Praise for the incomparable ROSEMARY ROGERS

“[A] perfect beach book.”

—Publishers Weekly on Bound by Love

“Sizzling sensuality, seduction and danger, along with a fine overview of Russia and the political intrigues of the Romanov court, come together with a powerful, skillfully told love story…vintage Rosemary Rogers.”

—RT Book Reviews on Scandalous Deception (4½ stars)

“From the high roads of England to the French countryside, this is a classic sexy, adventure romance…Rogers continues to play on the timeless themes of the genre, providing a wonderful, albeit nostalgic, read. You can go home again.”

—RT Book Reviews on A Daring Passion (4 stars)

“The queen of historical romance.”

—New York Times Book Review

“Rogers’ legion of readers will be delighted to find that her latest historical romance features the same brand of arrogant, bold, and sexy hero; stubborn, beautiful, and unconventional heroine; and passionate plot that first made this genre wildly popular in the early 1980s.”

—Booklist on Sapphire

“Her novels are filled with adventure, excitement, and always, wildly tempestuous romance.”

—Fort Worth Star-Telegram

Rosemary Rogers
Scoundrel’s Honor

MILLS & BOON

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SCOUNDREL’S HONOR

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER ONE

THE VILLAGE OF YABINSK in the Volga River Basin near Moscow was the typical cluster of low, sturdy homes scattered near a wooden church. On the distant hills the wealthier citizens built their redbrick mansions to overlook the lesser folk, while small fishing boats painted in cheerful colors lined the meandering river.

On the very edge of the village, a three-storied coaching inn with attached stables squatted next to the narrow road leading to Moscow to the south and St. Petersburg to the north. With a tile roof and recently painted shutters the building managed to appear respectable, if not prosperous. It was an image that was enhanced by the meticulously clean foyer and the small chambers upstairs that smelled of wood polish and dried flowers.

Behind the stables was a small wattle-and-daub cottage nearly hidden behind the stone wall that divided the property.

It was little more than a kitchen, a front parlor and two bedchambers in the attic, but it was sturdily built to keep out the worst of the Russian winters and filled with delicate birch and cedar furnishings that were more suitable for the palaces of St. Petersburg.

In truth, Fedor Duscha had been a master craftsman before his untimely death and in great demand by many of the finest noble families. The furniture was worth a tidy sum of rubles, but his daughter Emma Linley-Kirov would have starved before selling it off. It had been wrenching enough to convert her father’s precious workshop into the coaching inn for a means to make money for her and her younger sister, Anya.

On this cool autumn day, however, she barely noted the scrolled settee set beneath the window of the parlor or the hutch that held her mother’s English china.

Instead, she paced the threadbare carpet, her stomach knotted and her hands shaking as she smoothed them down her plain gown of brown kerseymere. At last she turned to meet the concerned gaze of Diana Stanford, who was currently seated on the settee.

Although nearly ten years older than Emma, the English nanny was her dearest friend. Emma’s own mother had been raised in England and after her death there had been a comforting familiarity in Diana’s companionship.

A traditional English rose, Diana possessed fair hair and blue eyes that lent her an air of deceptive fragility. Emma on the other hand had inherited her father’s honey-brown hair, which she kept pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck, and a pair of hazel eyes that regarded the world with a grim determination that tended to intimidate any who hoped to take advantage of a woman forced to stand on her own.

A necessity for keeping her inn profitable and for raising her sixteen-year-old sister, but decidedly detrimental to her relationship with the local villagers. Most of her neighbors condemned the mere thought of a lady attempting to run her own business, let alone raise an impressionable girl. A proper, well-behaved female depended upon a man. Only an overly forward tart would dare to toss aside convention and remain independent.

The others found her a source of amusement, whispering behind her back and ensuring that she felt suitably unwelcome at the local gatherings.

Until today, she rarely allowed their opinions to trouble her.

“No, you must be mistaken,” Diana said, breaking the tense silence. “Anya might be stubborn and occasionally impulsive—”

Emma snorted. “Occasionally?”

Diana smiled wryly. Emma’s younger, far more beautiful sister was a volatile mixture of absurd fantasies and caprice.

“But she is not utterly bird-witted,” her companion continued. “She would never leave her home with two strangers who have no family connection to her.”

Emma reluctantly handed over the crumpled note she had found on Anya’s empty bed when she had awakened that morning.

“She would if those two strangers happened to be wealthy noblemen who promised her a career upon the stages of Europe.”

Diana read through the short missive, her brows drawing together.

“An actress?”

“You know how Anya has always dreamed of a glamorous life far away from Yabinsk.”

“Fah. What young lady does not fill her head with such nonsense? Every girl in the village has dreamed of attracting the attention of a handsome prince who will carry her away.” With a rustle of her pale peach gown, Diana slowly rose to her feet. “Yourself included, Emma Linley-Kirov.”

Emma shrugged. Any dream of handsome princes and tender romance had died along with her mother.

“Yes, but most of us put aside such fancies with our dolls. Anya, however, refused to accept there were no such things as fairy tales.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, shivering at the cold sense of dread that held her captive. “I blame myself, of course. After father’s death I did not devote nearly enough attention to her.”

“Good heavens, Emma, you have sacrificed everything to provide a home for your sister. You should take great pride in all you have accomplished.”

“Ah, yes, my accomplishments,” Emma said, her voice thick with bitterness as she glanced toward the nearby inn. “They are quite amazing.”

“Yes, they are, my dear,” Diana firmly said. “You were barely more than a babe when your poor mother died and you were forced to assume the duties of the household, not to mention caring for Anya. And then to lose your father.” The older woman clicked her tongue. “Well, any other girl would have fled such burdens, or at least have depended upon the charity of others. But not you.”

“No, I was determined to stand on my own, no matter what the cost.”

“Which you have done with remarkable success.”

Emma shook her head. Her friend was too loyal to mention the fact that Emma’s accomplishments had barely provided the essentials for her sister. And that she had managed to ostracize them both from local society.

“At the cost of Anya.”

“Absurd.”

Emma breathed in deeply, inanely astonished by the familiar scents of wood smoke and freshly baked bread. Since she discovered Anya’s disappearance, she had felt as if the world had become a strange nightmare.

“I convinced myself that I was teaching Anya the importance of being self-sufficient,” she rasped. “Now I have to wonder if I was merely being selfish.”

“Selfish?” Diana wrapped a comforting arm around Emma’s shoulders. “You are the most generous and kindhearted young lady I have ever known.”

Emma reluctantly forced herself to overcome the pained embarrassment that had held her silent since her father’s death nearly four years before.

“No, Diana, I could have accepted Baron Kostya’s offer.”

“Offer?” The older woman dropped her arm and stepped back in shock. “He proposed?”

“Not marriage, although his arrangement did include having me in his bed.” Emma grimaced, the memory of the night the baron had arrived on her doorstep with her favorite apricot-and-honey sponge cake seared into her mind. God almighty, she had been so stupidly naive. He had assured her that he was there to ease the burdens she was carrying and she had wildly imagined that he intended to invest in her coaching inn, or even to offer Anya a position as a maid at his mansion overlooking the village. It had never entered her mind that he would shame her with the demand that she become his mistress. Or his threat to make her life a misery if she did not accept. “No. He wished to offer me carte blanche and he was prepared to be remarkably generous.”

“Good heavens.” Diana pressed a hand to her impressive bosom. “That certainly explains his odd behavior. One day he was singing your high praises and the next—”

“He treated me as if I carried the plague,” Emma finished, not needing to add that his cruel attitude had only encouraged the villagers to turn their backs on her.

“Why did you not tell me?” Diana breathed.

Emma plucked at the frayed hem of her sleeve, a familiar sickness rolling through the pit of her stomach.

She had been horrified by the baron’s offer, but more than that, she had been deeply hurt.

Once her family had been highly respected in the area, and she could have chosen from a number of eager suitors. The very fact that the baron had felt free to offer such a shameful arrangement had revealed just how far she had fallen.

“It is hardly something I wished to discuss,” she muttered. “I was desperate to avoid any further gossip.”

Diana regarded her with sympathy. She better than anyone understood the sacrifices a woman on her own was forced to make.

“Well, I must admit that I would have counseled you to decline such a scandalous offer, but there is no denying that he is quite wealthy and I do not doubt his offer to have been generous.”

“Generous enough to ensure I could have devoted myself to Anya rather than to keeping a roof over our head.”

“Yes, I suppose so, but that is no assurance that Anya would not have had her head turned just as easily.”

“We both know it would have been far less likely.” Emma waved a hand to encompass the barren room. “Not only would she have possessed the small luxuries she has always desired, but I would have had the opportunity to look after her properly. She spent far too much time alone.”

Without warning, Diana reached to grab her hand, her eyes dark with concern.

“Hear this, Emma. You are not to blame.”

“But I am.” Emma heaved a sigh. “I could not bear to sacrifice my virtue, and now Anya is paying for my foolish pride.”

“If you must blame someone, then it should be those horrid strangers for taking advantage of a silly young girl. What sort of gentlemen would do such a thing?”

Emma’s aching fear was replaced with a flare of pure fury.

When the two elegant travelers had first arrived at her coaching inn she had been delighted. They were not only swift to pay their bills, but they were lavish with their tips. She had already begun to imagine the small Christmas gifts she could purchase with the extra funds.

Now she would give everything she possessed if they had never come to Yabinsk.

“No true gentlemen.”

Diana blinked. “You believe they were imposters?”

She gave a restless shake of her head. “I am not certain what I believe, but I know I must do something.”

“What can you possibly do?”

That was the question, was it not?

When she first discovered Anya missing, she had been too shocked and bewildered to consider what should be done. She simply couldn’t accept that her sister had truly allowed herself to be carried off by strangers.

Eventually, however, the fierce determination that had allowed her to survive any number of disasters had her thrusting aside her pained sense of guilt and considering how to rescue Anya.

“Patya overheard the men in the stables speaking of their return to St. Petersburg. At the time he thought nothing of it, but when I went to the stables to discover precisely when the gentlemen had snuck away, he conveyed their conversation.”

Diana’s grip on her fingers became positively painful as she regarded Emma with disbelief.

“You intend to follow them?”

“Of course.”

“Emma, please do not be hasty,” Diana pleaded. “You cannot possibly travel to St. Petersburg on your own.”

“I will take Yelena with me,” Emma assured her, referring to the aging maid who assisted at the coaching inn. “If we catch the stage this afternoon, we should be in St. Petersburg within two days.”

“But—”

“I am quite determined, Diana, and you know it is a waste of effort to argue with me,” Emma firmly interrupted the looming lecture.

The older woman pressed her lips together in disapproval. “Always assuming you manage to arrive in St. Petersburg unscathed, how do you propose to find Anya? St. Petersburg is not a quiet village where neighbors are well-known to one another. You could search for weeks and never cross her path.”

Emma smiled wryly. She might be a provincial old maid, but she was not without a measure of common sense. She had known from the moment she’d made the decision to travel to St. Petersburg that she could not expect to stumble across Anya.

“I intend to request Herrick Gerhardt’s assistance.”

“Gerhardt? The emperor’s advisor?”

“Yes. He is rumored to possess mysterious powers that allow him to be aware of all that occurs in the empire. There are those who refer to him as the ‘Spider’ for his ability to spin webs that capture even the most clever of traitors.”

Diana stepped back, studying Emma as if she feared she’d taken leave of her senses.

“Whatever they may call him, Herrick Gerhardt is one of the most powerful gentlemen in Russia. You cannot just arrive on his doorstep.”

“As a matter of fact, I can.”

“Emma.”

“Do not fret.” Emma held up a slender hand. “He is related to my mother—a distant cousin I believe—and he sent a very kind letter after Father’s death inviting me to call upon him if he could ever be of service to me.”

Diana did not appear particularly reassured. “I do not approve of this dangerous scheme.”

Emma did not particularly approve of it herself.

Unfortunately she had no choice.

“Anya is all I have left in this world,” she said, her voice raw with suppressed emotion. “I will not fail her again.”

BLESSING THE FULL MOON that washed the elegant study in silver light, Dimitri Tipova knelt beside the mahogany desk. He had finished his search through the papers and journals in the drawers, now his slender fingers ran over the carved panels in hope of discovering a hidden compartment.

What gentleman did not have secrets to hide?

And Pytor Burdzecki had more to hide than most.

Intent on his self-imposed task, Dimitri nearly missed the soft footfall just outside the door, and it was only his swift instincts that had him straightening and moving to stand casually near the bay window. Wisely, he had opened it before beginning his search; a successful thief always had a ready escape prepared.

The door to the study was slowly pressed inward and Dimitri cast a downward glance to ensure his black jacket and silver waistcoat were properly buttoned and as crisp as could be expected, considering they had recently been tossed on a bedroom floor. A searching gaze would no doubt detect his cravat was hastily tied and the raven hair pulled back in a queue was still rumpled from feminine fingers, but with luck the darkness of the room would conceal such imperfections.

And if not…well, he possessed the means to keep his presence in the St. Petersburg town house a secret.

Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, Dimitri closed his hand over the pearl handle of his small pistol, prepared to kill until a slender, obviously female shape stepped over the threshold.

“Pierre?” the woman called softly.

Dimitri swallowed an impatient sigh. He had hoped to slip away before Pytor Burdzecki’s young bride, Lana, realized he was gone.

The pretty woman with auburn hair and wide blue eyes had been easy enough to seduce. He had only to pretend to be a visiting French diplomat who occasionally crossed her path at the opera, or at the Gostiny Dvor where she would shop with her maid. Within a handful of days she allowed him to escort her to the nearest coffee shop with giggles and inviting glances.

She had no reason to suspect that he was the infamous Beggar Czar, ruthless leader of the underworld, or that his interest in her was merely a means to enter this palatial home that was heavily guarded by trained soldiers.

Loosening his grip on the gun, he smoothly stepped toward her.

“Ma belle, I thought you were asleep.”

She glanced about her husband’s private study with a frown. “What are you doing?”

“Preparing to leave, I fear.”

“Did you lose your way?”

With another step he was close enough to tenderly tuck a dark curl behind her ear. She was a vain, self-absorbed little creature, but she was harmless. Which was more than her husband could claim.

Or Dimitri, for that matter.

“I prefer to slip away unnoticed by the servants,” he murmured, speaking the perfect French all Russian nobles favored. He was also fluent in Russian and English, and could comprehend several of the Germanic dialects. He was an excessively well-educated thief, thanks to his mother’s insistence that his bastard of a father pay for his schooling. “I would not desire such a beautiful creature to be the source of ugly gossip.”

“Oh.” She batted her lashes, eager to accept his smooth lie. “Must you leave so soon?”

“Hardly soon. I risk being castrated by your husband if I linger any longer.”

She pouted, grasping the lapels of his jacket as she pressed against him in unspoken encouragement.

“He never returns before dawn, if he even bothers to return at all.” She kissed the tip of his chin. “If we are fortunate, we could enjoy the entire day together.”

Dimitri narrowed his whiskey-gold eyes. “I never depend upon luck, ma belle.”

“But, when will we meet again?”

“Who can say when fate will be kind enough to cross our paths again?”

“Tonight—”

“We shall allow destiny to unfold,” he interrupted, firmly removing her hands from his maltreated jacket and lifted them to his lips. “Return to the warmth of your bed. You shall find a small token of my esteem tucked beneath your pillow.”

As expected, Lana was readily distracted. “A present?”

“Oui. I hope you will think of me whenever you wear them.”

“Wear them?” Her blue eyes sparked in anticipation. “What are they? Gloves? Earrings?”

“Why do you not go and discover for yourself?” he urged, smiling wryly as she giggled and hastily skipped from the room.

Despite the fact she was wed to a sexual deviant more than twice her age, Lana was little more than a jeune fille in many ways. Nothing like the women in his world who were rarely allowed a childhood.

Listening to the sound of retreating footsteps, Dimitri slid through the open window and dropped into the garden below. He had not yet finished his search of the house, but Lana was certain to have attracted unwanted attention among the guards, and he could not risk being caught.

He landed with the ease of an avid sportsman, his hand reaching for his pistol even as he straightened. The instinct that had kept him alive more times than he could recall was prickling in warning.

“Come out,” he growled softly.

A lean form draped in a heavily caped coat detached from the shadows of a marble fountain.

“I must admit to my own share of curiosity,” an aggravatingly familiar voice taunted. “What did you leave beneath the pillows?”

Dimitri’s lips tightened, realizing the open window had allowed this man to hear his entire conversation with Lana.

Of course, Herrick Gerhardt did not need to lurk beneath open windows to discover the information he desired, Dimitri ruefully conceded. Although he did not believe the advisor to Alexander Pavlovich possessed mystical powers as some did. He was, after all, intimately aware his methods were more mundane.

“A pair of diamond earrings,” he grudgingly confessed.

Herrick arched a brow. A gentleman of Prussian descent, he possessed a gaunt countenance, a thick crop of silver hair and piercing brown eyes that held a cold, ruthless intelligence.

“A rather generous gift for a female you bedded for the sole purpose of searching her husband’s study.”

Dimitri shrugged. “Lana might be a shallow tart with the soul of a merchant, but she still deserves better than being bartered to a husband twice her age whose sexual perversions cause even me to shudder in disgust.”

Herrick deliberately glanced toward the neoclassical palace looming behind Dimitri.

“No doubt most of society would consider her well compensated.”

“Only because their lives are as cold and empty as the marble crypts that await their deaths.”

“A philosopher, Tipova?” Herrick demanded.

“A simple criminal.”

Herrick’s chuckle floated on the chilly October breeze. “As if I would ever be foolish enough to underestimate you. What did you discover?”

Dimitri folded his arms over his chest, his expression guarded. Since he had come to the attention of Herrick Gerhardt and the Duke of Huntley several weeks before, he had reluctantly become Alexander Pavlovich’s most secret weapon against the traitors who stirred discontent. One did not say no to the Emperor of Russia.

His presence in Pytor Burdzecki’s home, however, was personal business he did not intend to share with anyone.

“Nothing that would be of interest to Alexander Pavlovich.”

“You would be surprised at the emperor’s vast interests,” Herrick countered.

“The emperor or his most trusted advisor?”

“It is one and the same.”

“Is that why you are here?” Dimitri demanded. “To discover what I might find among Burdzecki’s papers?”

Herrick waved a dismissive hand. “Actually I am here to discover you.”

Dimitri stilled, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“And how, I wonder, did you know I would be here?”

“You are not the only gentleman with the ability to gather information.”

“Yes, but—” Dimitri bit off his words. “Never mind, I shall eventually uncover the traitor.” He waved a hand toward the empty flower beds and the marble fountains that had already been covered in preparation for the brutal Russian winter. “If you wished to meet with me you had only to send a message. There was no need to creep about in damp gardens.”

The smile faded from Herrick’s face, his eyes hard with the ruthless resolve that lurked just below his charm.

“You do not promptly respond to my summons.”

“I am not a toady of the empire.”

“No, but you are a loyal citizen, I trust?”

Dimitri dropped his arms, his hands curling into fists. Despite his considerable power, he never allowed himself to forget that Herrick Gerhardt need only speak the word and Dimitri would disappear into the nearest dungeon.

“Are you threatening me, Gerhardt?”

The silver head dipped in apology. “Forgive me, Tipova. You have proven your devotion to Czar Alexander more than once.”

“As if I had a choice,” Dimitri grumbled. “What do you want of me?”

“On this occasion I believe we can be of mutual benefit to one another.”

“I have no need of the royal coffers.”

“My business with you is of a personal nature and I offer something far more intriguing than money.” Stepping to the side, Herrick glanced toward the sleek black carriage that was waiting in the mews. “Will you join me?”

Dimitri paused, studying Herrick’s impassive face. Then, with a sigh, he conceded defeat. The older man would not leave him in peace until he had his way.

“Why do I sense I am going to regret this?” he muttered.

CHAPTER TWO

DIMITRI REMAINED SILENT as Herrick led him to the carriage and they settled into the soft leather seats. There was a small jerk as the driver urged the horses into motion, then they were traveling through the streets of St. Petersburg that were still crowded despite the late hour.

“Brandy?” Herrick inquired, pouring two glasses of the amber liquid and pressing one into Dimitri’s willing hand.

Taking a cautious sip, Dimitri lifted his brows in surprise. There was no mistaking the smooth ease with which the liquid fire slid down his throat.

“You must be anxious for my assistance if you are willing to share from your private cellar,” he said.

Herrick leaned back in his seat, his gaze hooded as he studied Dimitri.

“As I mentioned, I think our arrangement will be mutually beneficial.”

Dimitri could not prevent a small flare of curiosity. Herrick Gerhardt had devoted his life to Alexander Pavlovich. What private business could he possibly have?

“I am willing to listen to this…arrangement.”

“First I must bore you with a bit of family history.” Herrick swallowed his brandy and refilled his glass. “As you perhaps know I was born in Prussia to a respectable, albeit poor family. I was fortunate enough to travel to St. Petersburg to finish my education when I was just seventeen and eventually to capture the attention of Alexander Pavlovich. My elder cousin, on the other hand, chose to seek his fortunes in England where he wed and produced several children.”

“Fascinating.”

“One of my cousin’s daughters became a governess to a Russian family to teach the children English. She in turn wed a local furniture maker and had two daughters before she died.”

Dimitri tapped his finger against his glass, his brows pulled together in a frown.

“I presume this tedious story has an end?”

“As I was saying, there were two daughters, Emma and Anya Linley-Kirov,” Herrick continued, ignoring Dimitri’s growing impatience. “After their father was tragically killed by a poacher, Emma transformed her father’s workshop into a small coaching inn.”

Dimitri’s frown deepened. He adored women. All women. And it was well-known that any man who mistreated a female beneath his protection was a certain means to a brutal beating, if not death. Still, he could not deny he preferred to avoid those women with more spirit than sense.

In the end they not only brought misery to themselves, but those who cared for them.

“How very unconventional of her.”

“It was quite admirable of her,” Herrick corrected, easily sensing Dimitri’s lack of approval. “Unfortunately her considerable courage did not protect her from the nefarious gentlemen who stayed at her coaching inn for several days.”

“Nefarious?”

“When they left the inn they took Anya with them.”

Dimitri stilled, his attention fully captured. “The sister?”

“Yes.”

“How old is she?”

“She just turned sixteen.”

Draining the last of his brandy, Dimitri carefully set aside the glass, silently considering the unexpected revelation at the same time he accepted that his personal investigations were not quite so secret as he believed them to be.

“And Emma Linley-Kirov is certain she was taken by the gentlemen?” he demanded.

“Quite certain. Anya left a note explaining she was to become a famous actress.”

Dimitri was careful to keep his expression unreadable, even as his heart gave a jolt of recognition at the familiar ruse used by his father and his cohorts to lure young females from their homes.

“Did the note also mention the gentlemen were traveling to St. Petersburg?”

“A groom overheard the gentlemen discussing their return to the city.”

“And the woman is certain she would recognize them if she were to see them again?”

“Yes.”

Dimitri casually glanced out the window, not surprised to discover they had made a circuit of the Upper Nevsky and were nearly back to Pytor Burdzecki’s palatial home. There was never a moment when he was not acutely aware of his surroundings.

“What made you believe that I would have interest in your tragic, though not uncommon, tale?”

“It has not escaped my notice that you keep a very close watch upon Count Nevskaya and his associates.”

Dimitri absently studied the Anichkov Palace that had once housed Catherine’s favorite lover, Prince Potyomkin, and had been recently refurbished by Giacomo Quarenghi to house the Imperial Cabinet. Unlike many, he preferred the classical colonnade to the earlier, more flamboyant style.

Not that Czar Alexander had requested his opinion.

Grudgingly he turned his attention back to his companion.

“As you have no doubt surmised, the count is my father.”

A smile touched the older man’s lips as his gaze deliberately studied the elegant lines of Dimitri’s features, lingering on the aristocratic thrust of his nose and high, Slavic cheekbones.

“It is difficult to overlook the resemblance.”

Dimitri’s jaw hardened. He often used his considerable male beauty to his advantage, but he cursed the resemblance to the man who had brutally forced himself on a young, defenseless female.

“We share the same countenance, but make no mistake that is where the similarities end,” he said, his voice colder than a Siberian winter.

Herrick dipped his head in acknowledgment. “That is difficult to overlook as well, which is why your constant surveillance of the count piqued my interest. It was obvious you were searching for particular information.”

Dimitri was not pleased. He spied on others, they did not spy on him.

“You have an annoying habit of meddling in my private business.”

“It is my duty to meddle in the business of others.”

“You play a dangerous game, Gerhardt.”

Herrick shrugged, unperturbed by the threat in Dimitri’s soft voice.

“And you are intimately familiar with dangerous games, are you not, Tipova?” he asked. “The count would be most displeased to realize his bastard son suspects he is involved in illegal activities.”

Dimitri briefly considered the pleasure of tossing the older man into the nearby Fontanka Canal, then disregarded the notion. As pleasant as it might be to see Herrick’s impervious calm rattled, it was not worth the loss of his head.

Besides, there were more important matters to consider at the moment.

“What would you have of me?”

Herrick leaned forward, his dark eyes glittering in the moonlight.

“Meet with Emma Linley-Kirov. I truly believe the two of you are searching for the same answers.”

“I knew I was going to regret this meeting.”

PEERING OUT OF THE carriage window, Emma studied the pale stone building built with a columned portico in the center and two wings that spread along the canal. Although newly arrived in St. Petersburg, she would presume that the far side of the building was devoted to gentlemen lodgers. Why else would the small cluster of men be standing on the paved walk and keeping such a close watch on the passing traffic? On the other side was a more familiar coffee shop with several small tables and a back counter that held trays of tempting pastry that made Emma’s mouth water even at a distance.

“There it is,” she said, turning her head to meet her maid’s sour expression.

Yelena had firmly disapproved of Emma’s decision to meet with the Beggar Czar, Dimitri Tipova.

Of course, the elderly maid with a thatch of gray hair and slender body wrapped in a black cloak had disapproved of traveling to St. Petersburg, of accepting Herrick Gerhardt’s surprisingly warm welcome, and even of being sheltered by Herrick’s dear friend, Vanya Petrova in her beautiful mansion beside the Fontanka Canal.

Emma, on the other hand, was deeply grateful to the older man who had greeted her without a word of condemnation of her forward behavior and had promised he would do whatever possible to help her locate Anya.

“It does not appear to be a den of iniquity,” Yelena at last muttered. “Are you certain this is the proper address?”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “Appearances are too often deceptive, as I have so painfully discovered. It is rather public, however.”

“I should think it is public.” Yelena folded her gnarled fingers in her lap, her lips pinched together. “You cannot meet with a strange gentleman in private without so much as a proper introduction.”

Despite her raw nerves, Emma couldn’t contain her sudden chuckle. “I am about to request the assistance of the most renowned criminal in all of Russia and your concern is our lack of a proper introduction?”

The older woman sniffed. “I have a great number of concerns.”

Instantly contrite, Emma reached across the elegant carriage that Vanya had kindly insisted she use during her time in St. Petersburg, and patted her companion’s hand. Yelena was one of the very few people who had stood by her through the years.

“Forgive me, Yelena. I fear my nerves are in tatters. I did not mean to snap.”

Yelena’s expression immediately softened. “The past week would try the patience of a saint.”

Surely truer words had not been spoken, Emma acknowledged with a sigh. She did not wish to recall the grueling journey to St. Petersburg, or her sick trepidation as she had approached Herrick Gerhardt’s beautiful home to beg for his assistance.

It was enough to concentrate on today’s troubles.

Perhaps more than enough.

Pretending that her stomach was not cramped with fear, Emma managed a smile as the uniformed groom pulled open the carriage door.

“Remain here.”

Yelena frowned. “Emma—”

“We have been through this,” Emma interrupted. “The message was quite clear that I come alone. Besides, if I do not reappear then I shall need you to storm the fortress and rescue me.”

The maid pressed a shaking hand to her bosom. “Dear Lord.”

“I am merely teasing, Yelena. All will be well.” Keeping the strained smile intact, Emma allowed herself to be assisted from the carriage and headed for the door of the coffee shop. “Please God, let all be well,” she muttered beneath her breath.

Entering the coffee shop, she took the seat closest the window as the message had demanded. Thank goodness she had wrapped herself in a sturdy gown of dark gray that buttoned to her chin and brushed the wooden floor past her sensible leather boots. And that her honey hair was covered by a wool scarf her mother had knit. There was a roaring fire across the room, but so close to the door there was a distinct chill in the air.

Settling uncomfortably in the wooden chair, Emma cast a swift glance about the wide room, relieved that many of the tables were empty. There were two elegantly attired gentlemen playing chess by the fire, and a group of more roughly dressed men at a table that ran the length of the far wall, but she was quite alone in her corner.

Her appreciation for her solitude, however, began to wane as an hour passed, and then another. Where the devil was Dimitri Tipova? Had he invited her here just to see if she would risk her reputation by meeting with a notorious criminal? Was this a mere hoax at her expense? Or were Beggar Czars so busy they found it impossible to keep their appointments?

Tapping an impatient finger on the table, Emma found her anxiety hardening to a simmering anger.

She was accustomed to being treated with disrespect. She was even accustomed to being ignored by others who thought themselves above her. But she could not afford to waste an entire day on some ridiculous game. If Dimitri Tipova did not wish to be of service then he should at least have the decency to send his regrets.

On the point of rising to her feet, Emma was caught off guard when a large man approached her table and settled in a chair at her side.

“Well, well. Such a tender little morsel,” he husked, his face with its heavy jowls and beady blue eyes far too close. “I wonder if you taste as sweet as you look.”

Emma tilted her chin, shifting away from the hulking body attired in a faded green coat and the heavy boots of a laborer.

“Please move along.”

A cruel smiled curved his lips. “Perhaps I do not want to move along. Perhaps I intend to take you to the back room and sample your wares.”

Emma should no doubt have been terrified, but at the moment her temper was fully aroused and in no mood to endure the man’s rude behavior. Even if he was twice her size.

Grasping the cup of coffee she had bought in an effort to pass the time, she narrowed her gaze.

“Either you leave me in peace or I will pour this exceedingly hot coffee into your lap,” she warned. “Perhaps that will teach you not to impose your vile presence on unfortunate maidens who might cross your path.”

The intruder blinked, as if stupefied by her threat. “You…”

His lips had barely parted when another man joined them, this one far more slender, although the scar running down his cheek from his eyebrow to the edge of his mouth made him appear far more sinister. Her companion seemed to think so as well, as his face paled and sweat beaded his forehead.

“Semyon, return to the docks and make certain that the ship that arrived this morning is properly unloaded. You know how our employer dislikes unnecessary attention to our business.”

“Yes…of course.”

Stumbling to his feet, the man performed an awkward bow and headed for the door. Emma straightened from her seat as well, her temper not appeased.

She had been ignored for hours, and then rudely insulted by that brute. She had endured enough.

“Emma Linley-Kirov?” the man demanded.

“And you are?”

“Josef. I am here to escort you.”

Her lips tightened. So, Dimitri Tipova could not be bothered to greet her in person.

“Escort me to where?” she demanded.

The servant waved an indifferent hand toward a door at the back of the room, clearly unimpressed with his current duties.

“Merely to the private rooms upstairs. There is no need to be afraid.”

She squared her shoulders. “I am not afraid, I am furious. Do you know how long I have been waiting?”

A startled silence filled the entire room as Josef regarded her with astonishment.

“Dimitri Tipova is a very busy man,” he said, his tone chiding. “You are fortunate he agreed to meet with you at all.”

Emma sniffed, refusing to be intimidated. “Ah, yes, you cannot imagine how honored I am to be graced with a few moments of the Beggar Czar’s precious time.”

With a muttered curse, the slender man headed toward the back of the room.

“This way.”

Stiffly, Emma followed in his wake, acutely aware of the hard gazes trained in her direction. Josef pulled open the door and led her up a narrow flight of stairs, then reaching a landing, he motioned her toward a small room with a brocade sofa and two scrolled chairs set beside a marble fireplace.

“Wait here.”

Not bothering to turn, Josef continued toward a door on the opposite side of the landing, shoving it open and stepping through. Ignoring good manners, Emma remained poised on the landing, blatantly attempting to overhear the low conversation between Josef and whoever was waiting in the room.

“She arrived?” A man that Emma presumed was Dimitri Tipova demanded, his dark voice sending an odd tingle down her spine.

“Regrettably,” Josef muttered.

“Why regrettably?”

“The woman is sour enough to curdle milk.”

“No doubt she is concerned for her sister.”

“It is not concern that makes a woman into an overbearing shrew. She is the nasty sort who tosses out orders and expects them to be obeyed.”

“Naturally.” The gorgeous male voice held an edge of resignation. “I should have known Gerhardt would take pleasure in plaguing me with his old maid cousin. No doubt he is seated before a warm fire, relishing his peace while I am stuck with the harridan.”

Emma winced, then gritted her teeth, pretending she wasn’t wounded by the familiar mockery. She had not traveled to St. Petersburg to charm the local thieves.

Stepping over the threshold, she had a brief impression of a small study with bookshelves lining the walls and a porcelain stove set between two leather wing chairs. Then a tall man lifted himself from behind a heavy walnut desk and her mind abruptly refused to function.

He was just so absurdly beautiful.

Her stunned gaze traced the bronze perfection of his features. The wide, intelligent brow. The slender nose and full, sensual lips. The slash of his prominent cheekbones. The chiseled brows that were the same raven-black as his long hair pulled into a tail at his nape.

It was his eyes, however, that stole her breath.

An astonishing gold that shimmered in wicked temptation, they were surely the eyes of the devil.

Or perhaps a fallen angel.

All Emma knew for certain was that he was a compelling combination of lethal power and male sensuality that would make any poor woman go weak in the knees.

An odd, heated excitement fluttered in the pit of her stomach as that golden gaze flared over her tiny form. An excitement that was swiftly replaced with hollow disappointment as his lush lips twisted with a familiar male disapproval.

What did she expect, she mocked her temporary insanity?

That Dimitri Tipova might be unconventional enough not to judge her bold manner? That a man forced to survive in a harsh world was capable of understanding the need for her to do the same?

Thrusting aside the inane thoughts, Emma conjured the icy composure that was her only protection.

“I may be an old maid, but I at least possess a few manners,” she stated, her gaze never wavering from the unnerving golden eyes. “Something sadly lacking among you and your loathsome band of cutthroats.”

DIMITRI SHOULD HAVE been amused.

The tiny female wrapped in layers of wool barely came to his chin and weighed less than his wolfhound. To have her burst into his room and chide him as if he were a naughty child rather than the most dangerous man in St. Petersburg was absurd.

It wasn’t amusement he felt, however, as his gaze rested on the honey curls that peeked from her scarf to lie against the purity of her ivory skin and the steady hazel eyes that held unwavering strength.

There was something about her that challenged him at his most primitive level.

He wanted to loom over her until she dropped her bold gaze in silent defeat. He wanted to bluntly inform her that he was an unrepentant tyrant who expected immediate obedience from others.

He wanted to haul her against his body until the defiance faded from her beautiful eyes and her lush lips softened in invitation…

Thankfully unaware of the currents of prickling awareness that swirled through the air, Josef folded his arms over his chest.

“What did I say? Curdled milk,” he muttered.

Dimitri never allowed his gaze to stray from Emma Linley-Kirov’s stubborn expression.

“That will be all.”

“Are you certain? There is nothing more dangerous than an angry female.”

“Thank you, Josef, I believe you have done quite enough,” Dimitri dryly assured his friend, waiting for his servant to leave the room before he rounded the desk and perched on the corner.

His lips twisted as her gaze skimmed down his tailored, cinnamon jacket that he had paired with a cream satin waistcoat. He had tied his crisp cravat in an Oriental knot and a diamond the size of a thimble winked in the perfect folds. Clearly the woman had expected him to be a savage rather than the sort of sophisticated gentleman who could appear comfortable in the finest home.

“There is a saying that listeners rarely hear good of themselves,” he at last broke the silence.

An indefinable emotion flared through her eyes before she was jutting her chin in silent condemnation.

“I am indifferent to your opinion of me, sir—”

“Dimitri,” he smoothly corrected.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I am no gentleman as you have so graciously implied. You will call me Dimitri.”

Her lips tightened, whether in disapproval at the informality or at being given an order, it was impossible to determine.

“If you insist,” she grudgingly conceded.

“I do.”

“Can we please discuss my sister?” she snapped. “I have wasted enough of my day.”

Dimitri narrowed his gaze, shoving from the desk and prowling toward the woman regarding him with an imperious scowl. A surge of male satisfaction raced through him as she instinctively backed away from his approaching form, even as his more civilized nature was shocked by his fierce reaction to the delicate slip of a woman.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Herding her until she was pressed flat against the bookcase, he reached to grasp the shelves on either side of her shoulders.

“Perhaps we should discuss the nature of our—” his brooding gaze lowered to the tempting curve of her lips “—relationship, Emma.”

Heat flared beneath her ivory skin, but her eyes shimmered with rebellion.

“There is no relationship, merely a set of unfortunate circumstances that have forced us to join our resources for the time being.”

He pressed closer, caught by surprise when a raw awareness of her slender body seared through him. It was inconceivable. He enjoyed his women soft and vulnerable. The sort who depended upon him to offer support and protection. Not aging tartars who smelled of soap and starch.

“Then let me clarify the joining of resources.”

Her color deepened at the hint of huskiness in his voice. “What do you mean?”

“You desire my assistance, then you will have to follow my rules. Otherwise you can turn around and leave now.”

A tense silence filled the room he had recently converted into his private office, then without warning, Emma was shoving him away and pacing toward the window that overlooked the street.

Dimitri couldn’t deny a grudging respect for her courage. He knew only one other woman who would not have fainted or fled by now.

His mother.

The realization did nothing to ease his potent need to tame the prickly female. His mother’s courage had put her in an early grave.

“Fine.” Slowly turning, Emma regarded him with an unflinching gaze. “What are these precious rules?”

“The first is that I will not tolerate an ill-tempered termagant in my presence. If you cannot control your sharp tongue, then I will discover a means to tame it.”

Her eyes widened. “Tame? If you think I will tolerate being beaten by—”

He was moving before he could halt the impulse, his hands holding her face steady as he lowered his head and covered her mouth in a soft, coaxing kiss. He had intended to teach her a lesson in controlling her shrewish tongue, but at the first taste of her honeyed innocence his passions stirred, his body hardening. His hands tightened on her face as he deepened the kiss.

Just for a moment she softened against him, her lips parting in a sweet surrender. Then, with a choked moan, she jerked back, her eyes blazing with a fury that did not entirely mask her startled desire.

“Why, you…”

Well versed in the ways of women, Dimitri easily caught the hand she lifted to slap his face, bringing her fingers to his mouth.

“The second rule is no striking your master,” he could not resist taunting.

Flecks of gold smoldered in the hazel eyes. “Master?”

He kissed her slender fingers. “You are in desperate need of my assistance, which means that while you remain in St. Petersburg you are in my power.”

“I will not be treated as if I am a serf.”

“You will do precisely as I say and you will do so without complaint.”

She jerked her hand from his grasp, marching toward the door with her chin high and her back stiff.

“This is absurd.”

“If you walk out that door, Emma, I can assure you that you will never find your sister.”

CHAPTER THREE

EMMA HALTED AT THE soft threat.

Dimitri Tipova was not at all what she had expected. She had been prepared for a rough, ill-mannered oaf who used his fists, not his wits, to control the underworld. Certainly, she had never dreamed he would be a sophisticated, well-educated gentleman who was as beautiful as an angel and as wicked as Lucifer.

And that kiss…

No. She hastily thrust aside the feverish memory of her first kiss.

She was suitably rattled without the distracting thought of Dimitri’s warm, seeking lips and the potent heat that speared through her body.

Slowly turning, she met his ruthless gaze. “You know where she is?”

“No, but—”

“Then I will find someone less offensive to help me.”

He strolled forward, the scent of sandalwood and warm male skin teasing at her senses.

“There is no one in all of Russia who has devoted the time and resources that I have to uncovering the habits of those noblemen who prey on children.” Halting directly before her, he cupped her chin, his gaze briefly dipping down to her mouth before returning to meet her wary gaze. “And more important, I have only to whisper in the requisite ears and there will be no one in St. Petersburg willing to lend you help.”

“Herrick warned me that you had your share of arrogance, but you cannot possibly believe you possess the power to influence every citizen in St. Petersburg.”

“So naive,” he mocked. “Tell me, Emma, how many merchants would be willing to speak with you once it became known that the goods they purchase from my warehouses were about to double in cost? And how many servants would agree to speak with you once they learn you are a suspected spy for Alexander Pavlovich in search of traitors to the crown? As for society…” His soft chuckle brushed over her cheek, causing her stomach to clench with a startling excitement. “Well, even presuming they would be willing to meet with a commoner, they would have you tossed in the nearest dungeon for daring to implicate a noble in such a wicked crime.”

She clenched her hands, wanting desperately to walk away from the conceited beast and never look back. Unfortunately, she suspected his words were not empty boasts.

Could she truly risk the opportunity to find Anya just because this man threatened to drive her to madness?

“Why are you being so cruel?” she demanded.

“Not cruel—efficient,” he corrected. “As you said, for the moment we have need of one another. I have no intention of spending the next days, perhaps weeks, being flayed by a shrill-tongued harpy. If you behave as a lady and do as I say, we shall rub along quite nicely.”

“So I am expected to be a proper lady while you are at liberty to behave as an ill-mannered brute?”

“You are at least intelligent.” A slow, wicked smile curved his lips. “Do we have a bargain?”

Emma sucked in a sharp breath, not for the first time wishing she had been born a man. How delightful it would be if she possessed the power to knock the arrogant toad onto his backside.

“Do I have a choice?” she gritted.

“Of course.” He peered deep into her eyes, almost as if willing her to obey his words. “You can return to your home where you belong.”

“I will not leave St. Petersburg without my sister.”

“Even if I give my word I will do my best to discover her whereabouts and return her to you?”

“And why would I trust the word of a—” Her insult was sharply interrupted as his head swooped down and he kissed her with a seeking demand that made her heart skip a beat. Dear…Lord. After the death of her father she had resigned herself to becoming an old maid. At the time she had regretted the loss of many things, most notably the lack of a companion who could share her joys and fears and the mundane events that were all a part of life. It had not occurred to her that she might rue the lack of a man’s touch. Not until Dimitri had revealed just how potently addictive that touch could be. Arching back, she struggled to breathe. “Stop that.”

He studied her from beneath his thick tangle of lashes. “I did warn you that I would tame your unruly tongue.”

Emma grimly stiffened her spine, refusing to dwell on her tingling lips or the restless, achy sensation that gripped her body. Obviously she was coming down with a chill.

“I cannot believe that Herrick would request that I meet with you,” she muttered. “Do you make a habit of attacking helpless females?”

“Helpless?” His sharp burst of laughter echoed through the room. “I have hired savage, fully-armed bandits who inspire less fear than having to face your expression of cold disapproval.”

She turned her head to stare at the leather-bound books lining the shelves, determined to hide her reaction. What did he expect? Simpering and batting her lashes was not going to save Anya from disaster.

“You have already assaulted me, there is no need to mock me, as well.”

With a surprisingly gentle touch he forced her face back to meet his searching gaze.

“It was a simple kiss, hardly an assault,” he murmured, his arm wrapping around her waist. “You have been kissed before, have you not, Emma?”

“Release me.”

“What an odd contradiction you are,” he breathed, the golden gaze searing over her face with a disconcerting intensity. “You wrap yourself in fire and brimstone, but beneath that armor is a bewitching innocence.”

Her heart fluttered and she abruptly shoved away from his disturbing touch.

“I came here to discuss my sister, not to indulge in foolish games.”

For a tense moment she feared he might haul her back against his chest. And more important, she feared she might not protest.

Then, with a rueful shake of his head he waved a hand toward the wing chairs.

“Have a seat, and I will order tea.”

She stubbornly remained standing in the center of the floor. “Do not pretend to be civilized on my account.”

He leaned against the desk, the late afternoon sunlight slanting over his elegantly chiseled features.

“Most of my guests find my manners exquisitely polished and my hospitality without equal.”

“Indeed?”

His lips twisted. “It is only you who seems to rouse my more barbaric nature.”

“Do you intend to assist me or not?”

“Tell me of the gentlemen who you believe abducted your sister.”

Unprepared for his abrupt question, it took Emma a moment to gather her scattered thoughts.

“They were obviously noblemen.”

He arched a raven brow. “How can you be so certain? Even the most common criminal can mimic his betters with enough wealth and the proper training. I possess a number of employees who could attend a ball at the Winter Palace without stirring the least curiosity.”

She grimaced. “It was not their fine clothing or their elegant speech that marked them as nobles.”

“Then what?”

“It was their utter contempt for those they considered beneath them, and how they expected others to bow to their every whim.”

He seemed surprised by her explanation. “You are very perceptive.”

“Obviously not perceptive enough,” she said, her voice edged with bitterness. “I should have suspected that such elegant gentlemen would never willingly re main at my modest coaching inn without some nefarious purpose.”

“What explanation did they offer?”

She shrugged. “They claimed to be searching for a small estate to purchase that would be suitable for a hunting lodge.”

Dimitri nodded, as if he’d expected a similar story. “What names did they use?”

“Baron Fedor Karnechev and his younger brother Sergei.”

“And you would recognize them?”

A cold, dangerous smile curved her lips. When she found the men who had taken her sister, she intended to rip out their hearts with her bare hands.

“Without a doubt.”

Amusement smoldered in the whiskey-gold eyes as Dimitri watched fury ripple over her face.

“Does your sister resemble you?”

“There are some similarities, but Anya’s hair is lighter in color and her eyes the shade of a summer sky.” A wistful smile touched her lips. “She is quite beautiful.”

“I was referring to her temperament, not her physical attributes.”

Emma frowned in puzzlement. “What does her temperament matter?”

“Gerhardt divulged the fact that Anya went willingly with her captors, believing she was to become a famous actress.” His gaze swept down her tiny form before returning to study the stubborn line of her jaw. “I find it difficult to imagine you ever allowing yourself to be so easily persuaded.”

She shifted, feeling awkward beneath his relentless scrutiny. “She is very young and gullible.”

“More likely she is vain and spoiled.”

She jerked at the unexpected attack. “You know nothing of Anya.”

“I know that a young lady with the least concern for her family does not abandon her home and allow herself to be carried off by the first gentleman to turn her head with a bit of flattery.”

The very fact he was right did nothing to ease her flare of anger. In truth, she was horrified that Anya had been so easily led astray, but she did not blame her younger sister. No. Any blame should be laid directly at her own feet.

“I have endured enough.” Blinking back hot tears of shame, Emma once again headed for the door. “I do not understand why you agreed to meet with me, but it is obvious you have no interest in helping me.”

She had managed to reach the hallway when a pair of warm, ruthlessly strong arms wrapped around her waist and tugged her back into the room. Bending his head, Dimitri spoke directly into her ear.

“You truly must learn to control that temper of yours, milaya.”

FOR A CRAZED MOMENT, Dimitri savored the sensation of her feminine body pressed against his arousal. Then with a curse at his deranged reaction to an ill-tempered spinster, he quickly released his tight grip, not at all surprised when she spun around to stab him with a furious glare.

“Are you going to rescue my sister or not?”

If he possessed a shred of sense Dimitri knew he should have allowed the woman to stomp away. Herrick Gerhardt could not expect him to force himself on an aggravating woman who was too foolish to appreciate his assistance. Instead, he met her glare with a ruthless smile.

“First we must discover the identity of the gentlemen who abducted her.”

Her glare remained, but she gave a grudging nod. “I can describe them if you wish.”

“There is a more practical means. You will accompany me this evening.”

“Accompany you where?”

“I own a number of gambling establishments that cater to the aristocrats of St. Petersburg. If the gentlemen who visited your inn are truly noblemen and they have returned to the city, then they will eventually make an appearance at one of my clubs.”

Her mouth fell open. “You intend to escort me to a gambling club?”

Thoroughly enjoying her shock, Dimitri shrugged. “I intend to escort you to several gambling clubs.”

“You must be jesting.”

“Tell me, Emma, when you came to St. Petersburg did you expect to discover your sister being kept hostage in a church?” he taunted. “Or perhaps awaiting you in the throne room of the Winter Palace?”

The ready color crawled beneath her cheeks. “Of course not.”

“Then why the maidenly outrage?”

There was a tiny pause before she was jutting her chin in a stubborn angle, her magnificent hazel eyes hardening with determination.

“I was merely caught off guard.”

With a silent curse, Dimitri spun away, disturbed by Emma’s combination of vulnerability and determination.

“If you wish to capture the dregs of society you must hunt them in the gutters,” he said, his voice unnaturally harsh. “Are you prepared to do what is necessary?”

“Yes.”

“We shall see.” Sucking in a deep breath he turned back to meet her guarded gaze. “Where are you staying?”

“Vanya Petrova was kind enough to offer her hospitality.”

Dimitri nodded, already having suspected that Herrick would turn to his dear friend to provide Emma a home.

“Then I will collect you at nine this evening.”

“Very well.” With a stiff nod, the woman headed for the door.

“Emma,” he called softly.

She froze, her hands clenching before she forced herself to turn and meet his brooding gaze.

“Yes?”

“Staid spinsters do not visit gambling clubs. If you wish to avoid unwanted attention you might consider a gown that does not smother you in wool.”

Her eyes flashed with the sort of fury that made Dimitri relieved that there was no knife at hand.

“I am not the one who needs to fear being smothered.”

EMMA PEERED OUT THE window of the carriage, allowing her maid’s incessant lecture on what happens to females who spend an entire afternoon in the company of known criminals to flow past her. She did not need to be reminded she had been a fool to meet with Dimitri Tipova. Or that she was an even greater fool to have agreed to his outrageous suggestion that she allow him to escort her to his gambling clubs.

For goodness’ sake, if she were recognized she would never overcome the scandal.

Whatever the dangers she fully intended to travel from one den of iniquity to another until she located the men who had abducted her sister. There was no point in dwelling on the insanity of her behavior.

Instead, she studied the overwhelming beauty of the city around her.

Over the past two days she had been too occupied with her troubles to truly notice its magnificence. Now she allowed herself to appreciate the stunning palaces that lined the narrow canals.

How odd to realize that such glory could rise from such brutality.

Her lips twisted as she recalled her history lessons. The cold-hearted Ivan and his private army, the oprichniki, who had terrorized the boyars until the Tatars attacked Moscow. Ivan had ordered any number of bloodbaths to maintain his ruthless rule until he had tumbled into utter madness and he was at last murdered by his own heir.

As much a monster as Ivan had been, however, the period of chaos that followed his death had proven the need for a strong leader to rule the vast empire. It had been the desperate Cossacks and outspoken Streltsi, and even a group of more prosperous peasants, that had demanded the zemsky sobor be called to name a new czar.

Eventually, Peter had come to the throne, his life already scarred by being forced to witness his closest family butchered when he was just ten years of age. Not that his years of being condemned to the remote hunting lodge on the Yauza River had been wasted. Indeed, they had offered him a rare opportunity for self-education.

Left to entertain himself, he studied with the local craftsmen to acquire skills in everything from blacksmithing to carpentry. He also gathered devoted friends who assisted him in mock battles and discovering the best means of drilling an infantry. Long before acquiring an army he had practiced besieging a scale-sized fortress and could calculate the ranges for his artillery.

Perhaps most important, he developed an obsessive fascination with sailing.

With remarkable foresight he had realized the future of his country depended upon opening itself to the world, and with a cruel efficiency he conquered a path to the Baltic Sea and then set about building a city that would rival Versailles.

There was a clatter of hooves as the carriage crossed the Fontanka River over the Semyonovsky Bridge and Emma realized they were nearing Vanya’s home.

Tugging the scarf more tightly around her neck, she was prepared as the carriage halted in front of the imposing mansion with its columned balcony and massive jade lions that guarded the double doors. Leaving the carriage she climbed the steps and entered the marble foyer.

There was an awkward moment as the uniformed servants scurried about her, attempting to perform small services before Emma waved them away. She would never become accustomed to having others wait on her.

Hovering uncertainly by a rosewood table that held a delicate Chinese vase, Emma was relieved by the sudden appearance of a strikingly beautiful woman with silver hair and a tall, curvaceous form attired in a morning dress of lavender silk.

“At last. I was becoming quite concerned,” Vanya murmured, a hint of worry in her pale blue eyes.

“I am sorry.” Emma removed her scarf and tossed it aside. “The impossible man kept me waiting for near two hours. As if he were royalty rather than a common criminal.”

Taking Emma’s hand, Vanya led her up a curved staircase. “I should never consider Dimitri Tipova common,” she said with a small sigh. “He is sinfully handsome, is he not?”

A dangerous sensation fluttered in the pit of her stomach. “I suppose he is handsome enough, although that does not compensate for his utter lack of civility. He is the rudest man I have ever encountered.”

Vanya allowed a mysterious smile to curve her lips as she led Emma into a private salon with emerald wall panels and gilt cornices. The furniture was a dark mahogany with gold velvet cushions and the wooden floor covered by an Oriental rug. The overall atmosphere was one of rich sensuality.

A perfect setting for Vanya.

“Odd.” Vanya settled on the sofa and pulled Emma down next to her. “I have always thought him to be surprisingly gracious.”

“You are well acquainted?”

Leaning forward, Vanya poured two cups of tea from the tray left on the low table, adding a generous amount of milk and sugar before handing a cup to Emma and leaning back into the cushions.

“He performed a great service for a dear friend of mine,” she explained, sipping her hot tea. “I consider myself in his debt.”

Emma hastily tempered her words, far too polite to insult a man her hostess held in high esteem.

“No doubt it is my fault.” She took a reviving sip of tea, hoping it would help the lies tumble from her lips. “He did mention that I stir his more primitive nature.”

“Did he?” Vanya’s smile widened. “How very intriguing.”

Intriguing? Emma found it utterly vexing. As if she were to blame for his irritating lack of manners.

“Let us hope our time together is of short duration.”

“Did he agree to assist you in your search for poor Anya?”

“Yes.”

“Thank goodness.” The older woman reached to pat Emma’s arm. “Whatever your opinion of Dimitri there is no gentleman more suited to helping you.”

Emma battled the urge to roll her eyes. “So he has told me.”

Vanya’s smile faded, her fingers gently squeezing Emma’s arm.

“Emma, do you prefer that I find another to lend you assistance?”

Her lips parted with a cowardly urge to agree to Vanya’s suggestion. Dimitri Tipova was arrogant and provoking and…

Dangerously attractive.

Then, she hastily swallowed the ridiculous words. If both Herrick and Vanya considered Dimitri Tipova the most suitable man to help her rescue Anya, then she would be inexcusably selfish to turn him away just because she…what? Feared him?

“No, of course not,” she said, her tone brisk. “Indeed, I need your help to prepare for the evening.”

“You have made plans?”

“I am to accompany Dimitri Tipova to several of his gambling establishments in the hopes I will recognize the gentlemen who lured Anya to St. Petersburg.”

If she was shocked by Emma’s revelation, then Vanya hid it well. Indeed, she nodded as if it were perfectly reasonable for a young, innocent maiden to allow herself to be escorted by a renowned criminal to his wicked clubs.

“Ah.”

“I shall need a means to disguise myself,” she firmly insisted. “I cannot risk being recognized. Who can say what the odious creatures will do to Anya if they realize I have followed them?”

“Do not fear, my dear.” A gleam that Emma did not entirely trust sparkled in Vanya’s blue eyes. “I shall ensure that not even your sister will recognize you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE SUNKEN ROSE GARDEN was thankfully wrapped in shadows as Dimitri strolled past the Italian sculptures and marble fountains. Despite his connections among the most elite members of the Russian court, he was still a bastard. Which meant he entered the fine homes by the servants’ entrance.

He was moving toward the narrow door at the back of the garden when his instincts prickled and he turned to discover a statuesque woman stepping into the garden from the French windows.

“Dimitri.”

Hiding a smile at Vanya Petrova’s imperious tone, Dimitri followed the flagstone path to halt before the older woman and perform a deep bow.

Vanya was one of the few aristocrats he truly admired.

“Vanya, as beautiful as ever,” he murmured. “I trust Richard Monroe appreciates just how fortunate he is to have captured your fair hand?”

A warm smile curved her lips at the mention of the Englishman who had been her devoted suitor for the past twenty years. Much to the surprise of St. Petersburg, Vanya had at last agreed to Monroe’s proposal.

“I presume he does.” She touched the large strand of pearls that encircled her neck. “The wedding is less than a month away and he has not yet bolted.”

“If I were not a dedicated bachelor I would attempt to steal you away.”

Vanya allowed her gaze to roam over his jacket in a pale blue-and-silver waistcoat that he had matched with black knee breeches. She smiled, almost as if she suspected he had taken particular pains with his attire.

“Every gentleman is a dedicated bachelor until he encounters the perfect woman.”

He clicked his tongue. “I did not expect such a predictable response from such a delightfully unconventional lady.”

“I intend to be even more predictable when I warn you that I am depending upon you to protect my young and decidedly innocent guest.”

“You have no need to fear. I promise that Emma Linley-Kirov will not leave my side.”

Vanya narrowed her eyes. “That does not entirely relieve my unease.”

Dimitri frowned, pretending that he had not spent an inordinate amount of time dwelling on his encounter with the bothersome female.

“For all my sins I am no debaucher of the innocent. Especially not when that innocence is wrapped in such a prickly package.”

“Do not allow her indomitable spirit to deceive you. Emma has taken on responsibilities that would have broken a lesser woman,” Vanya chastised. “Underneath all her pretense of courage, however, she is a young maiden who is terrified for her sister.”

His expression hardened. He was unaccustomed to being lectured as if he were a school lad. Not even the most cutthroat villain dared to question him.

“I will attempt to keep that in mind.”

There was the sound of footsteps and they both turned to watch Emma step from the house.

“Ah, here she is,” Vanya murmured.

Briefly caught in the candlelight from the house, Emma’s honey curls tumbled freely about her shoulders, but Vanya had cleverly hidden the young maiden’s face with a charming hat made of gold feathers and a diamond-encrusted veil that ended just above Emma’s lush lips. It added a hint of provocative mystery that would stir a man to investigate more. With the same masterful touch, Vanya had wrapped Emma’s slender body in a long cape of black velvet trimmed with matching gold feathers.

There was not a soul who would recognize her.

“Well done, Vanya,” he murmured. “I knew I could depend upon you to be rid of the nasty wool.”

The older woman chuckled, as if she harbored a secret. “You have no notion. Good luck, my dear.”

Moving toward the house, Vanya paused to kiss Emma on the cheek before disappearing through the French doors. Dimitri traced her footsteps, halting at Emma’s side to offer an arm.

“Shall we go?”

She hesitated, and Dimitri sensed her silent battle to overcome her fear. Then, with that courage he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was destined to lead her into trouble, she laid her hand on his arm and allowed herself to be led to the carriage Dimitri had left next to the mews.

Assisting her into the vehicle, Dimitri placed the heated bricks at her feet before settling at her side and tugging the rug over both of them. The night air was crisp enough to be uncomfortable.

He waited until the driver had set the matching black horses into a brisk trot before he reached into a drawer built beneath the leather bench and retrieved a silver flask and two small crystal glasses.

Pouring them both a measure of the potent spirits, he pressed one of the glasses into Emma’s unwilling fingers and lifted his own glass in a toast.

“Za vas.”

She cautiously sipped the expensive liquor, predictably choking as the fiery liquid slid down her throat.

“Good Lord. What is it?”

“Cognac.” Dimitri took a far more appreciative sip, savoring the nutty flavor of the well-aged spirit. “It will help keep you warm.”

She frowned, but she took another sip, perhaps hoping to ease her nerves.

“Is it a great distance to your club?” she demanded.

“No, it is quite close.” Dimitri refilled her glass, studying her brittle expression. She appeared ready to bolt. Clearly a distraction was in order. “Is this your first visit to St. Petersburg?”

“This is the first occasion I have ever left our tiny village.” A rueful smile touched her lips, her hazel eyes shrouded in mystery behind the gossamer veil. “I suppose that makes me impossibly provincial?”

“I refuse to be baited, Emma Linley-Kirov. Do you wish me to point out the more historical buildings we will pass on our journey?”

“I…” She paused, then offered a small dip of her head. “Yes, I would be very interested, thank you.”

Scooting closer to her, Dimitri glanced out the window as the carriage turned onto the Nevsky Prospekt.

Within moments the stunning Our Lady of Kazan Cathedral came into view. The domed church was an impressive sight with its sweeping colonnade that framed a small garden complete with a fountain.

“Perhaps you know Emperor Paul intended the structure to imitate Saint Peter’s Basilica in Rome despite the church officials’ outrage at having a replica of a Catholic church.”

As he had hoped, Emma’s tension eased as she pressed her nose to the window, obviously eager to enjoy the spectacular view.

“My father told me that Alexander Pavlovich had commanded the church become a memorial to the defeat of Napoleon.”

“Yes,” Dimitri agreed dryly. The emperor had been quite eager to ensure that his victory over the Corsican monster was suitably commemorated throughout the city. “The great Mikhail Kutuzov is laid to rest in the cathedral and the keys from several European cities and fortresses were placed in the sacristy in honor of Russia’s victory.”

The carriage rattled onward and Dimitri pointed out the Stroganov Palace with its massive entrance arch supported by two Corinthian columns. Like much of St. Petersburg it had been designed by Rastrelli. Turning eastward they passed the Admiralty and headed toward the Palace Square. It was, of course, the crowning jewel of the city with its lavish facade painted a pale green and trimmed in white. Massive statues lined the roof and at one end an onion dome dominated the skyline. Next to the palace were the Hermitage houses that held Catherine’s vast collection of paintings as well as the theater built for Catherine by Giacomo Quarenghi.

Dimitri hid his smile as Emma pointed toward the passing buildings, asking endless questions and unabashedly enjoying the short tour. It had become fashionable to pretend a jaded indifference to the world, and he could not deny it was refreshing to be in the company of a woman willing to reveal her emotions.

Her eyes widened in fascination as she spotted the Peter and Paul Fortress on the northern bank of the Neva, she sighed at the beauty of the summer gardens, and shivered at the forbidding Mikhailovsky Castle, a fortress built by an insane Emperor Paul where he was later to be murdered.

It was almost a disappointment when they crossed the bridge leading to the lower Nevsky and turned onto a narrow street lined with unpretentious elegant buildings.

Emma turned to him in surprise. “Why are we slowing?”

“I prefer not to leap from a moving carriage unless absolutely necessary,” he informed her dryly.

She sucked in a sharp breath, her gaze taking in the building painted a brilliant yellow with a wide entrance that was guarded by two servants. Although it was early, there was already a steady line of opulently clad gentlemen climbing the stairs and producing their gilt-edged cards that marked them as members.

“This is your club?”

Ridiculously, Dimitri discovered himself offended by her shock. “Did you expect a hovel in a dark alley?”

She drained the last of her cognac before setting aside the empty glass.

“I have never given much thought to gambling establishments. Now I realize they must be quite profitable.”

He shoved open the door, assisting her onto the paved walk. “Sin is not without its reward.”

“Spoken by an unrepentant sinner.”

“Of course,” he agreed.

As the bastard of a nobleman he had received a fine education, but was forbidden to take his place among society. At the same time, he was too cultured to be accepted among the peasants. With no true place in the world, he had turned his ruthless willpower to creating an empire of his own making.

Leading Emma up the stairs, he nodded toward his guards and entered the large octagonal vestibule that was tastefully decorated with a black-and-white-tiled floor reflected in the silver-framed mirrors that lined the walls.

At their entrance a tall servant with a regal bearing approached to offer a deep bow.

“Vladimir will take your wrap,” Dimitri informed his silent companion, his brows lifting as she clutched the velvet cloak with a white-knuckled grip. Did the chit fear his servant intended to make off with her clothing? “I promise you it will be returned.”

“Very well.”

Her chin lifted as she tugged off the cloak with a swift motion and handed it to the waiting servant. In a heartbeat, the crowd came to a captivated halt as all eyes turned toward Emma.

It was not that her gown was particularly shocking. Indeed, it was a deceptively simple sheath cut to reveal her shoulders and gathered beneath the gentle swell of her bosom. It was more the shimmer of the gold satin that molded to her slender body. And the tiny diamonds that glittered along the low-cut line of her bodice that drew attention to the perfection of her ivory skin.

Combined with the satin tumble of honey hair and the promise of her sensuous lips, it was enough to make every male in the club crave to have her in his bed.

Including Dimitri.

Muttering a startled curse, he grasped her upper arm and hauled her through a nearby alcove, tugging her down the short hall until he could thrust her into the privacy of his office. It was a plain room, with cream walls and parquet floor. The desk set near the fireplace was a pale cedar that matched the rest of the furnishing and the draperies were a soft shade of rose.

Slamming shut the door, he turned to glare at his companion in the muted light of the fireplace.

“What the devil are you wearing?”

With a sharp tug, she freed her arm from his grasp. “You were the one to insist I dress in an appropriate fashion.”

Clearly, he had been out of his mind, he acknowledged, searing a hungry gaze over the delectable curve of her breasts.

“Appropriate, not designed to create a riot.”

“It is no more revealing than those gowns worn by the finest ladies in St. Petersburg,” she protested.

“Then why did Prince Matvey nearly knock himself senseless by walking straight into a wall? And why did one of my most trusted servants drop an entire tray of champagne?” he growled.

“You are being ridiculous. I witnessed women wearing far more daring gowns before you so rudely hauled me away.”

A voice of reason whispered that he was overreacting, but Dimitri was in no mood to listen. Not when his entire body burned with the need to haul her to the nearest bed.

“Perhaps more daring,” he husked, “but none so enticing.”

She nervously licked her lips, the unwitting gesture making Dimitri groan in frustration.

“First you complain my gown is too prudish and now you complain it is too revealing. Are you never satisfied?”

Unable to resist temptation, he stepped close enough to trail his fingers along the elegant line of her shoulders. His body stirred, hardened; responding to her with a near painful intensity.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to desire a woman.

He was a healthy male with all the normal appetites.

But this biting ache combined with a fierce possessiveness was utterly unfamiliar.

And equally unwelcome.

“Ironically I was quite satisfied until my peaceful existence was disrupted by an intimidating spinster who is far too fond of her independence.”

She shivered as his fingers traced the plunging line of her bodice.

“Dimitri.”

He stepped closer, breathing in the tantalizing scent of warm woman and clean soap.

“I never knew such skin truly existed,” he rasped. “It is as soft and perfect as fresh cream.”

“We are supposed to be searching for the gentlemen who took Anya.”

“In a moment.” Wrapping one arm around her waist, he carefully lifted the veil, his gaze sweeping over her pale, beautiful features. “First I must taste you.”

“No—” Her protest fell on deaf ears as he captured her lips in a branding kiss. He wanted to wrap her in his arms until she melted with soft compliance. He wanted to mark her with his touch, his scent, his desire. He wanted to ensure that every man who caught sight of this woman understood that she belonged to him. Only him. “As sweet as honeyed almonds,” he muttered, his tongue teasing her lips until they slowly parted in invitation. “Yes, moya dusha, open for me.”

She groaned, her hands clutching at his shoulders as if she struggled to keep herself upright.

“The cognac…” she muttered.

He gripped her hips, pressing her against the blatant evidence of his arousal.

“It is not the cognac that is causing your head to spin and your heart to race.”

She arched back to stab him with an angry frown, but Dimitri did not miss her small shiver of awareness.

“You believe yourself to be irresistible?”

“It is the hunger that burns between us that is irresistible,” he corrected, his voice hard. He had made his fortune on catering to other’s weaknesses. He had never dreamed he might himself become a victim. “I always thought this sort of craving a myth. Now I do not know whether to have you locked in my dungeon or hauled off to Siberia.”

She licked her lips, and Dimitri swallowed a groan as his cock hardened with tormenting anticipation.

“Do not say such things,” she breathlessly commanded.

“Even if they are the truth?”

An unmistakable fear darkened her hazel eyes as she lifted her hands and pressed them against his chest.

“I may be attired as a tart, but I assure you I am a lady,” she gritted.

His lips twisted. “I am painfully aware you are a lady, Emma Linley-Kirov, and for the moment you are under my protection.”

“Then release me.”

His gaze lowered to her honeyed lips that could drive a saint to sin.

“Is that what you desire?”

“You must.”

“Damn.” Pushing away from the delectable heat, Dimitri shoved his hands through his hair and struggled to regain command of his rebellious body. “You should never have come to St. Petersburg.”

AT ANY OTHER TIME, Emma might have been dazzled by her surroundings.

Who knew that a den of iniquity would be a sprawling honeycomb of ivory-and-gold rooms with crimson carpets and marble columns that soared up to the vaulted ceiling painted with Greek gods playing among the clouds? Or that the massive chandeliers would cast a blazing light over the elegant gentlemen who weaved their way among the card tables and flirted with the women dressed in low-cut gowns?

She had assumed the place would be dark and cheap with furtive men hunched over their cards, or tossing dice in the corner.

Which only proved she truly was naive as Dimitri claimed.

Dimitri…

She covertly glanced at the man walking at her side, a dangerous excitement fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Even elegantly attired, there was no disguising the ruthless predator that lurked just beneath Dimitri’s polished exterior.

Not that his dark beauty and experienced touch was an excuse for the manner in which she had melted beneath his kiss. Or the prickling awareness that continued to torment her. She was supposed to be a sensible female of advanced years, not a giddy maiden who dreamed of being rescued from her life of drudgery by a handsome prince.

After all, she was quite reconciled to being a spinster, and even if Dimitri were a prince rather than the Beggar Czar, he was not interested in making her his princess. Just like Baron Kostya, Dimitri considered her worthy of a quick tumble, but nothing more.

She felt an odd pain knife through her heart, but before she could consider the cause, a tall, silver-haired gentleman in a burgundy jacket and gold-striped waistcoat that did nothing to flatter his rotund figure deliberately stepped in their path.

“Tipova,” he said, his beady eyes skimming over the veil that once again hid Emma’s face before latching on to the swell of her bosom. “As always you have managed to create a sensation.”

Dimitri wrapped an arm around her shoulders, shielding her from the rude leer.

“I fear I cannot take the credit on this occasion, Prince Matvey.”

“Do you intend to introduce me to your companion?”

“Actually she is visiting from Moscow and prefers to keep her privacy.” His smile was one of sheer male possession. “Is that not so, moya dusha?”

She huddled in the protection of Dimitri’s arm. “Yes.”

“Ah.” The prince licked his fat lips. “A mystery.”

“Have you seen Count Fedor?” Dimitri demanded.

“Tarvek?” The prince glanced around the crowded room. “Not this evening, although I encountered him at the Winter Palace last eve.”

“Then he returned from his journey?”

“Yes, I believe he returned with Sergei last Sunday. Do you have a particular need to speak with him?”

Emma sucked in a sharp breath, her suspicious gaze studying Dimitri’s cold expression.

“I am a businessman at heart and I make a habit of knowing where to locate those who are in debt to me,” Dimitri drawled.

“Yes, of course.” The prince blanched and tugged at his elaborately tied cravat, as if it were too tight. “If you will excuse me?”

Dimitri smiled. “Certainly.”

Waiting until the prince had vanished among the crowd, Emma struggled to put a measure of space between them.

“You told me that you did not know who had taken Anya—”

“Shh.” He lowered his head to speak directly in her ear. “I had a suspicion when you said their names. It seemed a strange coincidence that the men arrived at your inn claiming to be brothers and possessing the names Fedor and Sergei, but I cannot be certain since they at least had the sense to alter their title. It would be dangerous to leap to conclusions.”

She stilled, ruefully accepting the truth of his words. “Very well.”

Pulling back, he regarded her with an unreadable expression. “We will take a turn through the dining room to ensure we have not overlooked our prey and then take our leave.”

“How many clubs are we to visit this evening?”

A muscle clenched in his jaw as he steered her toward an arched doorway.

“One has been more than ample.”

“I do not understand.”

“My nerves are quite shattered,” he drawled, the golden eyes blazing with an indefinable emotion as he glanced down at her puzzled expression. “I intend to return you to the protection of Vanya.”

“But—”

He placed a silencing finger against her lips. “Do not play with fire, Emma, unless you wish to be burned.”

CHAPTER FIVE

THE MANSION THAT COUNT Fedor Tarvek shared with his younger brother Sergei was not the finest in St. Petersburg. Situated on the banks of the Neva, it had once been a grand structure with an ornate frieze carved over the front entrance and tall windows that overlooked the formal gardens. Unfortunately, time and neglect had stolen the original charm, and there was no hiding the growing shabbiness of the estate.

Slipping silently through the cavernous rooms, a portion of Dimitri deplored the rotting floorboards and the mold marring the once handsome furnishings even as he appreciated the lack of servants. He preferred to invade another’s privacy without interruption.

Intent on his search through the upper bedchambers, he nearly missed the slender man who silently approached the house through the kitchen garden.

With a lift of his brows, Dimitri hurried down the stairs.

He had sent Josef to keep watch on Count Fedor and Sergei, knowing the brothers would attend Czar Alexander’s inspection of his troops that afternoon. They might secretly despise the emperor, and even attempt to undermine his rule when possible, but they dare not publicly ignore his summons.

It seemed the perfect opportunity to discover if the Tarveks were hiding any nasty secrets.

Silently leaving the house by a side door, he gestured toward his servant and headed for the back of the stables, not surprised to discover Josef had hidden his horse next to his own dappled-gray mare in the overgrown bushes.

They had spent a number of years working together. Perhaps too many, he ruefully acknowledged, watching the wiry man round the edge of the stables. They were both reaching an age where they should be considering an occupation that did not include a noose or firing squad.

“That was speedy,” he muttered. “The drills cannot have ended yet.”

“Oleg is keeping watch on Tarvek and his brother.” Josef’s expression was sour. “I thought you would desire to know that Vanya Petrova was among the crowd.”

“Alone?”

“Nyet. She has a young female companion with her.”

Dimitri tensed, telling himself it was anger that made his stomach clench and his heart miss a beat. After all, he had specifically commanded Emma Linley-Kirov to avoid being seen when he had left her at Vanya’s the night before. He had told her he would contact her when he decided what was to be done next.

“A female companion with honey hair and hazel eyes?”

“That is more than a mere man can say.” Josef shook his head in disgust. “She is wearing one of those foolish bonnets that make it damned well impossible to know what’s beneath the tangle of ribbons and feathers, but I would bet my last ruble it’s the dragon from Yabinsk.”

As would Dimitri.

Emma was stubborn enough to flaunt herself beneath the noses of the men who would kill her without hesitation.

“Damn. I’m beginning to believe she was sent to St. Petersburg to punish me for my numerous sins,” he muttered, untying the reins of his horse from the bush. “Come along.”

Josef grimaced, twisting the scar that ran down the side of his face. The disfigurement terrified many, which suited Josef, but Dimitri knew he had received the wound protecting his sister from his drunken mother.

“I will remain and search the house.”

“That will not be necessary. There are no females being held hostage in the cellar or convenient map to reveal their location. Although…”

Deliberately allowing his words to trail away, Dimitri mounted his horse and headed toward the narrow lane that led out of the estate. He knew his companion’s curiosity would overcome his reluctance to mix among the nobles.

There was a muttered curse, then the sound of scrambling as Josef retrieved his horse and urged the beast to match Dimitri’s steady pace.

“What did you find?”

Dimitri reached beneath the black multicaped coat he had chosen to cover his plain attire and riding boots. With a crowned beaver hat pulled low on his forehead and a heavy muffler wrapped around his lower face he was impossible to recognize. Even his stocky mare was unremarkable.

Being a successful criminal meant blending into the background when necessary.

“I found this in Tarvek’s bedchamber,” he said, pulling out a folded piece of parchment and handing it to his companion.

“Katherine Marie,” Josef read out loud. “Friday at noon.” He glanced toward Dimitri with a frown. “An assignation, no doubt.”

“Quite possible,” Dimitri readily agreed, urging his horse into a trot as they reached the paved street leading toward the Winter Palace. “But I recall finding a similar message in Pytor Burdzecki’s desk.”

Josef easily kept pace. “Katherine is a common enough name.”

Which was precisely why Dimitri had dismissed Burdzecki’s note as inconsequential. The aging roué was known to keep several mistresses, not to mention the brothels he visited on a regular basis.

“Yes, but for both gentlemen to have an assignation on the same day, at the same time, with a woman with the same name defies the odds.”

“You suspect this Katherine is a female they have abducted?”

“Or intend to abduct.”

Josef was swift to realize the importance of Dimitri’s words. “Then we can follow them. If they do snatch a female they will have to take her to their hidden lair.”

Dimitri nodded, his expression grim as the traffic thickened and he was forced to slow his pace.

“That was my thought, as well. We need to keep a close guard on the men we suspect are involved with my father.”

They traveled in silence as they weaved through the elegant carriages and small groups of pedestrians who were battling to make their way to the Palace Square. It was not that the crowds possessed an interest in the military drills or the poor soldiers expected to stand for hours in the cold as they prepared for the event.

But, it had become a rare occurrence for Alexander Pavlovich to make a public appearance over the past few years and the entire city was determined to catch sight of him.

“What’s troubling you?” Josef abruptly demanded.

Dimitri smiled with wry amusement at his servant’s perception. Yes. They had most certainly been working together for too long.

“Katherine Marie,” he muttered, annoyed by a vague memory teasing the edge of his mind. “The name is familiar.”

Josef shrugged. “As I said, it’s common enough.”

“Yes.” Dimitri shook his head in frustration and abruptly turned down a side street that would lead to the Summer Garden and the Field of Mars beyond. He knew a few tricks to avoid the worst of the traffic. “This way.” Intent on reaching Emma, it took Dimitri a moment to realize his companion was beginning to fall farther and farther behind. He glanced over his shoulder with an expression of impatience. “Josef?”

The servant shifted uneasily in his saddle. He hated being in the finer neighborhoods. Understandable, of course. One misstep and a man could find himself rotting in the nearest dungeon.

“You wanted those noblemen to be watched. I’ll find—”

“I have need of you,” Dimitri firmly interrupted, returning his attention to the road.

“I knew that woman was going to be trouble the moment she threatened to geld Semyon with scalding coffee,” Josef muttered, grudgingly returning to Dimitri’s side.

Dimitri scowled. He was not pleased when he discovered Emma had been troubled by one of his own servants.

“Semyon should have been gelded, although I believe the flogging I gave him should be lesson enough in how to treat a lady.”

“What do you intend to do with her?”

“That is a question that kept me pacing the floor most of the night,” Dimitri said dryly.

Josef shook his head in sad resignation. “A wise man would pack his bags and flee at this moment.”

“No doubt.”

“And yet you intend to pursue her.”

Dimitri shifted in his saddle, balking at the accusation. He took women beneath his protection and sheltered them from the cruelties of the world. He did not pursue them. Especially not those women who flouted his authority and deliberately placed themselves in danger.

“I intend to make certain that she does not ruin our opportunity to capture the bastards,” he snarled. “If they recognize her, then they will become even more cautious. We will never be able to follow their trail.”

Josef snorted. “And you are not at all fearful she might be in danger?”

Dimitri ignored the question, slowing his mount as they neared the Palace Square. Over the heads of the crowd, he caught sight of the soldiers marching past the emperor, who watched on horseback, his once handsome features lined with fatigue beneath the pale autumn sunlight. The duties of the crown sat heavily on Alexander Pavlovich’s shoulders. At the czar’s side was Herrick Gerhardt, his eagle gaze missing nothing of the milling crowd.

With a grimace, Dimitri turned his attention to the carriages that lined the square.

“Where did you last see them?” he demanded.

“Near the end of the Hermitage.” Josef pointed across the Square. “What do you intend to do?”

He gritted his teeth, refusing to give in to the impulse to charge across the parade grounds and toss Emma over his shoulder as if he were a barbarian. Not only was it a ridiculous notion, but he would attract precisely the kind of attention he was hoping to avoid.

“You will ensure a note is delivered to Vanya that she is to return home without delay,” he commanded.

Josef narrowed his eyes. “And you?”

“I will be waiting.”

DISCREETLY STANDING behind Vanya, Emma attempted to concentrate on the passing crowd. She had, after all, been the one to plead with the older woman to discover a means she could catch sight of Count Fedor and his brother, Sergei. And she had promised faithfully she would do nothing that would allow others to believe she was other than a maid who was there to fetch and carry for her mistress.

But while she was desperate to discover if the count was the same Fedor who had stayed at her inn, she could not help being distracted by the stunning beauty that surrounded her. Over and over her gaze strayed to the imposing Winter Palace with its magnificent Corinthian columns and the statues that seemed to peer down at her from the roof. Almost as dazzling was the handsome emperor seated on his horse less than a stone’s throw away, his large form attired in military splendor and his brilliant blue eyes seeming to regard his passing troops with a wistful gleam, as if he were wishing he could join the precise lines of soldiers and march away from the crowd that pressed around him.

For a woman who had never been more than a mile from her forgotten village in the wilds of Russia, it was a breathtaking vision she knew she would never forget.

With a shake of her head, Emma sternly returned her attention to the elegant women with their fur-lined capes and the gentlemen in their military finery as they jostled to gain a place near the emperor. None paid her the least amount of attention as she stood in the shadows, her face hidden beneath the oversized brown bonnet and matching cloak that fell from her chin to the tips of her toes. To the nobles she was a meaningless servant beneath their notice.

She was attempting to get a better view of the two gentlemen crossing toward an older man with silver hair and arrogant expression when a tiny boy dressed in ragged clothing stopped next to Vanya and shoved something in her hand.

Emma instinctively moved forward to protect the older woman, but she had barely taken a step when the urchin darted away, weaving his way with ease through the people.

“This is odd,” the older woman murmured, glancing down at the crumpled note she held in her hand.

“What is it?” Emma asked.

“I suppose we shall soon discover. Will you be gravely disappointed if we leave?”

“Certainly not.” Emma winced as a rotund woman nearly knocked her to the ground. “I doubt I could recognize anyone in such a crowd.”

Vanya offered a comforting smile as they moved toward the waiting carriage.

“Do not fear, my dear. We shall find another means to cross paths with the gentlemen you seek.”

The trip back to Vanya’s home was speeded by the servants who walked ahead of the carriage and cleared a path, and within half an hour they were pulling to a halt. Allowing Vanya to be assisted by the waiting groom, Emma stepped onto the pavement behind her, unprepared for the ruthless hand that seemed to come from nowhere and clamp about her upper arm.

With a startled gasp, she whipped her head around to discover a man looming beside her, his face hidden behind a muffler.

“A word in private, Emma Linley-Kirov, if you please,” he growled, his dark male voice and smoldering golden eyes all too familiar.

Dimitri Tipova.

She pressed a hand to her thundering heart. “Good Lord, you near scared the life from me.”

Ignoring her chiding words, the exasperating man began hauling Emma toward Vanya’s private rose garden.

“If you will excuse us, Vanya?” he belatedly tossed toward the older woman.

Vanya arched a silver brow. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not on this occasion.”

Shocked by Dimitri’s unexpected arrival, Emma allowed herself to be pulled through the gate and into the small stone grotto that hid them from view. It was only when he spun her to meet his furious gaze that she jerked her arm free of his slender fingers.

“You truly must overcome your habit of manhandling me, sir—”

“Dimitri,” he bit out, removing his hat and muffler and tossing them on a nearby marble bench.

A chill inched down her spine at the hard expression on his beautiful face, but she held her ground, refusing to reveal her unease.

“I will not be bullied.”

“Be happy that I have not turned you over my knee as I long to do,” he snapped.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I suspected that you were headstrong and impulsive and inclined to follow your heart rather than your head, but I did not realize you were without sense.”

“I do not have to remain here and be insulted by a—”

Her proud words were brought to a sharp halt as he reached up to tug the bonnet off her head, disregarding her angry protest as he dropped it on the ground.

“Did you truly believe that ridiculous concoction would protect you if you encountered the men who abducted your sister?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said, tossing back the thick honey hair that tumbled about her shoulders. “No one took the least notice of me.”

“My servant recognized you from across the square.”

“More likely he recognized Vanya Petrova and assumed I was her companion,” she argued. “The men I am seeking have no expectation of seeing me in St. Petersburg and certainly not in the company of a noblewoman.”

He stepped forward, his hands clenched at his side. “You took an absurd risk.”

“I am quite at liberty to take whatever risks I desire. It is none of your concern.”

“Emma, do not be a fool,” he rasped. “Those men may hide among polite society, but beneath their fine clothing and excessively large homes they are no better than animals. If they decide you are a threat to them they will not hesitate to put you in a grave.”

Emma bristled at his unwanted lecture, but there was something in his voice that tempered her fury.

It was understandable for any gentleman with the least amount of decency to be outraged at the thought of innocent young girls being abused. But there was something personal, perhaps even intimate, in Dimitri’s anger.

Tilting back her head, she studied the chiseled perfection of his aristocratic features. This man was proving to be disturbingly complex.

“Herrick insisted that you were the best suited to assist me in finding my sister, but he did not reveal what connection you possess with these men.”

His eyes darkened. “Do you wonder if I am a partner in their crimes?”

“No. Certainly not.”

“I have confessed to be a sinner.”

Without thought, she reached to place her hand on his forearm. “You might be a sinner, but you are not evil.”

His gaze lowered to where her fingers lay against his coat. “There are those who would disagree.”

She shrugged off his warning, bitterly aware that the opinion of others rarely had anything to do with the truth.

“Besides, if you were involved in their ghastly business you would hardly be eager to bring them to justice.”

“Not justice.” A terrifying anger burned in his golden eyes. “I want them destroyed. I want their foul deeds exposed to the world so that they flee to the wilds of Siberia to hide from their shame. I want them to die alone and in complete despair.”

Emma shivered at the stark pain that she sensed beneath his fury. “They hurt someone you love. Your sister?”

His jaw hardened and she thought he intended to ignore her question. Then, with a sharp movement, he turned away to gaze out the small window overlooking the nearby fountain.

“My mother.”

Her heart squeezed with sympathy. “They abducted her?”

“There was no need. My mother was the daughter of a simple cobbler.” His voice was as hard and frigid as the Siberian winter. “One day Count Nevskaya walked into my grandfather’s shop and had his servant collect my mother and carry her to his waiting carriage.”

“He just…took her?”

“He tossed a few coins on the counter in payment.”

She swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in her throat. “And your grandfather did nothing to stay him?”

“It was a different time and the count was a close friend to Emperor Paul.” The lines of his shoulders were rigid, his hands clenched at his sides. She had obviously stirred his deepest demons. “My grandfather could not risk the wrath of a nobleman when he had several other children to support.”

Emma wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling cold to her very soul.

“How old was she?”

“Just turned fifteen.”

It was worse than Anya. Dimitri’s mother had been taken as if she were no more than an object that had been bought by a handful of coins.

“Where did he take her?”

“He owns a home near Novgorod. He kept her there for near six months, then…”

She unwittingly moved to his side, studying the bleak lines of his profile.

“Then what?”

“It became obvious she was with child so he dismissed her.”

Her breath tangled in her throat as she abruptly realized she had been absurdly blind. She should have suspected the truth from the moment she had caught sight of his lean, noble features. Or at least after he’d attempted to bully her. That sort of arrogance had to be bred into a man.

“You are that child?” she asked softly.

He slowly turned to face her, his expression guarded. Emma sensed how difficult it was to speak of his past, as if the wounds were still raw and bleeding.

“I am.”

She hesitated, unwilling to further his pain, and yet needing to know what happened.

“Did your mother return to her family?”

“They refused to take her back into their home. She was, after all, ruined in the eyes of the world. They could not hope to marry her off with a bastard child in tow.”

Her cheeks heated with outrage. “But she was taken against her will.”

Leaning against the fresco painted on the stone wall of the grotto, Dimitri studied her flush beneath his half-lowered lashes.

“You are not that naive, Emma.”

No, she was not.

So long as women were kept powerless they were at the mercy of men, society and even fate that too often treated them with a ruthless cruelty.

“What happened to her?”

“What happens to most women forced onto the streets,” he said harshly. “Once she gave birth to me she entered a brothel. Does that shock you?”

His wary gaze skimmed over her face, no doubt accustomed to others condemning his mother for the choices she was forced to make. Emma, however, felt only sympathy. And admiration.

“On the contrary, I admire her,” she said with a steady sincerity. “She was obviously a woman who did whatever necessary to survive.”

“From what I could discover she became reconciled to her fate and soon learned that her considerable beauty could provide her the necessary funds for a modest home.” He grimaced. “A pity she could not be satisfied.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was determined that I would have a proper education.”

“It is what any woman would want for their child.”

His features might have been carved from granite in the sunlight slanting through the grotto window.

“I did not ask for her sacrifice,” he growled.

She frowned, puzzled by his lack of gratitude. Surely he must understand a woman was willing to sacrifice anything for the people they loved?

“Dimitri?”

His eyes grew distant, the muscles in his jaw knotted as he recalled his past.

“One morning she attired me in my finest clothes, which meant they did not yet have holes in the knees and elbows, and we walked for what seemed to be miles until we at last came to a magnificent palace. I will never forget marching up the front steps and ringing the bell as if we were welcome guests.” His lips twisted. “I was terrified.”

Emma smiled in understanding. Approaching Herrick Gerhardt’s elegant home mere days ago had taken every bit of courage she could muster. And she was supposedly a mature woman.

“How old were you?”

“Eight, or perhaps nine.” He shrugged. “Certainly old enough to realize we were not where we belonged.”

She ignored the urge to reach up and stroke the sleek raven hair pulled into a ribbon at his nape. The wounded boy that lurked deep inside Dimitri made him no less dangerous. Indeed, the wave of tenderness that swept through her was far more disturbing than the potent attraction that tingled within her.

“Were you turned away?”

“No, my mother was quite determined, and my unmistakable resemblance to my father managed to get us over the threshold and into the count’s private study.” Shoving away from the wall, Dimitri paced to the center of the grotto. “I understood very little of the conversation beyond the fact my father did a great deal of shouting and my mother refused to leave. It was only later that I learned she had threatened to approach the count’s wife and inform her that he had forced himself on a mere child if he did not see to my education.”

Emma carefully considered her words. The tension in the air was tangible.

“Clearly her threat was successful.”

His breath hissed through his clenched teeth. “It was successful in the sense I was sent to school in Moscow, but my father was far from pleased to be outwitted by a mere whore and set about destroying her life.”

Emma winced, already suspecting that the poor woman had suffered for her bold courage.

“What did he do?” she husked.

“He had her evicted from her home, and then he ensured her wealthy patrons would no longer seek her companionship. It became more and more difficult for her to earn a decent living and she was forced to take rooms in the sewers of St. Petersburg.” The golden eyes darkened with a bleak loss that tore at her heart. “It was only a matter of time before she had her throat slit and her body left in the gutter.”

CHAPTER SIX

AS THE WORDS ECHOED through the grotto, Dimitri wondered what the hell he was doing.

He never shared his mother’s tragic story. There were a handful of people who knew his mother had been a whore, and that she had been left to die in the gutter. And, of course, there was no denying his connection to the count.

But the sordid, intimate details…those he kept buried deep inside.

Until this woman. Emma Linley-Kirov stirred emotions he’d struggled for years to forget.

There was a rustle of wool and the light touch of slender fingers on his arm. Dimitri sucked in a startled breath. When had he developed an addiction to the scent of soap on warm, feminine skin?

“What happened to you?” she demanded.

He searched the wide hazel eyes, finding nothing but gentle understanding. Not that he was particularly surprised. While most women would be shocked by his mother and the life she had been forced to lead, Emma appeared almost…admiring.

And why would she not?

She possessed the same reckless courage and stubborn determination to risk her foolish neck for those she loved. His gut twisted with that same white-hot anger he had felt when he’d discovered she had been prancing about St. Petersburg for all to see.

“I was too far away to realize what was happening and it wasn’t until I fled the school when I turned fifteen that I realized she was dead,” he snapped.

Her eyes widened at his blunt explanation. “You must have been devastated.”

“I was infuriated.” He grasped her shoulders, glaring down at her pale, fragile face. “If my mother had never confronted the count then she still would have been alive.”

She met his gaze without flinching. “And you blamed her for leaving you on your own?”

“I blamed her for taking a stupid, unnecessary risk,” he gritted, refusing to recall the endless nights he’d cried himself to sleep when he discovered his mother was forever gone from his life.

Emma frowned. “She loved you and wanted to do whatever she could to provide you with a future. You should be proud of her.”

He tightened his grip, his eyes narrowed. “Do you think your precious Anya would be proud to learn you had died attempting to rescue her?”

She stiffened and met his glare with her own.

“I have to do this.”

“For your sister?” he snapped. “Or for your own selfish need to be a martyr?”

She paled, her eyes suddenly appearing too large for her face. “So I am not only a bitter spinster, but a tedious martyr. It is fortunate your opinion means nothing to me.”

Dimitri growled in frustration. “My opinion is that you are a stubborn minx who has mistakenly convinced herself that accepting help from others makes her weak. Return home, Emma, and allow me to search for your sister.” He leaned down, whispering against her lips. “Or better yet, come with me and I will ensure your protection.”

He heard her breath catch. “I doubt protection is what you offer.”

Dimitri pulled back, his gaze sweeping possessively down her slender body.

“Once you are known to be mine there is no one who would dare harm you.”

A frantic pulse fluttered at the base of her throat. “Except you.”

Unable to resist, Dimitri skimmed his lips down the curve of her neck, lingering on that revealing pulse.

“I swear I would treat you with exquisite care.” His voice thickened, his anger altering to a blaze of desire. “You would want for nothing.”

She moaned, briefly melting against him before she abruptly stepped away to regard him with a leery frown. Her body might recognize that she belonged to him, but her mind was not yet ready to concede defeat.

“What I want is to find my sister and to return to our home together.”

“Emma—”

“No.” She shook her head, her hand pressed to her throat. “Do you believe your father is involved with the gentlemen who abducted Anya?”

Dimitri grimly restrained his need to yank her back into his arms. His experience with tender virgins might be limited, but he did know when a female was on the brink of bolting.

“Yes.” He shoved his fingers through his hair, his body hard and aching. A distressingly predictable sensation when he was in the companionship of this frustrating woman. “His debauched taste for young girls has never diminished.”

“Why did you not kill him when you discovered he was responsible for the death of your mother?”

Dimitri lifted his brows, startled by the blunt question. “He was a powerful nobleman and I was a mere boy,” Dimitri reminded her, his tone dry.

“I cannot believe that is what deterred you.”

“You think I was born a bloodthirsty criminal? Or perhaps you assume all bastards are without morals?”

A blush stained her cheeks, but she refused to be cowed. An unfortunate habit.

“I think you loved your mother and would move heaven and earth to avenge her death.” She narrowed her gaze, studying him with unnerving perceptiveness. “So why do you hesitate?”

“Because death is not enough,” he roughly admitted. “I want to make certain that Count Nevskaya and his cronies publicly suffer for what they have done.”

The hazel eyes darkened. “And how many girls have been hurt because you were more concerned with humiliating your father rather than making certain he was unable to abuse helpless children?”

For perhaps the first time in his life, Dimitri Tipova was struck speechless as Emma turned on her heel and left him standing alone in the grotto.

THERE WAS A HEAVY, gray chill in the air as Dimitri left his horse in the shadows of a high hedge, and walked toward the plain black carriage that waited on the elegant street corner.

Wrapped in a heavy coat and muffler that served as his disguise, Dimitri cast a sour glance at the brooding clouds. Although St. Petersburg would always be his home, he often wondered if Czar Peter regretted his fierce determination to create an empire out of this wet, frozen landscape. The emperor had, after all, sacrificed an enormous number of his people, not only to the cold and disease and wolves as the city was being built, but also to keep his throne from a land-hungry Charles XII as well as uprisings from the Cossacks and even his own son, Alexei.

With a shake of his head, he dismissed his inane thoughts and paused at the side of the carriage. Covertly glancing up and down the quiet street to ensure there were no prying eyes, he tugged open the door and climbed inside.

He settled on the leather seat across from Josef, who kept his gaze trained on the window that offered a perfect view of Pytor Burdzecki’s town house.

“Well?” he demanded.

Attired in rough wool clothing more suitable for a dock-hand than a man who had acquired a small fortune over the past years, Josef grimaced.

“Not so much as a leaf has stirred.”

“And there has been no word from the others?”

“Nothing.”

Damn. He had commanded two dozen of his most trustworthy cutthroats to keep watch on the homes of those gentlemen he suspected were involved in his father’s nefarious amusements. The notes he had stumbled across had specifically mentioned noon, but unwilling to take any chances, Dimitri had demanded his employees hide themselves near the various homes before the crack of dawn.

“You made certain the household servants were to be followed?” he demanded.

With an offended expression, Josef reached for the nearby bottle of vodka and a large glass.

“You do not pay me because I am careless.”

Dimitri could not argue. Josef possessed a meticulous cunning that had made him a successful thief long before Dimitri had taken him beneath his wing.

“Forgive me, Josef. I had convinced myself we could catch the bastards in the midst of their foul deeds.” He clenched his hands, needing a means to vent his simmering frustration. “Now it seems they are to elude me yet again.”

Josef gave a lift of his shoulder. “The messages you discovered had no date. It could be they mean the next Friday.”

“Or a Friday long past and once again I am too late,” he snapped.

“Here.” Pouring a large measure of the vodka, Josef shoved a glass into his hand. Dimitri swallowed the potent liquor, grunting as he lowered the glass and Josef leaned forward to refill it. “Another.”

He arched a puzzled brow. “Is there a reason you are plying me with vodka?”

“I hoped it might sweeten your foul mood.”

Dimitri scowled. “Of course my mood is foul. I do not appreciate being outwitted by a collection of aging reprobates.”

“Those aging reprobates possess enough power to alter the course of history as they have too often proven,” Josef said, his voice harsh with disgust. Many of the noblemen were personally responsible for squashing Alexander Pavlovich’s attempts at reform in the early days of his reign. “Keeping a handful of peasant girls hidden would be a simple matter with a dozen estates and serfs who are too terrified to reveal the truth.” Josef leaned back in his seat, his gaze watchful. “And your mood has been foul since you last met with Emma Linley-Kirov.”

Dimitri grimaced, swallowing his instinctive denial. Why bother? Anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path since Emma had abandoned him in Vanya’s grotto was painfully aware of his vile temper.

“She holds me responsible for her sister’s abduction.”

Josef sucked in a sharp breath. “Is she daft?”

Dimitri polished off the last of the vodka. He had spent the night trying to comfort himself with the notion that Emma Linley-Kirov was a provincial spinster who was too naive and too stupid to comprehend the complexities of his revenge. A wasted effort. Nothing managed to ease the nagging sense of guilt.

“She is annoyingly stubborn, headstrong and beautiful beyond reason, but I would never consider her to be daft.”

“She must be if she would accuse you of harming children.”

“She did not suggest that I personally forced a child into my bed, but rather that I stood aside and allowed others to continue with their loathsome deeds.”

“What would she have you do?”

“Kill them.”

Josef blinked, staggered by the thought of a sweet, innocent maiden harboring such bloodthirsty desires. Then he lifted the flask to take a large swig of the vodka.

“If she is so anxious to be rid of the bastards, then why does she not tend to the duty herself?” he muttered.

Dimitri’s brows snapped together, a chill shivering down his spine. “Good God, do not say such a thing in her presence. She is quite capable of attempting murder if she thought it would save her precious sister.”

“Perhaps she would discover it’s not a simple matter to rid society of its vermin.”

Dimitri tossed aside his empty glass, casting a jaundiced glance out the window of the carriage.

“Not simple, but not impossible, either.”

“You have allowed the female to rattle your wits.”

A humorless smile twisted his lips. Emma had rattled more than his wits. His long night of pacing the floor had not been solely due to her accusations. He had been hard and aching to bed the wench since she stormed into his office.

“Rattled wits or not, she was not mistaken. My desire for revenge has allowed my father to continue his debauchery.”

Josef muttered his opinion of overbearing spinsters and the stupidity of men who allowed them to interfere in his business.

“The count is the villain, not you,” he at last snapped. “How many women have you taken under your protection over the years? Only an arrogant ass would believe he could rescue them all.”

Dimitri turned back to meet his loyal servant’s scowl. “I can always depend upon you to keep me humble, Josef.”

“I assume that is why you have kept me in your service for so many years.”

“Well, it most certainly is not for your charm.” Dimitri reached for the door of the carriage. It was obvious his hopes of discovering how his father and his associates kept the women they abducted hidden was doomed to failure. At least for today. “Return to your home, old friend.”

Josef frowned as Dimitri stepped out of the carriage. “What of you?”

“Alexander Pavlovich is unveiling his latest portrait at the Hermitage this afternoon.”

“God almighty, another one?”

Dimitri chuckled. Czar Alexander had avoided many of the Romanov’s tendencies, but he was as vainglorious as his grandmother.

“Vanya Petrova is certain to attend and I do not doubt she will be brazen enough to bring her mysterious young maid with her.”

Josef drained the last of the vodka, his expression sour. “You should be pleased. It is possible the female can be of service. People tend to be more willing to speak with a pretty young maid than a cutthroat.”

“Pleased?” Dimitri clenched his fists, a dark fear churning through him. “If she has put herself in danger I intend to lock her in my cellar and never release her.”

“You were right, Tipova,” the scarred servant jeered. “Emma Linley-Kirov is not daft, you are.”

EMMA FELT AS IF SHE were in a dream when Vanya’s elegant carriage swept through the archway and halted in the courtyard before the vast Winter Palace.

How often had she dreamed of traveling to St. Petersburg and encountering a charming prince when she had been young and still naive enough to believe in childish fancy? Or of being draped in rich satin as she entered the vast palaces and curtsied before Czar Alexander?

Instead, she was dressed in the drab clothing of a proper maid and struggling not to stumble over her feet as Vanya led her into Jordan Hall with its grand columns and vaulted ceiling lavishly painted and rimmed with gilt moldings. She had a brief glimpse of the elegantly attired crowd sweeping toward the Jordan Staircase before Vanya pressed her toward a side hall, jolting her out of her brief moment of madness.

Maids did not belong in the upper rooms.

Which suited her perfectly, Emma sternly told herself, traveling through the spider web of corridors and shrugging off her sense of unreality.

Her journey to St. Petersburg was more of a nightmare than dream, and the sooner she found Anya so she could return home the better.

Besides, she was discovering that beneath the breathtaking beauty of the city and the grandeur of the nobility, there was a pervasive rot that lurked just beneath the surface. There was evil in shadows.

Shuddering at the unpleasant thought, Emma hurried toward the servants’ quarters. The air was thick with a smothering heat that was no doubt necessary for the exotic plants she had glimpsed in the various salons and drawing rooms she passed, but hardly pleasant for the servants that scurried about their tasks. Ignoring the sweat that trickled down her spine, she followed the scent of baking bread, occasionally stopping to chat with the other maids that crowded into the kitchens.

She would question as many of the servants as possible before returning to the vast entryway and finding the best place to hide and watch as the guests departed the palace. If the men who had abducted Anya were attending Czar Alexander then she would see them leave.

But first…

Reaching the far end of the kitchen that overlooked the small enclosure with a handful of cows, she was nibbling on a plum and almond tart when one of the palace maids cautiously sidled next to her, a wary expression on her plump face that was framed by a halo of red curls.

“What is your interest in Count Fedor Tarvek?” she whispered, her gaze warily darting about the bustling room, as if terrified they might be overheard.

Emma slowly set aside the tart, careful to hide her flare of hope. The woman was as skittish as a dormouse, clearly uneasy at the mention of the man’s name. She did not want to startle her into flight.

“My younger sister is seeking a position in his kitchens,” she said, keeping her voice equally soft. “She is anxious for a job, but I have heard rumors—”

“You should warn your sister to seek a position elsewhere,” the woman hissed.

“What do you know of him?”

The dark gaze again darted about the bustling kitchen, ensuring that no one had noticed them speaking.

“Nothing.”

“Please.” Emma reached to lightly touch the woman’s arm. “Anya is young and headstrong and unless I can offer her more than vague warnings she is certain to ignore my fears. Did you work for the count?”

“No.” She bit her bottom lip. “It was my cousin.”

“What happened to her?”

“No one is certain. She told my Aunt that she was offered a position as parlor maid, but when she did not return home that night my uncle went in search of her.”

A sick dread curled through Emma’s stomach. “What did he discover?”

The woman’s freckled face hardened with an impotent anger that Emma easily recognized. It was the same helpless frustration that had plagued her since discovering Anya was missing.

“She had simply disappeared. The count claimed that she had never arrived at his home, but my uncle was certain he found a ribbon belonging to my cousin in the hedge surrounding the estate.”

“Dear Lord.” Emma pressed a hand to her stomach. “You never heard from her again?”

“Nyet. And I have heard whispered she is not the only female to disappear.”

“Do you…” Emma’s words were cut short as the maid abruptly grasped her hand and nodded toward the window.

“The devil himself,” she whispered.

Her breath was lodged in her throat as she leaned forward, staring at the two gentlemen who strolled past the window.

They were both elegantly attired in dark tailored jackets and breeches with high glossy boots that she would bet her last quid were worth more than her cramped cottage. Beneath their tall hats she could catch a glimpse of gray hair and lined countenances. That, however, was where the resemblances ended.

One man was short and stocky with a heavy jowl and an unmistakable paunch under his charcoal-gray jacket. The other was tall and lean with an autocratic profile and air of haughty superiority that annoyed her even from a distance.

Her gaze lingered on the shorter man, her heart skipping a beat as she recognized the debauched face.

“That is Tarvek?” she rasped.

“Yes. Filthy murderer.”

Emma clenched her hands at her side. So, Dimitri’s conjecture had proven right. Count Tarvek was the man who had stayed at her inn and snuck away with her sister.

She had a name for the bastard, now what did she do with the information?

“Who is that with him?”

“Count Nevskaya,” the maid said, her eyes widening as Emma mouthed a startled curse as she realized she was staring at Dimitri’s father. “Is something the matter?”

“I shall return in a moment,” she muttered, heading for the nearby door.

The maid scurried behind her. “No, listen to me,” she pleaded softly. “They truly are dangerous men.”

“They will never know I am near,” Emma promised, tossing the woman a reassuring smile before she slipped from the kitchen and headed for the back gate.

Count Tarvek and Dimitri’s father. Two men who both possessed an evil lust for young girls.

It could not be coincidence they were together, clearly attempting to avoid others as they strolled along the paved lane.

Emma followed behind the two men, careful to keep a cautious distance. Despite Dimitri’s low opinion of her intelligence, she had no desire to put herself in danger. But neither was she willing to ignore an opportunity to discover more of the men responsible for her sister’s disappearance.

Staying in the shadows of the looming buildings, she shivered as the breeze tugged on her woolen cloak. After the oppressive heat of the palace, the chill of the gray afternoon was even more noticeable. Or perhaps it was a reaction to being led farther and farther away from the guests.

With her heart lodged in her throat, Emma followed the men through a stone archway, nearly stumbling over her feet as they came to an abrupt halt. Thankfully, neither glanced over their shoulders and she was able to scurry behind a bush as they stood closely together, pretending to study the nearby flow of the Neva River.

“The ship has sailed?” Tarvek demanded, his voice pitched low.

The tall, slender gentleman nodded, turning to regard his companion, and Emma’s breath tangled in her throat. Good God. There was no mistaking he was Dimitri’s father. It was in the chiseled perfection of his profile and arrogant thrust of his jaw.

Not that he could claim Dimitri’s stunning beauty, she decided. There was a frigid lack of emotion in his eyes and a repellent sneer that twisted his thin lips. He reminded her of a snake. Cold, lethal and willing to strike without remorse.

“It departed on schedule,” he was assuring his companion. “Soon it will arrive in London with our tender cargo.”

Tarvek rubbed his fat hands together in a gesture that Emma remembered with a quiver of disgust.

“Tender, indeed,” he husked. “I hope that our English friends were fortunate in their hunting. The last lot they delivered was barely tolerable.”

Emma frowned in puzzlement. Tender? Hunting? Were they transporting live game? And if so, why would they go to such an effort to discuss their business so far from the other guests?

Dimitri’s father shrugged. “They were not of the finest quality, but they brought a tidy profit.”

“For you, perhaps,” Tarvek growled. “My allotment was not nearly so generous.”

“It is my ship that hauls the cargo and my crew who protects our investments. It was agreed I should have the larger profit.” The older count slashed his hand through the air in a gesture of disdain. “Besides, you contributed only two of the females for our last shipment.”

Tarvek shifted uneasily. “I cannot always control Sergei.”

“It is unfortunate, but not my concern,” Nevskaya said, his cold voice sending a chill of horror down Emma’s spine.

With a gasp, she grabbed at the bush, feeling her knees threaten to buckle.

God almighty. The cargo was not wild game.

They were speaking of girls. Sweet, helpless children they considered of no more worth than animals.

And what did Tarvek mean that Sergei could not be controlled? Her stomach rolled at the mere thought.

“You should at least be pleased with my latest offerings,” the villain said, a nasty smile of anticipation curving his lips. “Those were three of the most succulent females I have ever captured. It’s a pity that they will be wasted on a boorish Englishman. Any man who would willingly live on that soggy island is barely more than a savage.”

Emma’s disgust was overwhelmed by a tidal wave of fury. Was Anya one of the three women? Was she even now being hauled far away from Russia? Her hands clenched. If she had a gun she would have shot both the monsters in the back.

Nevskaya laughed, unaware of the woman behind him plotting his imminent murder.

“So long as they fulfill their part of the bargain then I do not care if they mold in their dreary homes.”

Lost in her violent imaginings, Emma was unaware of the shadow looming behind her, or the faint crunch of gravel beneath an approaching boot. It was not until a hand clapped over her mouth and a masculine arm wrapped around her waist that she realized the dangers of her distraction.

CHAPTER SEVEN

IGNORING THE FRANTIC struggles of the woman held tightly in his arms, Dimitri hauled her away from his father and Tarvek. In truth, she was fortunate that the need to avoid attention kept him from tossing her in the nearby river.

He ground his teeth, his temper still smoldering at the sight of her crouched behind the bush, mere steps away from two of the most savage creatures to roam St. Petersburg’s streets.

The aggravating wench was clearly determined to put him in an early grave.

“You will not be satisfied until you have managed to get that lovely throat slit, will you, moya dusha,” he rasped close to her ear, rounding the corner of the palace where his horse and carriage waited.

With a jerk of her head, she managed to dislodge the hand he had clamped across her mouth.

“How dare you follow me?”

Dimitri conveniently ignored the fact he had not only followed her to the palace, but that he had scoured the damned place from the attics to the cellars before he had at last caught sight of her behind the bush.

He was not prepared to admit how desperate he had been to find her, not even to himself.

“Such vanity,” he mocked. “Do you believe I am so taken with you I must trail behind you like a hungry stray?”

“I think you are the most irritating, arrogant, utterly vexing man I have ever had the misfortune to meet,” she hissed.

He tightened his arms around her slender body, taking grim pleasure in the feel of her squirming form pressed against him. He was angry, not in his grave. Just having this woman near was enough to stir his desire.

“Careful, Emma, you will quite turn my head with such flattery.”

“How did you find me?”

“I was searching for my father when I recognized a luscious backside where it did not belong,” he glibly dissembled. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you were discovered.”

“And so you charged to my rescue?”

“It is an unfortunate habit I seem to have acquired.”

“And one you can leave off at any moment,” she tartly informed him.

“Ah, if only it were that simple.” He caught the gaze of his waiting driver and gave a nod of his head. Instantly, the carriage rolled forward.

“It is,” she challenged. “Put me down.”

“I have not yet completed my rescue,” he said, reaching to yank open the door and tossing his wiggling bundle inside. Then, with a smooth motion, he was on the leather seat beside her, slamming shut the door.

“What are you—” Emma’s angry words were forgotten as the carriage jerked into motion, racing over the cobblestones at a brisk pace. “Stop this carriage at once.”

His lips twisted at her imperious tone. “I realize you are accustomed to giving commands in your isolated kingdom, Emma Linley-Kirov, but I am not one of your subjects.”

Anger flashed through her magnificent eyes, but she was wise enough to realize he would not be bullied. Instead, she nervously shifted into the corner of the seat, as if that paltry space could dim the awareness prickling between them.

“Please, Dimitri,” she stiffly pleaded. “Vanya will be frantic with concern if I disappear.”

He shifted to face her directly, his leg stretched outward to prevent any attempt at escape. God knew she was idiotic enough to risk throwing herself out of a moving carriage.

“Word will be sent to Vanya that you are in my care.”

Her lips thinned. “And that is supposed to reassure her?”

“Certainly it is preferable to having you left to your own devices, creating chaos among the fine citizens of St. Petersburg.”

She muttered something beneath her breath that Dimitri suspected was comparing him to midden heap and glanced out the window, her brows drawing together at the elegant shops of the Gostiny Dvor they passed at a shocking speed.

“Where are you taking me?”

“I merely wished to speak with you in private.” He diverted her question.

“Why?”

“What did you overhear between Tarvek and my father?”

She jerked, her eyes widening at his abrupt question. “You lecture me for being a reckless fool and now you desire me to share the information I have discovered?”

A slow smile curved his lips. “I do admire your intelligence.”

With a snort she folded her arms over her chest. “I have no intention of telling you anything.”

He leaned forward to whisper directly in her ear. “You will if you truly desire to find your sister.”

Her hands lifted to press against his chest, but Dimitri didn’t miss her revealing shiver. Or the leap of her pulse that fluttered at the base of her neck.

“Fine,” she rasped. “I very much fear that Anya has been sent to England.”

Dimitri reared back, his breath hissing between his clenched teeth.

“What did you say?”

Emma hesitantly repeated the conversation she had overheard, her wary gaze never straying from his grim expression.

A heavy silence filled the carriage as he considered the shocking information. How many years had he searched to find a trace of the women he suspected were being abused by his father and his associates? Christ, he had spent countless hours hidden in frozen gardens and dark alleys attempting to discover the truth. And worse, he had stumbled across the truth and he had been too blind to realize he held it in his hands.

“Dimitri?”

Shaken out of his dark thoughts, he clenched his hands with self-disgust.

“I have been unforgivably stupid,” he gritted. “The Katherine Marie. I should have recognized the name.”

“Who is she?”

“Not who. What,” he corrected. “The Katherine Marie is my father’s private ship.”

“My God,” she breathed, her face pale and her hands trembling as she folded them in her lap. “Then it’s true. They have taken Anya away from St. Petersburg.”

Dimitri resisted the peculiar desire to cradle her in his arms and offer her comfort. He protected women. He bedded them. He even supported a few. But there was something unnerving in the tug of tenderness Emma Linley-Kirov inspired.

Besides, she was as likely to slap him as to thank him for his effort. Emma was not a woman who appreciated having others witness her vulnerabilities.

“It would explain a great deal,” he admitted.

He heard her draw in a deep, steadying breath, her chin tilting with the stubborn determination that was certain to give him nightmares.

“Such as?”

“I hire a vast number of people to keep me well informed. It seemed impossible that I was unable to discover more than vague rumors that young girls, and occasionally boys, were disappearing. I assumed they must take them from St. Petersburg, but it never occurred to me they would actually ship them abroad.”

“I do not understand. If they—” she faltered, a flare of color staining her cheeks “—desire these girls, then why would they send them to England?”

He scowled, cursing the missing Anya for dragging her elder sister into the muck. For all her courage and tenacious strength, Emma possessed an innocence that was remarkably rare.

“Leave it be, Emma,” he said roughly. “You have been forced deep enough into this sordid business—”

“I need to know.”

“Emma.”

She laid a pleading hand on his arm. “Please, Dimitri.”

His gaze shifted to the window, absently noticing the aging palaces were being replaced by the classically designed homes preferred by Alexander Pavlovich’s architect, Carlo Rossi.

“It would be my guess they transport the women to a select group of gentlemen in England who, in return, send back the females they have lured into their trap,” he grudgingly revealed his suspicion. Now that he understood how his father had rid himself of the local females, it was a simple matter to deduce the remainder of his nefarious scheme.

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “But why go to such a bother?”

“They did not in the beginning, as my presence in St. Petersburg is ample proof.” He restlessly tugged off his hat and muffler, tossing them into the opposite seat. His gloves followed. “But Alexander Pavlovich has become remarkably pious as the years have passed and while he is not foolish enough to truly believe he can command his court to put aside their wicked pleasures, he has insisted they become more discreet.”

“I still do not understand.”

He reached to take her hand, not surprised to find her fingers were stiff with cold. Where the hell were her gloves? And her scarf? The foolish wench. She could shoulder the responsibilities of her business and her sister, but she was stunningly incapable of caring for herself.

Clearly she was in need of someone to protect her, regardless of her prickly independence.

“Allow yourself to imagine a very young and frightened English girl being smuggled into St. Petersburg,” he said, studying the shadows that darkened her beautiful eyes. “She would be a world away from her family and friends, she would have no money and no ability to speak the language. She would be utterly at the mercy of her captors.”

“She would not dare try to escape.”

“Precisely.”

She worried her lower lip with her teeth, too intelligent not to realize the dire fate awaiting such women.

“They cannot hold them captive forever.”

“No. Once they…” He rubbed a hand over his face, hating the necessity of discussing such a repugnant subject with Emma. “Wearied of the girls, they no doubt sell them to brothels in Novgorod or Moscow.”

She swayed, her face ashen. “Anya,” she breathed. “I have to find her.”

“Emma, we cannot be certain she was on the ship.”

She met his gaze with an implacable expression that made Dimitri’s gut twist with dread.

“There is only one means to discover.”

HER WORDS WERE STILL ringing through the air when the carriage was pulled to a halt in front of a newly constructed house.

It was a home any gentleman would be proud to claim.

Built of pale stone, it boasted five bays with a central bowed projection that was most notable for the Venetian glass he had imported for the windows that flanked the double doorway. A sweep of stairs led to the wraparound terrace that overlooked the sunken garden arranged on both sides and the high brick fencing that offered a rare privacy.

For once, Dimitri did not experience the flare of pride at his creation. He was far more intent on scooping the startled Emma into his arms and climbing out of the carriage.

Predictably outraged at being carried through the gate and up the stairs, Emma smacked his chest, a stormy flush bringing welcome color to her cheeks.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” She continued with her futile assault. “Put me down.”

Dimitri crossed the terrace, smiling as the door was pushed open to reveal a broad man with the corded muscles of a laborer and the weathered features of a sailor. Hardly a typical butler, despite the distinguished mane of silver hair. In truth, Rurik looked exactly what he was. A pirate. And nothing could make him appear respectable. Not even the uniform Dimitri insisted he wear.

Dimitri shrugged. He had done his best to prevent panic among the neighbors.

“Caught a feisty one, eh?” Rurik demanded, a curious glint in his blue eyes. Dimitri had never brought a woman to this house.

“Not intentionally,” Dimitri gritted, entering the marble foyer and headed directly toward the massive cedar staircase that had been hand carved. “Now I must decide what is to be done with her.”

“The dungeon is currently empty,” Rurik offered.

Dimitri smiled down at the furious woman tucked in his arms.

“A temptation I must admit, but for the moment I will content myself with an undisturbed privacy. Would you ensure that dinner is prepared and kept warm in the kitchen?”

“Of course.”

Emma’s eyes widened as she turned her head to watch Rurik stride toward the back of the house.

“Wait.” She jerked back to meet his amused expression as Rurik disappeared. “I see you have your servants trained to ignore the pleas of the poor women you kidnap.”

Dimitri climbed the stairs, fully enjoying the sensation of Emma cradled in his arms.

“Rurik needed no training. He was a pirate who terrorized the seas until he was captured by the French during the war.”

“If he was captured then what is he doing here?”

He reached the upper landing and headed directly for the main saloon.

“I take exception to fine Russian citizens being tortured by that French imposter.”

She made a choked sound of disbelief. “You snuck into Napoleon’s prison?”

“There are few men more loyal than those who have been rescued from the guillotine. And, of course, his wife happens to be the finest cook in the empire. When she promised her services in exchange for her husband’s freedom I could not resist.”

Her eyes narrowed, obviously suspecting the danger Dimitri had risked sneaking into the brutal French prison despite his nonchalant tone. Thankfully, her probing questions died on her lips as he stepped into the long saloon.

A tiny gasp escaped her as she studied the coved ceiling with gilded rosettes that framed the line of crystal chandeliers. The walls were covered in emerald satin panels with marble columns set between the high arched windows. The furniture had been purchased from the finest Russian craftsmen as had the parquet floor that was inlaid with cherry and teak. In all, it was a room that spoke of refined elegance.

“What is this place?” she asked as he settled her on the gold settee beside the massive black marble fireplace.

He moved to light the logs already stacked in the fireplace, chuckling at her astonished tone.

“My home.”

“Your home?”

Turning, he leaned against the carved mantel and regarded her with a lift of his brows.

“Despite the rumors, I do not crawl from the pits of hell each evening.”

She waved a hand toward the delicate jade figurines perched on a satinwood table.

“This hardly suits the image of the Beggar Czar.”

“True—” he shrugged “—which is why I have several residences spread throughout the city. Each of them serve their own specific purpose.”

“And what purpose does this residence serve? Your private brothel?”

“If that were true it would be an abysmal failure.”

She jerked as if he had slapped her. “I suppose that is yet another insult at my lack of attractiveness?”

He frowned, prowling toward the settee. Was the woman demented? She was the most tempting, most exquisitely beautiful female he had ever encountered.

“On the contrary, moya dusha, it is the highest compliment.” He sat on the cushion next to her stiff body, turning to study her wounded hazel eyes. “You are the only female beyond my cook to ever step over the threshold. In fact, there are less than a handful of people who even know of this house. I come here when I desire to be alone.”

“Then why have you brought me here?”

With experienced ease, he reached to unbutton her cloak, tossing it aside, not at all surprised to discover her swathed in yet another layer of brown wool beneath.

“A dangerous question, Emma Linley-Kirov.”

He felt her shiver as he turned his attention to the buttons that lined the gown from her chin to beneath the soft swell of her bosom.

“For goodness’ sake, what are you doing?”

His blood heated as he slowly peeled back the heavy material to reveal the satin beauty beneath.

“Attempting to understand why you would believe for a moment I find you lacking in appeal.”

“You have accused me of being a shrill-tongued spinster, a selfish martyr—” Her recriminations faded to a breathless sigh when he pressed his lips to the base of her throat.

“A delectable innocent who I have imagined unwrapping from your woolen layers a hundred times.”

Her hands lifted to lie against his chest, but she made no effort to push him away.

“You complained when I did not hide myself.”

“Of course.” He stroked his lips to the hollow beneath her ear, his fingers continuing to unbutton the body of her gown. “Only I am allowed to enjoy your most intimate beauty.”

“I think you enjoy mocking me.”

“If you need proof of my desire I am happy to oblige.”

“That is not—” She squeaked in alarm as he effortlessly pressed her back onto the cushions of the settee, following downward to cover her with his larger body. “Oh. Good Lord.”

Good Lord, indeed.

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