his heels to Eclipse’s flanks. The horse started forward and triumph surged through him. Anna Brown, Anya Ivanov—whatever she wanted to call herself—was at his mercy. She was lying to him. And he wouldn’t stop until he’d uncovered every secret she was guarding.
Chapter 11.
Anya’s head was spinning. How had she ended up galloping back toward London in the arms of this handsome, arrogant stranger? A man who’d dispatched two of his fellows with apparent ease and even less remorse.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been saved from one set of kidnappers only to be snatched away by another. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. And the dowager duchess, her dear friend, had sanctioned it.
No, that was unfair. The dowager hadn’t betrayed her secret, not even to her own kin. And there was logic behind the decision to ask Wolff to guard her. The man was a literal hero. He’d received numerous medals for his service during the wars against Napoleon, and his recent ennoblement had, according to the dowager, been awarded for some invaluable service he’d provided for the Prince of Wales.
He certainly knew how to handle a rifle. The skill it must have taken to shoot the man who’d been holding her was astonishing. A wave of nausea rose up as she recalled the blood in the mud. She’d never seen a dead man before.
She was intensely aware of her captor. The wind was bitter, but his arms were strong and his warmth pressed against her side. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to absorb the sensation of simply being held. She hugged women—Elizaveta and Charlotte—all the time, but they were small and soft and sweetly perfumed. Being held in this man’s embrace was an entirely different experience. One that was, paradoxically, both comforting and nerve-wracking.
To distract herself from his proximity, she said, “You took a terrible risk shooting that man from horseback. What if I’d moved? You could have killed me, instead.”
That would have put an end to Vasili’s scheming.
He gave an arrogant snort. “Unlikely. Thanks to Bonaparte, I’ve had plenty of practice in shooting from that distance. It was a calculated risk.”
Anya raised her brows at his supreme confidence, even as a twinge of envy assaulted her. If only she possessed such a deadly talent. Vasili would think twice about threatening her if she could shoot the tassel from his boots at fifty paces. Unfortunately, rifle shooting hadn’t been part of her extensive education. She’d never even fired a pistol.
She readjusted her position. It was uncomfortable on his lap, both physically and emotionally. The hood of her cloak had come down; her face was cold, but she could feel the heat of Wolff’s breath against her neck. She shivered with an unsettling awareness. Sidesaddle was no way to travel any great distance.
“Stop,” she demanded. “This hurts my—it’s too uncomfortable.”
Wolff reined the horse to a halt. “Giving orders, Miss Brown?” he said dryly. “You’ve certainly learned to emulate the imperious tones of your employer.”
Anya bit back the scathing retort that sprang to her lips. She was supposed to be a servant; she really should try to be more reverential. Even if it pained her.
“I was merely going to suggest that I ride behind you, my lord,” she murmured, trying to appear properly chastised.
“You mean astride?” His disdain was clear; ladies didn’t do that. They didn’t raise their skirts above the knee for modesty’s sake. Well, damn that. Let him think she came from peasant stock. They could ride much faster if she were behind him, and it would be far more comfortable for the horse.
She lifted her chin. “Yes.”
Anya restrained herself from telling him she could probably ride better than he could, skirts or no skirts. She and Dmitri had been taught by a pair of Cossack brothers who were masters of the skill and had once been part of a famous circus act. She’d learned tricks that would put an equestrienne at Astley’s Amphitheatre to shame.
With an indifferent shrug, Wolff let her slide to the ground, then swung her up behind him. Her face heated as she hitched her skirts above her knees and settled herself with him between her open thighs. It was an utterly indecent position. Thank God she was wearing thick woolen stockings and that her cloak was long enough to cover most of the exposed leg.
She tugged her hood up to protect her from the rain and with great reluctance looped her arms around his waist. The position