Seduced By The Prince's Kiss (Russian Royals 0f Kuban Book 4)

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘You can’t do this!’ Anna argued, wrestling with the poor lieutenant, who found it awkward to be confronted with laying hands on a woman. Stepan didn’t envy the lieutenant. Anna struggled towards him, reaching for him, but Stepan held himself apart from her. He would not make it easy for her to touch him. He would break if she did. He needed all of his stoic reserve now. This was his penance for flying too close to the sun, for believing love could be for him.

  ‘Let me say goodbye!’ Anna sobbed. ‘Please, one minute is all.’

  ‘Use two hands if you need to, Lieutenant, but get her out of here!’ Denning barked impatiently. ‘She’s a spitfire, she won’t break if you handle her.’

  ‘Let me see him, you bastard!’ Anna spat in Denning’s face. Stepan would have laughed if it hadn’t hurt his lips. He would remember this, his last glimpse of Anna, defiant and fighting, and most important, safe. He’d bought her freedom with his life. The price was well worth it.

  ‘That’s Captain Bastard to you, Miss Petrova. Call me anything you like. They are only names.’ Denning wiped his cheek.

  ‘Stepan!’ She appealed to him as the guard hauled her past. He risked one final look at her, letting his eyes lock on her, letting his mind imprint this last picture of her hair falling down, the scarlet of her gown matching her own ferocity, her whisky eyes flashing. There was fight and fury in his Anna and no quitting. He would carry the image with him to the gallows and it would sustain him.

  The lieutenant clapped the irons over his hands and led him off. He did not resist: not in the wagon for the short trip to the barracks, not when they shoved him in a dark cell and locked the door. There was no reason to. Compliance bought her safety and her freedom. Resistance could ruin it all. The last thing he wanted was for Denning to renege and bring her back when he was behind bars with nothing left to barter for her. They’d both be at Denning’s mercy then.

  He’d seen a taste of what that mercy would look like tonight when they’d dragged him into the cabin. There’d been a horrible moment of seeing Denning draw Anna to him, her body a shield, and the glimpse of Denning’s trousers already down. The moment had lasted only a second but it was long enough to make Stepan wonder if Denning had wanted him to see it, wanted him to know Anna was entirely at his mercy and he was impotent to stop it. That was the moment he’d decided to trade himself for Anna. If Anna stayed, Denning would have her.

  That tragedy had been averted, no need to dwell on what had not come to pass. Instead, he kept his thoughts firmly fixed on Anna: how she’d felt against him last night, soft and feminine; how she’d moved beneath him on the soft bed, her little moans catching in her throat as she took her pleasure, their bodies still damp from the bath; and when the cell grew cold and he shivered, he thought of that bath. Was it really only last night that he’d known such exquisite peace? Embraced such impossible possibility, that he could love this woman and she could love him and they might manage to make a life together?

  ‘Tell me we’ll go tonight. I am sure they have injustice in America.’

  He could almost hear her laugh as she said it. He should have kept sailing. They could have sold the cargo in the Caribbean...

  ‘On your feet, Shevchenko.’ Denning’s key rattled in the lock. The fantasies would have to be delayed. ‘Your hour is up.’ Stepan struggled to his feet and smiled, content in knowing that Anna-Maria was nearly to Little Westbury and the safety of Dimitri’s home. He could see the oft-travelled road in his mind, winding north and west away from Shoreham.

  * * *

  Anna flew down the road on a horse the colour of moonlight, her heart in her throat, tears drying on her cheeks. A thousand what ifs assailed her. What if she hadn’t ordered the champagne? What if Denning hadn’t popped the cork? What if she’d kept the men dancing? Would anyone have heard the cask drop? Would the cargo be safely stowed in the warehouse and Denning foiled? Would Stepan have come back to the table, immaculate and blameless? She didn’t know, just as she didn’t know precisely what had happened on deck, why the fighting had started, what had the dropped cask triggered that had resulted in violence.

  Whatever it was, the game must have been up, or Stepan would not have tipped his hand with brawling. He had been outnumbered, which boded ill. Knowing Stepan, he had chosen to fight to secure the crew’s’ escape. She knew very little, only that Denning had Stepan and, very shortly, Denning would have Stepan’s confession and the right to execute him all because the foolish man had traded himself for her. The thought made her stomach clench, Denning’s vivid description of what the execution would look like coming hard and fast to mind. Anna leaned over the horse and vomited on to the road. Stepan dead. She swayed, dizzy with the thought of it. She had to get herself together. She had to make Stepan’s sacrifice worthwhile.

  There’d been no choice. He was doomed, he might as well have made his last free act worthwhile, to use himself while he still had value to barter. Even amid her tears, she knew that much was true. For her to stay meant utter defeat. With both of them taken, there’d have been no hope. As long she was free, though... That idea sparked deep inside her. Had Stepan set her free to go for help?

  But who? And where would help of the kind she needed come from? She needed a man who outranked military captains, a man who could pardon criminals and overturn sentences, a man who was above the law if he chose. She knew men like that in Kuban, men who could help, but not here, and because of that, Stepan would die. The tears started anew and she shivered in the night. She’d never felt so alone since they’d left Kuban. She was nothing here.

  She reined in the horse at the fork in the road, staring dumbly at the crude sign illuminated by the moonlight. A turn north-east would take her to London, a turn north-west would take her home to Dimitri—her brother and her rock. He would solve this. She’d run to him with every trouble she’d ever faced in life and he’d patiently untangled each trouble with her. He’d even stood between her and the arranged marriage to the Pasha’s son, offering himself instead in marriage to the man’s daughter.

  To the north-west lay the certainty that Dimitri would stand in the breach for her and for his old friend again if she asked. Stepan had rescued his family for him and he would return the favour as best he could. Dimitri was a willing warrior, but in her gut, Anna knew this time her brother wouldn’t be enough. Neither could she ask it of him. He was a husband now and a father. This was not Kuban. Dimitri was not a prince here with power, as Denning had so cruelly pointed out tonight. Dimitri would be an obstructer of justice, a man who could be thrown in jail.

  Anna gathered her courage and turned the horse to the north-east, to London. She would follow the road and pick up the River Darent on its winding course to the Thames. She didn’t know exactly where London was, only that the Darent fed the Thames and that London was a half-day’s ride, or in this case a half-night’s ride if she didn’t blow the horse, ride him into a pothole, or any other myriad crises that could befall a rider in the dark.

  Anna considered it. She’d need more than half a night. Travel in the dark was slower. It had been just past nine o’clock when she’d left. She would make London by sunrise, she would find Preston Worth and she would drag him back to Shoreham if she had to. He was the one person she knew in this new world who could make a difference. She could have him back in Shoreham by the afternoon. Surely, that would be soon enough. Surely, Denning couldn’t just hang Stepan. There had to be a trial, some kind of procedure to follow. She kicked the horse, managing a trot while the moon was high. She would have enough time, she had to. She loved Stepan. She couldn’t lose him now.

  * * *

  ‘Anna-Maria! What are you doing here? My dear girl, what has happened to you?’ Beatrice Worth took one look at the red gown and wrapped an arm about her, ushering her inside the wide entrance hall of Worth House.

  ‘Wait.’ Anna’s teeth chattered. ‘My horse,’ She made a tired gestur
e to where the mud-splattered animal stood with a street urchin.

  ‘Your horse?’ Beatrice’s eyes widened. She called for a footman who sped down the steps to take care of it. ‘Where did you ride from?’ Beatrice was dressed for the morning and smells of breakfast wafted from somewhere deep inside the house. It had taken longer than Anna’d hoped to find the Worths and London had been far more vast than she’d imagined.

  ‘From Shoreham—something terrible has happened.’ She was starting to shake, her legs too rubbery to hold her. She clutched at Beatrice and began to fall, the night, the cold, the journey, her emotions taking their toll. Then a solid force was there beside Beatrice, scooping her up in strong arms, calling for blankets and tea. She let herself collapse for just a moment. She’d found Preston Worth. Her task was half-complete. Now all she had to do was persuade him to intervene.

  Beatrice pressed a cup of tea into her hand and settled a blanket at her shoulders, both of them patient as she told her story. ‘I am sorry about your house,’ she concluded, wondering if she’d made the right choice after all. Preston Worth was a prevention officer. He might decide Stepan had gotten what he deserved for smuggling, friend of the family or not. ‘I’m sorry about your dress, too,’ she added, looking nervously at Beatrice.

  Beatrice grasped her hands. ‘Don’t worry about such a silly thing. You’ve been incredibly brave.’ Too bad it wasn’t Beatrice she had to persuade, Anna thought. Beatrice had been so welcoming, so concerned, even now with the truth laid out between them. But Preston remained silent.

  ‘He’s smuggling vodka and spices?’ Preston clarified. ‘Out of the caves beneath my estate?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was no way to evade the truth. She debated saying more, pleading Stepan’s case one more time, but she stayed silent. Worth struck her as a man who gave his decisions great thought. She had to be patient and give him the time to think.

  ‘I’ve never liked Denning the few times I’ve met him for work,’ he said at last. ‘To give that man free rein is to invite disaster. I wouldn’t want anyone at his mercy, especially not children.’ He shook his head. ‘But the smuggling...’

  Anna knew what he was thinking. How did he reconcile going against a man who was on the same side? He was a prevention officer. Beatrice broke in, quietly, respectfully, with a powerful opinion. ‘This isn’t about arms deals and wars, and the sort of men you chase down, Preston, men like Cabot Roan. This is about local people trying to survive in an economy that doesn’t favour them. You’ve said yourself that there needs to be a better way. Until there is, decent men are at the mercy of unjust laws.’

  Preston looked at his wife and Anna felt something intangible move between them, a great understanding known only to them. ‘Bea, Stepan broke the law.’

  Beatrice nodded. ‘An unjust law and Denning is subverting the law. What do you think Denning’s justice will accomplish? Peace? A restoration of order? Nothing was ever out of order until he came.’

  ‘Please—’ Anna could remain silent no longer ‘—I love him.’ And love it seemed was of a higher order for Preston Worth than laws and justice.

  Preston rose, decision emanating from every pore. ‘If Denning is indeed circumventing the law in his practices, we might stand a chance.’ He gave Anna a sharp look. ‘We bring only a paper sword to this fight, you have to understand that. But I will try.’ To Beatrice he said, ‘We have to go right away. I’ll call for horses and the carriage. Have Matthew and whatever you need for the journey ready in an hour.’

  ‘I can ride.’ Anna-Maria tried to rise from the sofa, but her legs wouldn’t hold even as relief swamped her. Preston would help.

  Preston fixed her with a stern, scolding stare. ‘No, you can’t. But you can ride in the carriage with Bea and my son. Meanwhile, we have troops to rally. I’ll send a note to Nikolay Baklanov asking for his assistance and a rider with a note to your brother and the others in Little Westbury: Liam and Jonathan.’ He smiled, his eyes softening a little. ‘We’ll bring our own army with us: a soldier, a diplomat, a knight of the realm and a prince or two. An impressive coterie. Denning will think twice about calling our bluff.’

  Beatrice put her arm around Anna. ‘We’ll do all we can. The Worth name is powerful. You love him. I can see it in your face.’

  ‘With all my heart.’ Anna felt her lip tremble, her body giving way to exhaustion. ‘It just hurts so bad.’

  ‘I know, my dear girl, I know.’ Beatrice held her close and Anna prayed the Worth name would be powerful enough to stop the hangman’s noose.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The sun came up slowly, fingers of daylight playing around the small window set high in the cell. Stepan had always associated daylight with hope. But not today. Every moment the cell grew brighter, hope faded, not that there had ever been any or that he’d wanted there to be any. He would face this day not with hope or with despair, but somewhere in between; with resignation. This was what he deserved for reaching too high, for hoping to claim love when he’d known better. The recriminations he’d heaped on himself in the night did not go away in the light of day, they merely reasserted themselves, gnawing at his conscience.

  Stepan lifted his face to the shards of light and closed his eyes, taking himself miles from dampness and shackles to a room with pink-chintz chairs and white curtains pulled back from a window, a dark-haired woman asleep in a soft bed, hair spread on a pillow. He could see Anna waking, safe and warm. The sad ache in his heart relaxed as he let the vision take him. He put himself into the picture. He would rise from the chair and go to her. He would lie down beside her and tuck her up against him, his arm wrapped about her, resting possessively low on her abdomen. He would breathe her in and she would murmur his name. He would take her from behind then in a languorous joining.

  ‘Are you dreaming about her, about your girl, milord?’ Joseph’s quiet voice interrupted the fantasy from the one cot. Denning had brought the boys in late last night. For collateral, Stepan thought.

  He opened his eyes slowly, reluctant to come back to reality. ‘How do you feel this morning?’ Joseph had been barely able to walk last night.

  Joseph gave a wan smile. ‘I am sore.’ He shivered. ‘And cold.’

  Stepan had worried about that fever and festering from the lashes. ‘I will try to get a blanket for you.’ How he would do that, he had no idea. He sat down next to the boy, attempting to share his warmth until then, not that he had much warmth of his own to offer.

  ‘Do you think your girl will bring help?’ Joseph asked.

  ‘No,’ was all Stepan said and the two sat in silence. This was the dilemma he’d grappled with through the long night. Did he hope Anna would get help? Or did he hope she went home and accepted fate? He’d not set Anna free for her to risk herself. Images of Anna riding in the dark had kept him awake last night. He imagined her falling off the horse, the horse hurting himself in a hole, Anna lost and at the mercy of highwaymen.

  Joseph gave a disappointed sigh beside him. ‘I thought she loved you, milord.’

  ‘She does,’ Stepan replied. It was because she loved him that she would not try such a dangerous stunt. She would go home to Dimitri and keep herself safe. In time her heart would heal and she would find someone else to love. His would never heal, but that hardly mattered. His ‘never’ would be far shorter than hers.

  And yet his hope had not wanted to die so easily. He’d had to bludgeon it to death with blows of cruel reality. ‘Even if she went for help, Joseph, who would she find? Who would come?’ Those questions had been the death knell for his hopes. He’d spent hours in the night systematically using the sharp edge of that reality to slash through his short list of friends.

  No one would come.

  There was Dimitri, who probably hated him now that he’d sent the man’s sister home ruined and in the middle of the night. If Dimitri did come he could do nothing. He was a man witho
ut power here. He could only make things worse.

  The others were too far away, as well. Ruslan was living incognito in France with his bride. Illarion and Dove were on a never-ending honeymoon somewhere in Europe. Maybe. They could be in Japan for all he knew. Perhaps Preston Worth would come, somehow learning a smuggler had set up shop in his house. But that was hardly a promising outlet. Worth would side with Denning.

  There was Nikolay, who was in London, but still too far away. Nikolay was oblivious to all of this, as he should be. His wife was expecting a child this spring. The thought of restless, reckless Nikolay becoming a father brought a faint smile to his lips. He would not see the child. Denning would have dispatched him long before Klara gave birth. Stepan hoped it was a son. Nikolay deserved a son to ride with, to practise swordplay with. His heart clenched at those images. How long had he himself longed for a father to do those things with? Nikolay’s son would be lucky. That boy would have the dream. Might he have had a son of his own one day?

  That was a dangerous thought. He’d been careful with Anna, but not as careful as he might have been. It had never occurred to him not to marry her once he’d taken her to bed. Regardless of his misgivings, honour was honour. He’d meant to discuss it with Anna the next morning, but the morning had taken a very different direction than the one he’d intended. It was possible Anna was carrying his child, their child. The thought warmed him. A piece of him might indeed be left behind.

  ‘Do you think it will be today, milord?’ Joseph stirred, moving closer to him, shivering. Stepan wished he had his hands free so he could hold the boy. He would take his coat off and wrap him in it.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Stepan said with a confidence he didn’t feel. He simply didn’t know. Denning might let them linger for weeks, he might even give them a trial if the man’s conscience woke up in time. Then again, Denning might just do it today and make a timely example of them to suit his purposes.

  Across the cell, Oliver woke up against the wall. ‘Does hanging hurt very long?’