Читать книгу Bound By Love - Rosemary Rogers - Страница 14

WAITING UNTIL THE DINNER GONG had echoed through the vast house, Leonida glided through the thankfully empty corridor to slip into the Duchess’s room.

She knew she was taking a risk. Although a large number of the servants would be busy in the kitchens, either assisting with the meal or enjoying their own, there were always a few drifting about the house, their sharp gazes missing nothing.

But what choice did she have? She might try and convince herself that giving in to Stefan’s skillful seduction was the perfect means of keeping him distracted from her true purpose for being in Surrey, but she was not stupid.

Her violent explosion of pleasure had nothing to do with plots or schemes or her loyalty to Russia. She was quite simply incapable of resisting the handsome Duke of Huntley. And every moment that she spent in his company only deepened her fascination.

She had to find those letters and flee before her revulsion for deceiving Stefan overcame her devotion to her mother.

Her decision made, Leonida had sent word to the kitchen that she preferred a tray in her room and, waiting until she was certain that both Stefan and Brianna had gone down to dinner, she had posted Sophy near the stairs and darted through the shadows to the state rooms.

Grasping a candle in her hand, she entered the Duchess’s bedchamber, casting a quick glance around the vast room.

Unlike most of the estate, the Duchess had chosen to remove the aging wainscoting and replaced it with crimson damask wall panels. The ceiling was molded and trimmed with gilt, and in the center a cut glass chandelier reflected the candlelight with a shimmering beauty. Set near the white marble fireplace, the four-poster bed was draped in emerald-green velvet that matched the cushions on the gilt gesso chairs.

Despite the air of emptiness, the chamber was kept ruthlessly clean, reminding Leonida that a servant might enter at any moment. The quicker she finished her search, the better.

The question was…where to begin?

Beyond the fabulous gilt-framed pictures by Gainsborough and Reynolds that could all possibly cover a hidden safe, there was a pair of mahogany cabinets, a rosewood writing table and a French marquetry pedestal bureau.

And she had not yet entered the private parlor that was just beyond the connecting door.

With a sigh, she moved toward the writing table. Surely it was the most obvious place to begin her search?

Obvious, but fruitless, she soon discovered, finding nothing more than the usual items. Parchment, quills, ink, wax and the Duchess’s formal seal.

“Mon Dieu. Where can they be?” she muttered.

She was just moving to the pedestal bureau when the door to the room was pressed open and Sophy was waving a frantic hand.

“The Duke is coming up the stairs,” she hissed. “You must hurry.”

Muttering a curse, Leonida raced across the room, shutting the door behind her. Then, grasping Sophy’s arm, she hurried them both toward her chambers.

“Why does the aggravating man not leave me in peace?” she hissed, as aggravated by the joyful leap of her heart as by his untimely approach.

Sophy snorted, casting Leonida a knowing glance. “Aye, I wonder.”

Leonida blushed. “He is suspicious of my presence in Surrey.”

“Why would he be suspicious?”

“He seems to believe I am here to lure his brother into some plot devised by the Emperor.”

“Ah.” Sophy nodded. “Well, the rumors were that Lord Summerville did put himself at risk on a number of occasions for the Czar Alexander. Perhaps the Duke has cause to worry.”

Leonida’s lips twisted. “If Alexander Pavlovich desires Lord Summerville’s assistance I would be the last person he would send. He rarely even recalls that I exist.”

“Such a man has much on his mind,” Sophy murmured.

Of course he did. Alexander Pavlovich carried the weight of a vast empire upon his shoulders. But that did not lessen Leonida’s sense of abandonment when months, even years passed without a word from the Emperor.

Perhaps it would not have been so noticeable if her mother had been a more…affectionate parent.

Oh, Nadia loved Leonida, but she had no interest in raising a child. Not when she could be devoting her attention to ensuring her place as a leader among society or dabbling in the dangerous games of politics as she sought to protect Alexander Pavlovich’s throne by whatever means necessary.

As a result, Leonida had been raised by her English nurse and a series of governesses who rarely remained more than a few months.

Was it any wonder that she had never truly felt important to anyone?

“Yes, well, we all have a great deal on our minds,” she muttered, pulling Sophy into her parlor and closing the door.

Then, as if she could truly avoid the impending encounter, she continued on to her bedchamber, crossing the floor to stare out the window.

“Do you want me to inform the Duke you’re not receiving?” Sophy asked softly.

Leonida wrapped her arms around her waist. “You are welcome to make the attempt.”

She kept her gaze trained on the distant lake that reflected the fading sunset in muted hues of pink and violet. The beauty spread before her, however, went unnoted as the sound of Sophy’s raised voice echoed through the air, followed by Stefan’s low, composed response.

A grim smile touched her lips as Sophy continued to squabble. The maid was a ferocious protector of Leonida, but she was no match for the Duke of Huntley. He might hide his ruthlessness behind a quiet charm, but it made him no less perilous.

Indeed, he was by far the most dangerous gentleman she had ever encountered.

At last, Sophy fell silent, her anger turned aside by Stefan’s calm, unyielding determination. There was the sound of shuffling feet, then a door closing. Leonida remained poised at the window, a tingle of excitement inching down her spine as Stefan’s spicy male scent filled the room.

“I thought we had put an end to your little games, my dove,” he drawled, his footsteps coming ever closer.

“Games?”

His slender fingers closed around her upper arms, forcing her around to meet his smoldering gaze. “You cannot avoid me.”

“Obviously not,” she snapped, refusing to acknowledge the thrill of pleasure that darted through her body. “What have you done with Sophy?”

His gaze seared over her stubborn expression. “I requested that she join the other servants so she could enjoy her dinner. It hardly seems fair that she should suffer because her mistress is a coward.”

“I am not a coward, I am simply tired. And since you are so concerned for my maid’s welfare I assure you that I requested that two trays be sent up, so there was no fear she would be sent to bed hungry.”

His lips curled into a humorless smile. “Ah yes, the trays.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Not now. I informed Cook that she need not bother since you would be joining Lady Summerville and myself in the dining room.”

“Are you so high-handed with all your guests?”

His fingers skimmed over her lips, which had thinned in annoyance. “Only those who insist on being unreasonable.”

She struggled to breathe. His dark, compelling beauty was overwhelming. Irresistible.

“It is hardly unreasonable to desire a quiet evening.”

“It is when I want your companionship,” he countered, his fingers stroking the line of her jaw.

“And because you are a duke you always get what you want?”

His smile widened with genuine humor. “I always get what I want because I refuse to accept anything less.”

She licked her dry lips, then swiftly wished she hadn’t when his eyes flared with a raw desire that made her heart leap.

“You cannot force me to come down to dinner.”

“Actually I could,” he mocked. “But if you insist on eating in your bedchamber then I will simply join you.”

“Have you taken leave of your senses? You cannot join me.”

“Why not?”

“It would cause a scandal.”

“A scandal for you, perhaps, but as you so recently pointed out, I am a duke and there is precious little that can tarnish my very old and very respected title.” He paused as she shivered, glancing down at her amber silk gown over a silver gauze underskirt. With a frown he moved to collect a matching shawl that she had left at the edge of the bed and carefully wrapped it around her shoulders. “I had forgotten your love for warmth. I shall have a maid light a fire for you while we are at dinner.”

She clenched her teeth, refusing to be touched by his seeming concern.

“Do not pretend that you care for my comfort.”

“But I do, my dove.” His hands lightly circled her neck, his thumb stroking the pulse that pounded at the base of her throat. “I am quite determined to do everything in my power to please you.”

“Except leave me in peace,” she said huskily.

“Is that what you truly want?” He snared her gaze, his expression brooding. “Peace?”

“Yes,” she whispered, even as she knew that was not entirely the truth.

He sensed it as well, his eyes narrowing. “Liar.”

“What do you know of me?”

“Not nearly so much as I intend to know. But I can recognize loneliness when it haunts a pair of exquisite blue eyes.”

With a burst of alarm Leonida pushed Stefan away, turning from his perceptive gaze. “Do not.”

His hands settled on her shoulders, but he made no effort to turn her around. “Am I wrong?”

“I…miss home.”

“Do you truly have a home, Leonida Karkoff?” he whispered.

Her long-buried pain wrenched through her heart, making her feel annoyingly vulnerable.

Stefan had already seduced her body; he could not be allowed to steal her heart.

“What a ridiculous question. I happen to live in one of the finest houses in all of St. Petersburg.”

He bent his head to whisper directly in her ear. “A house is not necessarily a home, as I have discovered.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as a delicious heat flowed through her body. When Stefan was near she had no fear of being cold.

“You are not happy at Meadowland?”

“I am content…for the most part.”

“Contentment and happiness are not the same.”

“No, they are not,” he said, the hint of wistful yearning tugging at her heart.

Abruptly she turned to face him, her expression wary. Dear lord. What was the matter with her? The Duke of Huntley was the last man who needed or deserved her sympathy.

He was handsome and wealthy and utterly ruthless in getting whatever he desired.

If he was alone, it was by choice, not fate.

“I suppose you will not leave until I agree to join you for dinner?”

Something that might have been disappointment flashed through the blue eyes before his features hardened.

“You are as intelligent as you are beautiful,” he taunted.

“And you, sir, are an arrogant bully.”

He grasped her chin between his fingers, his gaze focused on her lips.

“You have a quarter of an hour, Leonida. If you do not make an appearance then I will assume you are inviting me to share your dinner in bed.”

STEPPING OUT OF LEONIDA’S chambers, Stefan placed his hands flat against the wall and sucked in a deep breath. He was a fool.

Whether it was because he had allowed his anger at Leonida’s attempt to hide from him to impetuously lead him to her bedchamber, or because he hadn’t taken advantage of being there, he had yet to decide.

In either case, he was once again hard and aching with no hope of ready relief.

With a muttered curse, he pushed away from the wall and forced himself to continue toward the servants’ staircase, where he knew Goodson would be waiting for him.

On cue, the uniformed butler stepped from the shadows, regarding Stefan with a stoic expression.

“Your Grace.”

“Well?” Stefan demanded abruptly. Sensing his employer’s tension, Goodson came straight to the point.

“I could not approach as close as I would like since Miss Karkoff’s maid was standing guard as if she were one of those savage Cossack soldiers.”

“Yes, a most formidable woman,” Stefan agreed dryly. He had thought when he entered Leonida’s rooms he might have to physically toss the protective Sophy out of his path. “What did you manage to see?”

Goodson cleared his throat. “Miss Karkoff left her chamber shortly after you could be heard going downstairs and went directly to the Duchess’s rooms. She remained in there until the maid rushed to warn her of your approach.”

Stefan clenched his teeth, leashing his wave of disappointed fury.

He had already suspected that Leonida had some purpose in suggesting that she and Brianna come to Meadowland. And he was not vain enough to suppose it was an overwhelming desire to be closer to him.

Now his only purpose was to discover her nefarious plot.

“Did she take anything from the room?”

Goodson shrugged. “There was nothing in her hands.”

“Have her room searched while she is at dinner.”

“Of course, sir.”

The butler was turning away when Stefan halted him. “Goodson.”

“Yes, your Grace?”

“Did Benjamin track down the strangers he caught on the grounds?”

“I fear not.” The butler’s stoic expression hardened with frustration. “The innkeeper claimed that he has not had any foreign guests for months and no one in the village recognized the description of the villains.”

“Have him continue to search through the neighborhood, but request that he be discreet. I would prefer no one realize that I am suspicious of their presence.”

“Very good.”

This time Stefan allowed the butler to disappear toward the back of the house, slowly turning to study the closed door to Leonida’s chambers.

For a moment he brooded on charging back down the hall and bluntly confronting the deceitful woman.

Unlike Edmond, he did not enjoy political intrigue or pitting his wits against a cunning foe. He was a forthright gentleman who expected the same from others. Which was, no doubt, why King George and Alexander Pavlovich rarely called upon him when they had need of guile rather than practical assistance.

It was only the knowledge that Leonida could not be bullied or coerced into revealing the truth that kept him standing in the shadows, his hands clenched at his sides.

“What the devil is your scheme, Leonida Karkoff?” he muttered.

St. Petersburg

THE BORDELLO TUCKED BETWEEN a coffeehouse and furniture warehouse was like many others spread throughout St. Petersburg.

The building was a nondescript brick structure that was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence and guarded by a brute of a man who frightened even hardened soldiers. Inside the front parlor the furnishings were a gaudy, overly opulent combination of plush velvet sofas and fur rugs where a gentleman could wait in comfort for his particular whore to become available. Or, if he preferred, he could join the high-stakes gambling that was offered in the back rooms. Upstairs, the private rooms were individually created to indulge in whatever vice might tempt the jaded members of Russian society.

But it was not the dubious taste in furnishings, or the lovely, well-trained whores that plied their trade that attracted the rich and powerful.

It was instead the absolute discretion that Madam Ivanna demanded of her guests and servants.

A gentleman who stepped through the door could be assured that his presence or his…unusual sexual appetites would never be revealed.

Such a promise of privacy was worth the outrageous sums that Ivanna charged.

Heading up the narrow flight of stairs, Nikolas Babevich was already hard with anticipation at the thought of Celeste and her wicked chains and whips. Such sweet pain was expensive, but well worth every ruble.

Not that he possessed an overabundance of rubles, he acknowledged, a bitter anger burning in the pit of his stomach.

Damn the Countess Karkoff.

It was entirely her fault that he was now reduced to borrowing funds from his nagging sister and dodging the bill collectors who refused to offer him credit for so much as a new pair of boots.

Thankfully he had managed to relieve a drunken Prussian of his purse outside the Opera House last eve or he would have been forced to cancel his standing appointment at this brothel. A near unbearable notion.

Pushing open the door at the end of the long, candlelit hallway, Nikolas licked his lips, expecting to discover Celeste standing in the center of the room, whip in hand.

What he discovered instead was a tall, distinguished gentleman with silver hair and a handsome countenance that was barely lined despite his fifty-odd years.

Sir Charles Richards had arrived in St. Petersburg from England only a few months ago, but had swiftly become a favorite of Prince Michael, younger brother of Alexander Pavlovich.

To most in society he was a charming, intelligent foreigner who was renowned for his impeccable manners and simple elegance, tonight displayed by his plain but exquisitely tailored black coat and dove-gray breeches that were at such odds with the Russian love for flamboyance.

Nikolas was one of the few who suspected that behind his affable smile was a merciless soul that was capable of great evil.

“Good evening, Nikolas Babevich,” Richards drawled, his elegant fingers holding one of the small whips that was always so appealing in Celeste’s hands, but was nothing less than terrifying when held by the Englishman.

Licking his dry lips, Nikolas cast a covert glance about the barren room, barely noting the various tools of torture that were hung on the walls or the wide bed that was covered in black satin and shackles. Ridiculously he had hoped that Celeste or one of the numerous servants might be lurking in a dark corner.

As if their presence would protect him from the malevolence that filled the thick air.

“How…” Nikolas was forced to halt and clear his throat. “How did you get in here?”

The nobleman’s lips curled as he flicked a dismissive gaze over Nikolas’s short, unfortunately pudgy figure that was attired in a growingly threadbare jacket in moss green and the too-tight tan breeches.

“There are few doors closed to me,” he drawled.

Nikolas clenched his hands into fists. Despite his fear, he wouldn’t be mocked by a damned foreigner.

“My congratulations. Now, if you do not mind, I came here for a specific entertainment that does not include spectators.”

“Your entertainment will have to wait until after our little chat,” Sir Charles sneered, twirling the whip in his hand.

“I told you that the Karkoff bitch refuses to give me the money without proof of the letters. What would you have me do?”

“Did you know the Countess sent her daughter to England? Surrey to be precise.”

Nikolas frowned. The Countess Karkoff could rot in hell as far as he was concerned.

“Why should I care?”

“For one thing, it proves there is something in those letters worth discovering. The Countess would never send her daughter on such a journey otherwise.”

“Wait,” Nikolas growled. “I thought you knew what was in those letters.”

“Howard Summerville claimed they must hold nefarious secrets since they were not only written in a mysterious code, but the Duke of Huntley had nearly beaten him to death when he caught him with them in his hands. It was worth taking the chance to discover if the boorish imbecile had truly stumbled across the means of acquiring a fortune or was making his usual empty boasts.”

Nikolas stiffened in outrage. He had risked his life on a mere hunch?

“You lied to me.”

“I told you what you needed to know.” Richards dismissed his accusation with a shrug. “Now, however, Miss Karkoff’s presence in Surrey endangers our tidy little plot.”

“How?”

The unnerving black eyes narrowed in frigid anger. “Because that is where the letters were last seen, you idiot.”

“Does she have them?”

“And how would I know?” Richards tossed the whip onto the bed in an impatient motion. “I sent my servants to search the Duke’s home weeks ago, but Miss Karkoff’s presence complicates matters.”

Nikolas tugged at his wilted cravat, not for the first time wishing he had never allowed Sir Charles Richards to convince him to take part in the dangerous scheme.

Not that you truly had a choice, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Gambling had always been his weakness and when he’d lost far more money than he possessed to the Englishman, he had no choice but to listen to his outlandish scheme. And in truth, the thought of gaining a small fortune with such ease had been a temptation he couldn’t resist.

Now he could do no more than curse his stupidity.

“We should never have approached the Countess until we had our hands on those letters.”

“You were as eager as I was to claim the fortune. Who would have suspected the Emperor’s whore would have the nerve to question your threat?” The dark eyes glittered with a cruel light. “Obviously you were not very convincing.”

Nikolas shuddered, his skin crawling with an indefinable fear. “I did what was asked. It isn’t my fault the Countess—”

“Shut up,” Richards interrupted. “I weary of your excuses.”

Nikolas swallowed the lump lodged in his throat. “Fine. We gambled and lost. C’est la vie.”

Richards took a step forward, his expression grim. “This is not over. I will have my money.”

“How? If the daughter manages to discover those letters then they will know that we have never seen them.”

“My men have orders to keep a close eye on the female. If she does manage to uncover the letters they will be able to retrieve them from her.”

“And if she does not?”

“Then she will return to Russia with the information that the letters are indeed missing.”

Nikolas bit back the urge to point out the numerous flaws in the plan. His existence might be miserable at the moment, but he was in no hurry to meet the death that lurked in his companion’s eyes.

“So we wait?”

“No, we cannot allow the Countess to suspect this is a bluff,” Richards snapped, a dark edge in his voice making Nikolas relieved that he did not know what was going through his companion’s mind. He sensed it would give him nightmares for weeks to come. “I desire you to approach the Countess again and warn her that for every week that passes, the cost of your silence increases by five thousand rubles.”

Nikolas took a discreet step backward. “And if she refuses?”

“You will continue to pester her. It will keep her fretting rather than devoting her time to considering how to outwit us.” The man’s lips curled into a sneer. “Women are incapable of behaving in a sensible manner when they are flustered.”

Nikolas’s humorless laugh echoed eerily through the room. “Have you ever met the Countess?”

“She is a female.” Richards easily dismissed the strong-willed Countess, obviously unaware of the power she could wield. Stupid man. “Keep her terrified that she is about to lose her devoted and very wealthy lover and she will do whatever necessary to keep her life of luxury.”

“Why must I be the one to approach her?” Nikolas changed tactics. “It seems to me that I am risking my neck while you hide in the shadows.”

Before Nikolas could blink, Richards was across the room, his hands circling Nikolas’s throat with enough pressure to prove he could easily snap his neck.

“That is what you are being paid to do, is it not?” he demanded in low, deadly tones. “And believe me, being caught by the Russian officials is the least of your concern. Fail me and I will cut out your heart and feed it to the wolves. Do you understand?”

Nikolas’s blood froze in his veins. “Yes.”

“Good.”

With a derisive motion, Richards tossed Nikolas against the wall and then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hands. As if he feared he might have been contaminated.

Bastard.

Pushing from the wall, Nikolas jerked his jacket back into place. “And what will you be doing while I am confronting the Countess?”

“I am traveling to Paris. It will be far easier to keep in contact with my men in England.”

“So you leave me alone to be shot as a traitor?”

“That, mon ami, is entirely in your hands. Do what I command and we both shall be very wealthy gentlemen.”

CHARLES STEPPED FROM the torture room, assured that Nikolas would do as he had been commanded. The wretched creature might long to condemn Charles to the netherworld, but they both knew he would never possess the courage to openly challenge him.

Which, of course, was the reason he had chosen the fool in the first place.

A pity he had not been so clever in predicting the Countess’s stubborn refusal to hand over the money he so desperately needed.

With an effort, Charles battled back the black fury that had plagued him since he was in the nursery. As satisfying as it might be to slice the bitch’s throat, it would not solve his problems.

He had to have money if he wanted to keep his nasty little secrets safe.

A shiver shook his body before he regained command of his icy composure. No. He would not be exposed by a filthy peasant. Even if that peasant was the Beggar Czar, Dimitri Tipova, who reportedly ruled the criminal underworld of St. Petersburg.

Slipping into the room across the hall, he regarded the woman he had ordered to wait for him.

Madam Ivanna was a lushly curved woman who had retained much of her early beauty despite the gray that was threaded through her thick black hair and the wrinkles that fanned beside her wide green eyes. Currently she was attired in a low-cut velvet gown that displayed her considerable charms and matched the decor, but only a fool would miss the shrewd glitter in her eyes.

“Ah, Ivanna, so kind of you to allow me a few moments with my associate.” Moving forward he raised her fingers to his lips, relishing her shiver of disgust. Ah yes, shrewd indeed. Unlike most women, Ivanna was intelligent enough to sense the darkness beneath his handsome countenance and practiced charm. “How can I ever repay you?”

She hastily tugged her fingers from his grasp. “It is nothing, I assure you.”

“You are certain you would not desire a small token of my appreciation?”

“No, it was my pleasure, monsieur.”

“A pity.” He regarded her with a hungry gaze, his blood stirring at the rich scent of her perfume. It had been far too long since he’d allowed himself to indulge in his little pastime. With a shake of his head, he stepped back. “Still, I suppose this is not the time or the place. I need a means to leave the house without being noticed.”

Ivanna heaved a shaky breath of relief, as if sensing how close she had been to glimpsing the true Sir Charles Richards.

“Of course.” She waved a hand toward the door. “I can take you out the back entrance.”

He caught her wrist, his grip punishing. “I said unnoticed.”

“Please, monsieur, I do not know what you want,” she whimpered.

“Think very carefully, Ivanna.”

His fingers tightened, threatening to snap her bones and she gave a sob of surrender.

“There is a hidden passageway that connects my kitchens with the coffeehouse next door.” She brokenly confessed the secret known only to those of royal blood.

A cold smile curled his lips. “You are quite intelligent for a whore.”