it? In fact, now that he thought back on it, he hadn’t actually proposed. He’d just told her they were expected to marry. No woman wanted to hear that. Especially not one as stubborn and determined to forge her own destiny as Anya. No wonder she’d turned him down.
He’d do a better job next time. He’d tell her all the reasons he wanted to marry her. Like the fact that he loved the way she challenged him. That he loved her strength and her arrogance, her humor and her wit. Not to mention that he’d never met anyone he desired more. One night with her had merely whetted his appetite. He wanted her in every way he could think of, and a hundred more besides.
“If that bastard hurts one hair on her head, he’s a dead man,” Seb growled to nobody in particular.
He kicked his heels to Eclipse’s sides and remembered the first time he’d ridden into battle for her. He hadn’t known it at the time, but he’d met his very own Waterloo on Hounslow Heath, in the shape of a lying, irresistible Russian blueblood.
Alex sat straighter in the saddle as they finally neared Blackwall docks. “Hoi. You remember that Russian who was killed? The other Orlov? The tavern where it happened is just over there. Ten to one Petrov had something to do with it.”
Fear stabbed Seb’s chest like shards of ice, and he breathed a plea to the frigid night air.
Hold on, Anya. I’m coming.
Chapter 35.
Anya was roused by a sharp slap on her cheek. She opened her eyes and peered groggily out of the coach window. They had come to a stop. She could see the blurry lights and the swinging sign of a tavern, hear the whores lounging in the shadows shouting obscene comments, the catcalls from the drunks who milled around. Her heart sank. This was not a good area.
Vasili caught her arm and pulled her out of the carriage, and she stumbled on the step, still dazed.
The huge, hulking shape of a ship loomed above her, and she frowned up in confusion. She must be at the docks. She squinted to read the painted nameplate on the side of the vessel: Suvarov.
Trust Vasili to have commandeered a ship named after a famous Russian military hero, she thought bitterly. Even in his choice of vessel, he craved reflected glory. She shook her head, trying to clear it. Her cheek hurt.
The dark shapes of two men were visible up on the deck, one at each end of the ship, and a huge figure in the distinctive fur-banded hat and long overcoat of a Cossack stood guard at the bottom of the gangplank. Anya immediately discounted him as a potential source of help. His expression was blank, with not a hint of interest in her plight.
Vasili hustled her forward. Her legs were shaking so badly, she could barely stagger up the inclined planks, but the weight of the paring knife in the pocket of her jacket gave her courage. At least Vasili hadn’t searched her while she was unconscious. Small mercy.
They reached the deck. Anya slid her hand into her pocket and jerked away from Vasili’s grip.
“Where’s Elizaveta?”
She pulled the kitchen knife from the pocket and brandished it in front of her, painfully aware of how ridiculous a weapon it must appear.
Vasili laughed in genuine amusement. “Truly? You think to threaten me with that?” He reached behind him, pulled a pistol from beneath his jacket, and pointed it directly at her chest. “Drop it.”
With a silent curse, she allowed the pathetic weapon to clatter onto the deck.
Vasili’s gaze flicked to her skirts, at the silvery material visible beneath the oversize jacket. “Now remove that coat.”
Anya shrugged out of Oliver’s jacket. The cool night air raised goose bumps on her skin, but when Vasili’s greedy gaze slithered over her exposed chest, she shuddered in revulsion.
He smirked. “I see you’re dressed for the occasion. How fortunate.” With the gun still trained on her, he used his left hand to open the door set into the space beneath the upper deck. “Into the cabin.”
With no choice but to obey, Anya lifted her chin high and swept inside. She glanced around frantically. A table for maps filled the center of the room, with a padded bench built along one wall, but her attention went immediately to the doorway at the far end. Elizaveta, her hands bound in front of her, was seated on a small cot bed.
She stumbled to her