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her future. It was too much to hope that he hadn’t meant it, that it had been said only in anger. A husband wasn’t too bad if he allowed her freedom and ignored her indiscretions. And at least she would be out from under Sonya’s rigidity. But a man who would demand fidelity, who would cruelly enforce his wishes on her, set his servants to spy on her, beat her if she defied him, that was another thing entirely, and that was exactly what her brother was threatening her with.
    She had never suffered his wrath before. She had seen it fall on others, but with her he had always been indulgent and loving. It onlyshowed how mightily she had displeased him in this instance. She had known he would be furious. She had known she had gone too far in disobeying the Duchess. And Dimitri’s cold silence since they had left the country was proof that he had not forgiven her.
    They shared the coach alone, which only made the silence that much more unbearable. The dozen servants that he traveled with were in coaches behind them as well as those she had brought to England. There were also eight Cossack outriders who always accompanied the Prince when he left Russia, a necessity, she supposed, considering Dimitri’s wealth. They were a curiosity to the English, these savage-looking warriors with their flowing mustachios and Russian uniforms, fur hats, and numerous weapons. They never failed to attract attention to the Prince’s entourage, but they aptly discouraged anyone from bothering him.
    Oh, she wished the coach would move. If she had to go home, she wanted to get it over.
    “Can’t you have your men open a path for us, Mitya?” she asked finally. “So much inconvenience, just to cross a stupid intersection.”
    “There is no hurry.” He didn’t look at her as he answered. “We do not sail until tomorrow, and we do not leave the townhouse this evening. There will be no scandals here in London to greet the Tzar when he visits the English Queen this summer.”
    She fumed at the warning, meant entirely for her. It was the first she had heard that Tzar Nicholas was coming to England. And she had indeed thought to go out tonight, possibly her last night of freedom for a long time to come.
    “But Mitya, this coach is stifling. We’ve been sitting here—”
    “Not even five minutes.” He cut her off tersely. “Do stop complaining.”
    She glared at him, then was amazed to hear him suddenly chuckle. But he was still staring at something out the window, so she wasn’t offended, just furious.
    “I’m glad to see you’re enjoying this boring ride,” she quipped sarcastically. But when she got no response, she snapped, “Well, what is so amusing?”
    “This wench fending off an admirer. She’s a fierce little thing.”
    Dimitri was intrigued, but he wasn’t sure why. She had a pleasing enough figure, but unremarkable. Full breasts pushing against a too-tight bodice, a small waist, rather narrow hips, all encased in an unbecoming black dress. He saw her face for only the briefest moment, and that at some distance, for she was on the opposite corner across the street. No beauty, but a certain character, huge eyes in a small face, a determined little chin.
    If not for that swinging reticule, he would never have noticed her. She was not the type of woman who usually caught his interest. She was too petite, almost childlike, except for those thrusting breasts. But she amused him. Such haughty indignation in such a little package. And when was the last time a woman had actually amused him?
    Sheer impulse had him call Vladimir to the window. His man of all jobs, indispensable to him, Vladimir saw to Dimitri’s comfort in all things. He didn’t ask questions, he didn’t pass judgment. He obeyed to the letter any and all requests.
    A few words to the trusted servant, and Vladimir was off. A few moments later, and the coach was again moving.
    “I don’t believe it,” Anastasia said from the opposite side of the coach, well