Free Elusive Passion by Kathryn Smith Page B

didn’t have to see the faces depicted there to know what their reactions to her situation would be.
    Her mother, God bless her, would try to understand but would fail. Ana was not the kind of woman to give in to temptation, and she was certainly no match for the will of Vladimir Vasilyevich Ulyanov. No daughter of his would degrade herself by becoming a man’s mistress. Even after almost five years on her own, she didn’t know if she could stand up to Papa. Her hands shook as she imagined her father dragging her back to St. Petersburg, back to Ivan, to a life as little more than a prisoner—if she lived that long.
    She forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths.
    “Everything is going to be fine. No one is going to hurt you,” Bella had said when Varya arrived in Paris after that awful night and collapsed sobbing in her arms. Varya forced herself to believe in the words now as she had then.
    Bella had coaxed her out of her shell. She’d convinced Varya that isolating herself from society drew more attention than placing herself in the middle of it.
    It hadn’t been easy, but Varya had stepped into the spotlight. Bella talked her into accompanying her at a soirée in Paris, and for the first time, Varya became known for her own talent rather than position or wealth. When they arrived in London, Varya began building a career of her own.
    With Bella’s help she’d fabricated a background, shrouding herself in enough mystery to make herself intriguing, but not enough to make anyone suspicious. If she’d had any idea just how provocative her “Elusive” persona would become, she might have been tempted to remain hiding in her boudoir. Instead, she embraced that side of herself and the freedom it brought. Still, when she thought of her father or Ivan, she became the scared little girl again.
    Ivan was far away, as was her father. Neither one of them could force her to do anything she did not want. Her father didn’t even know if she was still alive, let alone lusting after the man who had broken her best friend’s heart.
    Lust was something Varya was not accustomed to.She had listened to Bella’s shocking tales of sexual adventures with mild curiosity and burning cheeks, achingly aware that she had reached spinsterhood without ever having known the physical pleasure between a man and a woman.
    There was no point even thinking about it. Bella had loved Miles, and Varya could never soil her memory by falling into bed with him. She would not be his mistress.
    But she could pretend.
    She wondered if Miles would follow through with their farce. Whether he liked the idea or not, pretending to be having an affaire d’amour gave them the perfect excuse to be in each other’s company, and to be sneaking off together at parties while they searched for clues to the identity of Bella’s killer. If only he would continue to pretend, they could solve the mystery together. After all, the one thing they agreed on was that the murderer had to be brought to justice.
    Varya sighed and crawled into bed. She’d have to make Miles realize that having her for a mistress was a good thing.
     
    “They’re all out to get me,” Miles muttered to his unconscious companion. “Every woman I know is part of a great conspiracy to bring me to my knees.”
    His mother—and every mama on the marriage mart—urged him to remarry, while Blythe constantly reminded him of his notorious reputation. This, coupled with the memory of Varya’s lush body beneath his, convinced him that the entire female race was hellbent on driving him either to the altar or to Bedlam.
    No one—not even his mother—seemed to comprehend his aversion to marriage. Was he the only one who remembered Charlotte and the circumstances of her death? She had died bringing Miles’s heir into the world. They had all told him it wasn’t his fault, but how could it not be?
    The loss of his son had been punishment—he was certain of it. He hadn’t loved Charlotte,