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Praise for the incomparable ROSEMARY ROGERS

“[A] perfect beach book.”

—Publishers Weekly on Bound by Love

“Sizzling sensuality, seduction and danger, along with a fine overview of Russia and the political intrigues of the Romanov court, come together with a powerful, skillfully told love story…vintage Rosemary Rogers.”

—RT Book Reviews on Scandalous Deception (4½ stars)

“From the high roads of England to the French countryside, this is a classic sexy, adventure romance…Rogers continues to play on the timeless themes of the genre, providing a wonderful, albeit nostalgic, read. You can go home again.”

—RT Book Reviews on A Daring Passion (4 stars)

“The queen of historical romance.”

—New York Times Book Review

“Rogers’ legion of readers will be delighted to find that her latest historical romance features the same brand of arrogant, bold, and sexy hero; stubborn, beautiful, and unconventional heroine; and passionate plot that first made this genre wildly popular in the early 1980s.”

—Booklist on Sapphire

“Her novels are filled with adventure, excitement, and always, wildly tempestuous romance.”

—Fort Worth Star-Telegram

Rosemary Rogers
Scoundrel’s Honor

MILLS & BOON

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SCOUNDREL’S HONOR

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER ONE

THE VILLAGE OF YABINSK in the Volga River Basin near Moscow was the typical cluster of low, sturdy homes scattered near a wooden church. On the distant hills the wealthier citizens built their redbrick mansions to overlook the lesser folk, while small fishing boats painted in cheerful colors lined the meandering river.

On the very edge of the village, a three-storied coaching inn with attached stables squatted next to the narrow road leading to Moscow to the south and St. Petersburg to the north. With a tile roof and recently painted shutters the building managed to appear respectable, if not prosperous. It was an image that was enhanced by the meticulously clean foyer and the small chambers upstairs that smelled of wood polish and dried flowers.

Behind the stables was a small wattle-and-daub cottage nearly hidden behind the stone wall that divided the property.

It was little more than a kitchen, a front parlor and two bedchambers in the attic, but it was sturdily built to keep out the worst of the Russian winters and filled with delicate birch and cedar furnishings that were more suitable for the palaces of St. Petersburg.

In truth, Fedor Duscha had been a master craftsman before his untimely death and in great demand by many of the finest noble families. The furniture was worth a tidy sum of rubles, but his daughter Emma Linley-Kirov would have starved before selling it off. It had been wrenching enough to convert her father’s precious workshop into the coaching inn for a means to make money for her and her younger sister, Anya.

On this cool autumn day, however, she barely noted the scrolled settee set beneath the window of the parlor or the hutch that held her mother’s English china.

Instead, she paced the threadbare carpet, her stomach knotted and her hands shaking as she smoothed them down her plain gown of brown kerseymere. At last she turned to meet the concerned gaze of Diana Stanford, who was currently seated on the settee.

Although nearly ten years older than Emma, the English nanny was her dearest friend. Emma’s own mother had been raised in England and after her death there had been a comforting familiarity in Diana’s companionship.

A traditional English rose, Diana possessed fair hair and blue eyes that lent her an air of deceptive fragility. Emma on the other hand had inherited her father’s honey-brown hair, which she kept pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck, and a pair of hazel eyes that regarded the world with a grim determination that tended to intimidate any who hoped to take advantage of a woman forced to stand on her own.

A necessity for keeping her inn profitable and for raising her sixteen-year-old sister, but decidedly detrimental to her relationship with the local villagers. Most of her neighbors condemned the mere thought of a lady attempting to run her own business, let alone raise an impressionable girl. A proper, well-behaved female depended upon a man. Only an overly forward tart would dare to toss aside convention and remain independent.

The others found her a source of amusement, whispering behind her back and ensuring that she felt suitably unwelcome at the local gatherings.

Until today, she rarely allowed their opinions to trouble her.

“No, you must be mistaken,” Diana said, breaking the tense silence. “Anya might be stubborn and occasionally impulsive—”

Emma snorted. “Occasionally?”

Diana smiled wryly. Emma’s younger, far more beautiful sister was a volatile mixture of absurd fantasies and caprice.

“But she is not utterly bird-witted,” her companion continued. “She would never leave her home with two strangers who have no family connection to her.”

Emma reluctantly handed over the crumpled note she had found on Anya’s empty bed when she had awakened that morning.

“She would if those two strangers happened to be wealthy noblemen who promised her a career upon the stages of Europe.”

Diana read through the short missive, her brows drawing together.

“An actress?”

“You know how Anya has always dreamed of a glamorous life far away from Yabinsk.”

“Fah. What young lady does not fill her head with such nonsense? Every girl in the village has dreamed of attracting the attention of a handsome prince who will carry her away.” With a rustle of her pale peach gown, Diana slowly rose to her feet. “Yourself included, Emma Linley-Kirov.”

Emma shrugged. Any dream of handsome princes and tender romance had died along with her mother.

“Yes, but most of us put aside such fancies with our dolls. Anya, however, refused to accept there were no such things as fairy tales.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, shivering at the cold sense of dread that held her captive. “I blame myself, of course. After father’s death I did not devote nearly enough attention to her.”

“Good heavens, Emma, you have sacrificed everything to provide a home for your sister. You should take great pride in all you have accomplished.”

“Ah, yes, my accomplishments,” Emma said, her voice thick with bitterness as she glanced toward the nearby inn. “They are quite amazing.”

“Yes, they are, my dear,” Diana firmly said. “You were barely more than a babe when your poor mother died and you were forced to assume the duties of the household, not to mention caring for Anya. And then to lose your father.” The older woman clicked her tongue. “Well, any other girl would have fled such burdens, or at least have depended upon the charity of others. But not you.”

“No, I was determined to stand on my own, no matter what the cost.”

“Which you have done with remarkable success.”

Emma shook her head. Her friend was too loyal to mention the fact that Emma’s accomplishments had barely provided the essentials for her sister. And that she had managed to ostracize them both from local society.

“At the cost of Anya.”

“Absurd.”

Emma breathed in deeply, inanely astonished by the familiar scents of wood smoke and freshly baked bread. Since she discovered Anya’s disappearance, she had felt as if the world had become a strange nightmare.

“I convinced myself that I was teaching Anya the importance of being self-sufficient,” she rasped. “Now I have to wonder if I was merely being selfish.”

“Selfish?” Diana wrapped a comforting arm around Emma’s shoulders. “You are the most generous and kindhearted young lady I have ever known.”

Emma reluctantly forced herself to overcome the pained embarrassment that had held her silent since her father’s death nearly four years before.

“No, Diana, I could have accepted Baron Kostya’s offer.”

“Offer?” The older woman dropped her arm and stepped back in shock. “He proposed?”

“Not marriage, although his arrangement did include having me in his bed.” Emma grimaced, the memory of the night the baron had arrived on her doorstep with her favorite apricot-and-honey sponge cake seared into her mind. God almighty, she had been so stupidly naive. He had assured her that he was there to ease the burdens she was carrying and she had wildly imagined that he intended to invest in her coaching inn, or even to offer Anya a position as a maid at his mansion overlooking the village. It had never entered her mind that he would shame her with the demand that she become his mistress. Or his threat to make her life a misery if she did not accept. “No. He wished to offer me carte blanche and he was prepared to be remarkably generous.”

“Good heavens.” Diana pressed a hand to her impressive bosom. “That certainly explains his odd behavior. One day he was singing your high praises and the next—”

“He treated me as if I carried the plague,” Emma finished, not needing to add that his cruel attitude had only encouraged the villagers to turn their backs on her.

“Why did you not tell me?” Diana breathed.

Emma plucked at the frayed hem of her sleeve, a familiar sickness rolling through the pit of her stomach.

She had been horrified by the baron’s offer, but more than that, she had been deeply hurt.

Once her family had been highly respected in the area, and she could have chosen from a number of eager suitors. The very fact that the baron had felt free to offer such a shameful arrangement had revealed just how far she had fallen.

“It is hardly something I wished to discuss,” she muttered. “I was desperate to avoid any further gossip.”

Diana regarded her with sympathy. She better than anyone understood the sacrifices a woman on her own was forced to make.

“Well, I must admit that I would have counseled you to decline such a scandalous offer, but there is no denying that he is quite wealthy and I do not doubt his offer to have been generous.”

“Generous enough to ensure I could have devoted myself to Anya rather than to keeping a roof over our head.”

“Yes, I suppose so, but that is no assurance that Anya would not have had her head turned just as easily.”

“We both know it would have been far less likely.” Emma waved a hand to encompass the barren room. “Not only would she have possessed the small luxuries she has always desired, but I would have had the opportunity to look after her properly. She spent far too much time alone.”

Without warning, Diana reached to grab her hand, her eyes dark with concern.

“Hear this, Emma. You are not to blame.”

“But I am.” Emma heaved a sigh. “I could not bear to sacrifice my virtue, and now Anya is paying for my foolish pride.”

“If you must blame someone, then it should be those horrid strangers for taking advantage of a silly young girl. What sort of gentlemen would do such a thing?”

Emma’s aching fear was replaced with a flare of pure fury.

When the two elegant travelers had first arrived at her coaching inn she had been delighted. They were not only swift to pay their bills, but they were lavish with their tips. She had already begun to imagine the small Christmas gifts she could purchase with the extra funds.

Now she would give everything she possessed if they had never come to Yabinsk.

“No true gentlemen.”

Diana blinked. “You believe they were imposters?”

She gave a restless shake of her head. “I am not certain what I believe, but I know I must do something.”

“What can you possibly do?”

That was the question, was it not?

When she first discovered Anya missing, she had been too shocked and bewildered to consider what should be done. She simply couldn’t accept that her sister had truly allowed herself to be carried off by strangers.

Eventually, however, the fierce determination that had allowed her to survive any number of disasters had her thrusting aside her pained sense of guilt and considering how to rescue Anya.

“Patya overheard the men in the stables speaking of their return to St. Petersburg. At the time he thought nothing of it, but when I went to the stables to discover precisely when the gentlemen had snuck away, he conveyed their conversation.”

Diana’s grip on her fingers became positively painful as she regarded Emma with disbelief.

“You intend to follow them?”

“Of course.”

“Emma, please do not be hasty,” Diana pleaded. “You cannot possibly travel to St. Petersburg on your own.”

“I will take Yelena with me,” Emma assured her, referring to the aging maid who assisted at the coaching inn. “If we catch the stage this afternoon, we should be in St. Petersburg within two days.”

“But—”

“I am quite determined, Diana, and you know it is a waste of effort to argue with me,” Emma firmly interrupted the looming lecture.

The older woman pressed her lips together in disapproval. “Always assuming you manage to arrive in St. Petersburg unscathed, how do you propose to find Anya? St. Petersburg is not a quiet village where neighbors are well-known to one another. You could search for weeks and never cross her path.”

Emma smiled wryly. She might be a provincial old maid, but she was not without a measure of common sense. She had known from the moment she’d made the decision to travel to St. Petersburg that she could not expect to stumble across Anya.

“I intend to request Herrick Gerhardt’s assistance.”

“Gerhardt? The emperor’s advisor?”

“Yes. He is rumored to possess mysterious powers that allow him to be aware of all that occurs in the empire. There are those who refer to him as the ‘Spider’ for his ability to spin webs that capture even the most clever of traitors.”

Diana stepped back, studying Emma as if she feared she’d taken leave of her senses.

“Whatever they may call him, Herrick Gerhardt is one of the most powerful gentlemen in Russia. You cannot just arrive on his doorstep.”

“As a matter of fact, I can.”

“Emma.”

“Do not fret.” Emma held up a slender hand. “He is related to my mother—a distant cousin I believe—and he sent a very kind letter after Father’s death inviting me to call upon him if he could ever be of service to me.”

Diana did not appear particularly reassured. “I do not approve of this dangerous scheme.”

Emma did not particularly approve of it herself.

Unfortunately she had no choice.

“Anya is all I have left in this world,” she said, her voice raw with suppressed emotion. “I will not fail her again.”

BLESSING THE FULL MOON that washed the elegant study in silver light, Dimitri Tipova knelt beside the mahogany desk. He had finished his search through the papers and journals in the drawers, now his slender fingers ran over the carved panels in hope of discovering a hidden compartment.

What gentleman did not have secrets to hide?

And Pytor Burdzecki had more to hide than most.

Intent on his self-imposed task, Dimitri nearly missed the soft footfall just outside the door, and it was only his swift instincts that had him straightening and moving to stand casually near the bay window. Wisely, he had opened it before beginning his search; a successful thief always had a ready escape prepared.

The door to the study was slowly pressed inward and Dimitri cast a downward glance to ensure his black jacket and silver waistcoat were properly buttoned and as crisp as could be expected, considering they had recently been tossed on a bedroom floor. A searching gaze would no doubt detect his cravat was hastily tied and the raven hair pulled back in a queue was still rumpled from feminine fingers, but with luck the darkness of the room would conceal such imperfections.

And if not…well, he possessed the means to keep his presence in the St. Petersburg town house a secret.

Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, Dimitri closed his hand over the pearl handle of his small pistol, prepared to kill until a slender, obviously female shape stepped over the threshold.

“Pierre?” the woman called softly.

Dimitri swallowed an impatient sigh. He had hoped to slip away before Pytor Burdzecki’s young bride, Lana, realized he was gone.

The pretty woman with auburn hair and wide blue eyes had been easy enough to seduce. He had only to pretend to be a visiting French diplomat who occasionally crossed her path at the opera, or at the Gostiny Dvor where she would shop with her maid. Within a handful of days she allowed him to escort her to the nearest coffee shop with giggles and inviting glances.

She had no reason to suspect that he was the infamous Beggar Czar, ruthless leader of the underworld, or that his interest in her was merely a means to enter this palatial home that was heavily guarded by trained soldiers.

Loosening his grip on the gun, he smoothly stepped toward her.

“Ma belle, I thought you were asleep.”

She glanced about her husband’s private study with a frown. “What are you doing?”

“Preparing to leave, I fear.”

“Did you lose your way?”

With another step he was close enough to tenderly tuck a dark curl behind her ear. She was a vain, self-absorbed little creature, but she was harmless. Which was more than her husband could claim.

Or Dimitri, for that matter.

“I prefer to slip away unnoticed by the servants,” he murmured, speaking the perfect French all Russian nobles favored. He was also fluent in Russian and English, and could comprehend several of the Germanic dialects. He was an excessively well-educated thief, thanks to his mother’s insistence that his bastard of a father pay for his schooling. “I would not desire such a beautiful creature to be the source of ugly gossip.”

“Oh.” She batted her lashes, eager to accept his smooth lie. “Must you leave so soon?”

“Hardly soon. I risk being castrated by your husband if I linger any longer.”

She pouted, grasping the lapels of his jacket as she pressed against him in unspoken encouragement.

“He never returns before dawn, if he even bothers to return at all.” She kissed the tip of his chin. “If we are fortunate, we could enjoy the entire day together.”

Dimitri narrowed his whiskey-gold eyes. “I never depend upon luck, ma belle.”

“But, when will we meet again?”

“Who can say when fate will be kind enough to cross our paths again?”

“Tonight—”

“We shall allow destiny to unfold,” he interrupted, firmly removing her hands from his maltreated jacket and lifted them to his lips. “Return to the warmth of your bed. You shall find a small token of my esteem tucked beneath your pillow.”

As expected, Lana was readily distracted. “A present?”

“Oui. I hope you will think of me whenever you wear them.”

“Wear them?” Her blue eyes sparked in anticipation. “What are they? Gloves? Earrings?”

“Why do you not go and discover for yourself?” he urged, smiling wryly as she giggled and hastily skipped from the room.

Despite the fact she was wed to a sexual deviant more than twice her age, Lana was little more than a jeune fille in many ways. Nothing like the women in his world who were rarely allowed a childhood.

Listening to the sound of retreating footsteps, Dimitri slid through the open window and dropped into the garden below. He had not yet finished his search of the house, but Lana was certain to have attracted unwanted attention among the guards, and he could not risk being caught.

He landed with the ease of an avid sportsman, his hand reaching for his pistol even as he straightened. The instinct that had kept him alive more times than he could recall was prickling in warning.

“Come out,” he growled softly.

A lean form draped in a heavily caped coat detached from the shadows of a marble fountain.

“I must admit to my own share of curiosity,” an aggravatingly familiar voice taunted. “What did you leave beneath the pillows?”

Dimitri’s lips tightened, realizing the open window had allowed this man to hear his entire conversation with Lana.

Of course, Herrick Gerhardt did not need to lurk beneath open windows to discover the information he desired, Dimitri ruefully conceded. Although he did not believe the advisor to Alexander Pavlovich possessed mystical powers as some did. He was, after all, intimately aware his methods were more mundane.

“A pair of diamond earrings,” he grudgingly confessed.

Herrick arched a brow. A gentleman of Prussian descent, he possessed a gaunt countenance, a thick crop of silver hair and piercing brown eyes that held a cold, ruthless intelligence.

“A rather generous gift for a female you bedded for the sole purpose of searching her husband’s study.”

Dimitri shrugged. “Lana might be a shallow tart with the soul of a merchant, but she still deserves better than being bartered to a husband twice her age whose sexual perversions cause even me to shudder in disgust.”

Herrick deliberately glanced toward the neoclassical palace looming behind Dimitri.

“No doubt most of society would consider her well compensated.”

“Only because their lives are as cold and empty as the marble crypts that await their deaths.”

“A philosopher, Tipova?” Herrick demanded.

“A simple criminal.”

Herrick’s chuckle floated on the chilly October breeze. “As if I would ever be foolish enough to underestimate you. What did you discover?”

Dimitri folded his arms over his chest, his expression guarded. Since he had come to the attention of Herrick Gerhardt and the Duke of Huntley several weeks before, he had reluctantly become Alexander Pavlovich’s most secret weapon against the traitors who stirred discontent. One did not say no to the Emperor of Russia.

His presence in Pytor Burdzecki’s home, however, was personal business he did not intend to share with anyone.

“Nothing that would be of interest to Alexander Pavlovich.”

“You would be surprised at the emperor’s vast interests,” Herrick countered.

“The emperor or his most trusted advisor?”

“It is one and the same.”

“Is that why you are here?” Dimitri demanded. “To discover what I might find among Burdzecki’s papers?”

Herrick waved a dismissive hand. “Actually I am here to discover you.”

Dimitri stilled, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“And how, I wonder, did you know I would be here?”

“You are not the only gentleman with the ability to gather information.”

“Yes, but—” Dimitri bit off his words. “Never mind, I shall eventually uncover the traitor.” He waved a hand toward the empty flower beds and the marble fountains that had already been covered in preparation for the brutal Russian winter. “If you wished to meet with me you had only to send a message. There was no need to creep about in damp gardens.”

The smile faded from Herrick’s face, his eyes hard with the ruthless resolve that lurked just below his charm.

“You do not promptly respond to my summons.”

“I am not a toady of the empire.”

“No, but you are a loyal citizen, I trust?”

Dimitri dropped his arms, his hands curling into fists. Despite his considerable power, he never allowed himself to forget that Herrick Gerhardt need only speak the word and Dimitri would disappear into the nearest dungeon.

“Are you threatening me, Gerhardt?”

The silver head dipped in apology. “Forgive me, Tipova. You have proven your devotion to Czar Alexander more than once.”

“As if I had a choice,” Dimitri grumbled. “What do you want of me?”

“On this occasion I believe we can be of mutual benefit to one another.”

“I have no need of the royal coffers.”

“My business with you is of a personal nature and I offer something far more intriguing than money.” Stepping to the side, Herrick glanced toward the sleek black carriage that was waiting in the mews. “Will you join me?”

Dimitri paused, studying Herrick’s impassive face. Then, with a sigh, he conceded defeat. The older man would not leave him in peace until he had his way.

“Why do I sense I am going to regret this?” he muttered.

CHAPTER TWO

DIMITRI REMAINED SILENT as Herrick led him to the carriage and they settled into the soft leather seats. There was a small jerk as the driver urged the horses into motion, then they were traveling through the streets of St. Petersburg that were still crowded despite the late hour.

“Brandy?” Herrick inquired, pouring two glasses of the amber liquid and pressing one into Dimitri’s willing hand.

Taking a cautious sip, Dimitri lifted his brows in surprise. There was no mistaking the smooth ease with which the liquid fire slid down his throat.

“You must be anxious for my assistance if you are willing to share from your private cellar,” he said.

Herrick leaned back in his seat, his gaze hooded as he studied Dimitri.

“As I mentioned, I think our arrangement will be mutually beneficial.”

Dimitri could not prevent a small flare of curiosity. Herrick Gerhardt had devoted his life to Alexander Pavlovich. What private business could he possibly have?

“I am willing to listen to this…arrangement.”

“First I must bore you with a bit of family history.” Herrick swallowed his brandy and refilled his glass. “As you perhaps know I was born in Prussia to a respectable, albeit poor family. I was fortunate enough to travel to St. Petersburg to finish my education when I was just seventeen and eventually to capture the attention of Alexander Pavlovich. My elder cousin, on the other hand, chose to seek his fortunes in England where he wed and produced several children.”

“Fascinating.”

“One of my cousin’s daughters became a governess to a Russian family to teach the children English. She in turn wed a local furniture maker and had two daughters before she died.”

Dimitri tapped his finger against his glass, his brows pulled together in a frown.

“I presume this tedious story has an end?”

“As I was saying, there were two daughters, Emma and Anya Linley-Kirov,” Herrick continued, ignoring Dimitri’s growing impatience. “After their father was tragically killed by a poacher, Emma transformed her father’s workshop into a small coaching inn.”

Dimitri’s frown deepened. He adored women. All women. And it was well-known that any man who mistreated a female beneath his protection was a certain means to a brutal beating, if not death. Still, he could not deny he preferred to avoid those women with more spirit than sense.

In the end they not only brought misery to themselves, but those who cared for them.

“How very unconventional of her.”

“It was quite admirable of her,” Herrick corrected, easily sensing Dimitri’s lack of approval. “Unfortunately her considerable courage did not protect her from the nefarious gentlemen who stayed at her coaching inn for several days.”

“Nefarious?”

“When they left the inn they took Anya with them.”

Dimitri stilled, his attention fully captured. “The sister?”

“Yes.”

“How old is she?”

“She just turned sixteen.”

Draining the last of his brandy, Dimitri carefully set aside the glass, silently considering the unexpected revelation at the same time he accepted that his personal investigations were not quite so secret as he believed them to be.

“And Emma Linley-Kirov is certain she was taken by the gentlemen?” he demanded.

“Quite certain. Anya left a note explaining she was to become a famous actress.”

Dimitri was careful to keep his expression unreadable, even as his heart gave a jolt of recognition at the familiar ruse used by his father and his cohorts to lure young females from their homes.

“Did the note also mention the gentlemen were traveling to St. Petersburg?”

“A groom overheard the gentlemen discussing their return to the city.”

“And the woman is certain she would recognize them if she were to see them again?”

“Yes.”

Dimitri casually glanced out the window, not surprised to discover they had made a circuit of the Upper Nevsky and were nearly back to Pytor Burdzecki’s palatial home. There was never a moment when he was not acutely aware of his surroundings.

“What made you believe that I would have interest in your tragic, though not uncommon, tale?”

“It has not escaped my notice that you keep a very close watch upon Count Nevskaya and his associates.”

Dimitri absently studied the Anichkov Palace that had once housed Catherine’s favorite lover, Prince Potyomkin, and had been recently refurbished by Giacomo Quarenghi to house the Imperial Cabinet. Unlike many, he preferred the classical colonnade to the earlier, more flamboyant style.

Not that Czar Alexander had requested his opinion.

Grudgingly he turned his attention back to his companion.

“As you have no doubt surmised, the count is my father.”

A smile touched the older man’s lips as his gaze deliberately studied the elegant lines of Dimitri’s features, lingering on the aristocratic thrust of his nose and high, Slavic cheekbones.

“It is difficult to overlook the resemblance.”

Dimitri’s jaw hardened. He often used his considerable male beauty to his advantage, but he cursed the resemblance to the man who had brutally forced himself on a young, defenseless female.

“We share the same countenance, but make no mistake that is where the similarities end,” he said, his voice colder than a Siberian winter.

Herrick dipped his head in acknowledgment. “That is difficult to overlook as well, which is why your constant surveillance of the count piqued my interest. It was obvious you were searching for particular information.”

Dimitri was not pleased. He spied on others, they did not spy on him.

“You have an annoying habit of meddling in my private business.”

“It is my duty to meddle in the business of others.”

“You play a dangerous game, Gerhardt.”

Herrick shrugged, unperturbed by the threat in Dimitri’s soft voice.

“And you are intimately familiar with dangerous games, are you not, Tipova?” he asked. “The count would be most displeased to realize his bastard son suspects he is involved in illegal activities.”

Dimitri briefly considered the pleasure of tossing the older man into the nearby Fontanka Canal, then disregarded the notion. As pleasant as it might be to see Herrick’s impervious calm rattled, it was not worth the loss of his head.

Besides, there were more important matters to consider at the moment.

“What would you have of me?”

Herrick leaned forward, his dark eyes glittering in the moonlight.

“Meet with Emma Linley-Kirov. I truly believe the two of you are searching for the same answers.”

“I knew I was going to regret this meeting.”

PEERING OUT OF THE carriage window, Emma studied the pale stone building built with a columned portico in the center and two wings that spread along the canal. Although newly arrived in St. Petersburg, she would presume that the far side of the building was devoted to gentlemen lodgers. Why else would the small cluster of men be standing on the paved walk and keeping such a close watch on the passing traffic? On the other side was a more familiar coffee shop with several small tables and a back counter that held trays of tempting pastry that made Emma’s mouth water even at a distance.

“There it is,” she said, turning her head to meet her maid’s sour expression.

Yelena had firmly disapproved of Emma’s decision to meet with the Beggar Czar, Dimitri Tipova.

Of course, the elderly maid with a thatch of gray hair and slender body wrapped in a black cloak had disapproved of traveling to St. Petersburg, of accepting Herrick Gerhardt’s surprisingly warm welcome, and even of being sheltered by Herrick’s dear friend, Vanya Petrova in her beautiful mansion beside the Fontanka Canal.

Emma, on the other hand, was deeply grateful to the older man who had greeted her without a word of condemnation of her forward behavior and had promised he would do whatever possible to help her locate Anya.

“It does not appear to be a den of iniquity,” Yelena at last muttered. “Are you certain this is the proper address?”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “Appearances are too often deceptive, as I have so painfully discovered. It is rather public, however.”

“I should think it is public.” Yelena folded her gnarled fingers in her lap, her lips pinched together. “You cannot meet with a strange gentleman in private without so much as a proper introduction.”

Despite her raw nerves, Emma couldn’t contain her sudden chuckle. “I am about to request the assistance of the most renowned criminal in all of Russia and your concern is our lack of a proper introduction?”

The older woman sniffed. “I have a great number of concerns.”

Instantly contrite, Emma reached across the elegant carriage that Vanya had kindly insisted she use during her time in St. Petersburg, and patted her companion’s hand. Yelena was one of the very few people who had stood by her through the years.

“Forgive me, Yelena. I fear my nerves are in tatters. I did not mean to snap.”

Yelena’s expression immediately softened. “The past week would try the patience of a saint.”

Surely truer words had not been spoken, Emma acknowledged with a sigh. She did not wish to recall the grueling journey to St. Petersburg, or her sick trepidation as she had approached Herrick Gerhardt’s beautiful home to beg for his assistance.

It was enough to concentrate on today’s troubles.

Perhaps more than enough.

Pretending that her stomach was not cramped with fear, Emma managed a smile as the uniformed groom pulled open the carriage door.

“Remain here.”

Yelena frowned. “Emma—”

“We have been through this,” Emma interrupted. “The message was quite clear that I come alone. Besides, if I do not reappear then I shall need you to storm the fortress and rescue me.”

The maid pressed a shaking hand to her bosom. “Dear Lord.”

“I am merely teasing, Yelena. All will be well.” Keeping the strained smile intact, Emma allowed herself to be assisted from the carriage and headed for the door of the coffee shop. “Please God, let all be well,” she muttered beneath her breath.

Entering the coffee shop, she took the seat closest the window as the message had demanded. Thank goodness she had wrapped herself in a sturdy gown of dark gray that buttoned to her chin and brushed the wooden floor past her sensible leather boots. And that her honey hair was covered by a wool scarf her mother had knit. There was a roaring fire across the room, but so close to the door there was a distinct chill in the air.

Settling uncomfortably in the wooden chair, Emma cast a swift glance about the wide room, relieved that many of the tables were empty. There were two elegantly attired gentlemen playing chess by the fire, and a group of more roughly dressed men at a table that ran the length of the far wall, but she was quite alone in her corner.

Her appreciation for her solitude, however, began to wane as an hour passed, and then another. Where the devil was Dimitri Tipova? Had he invited her here just to see if she would risk her reputation by meeting with a notorious criminal? Was this a mere hoax at her expense? Or were Beggar Czars so busy they found it impossible to keep their appointments?

Tapping an impatient finger on the table, Emma found her anxiety hardening to a simmering anger.

She was accustomed to being treated with disrespect. She was even accustomed to being ignored by others who thought themselves above her. But she could not afford to waste an entire day on some ridiculous game. If Dimitri Tipova did not wish to be of service then he should at least have the decency to send his regrets.

On the point of rising to her feet, Emma was caught off guard when a large man approached her table and settled in a chair at her side.

“Well, well. Such a tender little morsel,” he husked, his face with its heavy jowls and beady blue eyes far too close. “I wonder if you taste as sweet as you look.”

Emma tilted her chin, shifting away from the hulking body attired in a faded green coat and the heavy boots of a laborer.

“Please move along.”

A cruel smiled curved his lips. “Perhaps I do not want to move along. Perhaps I intend to take you to the back room and sample your wares.”

Emma should no doubt have been terrified, but at the moment her temper was fully aroused and in no mood to endure the man’s rude behavior. Even if he was twice her size.

Grasping the cup of coffee she had bought in an effort to pass the time, she narrowed her gaze.

“Either you leave me in peace or I will pour this exceedingly hot coffee into your lap,” she warned. “Perhaps that will teach you not to impose your vile presence on unfortunate maidens who might cross your path.”

The intruder blinked, as if stupefied by her threat. “You…”

His lips had barely parted when another man joined them, this one far more slender, although the scar running down his cheek from his eyebrow to the edge of his mouth made him appear far more sinister. Her companion seemed to think so as well, as his face paled and sweat beaded his forehead.

“Semyon, return to the docks and make certain that the ship that arrived this morning is properly unloaded. You know how our employer dislikes unnecessary attention to our business.”

“Yes…of course.”

Stumbling to his feet, the man performed an awkward bow and headed for the door. Emma straightened from her seat as well, her temper not appeased.

She had been ignored for hours, and then rudely insulted by that brute. She had endured enough.

“Emma Linley-Kirov?” the man demanded.

“And you are?”

“Josef. I am here to escort you.”

Her lips tightened. So, Dimitri Tipova could not be bothered to greet her in person.

“Escort me to where?” she demanded.

The servant waved an indifferent hand toward a door at the back of the room, clearly unimpressed with his current duties.

“Merely to the private rooms upstairs. There is no need to be afraid.”

She squared her shoulders. “I am not afraid, I am furious. Do you know how long I have been waiting?”

A startled silence filled the entire room as Josef regarded her with astonishment.

“Dimitri Tipova is a very busy man,” he said, his tone chiding. “You are fortunate he agreed to meet with you at all.”

Emma sniffed, refusing to be intimidated. “Ah, yes, you cannot imagine how honored I am to be graced with a few moments of the Beggar Czar’s precious time.”

With a muttered curse, the slender man headed toward the back of the room.

“This way.”

Stiffly, Emma followed in his wake, acutely aware of the hard gazes trained in her direction. Josef pulled open the door and led her up a narrow flight of stairs, then reaching a landing, he motioned her toward a small room with a brocade sofa and two scrolled chairs set beside a marble fireplace.

“Wait here.”

Not bothering to turn, Josef continued toward a door on the opposite side of the landing, shoving it open and stepping through. Ignoring good manners, Emma remained poised on the landing, blatantly attempting to overhear the low conversation between Josef and whoever was waiting in the room.

“She arrived?” A man that Emma presumed was Dimitri Tipova demanded, his dark voice sending an odd tingle down her spine.

“Regrettably,” Josef muttered.

“Why regrettably?”

“The woman is sour enough to curdle milk.”

“No doubt she is concerned for her sister.”

“It is not concern that makes a woman into an overbearing shrew. She is the nasty sort who tosses out orders and expects them to be obeyed.”

“Naturally.” The gorgeous male voice held an edge of resignation. “I should have known Gerhardt would take pleasure in plaguing me with his old maid cousin. No doubt he is seated before a warm fire, relishing his peace while I am stuck with the harridan.”

Emma winced, then gritted her teeth, pretending she wasn’t wounded by the familiar mockery. She had not traveled to St. Petersburg to charm the local thieves.

Stepping over the threshold, she had a brief impression of a small study with bookshelves lining the walls and a porcelain stove set between two leather wing chairs. Then a tall man lifted himself from behind a heavy walnut desk and her mind abruptly refused to function.

He was just so absurdly beautiful.

Her stunned gaze traced the bronze perfection of his features. The wide, intelligent brow. The slender nose and full, sensual lips. The slash of his prominent cheekbones. The chiseled brows that were the same raven-black as his long hair pulled into a tail at his nape.

It was his eyes, however, that stole her breath.

An astonishing gold that shimmered in wicked temptation, they were surely the eyes of the devil.

Or perhaps a fallen angel.

All Emma knew for certain was that he was a compelling combination of lethal power and male sensuality that would make any poor woman go weak in the knees.

An odd, heated excitement fluttered in the pit of her stomach as that golden gaze flared over her tiny form. An excitement that was swiftly replaced with hollow disappointment as his lush lips twisted with a familiar male disapproval.

What did she expect, she mocked her temporary insanity?

That Dimitri Tipova might be unconventional enough not to judge her bold manner? That a man forced to survive in a harsh world was capable of understanding the need for her to do the same?

Thrusting aside the inane thoughts, Emma conjured the icy composure that was her only protection.

“I may be an old maid, but I at least possess a few manners,” she stated, her gaze never wavering from the unnerving golden eyes. “Something sadly lacking among you and your loathsome band of cutthroats.”

DIMITRI SHOULD HAVE been amused.

The tiny female wrapped in layers of wool barely came to his chin and weighed less than his wolfhound. To have her burst into his room and chide him as if he were a naughty child rather than the most dangerous man in St. Petersburg was absurd.

It wasn’t amusement he felt, however, as his gaze rested on the honey curls that peeked from her scarf to lie against the purity of her ivory skin and the steady hazel eyes that held unwavering strength.

There was something about her that challenged him at his most primitive level.

He wanted to loom over her until she dropped her bold gaze in silent defeat. He wanted to bluntly inform her that he was an unrepentant tyrant who expected immediate obedience from others.

He wanted to haul her against his body until the defiance faded from her beautiful eyes and her lush lips softened in invitation…

Thankfully unaware of the currents of prickling awareness that swirled through the air, Josef folded his arms over his chest.

“What did I say? Curdled milk,” he muttered.

Dimitri never allowed his gaze to stray from Emma Linley-Kirov’s stubborn expression.

“That will be all.”

“Are you certain? There is nothing more dangerous than an angry female.”

“Thank you, Josef, I believe you have done quite enough,” Dimitri dryly assured his friend, waiting for his servant to leave the room before he rounded the desk and perched on the corner.

His lips twisted as her gaze skimmed down his tailored, cinnamon jacket that he had paired with a cream satin waistcoat. He had tied his crisp cravat in an Oriental knot and a diamond the size of a thimble winked in the perfect folds. Clearly the woman had expected him to be a savage rather than the sort of sophisticated gentleman who could appear comfortable in the finest home.

“There is a saying that listeners rarely hear good of themselves,” he at last broke the silence.

An indefinable emotion flared through her eyes before she was jutting her chin in silent condemnation.

“I am indifferent to your opinion of me, sir—”

“Dimitri,” he smoothly corrected.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I am no gentleman as you have so graciously implied. You will call me Dimitri.”

Her lips tightened, whether in disapproval at the informality or at being given an order, it was impossible to determine.

“If you insist,” she grudgingly conceded.

“I do.”

“Can we please discuss my sister?” she snapped. “I have wasted enough of my day.”

Dimitri narrowed his gaze, shoving from the desk and prowling toward the woman regarding him with an imperious scowl. A surge of male satisfaction raced through him as she instinctively backed away from his approaching form, even as his more civilized nature was shocked by his fierce reaction to the delicate slip of a woman.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Herding her until she was pressed flat against the bookcase, he reached to grasp the shelves on either side of her shoulders.

“Perhaps we should discuss the nature of our—” his brooding gaze lowered to the tempting curve of her lips “—relationship, Emma.”

Heat flared beneath her ivory skin, but her eyes shimmered with rebellion.

“There is no relationship, merely a set of unfortunate circumstances that have forced us to join our resources for the time being.”

He pressed closer, caught by surprise when a raw awareness of her slender body seared through him. It was inconceivable. He enjoyed his women soft and vulnerable. The sort who depended upon him to offer support and protection. Not aging tartars who smelled of soap and starch.

“Then let me clarify the joining of resources.”

Her color deepened at the hint of huskiness in his voice. “What do you mean?”

“You desire my assistance, then you will have to follow my rules. Otherwise you can turn around and leave now.”

A tense silence filled the room he had recently converted into his private office, then without warning, Emma was shoving him away and pacing toward the window that overlooked the street.

Dimitri couldn’t deny a grudging respect for her courage. He knew only one other woman who would not have fainted or fled by now.

His mother.

The realization did nothing to ease his potent need to tame the prickly female. His mother’s courage had put her in an early grave.

“Fine.” Slowly turning, Emma regarded him with an unflinching gaze. “What are these precious rules?”

“The first is that I will not tolerate an ill-tempered termagant in my presence. If you cannot control your sharp tongue, then I will discover a means to tame it.”

Her eyes widened. “Tame? If you think I will tolerate being beaten by—”

He was moving before he could halt the impulse, his hands holding her face steady as he lowered his head and covered her mouth in a soft, coaxing kiss. He had intended to teach her a lesson in controlling her shrewish tongue, but at the first taste of her honeyed innocence his passions stirred, his body hardening. His hands tightened on her face as he deepened the kiss.

Just for a moment she softened against him, her lips parting in a sweet surrender. Then, with a choked moan, she jerked back, her eyes blazing with a fury that did not entirely mask her startled desire.

“Why, you…”

Well versed in the ways of women, Dimitri easily caught the hand she lifted to slap his face, bringing her fingers to his mouth.

“The second rule is no striking your master,” he could not resist taunting.

Flecks of gold smoldered in the hazel eyes. “Master?”

He kissed her slender fingers. “You are in desperate need of my assistance, which means that while you remain in St. Petersburg you are in my power.”

“I will not be treated as if I am a serf.”

“You will do precisely as I say and you will do so without complaint.”

She jerked her hand from his grasp, marching toward the door with her chin high and her back stiff.

“This is absurd.”

“If you walk out that door, Emma, I can assure you that you will never find your sister.”