Scandalous Deception (Russian Connection 1)

“How?” Kazakov rasped, his usual conceit replaced with a growing air of desperation. “How did you know?”

“Fedor Dubov is an imbecile.”

“I knew better than to trust the slack-witted fool.”

Edmond shrugged, covertly glancing toward Brianna as she stirred on the floor.

“You have rolled the dice and lost, Viktor,” he said, darkly. “There is nothing left but to accept defeat with a measure of dignity.”

“Dignity?” Viktor stared at Edmond with undisguised loathing. “Oh, Summerville, you know better than to believe I shall go to hell with my head held high. I am quite willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to save my own hide.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to escape this godforsaken country with my head intact,” he said, his eyes darting about the shadows, as if the walls were beginning to close in on him.

Edmond arched his brows. “Surely you cannot be serious? You have committed treason. There is no place you can hide from justice.”

“Oh, I will escape.” Viktor licked his lips. “Because you are going to assist me.”

“Am I?”

“You will, unless Miss Quinn was correct and you care more for your precious Czar than for your lover’s continued survival.”

Mon dieu. Did Brianna truly believe that he would allow her to die? That he would willingly sacrifice her out of duty to Alexander Pavlovich?

Then again, why would she not believe such a thing?

On the point of agreeing to whatever outrageous demand Viktor was about to make, Edmond stiffened as he realized that Brianna had managed to shift onto her side and was watching him with eyes that appeared far too large in her wan face. It was not the pain in those eyes, however, that made his heart lodge in his throat.

Instead, it was the sight of her hand reaching toward the dagger Viktor had left near his feet when he had replaced it with Edmond’s pistol.

Christ. She was going to try to distract the man. And quite likely going to get both of them killed in the absurd attempt.

“Well, my lord, are you going to…” Viktor bit off his words with a sharp cry as Brianna managed to lift her arm high enough to stab the dagger into the back of his leg, just above his leather boot.

Not waiting for Viktor to realize who was attacking him, Edmond rushed forward. Wrapping his arms around Viktor, he drove them both to the stone floor.

They hit with enough force to crack Viktor’s head against the floor, and levering himself upright, Edmond discovered that the blow had knocked Viktor senseless.

With a curse of disgust, Edmond rose to his feet and rushed to Brianna’s side.

Kneeling beside her, Edmond’s heart slammed against his chest at the sight of the blood that marred her night robe. She looked like a wounded flower with her vibrant curls spread over the floor and her skin so pale it appeared translucent in the flickering candlelight. It was the tightness of her fragile features, however, that spoke of the pain she must be enduring.

He hesitated in the act of reaching to draw her into his arms. Having been shot on more than one occasion, he knew the wound must feel like a hot poker being thrust through her shoulder. The last thing she needed was to be unnecessarily jostled.

He settled for gently brushing a stray curl from her ashen cheek.

“Is he dead?” she demanded, her voice strained.

“Not yet.” He muttered a curse as she attempted to lift herself off the ground. “No, Brianna, do not move. Viktor Kazakov will never hurt you again. That much I promise.”

With a groan she sank back onto the floor.

“Edmond…” She was forced to halt and clear her throat. “You should not be here.”

Refusing to be offended by her rasping words, he shrugged off his greatcoat and carefully draped it over her shivering body.

“That is a fine thing to say to the gentleman who risked freezing his most priceless possessions, not to mention ruining a fine pair of boots, to ride to the rescue of his damsel in distress,” he retorted, his tone deliberately light.