Lord of Fire (35 page)

The guards had sent him word when Greene had come through the gates, but somehow they had lost track of him within the winding caverns of the Grotto. Lucien bided his time, suspecting that the randy little goat had probably sneaked off with some drunken woman.

His glance swept the orgy below in distaste. Fresh from his first night of lovemaking with
Alice, the anonymous couplings taking place throughout the Grotto appeared all the more meaningless and degrading. He preferred to remember
Alice bathing innocently alone in the
hot springs. How he wished he could have been with her instead of here tonight, he thought with a small sigh. But the sooner it was over, the sooner he could quit this work and devote himself to her entirely. She had been right, of course. His work put his life in constant danger, and he would give it up in a heartbeat rather than risk any of it touching her or the children that might one day grace their lives.

He was musing that he could continue serving the Foreign Office in a strictly diplomatic role, when suddenly, Marc and O’Shea came rushing into the observation room.

“My lord! We’ve found Rollo Greene!”

“Where is he?” Lucien demanded, pivoting.

“He’s bloody dead!” O’Shea answered. “Facedown in the canal.”

Lucien let out an oath. “How?”

“He was stabbed in the back,” Marc said tensely. “The knife’s still in him, steel, with a big green jewel on the hilt—Sophia Voznesensky’s trademark, I believe.”

“Damn it!” Lucien cursed. “She must have slipped past the gates somehow! We have to find her. Now. Bardou must have sent her to stop Rollo from talking to me.” He drew a deep breath. “I want the exits sealed. Send word to the perimeter to look lively. She’s done her work; now she’ll try to escape. Be extremely careful with this woman. She’s tall, dark-haired, dark eyes. Don’t be fooled by her beauty. She’ll cut your throat if you turn your back on her.”

“Yes, sir.”

They strode off to carry out his orders. Marching out of the observation room, Lucien made a brief inspection of the scene of Rollo Greene’s death before joining the hunt for Sophia. The American was floating facedown between two moored gondolas. The red film of his blood in the water licked at the sides of the boats and the rocky basin of the landing.

He ordered the guards to bury Greene in the woods before dawn’s light. He was unconcerned about the local authorities; the death of an American secret agent killed on enemy soil during wartime was not going to draw anyone’s attention.

After a nerve-racking twenty-minute search, his head of security, a gruff, dauntless Scotsman named McLeish, and two of his best men brought a viciously fighting Sophia into his observation room.

“We caught her trying to escape over the wall,” the burly Scot growled to Lucien as he struggled to restrain the woman.

Sophia Voznesensky was a tempestuous beauty, tall and striking. Fear darted through her dark eyes as Lucien stalked toward her. She redoubled her struggles until it took all three of the guards to restrain her.

Stepping in front of her, Lucien wrapped his hand around her lovely white throat and drove her back against the wall, staring at her, laughing tautly at her colorful Russian curses.

“Sophia, Sophia. Your manners are atrocious. You come into my house and start killing my guests. What kind of behavior is that for a lady?”

“I have nothing to say to you!”

“Has your
cher ami
Bardou lost his nerve? He sends a woman to do his dirty work?”

“Bugger yourself, Argus!” she spat, calling him by his code name. “You’ll get nothing out of me! He’ll kill me if I talk to you! You know he hates you more than all the rest of the English put together!”

“You’re going to tell me why he had you murder Rollo Greene,” he said calmly, “and you’re going to tell me right now.”

“You wouldn’t hurt a woman,” she challenged him in bravado, but as Lucien clasped her throat with a bit more pressure, he could feel her pulse beating swiftly with fear under his fingertips.

“On the contrary, my dear. I wouldn’t hurt a
lady
. You, I could drown like the rat that you are. Mr. McLeish, I trust you searched Madame Voznesensky and stripped her of her weapons?”

“Er, no, my lord,” the Scotsman replied. “She fought us too hard.”

“Hold her,” Lucien ordered the other two. “McLeish. You may do the honors.”

“Oh, Argus,” Sophia pouted, rolling her shoulders back in a sensual motion that lifted her breasts for his inspection. “Won’t you do it? You have such a soft touch.”

“Don’t even try, Sophia. You once loved
Russia, but now you only serve Bardou.”

“Do you think I have a choice?” she retorted sharply, lashing out at the Scotsman with the back of her fist. “Get your hands off me! If Bardou asks you to do him a favor, you do it or you die,” she said to Lucien. “You’re going to have to kill me, because if I betray him, I’m as good as dead!” she finished, kicking McLeish soundly in the groin.

The Scotsman fell, groaning.

“Sophia,” Lucien said irritably.

“Lucien, don’t let them hurt me. You search me. I’ll be good. I promise,” she whispered, clasping her hands atop her head, offering herself with a sultry stare.

Lucien flicked a glance over her, then looked once more into her eyes, narrowing his own. He knew full well what she was trying to do. Perhaps she hoped that their past encounter meant something to him. It did not. “Tell me what you know, and I will protect you from Bardou.”

“You can’t protect me from him. Nobody can.”

“This is your chance to be free of him. What is he doing for the Americans? What information did Greene come here to sell me? Trust me, Sophia. I will keep you safe.”

“You can’t. You won’t.” She suddenly threw off his hands as he began patting her down. “Leave me alone, all of you! I am an agent of the czar! I demand that you convey me at once to the Russian embassy in
London! I have rights!”

“You have nothing,” Lucien snarled.

The interrogation that followed alternated between shouting matches in both Russian and English and Sophia’s vexing attempts to save herself by seducing him. She continued to ward off his every effort to relieve her of her weapons—and God only knew how many guns and knives were concealed beneath her skirts. Lucien was afraid to push her too hard because he believed that he could tempt her back onto his side, but he grew agitated as the moments passed and all his yelling and threats did not make a dent in her obstinate refusal to cooperate.

She was so resolute in her refusal to give him even a scrap of information that he began to fear he was really going to have to do something unpleasant to the woman. He went on trying his best to intimidate her into answering.

“Why did you kill Greene? What did he know that was so important?”

“I don’t know anything,” she said stoically, glaring at him.

“Where is Bardou? Is he in
England?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why are you protecting that animal?” he roared in her face.

“I’m protecting
myself
! He’ll kill me!”

“What do you think I’m going to do to you, Sophie? Take a look around! Where is your lover now? He’s not here to save you. There’s no one here to help you, no Claude, nobody. I’m your only hope.”

“You don’t scare me,” she snarled back at him. “You’re not like him. You never were. You wouldn’t do to me in anger what he does to me for fun.” She closed her eyes as though suddenly exhausted, leaning her head back against the wall. “Oh, kiss me in your soft way, Lucien. I still remember that night in
Prague. . . . It’s been so long since anyone has given me pleasure.”

“Sophia, that is low.”

She lifted her lashes and laughed, a throaty, sensual sound of despair as she gave him a hollow-eyed look. “Let me go, Lucien,” she said. “I’m doomed either way.”

Dodging the servants,
Alice stole down the corridor, her face hidden in the voluminous hood of the brown robe. Confident of every step now, unlike last week, she knew exactly where she was going and why. Had he really expected her to sit obediently in her room while he ruled as Lord Draco in the Grotto with his disgusting little initiates crawling all over him? Only a fool would idly stand by while her future husband was besieged by immoral women throwing themselves at him. There was no harm in making sure he behaved himself. Supper and the headache powder had greatly relieved her earlier fatigue and discomfort. Now she was ready to fight for her man, if necessary.

This time as she walked down the limestone stairs into the Grotto, she was not frightened by Talbert’s mumbo jumbo on the stage and simply ignored the people entwined together, pursuing pleasure in fantastic contortions. She kept her face concealed within the hood of her domino and glided silently, stealthily through the crowded Grotto. She wanted to see what Lucien was doing before making her presence known. He was going to be angry at her for intruding, she realized, but perhaps if he hadn’t ignored her all day, maybe she would not need to come checking up on him like a jealous wife.

Not seeing him anywhere, she made her way to the dragon carving to seek him in his observation room. The black-coated guards balked when she demanded to be allowed up to see him, but when she reminded them haughtily that she was about to become their master’s wife, they had to oblige her. They could barely keep up with her as she pounded up the dim, spiraling stairs to the observation room, brushing back her hood as she ran. Even though she was peeved at Lucien for neglecting her all day, a rush of exhilaration flooded her veins to know she would be with him shortly. She heard shouting as she neared the top of the spiral steps. When she reached the antechamber, she saw that the door to the observation room was open. Her cheeks flushed with anticipation, she flung into the doorway, eager to see him—but when she did, she froze and instantly felt the very breath knocked out of her lungs to find a beautiful brunette struggling in Lucien’s arms.

He was standing behind the woman, one arm wrapped around her waist, his other hand pulling at her clothing and her skirts, which were hitched up over her left thigh.

Remembering how she had gone through this exact scene with him last week,
Alice’s eyes glazed over with shock.

As though feeling her gaze upon him, Lucien looked over and met her stare. He stopped cold. Panic flashed in his eyes to see her standing there—as though he realized she had just caught him . . . cheating on her.

No one had time to react.

In that horrible moment when everything went still, the woman pulled a knife out from under her skirts and swung it in an arc with blinding speed, cutting Lucien’s side open. With a barbaric shout, she ran straight at
Alice.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

“No!” Lucien roared, lunging forward.

Alice
flung herself out of the way as the woman’s knife swung savagely past her, missing her face by inches. The woman bolted across the antechamber and disappeared down the steps almost before Lucien’s men could react; in the next instant, there was pandemonium.

“Lucien!”
Alice screamed.

“He’s hurt!”

“She’s cut ’is Lordship!” the guard barked.

“After her!” Lucien ordered them furiously. The four young rogues and several of the guards pounded down the stairs after the woman. Lucien pushed past them and strode to
Alice, holding his side. “Are you all right?”