Scoundrel's Honor (6 page)

“I beg your pardon?”

“I suspected that you were headstrong and impulsive and inclined to follow your heart rather than your head, but I did not realize you were without sense.”

“I do not have to remain here and be insulted by a—”

Her proud words were brought to a sharp halt as he reached up to tug the bonnet off her head, disregarding her angry protest as he dropped it on the ground.

“Did you truly believe that ridiculous concoction would protect you if you encountered the men who abducted your sister?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said, tossing back the thick honey hair that tumbled about her shoulders. “No one took the least notice of me.”

“My servant recognized you from across the square.”

“More likely he recognized Vanya Petrova and assumed I was her companion,” she argued. “The men I am seeking have no expectation of seeing me in St. Petersburg and certainly not in the company of a noblewoman.”

He stepped forward, his hands clenched at his side. “You took an absurd risk.”

“I am quite at liberty to take whatever risks I desire. It is none of your concern.”

“Emma, do not be a fool,” he rasped. “Those men may hide among polite society, but beneath their fine clothing and excessively large homes they are no better than animals. If they decide you are a threat to them they will not hesitate to put you in a grave.”

Emma bristled at his unwanted lecture, but there was something in his voice that tempered her fury.

It was understandable for any gentleman with the least amount of decency to be outraged at the thought of innocent young girls being abused. But there was something personal, perhaps even intimate, in Dimitri's anger.

Tilting back her head, she studied the chiseled perfection of his aristocratic features. This man was proving to be disturbingly complex.

“Herrick insisted that you were the best suited to assist me in finding my sister, but he did not reveal what connection you possess with these men.”

His eyes darkened. “Do you wonder if I am a partner in their crimes?”

“No. Certainly not.”

“I have confessed to be a sinner.”

Without thought, she reached to place her hand on his forearm. “You might be a sinner, but you are not evil.”

His gaze lowered to where her fingers lay against his coat. “There are those who would disagree.”

She shrugged off his warning, bitterly aware that the opinion of others rarely had anything to do with the truth.

“Besides, if you were involved in their ghastly business you would hardly be eager to bring them to justice.”

“Not justice.” A terrifying anger burned in his golden
eyes. “I want them destroyed. I want their foul deeds exposed to the world so that they flee to the wilds of Siberia to hide from their shame. I want them to die alone and in complete despair.”

Emma shivered at the stark pain that she sensed beneath his fury. “They hurt someone you love. Your sister?”

His jaw hardened and she thought he intended to ignore her question. Then, with a sharp movement, he turned away to gaze out the small window overlooking the nearby fountain.

“My mother.”

Her heart squeezed with sympathy. “They abducted her?”

“There was no need. My mother was the daughter of a simple cobbler.” His voice was as hard and frigid as the Siberian winter. “One day Count Nevskaya walked into my grandfather's shop and had his servant collect my mother and carry her to his waiting carriage.”

“He just…took her?”

“He tossed a few coins on the counter in payment.”

She swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in her throat. “And your grandfather did nothing to stay him?”

“It was a different time and the count was a close friend to Emperor Paul.” The lines of his shoulders were rigid, his hands clenched at his sides. She had obviously stirred his deepest demons. “My grandfather could not risk the wrath of a nobleman when he had several other children to support.”

Emma wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling cold to her very soul.

“How old was she?”

“Just turned fifteen.”

It was worse than Anya. Dimitri's mother had been taken as if she were no more than an object that had been bought by a handful of coins.

“Where did he take her?”

“He owns a home near Novgorod. He kept her there for near six months, then…”

She unwittingly moved to his side, studying the bleak lines of his profile.

“Then what?”

“It became obvious she was with child so he dismissed her.”

Her breath tangled in her throat as she abruptly realized she had been absurdly blind. She should have suspected the truth from the moment she had caught sight of his lean, noble features. Or at least after he'd attempted to bully her. That sort of arrogance had to be bred into a man.

“You are that child?” she asked softly.

He slowly turned to face her, his expression guarded. Emma sensed how difficult it was to speak of his past, as if the wounds were still raw and bleeding.

“I am.”

She hesitated, unwilling to further his pain, and yet needing to know what happened.

“Did your mother return to her family?”

“They refused to take her back into their home. She was, after all, ruined in the eyes of the world. They could not hope to marry her off with a bastard child in tow.”

Her cheeks heated with outrage. “But she was taken against her will.”

Leaning against the fresco painted on the stone wall of the grotto, Dimitri studied her flush beneath his half-lowered lashes.

“You are not that naive, Emma.”

No, she was not.

So long as women were kept powerless they were at the mercy of men, society and even fate that too often treated them with a ruthless cruelty.

“What happened to her?”

“What happens to most women forced onto the streets,” he said harshly. “Once she gave birth to me she entered a brothel. Does that shock you?”

His wary gaze skimmed over her face, no doubt accustomed to others condemning his mother for the choices she was forced to make. Emma, however, felt only sympathy. And admiration.

“On the contrary, I admire her,” she said with a steady sincerity. “She was obviously a woman who did whatever necessary to survive.”

“From what I could discover she became reconciled to her fate and soon learned that her considerable beauty could provide her the necessary funds for a modest home.” He grimaced. “A pity she could not be satisfied.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was determined that I would have a proper education.”

“It is what any woman would want for their child.”

His features might have been carved from granite in the sunlight slanting through the grotto window.

“I did not ask for her sacrifice,” he growled.

She frowned, puzzled by his lack of gratitude. Surely he must understand a woman was willing to sacrifice anything for the people they loved?

“Dimitri?”

His eyes grew distant, the muscles in his jaw knotted as he recalled his past.

“One morning she attired me in my finest clothes, which meant they did not yet have holes in the knees and elbows, and we walked for what seemed to be miles until we at last came to a magnificent palace. I will never forget marching up the front steps and ringing the bell as if we were welcome guests.” His lips twisted. “I was terrified.”

Emma smiled in understanding. Approaching Herrick Gerhardt's elegant home mere days ago had taken every
bit of courage she could muster. And she was supposedly a mature woman.

“How old were you?”

“Eight, or perhaps nine.” He shrugged. “Certainly old enough to realize we were not where we belonged.”

She ignored the urge to reach up and stroke the sleek raven hair pulled into a ribbon at his nape. The wounded boy that lurked deep inside Dimitri made him no less dangerous. Indeed, the wave of tenderness that swept through her was far more disturbing than the potent attraction that tingled within her.

“Were you turned away?”

“No, my mother was quite determined, and my unmistakable resemblance to my father managed to get us over the threshold and into the count's private study.” Shoving away from the wall, Dimitri paced to the center of the grotto. “I understood very little of the conversation beyond the fact my father did a great deal of shouting and my mother refused to leave. It was only later that I learned she had threatened to approach the count's wife and inform her that he had forced himself on a mere child if he did not see to my education.”

Emma carefully considered her words. The tension in the air was tangible.

“Clearly her threat was successful.”

His breath hissed through his clenched teeth. “It was successful in the sense I was sent to school in Moscow, but my father was far from pleased to be outwitted by a mere whore and set about destroying her life.”

Emma winced, already suspecting that the poor woman had suffered for her bold courage.

“What did he do?” she husked.

“He had her evicted from her home, and then he ensured her wealthy patrons would no longer seek her companionship. It became more and more difficult for her to earn
a decent living and she was forced to take rooms in the sewers of St. Petersburg.” The golden eyes darkened with a bleak loss that tore at her heart. “It was only a matter of time before she had her throat slit and her body left in the gutter.”

A
S THE WORDS ECHOED
through the grotto, Dimitri wondered what the hell he was doing.

He never shared his mother's tragic story. There were a handful of people who knew his mother had been a whore, and that she had been left to die in the gutter. And, of course, there was no denying his connection to the count.

But the sordid, intimate details…those he kept buried deep inside.

Until this woman. Emma Linley-Kirov stirred emotions he'd struggled for years to forget.

There was a rustle of wool and the light touch of slender fingers on his arm. Dimitri sucked in a startled breath. When had he developed an addiction to the scent of soap on warm, feminine skin?

“What happened to you?” she demanded.

He searched the wide hazel eyes, finding nothing but gentle understanding. Not that he was particularly surprised. While most women would be shocked by his mother and the life she had been forced to lead, Emma appeared almost…admiring.

And why would she not?

She possessed the same reckless courage and stubborn determination to risk her foolish neck for those she loved. His gut twisted with that same white-hot anger he had felt when he'd discovered she had been prancing about St. Petersburg for all to see.

“I was too far away to realize what was happening and
it wasn't until I fled the school when I turned fifteen that I realized she was dead,” he snapped.

Her eyes widened at his blunt explanation. “You must have been devastated.”

“I was infuriated.” He grasped her shoulders, glaring down at her pale, fragile face. “If my mother had never confronted the count then she still would have been alive.”

She met his gaze without flinching. “And you blamed her for leaving you on your own?”

“I blamed her for taking a stupid, unnecessary risk,” he gritted, refusing to recall the endless nights he'd cried himself to sleep when he discovered his mother was forever gone from his life.

Emma frowned. “She loved you and wanted to do whatever she could to provide you with a future. You should be proud of her.”

He tightened his grip, his eyes narrowed. “Do you think your precious Anya would be proud to learn you had died attempting to rescue her?”

She stiffened and met his glare with her own.

“I have to do this.”

“For your sister?” he snapped. “Or for your own selfish need to be a martyr?”

She paled, her eyes suddenly appearing too large for her face. “So I am not only a bitter spinster, but a tedious martyr. It is fortunate your opinion means nothing to me.”

Dimitri growled in frustration. “My opinion is that you are a stubborn minx who has mistakenly convinced herself that accepting help from others makes her weak. Return home, Emma, and allow me to search for your sister.” He leaned down, whispering against her lips. “Or better yet, come with me and I will ensure your protection.”

He heard her breath catch. “I doubt protection is what you offer.”

Dimitri pulled back, his gaze sweeping possessively down her slender body.

“Once you are known to be mine there is no one who would dare harm you.”

A frantic pulse fluttered at the base of her throat. “Except you.”

Unable to resist, Dimitri skimmed his lips down the curve of her neck, lingering on that revealing pulse.

“I swear I would treat you with exquisite care.” His voice thickened, his anger altering to a blaze of desire. “You would want for nothing.”

She moaned, briefly melting against him before she abruptly stepped away to regard him with a leery frown. Her body might recognize that she belonged to him, but her mind was not yet ready to concede defeat.

“What I want is to find my sister and to return to our home together.”

“Emma—”

“No.” She shook her head, her hand pressed to her throat. “Do you believe your father is involved with the gentlemen who abducted Anya?”

Dimitri grimly restrained his need to yank her back into his arms. His experience with tender virgins might be limited, but he did know when a female was on the brink of bolting.

“Yes.” He shoved his fingers through his hair, his body hard and aching. A distressingly predictable sensation when he was in the companionship of this frustrating woman. “His debauched taste for young girls has never diminished.”

“Why did you not kill him when you discovered he was responsible for the death of your mother?”

Dimitri lifted his brows, startled by the blunt question. “He was a powerful nobleman and I was a mere boy,” Dimitri reminded her, his tone dry.

“I cannot believe that is what deterred you.”

“You think I was born a bloodthirsty criminal? Or perhaps you assume all bastards are without morals?”

A blush stained her cheeks, but she refused to be cowed. An unfortunate habit.

“I think you loved your mother and would move heaven and earth to avenge her death.” She narrowed her gaze, studying him with unnerving perceptiveness. “So why do you hesitate?”

“Because death is not enough,” he roughly admitted. “I want to make certain that Count Nevskaya and his cronies publicly suffer for what they have done.”

The hazel eyes darkened. “And how many girls have been hurt because you were more concerned with humiliating your father rather than making certain he was unable to abuse helpless children?”

For perhaps the first time in his life, Dimitri Tipova was struck speechless as Emma turned on her heel and left him standing alone in the grotto.

 

T
HERE WAS A HEAVY
, gray chill in the air as Dimitri left his horse in the shadows of a high hedge, and walked toward the plain black carriage that waited on the elegant street corner.

Wrapped in a heavy coat and muffler that served as his disguise, Dimitri cast a sour glance at the brooding clouds. Although St. Petersburg would always be his home, he often wondered if Czar Peter regretted his fierce determination to create an empire out of this wet, frozen landscape. The emperor had, after all, sacrificed an enormous number of his people, not only to the cold and disease and wolves as the city was being built, but also to keep his throne from a land-hungry Charles XII as well as uprisings from the Cossacks and even his own son, Alexei.

With a shake of his head, he dismissed his inane thoughts
and paused at the side of the carriage. Covertly glancing up and down the quiet street to ensure there were no prying eyes, he tugged open the door and climbed inside.

He settled on the leather seat across from Josef, who kept his gaze trained on the window that offered a perfect view of Pytor Burdzecki's town house.

“Well?” he demanded.

Attired in rough wool clothing more suitable for a dock-hand than a man who had acquired a small fortune over the past years, Josef grimaced.

“Not so much as a leaf has stirred.”

“And there has been no word from the others?”

“Nothing.”

Damn. He had commanded two dozen of his most trustworthy cutthroats to keep watch on the homes of those gentlemen he suspected were involved in his father's nefarious amusements. The notes he had stumbled across had specifically mentioned noon, but unwilling to take any chances, Dimitri had demanded his employees hide themselves near the various homes before the crack of dawn.

“You made certain the household servants were to be followed?” he demanded.

With an offended expression, Josef reached for the nearby bottle of vodka and a large glass.

“You do not pay me because I am careless.”

Dimitri could not argue. Josef possessed a meticulous cunning that had made him a successful thief long before Dimitri had taken him beneath his wing.

“Forgive me, Josef. I had convinced myself we could catch the bastards in the midst of their foul deeds.” He clenched his hands, needing a means to vent his simmering frustration. “Now it seems they are to elude me yet again.”

Josef gave a lift of his shoulder. “The messages you
discovered had no date. It could be they mean the next Friday.”

“Or a Friday long past and once again I am too late,” he snapped.

“Here.” Pouring a large measure of the vodka, Josef shoved a glass into his hand. Dimitri swallowed the potent liquor, grunting as he lowered the glass and Josef leaned forward to refill it. “Another.”

He arched a puzzled brow. “Is there a reason you are plying me with vodka?”

“I hoped it might sweeten your foul mood.”

Dimitri scowled. “Of course my mood is foul. I do not appreciate being outwitted by a collection of aging reprobates.”

“Those aging reprobates possess enough power to alter the course of history as they have too often proven,” Josef said, his voice harsh with disgust. Many of the noblemen were personally responsible for squashing Alexander Pavlovich's attempts at reform in the early days of his reign. “Keeping a handful of peasant girls hidden would be a simple matter with a dozen estates and serfs who are too terrified to reveal the truth.” Josef leaned back in his seat, his gaze watchful. “And your mood has been foul since you last met with Emma Linley-Kirov.”

Dimitri grimaced, swallowing his instinctive denial. Why bother? Anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path since Emma had abandoned him in Vanya's grotto was painfully aware of his vile temper.

“She holds
me
responsible for her sister's abduction.”

Josef sucked in a sharp breath. “Is she daft?”

Dimitri polished off the last of the vodka. He had spent the night trying to comfort himself with the notion that Emma Linley-Kirov was a provincial spinster who was too naive and too stupid to comprehend the complexities
of his revenge. A wasted effort. Nothing managed to ease the nagging sense of guilt.

“She is annoyingly stubborn, headstrong and beautiful beyond reason, but I would never consider her to be daft.”

“She must be if she would accuse you of harming children.”

“She did not suggest that I personally forced a child into my bed, but rather that I stood aside and allowed others to continue with their loathsome deeds.”

“What would she have you do?”

“Kill them.”

Josef blinked, staggered by the thought of a sweet, innocent maiden harboring such bloodthirsty desires. Then he lifted the flask to take a large swig of the vodka.

“If she is so anxious to be rid of the bastards, then why does she not tend to the duty herself?” he muttered.

Dimitri's brows snapped together, a chill shivering down his spine. “Good God, do not say such a thing in her presence. She is quite capable of attempting murder if she thought it would save her precious sister.”

“Perhaps she would discover it's not a simple matter to rid society of its vermin.”

Dimitri tossed aside his empty glass, casting a jaundiced glance out the window of the carriage.

“Not simple, but not impossible, either.”

“You have allowed the female to rattle your wits.”

A humorless smile twisted his lips. Emma had rattled more than his wits. His long night of pacing the floor had not been solely due to her accusations. He had been hard and aching to bed the wench since she stormed into his office.

“Rattled wits or not, she was not mistaken. My desire for revenge has allowed my father to continue his debauchery.”

Josef muttered his opinion of overbearing spinsters and the stupidity of men who allowed them to interfere in his business.

“The count is the villain, not you,” he at last snapped. “How many women have you taken under your protection over the years? Only an arrogant ass would believe he could rescue them all.”

Dimitri turned back to meet his loyal servant's scowl. “I can always depend upon you to keep me humble, Josef.”

“I assume that is why you have kept me in your service for so many years.”

“Well, it most certainly is not for your charm.” Dimitri reached for the door of the carriage. It was obvious his hopes of discovering how his father and his associates kept the women they abducted hidden was doomed to failure. At least for today. “Return to your home, old friend.”

Josef frowned as Dimitri stepped out of the carriage. “What of you?”

“Alexander Pavlovich is unveiling his latest portrait at the Hermitage this afternoon.”

“God almighty, another one?”

Dimitri chuckled. Czar Alexander had avoided many of the Romanov's tendencies, but he was as vainglorious as his grandmother.

“Vanya Petrova is certain to attend and I do not doubt she will be brazen enough to bring her mysterious young maid with her.”

Josef drained the last of the vodka, his expression sour. “You should be pleased. It is possible the female can be of service. People tend to be more willing to speak with a pretty young maid than a cutthroat.”

“Pleased?” Dimitri clenched his fists, a dark fear churning through him. “If she has put herself in danger I intend to lock her in my cellar and never release her.”

“You were right, Tipova,” the scarred servant jeered. “Emma Linley-Kirov is not daft, you are.”

 

E
MMA FELT AS IF SHE
were in a dream when Vanya's elegant carriage swept through the archway and halted in the courtyard before the vast Winter Palace.

How often had she dreamed of traveling to St. Petersburg and encountering a charming prince when she had been young and still naive enough to believe in childish fancy? Or of being draped in rich satin as she entered the vast palaces and curtsied before Czar Alexander?

Instead, she was dressed in the drab clothing of a proper maid and struggling not to stumble over her feet as Vanya led her into Jordan Hall with its grand columns and vaulted ceiling lavishly painted and rimmed with gilt moldings. She had a brief glimpse of the elegantly attired crowd sweeping toward the Jordan Staircase before Vanya pressed her toward a side hall, jolting her out of her brief moment of madness.