.

  “So this is the lair of the big bad Wolff,” she teased. “I must confess, I’ve wanted to see it.” She studied the red leather-topped desk and overstuffed armchairs with a chuckle of delight. “Hmm. Rather disappointing. I was sure there’d be more ravished virgins and piles of human bones.”

  He crossed his arms and sent her a look that was part amused, part exasperated.

  “Make yourself a
t home,” he said dryly. He prowled toward her and she took a retreating step back. “So what was it you wanted to discuss?”

  “If you want me to help you spy on my countrymen, you need to give me something in return.”

  He raised his brows. “You want payment?”

  “Of a kind. Skills. I’ve realized I need to be more proficient in certain areas.”

  His mouth twitched, and she flushed as she belatedly realized the potential for misinterpretation in her words.

  “And you want me to teach you?” he drawled.

  “I do.” She quashed the highly improper thoughts his words had summoned. “At first I thought of asking you to teach me to shoot a rifle or a pistol, but then I realized that’s not very practical. I’m unlikely to ever need to know such things. You could teach me some ways to defend myself without a weapon, however.”

  The memory came, unbidden, of Vasili’s hands on her wrists, of his mouth grinding upon hers. Of how powerless she’d been. She never wanted to be in that position again.

  “Knowledge is power,” she said softly. “Please show me.”

  He gave a slow exhale. “Right now?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m not sure there’s much you can do while wearing that dress,” he said. “But I suppose I can show you a couple of basic moves.”

  He took another step and stopped less than an arm’s length away.

  “Because of your height, you’re at an immediate disadvantage. So you’ll need to be inventive when it comes to bringing down your opponent.”

  “How?”

  “Fight dirty. Hit him in the crotch,” he said baldly. “Or punch him in the throat. If he can’t breathe, he can’t fight.”

  Anya nodded earnestly.

  “Pull his ears, or better still, bite them. Jab at his eyes. And if you can grab his nose, snap it to the side. It’ll bleed like the devil.”

  Anya’s gaze automatically went to the perfect line of his nose. Considering the number of battles in which he’d been involved, she’d have thought it would have been broken a time or two. The man was clearly charmed.