Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

addle, balking at the accusation. He took women beneath his protection and sheltered them from the cruelties of the world. He did not pursue them. Especially not those women who flouted his authority and deliberately placed themselves in danger.

“I intend to make certain that she does not ruin our opportunity to capture the bastards,” he snarled. “If they recognize her, then they will become even more cautious. We will never be able to follow their trail.”

Josef snorted. “And you are not at all fearful she might be in danger?”

Dimitri ignored the question, slowing his mount as they neared the Palace Square. Over the heads of the crowd, he caught sight of the soldiers marching past the emperor, who watched on horseback, his once handsome features lined with fatigue beneath the pale autumn sunlight. The duties of the crown sat heavily on Alexander Pavlovich’s shoulders. At the czar’s side was Herrick Gerhardt, his eagle gaze missing nothing of the milling crowd.

With a grimace, Dimitri turned his attention to the carriages that lined the square.

“Where did you last see them?” he demanded.

“Near the end of the Hermitage.” Josef pointed across the Square. “What do you intend to do?”

He gritted his teeth, refusing to give in to the impulse to charge across the parade grounds and toss Emma over his shoulder as if he were a barbarian. Not only was it a ridiculous notion, but he would attract precisely the kind of attention he was hoping to avoid.

“You will ensure a note is delivered to Vanya that she is to return home without delay,” he commanded.

Josef narrowed his eyes. “And you?”

“I will be waiting.”

DISCREETLY STANDING behind Vanya, Emma attempted to concentrate on the passing crowd. She had, after all, been the one to plead with the older woman to discover a means she could catch sight of Count Fedor and his brother, Sergei. And she had promised faithfully she would do nothing that would allow others to believe she was other than a maid who was there to fetch and carry for her mistress.

But while she was desperate to discover if the count was the same Fedor who had stayed at her inn, she could not help being distracted by the stunning beauty that surrounded her. Over and over her gaze strayed to the imposing Winter Palace with its magnificent Corinthian columns and the statues that seemed to peer down at her from the roof. Almost as dazzling was the handsome emperor seated on his horse less than a stone’s throw away, his large form attired in military splendor and his brilliant blue eyes seeming to regard his passing troops with a wistful gleam, as if he were wishing he could join the precise lines of soldiers and march away from the crowd that pressed around him.

For a woman who had never been more than a mile from her forgotten village in the wilds of Russia, it was a breathtaking vision she knew she would never forget.

With a shake of her head, Emma sternly returned her attention to the elegant women with their fur-lined capes and the gentlemen in their military finery as they jostled to gain a place near the emperor. None paid her the least amount of attention as she stood in the shadows, her face hidden beneath the oversized brown bonnet and matching cloak that fell from her chin to the tips of her toes. To the nobles she was a meaningless servant beneath their notice.

She was attempting to get a better view of the two gentlemen crossing toward an older man with silver hair and arrogant expression when a tiny boy dressed in ragged clothing stopped next to Vanya and shoved something in her hand.

Emma instinctively moved forward to protect the older woman, but she had barely taken a step when the urchin darted away, weaving his way with ease through the people.

“This is odd,” the older woman murmured, glancing down at the crumpled note she held in her hand.

“What is it?” Emma asked.

“I suppose we shall soon discover. Will you be gravely disappointed if we leave?”

“Certainly not.” Emma winced as a rotund woman nearly knocked her to the ground. “I doubt I could recognize anyone in such a crowd.”

Vanya offered a comforting smile as they moved toward the waiting carriage.

“Do not fear, my dear. We shall find another means to cross paths with the gentlemen you seek.”

The trip back to Vanya’s home was speeded by the servants who walked ahead of the carriage and cleared a path, and within half an hour they were pulling to a halt. Allowing Vanya to be assisted by the waiting groom, Emma stepped onto the pavement behind her, unprepared for the ruthless hand that seemed to come from nowhere and clamp about her upper arm.

With a startled gasp, she whipped her head around to discover a man looming beside her, his face hidden behind a muffler.

“A word in private, Emma Linley-Kirov, if you please,” he growled, his dark male voice and smoldering golden eyes all too familiar.

Dimitri Tipova.

She pressed a hand to her thundering heart. “Good Lord, you near scared the life from me.”

Ignoring her chiding words, the exasperating man began hauling Emma toward Vanya’s private rose garden.

“If you will excuse us, Vanya?” he belatedly tossed toward the older woman.