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for this honor. You will see why when he comes to you. There is no man like Prince Dimitri.”
    Katherine would have dearly loved to tell him what he could do with this honor. No man like his prince indeed! She didn’t care if he was the most handsome man alive, she would have none of him. To listen to this man, she should feel gratitude for being abducted. The very idea!
    The carriage stopped. She had to get away from this lunatic. He gave her no chance. His coat was wrapped around her rather like a sack, effectively locking her arms at her sides. He picked her up. He began walking, carrying her in his arms, one arm held tightly under her knees, keeping them firm against his chest and useless. She couldn’t see anything through the coat, which also covered her face.
    She suddenly smelled food, however. A kitchen? So he was bringing her in through the back door, was he? There was hope in that. He didn’t want his prince to know what he had done. He had said this Dimitri hadn’t considered that she might refuse. A prince would never resort to such measures to obtain a woman. She wouldn’t have to embarrass herself by explaining who she was, after all. She had only to speak to the Prince and tell him she wasn’t interested. She would be released immediately.
    His knees brushed her backside as he mounted stairs, and then more stairs. Where was she? The carriage hadn’t driven far, no farther than it would have taken her to reach home. Good Lord, was this some house in Cavendish Square near her own home? How ironic! But she knew of no prince who had moved into the neighborhood. Or did a prince exist at all? Was this just some wicked fellow who abducted young women for his own amusement, creating outlandish tales to make his task that much easier?
    Her captor spoke again, but in a language she didn’t recognize, and she was familiar with nearly all the European languages. A woman was answering in the same strange… Russian! He had mentioned Russia. They were Russians , the barbarians of the North! Of course—that country abounded in princes. Didn’t all of the old aristocracy there bear such titles?
    A door was opened. A few more steps and she was set carefully on her feet. The coat was removed. Katherine immediately yanked down her gag. Her first impulse was to let her temper looseon the fellow, who just stood staring at her in a curious way now. It took every effort not to give in to the impulse.
    “Get hold of yourself, Katherine. He’s just a barbarian, with a barbarian’s mentality. He probably doesn’t even know what he’s done is a crime.”
    “We are not barbarians,” he said in French.
    “You speak English?” she demanded.
    “Only a few words. Barbarian I know. I have been called that before by you English. What else did you say?”
    “Never mind. I was speaking to myself, not to you. A quirk of mine.”
    “You are prettier with your hair down. The Prince will be pleased.”
    So that was why he was staring at her now. Her back bun had come undone when he gagged her, yet the hair caught up at each side of her head still held; the tail ends, forming ringlets, still framed her face.
    “Flattery will avail you nothing, sir.”
    “Your pardon.” He bowed slightly in deference, then caught himself doing it and was chagrined. She was a haughty wench for a servant. But then she was English and he must make allowances for that. “My name is Vladimir Kirov. I tell you this because we must speak—”
    “No, I don’t have anything else to say to you, Mr. Kirov. You will kindly inform your master that I am here. I will speak to him.”
    “He will not come until tonight.”
    “Fetch him!” She was appalled at how high her voice rose, and yet he simply shook his head. “I am very close to screaming my head off, Mr.Kirov,” she warned in what she considered a very reasonable tone under the circumstances. “You have insulted me, abused me, yet I am still calm, as you can see. I am not some ninny to fall