Bound by Love (16 page)

Only Boris refused to obey his commands, stoically insisting on cleaning and tending to the wound before allowing Stefan to change into fresh attire.

The hulking Russian had been Edmond’s devoted servant for years and when Stefan had set off from Meadowland he had silently joined the three large grooms that Stefan had chosen to accompany him.

Stefan had dismissed any impulse to send the Russian back to his meddling brother. Edmond was without a doubt stubborn enough to lock him in the cellars of Meadowland if Stefan did not give in to Boris’s presence.

Finishing the knot in his cravat, Stefan turned as there was a knock on the door. Before he could move, however,
Boris was crossing the room, his hand in his pocket where he had placed his pistol.

With a frustrated curse, Stefan wandered toward the window, gazing down at the narrow garden.

Night had fallen and the elegant streets of Paris were bathed in the glow of the gas lighting. Even to the most jaded eye it was a beautiful sight, but Stefan barely noticed. His thoughts were consumed with the knowledge that Leonida was out there somewhere. And that someone wanted her dead.

He heard the door close, then the clink of china.

“The tray you ordered, your Grace,” Boris announced.

It took Stefan a moment to gather his composure. An explosive combination of fury and a sharp fear that Leonida was already in the hands of her enemy clutched at his heart. The violent emotions were not at all satisfied to be trapped in the damnable hotel awaiting his servants to complete their search.

Thankfully he possessed enough common sense to settle at the small table Boris had procured and forced himself to eat the roasted pheasant and potatoes in cream sauce before pouring a cup of coffee in the hopes it would clear his still foggy brain.

Damn Leonida and her laudanum.

Of course, he had to admire her swift intelligence and brazen courage. What other woman would have so neatly outwitted him?

Settling back in his chair, Stefan sipped at the hot coffee and sternly reminded himself that there was nothing admirable in leaving a man shot and drugged in a nasty Paris hotel room.

Or being so stupid as to dash off with only her maid and groom when she was obviously being hunted by dangerous ruffians willing to put a bullet through her heart.

“What of Miss Karkoff?” he at last demanded, glancing up at the large servant hovering beside the table.

“She is not in the hotel.”

“You are certain?” he asked, not putting it beyond the clever wench to have hidden herself in the attics until he had hurried off in search of her.

The large servant who looked more a prize fighter met his gaze squarely, his expression assuring Stefan that not the smallest closet had been overlooked.

“Absolutely.”

“Damn.”

“She will be found.”

“Did you check on her carriage?”

“It remains at the wheelwright’s.” He paused. “But it seems that another carriage mysteriously disappeared. The owner of the shop is currently attempting to explain the disappearance to a furious Count Schuster.”

His brows lifted. “Miss Karkoff stole a carriage?”

“I cannot say that for certain.”

With a wry shake of his head, Stefan rose to his feet. Leonida was proving to be aggravatingly resourceful.

“It would seem the chase is on yet again.”

“May I speak frankly, your Grace?”

Stefan swallowed a sigh of impatience, already knowing what was on the servant’s mind.

“Of course, Boris.”

“Perhaps you should consider returning to England.” His gaze shifted to Stefan’s shoulder. “It is obvious that Miss Karkoff has acquired some very dangerous enemies.”

“Yes, she does appear to have spoken the truth in that at least.”

“Lord Summerville would be very displeased if you were shot dead.”

“I would not be excessively pleased myself.”

“He would desire that I return you to your home.”

“Your sage advice is duly noted, Boris, but Edmond knows me well enough to realize that once I set upon a course I will not be dissuaded.” He offered the servant a faint smile. “You will not be blamed for my untimely death.”

Boris furrowed his brow. “As you say.”

Stefan stilled, sensing the servant’s tension. “Is there more?”

“Miss Karkoff is well loved in Russia. She is one of the few close to the Romanovs who urges a less brutal repression of the peasants and is well-known to generously contribute to a number of charities.”

“Commendable, but I am not certain I comprehend your warning.”

“Once Miss Karkoff enters Russia only a fool would dare to cause her harm,” Boris explained, his voice hard. “Not unless he wishes to be attacked by an angry mob.”

Stefan sighed. How the devil had he gotten into such a mess? A deceitful, thieving lover who had drugged him and was now determined to escape him. Mysterious enemies lurking in the shadows. Angry mobs…

Hardly the sort of existence the Duke of Huntley was accustomed to.

Not that he was about to be deterred. When he set his mind on a prize, nothing was allowed to thwart his will. Whether it was a rare first edition, a prized bull or a woman who haunted his dreams.

“Then we must find Miss Karkoff before she reaches Russia.”

“There is a vast amount of land between here and St. Petersburg.”

“The sooner we begin our hunt, the sooner it will end.”

The servant offered a grudging bow. “As you wish.”

Stefan pulled on his gloves, his brow furrowed as he recalled the desperation in Leonida’s eyes as she had given him one last kiss.

“Boris.”

“Yes, your Grace?”

“Can you think of any reason Countess Karkoff would have sent her daughter to England?”

Boris thought a long moment. As Edmond’s servant
and confidant, the man probably knew more about the workings of the Russian court than most so-called nobles.

“Countess Karkoff has always harbored great ambition for her daughter, but is also known to be excessively protective of her,” he said slowly. “There is only one reason I can imagine she would be willing to put her at risk.”

“And what is that?”

“Alexander Pavlovich,” he grudgingly admitted. “The Countess has devoted her life to protecting his throne. I don’t think she would consider any sacrifice too great.”

Without warning a blistering anger ran through Stefan’s blood.

The selfish bitch. If it were true, the woman had not only sent her innocent daughter to a foreign land to commit who knew what sort of thievery, but she had put Leonida’s life in genuine peril.

If not for him, she might very well be lying dead in this Paris hotel.

“She would sacrifice anything to protect Alexander Pavlovich’s throne or her own position of power among the court?” he rasped.

Boris acknowledged the truth of his words with a faint dip of his head. “As you say.”

“Damn the woman.”

M
ERE STREETS AWAY
, Sir Charles Richards was in a mood as foul as that of the Duke of Huntley.

Granted his hotel apartments were far superior and included a bedchamber as well as an elegant
salle
that was furbished with a great deal of damask and gilt, but he took little pleasure in his surroundings.

Only this morning one of his servants had arrived from St. Petersburg to warn that Dimitri Tipova was growing tired of waiting for his money. Either Sir Charles returned to pay the vast sum or the entire world would discover his nasty little secret.

It was the only reason he had been provoked into such an outrageous scheme.

He
had
to get his hands on those letters before that filthy bandit began spreading word of the missing whores, or worse, decided to have an English nobleman’s head mounted on his wall.

Of course, it had been nothing less than a disaster.

Now, he was standing in the center of the
salle
, glaring with icy displeasure at the mammoth servant currently perched uncomfortably on the edge of a delicate chair.

“So, what you are telling me is that after having failed to prevent Miss Karkoff from discovering the letters hidden at Meadowland and allowing her to slip away from England, you have now failed in your task to put a bullet through her heart and instead wounded the Duke of Huntley.” His soft voice held a lethal edge that made the servant pale in prudent fear. “A gentleman who is not only wealthy and powerful, but a particular favorite of the King of England.”

“It was not my fault.”

“No, it never is, is it, Yuri?”

Yuri clenched his meaty hands around the scrolled arms of the chair. “You told me she would be alone.”

“And so, instead of waiting until she actually was alone, you risked leading every King’s Guard in Paris directly to my door?” Charles purred.

“There were no guards called.”

Charles narrowed his gaze. The Duke of Huntley had been shot and the authorities had not been notified? Unheard of.

“You are certain?”

“Yes.”

“Why the bloody hell would Huntley allow himself to be shot without demanding justice?” Charles paced the floor, contemplating the strange puzzle. He had been so furious when Yuri confessed that he’d failed to shoot the
Karkoff bitch and retrieve the letters that he had not given much thought to the presence of Huntley. Now he realized that the Duke must have followed Miss Karkoff from England. The damnable brat had obviously made a conquest. “He must be protecting the female.”

“It would seem so.”

“He cannot be with her constantly. Return to the hotel and finish your task when Miss Karkoff is alone. Do not return without those letters.”

The servant cleared his throat. “As to that…”

“What is it now, Yuri?”

“Knowing how much you were wanting them letters I waited a bit and then attempted to sneak into the hotel.”

“How very enterprising of you.”

The servant flushed at Charles’s mocking tone. “I overheard the staff talking.”

“And why would I be interested in the gossip of servants?”

“Because they were saying that they seen the Russian widow slipping out the kitchens with a bag in her hand. They were thinking she was attempting to avoid paying her bill.”

Charles stilled, a red mist beginning to form behind his eyes. “What did you say?”

Yuri licked his dry lips. “She left the hotel.”

“Her servants?”

“Gone.”

“And you did not consider the notion of telling me this pertinent piece of information until this moment?” Charles softly demanded.

Not entirely stupid, Yuri surged to his feet, perhaps reading his own death etched onto Charles’s face.

“She cannot have gone far. I will—”

“No, I think not.” Before the lumbering servant could react, Charles had his dagger pulled from his pocket and thrust into the man’s heart. “You have failed me for the last time, Yuri.”

Prussia

S
TEFAN HAD NEVER CONSIDERED
himself particularly conceited.

Certainly his ducal position had ensured that very few ever dared to question his commands. And his temperament, while not turbulent, was resolute.

Still, it was not until he endured endless days of chasing Leonida through France and deep into Prussia that he became aware that he had never before had his will so annoyingly thwarted.

And he damn well did not like it.

The woman should be at Meadowland—warming his bed, gracing his table, cozily tucked in the library as he read to her from his favorite books. Not risking her neck on some foolish scheme for Countess Karkoff.

Halting at a small village just north of Leipzig, Stefan crawled out of his carriage, pacing the stable yard with short, restless steps as he waited for Boris to return from his questioning of the staff at the nearby posting inn.

He had discovered early in their journey that the presence of the Duke of Huntley made most servants either too tongue-tied to speak or encouraged them to make any claim in an effort to please him. And then there was always the fear that King Fredrick would hear rumors of a prominent Englishman traveling through his territory and issue the sort of invitation that Stefan would find difficult to ignore.

It was far less complicated to allow Boris to approach the natives.

Absently studying the ruins of a castle on a nearby bluff, Stefan attempted to ignore the speculative glances from the passing villagers. He could hardly blame them for their curiosity. It was not often such a sleepy town saw an elegant carriage pulled by two matching black stallions or a gentleman so richly attired in a cinnamon jacket with a cream waistcoat and black pantaloons that were tucked into gleaming Hessians.

At last, Stefan heard the heavy sound of Boris’s approaching footsteps and, turning, he stabbed the servant with an impatient glance.

“Well?”

“The stable boy admitted that he recognized the carriage I described and that a veiled lady with two servants spent the night at the inn.”

“When?”

“The night before last. We are gaining.”

Stefan clenched his hands. “Too slowly.”

Boris shrugged. “There is more.”

“What?”

“According to the stable boy the widow lingered long enough to trade her elegant carriage for a far inferior vehicle.” Boris grimaced. “One that is so common that it could easily be lost among a dozen others just like it.”

“Clever minx.” Stefan’s lips twitched. He was as impressed by her relentless courage as he was relieved at the knowledge that she was still a step ahead of her enemies.

It was absurd how much time he devoted to fretting over her welfare. Christ, he had lain awake last eve worrying whether or not she had a fire to keep her warm. The nights this far north were chilly even in summer.

“She does come from a long line of cunning warriors,” Boris pointed out, a hint of pride in his voice. “Czar Peter rebuilt a forgotten land to a massive empire by the sheer
power of his will, while Catherine seized the throne and civilized the nation.”

“And Alexander Pavlovich?” Stefan demanded dryly, at the moment thoroughly out of charity with the current Czar.

Boris shrugged. “He rescued us from a madman.”

“He was not alone in battling Napoleon.”

“Ah.” A strange smile touched the servant’s lips. “I had nearly forgotten. Two madmen.”

Stefan lifted his brows, belatedly realizing that Boris had been referring to Alexander Pavlovich’s father, Emperor Paul.

The previous Czar had propitiously died when Alexander was a mere twenty-four years of age. No one mourned the loss of the brutal Paul, but the whispers that Alexander had assisted in sending the previous Czar to his timely death, and even stepped over his cold body to take the throne, had haunted the Emperor for years.

“It is a dangerous business to be born a Romanov.”

“Russia is a harsh land that breeds those capable of surviving. The weak are not tolerated.”

Stefan narrowed his gaze. “Is there something you are trying to tell me, Boris?”

“Englishwomen are taught that being modest and well-behaved are admirable traits,” he said, a sudden smile curving his lips. “Although there are those females, such as my wife, who do not heed such teachings.”

Stefan snorted, well aware that Janet, who was also Brianna’s maid, was firmly in charge of Boris. The woman would terrify the most stout-hearted man.

“Implying Englishwomen are placid and boring?”

Boris shrugged. “They prefer to use charm to beguile a gentleman.”

“And Russian women?”

“Passionate, volatile and occasionally dangerous. Most importantly they will not hesitate to do whatever necessary to protect those they love.”

Stefan abruptly turned away, a queer ache blooming in the center of his heart.

He could not deny that Leonida made every other woman of his acquaintance pale in comparison. It was not that she was flamboyant or tempestuous. Quite the opposite, in fact. She was much like his mother. A stunningly beautiful woman with a calm composure that disguised a generous heart and a fierce loyalty to her family.

“I will find her,” he muttered beneath his breath.

“Best sooner than later.”

Stefan turned back to meet Boris’s steady gaze. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

“I was not the first to approach the stable boy with questions regarding a young widow with a maid and Russian groom.”

“Damn.” A chill crept down his spine. “Did you discover anything of who was asking the questions?”

“A fancy silver-haired Englishman who possessed several large guards who the stable boy claimed terrorized the village.”

Stefan frowned, caught by surprise. “Englishman?”

“He was quite certain of that, although the man never offered his name.”

“This affair grows more confusing by the day,” Stefan growled. “What Englishman could possibly be interested in Russian politics?”

“Any number, I should say.”

Stefan shook his head. What did it matter? Whoever this Englishman might be, he would not be allowed to harm Leonida. Not even if Stefan had to rip his damned heart out of his chest.

“When did he pass through here?”

“Early this morning.”

A sharp unease clawed at him. If he were too late…

“We travel too slowly,” he snapped. “We will never catch Leonida at this pace.”

“We know she is headed to St. Petersburg. It would be much quicker if we were not forced to halt at every village to inquire if Miss Karkoff has passed through.”

“No,” he swiftly dismissed the suggestion. “Her enemies are too close. We cannot risk losing her trail.”

Boris smiled. “You are concerned for a thief and a deceiver?”

Stefan made no effort to disguise his resolve. “She is mine and I will have her.”

A beat passed as Boris considered what his master, Lord Summerville, would desire him to do. Then, obviously deciding that nothing short of knocking Stefan unconscious and hauling him back to England would halt him, he heaved a resigned sigh.

“Not at this pace, you won’t.”

“True.” Stefan turned his head to regard the nearby stables.

“What are you scheming?”

“I want you to hire a mount. I prefer dependability to beauty.”

“And then?”

“Then I desire you to travel with my servants to St. Petersburg. I shall meet you there.”

“No.”

Stefan turned back to discover Boris scowling at him with his arms folded across his barrel chest.

“I beg your pardon?” he said silkily.

“Lord Summerville threatened to have me gelded if I allowed you out of my sight,” Boris muttered, refusing to back down. “I have already failed you once, it will not happen again.”

Stefan’s expression eased. “You failed no one, Boris,” he reassured the large servant. “I have long outgrown the need for a nanny, despite my brother’s lowly opinion of my skills.”

“You may send your servants and carriage to St. Petersburg if you wish, but I am remaining with you.”

“And you do not believe that Janet will do her own share of gelding if I allow anything to happen to you?”

Boris chuckled. “My wife is certain to blame her thickskulled husband and will presume that I got precisely what I deserve.”

Stefan rolled his eyes. He did not doubt that Boris would dog his ever step until Edmond was convinced he was safe.

“Very well. Find me a horse and I will speak with my servants.”

St. Petersburg
Vasilevsky Ostrov

I
N
M
AY
1703,
WHEN THE
Emperor Peter first arrived on the island, he had briefly flirted with the notion of building his new Russian capital on the site. For all of his brash willpower, however, Peter had been soundly defeated by nature. The violent storms and unpredictable flooding, along with the constant winds from the Gulf of Finland, made it impractical for the grand city he envisioned.

In the end, he had constructed his fortress on Zayachy Ostrov and his official palaces on the mainland, but he had not entirely given up his scheme for the island. Proclaiming it a location for learning, he had built a museum and observatory as well as St. Petersburg’s first university on the eastern side.

The western side was less fortunate. Over the years a series of harbors and warehouses began dotting the bleak landscape, bringing with them an unsavory crowd of rough sailors and peasant workers.

Certainly not a place that the Russian aristocracy cared to visit.

Moving through the dark, narrow warren of streets, Herrick Gerhardt and his faithful guard, Gregor, could feel the threat of suspicious gazes watching their progress toward the abandoned warehouse near the quay.

“If you desired to have your throat slit I can think of several enemies who would be delighted to do the honors in far more elegant surroundings,” Gregor muttered.

Herrick smiled, halting in front of the narrow door at the warehouse. The younger man had, quite wisely, been opposed to meeting Dimitri Tipova in the very heart of his criminal empire. After all, more than one foolish official who had sought to put an end to the Beggar Czar had disappeared among the dingy shadows.

Unfortunately, Herrick was in no position to dictate the terms. He was the one to have requested a meeting and since Tipova was hardly likely to risk walking into a trap, Herrick had no choice but to play the game by the criminal’s rules.

“I presume you refer to the Summer Palace?” Herrick gently teased his companion.

“The Summer Palace, the Winter Palace, the Senate Square, Kazan Cathedral, the Admiralty, Petropavlovskaya Fortress…”

“Good lord,” Herrick interrupted with a chuckle. “Do I have so many enemies?”

“Do not pretend that it is not a source of pride for you.”

Herrick shrugged. “If people did not hate me I would not be properly doing my job.”

“If others were doing their job properly there would be no need for you to put yourself at risk,” Gregor muttered.

“A charming fantasy, Gregor, but no more than that,” Herrick softly reprimanded his companion. Whatever his thoughts regarding Alexander Pavlovich, his loyalty was unwavering. He expected the same from those on his staff. “There will always be those who are driven by their lust for power. They will not be satisfied until the crown rests upon their own unworthy heads.”

“And you are determined to keep that crown upon Alexander Pavlovich?”

“Better the devil you know.”

Gregor offered a stiff dip of his head, unable to deny the truth of Herrick’s words.

Alexander Pavlovich might be of a vacillating nature that infuriated his ministers and foreign leaders alike. And there could be no denying he had become distracted and disillusioned over the years. But his love for his people was genuine and his duty to Russia unwavering.

“As you say.”

Lifting his hand to knock on the thick door, Herrick was startled as it was suddenly yanked open to reveal a thickset man with a hard face and unmistakable military bearing. At the moment he was wearing a rough smock and breeches, although Herrick would bet his last ruble that was not his usual attire.

A Cossack. Or at least he had been at one time.

“You are Gerhardt?” the man snapped, his gaze taking in Herrick’s plain but expensive attire.

“I am.”

The man shifted his attention to Gregor. “You were told to come alone.”

“This is my guard. He can be trusted.”

“You can come with me.” The man pointed a finger at Gregor. “He stays here.”

Gregor stiffened. “No.”

“Be at ease, old friend,” Herrick soothed his companion, his gaze never leaving the dangerous stranger. “If Dimitri Tipova desired me dead I do not doubt I would already be lying in a filthy gutter.”