Ivan was quick to interrupt him before his insistence became irreversible, saying, “We have an old woman who is very ill. She cannot travel just yet.”

It was an excuse used many times when they had been asked to move on. Little did Ivan know how true it was this time. But the landowner didn’t look convinced. He looked about, ready to repeat his demand.

So Anastasia stepped forward to add her plea. “It is my grandmother who is ill, Lord Englishman. She just needs a few days to rest. We will leave your property as we found it, without harm. Please, you must allow us a day or two, so she can recover her strength.”

He almost didn’t even turn to glance at her, he was frowning so sternly at Ivan, but when he did, his eyes widened slightly, for the barest moment, giving her an indication that he was as surprised by what he saw as she was. His eyes were very green, very intense. She could not look away from them, recognizing the heated emotion that slowly filled them, delighted by it, for it was what she could work with, this passion he did not think to hide.

When he continued to just stare at her, she added, “Come, meet her. Share a bottle of fine Russian vodka or French wine with us. You will see that we are a harmless people with a few unique services that we offer in our travels, some you might even be interested in.”

She knew she was being blatantly provocative, knew what service he would think she was offering, knew that was why he nodded and dismounted to follow her, none of which mattered in the greater scheme of things. She had to get him to herself so they could talk, had to make it seem that they were both fascinated with each other so it would be believed that they had instantly fallen in love with each other, and this was the easiest way.

She led him back to her campfire. Maria had risen, was starting to walk away. Anastasia hadn’t thought how she might not appear sick at all to the stranger, yet she needn’t have worried. She was too used to seeing Maria daily, which was why she hadn’t guessed herself how ill she was. But looking at her through a stranger’s eyes, she appeared ancient, pale, feeble—tired of living. It wrenched her heart, to see her that way.

“Gran, I have someone for you to meet.”

“Not tonight, child, I need to rest.”

Anastasia hadn’t expected that, especially since she knew Maria hadn’t heard what had been said by Ivan’s campfire. Yet she realized quick enough that Maria was attempting to give her some needed time alone with the Englishman. She would have stopped her, though, wanted her opinion of the man, which Maria couldn’t formulate if she didn’t speak to him herself. He changed her mind.

“Let her go,” he said abruptly. “I can see she is not well.”