Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

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.”