I believe it’s one of the reasons the princess refused to marry him.”
He tilted his head silent question.
Anya tried to adopt a properly contrite demeanor. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I happened to overhear a private conversation between the princess and her brother, Prince Dmitri, a few weeks before he died.”
“What was it about?”
“Dmitri told the princess he suspected Petrov of spying for France. He said he would be investigating the matter as soon as he returned from Vienna.”
“Did he find any proof?”
“I don’t believe so. He went straight from Vienna to Waterloo, where he was killed.”
“Hmm.”
Anya bit her lip. Wolff didn’t look convinced. “However,” she said, and he glanced up again. “I also know that Petrov came to see the princess after Waterloo, convinced that Dmitri had found some evidence and sent it to her for safekeeping.”
His dark eyes glittered with interest. “And had he?”
“The princess denied it. But Petrov admitted to her that he was the spy.”
There was a beat of silence as he digested that. “You heard this admission?” His eyes bored into hers as if he could burn the answer from her brain by willpower alone.
“Yes. I was standing just outside the room.”
“Did Petrov know you heard him?”
“It’s possible.”
He let out a low exhale. “Well, no wonder he’s looking for you. He doesn’t want to know how the princess died; he wants to know how much you heard, and whether he needs to buy your silence.” His expression darkened. “Or ensure your silence. Those men probably weren’t sent to question you, Miss Brown. They were probably sent to kill you.”
A cold wash pebbled her skin. The same possibility had presented itself to her too, but to hear it spoken out loud, so baldly, made it somehow far more frightening. More real. She didn’t think Vasili would have ordered her killed—at least, not until he’d married her, but as soon as he had full control of her land and estates, she wouldn’t be at all surprised if she met with a tragic “accident.”
Wolff was watching her, his dark eyes intense. “You called him Dmitri,” he said softly.
Anya stilled. Damn. The man noticed every tiny, betraying detail.
“And there’s a softness in your face when you speak of him. Was he your lover?”
Was that a flash of jealousy in his tone?
“No!” She wrinkled her nose in instinctive recoil at the thought of kissing her own brother, and her expression must have been believable because Wolff chuckled. The odd tension in him evaporated as quickly as it had come.
“I take it from that reaction that he was not.”
“Prince Denisov was my friend,” she said reproachfully. “He was a good man. I loved him like a brother.”
Wolff leaned back in his chair, his long, lithe body seeming to take up an inordinate amount of space. “If you’re telling the truth, then we share a common enemy.”
Anya bristled at the inference that she might be lying, but he ignored her silent offence.
“We need proof. I can’t just go and accuse him of being a traitor. Petrov has powerful friends. Depending on his role, he might even have diplomatic immunity. Bow Street will need concrete evidence before it can act.” He nodded at the pile of papers in front of her. “Let’s hope we find something in there.”
He tilted his head, still thinking, and Anya tried not to notice the intimidating breadth of his shoulders and the blunt, masculine beauty of his hands. Even relaxed, in his own domain, he exuded competence, an aura of quiet power.
“If Petrov is the spy, then he’s dangerous. He might even be a murderer. Another Russian, probably an informant, was killed last week, down at the docks.” He tapped his fingers on the leather desk. “The suspect was a tall, light-haired man. It could have been Petrov.”
Anya swallowed a lump of fear. That Vasili was capable of such a violent act was no surprise. He was a brute who used his size to intimidate. If only Dmitri had sent her whatever proof he’d found. She could have given it to Wolff, he could have arrested Vasili, and her problems would have been over.
She would have been free to leave here, instead of being forced into close proximity with Wolff—a terrifyingly handsome, enigmatic man.
He was without a doubt the most attractive man she’d ever met. Not some golden prince from a fairy tale, more like his dark-haired, cynical stepbrother. The scapegrace of the family who’d left home to seek his fortune and become a dark sorcerer. His