face went even greener, but he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. The red wax seal was Petrov’s, segmented with a bow and arrow and a full-masted ship to the lower half. “They threw this at my feet. Said to deliver it to you.” His Adam’s apple bobbed down as he swallowed. “They’re going to hurt Elizaveta, aren’t they?”
Anya reached out and clasped his arm in a reassuring grip. “Not if I can help it.”
She tore open the seal and read the short note. It was in Russian, presumably to limit the number of people who could read it if opened.
Princess, I have your friend. If you want her to remain unharmed, you will bring the letters your brother sent you to the stables of the dowager duchess at midnight. My man will be waiting. Do not think to have your English lapdog or his Bow Street brothers accompany you. Come alone or your maid will meet the same fate as your brother.
Anya cursed soundly and glanced at the clock on the scullery wall. It was already half past eleven. Oh, God, what was she to do? She didn’t have the real papers to give him.
They’d expected Petrov to come to the ball tonight and demand the “evidence” he thought she possessed. Anya had chosen three of the letters she’d translated—ones which might conceivably have contained something of import—and bundled them together with a faded ribbon, just to have something to show him in order to lure him somewhere private so that Sebastien and his Bow Street cohorts could arrest him without causing a scene. She should have known he wouldn’t be trapped so easily.
She dropped the letter to the side and gave Oliver a weak smile. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
She raced back up the servants’ stairs, slipped into the dowager duchess’s library, and found the packet of letters in the desk. They were nothing but dull military reports, but the Cyrillic text and official look of them might fool Vasili’s man.
Unfortunately, they wouldn’t fool Vasili. As soon as he opened them, he would realize they weren’t the incriminating evidence he was after. Anya didn’t want to think what he would do to Elizaveta then. She needed to find a way to get her friend released before Vasili discovered he was being duped.
She stuffed the letters into the pocket of her skirts and returned to find Oliver still pacing below stairs.
“What does the letter say? Where are you going?” he demanded.
She grabbed a paring knife from the side. “To meet Petrov’s man in the stables. Don’t worry,” she said with far more confidence than she felt. “I’ll get Elizaveta back safely.”
She would show the envoy the fake documents but refuse to hand them over until Elizaveta was released unharmed.
“Will you give me your jacket?”
Oliver frowned, but did as she asked, and she slipped the oversize garment over her dress and tucked the knife into the sagging pocket.
“Surely you don’t mean to go alone?”
“I must. Petrov was very specific.”
Oliver swore even as she brushed past him. Lagrasse and Mrs. MacDougall were still quibbling over crème patissière, but Anya hurried past the kitchen and out into the mews yard. To her dismay, Jem Barnes, one of Wolff’s Bow Street urchins, skulked out of the darkness as she entered the stables, silent as a cat.
“Oi, Princess, where d’ye think you’re goin’? Wolff left orders you was to stay inside.”
Anya cursed silently. How to get rid of him? Eclipse’s inquisitive black nose appeared over the door of one of the stalls, and he gave a soft whicker of welcome. She sent the young man a confiding smile.
“I just came out here for a few minutes alone. It’s so hot in the ballroom. I was going to talk to Eclipse.”
Jem scrunched up his face. “Funny fing fer a princess to do.” He sent a glance down at her glittering skirts beneath Oliver’s outsize coat. “Ye’ll get yer dress all dirty.” He shrugged, as if the decisions of the upper classes were ever incomprehensible. “Well, I can’t leave you alone, anyways. Wolff’d ’ave me guts fer garters.”
Anya had to admire the lad’s dedication, even if it was inconvenient. She’d just opened her mouth to tell him some story when a dark shape loomed out of the shadows behind him. Jem must have seen her horrified expression because he started to turn, but it was too late: Vasili Petrov dealt him a sickening blow to the side of the