Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

“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. Petersbur

g 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.”