Scoundrel's Honor (2 page)

The door to the study was slowly pressed inward and Dimitri cast a downward glance to ensure his black jacket and silver waistcoat were properly buttoned and as crisp as could be expected, considering they had recently been tossed on a bedroom floor. A searching gaze would no doubt detect his cravat was hastily tied and the raven hair pulled back in a queue was still rumpled from feminine fingers, but with luck the darkness of the room would conceal such imperfections.

And if not…well, he possessed the means to keep his presence in the St. Petersburg town house a secret.

Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, Dimitri closed his hand over the pearl handle of his small pistol, prepared to kill until a slender, obviously female shape stepped over the threshold.

“Pierre?” the woman called softly.

Dimitri swallowed an impatient sigh. He had hoped to slip away before Pytor Burdzecki's young bride, Lana, realized he was gone.

The pretty woman with auburn hair and wide blue eyes had been easy enough to seduce. He had only to pretend to be a visiting French diplomat who occasionally crossed her
path at the opera, or at the Gostiny Dvor where she would shop with her maid. Within a handful of days she allowed him to escort her to the nearest coffee shop with giggles and inviting glances.

She had no reason to suspect that he was the infamous Beggar Czar, ruthless leader of the underworld, or that his interest in her was merely a means to enter this palatial home that was heavily guarded by trained soldiers.

Loosening his grip on the gun, he smoothly stepped toward her.

“
Ma belle,
I thought you were asleep.”

She glanced about her husband's private study with a frown. “What are you doing?”

“Preparing to leave, I fear.”

“Did you lose your way?”

With another step he was close enough to tenderly tuck a dark curl behind her ear. She was a vain, self-absorbed little creature, but she was harmless. Which was more than her husband could claim.

Or Dimitri, for that matter.

“I prefer to slip away unnoticed by the servants,” he murmured, speaking the perfect French all Russian nobles favored. He was also fluent in Russian and English, and could comprehend several of the Germanic dialects. He was an excessively well-educated thief, thanks to his mother's insistence that his bastard of a father pay for his schooling. “I would not desire such a beautiful creature to be the source of ugly gossip.”

“Oh.” She batted her lashes, eager to accept his smooth lie. “Must you leave so soon?”

“Hardly soon. I risk being castrated by your husband if I linger any longer.”

She pouted, grasping the lapels of his jacket as she pressed against him in unspoken encouragement.

“He never returns before dawn, if he even bothers to
return at all.” She kissed the tip of his chin. “If we are fortunate, we could enjoy the entire day together.”

Dimitri narrowed his whiskey-gold eyes. “I never depend upon luck,
ma belle.
”

“But, when will we meet again?”

“Who can say when fate will be kind enough to cross our paths again?”

“Tonight—”

“We shall allow destiny to unfold,” he interrupted, firmly removing her hands from his maltreated jacket and lifted them to his lips. “Return to the warmth of your bed. You shall find a small token of my esteem tucked beneath your pillow.”

As expected, Lana was readily distracted. “A present?”

“
Oui.
I hope you will think of me whenever you wear them.”

“Wear them?” Her blue eyes sparked in anticipation. “What are they? Gloves? Earrings?”

“Why do you not go and discover for yourself?” he urged, smiling wryly as she giggled and hastily skipped from the room.

Despite the fact she was wed to a sexual deviant more than twice her age, Lana was little more than a
jeune fille
in many ways. Nothing like the women in his world who were rarely allowed a childhood.

Listening to the sound of retreating footsteps, Dimitri slid through the open window and dropped into the garden below. He had not yet finished his search of the house, but Lana was certain to have attracted unwanted attention among the guards, and he could not risk being caught.

He landed with the ease of an avid sportsman, his hand reaching for his pistol even as he straightened. The instinct that had kept him alive more times than he could recall was prickling in warning.

“Come out,” he growled softly.

A lean form draped in a heavily caped coat detached from the shadows of a marble fountain.

“I must admit to my own share of curiosity,” an aggravatingly familiar voice taunted. “What did you leave beneath the pillows?”

Dimitri's lips tightened, realizing the open window had allowed this man to hear his entire conversation with Lana.

Of course, Herrick Gerhardt did not need to lurk beneath open windows to discover the information he desired, Dimitri ruefully conceded. Although he did not believe the advisor to Alexander Pavlovich possessed mystical powers as some did. He was, after all, intimately aware his methods were more mundane.

“A pair of diamond earrings,” he grudgingly confessed.

Herrick arched a brow. A gentleman of Prussian descent, he possessed a gaunt countenance, a thick crop of silver hair and piercing brown eyes that held a cold, ruthless intelligence.

“A rather generous gift for a female you bedded for the sole purpose of searching her husband's study.”

Dimitri shrugged. “Lana might be a shallow tart with the soul of a merchant, but she still deserves better than being bartered to a husband twice her age whose sexual perversions cause even me to shudder in disgust.”

Herrick deliberately glanced toward the neoclassical palace looming behind Dimitri.

“No doubt most of society would consider her well compensated.”

“Only because their lives are as cold and empty as the marble crypts that await their deaths.”

“A philosopher, Tipova?” Herrick demanded.

“A simple criminal.”

Herrick's chuckle floated on the chilly October breeze. “As if I would ever be foolish enough to underestimate you. What did you discover?”

Dimitri folded his arms over his chest, his expression guarded. Since he had come to the attention of Herrick Gerhardt and the Duke of Huntley several weeks before, he had reluctantly become Alexander Pavlovich's most secret weapon against the traitors who stirred discontent. One did not say no to the Emperor of Russia.

His presence in Pytor Burdzecki's home, however, was personal business he did not intend to share with anyone.

“Nothing that would be of interest to Alexander Pavlovich.”

“You would be surprised at the emperor's vast interests,” Herrick countered.

“The emperor or his most trusted advisor?”

“It is one and the same.”

“Is that why you are here?” Dimitri demanded. “To discover what I might find among Burdzecki's papers?”

Herrick waved a dismissive hand. “Actually I am here to discover you.”

Dimitri stilled, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“And how, I wonder, did you know I would be here?”

“You are not the only gentleman with the ability to gather information.”

“Yes, but—” Dimitri bit off his words. “Never mind, I shall eventually uncover the traitor.” He waved a hand toward the empty flower beds and the marble fountains that had already been covered in preparation for the brutal Russian winter. “If you wished to meet with me you had only to send a message. There was no need to creep about in damp gardens.”

The smile faded from Herrick's face, his eyes hard with the ruthless resolve that lurked just below his charm.

“You do not promptly respond to my summons.”

“I am not a toady of the empire.”

“No, but you are a loyal citizen, I trust?”

Dimitri dropped his arms, his hands curling into fists. Despite his considerable power, he never allowed himself to forget that Herrick Gerhardt need only speak the word and Dimitri would disappear into the nearest dungeon.

“Are you threatening me, Gerhardt?”

The silver head dipped in apology. “Forgive me, Tipova. You have proven your devotion to Czar Alexander more than once.”

“As if I had a choice,” Dimitri grumbled. “What do you want of me?”

“On this occasion I believe we can be of mutual benefit to one another.”

“I have no need of the royal coffers.”

“My business with you is of a personal nature and I offer something far more intriguing than money.” Stepping to the side, Herrick glanced toward the sleek black carriage that was waiting in the mews. “Will you join me?”

Dimitri paused, studying Herrick's impassive face. Then, with a sigh, he conceded defeat. The older man would not leave him in peace until he had his way.

“Why do I sense I am going to regret this?” he muttered.

D
IMITRI REMAINED SILENT
as Herrick led him to the carriage and they settled into the soft leather seats. There was a small jerk as the driver urged the horses into motion, then they were traveling through the streets of St. Petersburg that were still crowded despite the late hour.

“Brandy?” Herrick inquired, pouring two glasses of the amber liquid and pressing one into Dimitri's willing hand.

Taking a cautious sip, Dimitri lifted his brows in surprise. There was no mistaking the smooth ease with which the liquid fire slid down his throat.

“You must be anxious for my assistance if you are willing to share from your private cellar,” he said.

Herrick leaned back in his seat, his gaze hooded as he studied Dimitri.

“As I mentioned, I think our arrangement will be mutually beneficial.”

Dimitri could not prevent a small flare of curiosity. Herrick Gerhardt had devoted his life to Alexander Pavlovich. What private business could he possibly have?

“I am willing to listen to this…arrangement.”

“First I must bore you with a bit of family history.” Herrick swallowed his brandy and refilled his glass. “As you perhaps know I was born in Prussia to a respectable, albeit poor family. I was fortunate enough to travel to St. Petersburg to finish my education when I was just seventeen and eventually to capture the attention of Alexander Pavlovich. My elder cousin, on the other hand, chose to
seek his fortunes in England where he wed and produced several children.”

“Fascinating.”

“One of my cousin's daughters became a governess to a Russian family to teach the children English. She in turn wed a local furniture maker and had two daughters before she died.”

Dimitri tapped his finger against his glass, his brows pulled together in a frown.

“I presume this tedious story has an end?”

“As I was saying, there were two daughters, Emma and Anya Linley-Kirov,” Herrick continued, ignoring Dimitri's growing impatience. “After their father was tragically killed by a poacher, Emma transformed her father's workshop into a small coaching inn.”

Dimitri's frown deepened. He adored women. All women. And it was well-known that any man who mistreated a female beneath his protection was a certain means to a brutal beating, if not death. Still, he could not deny he preferred to avoid those women with more spirit than sense.

In the end they not only brought misery to themselves, but those who cared for them.

“How very unconventional of her.”

“It was quite admirable of her,” Herrick corrected, easily sensing Dimitri's lack of approval. “Unfortunately her considerable courage did not protect her from the nefarious gentlemen who stayed at her coaching inn for several days.”

“Nefarious?”

“When they left the inn they took Anya with them.”

Dimitri stilled, his attention fully captured. “The sister?”

“Yes.”

“How old is she?”

“She just turned sixteen.”

Draining the last of his brandy, Dimitri carefully set aside the glass, silently considering the unexpected revelation at the same time he accepted that his personal investigations were not quite so secret as he believed them to be.

“And Emma Linley-Kirov is certain she was taken by the gentlemen?” he demanded.

“Quite certain. Anya left a note explaining she was to become a famous actress.”

Dimitri was careful to keep his expression unreadable, even as his heart gave a jolt of recognition at the familiar ruse used by his father and his cohorts to lure young females from their homes.

“Did the note also mention the gentlemen were traveling to St. Petersburg?”

“A groom overheard the gentlemen discussing their return to the city.”

“And the woman is certain she would recognize them if she were to see them again?”

“Yes.”

Dimitri casually glanced out the window, not surprised to discover they had made a circuit of the Upper Nevsky and were nearly back to Pytor Burdzecki's palatial home. There was never a moment when he was not acutely aware of his surroundings.

“What made you believe that I would have interest in your tragic, though not uncommon, tale?”

“It has not escaped my notice that you keep a very close watch upon Count Nevskaya and his associates.”

Dimitri absently studied the Anichkov Palace that had once housed Catherine's favorite lover, Prince Potyomkin, and had been recently refurbished by Giacomo Quarenghi to house the Imperial Cabinet. Unlike many, he preferred
the classical colonnade to the earlier, more flamboyant style.

Not that Czar Alexander had requested his opinion.

Grudgingly he turned his attention back to his companion.

“As you have no doubt surmised, the count is my father.”

A smile touched the older man's lips as his gaze deliberately studied the elegant lines of Dimitri's features, lingering on the aristocratic thrust of his nose and high, Slavic cheekbones.

“It is difficult to overlook the resemblance.”

Dimitri's jaw hardened. He often used his considerable male beauty to his advantage, but he cursed the resemblance to the man who had brutally forced himself on a young, defenseless female.

“We share the same countenance, but make no mistake that is where the similarities end,” he said, his voice colder than a Siberian winter.

Herrick dipped his head in acknowledgment. “That is difficult to overlook as well, which is why your constant surveillance of the count piqued my interest. It was obvious you were searching for particular information.”

Dimitri was not pleased. He spied on others, they did not spy on him.

“You have an annoying habit of meddling in my private business.”

“It is my duty to meddle in the business of others.”

“You play a dangerous game, Gerhardt.”

Herrick shrugged, unperturbed by the threat in Dimitri's soft voice.

“And you are intimately familiar with dangerous games, are you not, Tipova?” he asked. “The count would be most displeased to realize his bastard son suspects he is involved in illegal activities.”

Dimitri briefly considered the pleasure of tossing the older man into the nearby Fontanka Canal, then disregarded the notion. As pleasant as it might be to see Herrick's impervious calm rattled, it was not worth the loss of his head.

Besides, there were more important matters to consider at the moment.

“What would you have of me?”

Herrick leaned forward, his dark eyes glittering in the moonlight.

“Meet with Emma Linley-Kirov. I truly believe the two of you are searching for the same answers.”

“I knew I was going to regret this meeting.”

 

P
EERING OUT OF THE
carriage window, Emma studied the pale stone building built with a columned portico in the center and two wings that spread along the canal. Although newly arrived in St. Petersburg, she would presume that the far side of the building was devoted to gentlemen lodgers. Why else would the small cluster of men be standing on the paved walk and keeping such a close watch on the passing traffic? On the other side was a more familiar coffee shop with several small tables and a back counter that held trays of tempting pastry that made Emma's mouth water even at a distance.

“There it is,” she said, turning her head to meet her maid's sour expression.

Yelena had firmly disapproved of Emma's decision to meet with the Beggar Czar, Dimitri Tipova.

Of course, the elderly maid with a thatch of gray hair and slender body wrapped in a black cloak had disapproved of traveling to St. Petersburg, of accepting Herrick Gerhardt's surprisingly warm welcome, and even of being sheltered by Herrick's dear friend, Vanya Petrova in her beautiful mansion beside the Fontanka Canal.

Emma, on the other hand, was deeply grateful to the older man who had greeted her without a word of condemnation of her forward behavior and had promised he would do whatever possible to help her locate Anya.

“It does not appear to be a den of iniquity,” Yelena at last muttered. “Are you certain this is the proper address?”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “Appearances are too often deceptive, as I have so painfully discovered. It is rather public, however.”

“I should think it is public.” Yelena folded her gnarled fingers in her lap, her lips pinched together. “You cannot meet with a strange gentleman in private without so much as a proper introduction.”

Despite her raw nerves, Emma couldn't contain her sudden chuckle. “I am about to request the assistance of the most renowned criminal in all of Russia and your concern is our lack of a proper introduction?”

The older woman sniffed. “I have a great number of concerns.”

Instantly contrite, Emma reached across the elegant carriage that Vanya had kindly insisted she use during her time in St. Petersburg, and patted her companion's hand. Yelena was one of the very few people who had stood by her through the years.

“Forgive me, Yelena. I fear my nerves are in tatters. I did not mean to snap.”

Yelena's expression immediately softened. “The past week would try the patience of a saint.”

Surely truer words had not been spoken, Emma acknowledged with a sigh. She did not wish to recall the grueling journey to St. Petersburg, or her sick trepidation as she had approached Herrick Gerhardt's beautiful home to beg for his assistance.

It was enough to concentrate on today's troubles.

Perhaps more than enough.

Pretending that her stomach was not cramped with fear, Emma managed a smile as the uniformed groom pulled open the carriage door.

“Remain here.”

Yelena frowned. “Emma—”

“We have been through this,” Emma interrupted. “The message was quite clear that I come alone. Besides, if I do not reappear then I shall need you to storm the fortress and rescue me.”

The maid pressed a shaking hand to her bosom. “Dear Lord.”

“I am merely teasing, Yelena. All will be well.” Keeping the strained smile intact, Emma allowed herself to be assisted from the carriage and headed for the door of the coffee shop. “Please God, let all be well,” she muttered beneath her breath.

Entering the coffee shop, she took the seat closest the window as the message had demanded. Thank goodness she had wrapped herself in a sturdy gown of dark gray that buttoned to her chin and brushed the wooden floor past her sensible leather boots. And that her honey hair was covered by a wool scarf her mother had knit. There was a roaring fire across the room, but so close to the door there was a distinct chill in the air.

Settling uncomfortably in the wooden chair, Emma cast a swift glance about the wide room, relieved that many of the tables were empty. There were two elegantly attired gentlemen playing chess by the fire, and a group of more roughly dressed men at a table that ran the length of the far wall, but she was quite alone in her corner.

Her appreciation for her solitude, however, began to wane as an hour passed, and then another. Where the devil was Dimitri Tipova? Had he invited her here just to see if she would risk her reputation by meeting with a notorious criminal? Was this a mere hoax at her expense? Or were
Beggar Czars so busy they found it impossible to keep their appointments?

Tapping an impatient finger on the table, Emma found her anxiety hardening to a simmering anger.

She was accustomed to being treated with disrespect. She was even accustomed to being ignored by others who thought themselves above her. But she could not afford to waste an entire day on some ridiculous game. If Dimitri Tipova did not wish to be of service then he should at least have the decency to send his regrets.

On the point of rising to her feet, Emma was caught off guard when a large man approached her table and settled in a chair at her side.

“Well, well. Such a tender little morsel,” he husked, his face with its heavy jowls and beady blue eyes far too close. “I wonder if you taste as sweet as you look.”

Emma tilted her chin, shifting away from the hulking body attired in a faded green coat and the heavy boots of a laborer.

“Please move along.”

A cruel smiled curved his lips. “Perhaps I do not want to move along. Perhaps I intend to take you to the back room and sample your wares.”

Emma should no doubt have been terrified, but at the moment her temper was fully aroused and in no mood to endure the man's rude behavior. Even if he was twice her size.

Grasping the cup of coffee she had bought in an effort to pass the time, she narrowed her gaze.

“Either you leave me in peace or I will pour this exceedingly hot coffee into your lap,” she warned. “Perhaps that will teach you not to impose your vile presence on unfortunate maidens who might cross your path.”

The intruder blinked, as if stupefied by her threat. “You…”

His lips had barely parted when another man joined them, this one far more slender, although the scar running down his cheek from his eyebrow to the edge of his mouth made him appear far more sinister. Her companion seemed to think so as well, as his face paled and sweat beaded his forehead.

“Semyon, return to the docks and make certain that the ship that arrived this morning is properly unloaded. You know how our employer dislikes unnecessary attention to our business.”

“Yes…of course.”

Stumbling to his feet, the man performed an awkward bow and headed for the door. Emma straightened from her seat as well, her temper not appeased.

She had been ignored for hours, and then rudely insulted by that brute. She had endured enough.

“Emma Linley-Kirov?” the man demanded.

“And you are?”

“Josef. I am here to escort you.”

Her lips tightened. So, Dimitri Tipova could not be bothered to greet her in person.

“Escort me to where?” she demanded.

The servant waved an indifferent hand toward a door at the back of the room, clearly unimpressed with his current duties.