Bound by Love (22 page)

“You are going to do something foolish, I just know you are,” Sophy muttered, nervously pacing from one end of the cramped attic to the other.

“At the moment I intend to do nothing more than find a means to hide this damnable knife,” Leonida muttered.

“Pyotr, would you tell her not to be an idiot?” the maid demanded, glaring at the groom who stood beside the window, polishing off the last of the duck that Leonida had brought from downstairs. “She’s going to get herself killed.” Sophy frowned as Pyotr kept his attention trained on the side window. “What are you peering at?”

The groom set aside his plate, his profile tense. “There was someone moving near the stables.”

Leonida’s heart sank. So much for her hope that Sir Charles’s servants had grown tired of waiting for their share of the ransom and had taken off.

“No doubt the missing guards are returning from their morning adventures,” she muttered.

Pyotr shook his head. “These were no guards.”

“How can you be certain?”

The groom turned to meet her puzzled frown with a wry grin. “None of them would know how to tie a cravat.”

A combination of hope and dread surged through Leonida. “Dear God.”

“Your mother must have sent the officials to rescue you,” Sophy said, clapping her hands together.

“Possibly,” Leonida grudgingly conceded. She knew her mother well enough to suspect that she had gone directly to Herrick Gerhardt with the ransom demand. Whatever the Countess’s devotion to Alexander Pavlovich, she had always known that it was Herrick who could be depended upon when a problem arose. And if anyone could find her in the vast wilderness of Russia, it would be Herrick. Still, she suspected that if the men that Pyotr had spotted were indeed there to rescue them, they had not been sent by Herrick. Her stomach twisted with sharp fear. “How many men did you see?”

“Two.”

“We know that Sir Charles and Josef are downstairs and there was mention of another guard.” Leonida absently shifted the knife that poked at her forearm as she spoke her thoughts aloud. “So at least three. If these men are here to rescue us they will need our assistance.”

Predictably, Sophy tossed her hands in the air. “Oh lord, you are just not going to be happy until you get your throat slit.”

Leonida shivered. “It is certain that my throat will be slit if we do not escape from Sir Charles.”

“She is right, Sophy.” Pyotr unexpectedly stepped into the fray, his expression stubborn. “We must do what we can.”

Realizing she was outnumbered, Sophy folded her arms over her chest. “Fine. But I do not have to like it.”

Leonida ignored her pouting maid, concentrating on Pyotr. As desperate as she was to escape, she would not allow her servant to take any ridiculous risks.

“What are you plotting, Pyotr?”

“If I can slip out of the window and join those men then the odds would be nicely evened out.”

She hesitated before giving a slow nod of her head. “Be careful. We cannot be certain there are not more guards hidden amongst the trees.”

Pyotr grinned. “I will not be caught.”

“Here.” Leonida reached beneath the cuff of her gown, closing her fingers around the hilt of the knife. “You will need a weapon.”

The groom wrapped his hand around Leonida’s wrist, preventing her from pulling out the knife.

“I have hopes that our rescuers possessed the sense to come armed.” He snared her gaze, his eyes hard with warning. He better than anyone comprehended the full implications if the rescue failed. “Keep this close and do not hesitate to strike first.”

She slowly nodded, her nerves tangled into knots as Pyotr shrugged out of his jacket and then, with remarkable athletic ability, squeezed through the window and landed lightly on the ground beneath.

Watching his retreating form, Leonida dared not breathe until he disappeared around the edge of the stables. Even then, she waited, refusing to budge until she was absolutely certain that Pyotr had not been noticed by Sir Charles.

Minutes passed before she at last turned and made her way across the plank floor.

“Where are you going?” Sophy hissed.

“I want to be prepared.” Tiptoeing down the stairs, Leonida winced as Sophy clattered down behind her, then silently she turned the handle of the door at the bottom. She grimaced as it refused to budge. Perhaps ridiculously, she
had hoped Josef might have overlooked turning the key. “Damn. It is still locked. We must wait.”

“Good,” the maid muttered.

Rolling her eyes at Sophy’s cowardice, Leonida pressed her ear to the wooden panel of the door. A long, agonizing eternity seemed to pass, with the only sound to break the silence the pounding of her heart. She was beginning to wonder if something had gone terribly wrong when at long last she heard the sounds of muffled shouts and the sharp thud of running footsteps.

“I hear something,” she breathed, pulling the knife from her sleeve and clenching it with a white-knuckled grip.

At her side, Sophy muttered a prayer, obviously not trusting Leonida’s ability to keep her safe.

A good bet, as it turned out.

Still leaning forward, Leonida was unprepared when the door was abruptly jerked open and she tumbled directly into the arms of Sir Charles.

With a small shriek she found herself jerked around until her back was pressed to the madman’s chest and one arm wrapped around her waist. His other hand held a silver dagger he pressed to her throat.

“How very kind of you to be waiting for me, Miss Karkoff,” he drawled.

Terrified, Leonida still possessed the sense to hide her hand that held the knife in the heavy folds of her gown.

“You bastard.”

Hauling her toward the small foyer, Sir Charles pressed the dagger deep enough to break her skin.

“It baffles me that no one has yet cut out that shrewish tongue of yours, Miss Karkoff. An oversight I shall soon rectify.”

Leonida desperately struggled against his hold, indifferent to the blood she could feel trickling down her neck. If Sir Charles managed to get her out of the cottage she was as good as dead.

No matter how hard Sophy might pray.

They were nearing the entry to the kitchens when a shadow fell across the floor. Leonida’s heart contracted with painful relief, only to plunge in regret as the Duke of Huntley stepped into the hallway, blocking Sir Charles’s path to the front doorway.

What was wrong with the aggravating man?

She had done everything in her power to drive him away and keep him safe. He was a duke, for God’s sake. He should be at Meadowland, not risking his neck battling her enemies.

Indifferent to her angry gaze, Stefan briefly studied the small wound on her neck, his expression so hard she barely recognized him.

There was nothing of the charming aristocrat in his handsome face at the moment.

His beautiful eyes were as cold as the Siberian winter and his elegant features set in a mask of lethal fury. A predator that was coiled and prepared to strike.

Lifting his arm, Stefan coolly pointed a loaded pistol toward Sir Charles’s face.

“Release her.”

Holding Leonida as a shield, Sir Charles edged his way into the parlor, growling in anger as Stefan followed him, shadowed by Lord Summerville’s manservant, Boris, as well as Pyotr.

“I fear that will not be possible, your Grace,” he retorted, his tone defiant despite the obvious fact he was cornered.

Stefan curled his lips in an arrogant sneer. “Are we acquainted?”

Leonida felt Sir Charles stiffen and realized that Stefan had struck a vulnerable nerve.

Sir Charles was jealous of Stefan’s superior title.

“I could never claim your lofty position among society, but it is impossible to live in London without enduring the nauseating excitement when the Duke of Huntley condescended to make one of his rare appearances among the
ton
,” he rasped, yanking Leonida even closer as Stefan stepped forward. “Stay back.”

“Shoot him,” Leonida commanded, preferring a bullet to being at the mercy of the lunatic who held her captive.

“Ah, the devoted Duke is too much a nobleman to risk a helpless female,” Sir Charles mocked.

Leonida met Stefan’s gaze, her expression grimly determined. “He is going to kill me whatever you do. At least I should be given the pleasure of knowing he is going to die along with me.”

Astonishingly, Stefan stretched his lips to a cold smile. “She does have a point and I hate to disappoint a lady.”

Sir Charles hissed in surprise. “Do not imagine for a moment that I am bluffing.”

Stefan narrowed his gaze. “What do you want of Miss Karkoff?”

“I want what every man wants. Money.”

“Very well. How much?”

“No, Stefan…” Leonida began, only to yelp in pain as the dagger dug in deeper.

“Shut your mouth, bitch, the men are negotiating.” Waiting until he was confident Leonida was properly cowed, Sir Charles returned his attention to the Duke of Huntley. “One hundred thousand rubles.”

Stefan’s eyes flashed with a deadly anger, but he remained in bleak command of his composure.

“A great deal of money.”

“Not for a duke. Besides, her mother seems to believe her worth such a sum.” Sir Charles’s short burst of laughter revealed his own opinion of Leonida’s worth. “Are you willing to pay?”

“I am willing,” Stefan said without hesitation.

“How much do you have on you?”

Stefan shrugged. “Only a few pounds. Unhand Miss Karkoff and once I am in St. Petersburg…”

“And once you are in St. Petersburg you will head
directly for the Summer Palace. You must think me a fool,” Sir Charles growled in annoyance, shoving Leonida forward, his dagger still pressed to her throat. “Move aside,” he warned as Stefan firmly stood in his path. “Move aside or I will slit her throat.”

Stefan’s jaw knotted, his body rigid with fury. “You are not leaving this cottage.”

“Then you will watch your whore die.”

Forced to accept that Sir Charles would happily slide the dagger through Leonida’s throat, Stefan gave an impatient motion with his hand, sending Boris and Pyotr out of the room. Then, keeping his pistol trained on Sir Charles, he slowly backed into the hall.

“I will not follow if you release Miss Karkoff,” he grated, his eyes dark with a raw frustration as Sir Charles maneuvered Leonida across the room and through the entryway.

Sir Charles laughed as he shifted to keep Leonida between himself and the pistol, backing until he could reach behind and thrust open the outer door. A few more steps and Leonida would once again be in completely in this madman’s power.

“Miss Karkoff does not leave my side until I have my reward,” Sir Charles warned, tugging her onto the stoop.

“Then have your damned reward,” Leonida muttered, shaking her hand free of her skirt and plunging the knife backward and into her captor’s side before she could give herself time to consider the danger.

With an agonized shriek, Sir Charles stumbled backward, his dagger slicing a shallow cut through her neck. Then, loosening his hold on Leonida, he clutched at the knife protruding from his side.

Well aware that she might only have moments to scramble to safety, Leonida tried to step forward, crying out in alarm when her legs buckled and she fell to her knees.

The grinding fear she had endured for weeks, not to mention the alarming blood loss from her most recent wound, was taking its toll.

“Leonida,” Stefan shouted, reaching the doorway only to come to an abrupt halt as his gaze shifted over her shoulder.

Terrified that Sir Charles was about to pounce on her, Leonida turned her head, summoning her fading energy to fend off his attack.

What she discovered instead was Josef standing next to Sir Charles, his arm around his employer’s waist to keep him upright and his other arm extended toward Leonida with a pistol in his hand.

“Tend to the woman,” the scarred servant commanded Stefan, warily backing toward the carriage that he had brought from the stables and was now waiting a few paces away. “Sir Charles is no longer your concern.”

Stunned by the strange end to the violent encounter, Leonida barely noted Stefan as he rushed to kneel at her side, her gaze never wavering as Josef tossed his near unconscious companion into the carriage and then clamored into the driver’s seat, giving a shrill whistle that sent the horses into motion.

A part of her was infuriated by the thought of Sir Charles escaping from justice. The bastard deserved to be shot in the middle of the Senate Square. Another part, however, was desperately relieved to see the back of him.

For the moment she was alive, and while she might never have the pleasure of seeing the monster standing before a firing squad, she at least had the satisfaction of knowing his attempt to blackmail her mother would soon be at an end. And if there was any justice in the world, the wound she had delivered would fester into an infection that would put him in his grave.

With that encouraging thought, Leonida slid into unconsciousness.