Bound by Love (18 page)

“A dangerous hobby.”

Tipova gave a sudden, unexpected chuckle. “Come, Gerhardt, I would not be at odds with you. Indeed, I shall offer you a rather pertinent piece of information to prove my goodwill.”

Herrick’s hard expression did not ease. “What is that?”

“Before his arrival in St. Petersburg Sir Charles enjoyed a prolonged stay in Paris with an old friend.”

“Old friend?”

“A Mr. Howard Summerville who was forced to retreat to the Continent last year when his bill collectors became tediously persistent.”

Herrick frowned. “A relation to Lord Summerville?”

“A cousin to the Duke of Huntley, although the rumors are that there is a strain in the relationship between the two families.”

Herrick smiled with grim satisfaction. At last he had a direct connection from St. Petersburg to Meadowland. “That is it,” he breathed. “Is Sir Charles still in Paris?”

“The last I heard he had left rather abruptly and was traveling north.”

“Back to St. Petersburg?”

“That would be my guess.”

A sharp fear pierced Herrick’s heart. “Why would he return now?”

Dimitri met his gaze squarely. “Obviously because he is on the trail of his prey.”

Herrick sucked in a sharp breath.

Leonida.

Damn. What had Nadia been thinking to send her innocent daughter on such a journey? The beautiful Countess had always been impetuous. But this went beyond the pale.

Unfortunately, he had not learned of the scheme until Leonida had already arrived in England. Far beyond his ability to protect her.

Damn. He had to return to his office and begin organizing a search for Sir Charles Richards. Now.

The bastard would not be given the chance to harm Leonida.

Herrick offered his companion a small bow. “I thank you, Dimitri Tipova, for your information. I am in your debt.”

“Yes, you are.” The golden eyes glinted with a mocking humor. “And I always collect.”

Russia

T
HE SMALL INN SOME SIXTY MILES
from St. Petersburg was a squat building that appeared to be in imminent danger of being consumed by the encroaching woodlands.

Inside there was little to recommend the shabby establishment to passing travelers. The rooms were cramped with stone walls, rough planked floors and open timber ceilings. Even the private parlor that Leonida requested was a barren room with a dining table in the center of the floor and two cushioned chairs near the fireplace that she had asked be lit despite the grumbling complaints of the slovenly innkeeper.

If she had not been aching from head to toe from their endless flight, not to mention starving, Leonida would never have given in to Pyotr’s insistence that they halt for the night. Not only did she doubt the cleanliness of her chambers, but the persistent knowledge she was being pursued by dangerous enemies made it nearly impossible to rest.

Huddled near the fire as night fell and a decided chill entered the air, Leonida desperately attempted to ignore her grimy surroundings and the pervasive scent of fried onions.

Soon she would be home, she bolstered her flagging spirits. Once she had reached St. Petersburg and the protection of her family no one would dare lay a hand upon her. Not even the arrogant Duke of Huntley.

Oddly the knowledge did not offer the comfort she
hoped for. In fact, there was something perilously close to regret tugging at her heart.

Mon Dieu
. Had she gone completely mad?

With an angry click of her tongue she forced herself to imagine the luxurious comfort of her mother’s home and the blissful peace of being able to spend an entire day without fear of being exposed as a fraud.

She would be safe and happy and, in time, any thought of Stefan would fade to nothing.

Luckily, her thoughts were interrupted by a maid entering the parlor. She preferred not to dwell on the fear that Stefan would never be forgotten. That he might haunt her dreams for years to come.

“Your dinner, Madam,” the servant murmured, setting the tray on the table.

“Thank you.” Leonida moved to take a seat, grimacing at the bowl of greasy fish stew and loaf of crusty bread that looked to be at least a week old. She had hardly anticipated such an establishment to possess a talented chef, but this was even worse than she expected. “Have you seen my maid?”

The middle-aged female, who was surprisingly tidy, with a pair of shrewd brown eyes, considered a moment.

“Last I seen, she was headed toward the stables.”

Leonida smiled wistfully. Of course, Sophy would desire some time alone with Pyotr. There could be no mistaking the growing fondness between her two servants.

“Very well. That will be all,” she said, dismissing the maid, and resigned herself to eating her dubious meal alone.

Leonida was busy choking down her meal when the sound of raised voices outside the door had her rising to her feet and hastily tugging on her veiled bonnet.

It had been early enough when she had arrived that the taproom had been empty of customers, but it sounded as if it had rapidly filled with the sort of drunken louts who were not happy unless they were starting a fight.

She momentarily debated the wisdom of returning to
her upstairs chambers. At least there she could bar the door against the other guests. Unfortunately, she would have to pass directly by the taproom to reach the stairs, and it did not seem particularly desirable to draw attention.

In the end, the decision was taken out of her hands as the door to the parlor was pushed open and a tall, handsome gentleman entered the room.

Her heart slammed against her chest as recognition hit.

Sir Charles Richards.

Horror held her captive as the unwelcome intruder carefully closed the door and tossed aside his hat and gloves. Then, straightening the lace that peeked from beneath the sleeves of his tightly molded black jacket, he at last strolled across the floor to stand directly before her.

“There will be no need to hide your beautiful face, Miss Karkoff.” A cruel smile curved his lips as he yanked off her bonnet and tossed it on the floor. “There should be no secrets between friends.”

Cold dread twisted her stomach. She had already suspected that this man was involved with her enemies. Now there could be no doubt.

Resisting the cowardly urge to faint, Leonida instead conjured a stiff expression.

“Sir Charles, whatever are you doing here?”

“Following you, of course,” he said blandly, his eyes hard. “You have led me a merry dance, but at last we come to the conclusion of our waltz.”

“Pray, why would you wish to follow me?”

“Why?” He reached into the pocket of his jacket to remove a dagger, angling it until the firelight danced off the long, lethal blade. “Because you have something that belongs to me.”

Any hope of pretense was forgotten as Leonida hastily backed from the intruder.

“Stay away from me or I will scream,” she rasped.

“Now that would be a pity.” His fingers stroked the
dagger, as if he took a disturbing pleasure in the feel of the scrolled silver handle. “I have regrettably had the staff of this humble inn gathered into the kitchens with the order to shoot anyone foolish enough to interrupt our charming reunion.”

Her mouth went dry, the scream dying on her lips. She would not endanger innocent Russians. And what of Sophy and Pyotr?
Please God, allow them to be unharmed.

“I find nothing charming in this reunion. Nor will my family when they discover you have accosted me.”

He sneered at her sharp warning. “Do you think I fear the mighty Alexander Pavlovich?”

“I think you are a madman.”

His features tightened, as if infuriated by her accusation. Then, with an obvious effort, he regained command of his icy composure.

“True. And a rather costly madness as it turns out. Thankfully you are my means of extricating myself from a decidedly nasty situation.”

She licked her dry lips. “I have only a few rubles with me…”

Her words broke off with a gasp as he reached out to grasp her arm, jerking her forward to press the dagger against her throat.

“The letters, Miss Karkoff. Give them to me.” The point threatened to penetrate her vulnerable skin. “Now.”

Leonida’s heart thundered so loudly she could barely think. She had always thought herself a woman of unquestionable courage. A true Romanov. It was humiliating to realize she desperately wanted to hand over the letters to be rid of this revolting man.

In truth, he terrified her beyond reason.

There was something…evil that shimmered in those frozen black eyes. As if his soul had been stolen and there was nothing within him but a cold, calculating hatred.

Sadly, the fear had not entirely rattled her wits.

Handing over the letters would accomplish nothing.
Only her own cunning and a great deal of luck would save her from tragedy.

“I do not know what you speak of,” she said.

“At any other time I might find a certain pleasure in making you speak the truth, my dear.” He lifted his free hand to stroke his fingers over her cheek. “Such beautiful, alabaster skin. So deliciously unmarred. Almost you tempt me.” His smile twisted as Leonida shuddered in revulsion. “But, no. Today my haste demands a more brutal tactic.” The dagger pressed hard enough to draw blood. “The letters.”

She struggled to speak. “I do not have them.”

“You think me stupid? I know you traveled to Meadowland.”

“My mother was dear friends with the Duchess of Huntley. She wished me to become acquainted with the family.”

“She wished to get her pretty hands on those letters.” His eyes narrowed. “Do not bother to lie.”

She paused for a heartbeat, acutely aware of the unnatural silence that filled the inn. She had never felt so unbearably alone.

“Very well,” she at last conceded. “My mother did charge me to find the letters, but they were not there.”

“That would be a great deal more convincing if you had not slipped away from the fine estate in the middle of the night with the Duke of Huntley fast on your trail,” Sir Charles drawled.

“Of course I left in a hurry,” she hastily improvised. “There was a strange man who approached me in the gardens and threatened to kill me. I was frightened, so I fled before he could harm me or my servants.”

The dark eyes flashed. “Ah, yes. Yuri. Such a disappointment. You will be happy to know he will never again impose himself on a beautiful young woman.”

Her breath caught. “He is…”

“Quite right, my dear. He is dead.” There was no regret,
just dark satisfaction. “No doubt his body will eventually be found on the banks of the Seine. You need never fear him again.”

“I would be considerably more relieved if I did not have a knife to my throat.”

“An unfortunate necessity. If only you would cooperate, our encounter could be far more civilized.”

“I have told you I did not find the letters. What more do you want from me?”

The dark eyes flared with a cold fury. “Do you truly believe me incapable of slitting your throat?”

She did not bother to hide her fear. “I not only believe you capable, but I am convinced that you intend to do so regardless of whether I have the letters or not.”

“Such a clever little puss,” he mocked. “Still, I assure you that your inevitable death can be one of swift ease or it can be messy, and I fear, extraordinarily painful. Your choice, Miss Karkoff, but I do suggest you give me the letters.”

Nothing had ever been so difficult as meeting his soulless gaze without flinching.

“I cannot give you what I do not possess.”

“We shall soon discover.”

His hand tightened on the handle of the dagger, a blaze of anticipation in his eyes. Then, like a gift from heaven, there was a sudden rap on the door. Leonida stiffened, terrified for a dreadful moment that the madman would simply ignore the disturbance. There was a hunger in his expression that revealed the true depths of his sickness. He
wanted
to kill her. As if it was a rare treat he intended to savor.

There was another knock, and with a muttered curse, Sir Charles mastered his composure. Removing the dagger from her throat, he turned toward the door, although he remained close enough to warn her she would be dead before she could take more than a step.

“Enter.” At his call the door opened to allow a slender
man, with a sinister scar running down his cheek from his eyebrow to the edge of his mouth, to enter. “Ah, Josef. Have you completed your task?”

The rat-faced man gave a dip of his head. “I searched the rooms.”

Leonida held herself perfectly still, aware of Sir Charles’s unwavering scrutiny. The least display of concern and he would know that the letters were indeed hidden in her chamber.

“Thoroughly?” Sir Charles demanded.

“I tossed the bed, broke apart the furnishing, and took up the floorboards.”

“The cases?”

Leonida held her breath until the stranger shrugged. “Not a scrap of paper to be found.”

“You checked through her clothing?”

“Of course.” The man flicked a covert glance in her direction and Leonida frowned.

Dear God, did the man suspect the letters had been hidden in the lining of her bag? And if he did, why had he not revealed them to his master?

She had no opportunity to ponder the strange thought as Sir Charles turned to regard her with a lethal frustration.

“You begin to try my patience, Miss Karkoff.” He lifted the dagger even as the sound of raised voices echoed through the room. Muttering a curse, Sir Charles glanced toward the doorway. “Now what?”

“I will discover.” Josef slipped from the room, returning within a few moments with a dark frown. “Someone has alerted the officials. They are headed toward the inn.”

Leonida trembled, not entirely relieved at the notion of the approaching officials. She did not believe for a moment that Sir Charles would leave her alive to reveal his identity.

“Where are Miss Karkoff’s servants?” Sir Charles unexpectedly inquired.

“I left them bound and gagged in the stables,” Josef admitted, only to ruin Leonida’s sharp relief with a careless shrug. “Shall I dispose of them?”

“No,” Leonida pleaded, unable to check her dismay. “Please.”

“Ah.” Sir Charles smiled with a smug satisfaction. “So you are devoted to your serfs, are you? Good.” He waved a hand toward Josef. “Have the servants loaded into the carriage.”

The man blinked. “Sir?”

“It occurs to me, Josef, that I have in my possession something far more valuable than ancient scandals. What do you suppose the Emperor would pay for the return of his most charming daughter?”

“A king’s ransom.”

“Or a czar’s,” Sir Charles taunted as Leonida’s eyes flashed with fury.

“Damn you,” Leonida muttered, never having felt so helpless in her life.

Sir Charles regarded her with distaste. “Tut, tut, Miss Karkoff. I cannot abide women to use foul language.”