Scoundrel's Honor (12 page)

She smiled wryly. She had been initially overwhelmed when Dimitri had led her into the foyer of the Mayfair town house. Not even Vanya's beautiful home had prepared her for the double staircases that elegantly curved toward the formal landing with marble pillars and a Venetian
chandelier that spilled light over the collection of Grecian statues.

The imposing entrance was only a taste of the luxury to be discovered in the vast house, and Emma had swiftly given up the effort to estimate what the oil masterpieces framed on the walls and the various objects of art spread throughout the home might be worth.

And then she had been introduced to the Duke and Duchess of Huntley.

Stefan, with his dark hair and lean, autocratic face that would cause any woman's heart to miss a beat. His dark blue eyes had held a cunning intelligence that seemed to pierce to her very soul. And at his side the lovely Leonida who had at first glance seemed as frigidly beautiful as the tundra in winter.

She would have fled in terror if Dimitri had not stepped close to run a comforting hand down her back.

Then, with a surprising laugh, the duke and duchess had moved forward, warmly welcoming her to their home and assuring her that they would do whatever possible to help retrieve her sister.

Leonida had whisked her away to her chambers where she had insisted on hours of fittings with her dresser while Dimitri had mysteriously disappeared with Stefan.

Now she gazed in the mirror in amazement at the transformation that Leonida had achieved.

The evening gown was a spangled crepe draped over a satin slip of shimmering silver. The bodice was cut off the shoulders with tiny puff sleeves and a silver velvet ribbon tied snuggly beneath her bosom. With her honey curls piled loosely atop her head and her cheeks flushed with pleasure she had never appeared more elegant.

Almost as if she truly were a proper lady, she acknowledged with a rueful sigh.

Hesitantly her hand reached to touch a diamond-crusted button.

“It is lovely, but—”

“No arguments,” Leonida interrupted, turning Emma to meet her determined expression. “You look exquisite.”

Emma grimaced. Since her mother's death she had precious little time to fuss over her appearance. Not that it truly mattered. She had more important concerns to occupy her attention.

“Hardly exquisite,” she muttered.

Leonida shook her head in disbelief. “Emma, how can you not realize you are extraordinarily lovely?”

Discomforted by her companion's insistence that she might be more than passably pretty, Emma paced across the Persian carpet. She had fallen in love with the amber bedchamber with its canopy bed and lemonwood furnishings covered with English chintz the moment she had entered the room, but she was too restless to fully appreciate her surroundings.

She blamed her unease on being so far from her familiar village and in the home of an English duke. Any woman in her position would be unnerved.

A voice in the back of her mind, however, whispered that the skittish sensation was entirely due to Dimitri Tipova and his reaction when he returned to the town house to discover she had demanded separate bedchambers.

Chiding herself for allowing her thoughts to once again be distracted by the bothersome man, she turned back to meet Leonida's curious gaze.

“Anya has always been the beauty of the family,” she admitted.

“No doubt because you were willing to disguise your own beauty and allow her to shine.”

Emma shrugged. She never considered the sacrifices
she had made or allowed self-pity to embitter her. She was a great deal more fortunate than many people.

“Most would tell you I was born a tyrannical, ill-tempered spinster,” she said ruefully.

Leonida smiled. “Well, there is no one who will mistake you for a spinster in this gown.”

“Leonida speaks the truth,
moya dusha,
” a dark, whiskey-smooth voice murmured. “There is not a man who will gaze upon you and not wish to possess you.”

Sharp excitement jolted through her as Emma turned to discover Dimitri strolling into the room, his elegant ruby jacket and black waistcoat unable to disguise his raw masculinity.

“Dimitri,” she breathed.

“You need not thank me for my efforts, Dimitri,” Leonida drawled with obvious amusement. “It was a pleasure to assist Emma. She is a guest that I am glad to have in my home.”

The smoldering golden gaze never shifted from Emma's wary face. “I will speak with Emma in private.”

Leonida placed an arm around Emma's shoulders, making it clear she was willing to stand up to the dangerous cutthroat.

“Emma?”

“It is fine, Leonida,” she assured her companion, wishing she felt as confident as she sounded.

Not that she feared Dimitri would hurt her. At least not physically. But that did not lessen the danger.

“I will be in my rooms just down the corridor if you have need of me,” Leonida said, moving toward the doorway. She paused at Dimitri's side. “Take care.”

Dimitri's lips twisted. “Your warning comes far too late, Your Grace.”

Leonida chuckled. “Good.”

“And I thought your husband vindictive.”

“We are kindred spirits. It is a rare gift that Stefan and I were nearly too stubborn to appreciate.” Leonida glanced toward Emma, her expression impossible to read. “I would hope you would be wiser.”

With a cryptic smile Leonida left the room, closing the door behind her.

Alone with Dimitri, Emma swallowed the lump in her throat, shivering as his golden gaze seared over her body. Suddenly, she was acutely reminded of lying beneath him, his slender fingers tangled in her hair as he urgently made love to her.

“Is there something you need?”

He prowled forward. “You.”

Instinctively, she backed away, her heart galloping at a mad pace as she bumped into the wall.

“Dimitri, no.”

His hands slammed against the wall on either side of her shoulders.

“Why did you insist we have separate rooms?” he growled.

“I told you before we left your ship that our…”

“Affair?”

Absurdly, Emma found herself unable to say the word. As if by refusing to name the savage awareness that pulsed between them she could somehow banish the sensations.

“I told you it was at an end.”

“And I disagreed.” His eyes darkened as he buried his face in the curve of her neck. “Mmm. I missed you today.”

Her hands lifted to his chest, her fingers grasping the lapels of his jacket as he nuzzled the hollow behind her ear.

“It was on your orders that I was forced to waste the entire day acquiring a new wardrobe,” she complained, reminding herself of all the reasons she should be slapping
this man's face rather than melting beneath his skillful touch.

“Never a waste.” He pulled back to study her silver gown. “You are…breathtaking. Although I would prefer less of you on display. I suppose this was Leonida's notion?”

Before she could respond, he returned to his delicate caresses, his lips tracing a path of kisses down the line of her collarbone.

Her lashes fluttered downward, her body longing to press against him in silent invitation.

“Dimitri, we are expected downstairs for dinner,” she forced herself to mutter.

He reached the edge of her bodice, her nipples tightening in anticipation as his warm breath brushed her skin.

“Huntley is besotted with his wife. It is quite likely dinner will be delayed.”

She shuddered, a soft moan of surrender escaping her lips. Who was she trying to deceive? Her mind might be convinced that sharing Dimitri's bed was a dangerous notion, but her body was already aching for his touch.

Easily sensing her capitulation, Dimitri slid his arms around her waist, molding her to the hard muscles of his body as his lips continued their destructive path over the curve of her breasts.

Emma's breath caught in her throat, her hands trembling as she reached up to clutch at his shoulders. She briefly forgot her stern determination to keep Dimitri at a distance, and even that they would be expected to meet the duke and duchess for dinner within the hour. All that mattered was…

She abruptly stiffened as the unmistakable stench of cloying perfume assaulted her.

Fury exploded through her. How dare he? He had told her he was devoting the day to tracking down the gentlemen who might have purchased her sister.

Instead, he returned to her reeking of another woman.

Gritting her teeth, she shoved her hands against his chest, nearly toppling him backward as she stalked toward the door and yanked it open.

“Get out.”

He scowled, a flare of color staining his high cheekbones as he studied her with a frustrated gaze.

“What is it,
moya dusha?
”

Her chin tilted. “You bastard.”

“True enough, but you've known that from the beginning,” he snapped. “Why are you so angry?”

“Do not ever kiss me when you stink of another woman.”

T
HE LONG, FORMAL GALLERY
was predictably ornate, with marble columns topped by gilded capitals that framed the shallow niches where the Greek statues were displayed and a grand fresco painted on the vaulted ceiling.

At the far end a string quartet struggled to be heard over the gathered crowd. The elegantly attired aristocrats were far too intent on preening for one another to pay heed to the entertainment.

Not unless one considered entertainment to be scandal and seduction.

In no humor to appreciate the absurdity of London society, or the irony of pretending to be one of the aristocrats he so deeply despised, Dimitri leaned against a marble column and glared across the gallery at the honey-haired woman who was currently surrounded by a bevy of eager gentlemen.

And why would they not be eager?

Even among London's most celebrated women she sparkled with a fascinating beauty that had nothing to do with the emerald gown embroidered with pearls and everything to do with the creamy perfection of her skin and mysterious shimmer in her hazel eyes.

He snarled beneath his breath as one particularly forward gentleman angled so he could have a perfect view of Emma's scooped bodice. The savage need to march across the marble floor and publicly claim the stubborn female was like a punch to his stomach. Unfortunately,
Emma was quite likely to slap him in the face if he dared to approach.

“Perhaps it escaped your notice, Tipova, but it took a considerable effort to procure invitations to this particular soiree,” Huntley drawled, coming to a halt at Dimitri's side. “Should you not be taking advantage of your proximity to Sanderson rather than hovering in the corner and glaring at your faux wife?”

Dimitri's gaze never strayed from Emma. “You are a duke. Every door is open to you.”

“Open for me, but not my unknown Russian companion who has yet to prove to London society that he is not a barbarian who lives among the wolves and gnaws on bones.”

Dimitri snorted, well aware that most of England believed that Russia was a land of savages. Granted the puffed up peacocks were willing enough to welcome Russian armies as allies in defeating Napoleon, but they certainly didn't believe the people were civilized enough for an English drawing room.

“Pompous asses.”

“Do you wish to be introduced to Sanderson or not?” Huntley demanded.

Dimitri shook his head. “No.”

The duke scowled, his hand waving toward the crowd. “Tipova, if you forced me to this repulsive gathering as a punishment—”

“Compose yourself Huntley,” Dimitri drawled, his pride pricked. He might be floundering when it came to Emma Linley-Kirov, but he was perfectly capable of devising the best means to ensnare Lord Sanderson. Which was precisely why he had requested that Huntley procure them invitations to Sir Jergens's soiree. And why he was lurking in the shadows rather standing next to Emma where he belonged. Or better yet, sweeping the aggravating woman
back to his ship so they could have a few hours alone. “You admitted that you have never made a secret of your dislike for Sanderson. Do you not think it would be suspicious if you were to approach him for the simple purpose of introducing me, and then I begin questioning him on his most private affairs?”

Huntley shrugged. “Please yourself.”

“I always do.” Dimitri stiffened as he watched Sanderson head toward the doors leading onto the terrace. On the point of following the rotund nobleman, he abruptly turned to stab his companion with a flat glare. “Huntley.”

“Yes?”

“My thespian skills are without equal, but I will kill any man who dares to be overly forward with Emma.” There was no mistaking the lethal intent in his voice. “You might wish to stay close enough to ensure I have no need to demonstrate just how barbaric this Russian can truly be.”

Expecting a mocking smile, Dimitri was relieved when Huntley instead nodded with understanding.

“Do not worry, Tipova. No one will trouble her.”

With a last glance toward Emma, Dimitri strolled with seeming nonchalance across the gallery, his lean body shown to advantage in the black jacket and silver waistcoat. He ignored open smiles of invitation from the women and wary suspicion of the men. His attention was solely focused on the gentleman disappearing through the French doors.

Stepping onto the wide terrace, Dimitri searched the darkness, a predatory smile curving his lips as he watched the flabby nobleman lean against the stone balustrade and pour the contents of his crystal glass into the garden below.

“It would seem that I am not alone in my distaste for inferior champagne,” he murmured, striding across the terrace as he withdrew a silver flask from the inner pocket of his jacket. “Allow me.”

The round face with heavy jowls and a protruding nose already turning red in the chill night air turned in his direction, Sanderson's deep-set eyes lingering on the diamond stickpin the size of a quail egg Dimitri had tucked in his cravat before shifting to the extended flask.

“What is it?”

“The finest vodka to be found in all of London.”

Taking the flask, the nobleman drank deeply of the potent spirits before handing it back to Dimitri.

“So you're the Cossack?” he sneered.

Dimitri peered down the length of his nose, deliberately sweeping a frigid gaze over the burgundy jacket stretched painfully tight over the man's expanding stomach and the hint of wear on the leather pumps.

“I am Russian, yes.”

The sneer faltered, and Sanderson nervously cleared his throat.

“What brings you to England?”

“Huntley invited me for a visit during his stay in St. Petersburg. He assured me that I would discover a number of diversions. Unfortunately…”

“Unfortunately?”

Dimitri leaned casually against the railing, stifling a yawn as he cunningly dropped the bait to lure his prey into the waiting trap.

“I have discovered the pious duke and I have very differing notions of entertainment,” he mocked. “If I wished to devote my days to stuffy gentlemen's clubs and my evenings to tediously escorting my wife from one ballroom to another I could have remained in Russia.”

Sanderson inched closer, a gleam of interest in his pale brown eyes.

“You have my utmost sympathy. Huntley has always been a self-righteous prig.”

Dimitri hid a smile. He had depended upon the lesser man's predictable envy of Huntley.

“A pity.” He adjusted the cuff of his jacket, ensuring the large ruby in his ring caught and reflected the moonlight. “A gentleman is offered such a wide variety of opportunities it is nothing less than a sin to deny himself the full bounty of pleasures.”

His covert glance witnessed Sanderson licking his thick lips, an unmistakable greed tightening his expression.

“Such pleasures can often be quite expensive.”

“What is the purpose of possessing money if it is not to enjoy life?”

“It would seem we are gentlemen of a like mind.”

Dimitri arched a brow. “Are we?”

“If you wish, I could perhaps escort you to those amusements that Huntley would never approve of.”

Dimitri hid his stark satisfaction. He was a gambler who understood never to overplay his hand.

“That is a generous offer, but you cannot wish to escort a foreign stranger about town,” he said, a hint of wariness in his voice. It would be unnatural for him not to be suspicious of such an offer.

Sanderson offered an unctuous smile. “I consider it my duty as an Englishman.”

“Duty?”

He tugged on the cravat tied about his fat neck. “You cannot return to Russia assuming all Englishmen are as pompously dull as Huntley and his ilk. We do have a reputation to uphold.”

“And?” Dimitri prompted, folding his arms across his chest.

“What do you mean?”

He paused, narrowing his gaze. “Forgive me, I am by nature a suspicious man. I prefer to have the cards on the table, as you English say.”

Sanderson's smile widened with approval. Clearly he appreciated Dimitri's blunt acceptance that the offer of companionship was not without cost.

“Very well.” He stepped close, lowering his voice to make certain they could not be overheard by the few guests strolling across the terrace. “I believe we can be of service to one another.”

Dimitri gritted his teeth. He longed to wrap his hands around the nasty man's throat and choke the truth from him. A pity he could not be certain Sanderson had any connection to his father or the kidnapped girls. For now he had no choice but to remain patient and hope the man would lead him to the truth.

“I am prepared to listen.”

Sanderson cast a nervous glance toward the light from the gallery windows that spilled across the terrace. Understandable. Wicked deeds belonged in the shadows.

“You wish your visit to London to be a memorable event and I am familiar with an assortment of establishments that are willing to cater to a gentleman's every need.”

“
Every
need?”

The nobleman leered in anticipation. “Absolutely.”

Dimitri pretended to consider the offer. “And what would you desire in return?”

“I share your love for adventure, but like so many noblemen my current finances are in straightened circumstances.”

“Ah. I would of course be happy to finance any expenses we might incur.”

Sanderson's loathsome chuckle echoed through the garden. “When do you wish to begin?”

 

N
O ONE COULD HAVE BEEN
more astonished than Emma to discover herself a source of fascination among the elegant English ton. In truth, she had anticipated her charade being
exposed the moment she stepped over the threshold of the town house. Instead, she had been surrounded by a bevy of curious aristocrats who vied to capture her attention.

Oh, she comprehended that a measure of their interest was stirred by her arrival in the company of the Duke and Duchess of Huntley. And, of course, by being on the arm of Dimitri, who appeared to terrify society with his ruthless beauty and hint of savage danger in his golden eyes.

But she was female enough to accept that had she not been so frantic to discover some hint of her sister, she might have taken pleasure in the soiree.

Instead, she stood at Leonida's side with a smile forced onto her lips and waited for Dimitri to covertly trail Lord Sanderson onto the terrace. The man had confessed what he had learned in the brothel, but had adamantly refused to allow Emma to be a part of the search for Anya.

Which meant Emma intended to take matters into her own hands.

Leaning close to Leonida, she whispered into her ear. “It is time.”

The duchess covertly tugged Emma away from the crowd, her beautiful face creased with concerned.

“Emma, please take care.”

Emma hid her smile, having heard the story of Leonida's frantic flight from England to St. Petersburg that had included a kidnapping and near-death experience. The woman was hardly in the position to lecture Emma on being careful.

“I intend to do nothing more than question the staff. I swear I will be discreet.”

“And quick.” Leonida glanced toward the imposing duke, who stood near a marble column, his remote expression keeping away all but the boldest encroacher. “If Stefan discovers you are missing, then he will most certainly come in search of you. And I know from painful experience he
is a difficult man to avoid. And as for Dimitri…” She grimaced. “I shudder to think of what he would say should I allow you out of my sight.”

Emma did a good deal more than merely shudder.

She was well aware that if Dimitri discovered she was executing her own search for Anya he would have her hauled back to his ship and sent to Russia.

“I shall return before anyone suspects I am gone,” she swore.

Weaving her way toward the entrance at the far side of the gallery, Emma ignored the attempts to capture her attention. Then, moving down the corridor away from the near-deafening chatter of the guests, she slowed her pace as she peered into the various rooms. They were all opulently decorated with rosewood furnishings and richly painted ceilings. Her stomach clenched. Did Sir Jergens afford his lavish home by selling Russian children?

She had nearly reached the back of the house when she spied the maid who was stirring the fire in what appeared to be a small parlor. Pausing in the doorway she bent down to rip the hem of her gown before she entered the room and headed directly toward the servant.

“You there.”

The maid, with a round face and fuzzy brown hair that escaped her white cap, hurriedly rose to her feet, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Aye, my lady?” she breathed, bobbing a hasty curtsey.

Emma summoned a kind smile, hoping to put the maid at ease. “I fear a clumsy oaf has trod upon my gown and torn my hem. Would you be kind enough to assist me?”

“Of course. If you will follow me?”

The maid led her toward a window seat where a basket of darning had been tucked out of sight.

“Is it very bad?” Emma demanded.

The maid knelt on the carpet, reaching to pull out a needle and thread from the sewing basket.

“Not at all,” she assured Emma, “I shall be done in a trice.”

“I know it is not your duty…”

“Maggie,” the girl shyly offered at Emma's prompting.

“Maggie, but my maid was forced to return to her mother in St. Petersburg and I have yet to replace her.”

“I am happy to oblige, my lady.”

Emma allowed the maid to concentrate on threading the needle and begin stitching the hem before she pretended to be struck by a sudden thought.

“Do you know, it has just occurred to me that you might be just who I need to speak with.”

The maid glanced up in puzzlement. “Me?”

“Yes, I shall have need of a servant during the remainder of my visit and while I am certain an English maid would be perfectly qualified for the position, I must admit that I would prefer a Russian girl. Do you know where I might hire such a maid?”