The Princess and the Rogue (Bow Street Bachelors #3) - Kate Bateman Page 0,84
hard against the wall.
“What the hell’s going on here? Where’s Anya? Who are you?”
“Oliver Reynolds,” the man gasped, raising his palms in a gesture of surrender. “I’m a barrister. Don’t hit me! I’m engaged to Elizaveta Ivanova. A friend of the princess.” He gestured down at Jem. “I found him like that.”
Jem exhaled a low groan and rolled over onto his side. He clutched the back of his head, and when he pulled his hand away, it was coated in blood.
Seb released the man and dropped to Jem’s side. “Stay still, lad. You need a doctor.” He glared up at Reynolds. “Where’s the princess? I told her not to leave the bloody house.”
The skinny man swallowed hard. “She came out here to meet a messenger from Count Petrov. He’s taken my fiancée.”
“He took her too,” Jem muttered groggily. “The princess. Couldn’t stop ’im.”
A cold wash of terror froze Seb’s blood. “Petrov has her? Where’s he taking her?”
“I don’t know,” Reynolds groaned. “Maybe there’s something in there?” He indicated the letter that was still crumpled in Seb’s fist.
Seb gazed down at the meaningless squiggles and was filled with impotent fury. “Who speaks Russian?”
Jem and Reynolds sent him identical blank looks. He raced back inside, angrily aware that he couldn’t just burst into the ballroom like a wild man.
“Mellors, bring me Prince Trubetskoi or the Russian ambassador, Lieven, to the pink salon,” he ordered. “Immediately. And Lords Harland and Wylde too.”
The majordomo nodded, his expression inscrutable, and Seb wondered what it would take to discompose the man. Nothing short of Armageddon, probably.
He caught sight of Anya’s tiara lying abandoned on the side table and a shaft of terror pierced his heart. She should have kept it with her, to remind Petrov of her elevated position. To underline the wrath that would rain down upon his head if he hurt her.
Prince Trubetskoi stepped into the room. “You wished to see me, Lord Mowbray?”
Seb scrutinized the other man closely. Petrov was a friend of Trubetskoi. For all he knew, the prince could have been the one feeding Petrov sensitive information. They could be in league together, but it was a risk he had to take. He had to trust the man would translate the letter accurately.
“I need you to read this aloud. In English. Now.”
Trubetskoi did so, his face a picture of shock when he comprehended the contents. “Who wrote this?
“Count Vasili Petrov. He believes the princess has evidence that he’s been spying for the French since before Waterloo.”
The prince shook his head in astonishment. “I can scarcely believe it. I’ve known him for years. I always knew he was ambitious, but I had no idea he was capable of such wickedness. This practically admits there are incriminating documents.”
“It does. But I don’t care about that. He’s taken the princess. My princess.” Seb turned to leave. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
Alex and Benedict entered the library and sent him twin inquiring glances.
“I’m off to Bow Street,” Seb said.
“Now? What’s going on?”
“Petrov has the princess, but I don’t know where he’s taking her. The prisoner we’re holding in the cells will know, though.”
“The one who tried to snatch her from the Tricorn? He’s refused to say anything for the past week,” Alex cautioned.
Seb lowered his brows. “We clearly haven’t been persuasive enough. I’ll make him talk. Are you with me?”
Neither Alex nor Ben hesitated. “Of course.”
“Then let’s go.”
“I have pistols in my carriage,” Alex offered, hard on Seb’s heels as they clattered down the kitchen steps.
“Me too,” Benedict added.
“Good,” Seb said grimly. “You’re going to need them.”
A murderous fury slid through his veins as he headed for the stables. He was going to find Petrov and put a bullet through the blackmailing bastard once and for all. His trusty Baker was back at the Tricorn, but he had a pistol in his saddlebag. It would have to do.
The ride from Grosvenor Square to Bow Street didn’t take long, especially at a gallop, and soon Seb was greeting the night officer on watch at number three.
“Evening, George. We need another talk with our Russian guest.”
The prisoner blinked in sleepy confusion when Seb, Alex, and Ben barged into his cell. Bypassing the usual preliminaries, Seb reached down, hauled him off the hard pallet, and smashed him hard against the wall.
“Where were you supposed to take the princess?”
The Russian sent him a cocky smirk. “Petrov has her, does he?”
Seb punched him in the stomach, and the man doubled over with a surprised “oof.” The chains around his wrists prevented