downstairs saying he’d slapped her. He said she wanted it rough, and he got carried away, but Tess says she never agreed to that. I told him to leave.” Charlotte frowned. “Do you know him?”
“I know he had a bad reputation with women back in St. Petersburg,” Anya said with perfect truth, deftly dodging the direct question. “I’m glad you told him he wasn’t welcome.”
She forced a breezy smile to her lips and pretended to dismiss the subject of her boorish countryman—as if he wasn’t the very reason she was being forced to leave.
“I came to tell you I’m going to spend some time in the country with the dowager duchess. A few weeks, I expect. Will you keep an eye on Elizaveta for me? I don’t like the thought of her staying in the apartment alone.”
Charlotte’s face softened into a smile. “Of course I will. Don’t worry about her. And I doubt she’ll be spending too much time alone, with that lawyer of hers to keep her company.” Charlotte’s arch smile indicated she approved of that particular liaison.
“Thank you,” Anna breathed. “Now, I must go and pack. The dowager wants to leave right away. Tell Tess to keep practicing her reading!”
As she mounted the stairs to her own apartment, Anya’s stomach still churned at the uncomfortably close call. The fact that Petrov was in Covent Garden and looking for Russian girls didn’t bode well. Had he somehow picked up her scent?
She packed a small travelling bag, noting with detached amusement that she could now fit everything she needed into one small receptacle. When she’d travelled from St. Petersburg to Paris, she’d had at least fifteen trunks of various clothes, shoes, and other accessories. Sometimes she missed having such a frivolous, expensive wardrobe, but she was also proud of the way she’d learned to economize since coming to London. She’d become adept at haggling with the market traders for the best price, at wearing her dresses for more than one paltry season.
When Elizaveta finally returned, she told her about Petrov’s unexpected appearance.
“What a dreadful coincidence!” Elizaveta murmured, aghast. “Imagine if he’d seen you.”
Anya nodded. “Far too close for comfort. Which is why I’m going with the dowager to Oxfordshire. No chance of accidentally running into him there.”
“Do you want me to come? I’m sure I could ask work if—”
“No need. I doubt Petrov would recognize you, even if he saw you. And I know how much you’re enjoying Oliver’s company.” Anya laughed at Elizaveta’s furious blush and gave her a fond hug. “It’ll be deadly dull, I promise. No plays, no noisy operas. You’ll have much more fun here.” She leaned back and fixed her friend with a serious stare. “But please, be careful. We both know what he’s capable of.”
Elizaveta nodded. “You too, my love.”
Anya kept a sharp lookout for Vasili, or anyone else, following her, as she walked the half mile back to Grosvenor Square, but detected nothing out of the ordinary. She found the dowager ready to leave.
“You look worried, child. Whatever is the matter?” The dowager’s eyes were as shrewd and as inquiring as a raven’s.
“Count Petrov was in Covent Garden. He was asking questions of my neighbor, Mrs. Haye. I’m worried that he’s somehow discovered where I live.”
The dowager rose to her feet with the aid of her favorite silver-topped walking cane. “I can’t see how he would have managed that, my dear. But I say it’s a good thing we’re headed into the country, hmm? Better safe than sorry.”
Anya nodded. “Are you sure you still want to go? I don’t want to put you in any danger.”
The dowager snorted. “Oh, pish. A bit of danger would add a welcome dash of excitement to my life, let me tell you.” She nodded to Mellors, her stone-faced majordomo, as he opened the door and helped her into the waiting carriage. “Thank you, Mellors. Now come along, Miss Brown.”
English carriages were not at all like Russian troikas. For one thing, they were completely enclosed. Anya climbed up into the luxuriously appointed interior and smiled in delight. Her luggage, what little of it there was, had been stowed in the exterior box by the duchess’s burly coachman, John.
The sky promised snow, or at the very least rain. The duchess drew a fur-lined travel rug across her lap and leaned back against the velvet seat. Anya placed her feet on the warm brick on the floor and tugged the edges of her favorite Russian travelling cloak around her. It