“My tea has too much lemon rather than too much sugar.” Anna set her cup down. “I wonder what is keeping the gentlemen tonight?”
“Lord Andover once confided to me that most of the time they linger over port and cigars is spent telling bawdy jokes,” offered Caro. The corners of her mouth crept upward. “Perhaps Polianov is telling a rather lengthy one. In Russian.”
Anna was too tense to let out a laugh. She rose and feigned an interest in the curio cabinet’s display of Renaissance medallions while she tried to compose her emotions.
If her heroine Emmalina was too wise to fall in love with a rakish rogue, then surely that should mean that her own brain could function just as well as an ink and paper one.
Shouldn’t it?
The question was still plaguing her thoughts when at last the gentlemen made their entrance into the drawing room, trailing a faint fugue of spirits and spiced smoke.
Devlin went to sit with Lady de Blois. It was all according to the strategy they had devised beforehand, but still Anna felt a twinge pinch in her chest at seeing the widow sidle closer and lay a hand on his thigh.
Her brooding was interrupted by the colonel, who greeted her in Russian.
Maybe her offhand remark had some truth to it. He smiled broadly when she replied in kind.
“You speak my language very well, Miss Sloane.”
“Not nearly as well as you speak English, sir,” she said. “But it is gallant of you to say so.”
His chest puffed out a bit. “I have had a great deal more practice than you have.”
In what? The sinister whispers of intrigue and murder?
Anna forced a smile. “I should like to visit your country some day. The city of St. Petersburg must be very beautiful. I have heard it is called the Venice of the North.”
His eyes lit with a gleam—one sparked by hard-edged speculation, not any softer sentiment. “I am very delighted to hear of your interest. It is indeed a beautiful city, with magnificent buildings and all manner of sumptuous balls and entertainments.” The colonel came a little closer and she could smell the sweetness of the wine on his breath. “I think you would feel right at home.”
The man’s sudden overt
interest in her was a little alarming. During the course of the past Season she had experienced a broad range of flirtations, from frivolous to serious, and something felt false about the colonel’s attentions.
The realization stirred a pebbling of gooseflesh along her bare arms. Once again she couldn’t help thinking that if Devlin had spotted her nocturnal ramblings around the castle, Polianov might have as well.
“That may be,” replied Anna lightly. “But alluring though it sounds, I don’t expect to visit anytime soon.”
“Perhaps it will happen sooner than you think.”
Mystified by his words, she chose to ignore them. “Perhaps.”
He shifted his booted feet, and the touch of his trousers against her skirts sent another little shiver down her limbs. “Allow me to fetch you some tea, sir,” she added quickly.
That Devlin’s brow seemed to raise a fraction as she passed him helped steady her fluttery nerves. She would not prove unequal to the challenge.
Polianov followed on her heels. “Like all Russians, I prefer my tea very sweet,” he said.
Such information wasn’t overly useful for the investigation. She would need to delve deeper. “Given Napoleon’s march to the east, your position here in England must be very important, Colonel Polianov,” she ventured after handing him his cup. “It must be very difficult to form a united alliance with the German states.”
He shrugged. “Da. But that is all left to the diplomats, Miss Sloane. Let us talk about more pleasurable things, like your favorite leisure activities. English ladies seem to paint or play the pianoforte.”
Anna clenched her teeth in frustration. She had expected him to snap like a hungry trout at her baited hook. But before she could cast out another lure, they were joined at the tea table by the Vicomte de Verdemont.
Another prime suspect. Perhaps she would have better luck with him.
“I cannot help but remark on how that unusual shade of blue-green tonight highlights your natural beauty, Miss Sloane,” murmured the fleshy Frenchman, contriving to catch her hand and raise it to his lips.
Anna made no move to pull it away. “La, what lady doesn’t appreciate hearing a compliment?”