Scoundrel's Honor (7 page)

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.

I
GNORING 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.”

 

H
ER 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.