Читать книгу Scoundrel's Honor - Rosemary Rogers - Страница 14

IGNORING THE FRANTIC struggles of the woman held tightly in his arms, Dimitri hauled her away from his father and Tarvek. In truth, she was fortunate that the need to avoid attention kept him from tossing her in the nearby river.

He ground his teeth, his temper still smoldering at the sight of her crouched behind the bush, mere steps away from two of the most savage creatures to roam St. Petersburg’s streets.

The aggravating wench was clearly determined to put him in an early grave.

“You will not be satisfied until you have managed to get that lovely throat slit, will you, moya dusha,” he rasped close to her ear, rounding the corner of the palace where his horse and carriage waited.

With a jerk of her head, she managed to dislodge the hand he had clamped across her mouth.

“How dare you follow me?”

Dimitri conveniently ignored the fact he had not only followed her to the palace, but that he had scoured the damned place from the attics to the cellars before he had at last caught sight of her behind the bush.

He was not prepared to admit how desperate he had been to find her, not even to himself.

“Such vanity,” he mocked. “Do you believe I am so taken with you I must trail behind you like a hungry stray?”

“I think you are the most irritating, arrogant, utterly vexing man I have ever had the misfortune to meet,” she hissed.

He tightened his arms around her slender body, taking grim pleasure in the feel of her squirming form pressed against him. He was angry, not in his grave. Just having this woman near was enough to stir his desire.

“Careful, Emma, you will quite turn my head with such flattery.”

“How did you find me?”

“I was searching for my father when I recognized a luscious backside where it did not belong,” he glibly dissembled. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you were discovered.”

“And so you charged to my rescue?”

“It is an unfortunate habit I seem to have acquired.”

“And one you can leave off at any moment,” she tartly informed him.

“Ah, if only it were that simple.” He caught the gaze of his waiting driver and gave a nod of his head. Instantly, the carriage rolled forward.

“It is,” she challenged. “Put me down.”

“I have not yet completed my rescue,” he said, reaching to yank open the door and tossing his wiggling bundle inside. Then, with a smooth motion, he was on the leather seat beside her, slamming shut the door.

“What are you—” Emma’s angry words were forgotten as the carriage jerked into motion, racing over the cobblestones at a brisk pace. “Stop this carriage at once.”

His lips twisted at her imperious tone. “I realize you are accustomed to giving commands in your isolated kingdom, Emma Linley-Kirov, but I am not one of your subjects.”

Anger flashed through her magnificent eyes, but she was wise enough to realize he would not be bullied. Instead, she nervously shifted into the corner of the seat, as if that paltry space could dim the awareness prickling between them.

“Please, Dimitri,” she stiffly pleaded. “Vanya will be frantic with concern if I disappear.”

He shifted to face her directly, his leg stretched outward to prevent any attempt at escape. God knew she was idiotic enough to risk throwing herself out of a moving carriage.

“Word will be sent to Vanya that you are in my care.”

Her lips thinned. “And that is supposed to reassure her?”

“Certainly it is preferable to having you left to your own devices, creating chaos among the fine citizens of St. Petersburg.”

She muttered something beneath her breath that Dimitri suspected was comparing him to midden heap and glanced out the window, her brows drawing together at the elegant shops of the Gostiny Dvor they passed at a shocking speed.

“Where are you taking me?”

“I merely wished to speak with you in private.” He diverted her question.

“Why?”

“What did you overhear between Tarvek and my father?”

She jerked, her eyes widening at his abrupt question. “You lecture me for being a reckless fool and now you desire me to share the information I have discovered?”

A slow smile curved his lips. “I do admire your intelligence.”

With a snort she folded her arms over her chest. “I have no intention of telling you anything.”

He leaned forward to whisper directly in her ear. “You will if you truly desire to find your sister.”

Her hands lifted to press against his chest, but Dimitri didn’t miss her revealing shiver. Or the leap of her pulse that fluttered at the base of her neck.

“Fine,” she rasped. “I very much fear that Anya has been sent to England.”

Dimitri reared back, his breath hissing between his clenched teeth.

“What did you say?”

Emma hesitantly repeated the conversation she had overheard, her wary gaze never straying from his grim expression.

A heavy silence filled the carriage as he considered the shocking information. How many years had he searched to find a trace of the women he suspected were being abused by his father and his associates? Christ, he had spent countless hours hidden in frozen gardens and dark alleys attempting to discover the truth. And worse, he had stumbled across the truth and he had been too blind to realize he held it in his hands.

“Dimitri?”

Shaken out of his dark thoughts, he clenched his hands with self-disgust.

“I have been unforgivably stupid,” he gritted. “The Katherine Marie. I should have recognized the name.”

“Who is she?”

“Not who. What,” he corrected. “The Katherine Marie is my father’s private ship.”

“My God,” she breathed, her face pale and her hands trembling as she folded them in her lap. “Then it’s true. They have taken Anya away from St. Petersburg.”

Dimitri resisted the peculiar desire to cradle her in his arms and offer her comfort. He protected women. He bedded them. He even supported a few. But there was something unnerving in the tug of tenderness Emma Linley-Kirov inspired.

Besides, she was as likely to slap him as to thank him for his effort. Emma was not a woman who appreciated having others witness her vulnerabilities.

“It would explain a great deal,” he admitted.

He heard her draw in a deep, steadying breath, her chin tilting with the stubborn determination that was certain to give him nightmares.

“Such as?”

“I hire a vast number of people to keep me well informed. It seemed impossible that I was unable to discover more than vague rumors that young girls, and occasionally boys, were disappearing. I assumed they must take them from St. Petersburg, but it never occurred to me they would actually ship them abroad.”

“I do not understand. If they—” she faltered, a flare of color staining her cheeks “—desire these girls, then why would they send them to England?”

He scowled, cursing the missing Anya for dragging her elder sister into the muck. For all her courage and tenacious strength, Emma possessed an innocence that was remarkably rare.

“Leave it be, Emma,” he said roughly. “You have been forced deep enough into this sordid business—”

“I need to know.”

“Emma.”

She laid a pleading hand on his arm. “Please, Dimitri.”

His gaze shifted to the window, absently noticing the aging palaces were being replaced by the classically designed homes preferred by Alexander Pavlovich’s architect, Carlo Rossi.

“It would be my guess they transport the women to a select group of gentlemen in England who, in return, send back the females they have lured into their trap,” he grudgingly revealed his suspicion. Now that he understood how his father had rid himself of the local females, it was a simple matter to deduce the remainder of his nefarious scheme.

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “But why go to such a bother?”

“They did not in the beginning, as my presence in St. Petersburg is ample proof.” He restlessly tugged off his hat and muffler, tossing them into the opposite seat. His gloves followed. “But Alexander Pavlovich has become remarkably pious as the years have passed and while he is not foolish enough to truly believe he can command his court to put aside their wicked pleasures, he has insisted they become more discreet.”

“I still do not understand.”

He reached to take her hand, not surprised to find her fingers were stiff with cold. Where the hell were her gloves? And her scarf? The foolish wench. She could shoulder the responsibilities of her business and her sister, but she was stunningly incapable of caring for herself.

Clearly she was in need of someone to protect her, regardless of her prickly independence.

“Allow yourself to imagine a very young and frightened English girl being smuggled into St. Petersburg,” he said, studying the shadows that darkened her beautiful eyes. “She would be a world away from her family and friends, she would have no money and no ability to speak the language. She would be utterly at the mercy of her captors.”

“She would not dare try to escape.”

“Precisely.”

She worried her lower lip with her teeth, too intelligent not to realize the dire fate awaiting such women.

“They cannot hold them captive forever.”

“No. Once they…” He rubbed a hand over his face, hating the necessity of discussing such a repugnant subject with Emma. “Wearied of the girls, they no doubt sell them to brothels in Novgorod or Moscow.”

She swayed, her face ashen. “Anya,” she breathed. “I have to find her.”

“Emma, we cannot be certain she was on the ship.”

She met his gaze with an implacable expression that made Dimitri’s gut twist with dread.

“There is only one means to discover.”

HER WORDS WERE STILL ringing through the air when the carriage was pulled to a halt in front of a newly constructed house.

It was a home any gentleman would be proud to claim.

Built of pale stone, it boasted five bays with a central bowed projection that was most notable for the Venetian glass he had imported for the windows that flanked the double doorway. A sweep of stairs led to the wraparound terrace that overlooked the sunken garden arranged on both sides and the high brick fencing that offered a rare privacy.

For once, Dimitri did not experience the flare of pride at his creation. He was far more intent on scooping the startled Emma into his arms and climbing out of the carriage.

Predictably outraged at being carried through the gate and up the stairs, Emma smacked his chest, a stormy flush bringing welcome color to her cheeks.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” She continued with her futile assault. “Put me down.”

Dimitri crossed the terrace, smiling as the door was pushed open to reveal a broad man with the corded muscles of a laborer and the weathered features of a sailor. Hardly a typical butler, despite the distinguished mane of silver hair. In truth, Rurik looked exactly what he was. A pirate. And nothing could make him appear respectable. Not even the uniform Dimitri insisted he wear.

Dimitri shrugged. He had done his best to prevent panic among the neighbors.

“Caught a feisty one, eh?” Rurik demanded, a curious glint in his blue eyes. Dimitri had never brought a woman to this house.

“Not intentionally,” Dimitri gritted, entering the marble foyer and headed directly toward the massive cedar staircase that had been hand carved. “Now I must decide what is to be done with her.”

“The dungeon is currently empty,” Rurik offered.

Dimitri smiled down at the furious woman tucked in his arms.

“A temptation I must admit, but for the moment I will content myself with an undisturbed privacy. Would you ensure that dinner is prepared and kept warm in the kitchen?”

“Of course.”

Emma’s eyes widened as she turned her head to watch Rurik stride toward the back of the house.

“Wait.” She jerked back to meet his amused expression as Rurik disappeared. “I see you have your servants trained to ignore the pleas of the poor women you kidnap.”

Dimitri climbed the stairs, fully enjoying the sensation of Emma cradled in his arms.

“Rurik needed no training. He was a pirate who terrorized the seas until he was captured by the French during the war.”

“If he was captured then what is he doing here?”

He reached the upper landing and headed directly for the main saloon.

“I take exception to fine Russian citizens being tortured by that French imposter.”

She made a choked sound of disbelief. “You snuck into Napoleon’s prison?”

“There are few men more loyal than those who have been rescued from the guillotine. And, of course, his wife happens to be the finest cook in the empire. When she promised her services in exchange for her husband’s freedom I could not resist.”

Her eyes narrowed, obviously suspecting the danger Dimitri had risked sneaking into the brutal French prison despite his nonchalant tone. Thankfully, her probing questions died on her lips as he stepped into the long saloon.

A tiny gasp escaped her as she studied the coved ceiling with gilded rosettes that framed the line of crystal chandeliers. The walls were covered in emerald satin panels with marble columns set between the high arched windows. The furniture had been purchased from the finest Russian craftsmen as had the parquet floor that was inlaid with cherry and teak. In all, it was a room that spoke of refined elegance.

“What is this place?” she asked as he settled her on the gold settee beside the massive black marble fireplace.

He moved to light the logs already stacked in the fireplace, chuckling at her astonished tone.

“My home.”

“Your home?”

Turning, he leaned against the carved mantel and regarded her with a lift of his brows.

“Despite the rumors, I do not crawl from the pits of hell each evening.”

She waved a hand toward the delicate jade figurines perched on a satinwood table.

“This hardly suits the image of the Beggar Czar.”

“True—” he shrugged “—which is why I have several residences spread throughout the city. Each of them serve their own specific purpose.”

“And what purpose does this residence serve? Your private brothel?”

“If that were true it would be an abysmal failure.”

She jerked as if he had slapped her. “I suppose that is yet another insult at my lack of attractiveness?”

He frowned, prowling toward the settee. Was the woman demented? She was the most tempting, most exquisitely beautiful female he had ever encountered.

“On the contrary, moya dusha, it is the highest compliment.” He sat on the cushion next to her stiff body, turning to study her wounded hazel eyes. “You are the only female beyond my cook to ever step over the threshold. In fact, there are less than a handful of people who even know of this house. I come here when I desire to be alone.”

“Then why have you brought me here?”

With experienced ease, he reached to unbutton her cloak, tossing it aside, not at all surprised to discover her swathed in yet another layer of brown wool beneath.

“A dangerous question, Emma Linley-Kirov.”

He felt her shiver as he turned his attention to the buttons that lined the gown from her chin to beneath the soft swell of her bosom.

“For goodness’ sake, what are you doing?”

His blood heated as he slowly peeled back the heavy material to reveal the satin beauty beneath.

“Attempting to understand why you would believe for a moment I find you lacking in appeal.”

“You have accused me of being a shrill-tongued spinster, a selfish martyr—” Her recriminations faded to a breathless sigh when he pressed his lips to the base of her throat.

“A delectable innocent who I have imagined unwrapping from your woolen layers a hundred times.”

Her hands lifted to lie against his chest, but she made no effort to push him away.

“You complained when I did not hide myself.”

“Of course.” He stroked his lips to the hollow beneath her ear, his fingers continuing to unbutton the body of her gown. “Only I am allowed to enjoy your most intimate beauty.”

“I think you enjoy mocking me.”

“If you need proof of my desire I am happy to oblige.”

“That is not—” She squeaked in alarm as he effortlessly pressed her back onto the cushions of the settee, following downward to cover her with his larger body. “Oh. Good Lord.”

Good Lord, indeed.