Bound by Love (30 page)

“I cannot leave Russia without my possessions.”

Wrapping an arm around Charles’s waist, Josef began leading him toward the warehouse, the crash of waves against the distant wharf the only sound to break the silence.

“It will take you at least a week to heal enough to travel. By then we will find a means to retrieve what you need,” Josef assured him.

Charles stumbled on the uneven paving, the movement sending a jolt of searing pain through his side.

“This is that bitch’s fault,” he gritted. “I intend to see her in hell.”

“All in good time.”

“I want you to keep a close eye upon her. She will not be allowed to escape me again.”

Josef angled his way to a side door, ignoring the trash piled beside the stone building.

“She believes herself to be protected now that she has been returned to her home. She will be there waiting when you are prepared to punish her.”

The image of Leonida Karkoff pleading for mercy as he sliced his dagger through her throat sent a rush of anticipation through his body.

“A punishment I intend to savor.”

“We will both be savoring a firing squad if we are caught by the guards.” Josef reached out to tug open the heavy wooden door. “That’s always assuming we are not captured by Tipova’s men first.”

Stepping into the large empty room that was shrouded in dusty shadows, Charles grimaced in disgust.

“What is this place, beyond a haven for rats?”

Josef urged him into the center of the rotting floor, his expression unreadable.

“I frequently stay here when I have need of disappearing from the streets.”

“It is filthy.”

“It is not so bad as that.”

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Charles sneered. “I am not a nasty peasant who is content to wallow in the muck.”

“I am, of course, devastated you are displeased with my home, Sir Charles, but as they say, beggars cannot be choosers,” a low voice drawled.

Stiffening in alarm, Charles glared as a slender man, with raven hair pulled into a tail at his neck and startling golden eyes in a narrow face, appeared from the shadows.

A mere serf, he told himself, although there was no mistaking the expensive cut of his claret coat and the aris
tocratic lines of his features. Even his boots were glossy enough to please the most meticulous nobleman.

No doubt he stole the clothes in the hopes of fooling the natives.

He was not so easily deceived.

Still, he could not deny the chill of unease that trickled down his spine.

“Who the hell are you?” he growled.

The stranger strolled forward, a mocking smile on his lips. “I have had many names and many guises over the years.”

“I am in no humor for games.”

“Now that is a pity since the game has just begun. One I have been looking forward to for a very long time.”

Charles struggled against the instinctive urge to back away from the approaching man. By God, he did not cower before peasants.

“Do you impress the local serfs with your pretense of a true gentleman?” he scoffed.

“The local serfs are wise enough to hate true gentlemen.” Coming to a halt, the man crossed his arms over his chest. “I impress them with my willingness to kill anyone who dares stir my temper.”

“If you are hoping to frighten me then you are wide of the mark.”

“Now who is pretending, Sir Charles?”

Charles gritted his teeth. If he were not injured the mocking idiot would already be dead.

“I have no need for pretense.”

The man took another step forward, standing close enough to peer down his long nose at Charles.

“You bluff and bully as if you are a man of courage when at heart you are nothing more than a pathetic coward who preys on the weak.”

Charles jerked at the accusation. No. This man could not know the truth. It was impossible.

“Enough of this foolishness. Either you leave or my servant will put a bullet in your heart,” Charles rasped, a savage sense of triumph easing his discomfort as Josef readily pulled a loaded pistol from his pocket.

Gallingly, the stranger merely laughed, unperturbed by the gun pointed directly at his heart.

“So you would hide behind a nasty serf?” the man tossed Charles’s words back in his face. “Is that what is considered bravery among true gentlemen?”

“Josef, be rid of this fool,” Charles barked.

Without warning, the man tilted back his head to laugh with rich enjoyment. “Yes, Josef. Be rid of the fool.”

“At last,” Josef muttered, whirling on his heel to directly point the pistol at Charles.

Charles stumbled back, too shocked to fully comprehend what was occurring.

“What the blazes is the matter with you?” he demanded of his servant.

The stranger’s laugh once again echoed through the empty warehouse.

“You did not believe I would allow you to escape from St. Petersburg without keeping an eye upon you? We have unfinished business.”

Realization hit with a vicious blow. This was a trap. And he had fallen into it like a bumbling buffoon.

Cold dread coiled through his stomach, his knees so weak he could barely stand.

“Tipova,” he breathed.

The master criminal offered a mocking bow. “At your service.”

“You bastard.”

“That I am. And quite proud of the fact.”

“I suppose you believe you are excessively clever?”

“At least moderately clever.” Dimitri cast a glance toward his treacherous servant. “What do you think, Josef?”

“No more than moderately.”

“Brutally honest as always.” The golden eyes shimmered with a smug amusement. “I do hope that he proved to be rather more respectful during his service to you, Sir Charles.”

Charles licked his dry lips. His fury at having been so easily duped was swiftly giving way to sheer terror. Dimitri Tipova had not gone to such trouble to bring him to this warehouse merely to taunt him.

He had to find some means of escaping from this mess.

“Why have you brought me here?” he asked, his voice coming out in an embarrassing croak.

Tipova narrowed his gaze. “Do not be tedious. You know quite well why you are here.”

“I will have your money…”

His words were cut brutally short as Tipova smashed his fist into Charles’s mouth.

Tumbling backward, Charles groaned in agony. His lip was split and it felt as if someone had thrust a hot poker through his side. His vision momentarily clouded, making his heart clench with panic. Slowly his eyes cleared and he belatedly wished that he had passed out.

Gazing upward he found Tipova hovering over him with a feral hatred etched on his face.

This was more than a man angered by the loss of his money or the inconvenience of replacing his dead whores.

His revulsion toward Charles was a tangible force in the air that held no mercy, no compassion.

“Your attempts to blackmail Countess Karkoff have accomplished nothing more than your humiliation,” he said, his lips curling with scorn. “Now you have nothing to offer me beyond your slow and painful death.”

Cowering on the floor, Charles desperately clutched at his only hope of avoiding his horrifying fate.

“You will be shot for this,” he hissed. “I am a nobleman. You cannot harm me without answering to the Emperor.”

Tipova crouched down beside him, his golden eyes glowing with a terrifying anticipation.

“Actually I have been assured by those in authority that I am quite at liberty to do whatever I please with you. It was not at all wise to kidnap the Emperor’s daughter.”

“You lie.”

The words had barely tumbled from his lips when Tipova deliberately pressed a knee hard against his knife wound, making Charles convulse in anguish.

“Did Miss Karkoff do this to you?” Tipova murmured, digging his knee deeper. “Obviously a spirited wench. I really must meet her.”

“I will slice open that whore’s throat,” he gasped.

“Ah. It bothers you to be bested by a mere woman,” the bastard taunted. “You like them at your mercy, do you not? It makes you feel less a worthless coward when you abuse a frightened, helpless creature.”

“Go to hell.”

Tipova reached into Charles’s pocket to remove his favorite dagger.

“Eventually, but not before I have sent you ahead to prepare the path,” he murmured, stroking the razor-sharp blade down Charles’s cheek.

Charles’s heels burrowed into the rotting planks of the floor as he futilely tried to scoot away from the dagger. The fear he had created in his victims was not nearly so pleasant when he was the one beneath the blade.

“Please,” he whimpered, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I will find the money for you. I swear.”

“Too late.”

Charles screamed as the dagger sliced through his face.

A
LTHOUGH IT HAD BEEN LATE
when Leonida returned from the Czar’s dinner, she was up with the sun, attiring herself in a peach silk carriage gown with ivory lace around the hem and a triple strand of pearls around her neck to hide the nearly healed wound. Her hair she left loose to tumble about her shoulders, too restless to remain still long enough for Sophy to style it in a more elegant knot.

The sense of restlessness continued to plague her as she finished her breakfast and retreated to a small parlor that overlooked the sunken rose garden.

It was a charming room with pale yellow silk on the walls and French furnishings that were painted gold and covered in a cream satin. The tables were topped with agate and held a collection of delicate cameos. The ceiling had been painted with a scene of cupids dancing among the clouds.

It was not the beauty of the room, however, that drew Leonida. Instead it was the morning sunlight that streamed through the high arched windows that made it her favorite.

Curling on a low sofa, she attempted to lose herself in a book, refusing to ponder her brief encounter with Stefan the night before or the message he pressed into her hand just before leaving the palace.

If she had learned nothing else over the past weeks, it was that she was wasting her time to attempt to make sense of the Duke of Huntley.

Several hours passed before the sound of approaching footsteps had Leonida setting aside her book, her heart
leaping with what she told herself was annoyance, although it felt remarkably like anticipation.

She was smoothing her hands down her skirt when Pyotr entered the room. Since her return to St. Petersburg he had hovered about her as if he were a mother hen.

“Huntley is back. Shall I send him on his way?”

Leonida rose to her feet. “No, Pyotr, please have Sergi show him in.”

“You are certain?”

She forced a smile. She had never been less certain of anything. Just being in Stefan’s company was enough to toss her into a maelstrom of confusion. Her mind warned her to treat the man with a cold indifference. Surely her apathy would eventually convince him to halt his foolish pursuit? But only a few moments in his company and she was a seething mass of emotion. Like a schoolgirl in her first throes of calf-love.

“Of course.” She managed to get the words past her stiff lips.

“Then I will fetch Sophy.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“You can’t be with the man without a companion,” Pyotr growled.

“We will not be staying. The Duke has requested that I join him for a drive.”

The groom’s expression hardened with suspicion. “And you agreed?”

“Obviously.”

“Why?”

“That is between Lord Huntley and myself.”

Pyotr was clearly displeased with her sudden decision to meet with the man she had deliberately avoided for days.

“Then I will join you.”

Her expression softened, her heart warming at his unwavering concern.

“Thank you, Pyotr, but there is no need.”

“Have you forgotten there is a madman still loose who has every reason to want you dead?”

Leonida shivered. She had been haunted by nightmares since returning to St. Petersburg. At least she had until last night.

For some reason her dreams had once again been filled with a raven-haired, blue-eyed gentleman who set her blood on fire.

“I am not likely to forget.”

“Then you need to be protected.”

“A task that is now in my hands,” a dark voice murmured from behind Pyotr.

“Stefan,” Leonida breathed, her heart slamming against her chest as the tall, lean gentleman brushed past the groom and crossed the room to raise her fingers to his lips.

“Lovely as always, my dove.”

For a moment Leonida’s mind refused to function. Good lord, he was so beautiful. The elegantly chiseled features. The thick raven curls. The blue eyes that could shimmer with humor or darken with tenderness.

Her hands itched to reach up and sink her fingers in his hair and tug his head down so she could kiss those sensuous lips. She ached with a frustrated desire that became worse with every passing day.

With an effort, she gathered her thoughts and, turning toward the doorway, she nodded to the silver-haired butler who hovered behind Pyotr.

“Thank you, Sergi, that will be all.”

The elderly servant cast an outraged glare toward Stefan before performing a stiff bow. Clearly the Duke had forced his way into the house, offending the poor butler who was unaccustomed to such a determined gentleman.

“Very well.”

The man shuffled away and Leonida returned her attention to Stefan, who was smiling with an unrepentant satisfaction.

“There was no need to bully my servants,” she chastised.

“I am weary of waiting on your doorstep.”

“I agreed to join you,” she muttered. “I do not go back on my word.”

“Then blame my lack of manners on my eagerness to be at your side.”

“You can be at her side in the shelter of her home,” Pyotr said from across the room. “There is no need to drag her about St. Petersburg.”

Stefan’s lips twitched, but his gaze never strayed from Leonida’s face.

“Since Vanya Petrova was kind enough to lend me use of her carriage there will be no need to actually drag Miss Karkoff.”

Pyotr snorted, unimpressed with Stefan’s quip. “It is still dangerous.”

With a rueful sigh, Stefan turned his head to meet the groom’s sour gaze.

“Do not fear, Pyotr, I have brought a groom and two outriders to stand guard. Miss Karkoff will be well-protected.”

“I do not like it.”

“Perhaps not, but I am certain that Miss Karkoff is weary of being trapped in this house,” he pointed out gently. “She is no longer a prisoner and she deserves to feel the sunlight on her face.”

Leonida’s heart threatened to melt. No one but Stefan had ever bothered to notice her craving for the delicious warmth of a sunny day or the need for a room heated by a fire. Perhaps it would seem like nothing to most women, but to her it was…astonishing.

“I will be fine, Pyotr. Remain here and keep a watch upon Mother.”

The groom muttered something beneath his breath, but with no authority to keep Leonida confined to the house he gave a grudging nod of his head. “If you insist.”

Ignoring the man’s warning glare, Stefan took Leonida’s
arm and escorted her through the house, pausing at the front door while she pulled on a chip bonnet with peach ribbons. Then, allowing Sergi to open the door, he led her down the stairs to the open black carriage with white leather seats.

Leonida vaguely recognized the servant holding the reins of the matched pair of grays, as well as the two side riders who were attired in the Duke’s uniforms. She had occasionally caught sight of them during her stay at Meadowland.

She was surprised, however, that Boris was not among the guards. She had sensed that he was aggressively determined to remain at Stefan’s side until they returned to England.

Once they were settled, the carriage jerked into motion, the sharp sound of hoofs striking against the cobbled streets echoing through the quiet neighborhood.

Leonida remained silent as they headed away from the house, savoring the delicious sunlight that poured over her with welcoming warmth. Stefan had been right. She had been lingering in the house too long.

Not that she intended to admit as much to the man seated far too close to her side.

He was already arrogantly certain she found him irresistible.

“Where are we going?” she at last demanded as they clattered over a narrow bridge leading away from the city.

“I thought you would enjoy a drive through the countryside,” Stefan retorted, shifting so he could face her. “Does that please you?”

“Do you truly care if I am pleased or not?” she asked tartly.

He ignored her question, instead reaching out to lightly touch the shadows beneath her eyes.

“You look tired. Are you not sleeping well?”

“Well enough.”

“What is troubling you, Leonida? Are you plagued by nightmares?”

She swallowed a sigh. The man was annoyingly perceptive. A fine talent when it came to his staff and tenants, but she preferred to keep some thoughts to herself.

“At times.”

“Has Gerhardt discovered any trace of Sir Charles?”

She grimaced. “Not that he has mentioned, but he rarely shares all that he knows.”

His hand cupped her cheek, the warmth of his palm rivaling the heat of the sun. She swallowed, barely keeping herself from rubbing against that soft touch like a contented cat.

“I could keep you safe at Meadowland. At least until the bastard has been captured.”

She regarded him with an exasperation that was not entirely feigned. “You are truly the most stubborn man I have ever encountered.”

His thumb brushed her bottom lip with an unnerving intimacy. Thank goodness they had reached the edge of the city and were away from prying eyes.

“I would not need to be so stubborn if you would just be reasonable.”

“And by reasonable you mean giving in to your every command?”

“It would be a beginning.”

She rolled her eyes. “It is little wonder you have not yet wed. I feel pity for your poor wife.”

An indefinable emotion flickered through his magnificent eyes. “Do you?”

“Yes,” she said, pretending her heart did not clench with a vicious stab of pain.

“There is no need. When I care for a woman I willingly devote myself to her happiness.” He leaned forward to whisper directly in her ear. “She will be utterly and fully content.”

She shivered at the rush of exquisite awareness that tingled through her body. “Arrogant as well as stubborn.”

His lips brushed along the curve of her ear, his breath a caress against her neck. “You would vanquish a lesser man,” he assured her. “Unless, of course, you prefer a lapdog?”

She hastily scooted from his disturbing touch. Another moment and she would be a helpless puddle of need.

“I prefer a gentleman who can respect my ability to make my own decisions and not run roughshod over my opinions,” she snapped.

He draped an arm along the back of the seat, his brooding gaze moving restlessly over her upturned face.

“I have no intention of running roughshod over your opinions, only your fanciful belief I intend to hurt you.”

“Demanding that I be your mistress would hurt me,” she said, her voice pitched low so it would not carry to the servants.

He narrowed his gaze in frustration. “My only demand has been that you allow me the opportunity to enjoy your companionship. Any decision to share more than conversation will be made by you.”

R
ECOGNIZING THE STUBBORN
expression that had settled on Leonida’s face, Stefan allowed a silence to descend on the carriage.

Damn it all. He was not stupid. He had seen her eyes light with pleasure when he had walked into her parlor. He could feel her response to his touch.

So why did she continue to push him away?

The woman was enough to make a sane man consider becoming a monk.

Turning his head, he studied the passing scenery. It was that or hauling Leonida on his lap and kissing her senseless.

Not that he was able to ignore her presence at his side. Even as his eyes narrowed in resignation at the sight of the dispirited serfs who tended the fields, his entire body pulsed with awareness.

Her jasmine scent teased at his nose and the heat from her body seeped through his clothing. He would have better luck ignoring another shot to his back.

At last the carriage slowed, turning on a tree-lined drive. Ahead was a large stone building with a columned terrace and statues of Greek gods keeping watch from the roof.

It was the parkland, however, that appealed to Stefan. Beyond the formal garden and reflecting pool, the unpretentious beauty of nature had been left untouched.

Whatever his opinion of Russian politics, he possessed a deep admiration for the raw, untouched splendor that was all too rare in England. It pleased him in the same manner as Leonida pleased him.

Both were willful, untamed and filled with surprises.

His groom pulled the horses to a halt before the wide terrace and climbing from the carriage, Stefan turned to hold out a hand to the frowning Leonida.

“Why are we here?” she demanded, grudgingly allowing him to help her step onto the graveled drive.

He threaded her arm through his own, keeping a firm grip. She was quite capable of bolting when she discovered the surprise he had in store for her.

“You have become too thin,” he said, guiding her up the stairs. “I have hopes of tempting your appetite.”

She stiffened in alarm. “My appetite will hardly be improved by being thrust amongst strangers.”