Scandalous Deception (Russian Connection 1)

Edmond frowned. “I am not ill, I am annoyed. I cannot comprehend why women must complicate what should be a simple liaison.”

“Take heart, old friend. My mother would tell you that if a woman is not creating trouble in your life, then she no longer cares.”

His stomach clenched in dread. “Damn.”

Boris stepped forward, indifferent to the mud now marring the parquet floor. “That was supposed to offer you a measure of comfort. There is nothing wrong with Miss Quinn, is there?”

“Not physically. I have been assured that the doctor is satisfied she is healing in a suitable fashion.” He managed a humorless smile. “You have no need to worry that Janet will be awaiting you in London with a sharpened knife.”

Boris cleared his throat. “Actually, we have decided that once spring arrives, she will travel to Russia. The Czar has always wished for me to join his personal guard, and Janet will soon become accustomed to St. Petersburg. My only concern is whether St. Petersburg will survive Janet.”

“You intend to wed?”

“She has not yet agreed to a formal arrangement, stubborn wench, but I have great confidence in my talents of persuasion.”

“Good God.”

Boris laughed at his shock. “Are you surprised because you assumed I would never wed or by the knowledge that there is a female willing to have me?”

“It never occurred to me that you would ever wish for a family.”

“I doubt that it occurs to any man, until he encounters a woman who can reveal the pleasure to be found in such a commitment.”

Edmond crossed to slap his friend on the shoulder, ignoring the hollow ache in the pit of his stomach.

“I shall miss having you at my side, old friend.”

“Not if you have the sense to accept what is obvious to all.”

“Christ, not you, too.”

Boris studied him with a somber expression. “You have battled against the hope of happiness long enough. It is time to lay down your weapons and accept what the heavens have offered.”

“It is not so simple.”

“Yes, Summerville, it is precisely that simple.”

IT WAS NEARING LUNCHEON when the door to the bedchamber was pressed open and Vanya entered, her smile not entirely hiding her concern as she crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed.

Brianna swallowed a sigh as she pressed herself higher on the mound of pillows behind her. She knew her lethargy was worrisome to her hostess, but for the moment, she could not seem to battle her way through the cloud of fog that held her captive. She was certain, however, that it was a passing sensation, and that soon she would be back on her feet and prepared to confront whatever life might offer.

Unfortunately, she seemed destined to cause poor Vanya an inordinate amount of bother until she could shake off her lassitude. Something she would have given a great deal to avoid.

“Brianna, my dear, this simply cannot continue,” the older woman chided.

Expecting the customary words of comfort, Brianna was caught off guard by the soft but unmistakable reprimand.

“I beg your pardon?”

Vanya folded her hands in her lap. “For your information, I have long been considered one of the most superb hostesses in all of St. Petersburg. Indeed, an invitation to my New Year’s ball is the most sought-after ticket in town. Now, I begin to fear that having you fade to a mere wisp will destroy my reputation beyond repair. Already there are whispers that I am starving you.”

“You know very well I adore your cook’s creations. She is nothing less than an artist with gingerbread. I just am…not hungry.”

Reaching out, Vanya grasped Brianna’s hand in a tight grip. “Is it the babe? Are you queasy?”

Pain briefly stabbed through the haze that surrounded her. “There is to be no babe.”

“You are certain?”