“What of you?”
The maid’s smile widened, a twinkle entering her eyes. “Pyotr mentioned he had a tear in his coat. I told him I would come to his room and darn it for him.”
Leonida blinked in surprise. “Sophy.”
“If we are to be trapped in Paris for days on end then at least I should enjoy a few hours of harmless flirtation.”
“Indeed.” Leonida’s heart twisted with something perilously close to envy. Harmless flirtation. It was something a woman in her position could never comprehend. Most gentlemen regarded her as a prize to be won for political gain, and the one man who had truly seen her as a woman desirable in her own right now must hold her in utter contempt. She determinedly shook off the dark thoughts and summoned a weak smile. “Enjoy yourself.”
With a wink, Sophy left the room.
Left on her own, Leonida briefly considered a short stroll, only to have common sense convince her to climb the stairs to her chamber. The delay of repairing her carriage could not last forever. Until then she would be a fool to risk exposure.
Digging the key from her tiny silk bag, she entered the room and shut the door behind her. Perhaps a hot bath would not be such a bad notion. It would at least give her the opportunity to remove the revolting gown.
She had just stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind her when a hand clamped painfully over her mouth and she was jerked against a hard male body.
Shock held her motionless, shards of fear piercing her heart as an arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her back tightly wedged against the solid muscles. Then a familiar, exotically male scent teased at her nose as the intruder leaned down to whisper in her ear.
“Did you truly believe you could steal from me and simply slip away, my dove?”
Stefan.
She shivered, a combination of disbelief, fury and a painful awareness battling for supremacy.
No, this was not possible. She struggled against his ruthless grasp, refusing to contemplate the last time she had been held in his arms.
Not surprisingly, he did not allow her to escape, although his hand shifted from her mouth to wrap around her throat.
“Let me go.”
“Never,” he rasped, his warm breath stroking over her cheek and sending a thrill of excitement down her spine. “You escaped me once, it will not happen again.”
She closed her eyes as a haunting regret bloomed in the pit of her stomach. There had not been a night when she had not lain awake recalling his every touch, his demanding kisses, his soft words of pleasure. In an odd way, it pleased her that her last memory of Stefan would be his beautiful face softened and sated as he slept at her side.
Now it would all be destroyed by the fury she could feel vibrating through his body.
“How did you find me?”
“One of my tenants happened to catch sight of your carriage on the road to Dover.” His voice was low and dangerous. “It did not take a great deal of imagination to realize you must be attempting to flee to Paris.”
“That does not explain how you discovered this hotel.”
“I learned that a young widow’s carriage had broken down just outside of Paris. I checked with
the local wheelwrights and happened to catch a glimpse of your groom and followed him here.”
Damn that worthless carriage. If not for the stupid wheel breaking off they would be well on their way to St. Petersburg and Stefan would never have caught her.
“Very clever.”
“Not particularly.” His grip on her neck loosened to allow his fingers to brush at the sensitive skin. “If I had not allowed myself to be bewitched by a pair of angel eyes and a body meant to torment a man, you would never have been allowed to escape in the first place.”
She gritted her teeth, willing herself not to respond to his light caress.
“Escape? I am not your prisoner, your Grace.”
He nipped her ear. “You will call me Stefan, and you are now very much my prisoner.”