Scoundrel's Honor (30 page)

“That we know of,” Josef interrupted.

“That we know of,” Dimitri conceded. “But now that I am trapped at the citadel, it obviously occurred to someone that they could use my confinement to their advantage.”

“To kill you?”

Dimitri restlessly paced to blow out the candles that burned in the candelabras. The light from the fireplace should be ample enough to see any intruder without revealing his bed was empty.

“Who is to say?” he muttered. “It could be for the simple enjoyment of watching me suffer, or an attempt to flee before I have the opportunity to interfere in their plans, or any number of plots…including the desire to put me in my grave.” His jaw clenched. “I intend to be prepared.”

Josef's lips parted to continue his arguments, then
recognizing Dimitri's stubborn expression, he heaved a resigned sigh.

“What do you want of me?”

“It appears that the doors are the only entrance to the room, but I prefer not to take a risk of being caught off guard.” He waved a hand toward the elaborate gilded-iron grills he had inspected earlier. So far as he could determine they appeared to be firmly attached to the stone of the citadel, but he had not survived so long without a good deal of caution. “I want you to remain near the windows.”

Josef grimaced, but he readily moved to crouch near the edge of the windows.

“This is going to be a tedious night.”

Dimitri extinguished the rest of the candles and moved to stand beside the door.

“It is preferable to listening to you snore.”

They fell silent as they waited.

And waited. And waited.

As the minutes, and then hours, passed, however, he did not abandon his post or ease his vigilance. He was accustomed to thieves, cutthroats and pirates who did their business at night and on their own schedules.

Besides, if there were an assassin, he would want to wait until he was confident that Dimitri was asleep before entering the room.

Shifting his weight from foot to foot to keep alert, Dimitri froze at the sound of the door being slowly pressed open.

A fierce satisfaction jolted through him. Not at the sight of the slender man who slipped into the room and crept toward the bed with a pistol in his hand. In truth, it was unnerving to witness his potential murder from a distance. But at the knowledge his suspicions had been justified.

His instincts remained honed to razor sharpness, even if his lust for his career had begun to wane.

Waiting until the intruder had nearly reached the bed, Dimitri slid silently forward, approaching the man from behind. With one swift motion, he had plucked the pistol from the intruder's hand and pressed it to his temple. His other hand he wrapped around the man's neck, jerking him against his chest to cease his struggles.

There was the faint sound of shuffling from across the room before Josef was lighting the candles to show that the intruder was an Egyptian attired in a European-styled uniform that revealed he was one of the pasha's guards.

“Do you speak English? Russian?” Dimitri's fingers tightened on the man's throat, grimacing at the sour stench of fear that clung to him. Whoever he was, he most certainly was not a hardened criminal. “Answer me or I will crush your throat.”

“I can discover the truth.” Josef prowled forward, bending downward to uncover the knife strapped to the man's ankle. Then, with an evil grin that emphasized his scar, he pressed the tip of the knife to man's groin. “Answer the question.”

“Bastards,” the man spat in a thickly accented English.

“Who are you?” Dimitri asked.

“Fawzi.”

“Well, Fawzi, perhaps you would not mind explaining what you are doing in this room?”

Fawzi shuddered, his breath a heavy rasp and his heart thumping so hard that Dimitri could actually feel its pounding beat.

“Please.”

Sensing the fool was about to become hysterical, Dimitri glanced down at his servant.

“Josef, I believe our companion is prepared to be reasonable.”

“Yes, yes.” Waiting until Josef had removed the knife
from his most tender parts, Fawzi swallowed heavily. “It is nothing more than an unfortunate mistake.”

“I will agree with unfortunate, but it was no mistake,” Dimitri mocked.

“No, no. A big mistake. I thought I heard a noise and I entered to make certain you were not ill.”

“How very considerate.”

“The pasha was insistent you be comfortable during your stay at the citadel.”

With a sudden movement, Dimitri shoved the man until he was turned to face him, pointing the pistol at his heart. He needed to see a man's face to know when he lied.

“Then perhaps we should join the pasha,” he suggested. “He will be pleased to know how dedicated you have been to my welfare.”

Fawzi licked his lips, his eyes darting toward the distant door.

“He will be in his bed.”

“I do not mind awakening him.”

Beneath his bronzed skin the man paled. “No.”

A hard smile curved his lips. He was at least reassured that the nefarious plot to see him dead had not come from the pasha.

“Josef, would you discreetly discover what has happened to our guards?”

With a silence few men could match, Josef glided across the room and after a covert peek into the hallway, he disappeared through the door. A handful of minutes passed before he returned, his expression unreadable.

“They are both on the ground.”

“Dead?”

“Drugged.”

Dimitri returned his attention to Fawzi, his finger tightening on the trigger.

“It would be a simple matter to drug the dinner sent
from the kitchens.” His gaze bore into the man's wide eyes. Fawzi was terrified at being caught, but Dimitri sensed a desperate cunning beneath his fear. He was like a rat, all the more dangerous for being cornered. “Especially if the tray was delivered by a fellow guard.”

“Yes, I think we really must wake the pasha.”

“Please.” Fawzi held out his hands in a pleading motion. “What do you want of me?”

Dimitri studied the narrow face with its sunken black eyes and scraggly black beard.

“Why did you drug the guards and sneak into this room?” He gave a deliberate wave of the gun. “The truth.”

The man hesitated, clearly weighing the danger of being caught in a lie. At last he grimaced.

“I came here to kill you.”

Dimitri's lips twisted. That was certainly blunt.

“Is there a particular reason you wished me dead or do you simply hate all infidels?”

“A man approached me on my way back from a visit to my mother and offered me a fortune if I would put you in your grave.”

“What man?”

“I don't know.” Fawzi pressed his hands together in a gesture of entreaty. “No…wait. He called to me from a carriage as I was about to enter the citadel. He kept the curtain across the window so I never saw his face.”

Frustration settled in the pit of his stomach.

Of course Fawzi never saw the man's face. Why would discovering the truth become a simple matter at this late date?

“Was he an Egyptian?”

“No, a foreigner. Like you.”

“Russian?”

Fawzi shrugged. “Maybe.”

“What did he say?” Dimitri took a step closer, his expression hard with warning. “I want every word.”

“I can't remember every word.”

“Try very, very hard.”

Sweat dripped from the man's face as his gaze lowered to the pistol a short distance from his heart.

“He asked if I was a guard at the citadel and if I had the means to enter the room of the pasha's two foreign prisoners. When I admitted I could move freely about the citadel he promised me a purse filled with silver.”

Dimitri lifted his brows in astonishment. “And you believed him?”

“He gave me a few coins to prove his sincerity,” the man muttered, his expression sullen. “He said I could have the rest when I brought him proof that you were dead.”

“What proof?”

The man nervously cleared his throat. “I was to cut out your eye and bring it to him.”

“God almighty,” Josef breathed.

“He claimed he would recognize it, so I was not to try and fool him,” the man hurriedly explained.

Dimitri was forced to swallow a sudden lump in his throat. His life had been one of upheaval and violent survival. He had assumed that nothing could shock him.

Now, however, he was stunned by this ruthless confession. Who could hate him with such passion?

“Did he give a reason he desired my death?” he rasped.

“No.”

Dimitri regarded the bumbling assassin with distaste. “You were willing to kill a man in his sleep and cut out his eye for no other reason than a purse of silver?”

An unctuous smile curved his lips as he pressed a hand to his chest.

“My mother is ill. I need the money for her medicine.”

“Of course. Your poor, sick mother,” Dimitri drawled, his eyes narrowing as he realized the pathetic louse might actually be of worth. “Then we had best go and collect your reward.”

Without warning Josef moved to grab his arm.

“Have you lost all sense?” he demanded.

“We shall soon enough discover.” Dimitri's gaze never shifted from Fawzi. “Where were you to meet your mysterious patron?”

D
IMITRI WAS CAREFUL TO
keep the pistol prominently displayed as Fawzi led them through the sleeping citadel. It seemed wise to remind the man just what would happen should he be foolish enough to attempt an escape or to alert the guards that prowled through the dark corridors.

Depending upon Fawzi's familiarity with the maze of rooms, they were soon out of the main building and moving through the servants' quarters. Dimitri demanded that they pause long enough for Josef and him to change into the rough linen tunics and loose breeches of stable hands before they were leaving the main building and heading toward the massive tower that guarded the nearest gate.

There was a tense moment as they were halted by the sentry, his expression skeptical as Fawzi babbled in Arabic. Unable to follow the conversation, Dimitri could only trust that the knife Josef had discreetly pressed to the man's back would discourage any attempt to attract unwanted attention.

At last they were through the thick walls that surrounded the citadel and moving down the hill to the city below.

Dimitri sucked in a deep breath, astonished that they had truly managed to escape the fortress.

Of course, if he were thinking clearly he would knock Fawzi senseless and flee Cairo with all possible speed. Instead, he poked the slender man in the back with his pistol and urged him toward the clump of palm trees.

Once they were lost in the thick shadows, he grabbed
Fawzi's arm and yanked him close enough he could whisper in his ear.

“Is that his carriage?”

He pointed toward the black vehicle that was parked before an abandoned building. At a glance he could determine no more than it resembled nearly every other carriage in Cairo and that there was one burly Egyptian groom standing next to the horse, lazily smoking a cheroot.

A closer glance, however, revealed the occasional twitch of the curtain that covered the carriage window, as if whoever was inside was growing impatient, and the slouched inattention of the groom.

His sheer negligence was a silent invitation to be hit over the head.

Obviously, whoever was plotting his death clearly had no military training and few skills necessary to survive the streets.

“Yes,” Fawzi said. “I recognize the servant.”

Josef moved to stand at his side. “Do I need to remind you that this is perhaps the most stupid decision you have ever made, Tipova?” he growled. “Including the night you dueled with three swordsmen at the same time.”

A reminiscent smile touched his lips. Over the years his authority had often been challenged. His polished manners and preference for elegant attire convinced some fools that he could not possibly be as dangerous as his reputation implied.

In the past, he had enjoyed proving his worth.

Thankfully, he had reached an age where he was ready to put such reckless stupidity behind him.

No doubt because he now had something, or rather someone, to live for.

“I won, did I not?”

Josef narrowed his gaze, clearly not amused by his teasing.

“Damn you. We have escaped. Allow me to gather the others and we can be far away from Cairo before the pasha realizes we are no longer his guests.”

Dimitri shook his head, his attention returning to the carriage across the road.

“Not until I discover who is so anxious to see me dead.”

“What does it matter so long as they do not succeed?”

“Because they will quite likely try again.” His gaze shifted to the nearby buildings, searching for hidden dangers that might be lurking in the shadows. “I do not intend to spend the remainder of my life in fear.”

“You always have enemies wishing you harm,” Josef muttered. “It has never troubled you before.”

Dimitri turned to meet his servant's frustrated glance, his expression somber.

“I now have another's welfare to consider,” he said, his tone suggesting that he would not compromise when it came to protecting Emma. “I will not leave here until I have brought an end to the threat.”

“But…”

“My decision is made, Josef,” Dimitri interrupted. “Fawzi.”

“Yes?”

He pointed across the street. “I want you to approach the carriage and pretend that you have accomplished your mission.”

“No, I have done all you have asked of me,” Fawzi whined in alarm. “If I go to the man without the proof he demanded I will be shot.”

Josef waved his knife in front of the man's face. “If it is an eye you are wanting then I can make certain you have what you need.”

Not surprisingly, Fawzi fell back with a squeal, his face drenched with sweat.

“Josef.” Dimitri sent the servant a warning glare. “I have need of him.”

“Why?”

“He can provide a distraction while you dispose of the groom.”

“And what of you?”

“I intend to join our mysterious lurker.”

Josef clenched his jaw, his disapproval etched on every line of his face.

“Don't be a fool,” he gritted. “We have no notion how many men might be in the carriage.”

Dimitri grimaced. That was an unfortunate risk. But what choice did he have?

“No, but I will have the element of surprise.”

Josef snorted. “Surprise will not halt a bullet to your heart.”

“Trust me.”

The men exchanged glares, then at last accepting that nothing would prevent Dimitri from confronting the unknown enemy, Josef heaved a frustrated sigh.

“Damn you, Tipova.”

Keeping his firm hold on the Egyptian, Dimitri urged him toward the edge of the palm trees.

“Fawzi, I want you to count to twenty and then approach the carriage.”

“And when he asks if you are dead?” the man rasped.

“Use your imagination. Just keep him occupied.” His grip momentarily tightened, biting into Fawzi's arm with a warning pressure. “Oh, and Fawzi?”

The Egyptian swallowed heavily. “What?”

“If you attempt to reveal our presence, I will not only shoot you, but I will have you chopped into pieces and delivered to your poor, sick mother.” He smiled with a cold cruelty that had frightened men far more courageous than Fawzi. “Do you understand?”

It took a moment for Fawzi to regain enough composure to give a shaky nod.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Dimitri gestured toward his servant. “Josef, the guard.”

Muttering curses in various languages, Josef silently disappeared and headed down the street so he could approach the groom from behind. Dimitri followed several steps behind him, waiting near the corner for Fawzi to stumble and sway his way across the street.

Dimitri grimaced at the man's craven lack of discipline, but at least his peculiar manner had attracted the attention of the guard who remained oblivious as Josef approached and whacked the back of his head with the hilt of his knife.

With a grunt, the man tumbled to the ground, and Josef smoothly took the reins of the horse, keeping it from jarring the carriage. At the same moment, Dimitri moved forward, his gaze locked on Fawzi who was leaning toward the curtained window, speaking softly to whoever was inside.

He took a moment to make certain his pistol was primed, then with one smooth motion he had the door open and was surging into the carriage to press his gun against the chest of the man seated near the window.

“I suggest you sit very still and lift your hands so I can see them,” he commanded, waiting until the stranger had raised his arms over his head before he used his free hand to search the man for weapons. Predictably he found an ivory-handled dueling pistol in the pocket of the caped greatcoat and a smaller gun tucked in the top of the glossy Hessians. He suspected there might be more hidden about the carriage, but for the moment he was satisfied that there were none near at hand. Keeping the pistol pointed at his companion, he settled in the opposite seat and offered a small smile. “Now, I believe introductions are in order.”

There was a tense silence before the man slowly reached up to grasp the brim of his high beaver hat and toss it onto the seat beside him.

“While I would say they are superfluous,” he drawled.

Dimitri stiffened, an icy shock momentarily halting his heart and squeezing the air from his body.

Although the inside of the carriage was dark, the curtain had been pushed aside to allow a spill of silver moonlight to wash over the man's gray hair and the elegantly carved features. Features that were heavily lined from a life of self-indulgence.

No. He grappled to make sense of what he was seeing. It was not possible.

And yet…

And yet, it could be that this moment had been destined since the day Count Nevskaya had forced the innocent child of a local cobbler to his bed.

The golden eyes that were a mirror image of Dimitri's flashed with a familiar hatred, jerking him out of his fog of disbelief.

“Father,” he drawled, his voice cold and perfectly steady. Despite his shock, he had developed the ability to confront any situation with utter composure. Besides, he was beginning to suspect that fate had offered him a rare opportunity he would be an idiot to squander. “What an unpleasant surprise.”

“I heartily return the sentiment,” the count sneered. “You were supposed to be dead.”

“While you were supposed to be rotting in Czar Alexander's prison.”

With a tight smile, Nevskaya adjusted the signet ring he wore on his pinkie, seemingly indifferent to the gun pointed at his heart.

And perhaps he was.

Dimitri had devoted years to governing his feelings. It
had been a necessary skill to survival. He suspected his father, however, was not disguising his emotions. Count Nevskaya was simply devoid of all but anger and hatred.

How else could he have tossed his pregnant lover into the gutter? Or abused children without remorse?

“Clearly we are both doomed to disappointment,” he murmured.

“What are you doing in Cairo?”

“Valik sent a messenger to St. Petersburg to warn me that Dimitri Tipova had followed him to London and was busily destroying the business I worked for years to create.”

Dimitri's lips twisted. “Do you expect an apology?”

Nevskaya wrinkled his nose as if there were a foul smell in the air.

“I expect you to tend to your criminal activities and leave me in peace.”

“But I do not wish to leave you in peace,” he informed his father, his gaze never wavering from the face that had haunted him for too many years. “I want you to suffer exquisite agony each and every day of your miserable existence.”

“Such melodrama.” The count waved a dismissive hand. “You are so regrettably like your mother.”

Dimitri's finger tightened on the trigger of his gun, only distantly aware of the sound of footsteps as Fawzi grasped his opportunity to escape.

How satisfying would it be to put a bullet in the reprobate's black heart?

“I happen to consider that a compliment,” he gritted. “My mother was a beautiful, courageous woman who was destroyed by a disgusting letch.” He flicked a contemptuous gaze over his father. “You are not worthy to speak her name.”

“She was a peasant who was fortunate to have won my attention.”

Oh, yes, definitely a bullet straight into his heart.

“Quite fortunate,” he snapped. “She was raped, impregnated and then tossed into the gutter to die. I cannot fathom why she was not overwhelmed with gratitude.”

“Bah.”

Dimitri bit back his angry words. He was wasting his breath if he hoped to make his father suffer the least amount of guilt. The only means of truly wounding him was to attack his insufferable pride.

He forced himself to lean back in the seat, his expression sardonic.

“Of course, she did manage to outwit you.”

“Absurd.”

“How furious you were when she arrived on your doorstep and demanded that you pay for your son's education.” Dimitri chuckled, genuinely enjoying the memory of his mother's boldness, her spine stiff and her head held high as the count threatened any number of vile retributions. “But she would not be bullied or cowed.”

“I should have had you both disposed of like the vermin you were,” his father bit out.

“Yes, it is a pity you were a pathetic coward who allowed yourself to be manipulated by a mere whore.”

Fury flared through his father's golden eyes as an ugly color crawled beneath his skin. Dimitri braced himself, willing the man to attack. He might have qualms about shooting an unarmed man, no matter how deserving of death he might be, but he would not hesitate to defend himself.

Then, with an obvious effort, the count wrapped himself in his haughty composure.

“She soon enough regretted her temerity,” he taunted. “I heard that she died in the gutter.”

Dimitri smiled, grimly refusing to react. “And now you are about to share her fate.”

Nevskaya's gaze covertly shifted toward the gun before returning to Dimitri's face. It was no more than a flicker. But it was enough to convince Dimitri that his father was not quite as impervious to the dangers of his situation as he would have him believe.

“You think I fear death?”

“Yes, I think you fear it very much,” Dimitri said slowly. “But who could blame you? Men who prey on children are destined for the deepest pits of hell.”

“I am a nobleman,” he announced with cold disdain. “I am above tedious morals.”

Dimitri grimaced. He might have laughed if not for the knowledge Nevskaya truly believed his social position gave him liberty to commit any sin with impunity.

And worse, he was not alone in his arrogance.

Despite Alexander Pavlovich's best attempts to rid Russia of its barbaric reputation there remained a blatant belief among the nobles that they possessed the God-given right to treat serfs however they pleased. Indeed, it was rumored the czar's own military advisor had recently beat to death one of his peasants.