Petrov’s body on the floor.
“Well, I’m not doing it. I left Georgie back at the ball with no explanation at all. She thinks I’m getting a drink. She’ll throttle me if I don’t get back soon.”
“Same,” Alex muttered. “Emmy hates it when I go on adventures without her.”
Seb let out an irritated exhale. “Fine. You two go back to the ball and claim your wives. Tell Dorothea that Anya is safe, but needs to recover at the Tricorn.”
He turned to address the ancient priest, who’d draped a handkerchief over Petrov’s lifeless face. “Father, I’ll leave you to deal with your countryman. You may take him back to Russia or arrange for a burial here, at your discretion. Count Petrov is no longer of interest to His Majesty’s government.”
He had no idea how much the old man understood, but at that moment, he didn’t particularly care. He needed to get Anya back to the Tricorn as quickly as possible. He strode out of the cabin and down the gangplank, taking care not to jostle her any more than necessary. Her shallow breathing and flushed cheeks worried him more than he cared to admit, and his stomach churned in panic. She was so small. What if she’d taken a fatal dose?
Realizing he’d have to surrender his precious burden in order to mount Eclipse, he gently transferred her into her brother’s arms and vaulted into the saddle, then beckoned for Denisov to pass her back up to him. He settled her across his lap, her head tucked in the crook of his arm, and tightened his hold protectively.
Ben, Alex, and the friend all descended the gangplank.
“Perhaps you should transport the princess back to the Tricorn in the carriage?” Alex suggested, pointing to the nondescript hack still waiting outside the dockside tavern. “That way, Prince Denisov can ride with you.” His eyes sparkled with devilry; he’d correctly guessed Seb’s unwillingness to share Anya, even with her own brother.
Seb scowled down at him. “It’ll take too long. She needs to be in bed. The prince can take your horse.”
Alex lifted his brows. “And what about me?”
“You take the carriage.” Seb tipped his chin toward Anya’s friend. “Miss Ivanova needs to be escorted back to Grosvenor Square. We left her fiancé at the ball.”
Alex sighed in reluctant assent, and Benedict nodded. “I’ll ride behind you, Alex.”
Alex surrendered his horse, a handsome bay named Cadiz, to the prince, who mounted with all the ease of a man accustomed to the saddle. Seb’s stomach clenched as he recalled Anya, in her stable boy’s clothes, mounting in just such an effortless way. He waited with barely concealed impatience as Denisov tied a handkerchief around his forearm to staunch the flow of blood from his bullet wound.
“Come on,” Seb said. “Let’s go.”
The ride back to the Tricorn seemed endless. Seb spurred Eclipse as fast as he dared through the darkened streets, willing Anya to wake, but she remained distressingly still in his arms. He swallowed a rare feeling of helplessness.
He found himself remembering the first time she’d shared a horse with him, back on Hounslow Heath. He’d tensed in exquisite agony when her small hands had grasped his waist, dangerously close to the betraying bulge in his breeches. She’d been so prickly then, so full of life.
He glanced down at her now. The contrast was worrying. He pressed his lips to her hair, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume. It made his stomach twist. He let out a shaky breath and grasped the reins tightly, holding her steady in the crook of his arm. If only she were some fairy princess, like in her book of Russian tales, to be woken from her slumber with a kiss.
As soon as they reached the Tricorn, he shouted for Mickey.
“She drank Lagrasse’s sleeping draught,” he explained, striding down the hall. “Go and see if he has something to help. Quickly. I don’t know how much she’s taken.”
Mickey gave an unhappy grunt and lumbered off.
Seb mounted the stairs and kicked open the door his own rooms with his foot. Denisov was close behind him, but Seb didn’t give a damn about the propriety of it. He wanted her in his bed. He laid Anya down and started to unlace the ribbons that secured her dress, and sent Denisov a challenging glare. “Her corset will restrict her breathing. It needs to be loosened.”
Denisov nodded in agreement, and Seb uttered a prayer of thanks that the man was going to be sensible. The last thing