Bound by Love (26 page)

“That is troubling.” Gregor glanced toward the nearby soldiers, his brow furrowed. “What do you wish to do?”

“For the moment we have no choice but to continue on to the cottage and pray that Miss Karkoff was not in that carriage.”

Gregor’s lips twisted as he returned his attention to Herrick.

“I suggest we continue on rather quickly. I do not like the stares we are receiving.”

Herrick grimaced as he urged his horse into a slow trot, glancing over his shoulder at the gray buildings and silent fields.

“It is a pity,” he muttered. “The settlements were a sound notion in the beginning. How better to increase the size of the military while allowing the men to be with their family and provide their own food?” He shook his head. “But under Akartcheyeff’s rule it has created more problems than it has solved.”

Gregor gave a philosophical shrug of his shoulders. “Soldiers do not make dependable farmers. Not when they are forced to practice their drills for hours each day or to drop their plows when the Commander calls them to duty.”

“No, and the brutal treatment by most of the commanders has not improved the situation.” Herrick felt the age-old regret tug at his heart. “Akartcheyeff will never learn that it is respect, not fear, that inspires true loyalty.”

Gregor’s face hardened. He had endured three years of Akartcheyeff’s cruel temper.

“He was trained under Emperor Paul. Perhaps it is not so strange he would prefer a regimental authority to what he would consider coddling.”

“Treating a man with dignity is not coddling,” Herrick grated.

Gregor shot him a wry glance. “I am not the one you must convince.”

Herrick slowed his pace as the fields lining the road were replaced with a mixture of hawthorn and birch trees with the occasional cedar. The trees dangerously obscured his view.

“I have done what I can and I dare not press too hard,” he admitted. “My fear is that the Czar’s habit of charging
from one extreme to another will convince him to replace the General with a man such as Prince Alexander Golitsyn.”

Gregor gave an abrupt laugh. Golitsyn’s unwelcomed influence on Alexander Pavlovich was creating as many problems as Akartcheyeff. Herrick considered himself a religious man, but the zealous extremes that were beginning to creep through the palace were yet another concern.

“You do not wish to witness the settlements becoming monastic barracks?” Gregor asked, already knowing Herrick’s opinion.

“No more than I wish the men to spend their days standing before the altar and merely praying for their crops to grow.”

Gregor chuckled. “Careful, Gerhardt, you shall be accused of being a heretic.”

“Mystical nonsense. It has done as much damage as Metternich,” he muttered, the bitter words tumbling from his lips before he could halt them. Breathing in a cleansing breath, he shook his head. “Forgive me. I am tired or I would not allow my tongue to be so free.”

“You need never apologize to me or fear that your words will be repeated,” Gregor said, his voice low with sincerity. “Unlike many, you do know how to inspire loyalty.”

Herrick managed a weary smile. “A loyalty I depend upon, my friend. And the reason I requested you join me on this delicate mission.”

Gregor cast a glance toward the thickening trees. “Ah yes, our mission. Do we have a plan if Miss Karkoff is at the cottage?”

“We kill Sir Charles and return her to her mother.”

“You believe it will be so simple?”

“Thus far nothing has been simple, but I cling to futile hope,” Herrick drawled, reaching into his pocket to pull out his loaded pistol. “Take care, the cottage should be near.”

“Nearer than you imagine, Herrick Gerhardt,” a voice drawled from the edge of the trees.

Herrick brought his horse to a calm halt while his companion cursed and fumbled for his pistol. Reaching out, Herrick laid a restraining hand on the young soldier’s arm. He recognized that voice.

“No, Gregor,” he commanded, turning his head to watch the burly servant step from the shadows. “Boris. I am not certain if I am more shocked at the realization that you have not yet been shot by a prudish Englishman or that you have appeared in this precise location. May I assume that Lord Summerville is near?”

“Lord Summerville remains in England. I traveled to Russia with the Duke of Huntley.”

Herrick didn’t bother to hide his shock. It had been several years since Huntley had journeyed so far from England. Which begged the question of why he would choose to do so now.

“And what would bring the Duke here?” he demanded.

“No doubt it was the same reason that brought you here.”

Herrick’s tension coiled as he realized what the man was implying.

“Is Miss Karkoff…”

“In the cottage with her maid, Sophy,” Boris was swift to assure him.

Painful relief surged through Herrick as he tossed his reins toward Gregor and slipped from the saddle. He was not too late. Thank God.

“And Sir Charles?”

Boris grimaced, his hands planted on his hips. “The last we saw of him, he was in a carriage headed toward St. Petersburg with his servant.”

Herrick crossed toward the edge of the road, noticing a narrow trail leading through the trees. No doubt the cottage lay beyond.

“You allowed him to escape?” he barked.

Boris smiled. As Edmond’s personal servant he had
rarely displayed more than a grudging deference toward anyone beyond Summmerville.

“Not entirely unscathed. Miss Karkoff managed to lodge a knife in his gut. There is a decent chance that he is currently suffering a painful death.”

Herrick clenched his hand on the pistol, infuriated by the thought of the sweet child being forced to protect herself.

“Leonida stabbed him?”

Boris lifted his brows. “I do not know why you should pretend to be shocked. The woman is a hellion who would terrify any man with a bit of sense.”

“Has she been harmed?”

“She was wounded.”

“Damn.” Herrick stepped toward the path, anxious to return her to the safety of St. Petersburg. “I must see her.”

With a movement that was surprisingly swift for such a large man, Boris was blocking the path, his expression unreadable.

“She is already healing. There is no reason to fret.”

Herrick stilled, belatedly recalling he still had no notion why the Duke and Boris were in Russia. He did not like mysteries.

“Boris, are you attempting to block my path to the cottage?”

“Miss Karkoff is still sleeping. There is no reason to awaken her.”

“Allow me to warn you that I am tired and in no mood for games. You will take me to Miss Karkoff,” he commanded, his voice low and lethal. “Now.”

There was a rustle in the undergrowth before a tall form attired in a dark green jacket and fawn breeches stepped onto the path.

Herrick’s eyes narrowed as he realized that Stefan had recently bathed and shaved the face that was so remarkably similar to Edmond’s.

So, the men had not recently arrived at the cottage.

The knowledge sent a chill down his spine. Did the Duke know why Leonida had been sent to England? And more importantly, if had discovered the truth, what did he intend to do with the information?

Although Edmond had spent years as an advisor to Alexander Pavlovich, his older brother’s loyalty had always remained with England.

As if sensing Herrick’s suspicion, Huntley allowed a slow, taunting smile to curve his lips.

“Do not blame Boris,” he drawled. “He is merely following my orders.”

S
TEFAN FOLDED HIS ARMS
over his chest, attempting to disguise his annoyance with Herrick Gerhardt’s untimely arrival.

A deep part of him understood that he could not actually drag Leonida back to England. She was not some village maid without family or connections. But he had known that with enough time he could persuade her that their affair was not yet at an end.

He had never been as notorious a rake as his younger brother, but he knew when a woman enjoyed his touch. Christ, he had only to be near her for the air to heat with frustrated passion.

With the proper inducement, he could prove to her that it was futile to deny the need that bound them together. They were both trapped until desire had run its natural course.

The arrival of Herrick, however, had stolen any opportunity to slip Leonida away. The stern, ruthless man would have Stefan locked in the Czar’s dungeons if he suspected Stefan intended to lure Leonida back to Meadowland. And his bed.

“I must admit this is a rather odd place to find the Duke of Huntley,” Herrick said, his expression guarded.

“You have my full agreement.”

“Would your presence have anything to do with Miss Karkoff?”

Stefan deliberately glanced toward the two servants who eyed each other warily.

“Perhaps we should have this conversation in private?”

“If you wish.” Together they moved down the path, Herrick’s pistol glinting in the dappled sunlight. A silent threat that Stefan did not miss. Damn him to hell. “Tell me, is Leonida badly injured?”

Stefan halted, turning to stab Herrick with an irritated frown. Herrick’s concern came far too late. He should never have allowed Leonida to be put in danger.

“No, but she has endured a brutal ordeal and it will take longer for her emotions to heal than her wounds.”

Herrick’s face drained of color. “Did Sir Charles…”

“I do not believe so,” Stefan rasped, knowing that the older man feared Leonida had been violated. The fear had haunted him, as well. “But he most certainly enjoyed terrorizing her and her servants. It is a fortunate thing she possesses such courage. A lesser woman would be utterly shattered.”

Herrick recovered his composure, smoothing his expression to an unreadable mask.

“Leonida’s courage could never be questioned.”

“No, only her good sense.” Stefan deliberately paused. “And the intelligence of her advisors.”

Herrick’s jaw tightened as the thrust slid home. “May I inquire what your interest is in the Countess’s daughter?”

“She was a guest in my home,” Stefan smoothly retorted. “Or at least she was a guest until she stole my mother’s letters and slipped away in the midst of the night.”

Herrick arched his brow, disguising any reaction to the realization that Stefan was aware of Leonida’s reason for being in England.

“And you followed her?”

“You are fortunate I did. Sir Charles had every intention of killing her. If not for me you would be searching for a corpse.”

“Boris mentioned it was Leonida who stabbed Sir Charles,” Herrick countered, scraping against Stefan’s pride.

He would never forget the sight of Leonida trapped
against Sir Charles, the dagger pressed to her throat as the crimson blood dripped down her pale skin.

The vision would be seared into his mind forever.

“We have already determined her courage, but she had no means to fend off an entire gang of ruffians,” he said coldly. “It was sheer luck I managed to get here before Sir Charles slit her throat.”

Herrick flinched as Stefan struck back. “What do you want, Stefan? A medal? No doubt Alexander Pavlovich would be pleased to pin the Order of St. Vladimir on your chest.”

“I want to comprehend how the Countess could sacrifice her innocent daughter to save herself from scandal.”

The older man’s expression was dangerously hard and Stefan did not doubt that if he were anyone but the Duke of Huntley the old soldier would have him clapped in chains and disappearing into a damp cell.

“I appreciate your concern for Leonida,” he said, his tone revealing that he was anything but appreciative of Stefan’s interference. “But you will not be allowed to meddle in Russian affairs.”

“Russian affairs?” Stefan’s temper flared. “Damn you, Leonida was very nearly killed.”

“I realize the gravity of the situation and I assure you that Leonida will be well protected once she has been returned to her family.”

“That has yet to be decided.”

“Your Grace…”

Belatedly realizing now was not the time for this particular argument, Stefan overrode the older man’s outraged words.

“I think you should know that the letters Leonida stole from my home are now missing.”

Herrick’s lips thinned, his obvious desire to make certain that Stefan understood he had no claim to Leonida thrust aside by the more pressing concern of the lost letters.

“Do you have any notion of who might have taken them?”

“Leonida suspects that the servant who assisted Sir Charles to escape might have taken them for his own purpose.”

“Damn,” Herrick muttered, clearly distracted. “They must be found.”

“Without the assistance of Leonida.”

Herrick snapped his attention back to Stefan, his eyes hard with warning.

“You speak for her?”

“Someone needs to.”

“Forgive me, your Grace, but I fear you overstep your bounds.”

“I was not the one to risk her lovely neck by sending her to a foreign land to play thief while a madman haunted her every step.”

The old soldier stepped forward, his jaw tight. He was not a man accustomed to having his warnings ignored. A pity for him that Stefan was not so easily cowed.

“Miss Karkoff is no longer your concern,” Herrick growled.

“This entire situation remains very much my concern.” Stefan allowed a superior smile to curve his lips. “If you will recall, the letters that have caused such trouble belonged to my mother.”

“You are in Russia now, not England.”

“Is that a threat, Gerhardt?”

The man returned Stefan’s smile, too wily to be lured into open confrontation. There was a reason he had been Alexander Pavlovich’s longest serving advisor.

“I am merely pointing out that you are a visitor and it will be the Czar’s decision how long your stay might be.”

Stefan shrugged aside the warning. His lofty position might not make him utterly immune to the Emperor’s anger, but it did offer him a protection few others could claim.

Alexander Pavlovich would not be anxious to further
strain the relationships between Russia and England, no matter what his opinion of King George.

“You believe that Alexander Pavlovich will force me from the country?”

Herrick refused to back down. “If need be.”

“Take care,” Stefan said softly. “If I am forced to leave I assure you that Leonida will accompany me.”

The very air prickled with menace as both men battled to dominate the other.

“That is a very foolish boast, your Grace. Perhaps you do not comprehend just how attached Alexander Pavlovich is to Leonida. You do not want to incur his wrath.”

“If he was so attached, he would never have allowed her to be put in danger.”

“He did not…” Herrick snapped his lips shut as he realized just what he had admitted.

“He does not know of the letters, does he?” Stefan mocked, knowing it was the one true weapon he held over this man. “Or the fact that the Countess was being blackmailed.”

Herrick’s jaw clenched, his expression hard as he sought to regain the ground he had lost. “You are an intelligent gentleman with a brilliant future in England. Why would you entangle yourself in the Countess’s private matters?”

“I became entangled the moment Leonida arrived in Surrey.”

The danger in the air thickened. “The Romanovs owe a debt of gratitude to your family, so I will offer you a word of warning. Leonida is a precious jewel of the Empire. Should anyone, no matter what his title or position, dare to harm or insult her, you can be certain that justice will be done.”

Stefan scowled. Herrick Gerhardt had always been fiercely devoted to Alexander Pavlovich, and it was only to be expected his loyalty would extend to Leonida, but Stefan found himself bristling at the man’s possessive manner.

Leonida was not the property of Russia.

She was
his
.

“Thus far the person who has caused her the greatest harm is her own mother,” he snapped.

Herrick leaned forward until they were nearly nose to nose. “Return to England, your Grace, before you…”

“Herrick?” A soft female voice had them both spinning toward the path leading from the cottage. Stefan’s heart gave its familiar jerk at the sight of Leonida, her slender form swathed in her ugly black gown and her face heartrendingly pale. With her throat still bandaged and her eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, she had never appeared so fragile, or so in need of his strength. Stefan instinctively stepped forward only to freeze when she gave a choked cry and without warning flew down the path to throw herself in Herrick’s waiting arms. “Oh, thank heavens.”

T
HE HOME OF
V
ANYA
P
ETROVA
was an elegant St. Petersburg townhouse built near the Fontanka Embankment. Like its owner, the mansion was a mysterious combination of lavish beauty and hidden secrets.

Vanya had for years been a ruthless supporter of Alexander Pavlovich, using her wealth and power to bolster the young Czar’s original claim to the throne and then keeping an eye upon the treacherous nobles and various secret societies that had proven to be a constant threat over the years.

It had, indeed, been Vanya who had first approached Edmond to assist her in her covert efforts and happily lured the young, impetuous nobleman into one dangerous situation after another. A fact Stefan had depended upon when he had arrived unannounced on her doorstep.

Stefan had met Vanya on occasion over the past years, but he was counting on her heavy obligation toward his brother to secure her assistance during his visit to St. Petersburg.

Thus far his hasty plan had been successful.

A satisfied smile touched his lips as he glanced about the guest chambers he had been given. The lilac wall panels
and satinwood furnishings held a hint of a European influence, but Vanya’s love for Russia was obvious in the lush velvet curtains, the delicate ornaments that sparkled with expensive jewels and the polished wood floor that was too beautiful to cover with a carpet.

A decidedly welcome change from the nasty inns that he had been forced to endure for weeks.

Another welcome change was the tailor that Vanya had insisted be brought to her home to provide a suitable wardrobe for the Duke of Huntley. Although his carriage had arrived in St. Petersburg, he had not packed the elegant evening clothes that would be necessary to move among the Romanov Court.

Now, three days after his arrival, he was attired in a precisely cut mulberry jacket stitched with gold and a champagne waistcoat. His black pantaloons were a soft knit that clung to the hard muscles of his legs, and his shoes sparkled with diamond buckles.

Choosing an Oriental knot for his cravat and brushing his raven curls to frame his lean face, he appeared every inch the powerful Duke of Huntley prepared to be entertained by the Emperor of Russia in his Summer Palace.

A fortunate thing, since the gilt-edged invitation had arrived just after breakfast.

He unconsciously grimaced as he absently stroked the enamel snuff box in his hand. His first inclination had been to ignore the royal summons. His only purpose in St. Petersburg was to be near Leonida until she came to her senses and returned to Meadowland. In the meantime, he had no interest in socializing among the always treacherous Russian Court.

Unfortunately, his visits to the Countess Karkoff’s home had been a pointless waste of time. The butler had turned him away at the door, claiming the Countess was ill and that Miss Karkoff was tending to her care. Since he had not yet reached the point of being willing to break
down the door and carry Leonida off, he had no choice but to hope she would eventually make her appearance at the palace.

Besides, not even a lofty English duke could ignore an invitation from the Czar without attracting unwanted attention.

His resigned thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock and Stefan turned to watch as the door was thrust open and Vanya Petrova sailed into the parlor.

A tall, curvaceous woman, Vanya was still beautiful with her silver hair and handsome features. This evening she was attired in a green crepe gown that perfectly matched the stunning emeralds hung about her neck with sable trim along the hem.

Closing the door behind her, Vanya’s blue gaze made a critical survey of Stefan before a smile curved her lips.

“A vast improvement,” she said, her English only faintly accented.

Stefan slid his enamel snuff box in a pocket beneath his jacket and straightened his cuffs.