Merciful heavens, the pitcher was scalding! Severin had said that the water temperature was carefully heated so that by the time the Archduke rose at seven, it would have the ideal temperature for his ablutions. At present it was nearly boiling, burning the porcelain and blistering her palms. But where was the washstand? She ought to be right in front of it. Instead, she was standing before aside table with a decorative vase. Repressing a curse, she looked around wildly. She had strayed too far left. The washstand was closer to the bed. She shifted the pitcher against her body, which relieved the pain in her palms, but now her arms were burning. One step, another, and then her foot struck something on the floor—a stool, no doubt—and merciful heavens, the clatter was loud! Surely it would rouse the entire palace—but if she dropped the confounded pitcher, it would be the end. Pippa curled herself over the pitcher and clung to it as if her life depended on it—and thankfully she was able to regain her balance, and she did not drop the wretched thing.
She froze, listening. Did he awaken?
The clock ticked.
Silence.
The man must be sleeping like a log. She whispered a prayer of thanks.
After what seemed like an eternity, she dared breathe again, reached out with one hand and hallelujah, there was the washstand! She nearly sobbed with relief as she set down the pitcher, easing her cramped, burning fingers. Now she would have to pour it into the basin without making a sound. Carefully, carefully, slowly, praying under her breath that she didn’t pour half of the liquid outside of the basin rather than inside, she poured it without rousing the sleeping archduke.
She placed the piece of lavender soap and the ivory comb beside it. She prayed it was neat and orderly, for in the dark she really had no inkling of where she placed it.
She released a shaky breath. What now? Oh yes. Thetowels. She had them draped over her arm. These she was to lay out over the back of the chair. But where was the chair? She extended a hand to feel for it—touching nothingness. It must be further in the corner, on the other side of the washstand, she surmised. It was like playing Blind Man’s Buff. She couldn’t see a thing as she groped for the chair. She took another step, then another, extending her arms, until her fingers brushed something soft, something silken. Something warm. Something muscular. It felt like an arm? A grip as hard as steel clamped over her hand, pulling her forward.
“What have we here?” A low voice, filled with lazy amusement, cut through the darkness. She squawked.
She would have jumped back, except she was pulled forward until she crashed into a stony hard chest and found herself gathered up unceremoniously onto his lap.
He had been in the chair the entire time, watching her, waiting for her. Curse him!
“Caught you, my little dove,” he murmured into her ear, his warm breath stirring the little hairs above her temple, making her shiver.
Pippa spluttered. He wrapped his arms about her and, for all that, it felt like an embrace. “At last.” Her entire body broke out in goosebumps. “I thought I had lost you forever. To know that all this time you were right here, under my nose... We must talk.” He tugged at her curl, and his knuckles brushed her cheek.
“There is nothing to talk about,” she babbled wildly, resisting the wild urge to melt against him, to hug him back, to hold him tightly, and never let him go. For hewasn’t Klemens. He never had been. “Your Imperial H-H-Highness,” she added with a whisper.
His grip tightened. “You may drop the honorifics when we are alone, my love.”
She closed her eyes and swallowed painfully. Then, mustering up determination from the deepest recesses of her being, she said woodenly, “You are mistaken. My name is Anna.”
He grew still. “Is it because of what happened the other day? You must let me explain. I know what it must have looked like to you, but it meant nothing at all, I swear. I was ordered to throw a party for the Tsar, so I did, inviting all those cocottes for his pleasure alone. It’s his custom to pick one from among them. But the entire company bores me to tears. As for that other woman, confound her! She is Princess Bagration, his mistress. I don’t know what devils prompted her?—”
Pippa clasped her hands over her ears. “There really is no need to tell me about it, Your Imperial Highness.”
“But Pippa, you must let me expl?—”
She pulled herself up. “Anna. My name is Anna. Anna Braun.”
He inhaled sharply. “I understand you must be shocked and upset, and we must talk. But your insistence on being someone else ceases to be amusing. I have many questions. How the devil did you become a palace maid? What happened? Where on earth have you been the entire time? Do you know what I endured to find you?” His fingers tightened around her.
Pippa grew as stiff as a wooden board in hisarms. “I beg your pardon. You appear to mistake me for someone else.”
She felt him grow still. “So you will insist on keeping up this ridiculous charade even now.”
“Your H-Highness?—”
“I told you not to call me that.” His voice was sharp.
“Yes, Your Highness. I mean, no, Your Highness. I mean—“Her voice petered out. “Please forgive me, Your Highness,” she whispered wretchedly.
He was silent. Then, in a soft voice: “So it is to be like that?”
Pippa battled the overwhelming urge to cling to him and burst into tears.
He waited one more beat of a moment for her to respond, but she remained obstinately silent. “Very well, Anna Braun, chambermaid. If you insist on playing this game, then I shall play along. Let us see which of us tires first.”
He released her abruptly. Pippa nearly tumbled to the ground again from the sudden release. She looked about, disoriented.
