Scoundrel's Honor (4 page)

As much a monster as Ivan had been, however, the period of chaos that followed his death had proven the need for a strong leader to rule the vast empire. It had been the desperate Cossacks and outspoken
Streltsi,
and even a group of more prosperous peasants, that had demanded the
zemsky sobor
be called to name a new czar.

Eventually, Peter had come to the throne, his life already scarred by being forced to witness his closest family butchered when he was just ten years of age. Not that his years of being condemned to the remote hunting lodge on
the Yauza River had been wasted. Indeed, they had offered him a rare opportunity for self-education.

Left to entertain himself, he studied with the local craftsmen to acquire skills in everything from blacksmithing to carpentry. He also gathered devoted friends who assisted him in mock battles and discovering the best means of drilling an infantry. Long before acquiring an army he had practiced besieging a scale-sized fortress and could calculate the ranges for his artillery.

Perhaps most important, he developed an obsessive fascination with sailing.

With remarkable foresight he had realized the future of his country depended upon opening itself to the world, and with a cruel efficiency he conquered a path to the Baltic Sea and then set about building a city that would rival Versailles.

There was a clatter of hooves as the carriage crossed the Fontanka River over the Semyonovsky Bridge and Emma realized they were nearing Vanya's home.

Tugging the scarf more tightly around her neck, she was prepared as the carriage halted in front of the imposing mansion with its columned balcony and massive jade lions that guarded the double doors. Leaving the carriage she climbed the steps and entered the marble foyer.

There was an awkward moment as the uniformed servants scurried about her, attempting to perform small services before Emma waved them away. She would never become accustomed to having others wait on her.

Hovering uncertainly by a rosewood table that held a delicate Chinese vase, Emma was relieved by the sudden appearance of a strikingly beautiful woman with silver hair and a tall, curvaceous form attired in a morning dress of lavender silk.

“At last. I was becoming quite concerned,” Vanya murmured, a hint of worry in her pale blue eyes.

“I am sorry.” Emma removed her scarf and tossed it aside. “The impossible man kept me waiting for near two hours. As if he were royalty rather than a common criminal.”

Taking Emma's hand, Vanya led her up a curved staircase. “I should never consider Dimitri Tipova common,” she said with a small sigh. “He is sinfully handsome, is he not?”

A dangerous sensation fluttered in the pit of her stomach. “I suppose he is handsome enough, although that does not compensate for his utter lack of civility. He is the rudest man I have ever encountered.”

Vanya allowed a mysterious smile to curve her lips as she led Emma into a private salon with emerald wall panels and gilt cornices. The furniture was a dark mahogany with gold velvet cushions and the wooden floor covered by an Oriental rug. The overall atmosphere was one of rich sensuality.

A perfect setting for Vanya.

“Odd.” Vanya settled on the sofa and pulled Emma down next to her. “I have always thought him to be surprisingly gracious.”

“You are well acquainted?”

Leaning forward, Vanya poured two cups of tea from the tray left on the low table, adding a generous amount of milk and sugar before handing a cup to Emma and leaning back into the cushions.

“He performed a great service for a dear friend of mine,” she explained, sipping her hot tea. “I consider myself in his debt.”

Emma hastily tempered her words, far too polite to insult a man her hostess held in high esteem.

“No doubt it is my fault.” She took a reviving sip of tea, hoping it would help the lies tumble from her lips. “He did mention that I stir his more primitive nature.”

“Did he?” Vanya's smile widened. “How very intriguing.”

Intriguing? Emma found it utterly vexing. As if she were to blame for his irritating lack of manners.

“Let us hope our time together is of short duration.”

“Did he agree to assist you in your search for poor Anya?”

“Yes.”

“Thank goodness.” The older woman reached to pat Emma's arm. “Whatever your opinion of Dimitri there is no gentleman more suited to helping you.”

Emma battled the urge to roll her eyes. “So he has told me.”

Vanya's smile faded, her fingers gently squeezing Emma's arm.

“Emma, do you prefer that I find another to lend you assistance?”

Her lips parted with a cowardly urge to agree to Vanya's suggestion. Dimitri Tipova was arrogant and provoking and…

Dangerously attractive.

Then, she hastily swallowed the ridiculous words. If both Herrick and Vanya considered Dimitri Tipova the most suitable man to help her rescue Anya, then she would be inexcusably selfish to turn him away just because she…what? Feared him?

“No, of course not,” she said, her tone brisk. “Indeed, I need your help to prepare for the evening.”

“You have made plans?”

“I am to accompany Dimitri Tipova to several of his gambling establishments in the hopes I will recognize the gentlemen who lured Anya to St. Petersburg.”

If she was shocked by Emma's revelation, then Vanya hid it well. Indeed, she nodded as if it were perfectly rea
sonable for a young, innocent maiden to allow herself to be escorted by a renowned criminal to his wicked clubs.

“Ah.”

“I shall need a means to disguise myself,” she firmly insisted. “I cannot risk being recognized. Who can say what the odious creatures will do to Anya if they realize I have followed them?”

“Do not fear, my dear.” A gleam that Emma did not entirely trust sparkled in Vanya's blue eyes. “I shall ensure that not even your sister will recognize you.”

T
HE SUNKEN ROSE GARDEN
was thankfully wrapped in shadows as Dimitri strolled past the Italian sculptures and marble fountains. Despite his connections among the most elite members of the Russian court, he was still a bastard. Which meant he entered the fine homes by the servants' entrance.

He was moving toward the narrow door at the back of the garden when his instincts prickled and he turned to discover a statuesque woman stepping into the garden from the French windows.

“Dimitri.”

Hiding a smile at Vanya Petrova's imperious tone, Dimitri followed the flagstone path to halt before the older woman and perform a deep bow.

Vanya was one of the few aristocrats he truly admired.

“Vanya, as beautiful as ever,” he murmured. “I trust Richard Monroe appreciates just how fortunate he is to have captured your fair hand?”

A warm smile curved her lips at the mention of the Englishman who had been her devoted suitor for the past twenty years. Much to the surprise of St. Petersburg, Vanya had at last agreed to Monroe's proposal.

“I presume he does.” She touched the large strand of pearls that encircled her neck. “The wedding is less than a month away and he has not yet bolted.”

“If I were not a dedicated bachelor I would attempt to steal you away.”

Vanya allowed her gaze to roam over his jacket in a pale blue-and-silver waistcoat that he had matched with black knee breeches. She smiled, almost as if she suspected he had taken particular pains with his attire.

“Every gentleman is a dedicated bachelor until he encounters the perfect woman.”

He clicked his tongue. “I did not expect such a predictable response from such a delightfully unconventional lady.”

“I intend to be even more predictable when I warn you that I am depending upon you to protect my young and decidedly innocent guest.”

“You have no need to fear. I promise that Emma Linley-Kirov will not leave my side.”

Vanya narrowed her eyes. “That does not entirely relieve my unease.”

Dimitri frowned, pretending that he had not spent an inordinate amount of time dwelling on his encounter with the bothersome female.

“For all my sins I am no debaucher of the innocent. Especially not when that innocence is wrapped in such a prickly package.”

“Do not allow her indomitable spirit to deceive you. Emma has taken on responsibilities that would have broken a lesser woman,” Vanya chastised. “Underneath all her pretense of courage, however, she is a young maiden who is terrified for her sister.”

His expression hardened. He was unaccustomed to being lectured as if he were a school lad. Not even the most cutthroat villain dared to question him.

“I will attempt to keep that in mind.”

There was the sound of footsteps and they both turned to watch Emma step from the house.

“Ah, here she is,” Vanya murmured.

Briefly caught in the candlelight from the house, Emma's
honey curls tumbled freely about her shoulders, but Vanya had cleverly hidden the young maiden's face with a charming hat made of gold feathers and a diamond-encrusted veil that ended just above Emma's lush lips. It added a hint of provocative mystery that would stir a man to investigate more. With the same masterful touch, Vanya had wrapped Emma's slender body in a long cape of black velvet trimmed with matching gold feathers.

There was not a soul who would recognize her.

“Well done, Vanya,” he murmured. “I knew I could depend upon you to be rid of the nasty wool.”

The older woman chuckled, as if she harbored a secret. “You have no notion. Good luck, my dear.”

Moving toward the house, Vanya paused to kiss Emma on the cheek before disappearing through the French doors. Dimitri traced her footsteps, halting at Emma's side to offer an arm.

“Shall we go?”

She hesitated, and Dimitri sensed her silent battle to overcome her fear. Then, with that courage he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was destined to lead her into trouble, she laid her hand on his arm and allowed herself to be led to the carriage Dimitri had left next to the mews.

Assisting her into the vehicle, Dimitri placed the heated bricks at her feet before settling at her side and tugging the rug over both of them. The night air was crisp enough to be uncomfortable.

He waited until the driver had set the matching black horses into a brisk trot before he reached into a drawer built beneath the leather bench and retrieved a silver flask and two small crystal glasses.

Pouring them both a measure of the potent spirits, he pressed one of the glasses into Emma's unwilling fingers and lifted his own glass in a toast.

“Za vas.”

She cautiously sipped the expensive liquor, predictably choking as the fiery liquid slid down her throat.

“Good Lord. What is it?”

“Cognac.” Dimitri took a far more appreciative sip, savoring the nutty flavor of the well-aged spirit. “It will help keep you warm.”

She frowned, but she took another sip, perhaps hoping to ease her nerves.

“Is it a great distance to your club?” she demanded.

“No, it is quite close.” Dimitri refilled her glass, studying her brittle expression. She appeared ready to bolt. Clearly a distraction was in order. “Is this your first visit to St. Petersburg?”

“This is the first occasion I have ever left our tiny village.” A rueful smile touched her lips, her hazel eyes shrouded in mystery behind the gossamer veil. “I suppose that makes me impossibly provincial?”

“I refuse to be baited, Emma Linley-Kirov. Do you wish me to point out the more historical buildings we will pass on our journey?”

“I…” She paused, then offered a small dip of her head. “Yes, I would be very interested, thank you.”

Scooting closer to her, Dimitri glanced out the window as the carriage turned onto the Nevsky Prospekt.

Within moments the stunning Our Lady of Kazan Cathedral came into view. The domed church was an impressive sight with its sweeping colonnade that framed a small garden complete with a fountain.

“Perhaps you know Emperor Paul intended the structure to imitate Saint Peter's Basilica in Rome despite the church officials' outrage at having a replica of a Catholic church.”

As he had hoped, Emma's tension eased as she pressed her nose to the window, obviously eager to enjoy the spectacular view.

“My father told me that Alexander Pavlovich had commanded the church become a memorial to the defeat of Napoleon.”

“Yes,” Dimitri agreed dryly. The emperor had been quite eager to ensure that his victory over the Corsican monster was suitably commemorated throughout the city. “The great Mikhail Kutuzov is laid to rest in the cathedral and the keys from several European cities and fortresses were placed in the sacristy in honor of Russia's victory.”

The carriage rattled onward and Dimitri pointed out the Stroganov Palace with its massive entrance arch supported by two Corinthian columns. Like much of St. Petersburg it had been designed by Rastrelli. Turning eastward they passed the Admiralty and headed toward the Palace Square. It was, of course, the crowning jewel of the city with its lavish facade painted a pale green and trimmed in white. Massive statues lined the roof and at one end an onion dome dominated the skyline. Next to the palace were the Hermitage houses that held Catherine's vast collection of paintings as well as the theater built for Catherine by Giacomo Quarenghi.

Dimitri hid his smile as Emma pointed toward the passing buildings, asking endless questions and unabashedly enjoying the short tour. It had become fashionable to pretend a jaded indifference to the world, and he could not deny it was refreshing to be in the company of a woman willing to reveal her emotions.

Her eyes widened in fascination as she spotted the Peter and Paul Fortress on the northern bank of the Neva, she sighed at the beauty of the summer gardens, and shivered at the forbidding Mikhailovsky Castle, a fortress built by an insane Emperor Paul where he was later to be murdered.

It was almost a disappointment when they crossed the bridge leading to the lower Nevsky and turned onto a narrow street lined with unpretentious elegant buildings.

Emma turned to him in surprise. “Why are we slowing?”

“I prefer not to leap from a moving carriage unless absolutely necessary,” he informed her dryly.

She sucked in a sharp breath, her gaze taking in the building painted a brilliant yellow with a wide entrance that was guarded by two servants. Although it was early, there was already a steady line of opulently clad gentlemen climbing the stairs and producing their gilt-edged cards that marked them as members.

“This is your club?”

Ridiculously, Dimitri discovered himself offended by her shock. “Did you expect a hovel in a dark alley?”

She drained the last of her cognac before setting aside the empty glass.

“I have never given much thought to gambling establishments. Now I realize they must be quite profitable.”

He shoved open the door, assisting her onto the paved walk. “Sin is not without its reward.”

“Spoken by an unrepentant sinner.”

“Of course,” he agreed.

As the bastard of a nobleman he had received a fine education, but was forbidden to take his place among society. At the same time, he was too cultured to be accepted among the peasants. With no true place in the world, he had turned his ruthless willpower to creating an empire of his own making.

Leading Emma up the stairs, he nodded toward his guards and entered the large octagonal vestibule that was tastefully decorated with a black-and-white-tiled floor reflected in the silver-framed mirrors that lined the walls.

At their entrance a tall servant with a regal bearing approached to offer a deep bow.

“Vladimir will take your wrap,” Dimitri informed his silent companion, his brows lifting as she clutched the
velvet cloak with a white-knuckled grip. Did the chit fear his servant intended to make off with her clothing? “I promise you it will be returned.”

“Very well.”

Her chin lifted as she tugged off the cloak with a swift motion and handed it to the waiting servant. In a heartbeat, the crowd came to a captivated halt as all eyes turned toward Emma.

It was not that her gown was particularly shocking. Indeed, it was a deceptively simple sheath cut to reveal her shoulders and gathered beneath the gentle swell of her bosom. It was more the shimmer of the gold satin that molded to her slender body. And the tiny diamonds that glittered along the low-cut line of her bodice that drew attention to the perfection of her ivory skin.

Combined with the satin tumble of honey hair and the promise of her sensuous lips, it was enough to make every male in the club crave to have her in his bed.

Including Dimitri.

Muttering a startled curse, he grasped her upper arm and hauled her through a nearby alcove, tugging her down the short hall until he could thrust her into the privacy of his office. It was a plain room, with cream walls and parquet floor. The desk set near the fireplace was a pale cedar that matched the rest of the furnishing and the draperies were a soft shade of rose.

Slamming shut the door, he turned to glare at his companion in the muted light of the fireplace.

“What the devil are you wearing?”

With a sharp tug, she freed her arm from his grasp. “You were the one to insist I dress in an appropriate fashion.”

Clearly, he had been out of his mind, he acknowledged, searing a hungry gaze over the delectable curve of her breasts.

“Appropriate, not designed to create a riot.”

“It is no more revealing than those gowns worn by the finest ladies in St. Petersburg,” she protested.

“Then why did Prince Matvey nearly knock himself senseless by walking straight into a wall? And why did one of my most trusted servants drop an entire tray of champagne?” he growled.

“You are being ridiculous. I witnessed women wearing far more daring gowns before you so rudely hauled me away.”

A voice of reason whispered that he was overreacting, but Dimitri was in no mood to listen. Not when his entire body burned with the need to haul her to the nearest bed.

“Perhaps more daring,” he husked, “but none so enticing.”

She nervously licked her lips, the unwitting gesture making Dimitri groan in frustration.

“First you complain my gown is too prudish and now you complain it is too revealing. Are you never satisfied?”

Unable to resist temptation, he stepped close enough to trail his fingers along the elegant line of her shoulders. His body stirred, hardened; responding to her with a near painful intensity.

It wasn't uncommon for him to desire a woman.

He was a healthy male with all the normal appetites.

But this biting ache combined with a fierce possessiveness was utterly unfamiliar.

And equally unwelcome.

“Ironically I was quite satisfied until my peaceful existence was disrupted by an intimidating spinster who is far too fond of her independence.”

She shivered as his fingers traced the plunging line of her bodice.

“Dimitri.”

He stepped closer, breathing in the tantalizing scent of warm woman and clean soap.

“I never knew such skin truly existed,” he rasped. “It is as soft and perfect as fresh cream.”

“We are supposed to be searching for the gentlemen who took Anya.”

“In a moment.” Wrapping one arm around her waist, he carefully lifted the veil, his gaze sweeping over her pale, beautiful features. “First I must taste you.”

“No—” Her protest fell on deaf ears as he captured her lips in a branding kiss. He wanted to wrap her in his arms until she melted with soft compliance. He wanted to mark her with his touch, his scent, his desire. He wanted to ensure that every man who caught sight of this woman understood that she belonged to him. Only him. “As sweet as honeyed almonds,” he muttered, his tongue teasing her lips until they slowly parted in invitation. “Yes,
moya dusha,
open for me.”