Читать книгу Scoundrel's Honor - Rosemary Rogers - Страница 13

AS 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.

THERE 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.”

EMMA 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.

Maids did not belong in the upper rooms.

Which suited her perfectly, Emma sternly told herself, traveling through the spider web of corridors and shrugging off her sense of unreality.

Her journey to St. Petersburg was more of a nightmare than dream, and the sooner she found Anya so she could return home the better.

Besides, she was discovering that beneath the breathtaking beauty of the city and the grandeur of the nobility, there was a pervasive rot that lurked just beneath the surface. There was evil in shadows.

Shuddering at the unpleasant thought, Emma hurried toward the servants’ quarters. The air was thick with a smothering heat that was no doubt necessary for the exotic plants she had glimpsed in the various salons and drawing rooms she passed, but hardly pleasant for the servants that scurried about their tasks. Ignoring the sweat that trickled down her spine, she followed the scent of baking bread, occasionally stopping to chat with the other maids that crowded into the kitchens.

She would question as many of the servants as possible before returning to the vast entryway and finding the best place to hide and watch as the guests departed the palace. If the men who had abducted Anya were attending Czar Alexander then she would see them leave.

But first…

Reaching the far end of the kitchen that overlooked the small enclosure with a handful of cows, she was nibbling on a plum and almond tart when one of the palace maids cautiously sidled next to her, a wary expression on her plump face that was framed by a halo of red curls.

“What is your interest in Count Fedor Tarvek?” she whispered, her gaze warily darting about the bustling room, as if terrified they might be overheard.

Emma slowly set aside the tart, careful to hide her flare of hope. The woman was as skittish as a dormouse, clearly uneasy at the mention of the man’s name. She did not want to startle her into flight.

“My younger sister is seeking a position in his kitchens,” she said, keeping her voice equally soft. “She is anxious for a job, but I have heard rumors—”

“You should warn your sister to seek a position elsewhere,” the woman hissed.

“What do you know of him?”

The dark gaze again darted about the bustling kitchen, ensuring that no one had noticed them speaking.

“Nothing.”

“Please.” Emma reached to lightly touch the woman’s arm. “Anya is young and headstrong and unless I can offer her more than vague warnings she is certain to ignore my fears. Did you work for the count?”

“No.” She bit her bottom lip. “It was my cousin.”

“What happened to her?”

“No one is certain. She told my Aunt that she was offered a position as parlor maid, but when she did not return home that night my uncle went in search of her.”

A sick dread curled through Emma’s stomach. “What did he discover?”

The woman’s freckled face hardened with an impotent anger that Emma easily recognized. It was the same helpless frustration that had plagued her since discovering Anya was missing.

“She had simply disappeared. The count claimed that she had never arrived at his home, but my uncle was certain he found a ribbon belonging to my cousin in the hedge surrounding the estate.”

“Dear Lord.” Emma pressed a hand to her stomach. “You never heard from her again?”

“Nyet. And I have heard whispered she is not the only female to disappear.”

“Do you…” Emma’s words were cut short as the maid abruptly grasped her hand and nodded toward the window.

“The devil himself,” she whispered.

Her breath was lodged in her throat as she leaned forward, staring at the two gentlemen who strolled past the window.

They were both elegantly attired in dark tailored jackets and breeches with high glossy boots that she would bet her last quid were worth more than her cramped cottage. Beneath their tall hats she could catch a glimpse of gray hair and lined countenances. That, however, was where the resemblances ended.

One man was short and stocky with a heavy jowl and an unmistakable paunch under his charcoal-gray jacket. The other was tall and lean with an autocratic profile and air of haughty superiority that annoyed her even from a distance.

Her gaze lingered on the shorter man, her heart skipping a beat as she recognized the debauched face.

“That is Tarvek?” she rasped.

“Yes. Filthy murderer.”

Emma clenched her hands at her side. So, Dimitri’s conjecture had proven right. Count Tarvek was the man who had stayed at her inn and snuck away with her sister.

She had a name for the bastard, now what did she do with the information?

“Who is that with him?”

“Count Nevskaya,” the maid said, her eyes widening as Emma mouthed a startled curse as she realized she was staring at Dimitri’s father. “Is something the matter?”

“I shall return in a moment,” she muttered, heading for the nearby door.

The maid scurried behind her. “No, listen to me,” she pleaded softly. “They truly are dangerous men.”

“They will never know I am near,” Emma promised, tossing the woman a reassuring smile before she slipped from the kitchen and headed for the back gate.

Count Tarvek and Dimitri’s father. Two men who both possessed an evil lust for young girls.

It could not be coincidence they were together, clearly attempting to avoid others as they strolled along the paved lane.

Emma followed behind the two men, careful to keep a cautious distance. Despite Dimitri’s low opinion of her intelligence, she had no desire to put herself in danger. But neither was she willing to ignore an opportunity to discover more of the men responsible for her sister’s disappearance.

Staying in the shadows of the looming buildings, she shivered as the breeze tugged on her woolen cloak. After the oppressive heat of the palace, the chill of the gray afternoon was even more noticeable. Or perhaps it was a reaction to being led farther and farther away from the guests.

With her heart lodged in her throat, Emma followed the men through a stone archway, nearly stumbling over her feet as they came to an abrupt halt. Thankfully, neither glanced over their shoulders and she was able to scurry behind a bush as they stood closely together, pretending to study the nearby flow of the Neva River.

“The ship has sailed?” Tarvek demanded, his voice pitched low.

The tall, slender gentleman nodded, turning to regard his companion, and Emma’s breath tangled in her throat. Good God. There was no mistaking he was Dimitri’s father. It was in the chiseled perfection of his profile and arrogant thrust of his jaw.

Not that he could claim Dimitri’s stunning beauty, she decided. There was a frigid lack of emotion in his eyes and a repellent sneer that twisted his thin lips. He reminded her of a snake. Cold, lethal and willing to strike without remorse.

“It departed on schedule,” he was assuring his companion. “Soon it will arrive in London with our tender cargo.”

Tarvek rubbed his fat hands together in a gesture that Emma remembered with a quiver of disgust.

“Tender, indeed,” he husked. “I hope that our English friends were fortunate in their hunting. The last lot they delivered was barely tolerable.”

Emma frowned in puzzlement. Tender? Hunting? Were they transporting live game? And if so, why would they go to such an effort to discuss their business so far from the other guests?

Dimitri’s father shrugged. “They were not of the finest quality, but they brought a tidy profit.”

“For you, perhaps,” Tarvek growled. “My allotment was not nearly so generous.”

“It is my ship that hauls the cargo and my crew who protects our investments. It was agreed I should have the larger profit.” The older count slashed his hand through the air in a gesture of disdain. “Besides, you contributed only two of the females for our last shipment.”

Tarvek shifted uneasily. “I cannot always control Sergei.”

“It is unfortunate, but not my concern,” Nevskaya said, his cold voice sending a chill of horror down Emma’s spine.

With a gasp, she grabbed at the bush, feeling her knees threaten to buckle.

God almighty. The cargo was not wild game.

They were speaking of girls. Sweet, helpless children they considered of no more worth than animals.

And what did Tarvek mean that Sergei could not be controlled? Her stomach rolled at the mere thought.

“You should at least be pleased with my latest offerings,” the villain said, a nasty smile of anticipation curving his lips. “Those were three of the most succulent females I have ever captured. It’s a pity that they will be wasted on a boorish Englishman. Any man who would willingly live on that soggy island is barely more than a savage.”

Emma’s disgust was overwhelmed by a tidal wave of fury. Was Anya one of the three women? Was she even now being hauled far away from Russia? Her hands clenched. If she had a gun she would have shot both the monsters in the back.

Nevskaya laughed, unaware of the woman behind him plotting his imminent murder.

“So long as they fulfill their part of the bargain then I do not care if they mold in their dreary homes.”

Lost in her violent imaginings, Emma was unaware of the shadow looming behind her, or the faint crunch of gravel beneath an approaching boot. It was not until a hand clapped over her mouth and a masculine arm wrapped around her waist that she realized the dangers of her distraction.