The Princess and the Rogue (Bow Street Bachelors #3) - Kate Bateman Page 0,85

him from retaliating. Seb bent and whispered in his ear, ignoring the rancid smell of the man’s unwashed body.

“I’ll ask you one more time. Where. Is. The. Princess?”

The Russian shook his head stubbornly, and Seb let out a sigh of irritation. “I don’t have time for this.” He turned to Ben and Alex, who were flanking the door. “If he’s not going to tell us anything, there’s no need to keep him alive. Agreed?”

Alex merely shrugged, going along with Seb’s bluff, and Ben did the same. Seb sent up a grateful prayer for having such intelligent friends. Both of them knew he’d never actually kill a man in custody, however great the provocation, but the Russian didn’t know that.

The Cossack let out a surprised gasp. “What? You can’t shoot me.”

“Oh, I can,” Seb growled. “Here in England, lords like us can do pretty much anything we like. If you die, I doubt we’ll get more than a slap on the wrist. In fact, Sir Nathaniel will probably thank me for not burdening Newgate with another inmate.”

Ben gave a dry chuckle. “He’s doing you a favor, believe me. I’ve spent some time in Newgate. Death is better.”

Alex gave an amused snort.

Seb withdrew his pistol, a lead ball, and a powder flask from his jacket pocket, and proceeded to load the weapon with brisk efficiency.

The Russian gave a strangled, disbelieving cry and retreated to the far corner of the cell, his hands raised in front of him in a paltry defense. “Wait!”

Seb poured an exact measure of powder into the pistol’s pan and shook his head as if confused. “I just don’t understand why you’d stay loyal to someone like Petrov. Do you think he cares about you? He’s left you in here to rot for the last week, hasn’t he?” He paused to let that sink in, then gave a nonchalant shrug. “If it’s any consolation, it’ll be quick. I’m an excellent shot.”

“The best,” Ben chimed in. “You should have seen him in Portugal. He could hit a target at two hundred yards with a wicked crosswind.”

“Thank you.” Seb sent him a dry nod of acknowledgment and turned back to the prisoner. “Now, would you prefer the head or the heart?” He lifted the pistol, pulled back the hammer, and levelled it smoothly. His arm didn’t waver an inch.

“His ship!” the Russian shouted desperately.

Seb tilted his head. “I’m listening.”

“Petrov wanted me to take her back to his ship,” the Russian continued quickly. “The Suvarov. It’s moored at Blackwall docks. That’s all I know.”

Seb lowered the pistol. The Russian slid down the wall in relief, and Seb took a savage satisfaction in the wet stain that spread across the front of the man’s breeches as he pissed himself. He glanced at his friends. “Let’s go.”

Five minutes later, they were heading east along Piccadilly as quickly as the evening traffic would allow. Seb cursed every slow-moving carriage and late-night reveler who crossed his path.

A pounding need to hurt, to punish Petrov, coursed through him, along with a terrible spike of fear. His lack of control over this situation made him want to scream. He had to get to Anya. To protect her. God, she’d already braved and suffered so much in her life.

“Why a ship?” Alex asked as they slowed for a barrel-filled brewer’s wagon. “Do you think he’s planning to take her back to Russia?”

Seb growled at the mere thought. “Maybe. He wants to marry her. Not just for her money, but to guarantee her silence.”

“That’s it, then,” Ben said. “Since they’re not Church of England, he can’t wed her here. I bet he needs a Russian Orthodox priest to make it legal.”

“Maybe he’s found one in London,” Alex suggested. “Maybe he has one on board? That’s what I’d do if I—”

Seb snapped, “Stop talking and ride.”

The thought of Anya married to Petrov made him want to break things. Bones, mainly. She belonged with him, damn it. He’d rather die than see her with another man, let alone a blackmailing bastard like that. If anyone was going to marry her, it would bloody well be him.

A sense of calm acceptance slid over him as he registered the truth of that thought.

He wanted to marry her.

He wanted her in whatever guise she chose to adopt, whether it be princess, dowager’s companion, or courtesan.

He would rescue her from Petrov, prove he was worthy of her, and ask for her hand again.

True, she’d refused him once, but his first proposal hadn’t been the best, had