The Princess and the Rogue (Bow Street Bachelors #3) - Kate Bateman Page 0,2

death of your brother. You have my condolences, Princess.”

His stiff, emotionless tone was an insult. How dare he? 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. “With Dmitri 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 for me at 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.

“You don’t have any choice in the matter, Princess,” he hissed. “We will be wed. As soon as I can find a priest.”

“Release me at once.”

An ugly, belligerent glint lit his eyes. “You’ll wed me if I ruin you.”

Her blood ran cold. “Don’t touch me!”

“Who’s going to stop me?”

Anya fought a wave of revulsion as his mouth crashed down on hers. His lips were hard and punishing. She shook her head, struggling violently, but he was bigger, stronger. His tongue probed her lips, seeking entrance. She let out a shocked cry and managed to free one wrist, then slapped him on the side of the head. Hard. He stumbled back with a muffled curse.

She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and sent him her most imperious glare. “I will never marry you, Vasili Petrov. You’re a traitor!”

Anya felt a stab of triumph before the magnitude of what she’d just admitted dawned on her. She could have bitten off her tongue.

Dmitri had told her in confidence that Vasili, or someone close to him, was suspected of passing information to the French. He’d hinted that he would be investigating the matter as soon as he returned from Vienna.

Vasili’s eyes narrowed into slits. “So. We can do away with the pretense, can we? That’s good. It makes everything so much easier.”

He smoothed back his ruffled hair. Anya returned his hostile glare with one of her own.

“Your brother spoke to you about me.” It was a statement, not a question. “Of course he did. The two of you were always close. He thought I was helping the French.”

“Were you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. They pay extremely well.”

Anya gasped at the casual way he admitted to treason. Good God, the information he’d traded had led to the death of thousands of men. It had led to Dmitri’s death.

“Bastard!” she breathed, incensed. “You traitorous whoreson!”

Vasili chuckled. “Tsk. Such language, Princess.”

Anya fought the urge to slap the smug look off his face.

“Dmitri intercepted a letter of mine,” Vasili continued. “He sent it to you.”

She didn’t have to feign her look of confusion. “No, he didn’t.”

“Don’t lie to me! Where is it?”

“I never received any letter. I swear.”

Vasili’s face settled into a cold, murderous mask. Before Anya knew what he was about, he lifted his hand and dealt her a backhanded blow across the face. Blinding pain was quickly followed by astonishment and outrage. No one