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. I’m glad they meet your exacting standards.”
Vasili flicked a glance over at her, but there was no recognition in his gaze. “So, this pretty piece is yours, is she?” He chuckled, but it was more malicious than amused. “No wonder Kutzov had no luck.”
Wolff slid his finger down her arm to the sensitive skin at the bend of her elbow in an unsubtle display of ownership. “There are plenty of other women to keep your friend company,” he said pleasantly. “I’m afraid this one’s engaged for the evening.”
He bent and placed an easy kiss on the bare skin of her shoulder, and Anya almost jumped out of her skin.
“Go wait in my rooms, sweetheart. I’ll be along in a few moments.” He patted her playfully on the bottom, playing the part of eager lover to the hilt.
Anya stretched her lips in a parody of a smile and grasped the excuse to leave. Ignoring Vasili and the prince, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to the very corner of Wolff’s mouth. “Hurry,” she murmured, trying to emulate Charlotte’s throaty purr. “I’ll be waiting.”
She turned and walked away on shaking legs, certain Vasili was going to call out to her, but she made it down the curved staircase and back into the private wing unchallenged. Once there, she leaned heavily on the door and closed her eyes. Dear God, that had been close. But her disguise had worked. Vasili was still none the wiser.
She made her way back to her own suite. Despite what Wolff had said, he didn’t truly expect her to go to his chamber. Did he? But what of his promise last night to make love to her if she was sober?
Anya untied her mask and let it drop onto the desk. She was sober now. Her blood was still pounding in her ears, her hands shaking in reaction to the near miss. She felt full of pent-up energy, like an overwound clock.
A masculine tread sounded outside her door. She swept it open and came face-to-face with Wolff, his fist raised to knock. He dropped his hand and studied her face. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Petrov didn’t recognize me. But you’ll have to find someone else to do your spying in future. I won’t tempt fate again.”
“Agreed.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a tiny cork-stoppered bottle. “I have a present for you.”
Anya took it. It was barely an inch long, the kind of bottle used for perfumed oils, with a thin glass tube protruding down into the clear liquid it contained. Anya sniffed it. “What is it? Perfume?”
“No. It’s a measure of Lagrasse’s tincture.”
Anya smiled in delight. “For me? Thank you! You don’t know how much safer I’ll feel, knowing I have this on my person.”
“My pleasure.” His gaze roved over her and an appreciative smile curled his lips. “Have I mentioned how fetching you look in that dress?”
“I believe so.”
“You’d look even more fetching out of it.”
Anya sucked in a breath, and his wicked gaze clashed with hers.
“You’re sober tonight, Miss Brown. Will you let me show you pleasure? I promise you I can.”
How was any woman supposed to refuse an offer like that? Anya wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and scream “yes!” but a thread of conscience nagged at her. If he knew she was highborn, he’d probably run a mile in the opposite direction. She shouldn’t bed him under false pretenses.
Yet this was the perfect opportunity to take what she wanted without fear of repercussions. Unlike every other man who’d made advances toward her, he wouldn’t be sleeping with her to improve his social standing or to trap her into marriage. There was no ulterior motive. His only goal would be to give and to experience pleasure.
She swallowed. At least she could tell him some part of the truth. “I … I once had a bad experience with a man.”
His eyebrows met in a dark scowl. “Who? When?”
“It doesn’t matter. But it made me … cautious.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. He looked furious on her behalf. “Did he force himself on you?”
“No. But he would have, if my friend hadn’t come to my aid. I was made very aware of my own helplessness. I didn’t like it.”
Anya stared into his eyes and spoke from the heart. “I don’t think you men truly understand the enormous level of faith women put in you at any given moment. With very few examples, you are stronger. You can simply take what you want. So any time a woman is alone with a man, she must trust that he won’t use his superior strength to take advantage. She must hope that he has a core of honor, of decency, not to abuse his position.”
“Do you trust me?”
She didn’t hesitate. Maybe she couldn’t trust him with the full truth of her identity, but with her body, yes, she trusted him implicitly.
“Yes.”
“Good. Because I would never do anything to hurt you. We can go as fast or as slow as you like.”
Anya took a deep breath. “Then, yes. Show me pleasure. Please.”
Wolff exhaled, then sent her an amused look from beneath his brows. “We’ll get on a lot better if you actually let me into your room.”
With a start, she realized he was still standing out in the corridor. She took a step back.
He crossed the threshold and closed the door.