He blinked slowly, his expression thoughtful, then she saw him focusing on her properly, and it did something odd to her. She felt suddenly embarrassed, as if she’d made some horrible faux pas in public. “It wouldn’t be sensible,” he said slowly. Then he embraced her, hugging her tightly. “Are you sure it’s what you want?”

And now she really felt something, and it wasn’t what she’d expected when the idea of compromising Angbard’s plans for Olga stole into her mind. “The door’s locked. Who’s going to know? A serving girl goes in, a serving girl goes out, I’m in my bedroom working, it’s all deniable.” She pressed her chin into his shoulder. “I want you to pick me up, carry me into your bedroom, and take my clothes off—slowly,” she whispered into his ear.

“Okay,” he said.

She turned her head and laid her lips alongside his. He’d shaved. After a moment she felt his jaws loosen, exploration begin. Her whole weight fell against him and he lifted her, then put her down on her feet.

“Over here,” he said, arm dropping to her waist, half-leading her.

The bedroom furnishings were different. A big oak four-poster with a red-and gold-tapestried canopy dominated the room, and the secondary items were different. She pulled him toward the bed, then paused in front of it. “Kiss me,” she said.

He leaned over her and she sank into him, reaching down to his trousers with one hand to fumble at unfamiliar catches. He groaned softly as she caressed him. Then his jacket was on the floor, his bow tie dangling, his trousers loose. A shocking sense of urgency filled her.

Hours passed. They were both naked now: She lay with her back to Roland, his arms curled protectively around her. This is unexpected, she thought dizzily. A little tremor surged through her. Wow. Well, her plan had worked: pull him into bed and annoy the hell out of Angbard by being a loose cannon. Except that wasn’t how it had turned out. She liked Roland a lot, and that wasn’t in the script.

“This is so wrong,” he mumbled into her hair.

She tensed. “What is?” she asked.

“Your uncle. He’ll kill me if he suspects.”

“He’ll—” Her blood ran cold for a moment. “You’re sure?”

“You’re immune,” he said in a tone of forced calm. “You’ve got huge leverage, and he doesn’t have specific plans for you. I’m meant to marry Olga, though, and that’s an end of it. Open defiance is bad. He’s probably been planning the marriage for years.”

“Surely I’m an, uh, acceptable substitute?” she asked, surprising herself. It hadn’t been in the plan when she came upstairs, unless her subconscious had been working overtime on strategies for spiking Angbard’s plans.