who’d repeated the phrase ad infinitum.
Alex smiled down at her. “Exactly.”
She let out a dissatisfied sigh. “Is it from Bridge & Rundell? It looks like their work.” She sent a sideways glare at her husband. “I haven’t been there in ages. I’m not allowed within thirty paces of the place.”
Anya frowned in confusion. “Because your husband’s worried you’ll bankrupt him with your purchases?”
They all laughed at that, and Anya had the feeling she was missing an inside joke.
“That’s not the reason,” Harland said.
Anya lifted her brows in question at Wolff.
“Emmy here used to have an unusual vocation,” he said softly. “She was, ah, an importer and exporter of precious stones.”
Anya turned to the girl in interest.
“What he’s too polite to say,” Alex added in low tones, “is that until recently, my wife was a criminal mastermind who ‘liberated’ certain jewels from their unlawful owners.”
Anya stared at Emmy in doubled fascination, and the other girl sent her a cheeky grin.
“Alas, my career was foiled by those dutiful gentlemen at Bow Street.” She laughed, her gaze sliding from her husband to Wylde to Wolff. “They put an end to all my adventures.”
Alex sent her a wicked, knowing look. “Oh, not all your adventures, surely?” he purred.
A pretty blush rose to her cheeks.
Anya smiled at the teasing and obvious affection between the two couples. It was refreshing to encounter some society marriages where the partners hadn’t married for either convenience or duty. Her own parents had looked at each other that way, and her chest ached in longing for something similar for herself.
She glanced around the room, looking to see if Vasili and the rest of the Russian delegation had arrived, but while she recognized Prince Trubetskoi and two of the men who’d been with him at the Tricorn, there was no sign of Petrov.
She sensed Wolff shift at her elbow. “Dorothea’s beckoning me. Excuse me.”
Anya watched as he crossed the room, admiring his broad shoulders and long legs. Halfway across, he was accosted by a stunningly beautiful brunette. He bestowed a wide, genuine smile on the woman and bent to kiss her hand, and Anya quashed the spike of jealousy that stabbed through her as the woman gazed up at him adoringly.
“She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?” Georgie said without malice.
Anya jumped, caught in her surveillance, and tried to brazen it out. “Who?”
The other woman sent her a dry, knowing look. “The woman talking with Seb. Her name’s Caroline Apsley. I believe the two of them were, ah, romantically linked before the war.”
Anya’s chest squeezed tight. “You mean she was his mistress? They’re still on friendly terms, clearly.”
Georgie nodded. “She’s a widow now. She has high hopes to reel him in.”
Anya tried to school her expression into one of polite interest. It was none of her affair. She had no claim on Wolff. But still, it felt like betrayal.
“He’s not interested, though,” Benedict murmured, having shamelessly eavesdropped on the conversation.
“Why do you say that?” Anya tried to keep the eagerness out of her voice. She was pathetic.
“Because I know Seb. I spent three years with him, day and night, all around the Peninsular. I’ve seen him smile at countless women like he’s smiling at Caroline right now. He’s charming and gallant, and it doesn’t mean a thing.”
Anya lifted a shoulder. “If you say so.”
“Ben’s right,” Alex added. “Seb smiles at every woman that way. Every woman but one.”
Anya turned to look at him, caught by his sly tone. “You’re right. He scowls at me.”
“And buys you outrageously gorgeous jewelry,” Emmy added on a laugh, her eyes back on the tiara.
“You know how particular he is about his clothes,” Anya said lightly. “He wanted me to be well turned out.”
“Well, if that’s what you get for Sebastien Wolff’s scowls, he can scowl at me any time he likes!” Emmy chuckled.
Alex swatted her playfully on the bottom. “Might I remind you that you’re a happily married woman, Emmeline Harland?”
Emmy twinkled up at him. “I don’t need reminding.”
Alex bent his head and Anya just caught his intimate whisper. “Leaving me, princess?”
“Never.”
Anya turned away. Alex’s teasing endearment for his wife was clearly another private joke. Anya really was a princess, but Wolff had never spoken it to her in that way, as an endearment. The Harlands’ easy laughter was a world away from what she and Wolff had attained.
Chapter 32.
“Sebastien, you must dance with the princess.”
Seb slid a sideways glare at Dorothea. She was in fine fettle tonight, enjoying her position at the epicenter of the social